#or would it have been basically the exact same but come sooner?

[coldgoldlazarus]

I just want them to give Hunters a huge overhaul remake that can do more with the core premise, honestly.

[king-crawler]

HEY HI HELLO

Sorry for the random message here In the asks, it's ok if you don't see this or answer it since you probably got a lot already and I understand if you don't see this!/gen

But first of all, I just wanna say

I CANT BELIEVE I HAVENT WATCHED YOUR ANALYSIS VIDEO SOONER IM SO FUCKING LATE MAN

It's so well done and so fucking funny, I was literally smiling and cackling through the whole thing, it's shocking how similar our humor is

NOT TO MENTION THE END SCENE AREE YOU KIDDING HOW DID YOU MATCH THE LYRICS SO PERFECTLY TO THE FUCKING LORE ITS INCREDIBLE 😭💜/GEN, POS

It's insane how much dedication is put into it, let alone singlehandedly feeding turbo fans as myself

Genuinely thought it's so nice seeing more content for a hyperfixation I've had since 2012, and the fandom coming back along with this video Genuinely brings me so much joy as someone who's loved this movie since I was a kid

Sorry for the ramble but genuinely thank you for making that video, I can't wait to see what other stuff you do, wreck it ralph or not I WILL be tuning in/gen, pos

Okay second of all

The main reason why I'm sending this is because of sometning I noticed while rewatching a scene in the movie

Now, this might be me over analyzing as I usually do but it feels TOO. OBVIOUS.

SO

IN the kart bakery scene where vanellope and ralph go to bake a kart, they obviously make their way into the building and into the main room

You see all the Karts of course, and It pans to the one vanellope chooses

Which, at first glance you wouldn't really pay too much attention, especially when watching it for the first time, she's just picking the model she likes

..but looking back at the scene

Vanellope's kart model, how it was supposed to look, looks very

Familiar

Because the kart she chose..

...is a red and white kart

With stripes down the middle, with a very similar shape to a..certain persons kart. Now this might just be nothing, it's probably just like I said, and over analysis on my part

But the kart the chose looks WAY too similar to turbo's, not to mention the stripe is down the middle, just like turbo's car on the cabinet art of him

And vanellope could've chosen ANY kart

But it was that specific kart she chose, out of any of the karts

Not to mention in some of vanellope's concept art...

(Art made by Lorelay Bove)

..Vanellope's concept design and turbos designs strike SCARILY uncanny resemblances to each others designs

From the helmet and colors

All the way down to her GOGGLES having the SAME. YELLOW. TINT. that candy's have in the movie, which have the same effect here. There's no way that this didn't have the intent to mirror turbo purposefully

So with that in mind, the kart vanellope chose in the kart bakery scene being turbo foreshadowing, wouldn't be too out of place, nor would it be too far off

Turbo's foreshadowing was always prominent, even in the smallest details you wouldn't focus on, just like he's infecting this world as a virus, little by little, everywhere. You. Turn.

Aaaand that's basically all I have to really say

Sorry for the long ramble, I've been thinking of submitting this for awhile now, especially after I told a friend about this and they mentioned that this should be submitted to you

So I decided to go ahead and just do it, no matter how wild my comparisons might sound-

Anyways, I hope you have a good day, night, or what time it may be, and keep being awesome! I can't wait to hear back if you see this! Bye-bye! ❤️🏎🏆

P.s

I've been quoting these since I watched the video and haven't stopped

Thanks for destroying my humor even more-/pos

Okay bye bye now-

-skitters away-

NO YOU'RE SO FUCKING RIGHT OH MY GOD VANELLOPE WAS ALWAYS A TURBO PARALLEL??? CHAT IS THIS TRUE. IVE NEVER SEEN THAT CONCEPT ART OF HER TEEHEE THANKS FOR SHARING

also God. This is 99% just a coincidence with zero merit because its such a common gesture- but Ralph and Vanellope doing their thumbs up.. maybe Turbo parallels ?? and like the EXACT same poses too:

Vanellope having one hand on the steering wheel and the other doing a thumbs up while facing the camera.

Ralph hunched over doing the double thumbs up with the visor tinting his face yellow. EXCUSE ME HMMM?? WHAT THE FUCK??

NOW COULD I BE CHERRY PICKING? PERHAPS. but when Turbo has barely a minute of screentime, there's not a lot i can pick from, and things SURE ARE LINING UP... (I'm cherry picking)

SO SHHHHHH... ❤️❤️❤️❤️ LET ME HAVE MY LITTLE CONSPIRASCY

[bballlvr8]

Geno Media Availability 

What hes looking for in the exhibition game: Basically trying to execute what they’ve been practicing. Try some lineups, and get things accomplished. 

Says early on in November you don’t know what you are really going to get. 

This year they have options, and the lineup may depend on who they are playing.. He says that he wouldn’t read too much about the exhibition starting lineup. 

Kaitlyn: Has chemistry with the other players, said it doesn’t come easy. Kaitlyn is aggressive, tough competitor, shes in fantastic shape. She’s been everything that they had hoped. 

Post Players: They are inexperienced and sometimes he has to sit and think when they are up and down is it because of the inexperience, or is it because they aren’t focused. Said that when the mistakes come from them not being focused those are the type of things he can’t accept. Says that they are getting better at understanding what they have to do, getting better at bringing the same thing everyday. Says that they have 3 completely different post players, they are distinct, completely different from each other and the rest of the team, and said that’s a good thing. They all wanna play and do well. Said he’s excited for them. Key to your team is how well they play. Didn’t replace Aaliyah and said someone has to fill in those gaps. 

Was asked what were those distinct things they brought: Jana is her size, she takes up a lot of space, goes after every offensive rebound. Ice loves to play on the perimeter, she’s a good passer, she’s gotten better defensively. Sarah play’s more like a guard, she’s more like a guard-forward, shes comfortable wherever she is on the floor. 

Sarah has continued to show the role that Geno wants from her, she’s coming out of her shell and feels that she’s too unselfish. Encouraging her to be herself. She has a lot to offer. 

Excited for Jana to finally get her opportunity. Great teammate, exceptionally hard on herself. Not going to look pretty early on. 

Morgan has practiced on and off sometimes. (Hamstring injuries are very easy to aggravate, so I’m happy they arent trying to rush her). She has multiple leg injuries it appears that probably weren’t probably taken care of when she was in highschool. Looked fantastic in practice, she’s a very comfortable player almost like sarah. She and Sarah can be interchangeable on the wing and post. 

Azzi Looks great, she did practice today, just not while the practice was open (I wish the journalist would clarify that after they make those statements lmao). Just a matter of time now, but cannot give an exact date. Will be back sooner than the rest of the injuried players excluding Morgan. 

Yanna still has the sling on, it has come off a little bit, it’s going to be a little while longer, he doesn’t have an exact timetable for any of the injuries really. 

Caroline, Does more every day in practice, but very little to do with contact. She’s limited

Q, is continuing to look good in practice, says she’s active in practice, and has been incredibly aggressive, making it so that she can be in the rotation. 

Allie shoots the ball great, she’s a fantastic scorer. Said that the new things that the freshmen didn’t have to do in high school are what they really struggle with. But the things that they were good at in Highschool are the things they are good at now. When they have her, Paige, and Azzi out on the floor at the same time that’s a lot of shots that go in. 

Said that Ash comes and goes, she’ll have days where she makes everything. 

Ice is in the best shape she’s ever been in, said that she worked really hard during the preseason, Ice is pretty good when she knows you’re counting on her. Said that both Jana and Ice are hard on themselves, he said it's very tricky to keep your confidence when it's not something you naturally have. They take too many things personally and say it'll be some work for the two of them. It is up to the coaching staff to make sure they guide them the right way. 

Jokingly said that Paige is delusional (he was talking about confidence and said that some people have it, then said he doesn’t know if they are at the Paige level of delusion where they think they can do anything). 

For Azzi’s Return Date: Geno said to him he thinks it’s a feel of comfortability and confidence that she’s ready to go. She has a limited practice of how many minutes she’s going to be out there, said there will be a time  (next week, the week after he doesn’t know) when she’s going to come to him and say that she’s ready to go. 

Not looking forward to his 40th Coaching Anniversary lmao.  

[the-kr8tor]

TTN hobie and reader where reader is back from LA and hobie is showing her his spider powers. I think it would be interesting to see r’s reaction to seeing them irl and not just on a tv across the other side of the world 😭

Also I can’t remebr my exact wording of my requests from when I wrote them the first time so I hope these match up well with the ones from before 😅

-🕊️ anon

Thank you for another TTN request! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader, FLUFF.

Thread the Needle Masterlist

TTN oneshots

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

"Have to tell you somethin'" Hobie suddenly pipes up while you two are comfortably cuddling on the couch, watching some action movie that you've grown to actually like despite the crazy plot and mid acting. He hasn't been paying close attention to it, how could he when his secret gnaws at the back of his head?

"Hmm?" You look up from where you're resting your head on his chest, hand splayed over his abdomen where his shirt has ridden up. He doesn't mind that you're basically groping the muscles underneath since he's doing the same thing to the soft skin of your hip.

The TV's light shines on the side of your face, he takes you in, inhaling sharply, Hobie cups your chin, getting your attention. "Need to tell you somethin'" he emphasizes.

"Okay" you sit straight at his sudden serious tone, different from the flirty tone he sported a few minutes ago.

"I'm Spider-Man"

"Oh" you hold your chest in relief. "I know, Hobs" your voice is full of affection and fondness for the man before you, holding and kneading at his shoulder blade in an attempt to calm his fast heartbeat.

Hobie's eyes grow wide, he watches you in awe for figuring it out. He lays his forehead over yours in relief, relieved that you took the revelation well. There's always that gut feeling from Hobie that you've always known, you chose to wait for him to tell you himself. He's grateful for you, for waiting and staying with him even after keeping it a secret from you.

You can't blame him though, he just doesn't want you to worry. Love does that sometimes.

"And here I thought you would scream in surprise" Hobie pulls away, heart eyes staring back at his best friend.

"Do you want me to? I could still do that" you inhale like you're readying yourself to yell. Hobie lets you act surprised, your voice echoing out in the dark, louder than the TV's volume. "O.M.G!" He rolls his eyes with a smile. "You're the Spider-Man? The same one from the telly?! Oh the act of betrayal the backstabbing hurt"

You put the back of your hand over to your forehead like a silent film actress in distress. "Hobie?! The same Hobie that I've loved since childhood is a vigilante?! Oh my word! How could I not foresee this?!" Cupping his face for emphasis,"oh! My heart!" You act better than the actors on the screen, earning a deep laugh from Hobie.

"Alright, got it. You figured me out" Hobie stops your oscar worthy performance with his hand covering your mouth.

You lick his hand in retaliation. He snaps his hand back, wiping your drool over the blanket spread over your laps.

"I know you, Hobie. The second they got footage of you I knew it was you. I mean, you were wearing the vest I made you!" You chuckle. "I know every stitch and indents on that bad boy" poking his chest, you sigh, catching your breath.

Hobie smiles, "still, should've told you sooner. Didn't want you to worry"

"It comes with the territory of loving you, can't avoid worrying about you all the time." Your heart clenches at the thought of him getting horribly injured. "Back in L.A everytime the mail's late I worry, everytime I see you on the telly swinging, beating the crap out of a would be villain, I worry. That's my job and I've accepted it the moment I fell for you."

Hobie holds you tighter, listening in with bated breath. "Spider-Man's a part of you, and I love every bit of you. I won't stop you from doing it, just come home to me every night. That's all I ask. I'll support you however I can"

"That's all I need," Hobie pressed a heavy kiss on your lips, you barely felt the single tear rolling on your cheek. "Love you"

"Love you too." You sniff, peppering his cheek with numerous kisses. "Thank you for telling me" you snuggle deeper by his side. He replies with a kiss on the crown of your head. "Because I've got some suit ideas that I've been holding on to for so long!"

You stand in awe, eyes still staring at the remote in his hand. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that, but I can try"

"Yeah? You've got sketches of 'em?"

"Yep! I'll just shut the telly off and I'll show it to you properly" you stand up to grab the remote from the coffee table. Hobie beats you to it, aiming his hidden webshooters from under his sleeve, he webs up the device, bringing it towards him.

"You'll love this then" Hobie webs up your waist, you twirl around until you land on his lap. He catches you swiftly as you get acclimated from the dizziness.

You laugh giddily, "Heard you can stick to walls too" holding his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. Hobie squeezes it thrice.

He guffaws, slotting his face right on the crook of your neck. "I'll show you everything"

[paintingchimera]

Do you think Ariane ever wanted her mom? Like because when we’re in pain, or scared or really anything we tend to want our mothers, so it’d be natural for Ariane to want her mother. GOD I IMAGINED IN ARIANES LAST MOMENTS BEFORE THE BIORESONANCE THING SHE WAS CRYING FOR HER MOM

Now that got me thinking, what about the replikas?? Do they long for the neural pattern’s mothers even though they’re not biologically their child?? When they destabilise I mean, like imagine a dying STAR on the battlefield calling out for her neural patterns mom oh my days

You guys cannot convince me ariane did not want her mom, especially with how she was raised I would reckon they had a very close bond. I wish there was more stuff surrounding ariane’s mom and even the itou twins mom like who is she?? Anja Itou or Lilith itou?? I would think Anja, because Lilith never had a male lover (that we know of) but she had Alina. Lilith being a possible older sister to them seems like a much more likely scenario than their mother, and personally on how lilith’s personality is shown (this is with the theory that she’s Elsters neural pattern) she probably would not want kids

And if the case was that Lilith was their mom, realistically then, Elster would’ve most likely atleast had some more instinct to protect isa— meanwhile with a sibling you really don’t have that urge (unless their like a baby) and honestly, I think Lilith and the twins wouldn’t of known each other for that long. Lilith would’ve been just a faded memory from childhood [if I’m correct on the timing of when Lilith might’ve been put into whatever they do to the replika neural pattern and that she is Elsters neural pattern] I mean, the faint possibility of her being the twins mother is that if Alina was their second mother, but that doesn’t make sense: Ariane is often portrayed as a ‘clone’ in a way of Alina, looking almost exact same as her. So why would Alina be their second mom? And it wouldn’t be possible because Alina was in the sierpenski as we know it,

So that would leave Anja to be their mother, Lilith? Maybe a cousin or older sister. Looking at Isa (assuming that Erika looks basically the same) she looks like she would relate to Lilith but not in a mother and daughter way; more like a cousins or sisters way. And What is the deal with Alina?? Is she just meant to be Lilith’s lover, or does Ariane end up being like some reincarnation of her? Or is Alina in retrospect just made to be that person Ariane triggers Elsters neural pattern memories with? But that would make her character practically basic if she only had one purpose. But I can’t figure out what she’s even here for, maybe she doesn’t really have a purpose? Some characters in fiction might not have proper purpose but they’re very important to plot I think,

Oh the ariane having acute radiation syndrome, she would be in SO much worse of state in reality, burns everywhere only getting worse, skin cells dying, even her bone marrow [i forgot if this parts correct shh] possibly started to degrade [I think I’m thinking of chromosomes], her teeth falling out, her organs dying from the inside out, losing absolute control over her own bodily fluids, I understand that it’s probably for creepy affect with her very basic black arms and legs to show nercotic skin but realistically ariane would’ve been dead much sooner when the radiation kicked in, even with the cryo medical pod. We all know of the person who had severe radiation poisoning, he died after a long battle. Considering Ariane would’ve practically be begging Elster— if Elster didn’t die first, because to me atleast, Replikas much more fragile when it comes to things like radiation, excluding MNHR units. They would start to degrade faster than a human would,

Ariane would be in so much pain, her skin wouldn’t even turn black it’d fall off exposing muscle and nerves. And her hair doesnt make sense, when someone has that much radiation and Ariane probably got out through so much more radiation, her hair would’ve fallen OUT, not grown. She would’ve looked like a burned mummy, and most likely. Elster wasn’t Alive to see any of Ariane’s true pain, yet Ariane probably would’ve still chosen the Penrose program. Why? Because hearing how sierpenski is that shit is SCARY. But also, we all know of Ariane’s bullying on rotfront. With how much she was getting bullied [I heard she even got put in hospital temporarily?? Idk if that’s right] she would of course pick that option. It’s like giving someone the option to choose: Go to school for years, Go for a year and get all of your diplomas immediately [of course it’s not a accurate comparison but shut up]

Bullying fucking ruins people, from experience I wanted to leave my entire country because I got bullied so badly. I wanted to leave the planet [as in going to space], when your given a choice between going to a facility or seeing the stars? You’d the stars especially in ariane’s place. The eusan nation is strict, and rotfront was terrible to ariane. Why would she want to put herself through more??

Anyways I’m literally ariane yeong (I bleached my hair to look like her, my roots are over grown tho 🫡) also sorry for so much writing, I have no one to really yap my ideas to 😔🙏

[kokinu09]

Let Go of the Reins || Chapter 7

pairing seungmin x fem!reader

genre strangers to lovers, romance, fluff, slight angst later, happy ending, social media, not meant to be, someday

summary Australia is considered home for two of the eight members. When two tour dates are scheduled for the land down under, the boys can’t help but want to spend a bit more time there to visit family and do a little sightseeing. So how do they convince the company that they need to stay a couple weeks? Filming some SKZ Code episodes.

A local riding school just outside the city with amazing reviews for their skilled instructors and beautiful horses is hosting a very popular kpop group to film their experiences. Y/N knows the group well and she just so happens to be their star working student.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

~*~

You and Liv got to the venue early like Seungmin requested, about 2 hours to be exact. If it hadn’t been for the two of you having to get a few things done at the ranch that morning, you probably would’ve been there even sooner. The excitement for the concert causing your body to basically vibrate with anticipation, a permanent smile plastered on your face even as you lugged the massive buckets of feed around the barn in the wee hours of the day.

So far, the experience has been incredible. The STAY that you’ve met are some of the sweetest people; chatting with you and Liv while waiting in concession lines or for merch, complimenting your outfits to no end, and even offering you little freebies for no reason other than the mutual love of Stray Kids.

Every time the most common question in the entire K-pop community is asked, “Who’s your bias?”, you find a certain member's name falling from your lips. The answer should be the same as it’s always been. Bang Chan. You’ve been an unwavering Chan stan for as long as you’ve been listening to Stray Kids. But lately, it seems you’ve had a change of heart.

“So~,” Liv sing-songs and you already know the teasing is about to begin, “your new bias is Seungmin, huh?” Her eyebrows wiggle as you two walk away from another group of friendly STAYs.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, I’m not~!” She chirps. “I think it’s super cute!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure Han would be offended that you’ve switched rappers on him.”

“Hey! I told everyone Han is still my bias!” Liv argued with her full chest. Hand fisted on her hips and all.

“Riiight, then shouldn’t that freebie be HanQuokka instead of Dwaekki?” You say, pointing out the little SKZOO inspired pin the talented STAY had just gifted her.

“I—!” She cuts off her own protest, cheeks puffed out in a pout as she crosses her arms. “Maybe Changbin is being a bit of a wrecker lately….” She mumbles with a pink blush spreading across her nose. You do your best to hide your snicker at her expense.

The two of you walk around for a few more minutes but the longer you’re there, the more anxious you’re becoming about these mystery seats that Seungmin has promised. So you decide to make your way to the staircase to meet up with your escort.

When the stairs finally come into sight, you notice a large, like huge, security guard standing just off to the side of it. He’s dressed in all black and a black pair of shades over his eyes, even though he’s inside.

You want to laugh but he is definitely too scary looking to laugh at.

“Think that’s our guy?” Olivia leans in to ask in a hushed tone.

“I’d say so.” You reply, leading the way toward Mr. Scary-Security-Guard.

He seems to be looking for something (or someone) with the way his head is on a swivel until he spots you two approaching. It’s hard not to gulp as you realize how mountainous of a man this guy really is when you get closer. He looks like he could take on the entire stadium if it came down to it.

Was it really necessary for Seungmin to send this guy to walk them to some seats? Did he think they’d get mugged by some STAY along the way? Unlikely.

But you put on a nervous smile anyway and ask, “This is going to sound stupid but…are you here to show us to our seats…?”

The man is stone cold, the firm set of his mouth doesn’t budge even a centimeter. “Are you Y/N?” He asks in a (very intimidating) deep, baritone voice.

“Y-yeah! And this is Liv!” You say, quickly looping your arm with hers so you’re not in the center of attention. He nods his head at the introduction then extends his arm in the direction along the side of the stairs.

“This way ladies.” He says before leading them as they get to walking.

His threatening demeanor alone clears the path for them, everyone content with avoiding getting in his way. The eyes of passersby follow you in curiosity, wondering who you might be to deserve such an escort. You keep your head down and urge your feet to go one foot in front of the other.

All the way until he brought you to an ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ door. You and Liv both stop when he opens it. And he looks back at the two of you expectantly. You glance over at your friend and catch her eying you too. But you decide to trust Seungmin’s word about better seats and continue to follow Mr. Big-and-Grumpy.

The sounds of the three of your footsteps echo around the concrete walls of the service hallway they are now making their way down. You were starting to think there really was something to Seungmin’s suspiciously vague messages.

“So, um, where exactly are we going?” You ask hesitantly.

Your question is met with silence for a long minute. You’re sure he’s not going to answer but then he says, “It was requested that I bring you to meet with the band before escorting you to your actual seats.”

While your mouth drops open in surprise, Liv beside you squeals. “Really?! No way! This is totally awesome!” She cheers, bouncing with each step and tugging on your arm in excitement.

The shock of it slowly wears off and a smile forms on your face instead. An excitement of your own warming your heart and causing the butterflies in your stomach to start fluttering. Seungmin really did make sure he’d get to see you for the show.

The two of you have a pep in your step now, following a little closer behind your escort. No longer fearful of his wrath knowing the guys were expecting you.

“What’s your name, Big Guy?” Liv boldly asks eventually.

After another pause, you wonder if he’s being careful of what he says to you two. But this time he responds quicker. “Smitty.”

“Cool name,” Liv says under her breath.

“It’s nice to meet you, Smitty,” you opt to reply instead.

“Mhm,” he grunts and then another patch of silence falls between you three. You think it will stay that way but then he speaks up again.

“Are you dating,” it barely sounds like a question. And you’re so confused by it that your face scrunches and twists in the most unattractive way.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you dating him,” he clarifies, still not sounding like he’s asking.

“Dating who?” You press, earning a frustrated sigh.

“Seungmin. The one who specifically asked me, their personal security, to bring you to them safely. Are you dating him.”

“No! No, no, I’m not. He wouldn’t—” You were abruptly cut off by your best friend.

“Girl, I’m gonna stop you right there ‘cause yes he would.” Liv says, giving you a seriously nasty glare that you’d be afraid of if you didn’t know her as well as you do. Then she straightens up to address Smitty again. “And what’s it to you anyways? Why would you possibly care who either of them date?”

Her attitude seems to strike a nerve as he stops, you almost bump into his back but thankfully you don’t. He turns to face you and gives Olivia a side eye from overtop the rim of his sunglasses.

“I only ask because I have been working security for these kids for over 2 years for their tours and never once has any of them even remotely done something like this for a girl.” He explains, not looking angry but maybe a bit worried. “He’s a good kid with a big heart. If you’re only in it for the money or the clout, please, just enjoy this concert and part ways with him. He doesn’t deserve to be strung along and hurt like that.”

“Wha—? I would never use him! I bought tickets on my own! I never asked him to bump me into better ones or even to arrange this meet-and-greet!” You’re quick to defend yourself, taking a deep breath to calm down. “I know you’re only saying this because you care, but I intend to stay his friend, or whatever he wants me to be, for as long as he’ll have me. If anyone’s going to get hurt, it’ll be me.”

Your eyes burn with angry tears as you glare up at him. Angry that anyone would take advantage of the guys like that. Angry that people like to act like they know you and make assumptions. Angry that you just spilled your heart out to this stupid security guard and now you feel raw.

Liv’s hand is gentle when it lands on your shoulder, a soft and watery smile on her face when you turn away from Smitty to look at her. And she quickly wraps you in a hug, knowing how big it was for you to admit your feelings out loud like that.

When you hear the man clearing his throat, your attention is drawn back to him. Though your hard eyes and deep frown have returned to your features. He starts to chuckle, which should have pissed you off but it didn’t.

“You’ve got spunk girls.” He says through his laughter, taking a moment to recompose but a smirk still remaining. “And you seem genuine, so I’ll believe you.”

Your shoulders relax, a tension you didn’t even realize you were carrying leaving your body as if getting this man’s approval meant you could get anyone’s. He turns to continue in the direction you all were originally heading but glances over his shoulder at you. “Let’s keep moving. I don’t really wanna lose my job for keeping your boyfriend waiting.” Now he’s teasing you?!

“He’s not my boyfriend!” You groan, earning a giggle from Liv as you follow along anyway.

Willing to give up the argument if it means seeing him a little bit sooner.

~*~

taglist

@kangaracha @rainfallingfromthesky @puppysmileseungmin @defnotfertilizedtoesw @teenyfinds

@bbokari711 @lakoya @chlodavids @rylea08

@keepswingin

[vaguely-concerned]

A Stitch In Time First Read Reactions & Thoughts Monster Post Part 3

Stumbling over the finish line if not in style then with enthusiasm!

Part 1, Part 2

- Odo looked as if he could use a spell in his bucket; I had rarely seen him looking so run-down.

<3 I love one goo man 

“I’d better get this information to Captain Sisko,” Odo decided.

“Would you rather I tell him?” I offered. Odo looked positively drained; he needed to return to his liquid state.

Every time Odo is changeling-sleep deprived Garak starts to hear kill bill sirens and flash back to ‘the die is cast’. It is kind of sweet that he seems to be worried for his friend and not trying to gain an advantage or sneak around here tho. 

The ironies of the situation both amused and irritated me. Here I was, the invaluable decoder of Cardassian encryptions containing life-and-death information for the Federation—and they won’t trust me with the code to wake up Captain Sisko. Ah well, it was never easy being a Cardassian on this suspended chunk of desolation. And then I laughed out loud. But what about Odo? The last time I looked he was a changeling, a member of the race of Founders that was determined to destroy the Alpha Quadrant. Not only did he have the captain’s wake-up code, he also slept with the station’s second-in-command.

LMAO you know what fair fucking point garak. Tbf I’m sure there are some people who’ve been assuming you’ve been fucking the chief medical officer too 

But if Damar had thrown his support to the rebels … if it wasn’t a ploy… I wanted my revenge on him, yes, but not at the expense of liberating Cardassia. And it wasn’t just liberating the planet from the control of a foreign power. It was closer… more personal. I wanted something that was even more difficult to attain—redemption.

The doors opened, and once again I was alert as I stepped into the deserted corridor and moved past the sleeping quarters to my own. It was time, I kept repeating in my head. It was time to take our place among the planets and peoples of the Alpha Quadrant as a civilized and open society. It was time to repair the damage. “A stitch in time saves….” What? What was that expression?

*pats him very gently and lovingly on the head* This man can unironically fit so much character development in him

“You’re Khon-Ma, aren’t you?” She didn’t respond. “Being the only Cardassian on this station, I expected you a long time ago. What kept you?”

She should shoot you actually just for this

I stopped. What’s the point, I thought. All the stories were beginning to run together and they all had the same ending.

Smoking gun of ‘hm I think there might be some unreliable narration still lingering here’ lol. In a way all but openly admitting that like this is probably more like telling the truth for garak than telling the actual truth would be. From how we see him interact with Toran in the show I buy that the emotional truth about this is basically as he tells it tho — I think he’s angry and disgusted with himself more for having been unable to stop something from happening and taking that as being as responsible for it as the asshole who caused it, rather than actively making it happen himself. That’s the kind of pattern he has in so many other places in his life too, trying to navigate in the very limited space and with the very limited agency being submissive to personalities like Tain and Toran leaves you. 

“And they were all killed,” she said even more softly.

“End of story, Remara.” I considered telling her how I had exacted my own revenge upon Toran, and that my only regret was that his death hadn’t come sooner… but what was the point? Another treacherous opportunist dies after tearing another hole in the fabric. What’s gained except the potential for more damage? I rose. The station’s gravity felt like it had increased threefold.

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. One way or the other I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Who gave the order?” she asked.

“What difference does it make? I did, if you like.”

Remara just looked at me. She lowered the phaser. Part of me was deeply disappointed. 

The ‘has he been thinking with his horny brain this whole time or is he passive-actively suicidal’ conundrum. I suppose there’s nothing saying it can’t be both but I also think it’s more on the second side than he’d like anyone to know. I guess there’s no easy way to tell the guy who saved your life that you don’t really care that much for said life most days, and if you were offered some plausible deniability…

“You’re going to have to leave this station. They’ll keep coming after you until someone succeeds. Goodbye, Elim.” She put her hand against the side of my face, and I felt the heat coming through. Perhaps her passion was a curse as a terrorist, but she was a whole person … and she had found redemption.

Chewing on the idea of being a whole person vs. ‘unfinished man’ and ‘mosaic person’ 

- Gul Toran is someone Tain has warned me to monitor periodically.

Ah so Four Lubak is the future Gul Toran (the asshole in the Natima Lang ep if I remember correctly)! I see. That also means his snarking about Toran being made Gul is entirely performative he’s known about it for years lmao that was literally just to be a bitch  yes wonderful

- The fact that Tain has an evil Romulan twin/soulmate and they hate each other fdskjfhdsa

- So interesting that it does take until middle-age and Palandine’s extended presence in his life before Garak’s sense of humor really emerges fully. It seems such an integral part of him in the show, it sure is Something that it basically had to be carefully tended to and supported like a lil flower by careful gardener’s hands (thank you Palandine I’m sorry your life is a nightmare) 

- But I must confess that the toast proposed by proconsul Merrok left me feeling much better about the whole affair.

. . . 

“At first I couldn’t think why you hated him,” I confessed.

“I don’t hate anyone, Elim,” he carefully explained. “I have a job to do—and sometimes it’s necessary to eliminate those enemies who can’t otherwise be dissuaded. And he was determined to block our interests at every juncture.”

“I don’t hate anyone” says man composed of about 98% hate per volume

“Oh yes, my boy—yes, you did excellent work. A job well done.” He had never complimented me with such unconditional enthusiasm. It was almost a demonstration of paternal pride.

“You see, I had this planned for a long time, Elim. But Tolan wouldn’t agree. He wouldn’t take on the assignment, and he wouldn’t pass on the information. But thankfully he trusted you, Elim.” Tain patted me on the shoulder, which meant I was dismissed.

Weaponizing Tolan’s memory against him. Fucked Up. 

- Fear and isolation, Doctor. You can’t have one without the other. Fear isolates and isolation is fear’s natural home. Just as my orchids need carefully prepared soil to protect them against disease and pests, fear needs the isolated circumstances to deepen and grow without connective or relational interference. When fear is allowed to flourish in its dark and lonely medium, then any evil that can be conceived by the fearful imagination will emerge.<

This whole chapter is so fucking good, and it starts slapping right from the beginning. The way this works not only as a description of the larger crimes of Cardassia, but also the shape of his own life. 

‘My orchids’ is very sweet, and a phrasing that occurs several times. 

My feelings are spent, my moral rationalizations are empty, and I can’t say it’s not my problem when I’m pulling and lifting and throwing bodies of people who once only wanted to go about the business of their lives.

His life has been a series of violent deconstruction followed by reassembly of the broken pieces, and this should have been the most shattering of all but it comes across as almost peaceful. He finally gets to have his soul to himself enough to make something meaningful with it and put it together in his own time and in the shape of his own truth, even in the middle of such a painful realization.  

Colonel Kira once told me how many Bajorans died during the Cardassian Occupation, and my mind rejected the figure like a piece of garbage. We’d been in the service of the state, I had told myself, and the state had determined what was necessary. But now I understand why she hated me. More important, I now understand that constant burning, almost insane look in her eyes.

. . . 

Most of us who are left, Doctor, are insane. We have to be in order to survive and emerge from our isolation. It’s the only way we can live with the pain of what we did. Or didn’t. Each of us accepts the amount of responsibility we are capable of bearing. Some accept nothing, and these people are quickly swallowed by their isolation, their insanity transformed into a rationalized evil. A smaller group accepts total responsibility, and their insanity is an unbearable burden that cripples and eventually grinds them down. The rest of us carry what we can and leave the rest. For myself, Doctor, when a corpse is too heavy to bury I try to remember to ask someone to help me.

This man can hold so much fucking character development 2 electric boogaloo and HOW!! Imagine early seasons Garak saying anything like this! Even while I’ll also buy that early seasons Garak does have the capacity to get to this point in the end after enough work. AND the way it goes with his dream of Cardassia as a mass grave earlier/later on in the book — which also sort of indicates that the person he’s asked to ‘bury these bodies with’, as it were, before, was specifically Bashir. ‘You taught me to ask for help’. I’m so fucking soft for all the ways Garak is showing him that he touched his life in the very best and most beautiful way anyone could, no matter where they go from here.  

- “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just trying to reconcile statistical analysis with Romulan gardens.” We lapsed into a long, stony silence. Usually she knew better than to expect a real answer when she did ask about my working life. We both tried not to venture into certain personal spaces; often the attempt functioned as a barrier. I’m sure she knew that I was more than a data analyst at the Hall of Records. She also understood that the less she knew about what I did the more chance our relationship had to survive. For the same reason I never asked about Lokar. The less information, the less damage if either one of us was betrayed.

Garak that’s kind of sloppy, of course she knows something’s up if you’re making it that easy to figure out lol

Another interesting detail: Palandine seemingly never learns that Tain is Garak’s biological father, then. Very emblematic of the way all those secrets were still getting between them despite their best efforts. And lending even more meaning to the fact that many years later he lets Julian find out in uh perhaps the most direct way possible haha. 

“I’m of two minds. I know, that’s just another way of saying that I’m confused.”

Huh. I wonder if the way this is phrased suggests that that’s not a common expression in Cardassian and he’s translating it directly from Standard or something, or that his uh. Mental confusion/dissociation/fragmentation pops up enough that she’s familiar with it already here? 

“Yes. What if they’re right? What if they could help us reclaim something noble in ourselves? Where does that leave us?” We stood looking at each other. The night wind gusted through the foliage and I wondered where I’d be if I didn’t have this woman’s friendship.

What a soft way to describe it. Really drives home the like. Wholeness of what she meant to him. 

“It was a while ago, Palandine. I don’t know if they’re in the same place … or if they even meet tonight.” Her enthusiasm rendered me as helpless as it did when I first met her.

Julian/Palandine parallels time yet again 

I looked at Palandine, and she now radiated with such light that I turned away, inexplicably embarrassed as if I had seen something I shouldn’t.

So sad somehow that they kind of drift apart in this scene, where Palandine finds something that helps her and he mostly seems to come away lost and confused, if cleansed. (and he still can’t cry with someone else in the room) 

After Palandine had left, I had spent the rest of the night sitting in the Grounds near the children’s area.

How is this so goddamn sad fhkjshfa. They’re still just children, and no one is going to come pick them up from the playground, no one is going to protect them

- “Yes, of course,” I replied. I took a deep breath, and my disparate parts began to snap back. 

Adrift from himseeelf. This is kind of what I meant about Palandine maybe picking up on some of his — this stuff. Which structurally pops back up in The Wire too, with how he tells the stories. 

“You look like you’re not eating anything,” Prang observed. If Tain was the father of the Obsidian Order, Prang was its mother.

LMAO. And he’s constantly worried about his saddest son I guess. Tain/Prang most cursed DS9 rarepair idea???

- His other hand was now probing my skull behind the right ear. The man’s ambidexterity was impressive.

Lol diversity win: the mad doctor about to implant you with experimental tech is ambidextrous!

Oh. Oh no it’s the wire time. The fact that he’s one of the first agents fitted with it b/c his hindbrain distress tolerance is too worryingly low  for their comfort…

When I tell you that this wire will give you no trouble, as long as you don’t meddle with it, you can believe me. You know that, don’t you, Elim?”

“Yes, I do, Mindur.��� The man had never given me anything but superb technology and sound advice. “Please continue,” I submitted.

“Good boy.” Timor thumped my shoulder again.

HORROR SHOW CULTURE ONCE MORE and also. Praise kink revisited and made more interestingly fucked up. Also submission theme thread. 

Do you think he’d meddle with the wire eventually even if he hadn’t been exiled. I feel like there’s a non-zero chance of that.  

- I remembered the Hebitian frieze and its lush background. Of course we were different people: it was a different world. The more the forests receded, it seems, the more we covered ourselves. Their world didn’t need an agent of the Obsidian Order to investigate a group of prominent Cardassians who “happened” to be spending their vacation together. It didn’t have Enabran Tain targeting one of his bitterest enemies, Procal Dukat, a powerful member of the Central Command. And I’m certain it didn’t have fathers who refused to acknowledge their sons. If we lived on the next spiral of the cycle of life, how did we know it wasn’t going downward?

a) ‘what if the glass is not only half-empty but also leaking’ yes very cheery Garak and b) one of the rare times he lets not just his bitterness with Tain but also his longing to be acknowledged by him fully shine through. To me it seems like that’s the one thing that’s still too raw for him to dwell on in this narrative. He mostly doesn’t get into or sit with the pretty obvious fact that he loved Tain, and desperately wanted Tain to love him too. You can see the traces through the whole thing of just how angry he is with him now that he’s dead (GOOD! HE SHOULD BE! HE SHOULD BE ANGRIER; IF ANYTHING!), but that particular element of it seems too vulnerable to keep in sight most times

- PYTHAS IS BACK BA-BEY! 

His grace was even more refined as he moved to the small house that was our assigned base of operations. If anything could have taken my mind off downward spirals it was the appearance of Pythas. 

And the mutual crush endures (also with me I love a sneaky little twink)

“What was good for you, Elim, was usually agreeable to me as well,” he wryly observed.

The way Pythas is like Garak’s shadow — except in Garak’s eyes he does everything ‘right’, he doesn’t seem to have that same aching need for connection, he follows his orders easily, he’s perfect and he reaps the rewards Garak never gets. Garak never even resents or begrudges him any of it. And yet they end up in basically the same place when all’s said and done, in the ruins of Cardassia, and Garak might even win out b/c his trials with the mortifying ordeal of being known mean he has some people in his life he’s starting to truly trust, the way Pythas seems to with Nal as well. Thinking. A lot of things. 

Over the years, his modest demeanor and quiet ways had turned him into more of a solitary person than I ever was. I had learned to withdraw my presence as a tool, but I was always aware of my need for contact, and that my value as an operative lay in my ability to engage others in a nonthreatening manner that drew them out. Pythas had learned to withdraw his presence as a way of life—and he moved through the world like a shadow. I was not surprised that Tain had recruited him for the “invisibles.” It took a special person to be able to operate in such unrelentingly anonymous circumstances—no family, no fixed base or identity—and there was no doubt in my mind that he was one of the most brilliant agents in the Order. Our relationship picked right up where it had left off at Bamarren. Other than Prang, I have never met anyone where so much was communicated with so few words. His eyes had a depth and eloquence that told me everything I wanted to know. How ironic that my lust for conversation was satisfied by someone who rarely spoke.

Ah, so if Palandine is the proto-Julian, as it were (and Parmak is the silver fox Ersatz Julian), Pythas is definitely the anti-Julian as well as Garak’s shadow hahaha. 

- Garak is undeniably a city boy at the end of the day haha. Pythas help him out there in the jungle he doesn’t belong here I understand why you’re so worried

- In a way it was touching: the old man reverting to the mind control exercises he had learned as a child.

Garak. The warning bells. Should they perhaps be ringing merrily in your mind at this combination of words and letters. Oh well. 

- “Yes, it’s me.” I squatted so that I was at eye level. I tried to soften myself, round off all the sharp edges.

Yes yes yes this is such a good description of that Thing he does. His ‘just a lil guy/tailor/gardener/funny spy man’ move

‘Carriers of disease’ and spreading poison motifs are back. Dukat Sr. uses it here to describe cowardice/Federation ideals/hashtag the SJWs/the forces that threaten to disrupt the status quo of the fascist state. 

- I left the containment field in place and stepped outside to clear my head. No matter how objective I tried to remain, I could never remain totally unaffected by another man’s horror. Fear was a contagious disease.

This seems right to me — I don’t think anyone who could truly shrug off other people’s suffering would have to make up such webs of justification and alienation as Garak does to do what he does. Maybe that empathy is why he’s so good at it and also why it messes him up so bad over time 

His *Working 9-5 slowed down & with reverb plays softly in the background* vibe about it is undeniably kind of funny tho

Contagious disease thread cont too, and not the first time fear is spoken of that way

“Who are you?” he asked for the second time, fighting against the toxin’s effect. This was one tough old warrior.

“Your worst nightmare,” I replied.

“Ah,” he croaked. “Then Tain sent you.”

- YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE fhdkjshasjh good for you Pythas isn’t there to hear it that is so embarrassing Garak (affectionate)

- Garak dreaming of being buried with the still-whispering mass grave of Old Cardassia… what the fuck I don’t think I’d sleep ever again after that haha

Of all of the people he dreams of, most of them are dead (or potentially soon about to be dead? Not entirely sure how that works out for Mila in particular. And I guess we technically don’t know if Calyx is dead, but after so long it seems very likely), except as we find out later Pythas. And Palandine isn’t there. 

NO. NO YOU CANNOT TELL ME THE FIRST THING HE DOES IS CALL JULIAN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT  W H A  T 

“It’s not a medical emergency. Please, I realize this is an imposition.” There was a silence and I heard another voice in the background. Ezri Dax. A muffled conversation. The Doctor cleared his throat again.

“I’ll be right over,” he said.

This is so melancholy I want to disappear into a puddle of quiet yearning and never come back to solid form just put me in a bucket like the Odo. 

This is also the first time in this book Garak has asked Julian for help rather than Julian trying to approach him to give him help (and being rebuffed). He’s called for and he comes :’)

He gave me his puzzled look, which wrinkled his brow. I was always amazed at how deep the furrows were for one so young.

Soft little detail time yet again. Garak has been sitting across Julian for years just looking at this face and picking out new details. 

“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” he quoted.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Shakespeare,” the Doctor replied.

“Hmmh.” I nodded in agreement, surprised that for once the author of the politically misguided Julius Caesar made sense.

Fhdskhfskjdfhsdjak you say that as if you didn’t quote the politically misguided Julius Caesar to your father’s face on a burning spaceship as you for the first time truly saw that he was as fallible as anyone else and invoking Bashir’s name in the process Garak

“Of who we are, Doctor. Our being. Human being. Cardassian being. But we have become these beings—are becoming, always in the process of becoming—on these other dimensional levels that are not limited by the measures of time and space. And the great determining factor of our becoming is relationship. Unrelated, I become unrelated. Alienated. Opposed, I become an antagonist. Unified, I become integrated. A functioning member of the whole.” The Doctor was thoughtful; his previous agitation had dissolved.

“You’re a scientist, Doctor. You have a deep understanding of this level. I don’t mean just the mechanics. You understand about relationship, the laws that attract and repel, the combinations that nurture and poison. Health and disease. Integrity and breakdown.”

“In your dream,” he said, “I presided over the burial of yourself and the people you were most intimately related to. Why?”

“You said, ‘for the good of the quadrant…. they must never be allowed to return.’ Why would you say that?” I asked.

“I can only think that….” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Garak. This is not easy for me. I still can’t help thinking this was your dream. Even if I was invited … you were the playwright.”

“Yes, but put yourself in that part. Why would you bury these people and cover up the pit?” The Doctor looked at me in frustration. “Please. Indulge me. It’s vital that I have your answer.”

“If you and the others were carriers of some disease,” he shrugged. “In our fourteenth century on Earth there was a terrible plague, the Black Plague, which wiped out half of Europe’s population. People believed that the dead bodies had to be destroyed, burned … buried … because it was the only way to prevent the spread of the disease….”

. . . 

The Doctor was studying me with an interest in his face I hadn’t seen in years.

“Well? Is it the Black Plague, Doctor? Or just the ramblings of an old spy on the eve of battle?”

“You’re an amazing man, Garak.”

“And my gratitude to you can never be adequately expressed. But I shall try,” I promised.

“Please. What have I done?” he asked genuinely.

“That time you extended yourself so generously and found a way to remove the wire from my brain without killing me …”

“I would have done that for anyone,” the Doctor interrupted.

“I’m sure that’s true, but that’s not what I mean. All during the time the device was deteriorating, I was convinced I was going to die.”

“You were even resigned to it,” he reminded me.

“I was also convinced that it was all a dream, and I kept asking myself what you were doing there.”

The Doctor was puzzled. “But what you just told me, that our dreams are just another way we relate … ?”

“I had forgotten. That point of my life was perhaps the lowest. I had forgotten many things. When I ‘woke up’ and realized that because of you I was going to live—at that moment, I began to recollect some valuable information.”

“About dreams?” he asked.

“Yes. But specifically about relationships, and how they set the course of our lives. You not only ’saved’ my life, you also made it possible for me to live it.” The Doctor’s face darkened.

“What is it, Doctor?”

“The time I wounded you in that holosuite program ….”

“Yes,” I prompted expectantly.

“I never apologized for my action.”

“And you must never apologize!” I urged.

“Please, Garak. This is not the time to give me a lesson on how to behave like a hardened spy….”

“No, no, no. On the contrary, when you shot me, my dear friend, that was the next step in my process of remembering. I was going to sacrifice the others, the people you considered your friends, because that was the only way I could be sure to save myself. You opposed me. Indeed, you would have killed me if necessary.”

“I’m sure it would never have gotten to that point,” the Doctor muttered.

“You would have killed me,” I repeated. “For the greater good.” The cliche suddenly had another meaning for both of us. “This is my last trip to Cardassia. I’m not returning. You were in the dream for a very specific reason. Once again, you helped me remember. Thank you, Julian.” I put my hand on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled warmly. “And by the way. It wasn’t the dead bodies that carried the disease. It was later determined that it was the rats feeding on the bodies who were the transmitters.”

“Then I guess we’ll go to Cardassia and look for the rats,” I said.

“Be careful, Garak. And look after my hot-headed friend, will you?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll look after each other,” I answered him. He moved to the door. “Did you really have a dream about Hippocrates?” I asked.

“Yes. Actually I did.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I replied.

First name use…

Disease contagion imagery, and this time it’s very clearly symbolizing y’know the fascism of it all. Weirdly moving that Julian takes a moment to gently imply that the disease isn’t inherent in the people Garak loves and has loved (or in him, for that matter), but in the conditions that created them. 

There’s so much going on here idk if I could start to pick it apart yet, I may need to let this percolate in my skull for a while before I know what to say haha. I think part of it is Garak telling Julian to never apologize for showing him the full truth of himself (not least because that also lets Garak see the full truth of himself in turn), and Julian finally relaxing about. Something. He’s been ashamed about something he can finally let go of. 

‘I thought it was a dream, and kept asking myself what you were doing there’.......I will never emotionally recover from this I want to write fic specifically about this lord have mercy on me

- *Tain Voice* with your hippie bullshit and your women! 

*tiny garak voice* woman…

Over the years we rarely met outside his office; only an emergency or drastic change of plan would alter the routine. Now as we walked through the late morning sun and pedestrians at a leisurely pace I experienced a connection to the surrounding bustle and energy in a way that felt almost normal. A father and his son taking a stroll. Tain was heavier, and I could hear his breathing labor with the effort. He’s an old man, I thought. He’s mortal. I’d never thought about Tain in this way, and I became protective as we approached an aggressive knot of pedestrians at the edge of the Coranum Sector. One man was about to run Tain down when I intercepted his path and bumped him to the side. I ignored his challenge as we continued. “Yes, Elim. I’m getting old.” It wasn’t the first time he picked up my thoughts; this was how our conversations usually went.

HE BECAME PROTECTIVE 

You know the way he keeps touching Tain’s arm and shoulder in The Die is Cast, like he’s steadying him or about to step in front of him to protect him or something? Yeah… he burns his hands on this stove over and over and over but he can’t stop trying to touch it :(

This was so typical of his manipulation. Just moments ago I was feeling protective of this benign old man, my father. And now… the irony filled my mouth with a bitter taste.

This is always & forever first and foremost an Enabran Tain hate zone

He moved to the covered seating area, where the sun filtered through the old vegetation. I had never been here with anyone but Palandine. With a long sigh he settled into a patch of sunlight on the low bench.

He’s like a fucking strangle vine he just winds himself into every single part of garak’s existence and chokes the life out of it 

“Yes,” I answered. The benign mask was slipping, and I began to see the depth of his anger.

. . . 

“You don’t know!” he repeated with a disgust I hadn’t heard since I was a boy and failed to record all the details of one of our walks.

Oof. Ow. Ack. 

“And all this while, instead of giving up your life to the work, hardening yourself into a leader who could inspire others and expand the vision, you’re playing out Hebitian fantasies with another man’s wife!”

“Yes. Just like Tolan!” I exploded. “Perhaps he was my real father after all.”

Tain rose like a man many years younger and grabbed my shoulder in a powerful grip. His anger was now a murderous fury and it was all I could do to hold my stance against the pain of his grip. His cold eyes told me I had betrayed him. Worse, I had failed him. He let go of my shoulder and turned away from me. My entire body trembled. When he turned back he had regained his composure.

The biggest sin Garak could commit in Tain’s eyes is to dare to separate himself from him in any way; to be anything but his mirror, to act as if he has any claim to his own soul. I feel like more than what happens with Barkan right after this, this is what Tain considers the real betrayal. 

Tain has never needed to hit him or become physically violent with him to keep him under control ever since he was a very small child, he’s relied on the terrorizing force of emotional violence. And as is so often the case with emotional violence, it’s been insidious and hidden enough, kept to private spaces and in the shadows, that Tain can pretend at plausible deniability b/c like. Who’s Garak even going to tell about it, for the longest time, if a miracle happened and he even found he could? Mila, who has joined the war on emotional violence on the side of emotional violence since probably before Garak was even born? (For understandable psychological reasons, but in unforgivable ways in the role of a parent.) I wonder if ‘making him’ lose control and expose himself and his violence for what it is like this (in public, even!) is also part of what he can’t forgive Garak for. This ah ‘slip-up’ is the first big crack we see in Tain’s image of perfect implacable control (which is very much still the impression you’re left with in Garak’s stories in The Wire too), in the same way that Improbable Cause/The Die Is Cast completely breaks that image down. He is getting old. He stayed in the game too long in the end and his iron grip is starting to slip and everything he’s forced to stay in place starts to slip out of that order with it.

Characterizing what Tolan was doing as ‘living with another man’s wife’ is SUCH a subtle burn tho lol like yeah maybe after the strictures of our society you SHOULD have married the mother of your child instead of outsourcing all your decency to the said mother’s BROTHER, Tain 

Aside from anything else going on here (and there is a lot going on)... does Tain even know who Garak is at all, just on a personal level? Why, after knowing him for like 40+ years at this point, presumably, would you expect him to have aspirations or the natural inclination towards leadership, have you ever met him??? He’s one of nature’s perfect right hand men (well. Maybe not entirely nature’s, Tain did this to him very deliberately on top of some basic natural tendencies lol), he’ll get you whatever you ask of him and I think organizing a team under him for you could be part of that when need be, but never has he shown the least inclination towards leadership. (In fact, despite longing for the recognition coming out on top would get him from daddy I mean his peers, he seems vaguely relieved each time Pythas gets to sit in the big important chair instead of him.) He isn’t Tain’s mirror, for all he dutifully tries to move in the ways that make it seem like he is. And Tain should be smart enough to know that, if the narcissism didn’t completely blot out his sight in this situation, and/or it’s just the ‘setting him up to fail and then acting outraged when he does’ pure maliciousness reaching its apex.

(In a kinder time and a kinder world I think Garak could have a real nice time being one of nature’s extremely devoted Partners rather than simply right hand man. And I would like to see it please)  

“From now on you will report to Corbin Entek.”

Oh, that’s the Entek of Second Skin, probably. Wish you a very ‘get vaporized for not knowing when to quit’ in the future entek 

As I watched him leave, I felt completely empty and wondered how I could feel such emptiness. This sudden, wrenching reversal of fortune … everything changed beyond recognition…. And yet … there was no anger, no self-pity … no fear. Only release. Release from the secrets. Release from the limbo where, ever since I was a boy, I had been trapped between imposed obligations and feelings of mysterious longing mixed with shame. I felt empty … and free.

Listen to that voice maybe garak (not that I think there IS any way out at this point or that there ever has been in truth, that’s kind of the tragedy of the whole thing, tain would never ever have let go of him)

- Mila goodbye time: 

“I’m afraid we’re not leaving you much,” she said. “The furnishings have already been taken away.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything.” I tried to keep all irony out of my tone.

“It’s your choice, Elim.” Her voice was just as neutral. “The house is yours to live in.”

Mother and son having a Carefully Extremely Civil conversation lol

“Do you know the circumstances … Mila?”

She looked at me. It was the first real contact we’d had in many years. She nodded slowly.

“Before I make my ‘choice,’ I need your help,” I said, surprised that the request emerged so simply. I wasn’t as angry with her as I wanted to be. Mila saw this and softened perceptibly.

This running thread that almost despite himself he understands and empathizes with her and her situation too much to be as angry with her as he probably should be. He understands her better than she understands him (than she could allow herself to understand him, even if she had the ability to). 

I think that these apparently contradictory elements of his personality are part of what makes him feel so real in some ways, too — interpersonally he can be incredibly petty and jealous and judgemental AND almost absurdly forgiving and generous, sometimes seemingly simultaneously, somehow. The classic containing multitudes meme but like forreals tho haha. That is what real people are like too. 

“I love her, Mila.”

“You’re a grown man, Elim.” I couldn’t decide whether she thought I didn’t know this or was seeing it for the first time herself.

“And Palandine’s a grown woman,” I replied.

“I don’t care about her. It’s you! You have to learn…” She broke off and passed me a cup which exuded the herbal aroma I’ve always associated with her and Tolan. Bitterbark and sweet groundroot. Moist rich soil.

“To control myself?” Mila blew on her tea. I shrugged at the obvious irony; I didn’t want to get into a fight.

. . . 

Mila sat on a bin and sipped her tea. She avoided my look. As I positioned another bin across from her, I experienced a deep pain in my shoulder. It was still throbbing.

“Tain’s angry … with me. He wants me never to see her again and … to kill Barkan.” Still she avoided looking at me. “But you know this, don’t you? And you know what’s possible. Because you have your own … thoughts about this. Don’t you Mila?” I persisted.

Again she jerked away from me. Tea from her cup slopped onto the floor. “There’s no time, Elim.” She put the cup down, wiped her hands on the protective smock she wore, and looked for something to clean the floor with. “There’s no time for this.”

The mother/child relationship here is… y’know I talk a lot about Garak’s daddy issues for obvious reasons, but the fact that his mother recoils in fear when he tries to engage some sliver of real emotional intimacy with her prrrrrobably did some similar amounts of shaping him huh haha. (and he does this too in many ways — that’s partially where his trouble with Julian comes from in this book, whenever Julian tries to get too close Garak flinches away or counterattacks, for all that he clearly longs for it as well.)

The  roundabout way you can tell her love for him even so tho. ‘I don’t care about her’. Palandine is not her baby, Elim, you are. Mila hasn’t been left with the luxury of love to spare for someone she doesn’t even know when you’re setting yourself up for destruction right in front of her eyes…. 

“I mean it, Mila. I would. But I think about her, feel her, all the time. Especially when I’m alone.”

Palandine/Bashir parallels once more and I really mean it!! There used to be a little Palandine in his head the way there’s a little Julian in there now. (and sadly she doesn’t seem to be there anymore, or maybe he’s just integrated what he got from her and let the rest go for both of their sakes, the same way he let Mila the regnar go when it was time.) 

“Sacrifices?” In frustration Mila took off her smock to wipe the tea from the floor. “Elim, you amaze me.” Shaking her head, she got down on her knees and began scrubbing vigorously, as if the spilled drops of tea were hostile agents capable of spreading disease and destruction.

“Really? Well, I’m pleased I still have the ability—”

“Sacrifices,” she hissed, her control escaping like steam from a narrow rift. “What was the name of that book you once gave me? When you first came back from Bamarren. The one you proclaimed as the greatest Cardassian novel ever written and insisted that we read it.” Mila was still on her knees, but now I was the offending spot she vigorously rubbed with her words and eyes. “Generations of one family, each faced with the same choice at a crucial moment. Do they serve their personal needs or do they serve future generations? Do they choose the comfort of their own lives over the life of the state and its mission? I read it, Elim. You told me to and I did.”

“The Never-Ending Sacrifice,” I answered.

“Yes. That’s the one.” She made a sighing sound as she stood up. Mila was heavier now, and moved with greater deliberation. She, too, had grown old. “I suggest you reread it.”

“Tain always came first, didn’t he? I suppose that was your never-ending sacrifice.” I no longer reined in the irony.

I’m CRYING this is SUCH a mom thing to do. Her teen son came home with a book he waxed poetic about and she read it to try to understand him and never told him until now. 

Also: disease contagion theme thread! To Mila, it seems to be tied in with the sentiment reading of it — the way her child’s suffering stains all her safe stable justifications and rationalizations that she needs to stay alive in this system. The remaining humanity that can’t be completely stamped out, even by Tain and a lifetime of fuckery. The ‘imperfections’ of life that can’t be subsumed completely into order. 

Garak I think it’s better if you don’t recommend that book to people it clearly leads to disappointing interpersonal outcomes every time haha

“Tolan understood and accepted his obligations,” Mila said coldly. “But he was sentimental. Like you. That was the one thing Enabran worried about.”

I smiled in sad recognition. Sentimental. Yes, Tain and Mila had definitely shared their confidences and judgments with each other.

“But I don’t blame Tolan. He was a good man.” Mila watched me as I rose.

“Yes. So you keep saying.” I wanted to leave.

“She’s nothing but trouble for you, Elim. End it now. Do what Enabran says and reclaim your rightful place.”

“My place,” I repeated.

“Now, Elim. Otherwise you’re in real danger,” she warned with a certainty that reminded me of the time she’d brought me to Tain after I’d left Bamarren. Mila always knew what was at the heart of the never-ending sacrifice.

“Thank you for your help,” I said, too weary for irony.

“What did you expect from me?”

“To be honest, I can’t remember,” I answered. “Have a pleasant trip.” I smiled and bowed.

“What did you expect from me?”/“To be honest, I can’t remember,” is THE realest description I’ve seen of a mother/child relationship. This might say more about me than I should be comfortable with probably but still. 

“Let Limor know if you’ll be living here.” I nodded. Yes, I thought, that would be my answer. My choice. She shook out her smock to determine whether or not to put it back on.

“Mila.” She looked at me and took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for my question.

“Who was Tolan?”

“My brother.” She decided to wear the smock, and I left.

I am SO FUCKING SAD. She puts the smock back on. That’s the closest thing to keeping either of them she gets to have, just the second hand reminder that they were there, small and innocuous enough that no one will know and no one can blame her. In the end Tain takes everything else, and she lets him because it’s the only way to survive him. GET OUT OF THERE ELIM PLEASE 

- On an impulse, instead of leaving immediately, I went down the corridor to Tain’s old office. The door was open, and I stopped at the threshold just as Pythas looked up from a now much cleaner desk. He smiled shyly and stood up.

“Please come in, Elim,” he offered. What surprised me was how pleased I was to see him. Just as I had felt he was the only other person who deserved to be One Lubak, I now believed he was the only other person who deserved to occupy this office.

He smiled shyly did he fhskja. Also Garak’s enduring lack of bitterness towards Pythas is amazing. ‘Yeah I would be mad but he really is that good if it had to be anyone it should be him’

- She stopped just short of my covering shrub, and the sight of her face shocked me. It was swollen and bruised. One eye was completely closed, and the other contained enough pain for ten. It took every bit of my willpower not to reach out and hold her. Her one eye held mine, I knew she wanted to tell me something so important that she was willing to wait all night if necessary. 

I’m so fucking glad Barkan is about to eat it for good. I only wish it could have gone slower and more painfully for him. 

I wanted to laugh, and it took a concerted effort to gather my disparate parts in order to integrate my will.

‘Disparate parts’ motif (dare we say mosaic motif?) detected

“At least the smile’s gone,” the first voice said. I was fully awake now. 

Barkan’s life is just being haunted by fifty shades of Garak’s shit eating grin apparently 

“Flaunting your ‘relationship’ in public like infatuated schoolchildren.”

“Yes, I suppose it would have been wiser to behave like experienced adulterers,” I replied with a sigh.

“You’re the lowest form of scavenger, Elim. You have no attachments of your own, and so you feed on the emotional vulnerabilities of others.

. . .

“But you’re a failure, Elim. You even failed in your attempt to assassinate me.”

“I didn’t fail with Palandine,” I said quietly.

LMAO gottem 

The chemical makeup of Garak’s brain during Barkan’s beating should probably have been studied by science it must be the strangest rave in there

The others were there—my fellow travelers, their voices murmuring tonelessly, producing a steady sound that permeated the medium and intensified our connection. Their voices speaking to me. Their faces, serene and loving, illuminating the darkness as they floated by. Everyone I have ever known. Family. Faces from childhood. Bamarren. People I had known briefly. People I have known forever. Loved. Hated. We were all just together now, sharing the same nurturing medium as we traveled along our currents until we gradually separated.

This… near-death hallucination or spiritual experience or whatever it is vs. his mass grave dream later… very birth vs. death themed

Faces formed and reformed. Each one superimposed on the next in a long line emerging from blackness. Maladek. Merrok…. The molecular structure of one giving way to the next…. Procal Dukat. Tolan. Floating into focus, receding back into the darkness. I shook my head, trying to stop the flow. The Hebitian mask. My face. I grabbed my “face” and screamed into it. The flow stopped. The molecules rushed together and instantly formed Barkan Lokar’s death mask.

I think maybe something came a tiny little bit completely untethered in his head in a way it’s been threatening to for a long time in this moment. It may just be my imagination tho who’s to say

- “Elim Garak. How the mighty have fallen. Welcome to Terok Nor.”

“Oh, I try to visit even our humblest outposts, Dukat.”

“This is going to be more than a visit, trust me. You’ll soon wish that the execution had not been commuted.”

a) ah garak/dukat sniping my old friend b) It seems Tain never spoke to him in that whole process, so that time in the park was probably the last time before ‘Improbable Cause’?. I’m only surprised he didn’t give Dukat the neutral face of displeasure to convey to Garak second hand honestly 

- “I’m sure you gave him a more ennobling position,” I said.

“He was executed,” the toady replied.

“A promotion of sorts,” I muttered. “Certainly in this place.”

The passionate enduring Garak/Terok Nor hateship off to an immediate and roaring start

- Real ‘he gave them the heebie jeebies. He had nothing else left to give’ vibes on garak in this part of his life 

- He arched his brows in a manner that told me he’d worked long and hard in front of a mirror.

There’s always time to appreciate some good Dukat dunking

“Your life means nothing to me. Just as my father’s meant nothing to you.”

“I beg your pardon? Do I know your father?” Dukat made a move to grab me and immediately stopped himself. I was impressed by his self-control; I knew how much energy fueled his hatred.

“No offense,” I went on, further testing his control. “Of course, Procal Dukat was a famous military figure. We all mourned his passing. But I never had the pleasure personally….”

At his most miserable, but also his funniest. It IS really interesting that his humor only really reaches its current state here, when he’s lost Palandine and everything else in his life. It’s almost like the only remaining way to be close to her. 

No, I decided that I was not going to sacrifice myself to Dukat’s desire for revenge. I would do this work; I would do it so well as to become indispensable to the station… and I would survive. I refused to be buried alive in this humiliation.

‘Sort of suicidal: yes; willing to go down in history as one of Dukat’s Ws… fuck no’

- I pick up their garments and mend them flawlessly. When they complain that the price is steep (because I’m treated like a slave doesn’t mean I’m going to start undervaluing my work), I just give them the smile—the smile she taught me.

Fdsahfasj hilarious. You go Garak you know your worth

- (About Pythas and Palandine) At this moment I am almost afraid to discover that they’d survived. A part of me has wanted to bury that part of my life. The defenses I set up to survive my exile are obviously still intact.

I am often joined on my walks by Dr. Parmak. He’s a charming conversationalist, with a first-rate mind. His perspectives are always provocative. He does, however, have a tendency to proselytize for Alon Ghemor and the “Reunion Project” (the name they’ve given their group to remind people of the principles that formed the original Union). Whenever we encounter other pedestrians along our route, Parmak engages them and attempts to win them over to the Reunion side. This often makes for spirited exchanges, and although I am subjected to the opinions of people who should be given a new brain, I rather enjoy this peripatetic politicking. It’s something I would never have done on my own. In some respects he is so much like you, Doctor. If I’ve found someone’s opinion insufferably boring, he’ll kindly but sternly lecture me on the value of tolerance.

The wistful longing of ‘in some respects he’s so much like you’. ‘Although i am subjected to the opinions of people who should be given a new brain’. ‘Charming conversationalist’, is he. Garak you are a nonsense person and I adore you 

One day I asked him how he had been brought to Enabran Tain’s attention. He never struck me as being a dangerous radical. It turns out that he was Tain’s personal physician, and that the great man had him interrogated because, the Doctor assumed, “he was concerned that I was in an ideal position to assassinate him.”

“I think he was more threatened by the fact that you were intimate with his weaknesses,” I pointed out.

“Well, certainly his physical infirmities,” he admitted.

“Which are also a man’s weaknesses,” I reminded him.

“The paranoia, the secrets, the power he held….” The doctor shook his head. “He must have been a difficult man to work for.” I smiled at his understated tact.

“He once tried to have me killed,” I said.

“Really? What did you do, Elim?”

“I survived.” The Doctor gave me a confused look.

“Survived … what?” he asked.

“Working for my father,” I replied. The Doctor stopped and just looked at me. His former fear of my eyes was long gone.

“A father who would murder his own son?” The idea horrified him. We were in the Barvonok Sector, where the tall structures of business and finance once dominated. “Oh, my dear Elim,” he said, this time with an empathy that stripped me of any illusions I had about Enabran Tain as a father. Surrounded by the piles of debris, oppressed by the low leaden sky, I finally began to surrender to the loneliness and loss that has preyed upon my dreams ever since I can remember. Even nothing is better than the ideas that have brought us here.

Go on without me I’ll be over here crying my eyes out 

- I wonder if Limor Prang was one of the people killed in Tain’s Obsidian Order purge in Improbable Cause. If he  was still alive that seems pretty likely huh. Well. RIP terrifying team mom I guess.  

- Garak got his business up and running for real through a deal with Quark! Puts some of their interactions into perspective haha

I don’t do well with the kind of emotional exchanges humans seem to engage in regularly, and I have little sympathy for those who confuse the responsibilities of family with their duty to the state; but I confess that I am deeply moved by this woman’s plight.

Well it’s good the guy you have a thing for was raised British then he’ll probably feel pretty much the same way you’re perfect for each other

At one point she looked at me and asked me to hold her. I did. As I tentatively put my arms around her, I was so afraid of her need that I tried to keep her body at a distance. She would have none of it. She collapsed against me, and the sobs that convulsed and rolled through her body found correspondence in mine. I bit my tongue until I could taste blood in the effort not to surrender. Gratefully, the door to the Promenade was closed.

He keeps claiming he doesn’t care for the human tendency towards displays of emotionality even as we see it draw him in like a stupid horny sentimental moth to the flame repeatedly. The lizard doth protest too much methinks

- Unless I have business I rarely go to Quark’s; I have little tolerance for noise and stupidity. So when he saw me he assumed that I had another proposition, and I observed him shift into his engage mode.

Fun to see how this changes over the years, then! By the ca. Season 7 part of the book he has a few regular tables and everything. Also isn’t it so sweet that his kind of snotty attitude about this has not changed at all since Bamarren haha <3

- “The dead are dead. Those of us left—who believe in the ideals that have guided our race for millennia—are faced with the threat of utter annihilation by the very disease that has brought us to this sad place. Federation ideas will finish the work the Dominion began.”

Disease/contagion imagery (This is Legate Parn speaking, and he’s basically espousing the same view as Dukat Sr. As far as he’s concerned the call is not and never has been coming from inside the house thank you ever so much lol)

On the other side of Madred was Nal Dejar, a sharp-faced, saturnine woman who had been a member of my last cell at the Order. She once came to Deep Space 9 on an assignment with two scientists, and refused to make any contact with me. Judging from her averted look, she was still refusing. Next to her was a man with a severely disfigured face that was still recovering from what appeared to be burns. One eye was completely covered, and I was careful not to be rude in my inspection.

OH so it’s the lady who came along with Gilora and Ulani! The one who does not care for foreign food 

Gul Ocett was persuasive in her quiet and reasoned strength. Indeed, the irony, Doctor, is that she was espousing the very argument I had made to you any number of times. Even now there was a part of me that accepted the logic of her argument, especially when coming from someone who was neither a fool nor an opportunist.

While you were stealth mentoring Julian in having enough spysmarts not go and get his beautiful twink ass killed at the first opportunity he was stealth mentoring you in the political and ideological underpinnings of democracy and the possibility of being loved BITCH!!!!

I simply smiled at him, genuinely amused by his amateur attempts to discredit me. I was surprised by my responses. I was here to play the role of double agent, and I found that as the meeting went on I didn’t have the energy for the requisite guile and misdirection.

Fdkjfhdsa ‘Aw. That’s cute’. He just doesn’t have it in him to work up the energy for cloak and dagger bullshit and it’s so good and so funny 

And then a strange sensation went through me, Doctor. I looked at the faces of these people. Here we are, I thought, sitting in the basement of a ruined civilization and conducting business as if nothing significant had changed. The enemies were still the same, somewhere “out there,” plotting how to “destroy our character” and colonize us with their political system. And we were down in the basement with our own plots and shifting alliances, tenaciously holding on to the very ideas that had brought us here. But what ideas, Doctor? There’s nothing left. Only fantasies of power. These faces with their masks. With the ironic exception of the disfigured face, the masks hadn’t changed. They reflected the usual range of hidden agendas, each competing for dominance and ascendancy with an energy commensurate to the amount of fear and self-loathing that fueled and motivated that person. I started to laugh.

Amazing showstopping revolutionary good for you Garak

It was him, Doctor. It was Pythas.

EIGHT MY BELOVED WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

“Thank you, Gul Madred, but I can find my way out.” I bowed to the company, and turned my back on them.

I continue to be so proud of him I have no words. And also this is why I don’t like Castellan Garak as a concept AT ALL. Leave him alone to his orchids and sewing and doctor fucking he’s been through enough he doesn’t need that in his life anymore he can do other things to help. Parmak and Julian would stage an intervention. 

- Oh my GOD the cardassians literally just left terok nor without him overnight like Sid’s family in Ice Age fhdskjafh

Garak has been combining the wire AND being a barely functional alcoholic all this time. So at any given time in the first two season the chances that he is not only high but also profoundly drunk are overwhelmingly likely. This explains a lot.  

Rom had a sensitivity, almost a delicacy that was totally lacking in his brother. Was there such a thing as a typical Ferengi? Most people judged him to be simple, as if simplicity was somehow a substandard quality.

Aw. Also maybe some hints as to his reconciliation with Tolan’s memory. 

“Well, Rom, the trousers and tunic fit quite well, don’t you think?” I pulled the tunic down at the back. “Don’t wear it so far up on the neck; it ruins the line. And I’d be grateful if you’d tell any interested parties that indeed I’m still here and very much open for business.”

“Oh, yes … yes! And I like….” Rom made a broad, awkward gesture toward his new ensemble. I thanked him, and we walked out onto the Promenade, as if it were just another business day. We said goodbye, and I watched him march proudly through the ragged celebrants. I had a fondness for him. It was an odd relief, especially at this moment, to converse with someone who literally meant everything he said. 

T________________________T surprise most wholesome dynamic continues to wreck me. 

He stood for a moment, studying me, trying to divine why I had not been allowed to join the withdrawal. Unlike the others who assumed that because I was a Cardassian I had a choice, Odo knew that I’d been abandoned.

“Was there any damage or theft?” he asked.

“No,” I answered. I knew little about Constable Odo, but I was confident that he would never ask me questions that went beyond his function as security chief. He kept his distance and carried himself like someone who understood exile.

Odo appreciation moment as this is his last appearance in the book. Here’s to the small part of the fascist hivemind that harnessed those impulses towards the aim of becoming the world’s best and beigest mall cop. Unproblematic? No. But sometimes you simply love a good problem. 

The fact that the narrative of this section ends right before Garak meets Julian. Probably a matter of weeks, max. You big sentimental sap lmao

- Parmak, Ghemor, and I stood silently among the formations, inspecting the results of our work in the first light.“I mean no disrespect, Elim,” the Doctor said, “but the memorial looks even better.” I nodded in agreement.

“Please, Doctor,” I replied. “ ‘Restoration’ is fine for artifacts and museum pieces. When it comes to building a new community, I think what we did tonight is more to the point.”

“And we did it without murdering each other,” Ghemor added.

“How un-Cardassian of us,” I observed.

This all rules btw . Restoration is fine for artifacts and museum pieces it’s not for things that are alive. Gardener vs. architect/collector, Tolan vs. Tain. 

Alon said: “I think we should get some rest before the competition begins. We’ve done what we can.” It was a wise suggestion, but each of us knew that we were taking a step into the unknown, and sleep at this point was not really a choice. We had done what we could, and probably it was best if each of us retired to the privacy of his own thoughts. We said our goodnights, and as I watched them leave I felt an enormous gratitude that I had been given the opportunity to work with these men. Once again in my life I felt that I had been resurrected from the dead.

Nodding and crying gif. Yeah. Yeah… you’ve done all you could and no one could ask anything more of you. 

- “You know, Elim, I’m neither a soldier nor a politician. I’m a doctor.”

“I do know that. I also know that we’ve been betrayed by our previous leaders. Our only hope is that men like yourself can offer an alternative.”

“But you have the expertise that can….”

“Doctor, I have the expertise that comes from survival and compromise. There’s already plenty of that on the other side … and it’s not an alternative that will create a new and lasting union.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.

“You’re a doctor, yes, and that’s your strength. I’ve learned something about your profession over the past several years. Don’t think like a politician. Think of the planet as a patient barely hanging on to life. Think like a doctor. How would you save this planet?” He considered what I’d said in his careful manner.

Just as it is vital for a person like Garak to have a little Julian Bashir who lives in his head, it’s probably also good for the Bashirs and Parmaks of the world to develop a little Garak who lives in their heads to go ‘yeah that sounds real nice in theory but now imagine that there are in fact bad people in this world (I should know) who’ll interact with that theory and then act accordingly’ . Garak realizing where he belongs in this whole process tho… 

“Ah, Doctor,” I stopped him. “You can’t go to your meeting like that.”

“Like what?” he asked with a puzzled look. Without explaining, I helped him out of his worn outer coat and showed him a ragged tear in the fabric. Despite his protests, I made him sit down and wait while I gathered my sewing kit and repaired the tear.

“Appearances are very important to these people. You can’t let them think you’re oblivious to details,” I said, as I reunited the torn and separated threads.

The Mila fussing-as-a-love language of it all…

- (About Pythas) The thought occurred to me that perhaps I should include him in a chant for the dead.

DAMN but also YEAH

- I moved to the constructed formation that stood in the space formerly occupied by Tain’s study and almost directly above where Mila’s body had been sadly abandoned in the basement. When I was a boy, I had unending dreams that centered around the memorials of Tarlak. As I lay on my pallet in the basement of Tain’s house, I would plan the scenario that would play out when Tolan took me with him to Tarlak. It would always involve me as the hero paying homage to a comrade fallen in a battle where we had both distinguished ourselves. I would tell the gathered assembly of notables every detail of the battle; people would weep, cheer, listen in stunned amazement as I explained how we had saved the Union from certain destruction. When I had finished, Mila and Tolan would escort me through the adoring crowd. What a terrible irony, Doctor, that those forbidding, impersonal memorials to the heroes of the Cardassian Union should ultimately become transformed into these ragged formations on the grounds of my childhood home … and that I would sit here, a middle-aged man, trying to mourn a fallen comrade who was still standing but barely recognizable. And yet, the irony of a Cardassia reborn with the help of a memorial built from the remains of Tain’s home didn’t escape me either.

Taking immense psychic damage with every word. When do you stop wanting your mom and dad to come pick you up and take you home, even when they’re both dead and kind of not your parents anymore in two different ways even before that? Never, probably 

- “What changed your mind?”

“Your friends, Elim. Very impressive people … and persuasive.”

“What had you expected?” I asked.

“The usual amateurs who never understood what was at stake … the hard choices that had to be made,” [Pythas] explained. “To be honest, I had thought your attachment to this Reunion Project was….”

“Sentimental,” I finished. He smiled knowingly at the reference.

CACKLING. All but openly saying ‘yeah I thought it’s was because you’re fucking the doctor and I know exactly what a god-awful simp you are’ fhskdjafhaskjdh

“As I listened to him speak of the responsibility that we had as survivors to the life that remained, I also realized how bitter and hardened I had become.” He stopped and looked back to Nal Dejar, as if he were making sure she was still there. She met his eyes with a communication I couldn’t decipher, and he nodded. “Nal nursed me back to where I could function … part of me wished she hadn’t. Until your doctor spoke about healing … on every level. It’s what the body wants, he told us … unless we choose otherwise.” Pythas sat with his head bowed for a long moment. “I’d become very bitter, Elim.” I sat on a rock across from him and gently put my hand on his. What was it about this place, I wondered.

Hmngh. ‘I’d become very bitter, Elim’. No matter what choices they made along the way, where they fucked up or where they did everything right, they both ended up in basically the same place, embittered and broken, until someone touched their life with kindness. Nal is Pythas’ Julian Bashir. Coming back to life not as an act of will but because there’s someone waiting for you there saying ‘I’ll help you through it’. 

“Do you know where Palandine is?” I asked. He just looked at me. “Is she still alive?”

In the darkness, it was difficult to read the expression in his one good eye. The silence that followed my question was broken only by his rasping breath. Behind her mask of disinterest Nal Dejar was studying me carefully. Even when she was a probe I was impressed by the strength of her focus. Pythas was fortunate to have her care and devotion.

I think Pythas and Nal Dejar’s whole deal could make for a really interesting story all on its own. Presumably they’ve known or at least known about each other for a long time now, since Garak has seen Nal around even though they’ve never worked together closely 

- Just enough light for lovers; just enough light to begin he says, only to open the next chapter/epilogue with ‘My dear Doctor’ and explaining how he finally decided to send the letter. Healing on every level? Maybe? If we’re real lucky??? 

- My dear Doctor:

Again, forgive my further tardiness in sending this—I don’t even know what to call it. Memoirs of a Cardassian tailor? I suppose that’s as accurate a description as any. You see, Doctor, I seriously debated whether or not I should send this to you. As I went over it I wondered who this mawkish and self-serving person was. Grow up! I wanted to tell him. Get on with your life.

Well, I am; and sending this to you is going to further that cause. As I said, I’m an unfinished man reassembling the pieces of a broken world, and I have asked you to be a witness because you would never judge me as harshly as I judge myself. You would never deny me the opportunity of a second chance.

I feel like those last two sentences are the most important ones in this whole book — it’s what all the rest of it is built on, what made any of it possible. And also it will haunt me for the rest of my days but like in a good life-affirming way lol

His playful grousing about ugh your vaunted democracy *eyeroll*  <3<3<3<3 come down to cardassia so you can have spirited debates turned makeout sessions/foreplay about it already julian please he’s setting you up for so many slam dunks here

I live with my orchids, which have unified and softened the increasingly popular grounds of my home. Their beguiling blooms, and the presence of children who come to play among the structures (as I did in Tarlak), help to dispel the somber mood that initially hung like those clouds of dust over our world. The sounds of their voices as they play function as a music that never fails to lighten my work. The children call it the “tailor’s grounds,” and the name has caught on. Yes, Doctor, I continue to work at my “new” profession. As you can imagine, there’s a good deal of mending to be done.

TAIN’S HOUSE TURNED INTO JUST ‘THE TAILOR’S GROUNDS’ BY THE VOICES OF PLAYING CHILDREN Y_____Y I hope enabran ‘let history be my judge’ tain gets forgotten for anything but his massive fuckup and that garak works some magic with what little fabric he has at his disposal to make the neighbourhood kids like. Stuffed toys he sews clothes for and he’s known as the person to go to when one is damaged so he can patch it back up good as new  while teary little faces watch intently and then brighten. Julian seriously pretends to be his medical consultant as they perform teddy bear operations, what with his extensive expertise in the field and excellent bedside manner. No arm is too amputated to be reattached and we can always find a good button to replace Mr. Tinny’s missing eye in fact he’ll see even better now. I have such hopes for them I have such dreams 

 I have expanded my shed in the never-ending quest to find my place. I feel that I’m getting closer, Doctor, especially as I continue to refine the structures. One, which began as a memorial to Tolan, has a crude but effective representation of the winged creature from the Hebitian sun disc—turned toward the radiating sun, reaching, striving, while the sun-fed filaments stream down from the body and connect with the bodies of people standing on a globe and looking up to the creature for this divine connection…. I’ve attached the recitation mask he gave me to the creature’s face, and somehow it has become my personal totem. I hope that someday you’ll have the opportunity to see it. Nothing would please me more. You’re always welcome, Doctor.

You are always welcome, Doctor is one of those ‘you could slap that on my gravestone and I’d be happy about it’ lines. What a ride huh 

Aside from anything else about this book (I think we can safely let this absolute monster of a three part reaction post be testament to my enjoyment and admiration right I hope I have made no secret of it lol) I want to congratulate Andrew Robinson for getting a novel-length character study written in first person (my beloved) published — as I understand it that’s normally a pretty hard sell in the publishing industry haha he was living the dream I one day fervently hope to as well and the results rule

[liauditore]

LIAU MY BELOVED

ask game question

Jimmy x Martyn

:D

romeo asking for mirror birds in MY ask box?!!?!??!?!?! (i know u pref mirror birds but solidwood is too funny im so sorry)

ah yeah. these losers.

see, a lot of my thoughts surrounding these two would kind of spoil my own AU that i never make stuff for so im usually somewhat hesitant to talk about them but basically., (toxic!fh mention)

post-evo divorced property police is so real. ive always imagined it as a childhood friends situation, with martyn being a bit older than jimmy.

they probably caught feelings for eachother fairly late and already well into teenhood but neither of them were really sure what it was (this is maybe going a little bit into sexuality hc territory but ive always imagined jimmy as whatever the male equivalent of a useless lesbian is and martyns biphobic towards himself lmao).

i touched on this briefly in that one fic i wrote but i've always headcanoned martyn as being somewhat parentified and thus ties his worthiness to be loved into his ability to perform acts of service for someone rather than just.. existing and letting himself be loved.

so as jimmy became more independent, martyn becomes a bit more insecure about their friendship. this becomes a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy as he distances himself from jimmy, feeling like jimmy wouldn't love him if he didn't Need him, and jimmy in return feels confused and hurt as he helplessly watches someone he knew all his life drift away.

that + jimmy has this not-so-subtle crush on scott that martyn's always suspected. he's a jealous bitch.

The storm formed after a final sip, my fingertips frozen solid, I pretend that again I can see, you past the rails, ready to meet And I wonder is it too much to ask, to once more, hold you warm in my hands? To accept I can’t forget, and embrace what still fails to fade?

Milk Tea (Oktavia's translyrics) (because I wasn't kidding when I said these two were cheesy yuri to me lmao)

we had a clown to clown communication moment i think cus I also love the idea of them splitting up and meeting in Third Life years and years later (altho i like to imagine it as more of a voluntary separation).

some stuff copy+pasted from that cursed shipping doc i mentioned awhile back: ((scott + jimmy became a thing while martyn was gone pre-3L))

Now reuniting in 3L as fully grown adults after years apart, all those suppressed emotions come bubbling back up to the surface. An adult Martyn is much less unsure about what he's feeling and Jimmy still has those fantasies of what could have been playing on loop in his head. Of course, Jimmy is still attached to Scott and can't abandon his Bethrothed. He loves and knows what's best for him, he would sooner die than forsake his loyalty. But it does hurt when he hits him. Martyn still cares for Jimmy deeply, whether he wants to or not. He takes the time to keep an eye out for him, even though they had no real reason to interact anymore. He becomes one of the only people to realise what Scott was like with him, how devoid of love it all was. He throws out a line, offers to help him run away. Jimmy refuses. Betrayal. A second time. For the same man. Who cares about Jimmy anyway? (he always did take me for granted)

(a little note here before anyone sets me on fire - time works a bit differently in my writing and the players don't have exact ages but jimmy and martyn's age gap is probably not as dramatic as their cc counterparts)

(it's still there but neither of them even recognise their feelings as remotely romantic until they reunite as adults, as kids it's all just them being silly and having grade school drama with each other)

So uh yeah lots of mutual pining and suppressed feelings and puppy love turned angst👍 tis all i shall say cus i wanna make art of the rest lol

Just a second to lessen the ache, or minute to kiss it away I’d give all I have for the chance to go back to youth and you

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

my fullmoon dream ended up being a somewhat dense one in a continuation of my dream timeline

There's this person, who was my friend but it ended badly, a few years ago. And i didnt really understand what happened it was very confusing to me, i didnt really have any power in the situation, it was only this past year i learned of the way all these strings were being pulled behind my back, which helped me understand why that situation occurred, why there was so much resentment directed towards me when i was trying so hard to just exist and keep the friendship simple + lighthearted. Like basically it was just sabotaged which has been kind of hard for me to accept even with finally knowing how it was sabotaged, it was all so unnecessary and i just wish i knew sooner.

over the past 2 or so years ive had a recurring dream scenario where I run into this person. i always write them on here too. Sometimes we apologize to each other, sometimes we dont really speak at all, but theres always this vibe of like, "Things are cool between us now, its Ok." And its a very relieving feeling, in the dreams. its almost exciting, like wow, we can be friends again??! The thing i find most interesting about it is that even though i lost a LOT of friends in the past few years through the same source of sabotage, this is the only person i have these dreams about. I guess we were pretty close for a while but still its interesting no one else comes up in this way.

Anyways. in the dream last night(this morning), it was kind of different... it was really emotional?? usually its never that emotional, usually we dont even say much. but in this dream today, they were crying, they were so earnestly apologetic, talking about how they regret the ways they treated me, and missed being my friend so much. And i cried too because it felt so good to hear it, i apologized for the messy ways i responded to the situation because i didnt get it at the time i thought i was going crazy.. And we were like holy shit we can finally just be friends again.. This is amazing..

as the conversation closed i woke up, i had a moment of being like woahh, that just happened, all the feelings and imagery of it cemented into my conscious mind. THEN, i fell BACK asleep, to the exact same dream!! it just continued. I went and did some other things, i got a job at this weird childrens entertainment center where i was dressed in a panda costume dancing for children. But it was the exact same setting, they were still sitting in the same spot close by, and in the dream i kept having flashes of relief thinking like "omg we're friends again i cant wait to catch up and talk more once im off work"

i feel my body woke me up from that conversation to make sure i really claearly remember that part of the dream before it continued on. I havent had a dream-wakeup-backtosamedream happen in quite a while but i always regard it as an extra significant dream when i do,... also its the full moon

i never know what to do after these dreams like do i reach out? honestly this person kind of intimidates me so i never know. Like i cAnt imagine in reality they miss being my friend that much. But they are pretty sentimental deep down, so maybe. Its just a difficult situation where I was never the one with any of the power, So it feels strange to instigate contact. Like how it happened in the dream, it would only really make sense if they said something first. Maybe these dreams are just meant to bring about some psychic closure that i'm not likely to ever receive irl. Its always very confusing to wake up from lol. I would like to feel that relief for real..

But at the end of the day im satisfied with my life and the friends I have now, so its not a big deal. Just stuff thats buried. I swear its always full moons when i dream about them lol! We have the same moon sign, in astrology, i wonder if thats something to do with it. We always had a lot of weird almost creepy synchronizations in our personalities. Oh well

[ggyutarist]

࿔ ⊹ ˚₊ Watching the setting sun in a field of pink roses with you 🌷 ₊˚⊹ ࿔

A/N: lols first post. its kinda bad so dont come at me. youve been warned. did i write this because i miss my childhood? haha no. wdym. beomgyu reminds me of pink roses idk why honestly so i decide to haunt you all with the beomgyu + pink roses idea <33. Notice how the title is long bc txt also have long song titles? yes noticed? good. its lowkey incomprehensible because i just muddle up all my thoughts together and didnt bother much. its so rushed im sorryyyy.

NOT RLLY PROOFREAD PLS BARE WITH ME🙏🙏

💫: Beomgyu x GN reader because theyre UNFED (justice for my gn readers🗣️).

Content: Nostalgia, Beomgyu and you running in a field of pink roses while the sun sets basically. Like the title said.

WC: 674 (rlly short sigh)

I miss knowing nothing. I miss just playing around. I miss the sun, the sky, and the clouds. I miss running among the pink roses that miserably reminds me of you.

To be kids running along a field, flattening the grass with the sole of your and his sneakers again, you miss it. The relentless passing of time is really atrocious. Can’t it just pause for a bit? You can’t even have time to appreciate the moments enough. This thing called time…it’s too fast.

Beomgyu is also running too fast for your liking. He runs too much, honestly. You can clearly feel your legs giving out but its just so blissful. Running and trying to not step on the roses while feeling the wind on your face. Its nice, isnt it?

It’s a light atmosphere. No headaches, no stress, no anything. Just running and feeling the cold wind against your skin till you both collapse on the grass, exhausted. All for shits and giggles.

Both of you just stared at the blue sky, counting clouds perhaps. This won’t last forever, will it? The seconds…you can feel the seconds. Your heartbeat can feel the seconds. You know sooner or later, you can’t have this again.

Can’t I go back?

Why can’t I go back?

I want to feel like a kid again.

Please let me go back.

I miss the bliss of ignorance.

The passing of time can’t be stopped. No matter what you do, it will only continue to pass on. It’s cruel, really. Why does it have to keep going? Why do we, everyone, have to be the one to work with it? Can’t it be considerate of us too?

Time always seems to slow down on the bad days and speed up on the good ones. What a bitch, no? Pondering on such things makes time even slower but it’s okay. Today, time slowing down is pretty. Pretty blue sky, pretty little fluffy clouds, pretty little roses. Pretty eyes of his…

Today was horrible.

So why don’t we watch the sunset together?

At least, let me end the day with one blissful feeling.

The boy that sat beside you, the one whose hair always glows gold under the sun, has a soft smile plastered on his face. Why is he always so smiley? You despise it in a way you wish he would keep doing that. It’s complicated but it’s fine. That’s why this feeling is so…you don’t know how to word it but that’s why you love it. It doesn’t have to be entirely understood and you’d rather have it that way.

Love doesn’t have an exact meaning. It’s all depending on how the person views it and that’s why, when one experiences it, it is special to them. Love is called love, simply because it is love.

Same thing with forever.

Why is forever called forever? You know there’s probably no direct answer to it or any answer at all. It’s just what it is. There could or could not be such things as forever but as long as he’s here, time slows down. He makes it seem like time slows down just for the two of you.

Maybe you do or don’t believe in a love that’s forever, you don’t know. But Beomgyu? For this one moment, he makes you feel you want to believe in it. The boy that continues to sit beside you, surrounded by pink roses and is smiling at the setting sun. 

Oh, why’s the day ending already? Since when has the sun set? Since when did the sky turn to the hue of pink? You thought of too many questions regarding meaningless things but you’re willing to leave it all unanswered. As long as time keeps him here with the pink roses around him. He would look nice with a pink rose. Maybe, on his ear or something.

Under the setting sun, in a field of pink roses…

For as long as time decides to go…

Can you be with me?

[glitch-but-ya]

SILKEN CHAINS.

PAIRING: Yandere!Caleb x Psychotherapist!Reader CW: SFW but MATURE, manipulation, yandere, obsessive/possessive/controlling behaviour, grotesque descriptions, descriptions of gore, suicide, implied murder, stalking, trauma, mental illness, just a heavy fic in general, mild swearing, Fem!Reader. SUMMARY: When her childhood friend spirals into a paradox of obsession and madness, who could mend his fractured mind better than her? Utilizing her years of expertise, she is determined to bring him back. But can one play with fire without scorching their skin? Can she unravel his mind before he devours hers? WORD COUNT: 31k words. DISCLAIMER: Although you are free to view this as dead dove or dark romance, I am not romanticising such behaviour. I'm simply telling a dark story for the sake of telling a dark story. This is merely a psychological thriller written for the fun of it. Heavy content ahead, be warned.

A/N: Helloo!! Sorry for being super inactive!! I hit a writing slump and when I’d recovered from it, I started this fic (or, more accurately, I started writing this fic in order to flee from writer’s block.) I wanted to work on my other sylus fic but I kept mixing the character’s personalities up. I’m usually great at multitasking but not when it comes to writing it seems. I had exams, my mother got sick halfway through ramadan, I was fasting and constantly exhausted, and yeah. (Yes, I am Muslim!) Anyways, the idea for this fic was something akin to a shower thought. I changed my writing style a bit. Basically went from uhh poetic(?) to more mordern. So I don’t know how I did. Any criticism or feedback is appreciated!!

He was always like this, wasn’t he?

You twirled your pen between your fingers as you glared out the open window into the faces of buildings looming high. A warm westerly breeze wafted through the opening, swirling the bittersweet scent of coffee throughout the room. A long, white couch sat at the other end of yours, bearing a small, fresh dent on its right corner—left by the last patient of the day. That decade-old piece of furniture had been in your office for as long as you could recall. It had shouldered the weight of various troubled souls who would rush to you at the first hint of distress. They would barge in, plop themselves down on the exact same side of the sofa, and pour their worries out.

For hours, you would sit still with a notebook in your hands, gazing out that very same window as if your ears had not caught a word. And once they’d stop, you would turn to them with a smile.

“I see. Well, let’s start from the beginning.”

Many came with a burdened frown, and all left with their heads lifted high. That was the quality of your service—the merit of having abandoned the role of a renowned criminologist to settle for a mere clinical psychotherapist. It was a far more peaceful life, where you only needed to contend with the usual afflictions of mental health. You’d say it suited you better. It was far kinder to your body and soul to study the boundaries of the mind rather than the savagery of crime. Because if you were truly competent enough to retain your position as a criminologist, you would have noticed sooner, wouldn’t you?

Your pen stilled in your hand.

You had studied the faces of many. Cheaters, narcissists, the apathetic, the antisocial—you had seen it all and more. During your brief tenure as a criminologist, you had worked with the most wretched criminals. A deranged, delusional son who had donned the skin of his mother shortly after gutting her alive, a schizophrenic woman who had splattered her husband’s brains across her grotesque painting, and countless men and women who displayed heightened symptoms of obsessive and abusive behaviour towards their partners.

And yet, you missed it.

There was a saying that we normalise the odd behaviour of those closest to us to such an extent that their misdoings and concerning actions fly off our radar without a hitch. Our paths were so intertwined with theirs that we saw no reason to stop and ponder—Hey, could this be a sign of mental illness?

You supposed you had fallen into the same dilemma. He had sat before you your entire life—from adolescence to the moment higher education set you apart, he had always been there. Even as you pursued your double majors, Caleb’s botched mental evaluation exam had not raised any red flags in your mind.

“Oh, it’s a flawed test. You of all people should know that someone’s mental health can’t be determined by a simple questionnaire.”

And regrettably, you believed him. He made a good point, after all. A simple questionnaire said nothing about someone’s true psyche.

But still, you regretted not questioning—Is it even possible to fail so miserably?

You should have checked his answers. Such an oversight had cost you the surprise of finding out in... such a way. And now that you looked back and reevaluated your interactions with him, the markers became clear.

“The people that want to hurt you? They should all just—” his gaze burned through your skull, “—disappear.”

“I don’t need your protection. I’m fine on my own.”

He scoffed, eyes brimming with betrayal.

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?”

Your lips trembled as you sank deeper into the plush of the couch, forced down by his presence. With one arm, he caged you between his body and the cushions.

“Alright, what do you want? You can tell me.”

You knocked his forearm weakly. “Caleb, calm down—”

“We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. We’ll rebuild our old house. And if one house isn’t enough, I’ll build you a whole maze.”

Like a fish out of water, you thrashed about, only to still once realisation dawned on you—

He was speaking to you with unfiltered, bare words. There would not be another chance like this. Now was the perfect time to capitalise on his raw and vulnerable state.

You pursed your lips. Caleb’s finger trailed across your jaw.

“I’ll decorate it with whatever you want. It will be the most stunning garden you’ve ever seen.”

You emptied your gaze, donning the familiar facade of a professional, objective psychotherapist. You scrutinised him as he spoke. You picked up on the subtle crack of his voice, the tears threatening to form, the gentle firmness of his grip. This was him—the true, raw him. How could you not have noticed sooner?

In hindsight, the signs were present. Possessiveness, obsession, strategic control—traits you would have easily identified in a client. He thought of himself as clever. And he was right. To the general public, Caleb was beyond cunning. A force to be reckoned with.

But you had seen worse. You had dissected minds far more twisted than his. You were confident in your abilities—you could unravel him, strip him bare once more, and deliver the final blow with cautious precision. Patients often believed themselves to be indecipherable, an enigma buried in the sands of time.

Yet they forgot that doctors such as yourself had wasted half their lives preparing for them. No matter how savage or twisted one may be, you were trained to make people collapse at the slightest pull of their heartstrings.

The only reason behind your incompetence had been simple—familiarity breeds blind spots, and Caleb was all too familiar to you. You regretted not having picked up on it sooner. Now, all your analyses pointed to the same result. He was severely disturbed and in urgent need of therapeutic intervention.

And who was more qualified to deliver just that than you?

This was what you had studied for, was it not? With your combined expertise in both psychology and criminology, you could corner Caleb into spilling his woes. You could fix him. He thought himself untouchable, but you had spent years preparing for men like him.

You tilted your head and glanced at the brightly coloured strip of paper sitting atop your desk. Tickets. To Skyhaven. You could finally see him.

You smiled. How long had it been? A couple of months, perhaps? Since your last visit to Skyhaven, Caleb had not hesitated to check up on you daily. As if unbothered by your reluctance to respond, he left small texts floating in your inbox. Simple formalities—How are you feeling? Have you eaten well?—all left on read. You could practically see the fireworks erupt in his violet eyes the moment you finally responded—

“I’m coming over tomorrow. Do you mind?”

Like an overjoyed pup granted his favourite treat, he swarmed your chat with various emoticons. ‘Are you on vacation? :0’ ‘When are you coming?’ ‘Should I make dinner?’

Despite your best efforts at denial, you couldn’t shake the flutter in your chest at his care and enthusiasm.

If only he had remained the same.

If only he were the boy you once knew, you wouldn’t have to resort to such measures.

Your pulse quickened as your fingers brushed across the ticket’s surface.

You were really doing this, weren’t you? Playing with fire, confident in your eventual triumph. In your field, patience was key.

You would untangle him thread by thread. And when he collapsed, you could embrace him once more. Not as a cruel, restrictive monster, but as the warm boy you had always known.

It was only a matter of time.

“Please stand clear of the doors,” a robotic female voice buzzed. “Next stop, Skyhaven.”

You planted yourself against the hard plastic chairs, clutching a phone that idled on a conversation.

“I’m on the train.” “I’ll be there to pick you up :D”

You stuffed your phone back into your bag. With a loud whir, the train began to move. Your body swayed to the side as it accelerated, pressing you against a metal pole. In just a few hours, you would reach Skyhaven. And he would be there, waiting for you with that big grin plastered across his face—the grin that once lifted you off your feet, whose irony you had now begun to despise. It was the very same expression that would trick the masses.

Girls lined up against high school lockers would swoon over it. But what they didn’t know was that his radiant smile was merely a distraction meant to deter them from the way his eyes, no matter what obstruction emerged before him, would always be locked on you. His warm violet hues would burn through your skull as you led him through the hallways, chatting away obliviously. Back then, you had shrugged it off. He was just expressing care, you thought. You were afraid of crowds back then. He was just looking out for you. It was in your best interest, right? If only you had known.

You should have questioned. You should have known better.

But your high school days were well behind you. What stood now were two matured adults with a strained relationship, engaged in a ruthless game of chess—a game he did not yet realise he was a participant in.

But that only gave you the upper hand. When dealing with patients who would exploit your vulnerability and love for them, having a head start was almost a necessity. Sure, you were certain you’d come out on top eventually. But your work had taught you to tread gingerly nonetheless. When navigating the confines of a person’s mind, every micromovement of yours could cause the whole structure to crumble. No matter how accomplished a psychotherapist is, they are bound to experience massive turbulence in the field of their work.

And you had come prepared accordingly.

You reached into your bag to retrieve a worn, leather-backed journal. It had no labels. Only a brown, thick covering with a matching strap. A blue strip with a metal piece on its end hung loosely from the bottom. It was a bookmark. Old, worn—the fabric of the strip had gone dirty. It was stained with splotches of brown, with an array of torn threads poking out from a corner.

You turned to the first page. It was dated three years ago.

You swiftly flipped through the rest of the pages until you landed on nothing. Somewhere around the middle of the journal, there was a cluster of blank pages stapled together. With a moment of reconciliation, you thumbed through the stapled pages.

Harrison Roan.

A small smile graced your lips. You had, in fact, snatched the correct one before departing.

You traced your hurried handwriting, skimming over the words. You stopped at the small paragraph below the margin—the ‘final comment’.

Patient remains evasive and reluctant to engage in cooperative dialogue. He exhibits obsessive tendencies when discussing his partner, demonstrating patterns of control consistent with Machiavellian protection. His behaviour suggests a state of limerence, accompanied by coercive control over his loved ones. Obsessive-compulsive personality traits are observed, raising suspicion of OCPD. Therapy is recommended for further evaluation and intervention.

Back during your time at the Linkon Criminal Psychiatric Facility, you were assigned as Harrison’s primary psychotherapist. He was accused of abducting and imprisoning his lover, Anne Lotte. Anne underwent severe emotional abuse and manipulation. For a short period of three months, you were assigned to her as well. But before you could make any progress, she had thrown herself off the facility’s roof.

It was devastating, the state you found her in. Anne’s mind was completely mangled. There was a dark fog clouding her conscience. You doubted even a piercing sharp beam of light could pass through to her. She was unresponsive, silent, rendered dead; almost as if her mind had gone senile. Her situation filled you with revulsion. Ten years of imprisonment and psychological torture could destroy one’s psyche so brutally that even after they had regained their freedom, the light of hope would fail to reach their eyes.

You refused to be a victim of the same tragedy, and you refused to let Caleb walk the same path of insanity. Beyond all, you loved him. You wouldn’t leave him be and watch as he slowly abolished himself. You would not let the same tragedy occur once more. And perhaps Harrison’s case was the key. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from here.

“Skyhaven. Doors will open from the left.”

You shut your journal and lazily shoved it back into the depths of your bag. A flock of passengers stood, ready to hurl themselves out the moment the door slid open. You recoiled in your seat with a sigh. You’d just go once the crowd had dimmed.

Placing your chin in your hand, you looked out the window and peered through the crowds, fishing for Caleb. Your pulse fluttered as you saw him stare back at you with that signature smile of his—boyish, handsome… eerie. A chill shot up your spine. There was something about this ‘new’ him you could not explain. Something you couldn’t wrap your head around.

Something that frightened you.

You beamed through the glass, the brightest smile you could muster, and raised your palm to wave at him feverishly. Collecting your belongings in a frenzy, you rushed out the door, only to be met by the solid wall of his chest.

“Oof—” You rubbed your forehead. The man before you broke into a fit of gentle laughter and ruffled the top of your head. “Were you that excited to see me?”

You shot him a sheepish smile. He returned your gesture.

“Here, let me help with those.” He hoisted one of your bags over his shoulder and beckoned for you to follow. You took after him shortly after, skipping over to him with glee.

“Soo… why the sudden visit?” Caleb mused. You raised your head to look him in the eye. “I got a vacation, and…”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And?”

“There are… never mind. Can I tell you once we’re alone?” You could feel the way his heartbeat hastened without needing to touch him. It made your stomach knot in retaliation.

“Alright. Sounds good.”

The two of you hauled your way to the car. Before you could nestle yourself in the spacious backseat, he rushed in front of you to swing open the door to the passenger seat. He gestured for you.

Your eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh?”

“The finest service from yours truly.”

Damnit, that smooth imbecile.

Defeated (yet not yielding), you slid into the passenger seat and waited as he loaded your luggage into the trunk of the car. Once sure nobody was looking, you pried open your bag and inspected the journal inside. Phew. You hadn’t abandoned it on the train.

“Forget something?” You jumped. Your head whipped to the head peeking in from the crack of the car door. A shudder crept up your spine at the empty expression plastered on his face and the way his eyes gave away nothing. The grin was absent from his lips. With lingering unease, you forced your muscles to relax. “I just thought I left my phone behind.”

The warmth returned to his gaze. “Sorry for scarin’ ya.” He ruffled your hair affectionately. You shook your head. “No, it’s fine.”

The drive was quiet, with you engulfed in your paranoia regarding whether or not you should say what you’d sworn to tell Caleb, and him consumed by God-knows-what. The way he fixed his gaze on the road up ahead, not once looking back or giving you a sliver of his attention, perplexed you. What was he so invested in?

“So,” Caleb started, snapping you out of your domain of thought, “What were you gonna say?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and forced yourself to don a neutral tone. “I wanted to…” Fingers deftly played with the hem of your shirt. “Fix things.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Between us. Because, you know.”

The world stilled. You subconsciously hugged your bag tighter against yourself, anticipating all sorts of responses he could give. Would he stay silent? No. Not his style. He would…

Caleb smiled. “So, you want to start over?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Can’t say for sure whether I can be the Caleb you want.”

An opening.

You mustered the kindest simper you could and shook your head. “I was thinking… rather than rebuilding our past, we try and make peace with the new versions of each other.”

There was silence. And then, a glint in his eye. His shoulders slumped against the leather seat. The weight dimmed from the air, leaving only a soothing quietude—the calm after the storm had passed. It was almost like the old days.

Almost.

“Sounds good to me.” His mask returned. Contrary to his words, this version of Caleb was unfeeling. Even now, he refused to let you in. He blocked you out with that fire—that crackling lukewarm grin, that blazing radiance he bore. Warm like the sun, and just as deadly as it, and almost impenetrable.

But you could see the cracks that ran through that frigid surface. Earth crumbles fast. And no matter how sturdy the soil, the right amount of water could dampen it just enough for you to dig through.

You would reach him. You were sure. And you would save him just as you should’ve saved yourself.

Caleb helped you unload in front of his house, reaching the bags faster than you could and hauling them over his shoulder before you could protest. Admittedly, it was these small gestures of fondness that allured you to him in the first place. A trap, you thought. Only a front to mask his true twisted nature.

“Are you gonna conquer my room again?” he teased. You stopped in your tracks, turning to scrutinize all the barren rooms. A thought arose, one you desperately tried to shove to the back of your brain. Had you let your fear of him affect you so much that you would begin to lose your mind over the simple choice of rooms?

You took a deep breath and raised your finger, pointing at his room. You looked at him and grinned. “Why not? Your bed is the comfiest.”

Caleb would fall for it, wouldn’t he? The thought of you inhaling his scent, residing where he did—it was far too intimate for his mind to fathom. And the privilege of having your scent rubbed all across his bedsheets, in his balcony, in the mugs you used and the plates you discarded; you were making an offer a lovesick mind like his could not refuse.

You rejoiced internally at the sight of his face. The widening of his eyes, the contraction of his pupils, the subtle twitch of his lips—something awoke in him. Something fearful—a horned monster with gleaming red eyes clutched his heart. It was your indication that you’d won.

“Alright, alright,” Caleb mused. “Whatever the lady wants, she shall get.”

And with that, you successfully seized his room.

They say that one’s room is a reflection of one’s mind. They being you, of course, alongside a few other studies that emerged following the publication of your own. A great deal can be discerned from the mere face of a room—the way its occupant arranges their bedsheets, the colours they favour, the state everything is in, the organisation of furniture and possessions, the things they treasure enough to keep within these walls. From mental state to relationship status, all could be dissected from a single glance at a room and its arrangement.

You didn’t believe Caleb foolish enough to leave incriminating evidence strewn about. If anything had been there, he would have tidied up days before you set foot in Skyhaven. He preferred to keep details of his field of work discreet. You assumed it stemmed from an unwillingness to "corrupt" what he held sacred—sacralisation, perhaps? Disturbing when done to a human, yet not uncommon. You had encountered such cases before, and no matter how many you worked on, each left a familiar sinking feeling in your gut.

Knowing that, you never expected to find anything concrete in his room. But that wasn’t your intention.

You unpacked, arranging your belongings on the bed. Your journal rested on his desk. Of course, there was a risk in choosing to stay here. If you left your journal lying about and he happened to enter on a whim (which he had every right to; it was his room, after all), you would be exposed almost instantly. What excuse could you offer for analysing patients from three years ago, especially while on holiday? Worse, if his eyes caught the blue thread marking the pages where you had written about Harrison, he would connect the dots at once. What would he do then? Banish you? Grow cold? Or something worse?

You didn’t want to think about it.

Regardless, it was a risk you were willing to take. Consequences only existed if you faltered first. You were far more interested in what his room revealed about his mental state. Was it irrefutable evidence? No. But you weren’t on duty. This was a personal investigation—here, proof could be as subjective as you pleased. The only jury was yourself.

The bed was impeccably made, yet a thin layer of dust coated the duvet—a symptom of neglect. Still, there were signs that he had attempted to prepare. The neatly arranged cosmetics on the vanity, the dusted balcony with its watered plants, the stocked bird feeder swaying gently from the ceiling, the polished bathroom with its dry, tiled floors. They spoke of the care he had taken to render the space habitable for you.

It was your belief that people tidied before the arrival of guests to mask the unguarded fragments of themselves, those revealed in the dim solitude of their rooms. You could sense the effort he had poured into creating an illusion of warmth. His room practically welcomed you. Little hints of life were scattered throughout, almost as if to weave a mirage of normalcy.

"When we move in together in the future, what kind of room do you want?"

You lifted your chin, humming in thought. "Oh! I know! I want a lively room!"

"You mean colourful and vibrant?"

You shook your head. "No, dummy. A warm room! One that looks lived in."

Had he remembered your words? Back then, you had merely been a child. You had no true grasp of what you were saying, lacked the linguistic skills to articulate your thoughts. And yet, he remembered. Or perhaps it was simply instinct—after all, any normal person would feel more comfortable in a space that had been occupied before.

Despite his meticulous efforts, something betrayed it all.

You ran a fingertip across the duvet, picking up dirt. He had forgotten to tend to the bed. You could see it now—the bed, untouched for so long, had appeared so pristine that it had entirely slipped his notice. That very perfection had made him overlook it. And you might have as well, had it not been for the red welts that bloomed upon contact.

That told you more than you had expected. So consumed with work, he had dehumanised himself. Yet, instead of confronting it, instead of seeking help, he had merely painted over the cracks and prayed you would not notice.

Caleb was underestimating you. And that would be his undoing.

As both a therapist and a friend, it was your duty to halt his descent before it could begin.

Breakfast was served a bit late, around the time you’d usually make it for yourself back at home. Flatbread stuffed with meat and cheese—slightly indulgent, you’d say, but filling and undeniably delicious. Especially when put together by his hands. The savoury aroma wafted through the kitchen. You sat near the counter, devouring the bread in bites that left your mouth stuffed and puffy. Caleb laughed at the sight. But what could you do? After all, you were obsessed with his culinary prowess.

Although, you would admit, it was hard to focus on the food when his eyes were practically glued to you, unmoving and unwavering. A chill crept through your limbs but was quickly swallowed by the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth.

“How is it?”

You mumbled incoherent words through your full cheeks.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

No matter how vastly he changed, one thing remained constant—his food. It hadn’t changed a bit. The taste carried the same warmth it once had, the same lingering aftertaste of his signature seasoning. A silly thought popped into your mind—what if that were to change as well? A ridiculous notion. But then again, art changes as the artist does.

“Do you eat well while you’re on duty?”

Caleb looked out the window and hummed. His gaze averted yours. “Does cafeteria food count as ‘eating well’?”

“…Not really.” You smiled. Why did he look away?

You pinched his arm. “Look at you—you’re going to grow frail and weak!”

Caleb flinched before wincing dramatically, forcing a chuckle. “Really? Guess I gotta start eating well, huh?” He paused, glancing at his arm. “Or else someone’s gonna be breathing down my neck even when we’re apart.”

With a tilt of your head, you nodded. “I’ll scold you every time I’m back.”

“If it means seeing you more ofte—ow!” You pinched a thin layer of his flesh and twisted it.

“I can see those evil schemes swirling around in your brain. Cut it out! Or do you want me to punch you?”

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Oh, whatever am I to do?”

Despite the playful spark in his eyes, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered toward the compartment beneath the counter. He shifted, positioning his body over the gap so you were unable to steal a glance even if you tried.

You tilted your head and hummed. Interesting. It was best not to let him know you’d caught on.

You swallowed the last bits of your food with a mug of icy water. “Once you’re weak, I’ll craft a ploy to seize your position. The fleet’s going to have a new Colonel soon!” Smirking slyly, you puffed out your chest with mock confidence.

An unexpected tension settled in the air. You noted the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched at the word Colonel. A fleeting, alien emotion flickered behind his violet eyes, only to be swiftly dimmed by his sudden grin. That same, insufferable grin that guarded the entrance before you could step into his mind. His way of shutting you out.

He poked your arm and chuckled. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Colonel.” A palm rose to his head in an exaggerated salute.

Why was he so jumpy today?

Later, sometime during the afternoon, you dragged Caleb out for a casual tour of Skyhaven. “Show me your favourite places to relax!” you’d said with a beam. That was all it took for him to crumble to his knees.

He led you to a sky-based retreat (well, you were already in the sky, but still) situated atop a towering skyscraper that dwarfed all others of its kind. It was a behemoth of a building—a monolithic structure plated with heavily tinted, floor-to-ceiling windows on all four faces. The epitome of a modern yet intimidating corporate monolith. A lake surrounded it on three sides, and the only way in was via a vast bridge, sturdy enough to withstand the heaviest of cargo-bearing trucks, looping around the entire strip of land.

The apex was swallowed by cotton-white clouds. The last few floors vanished into the fog, dissolving from view. Despite the presence of splendid and meticulously maintained gardens throughout, only a few workers strolled about. Even with the meticulously architected bridges, barely any cars were to be seen. Only the distant rattle of golf buggies echoed in the air. Save for the occasional chirps and the gentle woosh of water below, it was eerily quiet.

You contemplated asking Caleb about it, but for some reason, your inability to piece it together on your own gnawed at you, filling you with a bitter pride. It should be easier than a murder case. Why were you fumbling? This was supposed to be your first real move. How could you falter before even setting your plan into motion?

None of the workers paid any real attention to the two of you as you stepped through the main entrance. Only a few odd glances followed. Caleb seemed to be a regular here. They all seemed at ease with his presence.

The elevator ride was a gruelling one. You could swear it took five whole minutes just to exceed the twentieth floor. Caleb argued it had only been forty seconds. It felt longer, nonetheless. Normally, a crowded elevator would have preoccupied you. You would have found yourself enthralled by the faces and mannerisms of the passers-by—the twenty-something man in a black suit, the unusually silent boy with bruises on his arms, the seemingly unfazed elderly woman with a deep-set frown. Insignificant to most, yet to you, endlessly fascinating.

For instance, the furrow on the businessman’s brow suggested he was late for work. The bruises on the boy’s body spoke of a heartwarming heroism, evident in the little girl beside him who thanked him ceaselessly (though, judging by his expression, he had definitely received an earful from his guardian). And the irritable old woman—well, she was quite clearly the one who had placed a zipper on the boy’s mouth.

What seemed forgettable to others was precious to you, and as long as there was company, you found solace.

But here, there wasn’t. Other than Caleb, of course. And unfortunately, you couldn’t exactly stare at him for the entire ride. You’d rather not resemble a mad doctor dissecting a newly discovered organism. Still, you couldn’t deny it—he was far more interesting than any stranger.

So, you stared at him anyway. Luckily for you, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps because he was too preoccupied, gazing out the transparent sheet of glass with a small smile on his lips. He seemed to be in a good state of mind. That was good. Otherwise, things had a slim chance of escalating into an argument. Nothing you couldn’t handle, just something you’d rather avoid. Or else, he’d pierce through your façade faster than you intended.

The doors slid open with a hiss. Beams of warm light spilled through, hitting your face and causing you to squint. The entryway, constructed of flimsy straw structures, was adorned with threads of vines creeping up and down the walls. Sunlight dripped through the holes in the patchwork roof, glinting cruelly beyond the tapestry, shining down with all its might—an act of savagery against your poor eyes. Thankfully, the vines shielded you from its full assault.

You tilted your head. A woman—uniformed, with a strict look on her face—stood beside the entrance with an immaculate posture. A familiar hat sat low on her head, guarding her eyes from both the intense heat and light. The utter lack of emotion in her gaze sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You glanced up at Caleb. He was unfazed by her presence, as if she were a mere colleague or a guard standing by. But she wasn’t the latter. You could tell by the uniform.

With your hand in his, he strode up to the woman. She offered a curt salute in response. “Colonel.”

“We would like to enter.” His voice was cold, a stark contrast to the way his thumb tenderly grazed over yours.

The woman turned to you. Her head tilted as she scrutinised you with a wary gaze. Then, she nodded. “Right this way.”

You were sure of it now. This was a private building, accessible only to high-ranking members of the Farspace fleet. You supposed such an arduous job had its benefits. Well, this was the least they could offer to those who put their lives on the line each day, fighting for yet more senseless bloodshed. This place was built upon a mixture of blood and sweat.

You grimaced. It felt wrong to stand upon this ground. If you squinted, you could see them—corpses strewn across the floor, brain matter splattered across the walls. Your stomach coiled. What a pathetic way to live—to be crowned in blood and sit upon a throne of bloodied cash, chest brimming with pride, belly full of greed, smirking down upon the famished.

You turned to face Caleb. You supposed he wasn’t too different from those people. And yet, you had forgotten all about it until now. He was truly a master at forging a harmless appearance, a welcoming front. Even now, a part of you refused to see him that way.

You supposed you were guilty as well. You had accepted your position as his plus-one without hesitation and accompanied him to such a place. It was hypocritical to persecute him while standing upon the faces of corpses, declaring yourself the selfless hero.

Such was the nature of humans.

The woman led you through the delicate gate. Caleb dragged you along. The first time you laid your eyes on the garden, your world stilled.

Words could not describe how breathtaking yet melancholic the sight before you was. If you were to attempt to jot it down on a piece of paper, you would be stuck on the first word. Unlike your initial beliefs, the botanical garden was not encased in glass. It should’ve been obvious from the torture you’d endured—the perpetrator being the sadistic, open sun. Maybe it was the awe of it all that heightened your perplexity.

The flowering meadows, the perfectly trimmed patches of fresh, green grass, the symmetrical, square-shaped ponds, the pair of birds feeding from the birdbath, the cascading artificial waterfalls—you didn’t know which one of them struck you the deepest. Or maybe it was the overly maintained religious sculptures—the one depicting a winged woman, angel or devil, with a honeycomb for her face—or the concerningly clean walkways, or the flawlessly aligned roses in the rose gardens that seemed a little too well-kept, stealing away the ‘wild’ and ‘natural’ vibe of your typical botanical garden.

The sky above was a whirlwind of blues, whites, subtle purples, and a dominant yellow-white. A soft breeze cascaded past, threading through the strands of your hair and dancing along your skin. It was cool and pleasant—perfectly so. Like the soft spring breeze that blows in February, or the afternoon wind at the shore of a river. It was just right. The perfect temperature to lull you to sleep.

Your mind winded back to the afternoons you spent with Caleb under your backyard’s willow tree. The breeze there would blow just as strikingly as it did here. Leaves would flutter down onto your face, only to be brushed aside by Caleb’s warm fingers. You would spend several hours lying there with him. Whether it was to complete your homework (of course, you slacked off and lured him into an endless chat instead) or flip through a book, he would always be there, brimming with that brotherly tenderness of his. It made up for your lack of a father figure in your life—Grandma Josephine being your only guardian.

Your heart ached at the memory. Maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Even then, Caleb harboured one major purpose—to protect what he loved, you, and to cherish it to the fullest. You had a hunch—what if that mysterious chip in his brain did not alter him entirely, but only heightened his preexisting instincts? But still. You found it hard to believe that the chip could truly rewire his brain so severely. You refused to believe such contraband existed. The mind is a fragile thing. It’s not so easy to suppress its power. Although all factual data pointed towards only a little portion of his brain remaining untouched, you firmly believed it was a front.

Maybe, among his emotions lay one that would be easy to utilise, to take control of and provoke so that he abided by their rules. And the only emotion so easy to manoeuvre—his only weakness—was his love for you. If you hadn’t been born…

“It’s… wow,” you let out an audible gasp. Your eyes twinkled with stars. On your heels, you spun around, imprinting every inch of the garden in your memory. Caleb didn’t need to be a genius to know that bringing you here was the best choice he had made in a long time. His grin mimicked yours. There was no use in asking whether you were enjoying the view or not—the way you frantically hopped about the place, skipping from pond to pond and observing the exotic birds from afar, told him everything.

With small, unhurried steps, Caleb approached you as you peeked at the pair of colourful birds drinking from the birdbath. “They’re raised here. I feed ’em sometimes.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “They’re friendly towards humans. Watch.”

He held out his right hand and approached the birds gingerly. The blue jay tilted its head to scan Caleb as he neared. As if recognising him immediately, it leapt onto his arm.

Using his other hand, he gestured for you to come. You approached with silent and hesitant steps. Once close enough, you reached up to touch the blue jay perched on his arm. You nearly jumped into a pond when the bird took off. Your cheeks flushed red, to which Caleb burst out guffawing.

“I forgot to mention—they don’t like being touched. Sorry, Pip!” he uttered between chuckles.

You gave him the meanest glare you could muster. “How very forgetful of you.” You brought an accusatory finger to point at his chest. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did!”

The woman watching from afar could not help but smile at your meaningless banter.

You and Caleb lingered until the sun began to dip below the horizon, until the once-blue skies were replaced with a bright orange-red and purple. The clouds began to darken—the battle cry of an impending tempest. Or was it the coming of night? You didn’t know. Nonetheless, both of you refused to leave.

“The world looks so tiny from here.” You compared the size of the structures afar with your fingers. Your other hand gripped the railing for support. “I’m almost jealous. You get to come here every day.”

You mumbled, turning to face Caleb, who appeared entranced by the hues of the setting sun. A smile adorned your face. He looked so peaceful, so content. As if nothing had occurred in the past few months, as if it was still the two of you against the world. You yearned to breathe in his embrace once more, just like old times. You swallowed. You couldn’t afford that. The past was gone. Now, only the future awaited—a future that depended on your actions, your choices, and your diligence. You couldn’t back out now. You were too far in.

“Don’t you miss that Willow tree?” you started. “The big one in our backyard. We used to rest against the trunk on the grass.”

“Once, I had to save you from a grasshopper. It lunged at you from the grass, and you screamed like a child,” he laughed. “And afterwards, you ended up avoiding that place for two weeks.”

“I only went after you got rid of them.”

He nodded. “I sprayed the whole area with bug repellent—it killed some of the vegetation as well.”

You smiled at the memory. “Grandma was so mad at us.”

A comfortable quietude ensued, submerging you both into a peaceful state of mind. Then, Caleb spoke solemnly.

“I have patrol tomorrow.” The sun began to disappear below the horizon, leaving swipes of purple behind on the sky. Dark clouds converged. “I won’t be there for you, pip.”

“Truth be told…” You gazed up at the vanishing sun. “I have some work to do. I came here for a more peaceful and friendly working environment.”

“Then you can busy yourself with that. Just… don’t burn down my kitchen, yeah?”

You shot him a scheming grin, yet it held no bite. “When will you be back?”

“The day after. Not too long.”

You bit your lip. Couldn’t he have stayed for a day longer? You had to be quick on your feet, then.

“Did you think about it?” Caleb suddenly interrupted. The gears turned in your head. Your mind was brought back to the offer he’d made before you departed from Skyhaven the last time—“Why not live here? You have nothing left in Linkon city to return to. I can get you a position somewhere as a criminologist. You can return to doing what you loved.”

Your gaze returned to him. You hadn’t decided yet. Sure, it gave you quite a handful of opportunities to inspect his brain a little closer. But if your plan failed? You’d be stuck in Skyhaven. You were sure it wouldn’t, but…

You took the flesh of your mouth into your teeth. It wasn’t the time to doubt yourself. But that wasn’t the only concern in your mind. The thought of him bearing so much power over your life and your job put you at unease. It was risky. Terribly so. It made your advantages over him feel insignificant. No matter how passionate you were about your work, and no matter your love for him, you preferred your sanity and wellbeing over all.

You turned to Caleb with an apologetic smile. His eyebrows furrowed, and a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Sorry, Caleb. I’ve made some friends, and I’m happy with the quiet life I’ve managed to build for myself.”

You could sense his thoughts—“What life? That poor, miserable one devoid of my presence and protection?”—you were sure that was what’d crossed his mind at that moment. You could tell by the way his jaw was clenched and his muscles tightened. But at once, the solicitous façade returned, washing away every hint of dissatisfaction that’d dared to cross his face. “That’s all right. You’re free to change your mind whenever you wish.” You forced your lips into a tight smile in return. “I appreciate it.” A part of you winced at the sudden formality in your tones. For some reason, you loathed whenever he got serious. It frightened you somewhat.

“You know, pip-squeak,” Caleb mused, his voice light, casual. Unnervingly so. Something in your stomach coiled—that familiar feeling of dread and anticipation. “Something tells me you’re not here for relaxation.”

You stilled, only for a little while. But it was enough. His gaze sharpened. “Tell me.” His eyes bore into yours—calculating, scrutinising, leaving no stone unturned. As if you were the experiment, and he, the mad scientist. Something venomous swirled in his violet hues. Like a dagger, or like the teeth of a snake—sharp, ready to pierce skin, waiting.

Unreadable.

Bolts of lightning ripped through the skies, illuminating a part of Caleb’s face to highlight the utter insanity brewing beneath his irises. A strong, dusty wind blew, sending shivers down your spine—though, you were unaware whether they were from fear or the cold. So, it was an oncoming storm.

Your fingers curled against the railing. Your sweat seeped onto its surface. You hesitated.

“Caleb, that’s—” A soft voice murmured. You let out a breathless laugh, flustered. “You’re not wrong.”

The air between you stretched taut. He remained silent, unmoving. Once again, silence had engulfed you, but this time, it wasn’t pleasant. Like a watchful eagle, Caleb waited.

You brushed strands of hair away from your eyes and glued your eyes to the birds instead. “You know, lately, I’ve just—I’ve been thinking,” you let your words tremble, “I—I’m sorry…” You gripped your chest. “I’ve been thinking that, maybe…” You swallowed, lowering your gaze. Perfect.

You inhaled sharply. “You were right.”

His brow raised. He seemed hooked.

“I thought about what you said—about my security. And you’re right. Although I’ve trained in the police, my combat knowledge is minimal. Linkon city is becoming less safe by the second, especially for me.” You closed your eyes. “Assuming what you said was true, about several corporations being after my head—well, my heart, I just can’t help but feel unsafe. Even when surrounded by my friends, even in my own home.” Your lips quivered. He listened with immaculate patience, as if he were picking apart your words, searching for a hidden subtext. “And now, everybody seems like hollow, empty beings. I can’t resonate with my patients; I can’t have fun with my friends. I feel so… isolated. So alone. And I realised,” you continued, “that despite all, you on the other hand? You were always there for me. In my heart, by my side. I could truly only be safe and happy when with you.”

Silence. The only sound in the air was the crackling of thunder.

You chanced a glance at him, watching how his eye twitched. Had he caught on? Were you in trouble? Was he mad? Your anxiety peaked at the slow inhale as he prepared to speak.

But then, his eyes softened.

“You should’ve just said so.” His voice was gentle, lacking the malice it once had. “You know you can always turn to me for help, right?”

Bingo.

Inside, you smirked. It worked. He fell for it. How could he not? You had been preparing for ages.

You’d won your first challenge. Arguably, it was the toughest one. If you’d failed—if he’d caught on, or noticed even the smallest hint of it having been a lie, your entire world would’ve crumbled. All that you’d worked for, gone. Rendered meaningless by your incompetence. You didn’t know what you would do afterward if that were to happen.

You let yourself appear small and vulnerable when you looked back at Caleb, attempting to highlight the anxiety in your eyes. “I know. I was planning to say it, but a perfect moment never came. Until now, that is.”

Caleb brought his palm to your cheek and cradled your face in his arms. “You don’t need an excuse to be honest with me. Whenever you feel like it, just lay your heart bare.”

“But you seemed so happy. Like you were enjoying yourself. I didn’t want to ruin it with my embarrassing thoughts.” You argued, forcing a frown on your face. He shook his head. “Once you’re done, we can go straight back to having fun if that’s what you want. Besides,” he averted his gaze, “It’s been on my mind all day—why you could be pretendin’ when you could’ve just told me. I was wondering how bad it was for you to be hidin’ it from me so desperately.”

You assumed as much. Explains why he seemed so jumpy earlier during breakfast, and why he kept zoning out the entire way here. It was what gave you the idea of using such deceit in the first place. You were sure if there was a perfect place to confront you about it, it would be here; under the witness of the setting sun, in a place you were bound to feel sentimental and thus, vulnerable and ready to spill it all out.

Unfortunately, you were not willing to fall for such a clear trap.

By the time you had left, the downpour had begun. Weighted beads of water stormed down on you viciously. The two of you rushed out before the storm could catch you. Well, one of you did. Caleb, who so valiantly used himself to shield you against the relentless tempest, had been completely drenched. Blobs of water dragged along the floor as he walked. You swore, if you squeezed him then, a whole waterfall would erupt. It was almost sweet—the way he so earnestly utilised his behemoth of a body to block out the storm’s ceaseless assault. It was something straight out of a romantic drama, or some sort of cliché film. But for some reason, you couldn’t cringe. You only laughed it off, paying no mind to the gentle flutter in your stomach.

The drive home was thrilling—abundant with giggles and snarky remarks thrown around. Perhaps you were in a better mood because your stomach was full—Caleb had been kind enough to treat you to supper in a small café situated on the middlemost floor of that building. The chef’s culinary expertise overflowed from the arrangement of exquisitely prepared Skyhaven delicacies. And the best part? They were quite cheap. Had you received a discount in honour of his presence? You didn’t know. But at the very least, you didn’t go broke after insisting that you split the bill 50/50. Despite having dried off, however, Caleb somehow wetted the seats.

Once home, both of you almost immediately collapsed onto the couch (you threw him off, of course, for soaking the furniture with the remnants of his heroism). He scrambled out of his clothes and cooked you both a warm plate of braised chicken wings shortly after. Dinner ensued normally this time, with a dearth of odd flinches or averted gazes. The two of you simply chatted to your heart’s content, both putting in equal effort to make it seem as if old times had returned.

Of course, it hadn’t. You were thrust back into reality when Caleb’s phone began to ring.

With a sidelong glance, he excused himself, making haste to his room and shutting the door behind him. You eyed the door, moving only when you were sure it’d clicked shut. Tip-toeing over to the kitchen, you bent down to eye the compartments underneath. There it was. Unmistakable, concrete—a file of unknown origin adorned with a sleek grey cover. You glanced over the counter. He wasn’t done yet. Your attention travelled back to the file.

But you paused. Tremors rippled through you as you slipped the ring off your finger and dropped it to the floor. With a measured kick, you pushed it further beneath the counter. Just to be safe. In case you were caught.

You reached into the compartment. Your entire arm was swallowed by darkness before finally, your fingers met the file. Cautiously, you pulled it out. The layer of dust coating its surface sprang up to your face as you dusted it. You made an effort not to cough.

The file’s edges were worn. Yet the pages inside appeared to be relatively new and untouched, perhaps even well-kept. A plastic sleeve shielded the grey manila folder from all sorts of debris. The pages inside were laminated and contained bundles of new words and information foreign to you. The file’s contents overwhelmed you. They appeared to be gibberish, nonsensical.

You deftly skimmed through the first few pages. None of the information contained within them seemed worthy of noting. Not to you, at least. There didn’t appear to be anything you didn’t know and was not known by the public. Then why was he reacting so oddly back then? Why had he flinched? Why had his gaze travelled back to his lap—or more specifically, to this file, as he anxiously fiddled with his fingers? You’d lured him away on purpose—dragging him outside the moment he could’ve gotten a chance to remove the file before you could grasp it. Was it all for nothing, then? Were you mistaken?

You stilled.

You weren’t mistaken after all.

Your fingers hovered over the fifth page.

There, in big, bold letters, was your name.

Inscribed upon the laminated page. And beside that lay your picture, alongside a list of unremarkable data, such as your date of birth, full name, affiliation, and so on.

Before you could investigate further, a voice called out your name. You hadn’t heard the door creak open.

You peered up from beneath the counter. Caleb’s face was contorted with horror—his pupils contracted; his body frozen. The hand holding his phone to his ear dropped to his side. He began to stride toward you.

You shoved the folder lazily into the compartment once more, ensuring no sound was emitted in the process. Adopting the most nonchalant expression you could, you lifted your head to face him. “Caleb,” you called out, a small pout gracing your lips, “I can’t reach the ring.”

He stopped. The act seemed to have taken effect. He cocked his head, eyes bearing into yours, as if ripping apart your soul itself for a trace of a lie. But you weren’t intimidated by his silent interrogation. You held your resolve, maintaining the façade with determined accuracy. Gradually, Caleb’s impishness returned.

“Dropped it?”

He fell for it so flawlessly, it almost irked you that he hadn’t put up a bigger fight. You pouted internally. Could he not have pretended not to buy it? For the sake of the thrill? Oh, well. A win’s a win.

You nodded. “I can’t reach it. Can you help me?”

He hurried to your side and hunched over. You noted the way his eyes skimmed over the document tucked away in the depths of the compartment, right where he’d left it, before it went to the gap underneath the counter. The subtle glint of your ring confirmed your honesty. He raised his hand and twirled his fingers in the air. As if a gust of wind had carried it here, the ring smoothly levitated out of the darkness and onto the countertop. You shot him a sheepish smile before returning to your feet to collect the ring.

Just as you slipped it onto your finger, Caleb grasped your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him. His eyes bore an unnerving intensity as they skimmed over your face. Were you busted? Had he caught on? You didn’t let the quiver reach your lips. Instead, you donned a perplexed complexion as he whisked your head around.

Once satisfied, he released you from his grip and ruffled your hair. “Just checking if you’d gotten dust on you.” You rolled your eyes in response. “I’m not a child anymore!”

“Anyway, anything wrong? That call seemed important.” You caught him zoning out, staring into the distance. You waved your hand before his face. “Earth to Caleb?”

He straightened himself. “Not really. I just… might return home a little late tomorrow. And I gotta leave tonight.”

You frowned. He had the audacity to lie to your face, knowing you were skilled enough to penetrate through whatever front he puts up. Pushing it would only add to the uncomfortableness of it all, so you sealed your lips instead.

You whined, although it came out a bit prolonged, before swatting his arm weakly. “But you said…”

“I know,” he sighed, “But duty calls.”

“Tell you what?” He brushed a stray strand away and cradled your cheek. For a moment, he glanced to the side, lost in thought, before he looked back at you and continued, “I’ll make it up to ya once I’m back. But with that being said, don’t stay up too late tomorrow, yeah?” You pretended to be unmoved, but a part of you jumped at the mention of recuperation. You wondered what it would be. Food, perhaps? Or maybe tickets to that movie you’d been dying to watch? Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny it enlivened you.

Caleb seemed to have noticed the somersaults you did, and the way you skipped around with joy behind those eyes. He smirked. “I’ll be leaving now. Get some rest. I’m sure you’re tire—achoo!” He hastily covered his mouth with his arm. Another sneeze. And another.

You narrowed your eyes and folded your arms over your chest. “Are you sure you won’t catch a cold? Although you probably already have…” you muttered the last part under your breath.

Caleb waved his arm dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be—” And another. “Yeah. Anyways, as I was saying, go to bed on time, alright?”

You shook your head, as if disheartened by his juvenile behaviour. “Alright. But, at least take some medicine or something. It’ll probably be one long night.”

When Caleb had left, the tempest roared at its prime. Despite having handed him two umbrellas, a string of worry coiled in your chest. Could he fend off against the raging winds that thumped against the sliding glass doors of the balcony and threatened to knock them over? No matter how strong a man, he was deemed fragile and brittle against the forces of nature. What if an uninvited bolt of electricity had happened to fall upon him as he walked? Was he even walking? You hoped not. At least vehicles were designed to protect people from lightning.

In the end, the quietude proved to be quite pleasant. You could immerse yourself in re-studying Harrison’s case without the fear of Caleb barging in and catching you red-handed.

You managed to skim over quite a lot of pages before hunger struck. Glancing up at the clock, the realisation dawned upon you that you had been at it for more than two hours. But it was a productive two-hour session with yourself, you’d say. But there were obstacles, nonetheless. As you’d suspected, Roan’s problematic behaviour had a completely different source from what you’d suspected Caleb’s to be. He acted on paranoia and insecurity, whereas Caleb seemed more insistent on the idea of protection. Roan’s obsession blinded his wit and caused him to act on impulse.

The kidnapping of Anne Lotte, although seemingly flawless, was conducted on a whim. Harrison executed his plan with merely a gun, a bundle of ropes, and some chloroform to sedate her. The alley Anne happened to be crossing through had no cameras, and as it was a secluded shortcut few were aware of, there were no passers-by to witness the crime. Nobody had gotten injured, thanks to Harrison’s prior police training, so there was no blood or evidence to be picked up. All other proof happened to be washed away by the rain shortly after.

From this timeline of events, it was clear that Harrison had gotten away with Anne’s kidnapping simply because of luck. If the stars hadn’t aligned during his sudden state of paranoia, Anne would be alive and well now. What an unlucky girl she was. It was almost as if fate had abandoned her.

Harrison had strength, but he was dim. That was what caused the inevitable discovery of Anne stashed away in his basement. Caleb, on the other hand, possessed both. Throughout high school, he had topped you almost constantly. No matter how hard you studied, no matter how many all-nighters you’d pulled, he would somehow manage to top you with a mere four or five hours of study before an examination.

You admit, you were envious of him throughout most of your teenage years, and you were appalled when he’d decided to tread a completely different academic path from yours. But nowadays, looking back, you realise that the only reason he’d made such an effort to conquer you was to be a reliable pillar of support if you were to falter. Which, inevitably due to the gallons of caffeine and hours’ worth of lost sleep, you did. Another irksome consequence of his undying affection that you had to suffer.

Even now, his wits and manipulation are clear. You were sure nobody rose to the rank of Colonel so swiftly without possessing immense intelligence. Caleb’s puppy eyes weren’t going to fool anyone. Not you, at least. They couldn’t hide the terrifyingly adept brain that lay beyond them.

Anne’s decline in mental well-being was predetermined. It was part of Harrison’s flawed plan all along. His insecurity left little room for actual care and affection to be expressed towards her, and as a result, he determined that breaking her resolve would be the surest way of ensuring submission. Of course, that did backfire for him. It led to her malnutrition, forecasted miscarriages, and her eventual suicide. Although you had no sure way of knowing what Caleb would’ve done, you were sure it wasn’t this.

Someone like him could predict such an outcome from a mile away. Breaking somebody’s mind, in this case, would be a reckless decision. And most importantly, his fatal flaw is that he loves too dearly and cares too much to be able to leave someone he admires to fend for themselves as he relentlessly shatters their psyche. He is too infatuated for that. His obsession stemmed from a desire to protect, not meaningless paranoia like Harrison’s. That explains why he would be unwilling to lay a finger on them.

And, of course, Caleb was a “manipulation>direct action” type of man. He had expressed his twisted desires to keep you confined and unable to flee once before, as he had been bandaging up your injured leg. But you were confident that his idea of confinement exists in a psychological state. He would bind your mind and heart to him, maneuver you to fall deeper into a psychical trap you could not escape. He would never directly imprison or confine. He would rewire your brain so that you willingly stuck yourself to him. It was a legal way to get what he wanted. And you didn’t doubt he could pull it off.

However, one thing to note was that he needed motive—proof that you were slipping from his grasp. As long as you remained on good terms, or pretended to, he would not need to resort to such methods.

Maybe.

Despite the dissimilarities, you were sure you could learn more to be able to counter his blows if he were to ever make some. But your main priority was still to cleanse his mind, to provide him with an opening to redeem himself and return to his normal life once more. Never mind your intentions. The contrast between their insanities led you to notice some peculiar things.

You turned to one of the back pages of your book and began scribbling down your thoughts.

Harrison and Caleb were merely two sides of the same coin. A cerberus with two heads. One who is impulsive, led on by rage and desire, and the other that is intelligent, driven by his loyalty to his master. But in the end, the cerberus is one complete being. If you split it in half, it will not regenerate like dividing cells. It will simply perish together. After all, both are two extremes.

Meaning if a lack of foresight could tackle one, then the other would fall for his over-calculation of things. They were both arrogant and full of themselves, believing only themselves and their strategies to be correct. In the end, they couldn’t see the 48 other heads lodged between the two—48 other ways to be “correct”.

The impulsive head aches to swallow his prey, to make incisions within his heart and stash them away in one of its chambers. And the cunning head too cuts, not his heart, but his lover’s brain, and detangles the strands only to twist them again, only this time in a way that would make them willing to stay. Resorting to such cruel yet more humane tactics implies that the fear of losing their treasure was rooted far more deeply in the intelligent cerberus rather than the dim one.

And what if fear is not another vulnerability to control?

Whereas Harrison is abundant in paranoia and insecurity, Caleb is almost wholly dominated by the extremity of positive emotions like love, care, and an overwhelming desire to protect. His unwillingness to hurt means that if you were to show even a single crack in your mind, the fear of you crumbling would force him to loosen his grip almost entirely, given that his side of the mind games had already begun. That would create the perfect opening for you to slip past and dash out to meet your freedom.

All you had to do was put on one more act.

Harrison’s impulsiveness, contrasting Caleb’s preparedness, also let you peer into another opening. If you continued to think of them as two sides of the same coin, then you could come upon this conclusion—if Harrison had a breaking point, so did he.

Harrison’s inevitable downfall and his psychological abuse of Anne was set into motion when the thought bit into his brain, whispering—“If you don’t tighten the leash, she will run away.” It was safe to assume that Caleb too had a breaking point. It was simply harder to reach. One side of the coin was made of bronze, whereas the other was constructed of tungsten. Both could melt, just at different speeds.

If you could provoke him up to that point, Caleb would be forced to reveal his hand. But, admittedly, picturing what could happen if he snapped was… unsettling. Precisely because you couldn’t picture it at all.

And thus, that would remain something you would try if you couldn’t get him to falter at all. A last resort, to be more specific.

And now, with your acquired information, you could weave your final plan: if he tried something anyway, you could paint a front of danger, as if his ‘advances’ and whatnot had thrown you into a state of endangerment, and if he didn’t back away immediately, it may cost him (and you) something precious. Whether it be your life, blood, or sanity, he cared too much not to abort instantaneously. Unlike Harrison, he wouldn’t act blindly—he’d justify his actions. If you could provide real consequences (consequences that mattered to him), you could alter his idea of justifications and compel him to rationalise his actions differently.

And how, exactly, would you achieve that? Well, that was something to figure out along the way. That was your motto—have a vague, surface-level plan, and build upon it as you go. If you had a solid, fool-proof plan, you wouldn’t have searched for information after arriving in Skyhaven.

To be honest with yourself, your knowledge on Caleb’s behaviour and your predictions on what may have happened next were minimal; certainly not enough to conclude that you were in any real danger, and certainly not enough to deduce that your initial assumptions could be utilised to orchestrate a surefire way of taking him down. You suppose you had to spend more time with him to come to a real conclusion. Of course, that wouldn’t be too easy, considering that you’d purposefully invaded at a time where he’d be busy juggling you and his duties simultaneously. You had your reasons. The perfect time to strike was when a man’s back was faced to you, and he was too busy with the happenings before him to notice the footsteps creeping up on him from behind. In short, right now, he was vulnerable. If he found out you were up to something, he would be too exhausted to think straight and thus he would falter. If you face an enemy far stronger than you, wear them down first, and then strike when they are on the verge of tears.

The real problem right now was how you could feign being endangered. For now, you’d come up with a few ways. Perhaps a more logical approach would be best for a start.

Skyhaven’s weather seemed mostly untouched. Save for yesterday’s storm, it remained relatively stable. With clear, cloudless skies, splashed with a unique blue, it was perfect weather—perfect air. Too perfect. Maybe the storm from yesterday lingered somewhere beneath the blues. It had to be. Nothing is truly calm—especially not here.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Rhys?” you hummed. A flock of black ravens flitted past your window. The bitter scent of unbrewed coffee beans drifted in the café’s air. It was a scent you’d grown to admire. The perfect place to work, really. It opened your mind (and mouth) wide enough to effectively scribble away at one of your flimsy journals, analysing some patients’ consciousnesses or just gathering your thoughts. But today, you weren’t here for work.

“Probably because we’re so high up,” Rhys grinned, flashing his braced teeth. He was a tall man of dark complexion with thin brown hair kissing his shoulders. Rhys Vaughn—one of the few patients you’d reviewed in Skyhaven, involved with your limited history here. He used to be a drug addict and had nearly run over a child while stoned. To his luck, the child managed to escape mostly unscathed save for a broken limb, and thus, he got off with a relatively lighter charge. He was placed under your care while serving time in prison. Eventually, after a period of two years, you’d managed to lure him into making a full recovery. Now, he appeared before you, a new, clean man with a loving wife. But, above all, working with Rhys had one sure advantage—he was quite talented in the art of gathering information.

In his line of work as a technician, Rhys was required to have some basic computing skills. As a result, he’d undergone several computer science courses online, and he completely aced them. The coding shenanigans that couldn’t penetrate through your thick skull passed through his as if tearing through paper. He was skilled in what you were not; practical work. If there was anyone to call for some ethical hacking and information digging, it would be him. To Rhys, asking him to dig up information was the same as asking him to pass you the remote from across the room. You could put those skills to use.

“How’s your wife?” you gingerly sipped your coffee.

“She’s good. Hit a milestone in her art.”

“And you? How are you feeling?”

Rhys chuckled. “Still playing psychotherapist, miss?”

You shook your head with a sheepish smile. “Force of habit, you know? Can’t take my mind off work.” You waved your hand dismissively. “Really, though, how are you? Answer the question viewing me as… a friend.”

“I’m doin’ great!” He raised his hands dramatically in a gesture of joy. “Not delirious all day, actually sane and stable, able to keep relationships and eat something other than scrawny prison food. Yeah, couldn’t have been better.”

You smiled. Genuinely. “Good to know.”

Knowing your patient had achieved happiness fulfilled your purpose as both a psychotherapist and a human. Your mind recalled a skinnier Rhys sitting across from you on a long, white couch, lacking the sun in his eyes, which he now had multiple of, swirling about in his pools of bronze. His eyes back then; they were empty. He appeared a lifeless man with mould growing out of the pores of his skin. And now, he was here, sitting across from you, helping you just as you had helped him two years ago. It was a motherly pride that filled your chest, cascading through your nerves like a warm, sweet liquid. You couldn’t be happier.

“Anyway, what ya here for?”

You placed your hand under your chin and turned to look out the window.

“I remembered what you said, Rhys.”

He cocked an eyebrow and peered at you from over his cup as he sipped. You took it as a sign to continue. “You mentioned once that you owe me one, and that if I ever find myself in a stump in Skyhaven, I could call for you.”

“So,” he added a packet of sweetener into his coffee, “You want to take me up on that offer now? I thought you’d forgotten about me.” His countenance twisted to display mock hurt. “All right. I’m just playing. What’s it about?”

“I recently managed to earn myself a boyfriend,” you started, although cringing internally, “And I happen to doubt his mental well-being.”

Rhys kicked back on the plush of the chair. He’d figured it out already, you were sure, but you went on anyway.

“We just got together about 6 months ago. So, it’ll be hard to know enough to be able to help him.”

“So you want me to dig up some information about him?” He leaned closer. “What kind?”

“He’s an orphan. Doesn’t have family, pretends with his friends. But there are a few people he seemed close to. Some workers, mailmen, plumbers, you know. Those types of people I can never seem to get a hold of.”

“Should I fetch their contacts?”

“No.” You winced at the finality of your words. “I mean, yes, but not just that.”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. An amused smirk crossed his face. Had he caught your lies?

“It’d be convenient if you could search for his transactions with them. Their backgrounds, history, et cetera. I have some… other doubts as well.”

With a large gulp, Rhys slurped up his coffee and wiped his face with a napkin. Only silence swayed between you two as he took his time to reply. He wasn’t thinking. Certainly not. But he lingered, nonetheless.

He knew, for sure.

“You know, little miss, I don’t know why you feel the need to fabricate when you know I don’t hesitate to dirty my hands.”

You glued your eyes to your lap.

“I owe you. And even if you asked me to kill a man, I’d do it.”

You let out a shaky exhale. “If I were still your therapist, I’d be scribbling on my notebook right now. But, considering I’m in a pinch, I’ll let it slide.” You smiled. “I appreciate your help, Rhys, and your respect for my privacy. I will forever be indebted to you.”

He swatted his hand about mindlessly. “Yeah, yeah. A name, please.” He slid you a slip of paper.

You plucked a pen from your coat and jotted down Caleb’s name before passing it across the table. Taking it between his fingers, Rhys eyed the name. He lingered there for a beat too long. Something was up. Your suspicions only spiked with the subtle twitch of his finger. A light of recognition crossed his bronze irises before fading just as swiftly. In a flash, his grin returned, and he pocketed the slip of paper before springing to his feet. “All right. Tomorrow, I’ll text you with whatever I find.”

You lowered your head. “Again, thank you.”

That night, Caleb returned late. Uninjured, thankfully, but acting odd nonetheless. In his hands, a small bag was clutched. You recalled his words—“I’ll make it up to you.”—and it took a lot for you to resist leaping from the couch and snatching the bag from his hands. What stopped you, aside from the fear of appearing awfully juvenile, was the exhaustion etched into his face.

When his eyes met yours, however, his complexion brightened immediately. Still clad in his uniform, Caleb kicked off his boots and strode towards you. A weariness weighed his movements. The strongest man you’d ever seen, both physically and mentally—your pillar of strength—stumbled across the room like a golden puppy dragging its injured leg along the floor, wagging its tail and paying no mind to its pain. You felt stabbed in the chest. For a man of such power, he could be absolutely endearing at times.

“Miss me, pip?” Caleb leaned down to ruffle your hair affectionately. You shut off your phone to smile at him. Your eyes enlarged as his familiar face appeared before you, but a frown tugged at your lips at the dark stains under his eyes. You reached your hand out to caress the blackened bags of flesh.

“You didn’t sleep.”

He cradled your face in turn. “Neither did you.” A flick to your forehead caused a pout to form on your face.

“I wasn’t working my ass off.”

“And I was. I know. I’m sorry.” He set his colonel cap on your head. The accessory dwarfed your skull, sinking down until it obscured your vision. Caleb stifled a laugh at the sight.

He noted the way your eyes drifted to the bag in his hand—the bag that was coated with crimson and shiny gold accents, which gave away very little about its contents. Sensing your curiosity, he handed the bag to you.

“The lady asks, and I deliver.” He bowed curtly. You both broke into merry laughter.

Stashed away in the depths of the tiny bag was a rectangular velvety jewellery case, coloured similarly to the bag, down to the gold accents. The mere surface of the case seemed extravagant enough to satisfy your greed even in the absence of the jewellery itself. You stared in awe. Were you truly deserving of the real gem hidden inside? Your fingers traced the engraving on the case’s surface. A remarkable brand. There was a lump gathering in your throat. It felt sacred to hold something so precious, so expensive. You were no high priestess or beloved queen—not worthy enough to clutch a revered artifact. And yet, Caleb’s eyes bore into yours with a gentleness that could bring you to tears. And it did. You felt tears threatening to form. You were sure he noticed.

A sudden wave of guilt knocked the wind out of your lungs. Just hours before, you’d been conspiring against him, digging up information that could potentially be labelled as an invasion of one’s privacy, and threading together a plan that was catered to go against him, to take him down. You knew you weren’t doing anything wrong. You were helping him. Guiding him to a path of happiness, just as you did with your patients, just as you did with Rhys.

Just as you would have with Harrison and Anne.

If only your incompetence hadn’t gotten them killed, they could walk their own paths today. You closed your eyes. An image flashed before you. A flimsy blonde girl with scars littering her arms, crossing a bridge, heading towards a field of flowers with her dead child clutching her hand. And a battered older man going the opposite way—a path towards a blinding light, the path to redemption.

You wouldn’t let it happen again.

There was nothing to be guilty of. Your fingers curled tighter against the fabric of your pants. There was nothing to be guilty of. You weren’t in the wrong. This was for the greater good. They’d understand. They surely would, once they realised that the path you chose for them was a more tranquil one.

But did you risk losing yourself in the process?

“Not going to open it? Your head’s been stuck in the clouds for about thirty seconds now.” Caleb loosened his tie before seating himself next to you. “Something on your mind? Is the casing not to your liking?”

You shook your head. “I’m just… you’re exhausted beyond belief right now, and you went through all that trouble… I don’t deserve this.” You frowned. “I’m so sorry for making you ‘make up’ to me. I didn’t know you’d go that far, I—”

Strong arms coiled around you, drawing you in. You felt the steady, yet surprisingly slow beats of his heart from where you were nestled against his chest. Fingers wove through your hair, offering a sense of solace you hadn’t felt in a while. With a low, careful tone, he whispered. His lips brushed against your ear. “Don’t say anything.”

And you obeyed.

For a moment, you remained steady. Silent. Your lips were pursed, and your heart beat fast—a stark contrast to his. You sank deeper into his embrace. Your grip faltered, and you eventually gave in to his presence entirely. Your body slumped against his, but he seemed to have no trouble bearing your weight. For a moment, you considered letting the tears flow. But a part of you clawed against the muscular wall of your heart in retaliation, screeching in protest. Something screamed danger, despite you being the safest you’d ever been right now.

With steady arms, Caleb brought your palm, which was weakly clutching the jewellery case, to your chest. “I had this ordered for months. I was just waiting for the right moment to pick it up. So,” with his other hand, he tousled your hair, “Don’t think you were a bother. And honestly? I can’t name a single woman more deserving of this than you.”

A faint blush coated your cheeks. But you shook it off before he could see. Renewed courage surged through you, and your fingers made their way to the hook of the case.

Carefully, you slid it open.

A white gleam.

There, perched amidst the plush, was a delicate, thin bracelet made of what appeared to be sterling silver. The chain itself was of a unique geometric design consisting of circles, ovals, and a myriad of shapes you couldn’t name. The expert craftsmanship showed in the presence of the bracelet’s seamless links and its shiny, polished clasp. You ran your fingers over the chain. The material was smooth, devoid of bumps or rough edges—things you’d usually find in low-quality bracelets.

You remembered complaining to him once how half of your bracelets used to dig into your skin, to which he’d reply with a smile, “One day, you won’t have to wear uncomfortable jewellery.” Back then, you’d brush it off with a “Oh, that day better come soon!”. But now, considering the significant amount of effort put into smoothing the surface, you wondered if this was what he truly meant.

The primary point of attraction, however, lay not in the bracelet’s gleam or smoothness, but in the moderately sized white gemstone hanging from it—a gorgeous pendant.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Caleb chuckled. “White sapphire.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. What could you say? You were surprised your jaw wasn’t kissing the floor by now.

Speechless, you ran your fingers along the gemstone. It weighed a bit more than you’d expected—an insignificant difference, really, but notable nonetheless. Perhaps it was pure. If that was the case, then it didn’t help with your simmering guilt.

“Here,” Caleb snatched the jewellery from your fingers, “Let me help you with that.”

Deftly, he slid the bracelet down your wrist and clasped the hook. You raised your arm, watching as the white sapphire that dangled from the thin chain glittered beneath the pencils of light. Your lips parted in awe.

“Promise me,” your attention shifted to Caleb as he brought your jewelled wrist to his chest, “That you won’t take this off.”

“Like how you’re glued to that dog tag I gave you?” You giggled. His lips curled into a soft smile. “If that’s how you want to put it.”

“Okay.” You placed your free palm atop his. “I promise, I’ll cherish this forever.”

“If you don’t, I’ll be really hurt.” He feigned a pout. But the yearning in his eyes was real.

You shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.” Caleb brought your palm against his face, sinking into your warmth. You stilled for a moment. This was way too intimate. But the guilt glued you in place, restricting you from moving away. Or was it his endearing affection? Nonetheless, pulling away felt like a crime. He’d handed you such a priceless treasure; could you not indulge him for a moment and let him bask in your radiance?

You choked back the sinking feeling in your gut to let him have his way with your arm. He was acting like a starved puppy. Cute, yes, but a little overbearing and unsettling. Almost as if the puppy brushing up against you had blood smearing its teeth. Of course, it was just your paranoia, and nothing was really there.

Nothing visible, at least.

In spite of your passionate protests, Caleb insisted on whipping up a late-night snack for you. And so, you were practically forced into your seat on the counter as you were made to watch him scurry through the kitchen. The heated pot sizzled in objection to the cold oil poured onto it. You’d made up your mind to just observe as he worked, in case you could find an opening or an excuse to help, but you were distracted by a notification on your phone.

Rhys.

You looked up at Caleb. He appeared too deeply immersed in his cooking to notice the small ding of your phone. Bringing the device under the shade of the counter, you opened your chat with Rhys.

“Miss, this is important.”

Your brow furrowed. “Found anything?”

“Well, yes. A few things. But first, I think I really gotta come clean with this.”

You silently typed out a reply. “Go on.”

“That guy? Caleb Xia? I know him.”

You froze, fingers hovering over your keyboard. Rhys continued typing.

“I worked for him in the past. He needed something installed in his home. I was the one who took up the job.”

“Install what?”

“Cameras.”

A void formed in your stomach. A sudden chill enveloped the air. You shivered involuntarily. Cameras. He had cameras in his house. Your head whipped about the room, scouring every wall and every corner for a hint of something that could be labelled as a camera. Something prickled the skin on the back of your neck. Caleb’s back was turned to you. But still, you felt something watching you from the shadows.

Paranoia. You couldn’t let it consume you.

“I found it odd back then,” Rhys continued, “He had it installed in his rooms. The bedrooms,” You studied Harrison’s case in one of them, “The living room, the hallways.” Dread crippled into your being. It was as if someone had thrown a pebble across a calm pond, causing violent ripples to tear through the once-steady surface.

“And also,”

He paused.

“The kitchen.”

A clot. In your throat. Your lungs constricted.

He knew.

Caleb knew.

That you’d stumbled across that document.

Images of a collected Caleb smiling down at you as you knelt against the counter resurfaced in your brain. The way he so nonchalantly fetched the ring for you, the act he’d put on just now. The act you’d believed.

You gazed down at the white bracelet clasped around your wrist. What used to be a remarkable work of superior craftsmanship transformed into a heavy chain made to tether you to him. ”I promise, I will cherish this forever.” You really were going to throw up.

With shaky hands, you shut your phone. Your eyes returned to the bracelet.

It wasn’t a gift. It was an anchor to bind you to him. To trick you into forming a vow you couldn’t break.

Shit.

You walked right into a trap.

Blind and oblivious. A moth to a flame.

The circular kitchen lights buzzed overhead. A flicker of light flashed past the window—a ghastly apparition, watching. You whipped your head towards it in an attempt to catch it before it fled. There was nothing. Were you seeing things? Paranoia. It was simply your fear—your body preparing itself to become hyper-aware of its surroundings. A consequence of the natural fight or flight response. You were paranoid. You were aware. But that didn’t help how every shadow felt darker, how every corner untouched by the kitchen’s dim light seemed to host an entity.

Your whole time here, you were being watched. How much had he seen?

“You seen a ghost?”

It took every bit of your strength to not leap off your seat. You looked up at him, then eyed the plate nestled in his palm. It was hard to trust him right now.

Under the faint light, half of Caleb’s face remained shrouded in an ominous shadow. His violet hues gleamed from beneath the darkness menacingly as they peered down at you. Beyond the cloak of darkness, however, his countenance seemed normal.

But you couldn’t shake the dread off.

An invisible shiver tiptoed down your spine. You forced a smile. “I got startled by the flash of lightning.”

“It’s stormin’?”, he placed the plate down on the counter before turning to the large windows. “Again?” A bolt of electricity ripped through the sky. Caleb turned to you with a smirk. “Still afraid of thunder, pip-squeak?”

Afraid of you., you wanted to say, but you bit your lip. It was best you avoid giving him reasons to put a collar on you. For now, you had to stay low.

“I’m not.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. A forced blush crept up your neck. “I’m just… anyway, the food looks amazing!” You swiftly snatched the dish from his hands, leaving him slightly dumfounded as he lingered where the dish once was. With the help of his evol, Caleb pushed a pair of utensils your way. You were glad you suppressed the flinch that threatened to ripple through you. For the first time in your life, his evol terrified you.

The bed groaned under your weight as you suspended yourself entirely onto it. The mattress dipped beneath you. Even his bed, which, to you, had once been the comfiest bed in the anthropology of beds, felt like a cage. You could feel metallic tendrils crawling from beneath it, wrapping over your form as you slept, encasing you like a cocoon would. Perhaps that’s all you were to Caleb. A butterfly, useful only for its grace and the tranquility it brought. Meant to be wrapped away in a cocoon and let out only when it bloomed. The part of you bound to your profession begged to differ—clearly, that was not the case. Clearly, his feelings ran deeper than that. A complex tapestry of twisted adoration, infatuation, and perhaps even hatred or rage.

But that didn’t stop your feelings from thrashing about in a frenzy, did it?

It’s a simple truth. Many, if not all, of the patients you reviewed struggled with something similar to it. Their brains were aware of the truth, but their hearts refused to comply. It was a plague, killing them from the inside. Their loved ones resorted to presenting the truth before them. And their brains knew, lodging the processed data as it normally did. But the heart is a stubborn thing. Some things it refuses to accept.

At this point, you would become the patient.

A part of you urged yourself to bash your head against the wall for not predicting such a bold move on his end sooner. You were close to figuring it out. A part of the reason why you’d always gone to the bathroom to change included this subtle feeling of being watched. So, with your hands still gripping the ends of your shirt, you kicked open the bathroom door and changed there instead. You were glad you’d done that, of course, but you couldn’t hate yourself more for not pondering a second longer on the feeling of being watched. If you had, you were confident you’d have figured it out before he could notice. You were supposed to be ahead of him.

You were about to reopen the chat, but the sensation of a chilling pair of eyes drilling into your head halted your decision. The bedrooms also had cameras. But where? And how good was their image quality? Could he have read the contents of your journal, perchance? Could he see your chat even from up there? Your initial thought was to position yourself away from the camera. Find a blind spot, maybe. But all those ideas were rendered useless considering you were unaware of its position.

You could open your phone and check for any flashes of red or purple from infrared LEDs, which would most definitely be present assuming the cameras were equipped with night vision. But committing to such a dumb move would expose your knowledge of his ‘control’. You were sure twirling about the room in the dark with your phone’s camera on would leave no room for assumptions. What excuse would you bring? That you were so awe-struck by the lack of artistic interior design in Caleb’s room that you felt tempted to record it all and store it on your ‘top-10 things to not do while constructing a home’ list? Yeah, no. He would figure you out faster than Rhys had in the café.

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen next.

So, you resorted to the last thing you could think of.

You reached for a thin blanket and threw it over yourself. Protection. He couldn’t see what you were up to, even if he tried. And what excuse did one need to huddle up under a blanket?

You switched your phone open and scrolled through the messages you couldn’t read.

“I’d gotten it done a few days ago.” Right before your arrival at Skyhaven. He gauged your intentions so swiftly. A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t tell whether it was from the storm’s frosty wind.

“Pretty high-tech stuff. With night vision and all. It was odd. I should’ve questioned it. But it wasn’t any of my business. So I left it.”

“I did some digging on his background. And, miss, I have to ask you—are you aware of his profession?”

You sighed, threading your hair through your fingers. You hadn’t asked him to dig up dirt on that matter.

“I’m not sure if I should be telling you, but—”

“I know,” you typed back. “I know about it very well.”

“I’m not sure if I should be getting involved in this. Surely, you understand?”

He knew too much. And for that, you had to let him go. Even if he hadn’t approached you first. You’d have to. Because honestly, you were scared of what that man could do. Scouring any further would prove risky for him. The last thing you wanted to do was put a man happily living his married life in inconceivable danger for the sake of your selfish desires. It was a cruel thing to do. Although you’d technically used him, it was your last wish to be selfish.

“I understand. I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this. Should I pay you for your troubles?”

“No need for that. I barely did anything. But, I will tell you this.”

You watched as the three small dots enlarged and shrank as he typed.

“Recently, some personnel were recruited under his command to be appointed to more general tasks. That’s the most I can tell you. Searching any further’s gonna cost me my head.”

You didn’t push Rhys any further. You thanked him for his service and were about to log off when he sent one last text message.

“Little miss, I know you’re determined in whatever you’re tryna do. But please. For your sake, leave Skyhaven and forget about this.” You gripped your phone a little tighter. Exhaling shaky breaths, you shuffled under the blanket. You knew Rhys was right, and that he only spoke from a place of genuine care and respect. You knew you should’ve taken his advice and ended your vacation here. But you couldn’t. Not when you’d gotten so far. You were too deep into this. You were sure that Caleb wouldn’t let you leave either—he was (most likely) aware that you’d stumbled upon that document. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something he wanted you to see. And he wasn’t going to let you flee so easily after unearthing such a disastrous secret of his.

But you had to say, he needed to practice being discreet more often.

“Protect yourself. If things go south, you can’t escape. The whole of Skyhaven is controlled by his fleet.”

You sighed. There was nothing to say to that. But you were sure it wouldn’t come to you having to physically run from the authorities and escape the land in secrecy. Physical restriction was something Caleb couldn’t bring himself to do, even if he was injected with all the liquid courage in the world. His care for you ran too deep, even if he had mentioned it in a fit of rage. You’d defend that belief with your life.

Why were you defending him again? Oh, well.

But if it came to mentally detaching yourself from him, well, that… you weren’t so sure. It just so happened that you’d been so full of yourself before arriving here that you’d completely forgotten to ponder the possibility of having to flee on short notice. Simply put, if worst came to worst, you had no plan to save yourself.

You agreed that Caleb did have influence. And, unfortunately, that could often overpower the authority over one’s mind and heart. After all, the realm we truly resided in was the physical realm, not the psychical one. If anything were to bind you in the physical world, you couldn’t escape from it even in your mind. In other words, you’d be trapped here, body and soul.

“Don’t worry,” you lied, “I have it under control.”

And with that, you ended your conversation with Rhys.

It was only a matter of awaiting the occurrences of tomorrow now. You wondered what the weather would be like the next day. Would it storm again? Or would Skyhaven finally see an endless period swarmed by the warm west breeze? The only thing you could do was close your eyes and wait and see.

Except, you couldn’t sleep.

Three hours had passed as you rolled about on the large contemporary bed, making a sleepless mess of yourself. You winced at the way your hair clung to your head, warm and sticky. Like lukewarm goo. You twirled a lock on your index, only to be surprised at the absence of the goo you were picturing. Were you imagining things? Nonetheless, your body ached for a good, cold shower. You switched your phone open to check the time. 4 AM. Oh, well. What better place was there to collect your thoughts than under the sprinkle of an artificial shower?

You hugged yourself a little tighter as the cold beads of water commenced their assault on your head and dripped down your sides. You trembled heavily, but you let yourself do so. It was the collection of your fear from the past few days bolting out of your body at once. Finally, you could let out the shaky breaths you’d been withholding. It was only within the confines of enclosed foggy glass and under a gentle spray that you could truly let yourself loose and breathe freely once more.

People underestimate how arduous it is to put up fronts. Acting wasn’t easy. Especially when your life practically depended on it. It was like waltzing through a stage, but instead of expectant guests and observers anticipating your fall, there were 500 archers and the world’s best snipers aiming for your head, all while you were bound not to break your dance. Put on a show and attempt to please your pursuers. The chance of failure was almost certain. Even the best of dancers and actors fail to escape such a scenario.

And that was the gamble you were willing to take—fighting; no, dancing for the nonexistent chance that you may save your head, all in the sake of helping somebody you found yourself caring for a lot more than you were willing to.

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet resting near the sink. When he had handed you that gift, you felt… truly happy. A feeling you hadn’t felt before. Like your heart had burst open, and a myriad of colours had strewn out in a frenzy. Like your skeleton had been immersed in warm pond water, and a flock of underwater lilies caressed your skin.

For the first time in a long while, you felt as if you were needed for a cause beyond that of your profession.

That you mattered to him as much as your patients did to you, or perhaps even more. In his eyes, you could see a care that extended beyond what you could comprehend. A desire to keep you close and by his side, basking in your warmth forever.

A long time ago, you’d frozen your heart.

All because you believed there was no place in this world for your emotions.

To be someone else’s haven, you had to forsake your own.

The moment Caleb had handed you that bag, you felt as if your life had gained a new meaning. In the end, you were just a girl like all others, and he had made you embrace that.

For a moment. Only for a moment.

Because now, the silver you once admired reminds you of the silver of a chain. The chain was thin and fine, for it was not made to restrain you, but to help you grow accustomed to the existence of a shackle on your mind. It was suffocating to wear it. But a part of you wondered—what if his affection is genuine? Then, would it be so bad to give in? Well, he was the only one who made you feel alive. Perhaps, if you just stayed…

No. You shook your head. Strings of water flew off your hair and hit the glass walls. This was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? To make you accustomed to his control. To silently persuade you into giving in out of your own volition.

Caleb wanted a reaction. Any hints that you were being sucked and molded in the black hole he set up for you. If that’s what he wanted, all you had to do was withhold it from him, no? Just stop reacting. Act normal, put some subtle distance between you two, and watch as he crumbled beneath your finger.

You shut off the shower and rolled your hair back on your head. That’s right. You had to submerge yourself back into your monochromatic world. Only then would he falter, knowing all his advances had failed.

You stepped out of the shower, bringing with you a trail of water as you walked. A small white towel was wrapped around your head, and a bigger one coiled around your torso. You snatched the bracelet off the sink after changing into your new clothes. No matter how you felt about it, you made a vow. And for the sake of your ideals, you would not stray from it.

The hardest part about experiencing your first loss was that you had to regain control afterwards. Fail this step, and watch as the spear cuts through your stomach inch by inch. And if you cannot truly regain control, form the illusion of it.

You eyed yourself in the mirror. A crease was present between your brows. Taking the cream off the vanity, you began applying it in long swipes across your skin. Caleb still used the same cream as before, huh?

Act as if nothing had happened. That was the best you could do for now. And to form a plan to actually reclaim your throne, you needed some alone time. Away from this house. Away from the prying eyes perched in every corner of every room, and away from him.

The cream melted into your skin.

It was about time you began searching for an excuse to get out of the house and stray from him. Perhaps you could look for work. A new patient. Something that came up urgently? Or was it better for you to be more subtle? Just whip up an excuse to go hang out with friends? Not that you had any friends in Skyhaven. And if he asked to tag along? What then?

You released yourself from the towel and reached for your shirt.

A sigh passed your lips. Seems it would just be best to find some work. But save for Rhys and a few others, barely any of your patients lived in Skyhaven. And even if they did, would you just go knocking on their doors and creating a new mental issue in their stead that somehow needed urgent fixing? That wouldn’t do. You required real work.

Perhaps it was a problem best saved for tomorrow. Right now, your starving stomach demanded some attention.

The kitchen lights flickered on with a buzz. One of them didn’t light. You’d better tell Caleb about it tomorrow.

The hum of the fridge increased in volume as you strode towards it with heavy steps. Inside, an arrangement of food lay: some in boxes, some bare, some bottled. Your eyes narrowed. They seemed to have been recently stocked. You bet his fridge had been empty up until your visit.

You snatched a plate of dinner’s leftovers and gathered a few utensils to accompany you. And with that, you plopped down on the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights. It risked waking him up, after all. You wouldn’t want that. Especially now.

Shuffle shuffle.

Something stirred beside you—a figure shrouded in darkness. You nearly launched your fork into its heart when a familiar arm reached out to wrap around your wrist. “It’s just me,” a groggy voice responded. You threw yourself off the couch and rushed to turn on the lights.

Caleb. It was just him.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You—” Your accusing finger pointed in his direction. “Why are you awake?”

His violet eyes skimmed over your form, stopping at your toweled hair. “Likewise.”

Sluggishly, you returned to your plate and picked up the fork. Caleb nestled himself by your side. “You took a shower? At 4:30 in the mornin’?”

“Why are you here? On the couch? I don’t recall seizing every single one of your rooms.”

He breathed a sigh. “I’ve made an enemy of insomnia, and it’s been chasin’ me ever since.” He turned to you. “Maybe you can help with that.”

“I don’t know what you take me for, but,” you stuffed a portion of food into your mouth, “I’m half-dead right now. Therapists are humans too.”

“But,” you wiped the corner of your mouth and finished up, “Still, I’m ready to listen.”

Caleb shook his head. “I was messin’ around, pip.”

“Such a tease, even when sleep-deprived.”

You pressed your fingers into his temple and soothed the area. Your fingers moved gingerly, as if the slightest slip-up could cost you one of them. The man under you gradually relaxed. His body sank deeper into the couch.

“Come on, Caleb. What’s the hold-up? I know you’re hiding something,” you cooed. His sealed eyes didn’t help with trying to see through him. But you pressed on nonetheless.

You leaned forward slightly, pinching his forehead a little harsher than you would have. Finally, he opened his eyes, only to glue them to the ceiling instead.

“I’m not going to force you into a 12-step rehabilitation programme.”

“I know, it’s just…” his eyes never left the ceiling, “You’re tired. I’m tired. We all need a break. You’re not entitled to help me.”

You hummed. “You’re right. I’m not.”

Caleb let out a small sigh of relief as you pressed down on that one spot on his forehead. You continued to massage the area for a while before moving on to the next.

“I’m doing this out of my own volition. I want to listen to you. And whether I’ll help, well, that depends on what it is.”

Picking up on the slightest droop of his lips, you continued, “But, unless it’s a tedious task like climbing a skyscraper with nothing but my bare hands, I won’t refuse you.”

Caleb’s eyes didn’t move from the ceiling lights as he contemplated. You could see the weight of decisions bearing down on his mind, and you worked your fingers accordingly to soothe him whenever he faced a mental obstruction. Your smile widened.

With one finger, you moved his gaze to you instead. “All right, mister. I know the ceiling’s looking quite lavish today, but I’m sitting right here, fighting for your attention.”

Caleb grinned. Subconsciously, his eyes travelled to your lips. You found yourself tensing up for a moment, but you swallowed it. Just how you were trained. But uneasiness overtook your nerves. Why was he looking at them like that? As if he yearned to devour them whole?

“You can’t outsmart me at this hour, Caleb. See?” You lifted your arms before placing them back on his temple. “I’m not writing any notes or anything.”

“It’s not that.”

“You make it seem like it is.” You sighed. “You don’t need to use big words. Just tell me what you need.”

“All right, then. Can I ask you for a favour?”

You hummed. “Depends on what it is.”

His eyes fluttered. You tensed as they lingered on your lips once more before they moved to meet your eyes. He seemed incredibly exhausted. “I have a friend,” he began, “And she’s been… off.”

“A fleet member?”

“Yes.” He let out a soft groan as your fingers continued to massage his temple. “You met her. She’s the guard at the garden we visited.”

Your mind recalled her stature. Tall, brooding, albeit intimidatingly, with curly ginger locks and tan skin. You remembered her.

“I’ve been worried about her mental well-being. She experienced a devastating divorce lately. And ever since, she’s been acting… you know. Distant. Violent. Is a little rougher with her underlings. I gave her a break, demoted her temporarily to the position of a guard. But she isn’t improving.”

Your brow furrowed. The behaviour he described seemed like the usual displays of pent-up anger and resentment following a horrid event. But what bothered you wasn’t the normalcy of her situation.

It was the fact that you’d failed to pick up even a sliver of negative emotions from her as your eyes landed on her face.

A therapist’s eyes were made to penetrate flesh and scour the soul with ease. Especially yours—considering your previous position. How come Caleb just happened to notice, whereas you entirely missed it? You were unsure whether his eyes were better than yours, or you were simply dozing off at that moment and unable to catch a glimpse, or…

Was it a hole in his story?

Still, the kindness and concern Caleb had shown towards his fellow colleague filled you with a sense of warmth you loathed. It felt genuine. But you couldn’t feel like this. Not with somebody like him.

“So, I guess you figured it out by now.”

Your fingers halted. Your eyes drifted in thought. “When should I visit her?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll give you the address. Should I tag along?”

“No,” you winced at the severity of your tone. In a frenzy, you reiterated, “She might be unwilling to open up if you tag along.”

He nodded in understanding. “Tomorrow, then. For now, let’s get some sleep.” In a swift motion, he pulled you onto him and buried your head into the crook of his neck. A red tint coated your cheeks, but you didn’t protest. Act normal.

You’d called for work, and work came to you. Sometimes, fate (and perhaps your luck) left you awe-struck.

But, this time, for some reason, you weren’t sure whether this was God’s plan or the Cerberus’.

No storm crackled through the air that day. Only an endless mass of grey clouds hovered over Skyhaven’s sky, still brewing, lingering, as if the storm were awaiting the right moment to unleash its shower. The air was damp, humid, but stiflingly hot. In spite of the absence of the sun, the heat rendered you as disgraceful as a panting dog. The metro was stuffed to the brim. People squeezed against you as you struggled to grip onto something. The heat radiating off the enraged passengers did not help in cooling you down. Quite a contrast to your initial thoughts that you could find a moment of respite in the metro’s air conditioning. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even manage to find a seat.

Luckily, trains moved fast. It was only a matter of five minutes before you pushed your way through and out of the suffocating swarm of people. Perhaps, you should’ve taken up Caleb’s offer for the car. But who knew what trick he had installed in there? Another camera? Or even a tracker? You were better off walking.

You fidgeted with the pendant of your bracelet. Caroline’s house was eerily quiet. Not a single beam of light peered out of her curtained windows. Only darkness emerged from underneath the front door. She lived in an isolated villa, something akin to a bungalow. Red-bricked, with mould growing off the walls, the small garden before the house was overgrown with ferns and invasive plants. Mushrooms grew off one side of the house. A foul stench permeated through the air.

She had a pool as well, somewhere near the back of the house that you could only catch a glimpse of as you arrived at the front gate. But that small glimpse was enough to know the state it was in—the water was rotting. Fallen leaves decayed on its surface, turning the once-blue waters into a murky yellow-green. If you weren’t any smarter, and if the decay had been any faster, you’d think it was a pond, not a pool. It smelled like wildlife as well—the damp, fungal musk of rot.

It surprised you how bad the smell near the house had accumulated, considering how large the bungalow’s verandas were, how abundant the number of windows, and how open the air around it was. Her house was isolated from the main roads. Only strips of vibrant green land stretched around it for acres. And to add to the advantages of the location, you were standing atop the windiest parts of the land. Knowing this, you wondered—where was the ammonia-like stench coming from? It was as if an entire crowd had relieved themselves across the garden and into the pool. If you hadn’t known better, you’d have believed it, if not for the large iron gates that were padlocked shut.

You rang the doorbell. No response. Your head craned to the top floors. The sliding glass doors near the veranda were open. The white curtains drifted in the air. Somebody was home.

You pressed your finger against the doorbell again. Once more, only silence greeted you. Something felt wrong. You’d imagined it to be a result of depression at first, but now, something felt off. Something lurked beneath the waters, threatening to erupt.

After a few more tries, you stepped away from the door. If she wasn’t going to let you in, you’d just leave.

Walking across the pavement, you pulled out your phone to quickly type a short apology message to Caleb. But that was when something caught your eye.

The back gate. It was open.

Your feet came to an abrupt halt. To get a closer look, you maneuvered your body and took a few steps. You weren’t mistaken. Alongside the gate, the back door was pried open as well.

You strode past the black pool until you were directly facing the looming red door. The stench was only increasing in intensity. But this time, you could smell something else. Something you couldn’t catch before.

Old blood and flesh.

You opened your phone’s camera and aimed it at the door. Just in case, you thought. With your free hand, you pushed it open.

The room inside was dark. Pots and various random clutter were littered on the ground. You made an effort not to step on them, but you found yourself stumbling nonetheless. In a hurry, your fingers worked to pry the curtains apart and swing the windows open one by one. You subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden gust of fresh air passing through the openings. Finally, some ventilation.

The phone’s recorder blinked.

The little light from outside illuminated the room just enough for you to be able to spot the light switch. Hurrying over, you flicked it.

The lights flickered on with a static buzz. The back door led to the kitchen. Or, well, you assumed it was one. You couldn’t tell because of the ruckus. It appeared as if a fight had occurred here. Either that, or Caroline was one messy individual. You doubted the latter.

The kitchen sink was clogged. A broth of mould, discarded food, and fish bones lay inside. You stopped yourself from gagging and throwing up your breakfast. The kitchen didn’t need another mess. It was suffering enough.

On the floor lay dirt tracks. Footprints—messily removed by rubbing more mud on top. Somebody was here. Could they still be here?

Dread finally seized you. Your foot stilled, and you found yourself unable to move any further. As if fate itself urged you to leave. To turn and leave out the back door as swiftly as you’d entered. But you couldn’t. Something was up, and a greater scandal could’ve been at play. You couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when you’d sunk one foot in already.

You dragged yourself along the battered tiles, entering room after room and flicking the lights on before swinging the windows open each time. Downstairs was empty. You’d checked everywhere—in the two living rooms, dining, and across all the hallways. You even made sure to check under the sofas. The static in your mind grew louder. It pierced through your ears painfully from the inside out, busting your eardrums until your head throbbed so violently you thought it would implode. The nothingness told you to not go.

You pushed yourself back onto your feet and bolted up the stairs. You searched all the rooms, throwing the doors open and spinning about the entire area before moving on to the next. Eventually, you’d scoured all the rooms. Save for one.

The demon gurgling inside you moved as your eyes landed on the door. The master bedroom door.

You held the camera up to your face and placed your hand on the doorknob.

With a sickening and loud creak, the door crept open.

You held your palm against your nose. The scent of ammonia was strong, paired with the decaying flesh you’d picked up from outside the bungalow. And to fuel the disgusting stench, your nose could also pick up the faint scent of bleach. Your face contorted. Bleach?

The bile rose, threatening to spill out of your throat. You swallowed it down. Bitter. You were really about to throw up. Everything inside was dark. But thanks to the light in the hallway, you could make out the debris scattered across the floors. Cigarette boxes, open and sealed, were present among most of the junk. Other than that, empty beer bottles and discarded laundry could be seen. From the ceiling, large decorations hung. Decorations or more clothing, you couldn’t tell. The scent of bleach engulfed your lungs.

Hesitantly, you reached for the lights.

Your phone fell to the floor with a thud. Your fingers curled into your palm. A tremble rippled through you. You couldn’t move.

They weren’t decorations at all.

A step.

Nor were they more ugly clothing.

Your hand met skin. Cold, lifeless skin.

There, from the ceiling, hung a ginger-haired woman, ghastly and pale.

A corpse.

Caroline.

Thunder drummed through the clouds. A flash illuminated behind you. But you were too still to be afraid. Your body shivered, even under the cloak of the warmest, fuzziest blanket Caleb owned. Your numb hands clutched a mug of hot cocoa. Its bittersweet aroma rose from the cup, entering your nostrils. But your mouth didn’t water at the scent. You only sat still, as lifeless as a corpse, as the wide-screen television played on, broadcasting the news of Caroline’s death.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you from behind. “Drink up, pip. It’s going to get cold.”

He was right. The fingers curled around the mug only felt cold—a sign of the drink’s dissipating warmth. But how could you eat? Your teeth had tasted flesh not long ago.

The figure behind you sighed. “I shouldn’t have sent you there.”

“I went too late.” You curled against yourself. “If I had been faster, I—”

“She’s been dead ever since that day at the garden. It was inevitable. We didn’t know.”

Your body slumped in his embrace, threatening to give in.

“She was my patient. I’m still responsible.”

“I’m so stupid.” Caleb’s arms left your torso, leaving you cold once more. A part of you ached to reach out, to grab him and bury yourself into him and just—disappear. Vanish from existence. It was what you deserved. What you’d brought upon yourself. “I shouldn’t have sent you on a job. I ruined your vacation.”

“Caleb, I can’t.” You buried your face in your palms. “We were having fun. We were laughing, joking around, all while she…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t have to. Caleb empathised, nonetheless.

Coming to your side, he gently pried the mug from your hands and cradled your face. “Let me warm it up for you.” He switched off the television and returned to the kitchen.

You curled up on the couch. This wasn’t meant to happen. Someone wasn’t supposed to die. Unrelated to your mission or not, experiencing a death head-on was not part of your predictions. This was supposed to be executed flawlessly. You were supposed to be in charge.

Nonetheless, you felt more of the control slipping from between your fingers with each passing second. You were losing. Devastatingly. You’d prepared for various outcomes—losing because of yourself, losing because of him, but you’d completely forgotten to consider that you could lose to independent external factors as well.

In short, you thought you were invincible.

You thought none grasped the situation better than yourself.

But alas, it was indeed the devil himself who’d intervened in your fate. The opening for a temporary escape from him was timed too perfectly. It was too good to be true.

And it wasn’t. What you’d thought would be a normal, perhaps exhausting, session with a new patient, morphed into a traumatic, arduous twist of fate that would throw you entirely off course, flicking you so far from your path that crawling back was rendered both physically and mentally impossible. How could this have happened? You just lost twice in a row. Fate had abandoned you, just how it had abandoned Anne.

You gritted your teeth.

None of this was fair. Caroline shouldn’t have had to die. Nobody deserved death. Images of her intimidating visage flashed across your mind. Just a few days ago, you heard her speak. Just a few days ago, she was blinking, moving, talking, eating, breathing. And now, she was off to God-knows-where. Perhaps her body was stored in some cold machine, or she was placed in a stretcher as the morgue worked with her body. In a blink, the life was sucked out of her. And she was rendered nothing.

You eyed your arm. Everything felt so surreal. What if this was all just a dream? An alternate reality, or a sick nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. You shut your eyes and attempted to drift off into another land. It was too taxing to process this overload. It was better just to sleep it off, or just disassociate so you didn’t have to make peace with the truth.

You pressed your lips into a thin line. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get a moment of shut-eye. The sight of the corpse flashed before your eyes. A noose was tied around Caroline’s neck as she hung from the ceiling fan; dead, lifeless, gone. So close yet so out of your reach. Her once-vibrant ginger locks were tainted a sickly orange. Her once-intimidating eyes were sealed eternally shut. The lips she’d spoken with that day were dry, blue. Blood had stopped circulating inside them. Her heart had stopped beating long ago. You knew you couldn’t have saved her even if you’d tried.

Counterfactual thinking. You sighed. At this point, you really were turning into the patient.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, paying no mind to the way its soft edges cut into your skin. Countless what-ifs pried into your brain. You covered your ears with both hands, attempting to shut it off. If only your brain could shut up.

A familiar pang resonated in your temples. Your head began to throb violently—just as it had before you went up the stairs of Caroline’s bungalow. Those thoughts weren’t as evil as you’d made them up to be. If only you hadn’t looked. If only you’d stopped and messaged Caleb instead. Then, you wouldn’t have to be involved in such a complex scandal. Paired with the recent discovery—your recent loss—the whole situation, you were afraid, was going to render you completely mentally senile. Just like Anne.

Anne. The moment you’d gazed upon her—all shrivelled up and curled into a ball at the side of the black couch you’d owned in your previous office—you felt a sense of sympathy you’d never felt before. Something about her resonated with you. Her whimpering eyes, her clammy hands, her knitted brows, or the dimming fire that had blued years ago crackling in her eyes. You didn’t know which of those had piqued your curiosity. Something about that woman, so gorgeously broken, sparked something within you.

Perhaps, it was her eyes. Those dread-filled eyes that bore into yours. The spark that ignited when she saw you. The hope she’d regained upon your visage. Like she’d been starved of a true friend for millennia, and you were the one meant to be the ailment to her wounds. She’d looked at you like a newborn gazing upon its mother—its protector, saviour from the cruelty of the world. She looked at you with… hope. And in your heart, you swore to protect her. To be the one to show her the beauties of life, and to guide her onto a path of bliss and tranquility so she could return to the life she once had.

And what did you do?

You failed her.

The dread that tingled your limbs that day was the same one that numbed it now. That horrid purple, fanged beast. When the detective knocked on your office door in a delirious state, and had brought to you the news of Anne’s attempt, you couldn’t move. The air lumped in your trachea, refusing to release, as if your body itself had decided you were unworthy of life, and your fingers went cold. You almost fell to your knees, unable to rush to Anne’s side immediately. She was not dead yet. She was alive, blinking, here. And that only made it worse—how would you face her? You couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes deform from hope to animosity as she looked at you one last time. You couldn’t let the one who abandoned her be the last person she saw, felt, and breathed.

So, you didn’t go.

Shortly after, a messenger knocked on your door. His knocks were calm, unhurried, as if the weight of everything had already settled into his heart. He brought the news, low and steady, that Anne Lotte had breathed her last.

The first tear fell from your eye. You’d cried for her before, and you would do it again. The first time, you wept silently because she couldn’t. And the next time, you wept out of your own free will. Because nobody was there to mourn her death.

Anne had an empty funeral. Abandoned by all, loved by none.

Caroline’s death was only a reminder of your past shortcomings, a visceral punch to the gut, the reality that life and death were beyond your control, and that even you couldn’t shoo the poison away from eating at your patient’s brain.

You couldn’t even save yourself.

You failed as a psychotherapist, as a human, as an organism.

A type of survivor’s guilt. You bit your bottom lip, tearing at the dry skin coating it. The migraines worsened. Drowning in your thoughts, you failed to process the shift in weight beside you as another figure seated himself on the couch.

“I re-heated the cocoa. Come. You have to eat.” With unnerving gentleness, Caleb lifted your body off the couch and brought the mug to your lips. Defeated, you gently sipped. You winced as the hot liquid seared your tongue. “Too hot?” he cooed before setting it down on the glass coffee table. Even then, his arms never left you. Cautiously, as if to not scare you away, he positioned you on his lap and began to run soft circles on your back. You melted into his touch. As much as you hated to admit, he knew exactly what to do to help you feel at ease and lift your mood just enough.

You rested your chin on his shoulder, and suddenly, the world reverted 15 years back. A young girl sat atop a boy’s lap, whimpering, sniffling as she rubbed her tears and snot onto the boy’s shirt. But he didn’t seem to mind. He only hummed a soothing tune and cradled her head tenderly. “They said the cat deserved to die,” the girl choked a sob, “Tell me it didn’t, Caleb, tell me!”

A small smile graced your lips at the memory. Back then, and even now, only to him could you lift the dam and let your tears flow free. Only in his embrace could you breathe once more, and only here did you truly feel at home.

If you’d lost your memories, you’d just want to stay here forever. By his side. In his arms.

But you couldn’t forget. A part of you wished you could.

Rain pattered against the windows—its sound being the only one besides your breaths intertwined with his. His fingers found their way to your wrist, pressing down gently on your pulse point and watching as the fragile vein beat. A content sigh passed his lips. But something about it irked you. How could he be so calm when the colleague he’d shown so much care for yesterday night wound up dead? You suppressed your anger. Blowing up on him wouldn’t fix anything. In fact, you’d only end up pushing away the ones who cared for you. You knew you couldn’t cope without him.

A warm, smooth object pressed against your lips. The scent of chocolate filled your senses, and for the first time, your mouth watered. Your stomach growled in response, as if it had awoken from a long slumber—empty and unfulfilled.

"Drink up," Caleb hummed. "And then, I'll tuck you in."

You opened your mouth and slowly sipped the hot cocoa. The warm, fudgy liquid enveloped your tongue. Saccharine bursts of flavour erupted in your mouth. Steadily, his hands guided you to slurp up the entire mug, granting you occasional breaks to collect yourself in between. His demeanour was gentle, unhurried.

The butterflies in your stomach stirred from their dormancy, flitting about once more. It was an odd sensation—the serenity of butterflies mingled with the bitterness of guilt, resentment, and anger. A combination never meant to exist.

The next thunderclap sent a jolt of pain through your skull. You gripped your head and winced. Taking note of your discomfort, Caleb pressed his fingers against your aching temples.

"You should really get some rest."

"I tried. I can't sleep."

"I'll get you a sleeping pill."

Your brows furrowed. How could you trust him with medicine after that? Nonetheless, he had a point—if you didn’t sleep now, the weight of your burden would end up crushing you into smithereens. Sighing, you nodded.

Caleb disappeared into the darkness before returning with a bottle of medicine. He scurried over to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and was back at your side shortly after. You plucked the bottle from his hands and inspected the label. Ibuprofen. You eyed him warily.

"Your head’s killing you, right?"

"And the sleep medicine?"

He opened his palm to reveal a relatively large pill. You cocked an eyebrow. Since when were sleeping pills that large? Maybe it was a stronger dosage.

You swallowed the ibuprofen before turning to the pill resting in his palm. Your eyes narrowed. Carefully, as if handling a radioactive sample, you pinched the pill between your fingers and brought it to your nose. You sniffed. A strong medicinal scent.

This wasn’t a sleeping pill.

A sharp breath. Your shoulders slumped. Suddenly relaxed, you calmly returned the pill to Caleb’s hand. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes.

"A predetermined provocation. You knew I’d catch on." An empty smile graced your lips. A breathless laugh followed. "You know I know a lot about medicine. This was no attempt to drug me." Your sharp glare met his violet hues. "You deliberately planned this."

Caleb curled his fist and placed the pill on the glass table alongside the water. "I was tired," he mused, "of dancing along as we played this stupid game."

"Oh," you lifted your head and smirked. "No, you were enjoying every part of this. Playing with me, driving me to the edge."

"I had to." His fists curled. "You were being a brat. You thought I wouldn’t catch on, right? But your relaxed composure gave it away."

Crossing your arms, you let out a huff. "I—"

Before you could finish, Caleb pressed on. "You were conspiring against me. Treating me like some damn lab experiment. Is that all I am to you? A deranged patient in need of saving? Another victim of the fleet?" He looked up at you, genuine hurt lacing his eyes. You gulped.

"You were studying that case all day in my bedroom while I was away, you—"

"You spied on me," you retorted. "Twice. First, with my personal information, and again, with your damn cameras!"

Caleb’s teeth sank into the plush of his bottom lip.

With eyes blazing with unrestrained emotion, you went on. "Last time, you actually drugged me. Kept me captive for three days. Threatened me. Terrified me out of my mind! And you try to insist you're above a deranged patient? You’re delusional and in need of help. I wanted to help you. I wanted to bring you back."

If Caleb had ears, they’d be lying flat against his head right now.

Your heart withered with guilt. You knew you shouldn’t have called him a deranged patient. But even then, his reaction wasn’t a response to that insult—it was something deeper. It emerged from the darkest recesses of his mind, the parts even you could never access.

Had you gone too far?

"Was it," his lips trembled, "was it all a lie? What you said in the car? That you were willing to make peace with the new versions of ourselves?"

"You know that to be a lie very well."

"You’re wrong." He lifted himself onto his feet. "I trusted you. I trusted in us."

"There was no us!" You lashed out, overwhelmed by the sheer force of emotions that inevitably laced your tone. "I’ve been alone ever since you left me—us—for the DAA! Ever since you blew yourself up with Grandma!"

You watched as Caleb clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. You’d struck a nerve. It was enough. You got the reaction you wanted, but you couldn’t stop. Not when he was finally listening to you, looking at you—truly looking. For the first time in years, you could tell him how you felt.

And so, the words kept tumbling out of your mouth like an unstoppable avalanche—cold, all-consuming, and doomed to self-annihilate.

"I didn’t talk to anyone. For years after you left, I shut myself off. I found solace in my patients’ despair because you were never there!"

You looked up. His eyes were glued to his feet, his clenched fists trembling. Darkness overcast his face. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, much less how he felt. You searched his face for a sign—anything. Anger, resentment, agony, indifference, tears, or a smile. But you found nothing. It was all hidden away behind that invisible veil. Another mask.

You gritted your teeth. It only fuelled your rage further. At that moment, you wished you could tear open his skull and peer inside his mind.

"And you know what? I was such a fool. When I saw you again, I was willing to forgive your every flaw! I was willing to forget and move on with you. But guess what? The man I was madly in love with since high school had become so intoxicated by his newfound power and authority," you spat the last words with venom, "that he’d forgotten of my existence entirely! And still, I trusted you nonetheless! I thought it was my shortcomings when you were the insane one!"

"You…" Caleb lifted his head. The darkness dissipated from his face, only to be replaced with a flicker of hope. "You loved me?"

You slapped your palm against your face and threw yourself onto the couch, oblivious to how painfully you'd bumped your leg. You couldn’t believe you’d said that. Stupid, stupid.

"Why else would I be so obsessed with bringing you back?"

In a flash, Caleb was on his knees before you, bringing your palms together and pressing them against his chest. His heart pounded with fervour. His eyes gleamed with something raw, something terrifyingly close to unraveling. This was no act.

"Caleb…" You spoke his name with such softness, he gulped. "What are you doing? Get up—"

"You loved me." His grip tightened. "Do you still feel that way? Do we have a chance?"

The loudest bolt of lightning ripped through the stormy clouds. You turned your gaze to the tempest outside.

"I don’t think so, Caleb."

"I’ll make this right. Let’s live together."

"Caleb…"

"I’ll return your position as a criminologist. You can work under the fleet. You’ll have a better salary and a better working environment. And if you don’t want that, I’ll move the whole clinic here."

"Ca—"

"You like lively atmospheres, right? We’ll decorate this house. Or we can move to a new one. It’ll have the largest windows and the warmest winds. I’ll build you a garden full of your most treasured flowers, in a place far away where nobody will find us."

You tensed. A tremor rippled through you, but Caleb didn’t seem to notice. And if he did, he didn’t care. His eyes gleamed with desperation, restraint, and a love-fuelled mania that terrified you. Yearning. Could a mere emotion become so haunting? So intense?

"Let’s rebuild our life. We can be married. Have a bunch of kids, or not. If it’s what you want, we can take it slow. One step at a time. Just…" He nuzzled both your hands, his eyes lingering on the bracelet. "Just be by my side. You’ll never have to be alone again."

"Caleb."

You affirmed firmly, making him halt mid-sentence. His brows furrowed noticeably. A flicker of anger ignited in his eyes.

"You’ve gone too far. I can’t be with you."

You retracted your hands. The frown deepened on his lips as the absence of your warmth settled in. Gone was the adoration. Only wrath remained where it once was. He acted as if you’d stabbed him in the back, as if you’d plucked the feathers from his bionic wings and crushed them before his eyes. Faster than he’d knelt by your side, Caleb sprang to his feet and caged you within the couch. A familiar scenario. Your mind raced.

"You just don’t understand, do you?"

You averted your eyes. He forced your head parallel to his with a firm grip, ensuring your gaze remained locked onto his. You squirmed under the inferno alight within them. Whatever swirled inside was darker, crueler, and far more monstrous than anything you’d faced in the past few days. It was far more ruthless than what had lurked the last time you found yourself pinned to the couch. Honestly, it truly terrified you. Even in Harrison’s frantic eyes, you hadn’t spotted such ferocity.

"I’ve given up my life, my heart, and a limb for your sake. You breathe today because I sacrificed my breaths in your stead."

You thrashed against him, trying to pry your face from his grasp, but nothing worked. He loomed over you with monstrous strength.

"What? Weren’t you wondering what happened after the explosion? I’ll tell you, alright? If you give me something of yours."

Mustering all the strength you could, you barely managed to knock the behemoth of a man off you. As if regaining his self-control, Caleb eyed his hands before turning to you. The mania in his gaze dissipated, leaving only that desperate yearning.

But it was too late. The damage had been done.

"Pip—"

"I’m leaving Skyhaven." You picked yourself up and stormed off into your—well, his room. "Try to stop me, and I’ll show you hell."

And with that, you slammed the door shut.

That night, while Caleb had (not so) blissfully stashed himself away in his temporary room, you gathered your things and silently fled the estate.

Before walking out the front door, you spared one last glance at the empty house. You eyed the barren shelves, devoid of colour or antiques, the dim lights that were rarely granted the opportunity to welcome any host, and the uninspiring grey paint coating his solid walls.

Perhaps these walls were meant to imprison him, not you. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, Caleb had suffered—immensely. But you couldn’t let him drag you into the sizzling depths with him. He may have abandoned joy, but you would not. You would return to Linkon, maybe flee to another city nearby, and leave your past behind in pursuit of a joyous future—a future where, this time, you would be in control, not your listless feelings from decades ago.

You yearned to take another look, to glimpse his slumbering, pained face one more time before departing. But a saying from a precious individual circled in your mind: Don’t look back at me. If you do, it’ll be more difficult to leave.

Or, in other words, do not look back before leaving. If you do, you will be bound to them eternally—heart and soul. That was what he meant back then, wasn’t it?

With a relieved smile, you stepped out the door and into a new beginning.

“Goodbye, Caleb,” you murmured under your breath. “I love you.”

But in actions, I always look back.

There were only a few trains active at night. As a result, the station was relatively quiet, save for the occasional sweep sweep of the cleaning lady’s brush or the robotic echo of the AI announcing the next rides. The aged cleaning lady eyed you suspiciously. Perhaps you were suspicious—a woman sitting all by herself at a station at eleven at night, with barely any luggage to accompany her. You clearly weren’t mourning or panicked, so it likely wasn’t an emergency you had to return to.

Even then, the way her gaze kept returning to you was… odd.

Ding!

You fished through your pockets and retrieved your phone. Had Caleb caught wind of your absence? No. Odd. It wasn’t Caleb.

It was Rhys.

You quickly opened his chat and skimmed through his messages. A sinking feeling settled in your gut.

"Miss," he hastily followed, "you’re on the news."

You stilled. Why would you be on the news? Surely, a woman alone at a train station at night wasn’t such a revolutionary event that it had lured in the mass media?

"?" you typed back. "I’m famous now?"

"It’s no joke. Look."

A video file popped up. The thumbnail appeared to be Rhys’ TV. You could spot a snippet of his wife from one of the corners.

The throbbing ache in your head returned, begging you not to click on the file. Alas, your curiosity took hold of you, and your fingers hovered above the play button.

Hesitantly, it met the screen.

The woman announcing the news spoke your name. You immediately lowered the volume.

Your name. Your full name. Something was wrong.

"A suspect has been found." She said your name again. "Skyhaven authorities are actively searching for the suspect in connection with Caroline Mayday’s death. According to local reports, the individual was seen near the estate a day prior to the incident."

You slapped your clammy palm onto your mouth to silence the gasp that was about to escape your lips. The only person you had met that day was Rhys. Surely, there had been some sort of mistake. Surely, you hadn’t murdered a woman whose address you weren’t even aware of.

"Evidence, including fingerprint analysis and multiple witness testimonies, has linked the suspect to the scene."

Testimonies? Witnesses? Had people perceived a ghost? How could they have witnessed a woman who wasn’t even there?

Your hand stilled. Suddenly, the thoughts in your brain quieted, leaving nothing but unnerving, unmoving silence. The gears turned in your head. And then, it all made sense.

Caleb. Utilising his authority.

That bastard.

"A search warrant has been issued, and officials confirm that she will soon be taken in for questioning before the court of law."

Shit.

Shit.

You turned off the video and returned to the chat. Rhys had sent another message.

"Miss, you have to leave. I’ll get you tickets to Linkon."

"No need," you typed back. "I’m at the station. I was just about to leave anyway."

After a brief pause, you asked, "Rhys, do you believe I’m guilty?"

For a moment, he didn’t reply, leaving you on seen. Your body stiffened. If he didn’t believe you…

"No. We were at the café right about the time the witnesses claimed to have spotted you. And even if you weren’t, well, how do I put this nicely? Miss, you don’t have the balls."

Despite his half-insult, you couldn’t help but smile. At the very least, there was somebody who trusted you.

"I know it was that colonel’s doing. He isn’t to be trusted. Please, for your sake, never get involved with him ever again."

"I won’t."

And this time, you were being honest. You couldn’t return to him. Not after this.

"Stay safe, Rhys. If I’m not caught and executed, I promise you, we will meet again."

The train rolled into the station. Its wheels hissed against the cold metal rails.

You had to leave, now.

A handful of people lined up against the entrance. Some of them had their faces glued to their phones. Could they be watching the news? You hoped not. It was safer to go last.

You fished through your luggage and pulled out a cap you happened to bring along, placing it low on your head, shielding half your face from the gazes of passers-by.

Donning the calmest demeanour you could muster, you stepped into the train’s carriage and seated yourself far away from all. Sort of counterintuitive, now that you thought about it. Attempting to appear normal whilst actively isolating yourself from the crowd like a child who had shoplifted a candy bar. It made little sense. But how could you think logically when danger was quite literally breathing down your neck each second? Half of Skyhaven’s forces were after you, and you were practically tethered to a determined fate.

With a slow rattle and a monotonous announcement, the train began to move.

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet clasped around your wrist. Your promise to Caleb. But what did that matter now? It was merely a chain. A bad-luck charm, even. Ever since you had put it on, misfortunes followed close behind. You kept experiencing losses ceaselessly.

You contemplated tossing it away, but it would be such a waste of a valuable item.

You peered from below the cap’s shade to eye the modern tablet displaying the train’s destinations. The last stop wasn’t Linkon. It was a town two cities apart—Nimbura. The land of storms and tempests. Perhaps the storm that had been looming over Skyhaven for the past few days originated from there.

Nonetheless, Nimbura was a town of little population. Due to the never-ending downpour, most citizens had moved to greater cities. It was the perfect place for an escape. You could sell your bracelet to a local broker for a small fortune. You reckoned it would get you enough to kickstart your new life there. Perhaps open another clinic or begin to achieve the dreams you had long since abandoned.

This time, you would live your new life the way you wanted to.

With Caleb manipulating the press from behind the scenes, any chance of achieving justice and clearing your name was lost to the wind. Though a cowardly move, fleeing was your only choice.

You shut your eyes. Oh, Caroline. If only she knew how her death had been exploited by her higher-ups for such selfish purposes.

Of course, starting anew was easier said than done. You still had to fetch yourself a new identity, a house, and somehow evade the authorities for the rest of your life. It was fun to dream, but you knew you had to embrace reality soon.

Or else, you would be caught in the dumbest way.

At the very least, you could put up one hell of a fight before being whisked away in shackles. Enjoy your last remaining days of freedom before he caught up.

Your breath hitched. Caleb wouldn’t give up, would he? He’d comb through each city and town, overturning even the smallest villages in search of you.

You couldn’t picture what drastic measures he’d take.

Perhaps he’d even drain the oceans and pluck you from the seabed if you decided to live freely as a sea turtle.

Wherever you were, he would find you.

Some things were only possible in the presence of power. No matter how intelligent you were, your helplessness was undeniable. You bore not even a sliver of authority and thus were incapable of turning the tide against him. You could run from a man, but you couldn’t escape a whole fleet of deranged, cybernetic militants.

You chuckled at the inevitability of your fate. In time, he would find you. The government wouldn’t protect you. Not when you were a wanted criminal on the loose. If anything, they would hand you over—to him—on a silver platter. Nobody wanted to make an enemy of the farspace fleet. They were a ruthless bunch. What would one insignificant sacrifice mean when it had been made for the greater good? For eternal peace?

Just like Anne, the world had abandoned you as well.

And this time, you truly had no home to return to.

An unfamiliar feeling coiled in your chest—a yearning for home. A yearning to sit across the white couch of your clinic, listing away your patient’s traits on a clipboard as a frigid wind drifted in from the window. A coveting for the warmth of your bed, the bitterness of the coffee you brewed each morning, and the intimacy of your workspace.

This was all a mistake. You should never have embarked on this journey in the first place.

So much for bringing someone back. Someone who had lost their heart long ago.

If only you hadn’t let your emotions blind you. If only you had moved on from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. A single tear slipped down your cheek. This was no place to cry. What you should have been focusing on was a plan—a means of saving yourself. You barely had any money. Would it even be enough to buy you transport to the nearest broker?

You didn’t have any weapons on you either. Nothing to defend yourself with. Just you, yourself, and a lightweight bag with nothing valuable inside.

You should have stolen a few bucks from Caleb. His position surely paid well, so what would a hundred dollars mean to him? You really should have. And the worst part was that you knew he would have handed it all to you without a second thought. Something churned in your chest.

"I don’t know what to be when I grow up, Caleb. What should I do?"

You kicked your feet on the bed, lying on your back as you watched Caleb’s attentive gaze remain glued to his homework.

"Why are you askin’ me?" A young voice replied. "It’ll come to ya, pip-squeak. You’re only ten."

"But," you pushed yourself off the bed and nudged his shoulder, "the teacher asked us to write an essay on our dream careers. Help me, please? You’re really smart!"

"Why worry about that? I’m here, aren’t I? I’m smart enough for us both."

"Really?" You grinned stupidly. "That means your money is my money?"

He reached over without averting his eyes from the textbook to flick your forehead softly. You whined in response.

"Hasn’t it always been like that? But still. You’re good with people, right?"

You hummed. "I don’t have many friends other than you."

"But you understand people."

You nodded.

"Then why don’t you become a psychologist?"

"A… what?"

He sighed. "Never mind. You’re too young to think about that." And with that, he ruffled your hair and sent you off.

Little did he know you would cling to that word for the rest of your life.

The train whirred along the tracks, speeding readily through the various stations. One by one, the passengers departed, until you and an old man were the only ones remaining.

Before long, the train passed by Linkon. You watched with a solemn gaze as the doors slid shut. A part of you imagined yourself stepping out—happy, grinning from ear to ear, returning home. This cap wouldn’t be on your head, and your face would be devoid of worries. You would be free. On your way to a new life in the absence of Caleb. Into a new normalcy—a reality you could embrace this time.

You shut your eyes and rested your head against the window. Two fresh tears slipped past your lashes. Home. The word called to you from amidst the darkness. You envisioned two gentle arms cradling your form. The ghosts in your bed would welcome you home. They’d open their arms and tuck you in.

Just yesterday, the ‘ghost’ would have been none other than Caleb. But now, you wanted nothing to do with him.

Now, they had become two fleeting, ghastly apparitions—echoes of the past, lingering somewhere in your psyche.

The flesh may forget the sting of steel, but our minds will know.

You didn’t recall where you had heard that line. Perhaps it was a lyric from a melodious choir, or maybe a fragment of dialogue from a show you once treasured. You couldn’t recall the exact words either. At first, you had only nodded at its proclamation. It was right. There was nothing to refute.

As the new you emerged from the epicentre of a vicious battle, wounded by the likes of steel, its choir rang within your heart.

The mind never forgets. It is a being of its own. A tranquil entity, a lifeless organism so equally abundant with life. It may not respire, but it bears the authority to decide whether you do so.

And sometimes, it chooses for you not to be able to breathe.

Caleb would never vanish. He might perish while executing his unethical duties, or he might fade from your life altogether. He might even heal and reform. But that wounded man lived in a hollow within your heart, a cavity carved out with a knife—an unhealing wound, a permanent abyss.

A dark, bottomless pit you could never truly move on from.

No matter how achingly you worked to normalise his absence, his ghost would linger.

And so would the ghost of your former self.

For that wounded man didn’t just win,

He devoured you. He plucked your ribcage open and fused with your heart.

The burden of exhaustion weighed on your bones, dragging your body down against the train’s plastic seat. Your mind kept drifting home—to the warm lighting of your kitchen, the abomination stashed away under your bed, the mess coating your desk that you never quite found time to clean up. Their images flashed before your eyes, like a boat drifting back to the seas it had departed from, pushed there by a storm.

Now, it was up to you to decide what home meant.

You would make sure that this time, home wouldn’t be a place that breathed Caleb’s name.

“Nimbura. Doors will open from the right.”

You hauled your luggage alongside you as you exited with the old man. From beneath his drooping eyebrows, he shot you a wary glance before inching forward. A flimsy brown cane supported his weight as he walked. You hoped you would never again encounter a situation where you’d need to rely on someone else—not until you reached seventy, at least.

A cool gust of wind sent flyers fluttering through the air before your face. You shivered, hugging yourself a little tighter. An earthy scent lingered—damp soil, the kind you could always smell before an impending downpour.

Of course, the town hadn’t bought its name with cash.

It bought it with its perpetual rain.

“Excuse me,” you called out to the old man. “Do you know where the nearest broker’s is?”

“They’re all closed by now,” he croaked. “Get some sleep, girl. Go tomorrow.”

You let out an audible sigh before returning to your pocket to count your cash. Just enough for a night’s stay, but beyond that? You weren’t so sure.

To your surprise, the man turned back. “Need a place to stay, child?”

You eyed the money on your palm before returning to his face. He appeared wise. From the way his brows were furrowed, you could tell he had seen much in his long life. A part of you secretly loathed these types of people. Those who had seen it all were especially hard to deceive. They could spot any hint of trickery, no matter how ethical, from a mile away.

Your gut told you he probably knew you were on the run.

You needed a place to stay, but your instincts flared up. You didn’t know him. Anything could happen to you in a town this small, and it would go unreported for the most part. This was a matter of survival. Although your expertise insisted this man was no threat, your wariness begged to differ. So, with a polite smile, you turned down his offer.

Defeated, the man showed you the way to the nearest inn.

You followed his directions only to end up at a run-down inn around the corner. Its sign hung loosely, threatening to fall at any second. But clearly, the owner hadn’t cared enough to fix it. On top of that, the place stank. It reeked of alcohol, vomit, and cigars. You’d rather sleep out on the streets than stay here.

Thunder flashed in the sky behind you. You jumped.

Okay, maybe sleeping under a storm’s embrace wasn’t the best idea.

You were on the run, after all. Now wasn’t the time to be picky.

A short, blonde-haired woman sat on the other side of the counter, chewing gum as she scrolled mindlessly through her phone. The electric bell above the door chimed as you pushed it open. In a few swift movements, she spat out her gum and shoved the phone into the cavity under her desk.

“Hello, how may I help you?” She flashed the brightest grin she could muster.

She appeared young. Most likely still in high school. Your gaze travelled to the photo frame behind her—a clean picture of a family with a mix of blondes and brunettes. So, her parents owned the place, huh? A lucky child with a stable future. You envied her.

“How much for one night?”

“Oh, uhm—” She fished through something under her desk. You could hear the faint crumple of paper as she moved. That agility… was she in hunter’s school?

She named the price. You reopened your wallet and counted the bills. Just enough for one night, plus transportation.

“Is the food free?”

“No, ma’am. Only water.”

A deflated sigh passed your lips. You hadn’t eaten dinner, and you were practically starving. If you wasted money on food now, you doubted you’d make it through tomorrow.

Oh, well. A day’s fast wouldn’t kill you.

“All right. Can I have a room?” You smiled, placing the cash on the desk.

She opened her register and quickly handed you the change before fetching a pair of keys from the shelves behind her. Tossing you the keys, she showed you to your room. Despite her persistent offers, you ended up carrying your bags yourself.

Your room was relatively cleaner than expected. Initially, you’d envisioned a room as run-down as the front of the inn, with broken beds and a toilet that didn’t flush. Of course, the room was nothing like the average hotel rooms you could rent in Linkon, but it would do.

At least you discovered where most of the inn’s funds went.

You fetched one of the sealed bottles of water from the desk and buried yourself in bed. Having finally achieved a moment of respite, you whipped out your phone and began scrolling through your messages.

Oddly enough, there were no texts from Caleb. He was offline on all his socials.

Perhaps he hadn’t caught wind of your absence yet? That would suggest the idea of framing you for murder was something he had planned beforehand. Possibly after the argument.

You were about to head to bed when suddenly, your phone lit up with a notification.

You guessed it was Rhys again before even looking at the screen. He was the only one you’d been texting (or, more accurately, who’d been texting you) over the past few days.

If he was texting you, it could only mean trouble.

With numb fingers, you opened his chat.

“Miss, run.”

“You’re in Nimbura, right? They know your location.”

You froze as he kept bombarding you with short, panicked, back-to-back messages.

“He discovered our relationship. My wife’s dealing with the fleet.”

“They’re at our door.”

“Please, run.”

“Forget about us. Leave Nimbura. Immediately.”

“The police know where you are.”

The adrenaline was so deeply coded into your DNA that you’d gotten used to it by now. Only a deafening numbness lingered where anxiety once resided.

But, more importantly, how did he know where you were?

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet. The pendant gleamed under the light.

Now that you thought about it, the pendant’s size was oddly convenient, was it not?

And it was quite a bit heavier than you had expected.

Could it be…?

Caleb had revealed his final card. The ace up his sleeve.

Blood drained from your face. You paled.

A tracker.

You jolted up to the sound of police sirens slicing through the air. They were already here.

In a hurry, you snatched the bag you hadn’t yet opened and rushed to the door. Your other hand fidgeted with the bracelet coiled around your wrist. You hissed. Why were these things so hard to unclasp with one hand?

Pushing through your body’s sheer exhaustion and numbness, you bolted down the stairs, tripping over some of the steps. A knock resounded at the inn’s front gate.

“Skyhaven authorities. Open up.”

The perplexed blonde girl eyed you awkwardly. Tearing the bracelet forcefully off your wrist, you tossed the jewellery to her and muttered an apology.

“Gotta run. Take this as an apology.”

And with that, you stormed out the back door. Rain poured from above, thumping against your bare head relentlessly. No time to equip an umbrella. Just run.

With trembling legs, you skidded across the empty alleyways. Multiple pairs of footsteps slapped against the damp pavement close by. They were closing in. Fast. You had nowhere to go.

But perhaps you could make it to the train station before it closed. There was one last train heading to Linkon soon. If you could make it, maybe you could throw them off your trail for a while?

You bit your lip. You weren’t so sure. Chances were the authorities had already surrounded Linkon—your home and clinic were under their jurisdiction.

But that was a problem for future you. Right now, you had to run.

Mustering up all your strength, you pushed yourself forward, darting through the desolate streets. The commanding voices of the officers pierced through the rain, declaring how they would use force, how resisting would only worsen your case. You paid no mind to their warnings. Only the worst would happen if you were arrested—you’d be thrown into jail, executed by the fleet, or sent straight into Caleb’s arms. And he would definitely rather skin himself bit by bit than let you go once more.

How much worse could it get?

The walls of the world seemed to shrink in on you, confining you within Nimbura’s insignificantly sized territory. All sounds blurred together, contorting into one singular noise that thudded violently against your eardrums—the pulse of your own quickening heartbeat. The heart that once beat in love for a man now pounded in terror of the very same one. You no longer flinched at the bolts of lightning, no longer cared for the heavy droplets of rain smashing through your skull.

At that moment, you were reduced to a cowardly mess of a woman who knew only how to run. She ran from her life, her job, her stability, her friends, her problems, her mistakes. And now, that woman realised she had spent her entire existence fleeing. She buried her troubles in the desolation of her patients, abandoned the life that had given her everything, and flung herself into the arms of a stranger. A stranger who, due to her naïveté, received her love as she foolishly gave herself away.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Or was it rain? You didn’t know. Didn’t care. And for the first time, you let the tears fall freely. You sobbed—your face contorted in despair. Your lips curled into an unsightly frown, your brows knitted dramatically. Vision blurred. Your pace faltered.

Your legs begged for respite. To stop, to collapse onto the wet asphalt, to simply wail to your heart’s content. But the footsteps behind you suddenly grew louder. Your brief moment of weakness had allowed them to close in. You were screwed.

Forcing yourself forward, you pushed through the pain. Your shoes stretched against your feet, groaning under the pressure. The soles were likely torn by now—perhaps even left behind a few metres ago. You didn’t know. There was no time to stop and check.

Then, through the curtain of rain, the silhouette of a tall stranger emerged. He walked parallel to you, treading calmly beneath the shelter of a large, black umbrella. Your heart lurched. You couldn’t stop now. You were bound to collide.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced for impact.

You crashed into a solid chest and, from the sheer force, went stumbling back. Before you could hit the ground, a firm hand seized your waist, steadying you.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, lifting your head to catch a glimpse of his face. “I—”

Your body froze. As if your entire being had shut down, every gear in your mind clogged at once. The pitter-patter of rain and the approaching footsteps of the police faded, drowned by the roaring static in your head.

That long, black uniform. Those leather gloves. That sleek cap.

And, most importantly, those innocent violet hues scrutinising your face.

For a long while, there was only silence.

You parted your lips, but no words came. Finally, you choked out, “How—”

A chuckle. One you recognised all too well.

“Are you hurt?” A familiar voice cooed.

Caleb.

You turned on your heels and bolted in the opposite direction.

A flight of uniformed personnel obstructed your path, caging you in against Caleb’s form. In tiny, panicked steps, you inched backwards.

The leader announced your name. “You are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Sergeant Caroline Mayday. You—”

“I’ll take it from here,” the figure behind you commanded firmly. “I’ll escort our criminal personally.”

Hesitantly, the officer backed away with a curt tilt of his head, signalling for his troop to stand down. You watched helplessly as they retreated.

A part of you wanted to reach out. To beg them to throw you into jail instead. An axe to your neck would be far kinder.

But no. They tossed you right into the vicious, merciless jaws of the beast, leaving you to a fate you couldn’t determine.

The world stilled. The patter of rain against the road was all you could hear, aside from his steady breathing contrasting with your short, quick spasms of breath. In that moment, it felt as if it were only the two of you in the world. As if only you both truly mattered.

But those weren’t your feelings, were they?

They were his.

You gulped. Unhurried footsteps inched from behind. “You look tired. Have you eaten?” Caleb’s fingers interlocked with yours. Gently, he spun you around. The cap hung low on his head, obscuring half of his eyes. If only you’d spotted it from afar. Maybe if you’d picked up on his presence earlier, you could bolt in the opposite direction and avoid clashing into him.

He appeared from seemingly nowhere. Perhaps his appearance was also a calculated move that slipped past your radar.

Your final, most fatal loss.

Your reckoning.

You snatched your hand away. “You,” you cocked your head to meet his gaze, “What did you do to Rhys?”

You endured a long, deafening silence. The weight of it all pressed against your chest, squashing you against the mud. Like an insignificant, pesky bug meeting its end under the sole of one’s shoe.

A cold, frosty wind wafted through the atmosphere. Goosebumps prickled as frostbitten air slipped beneath your skin. The chill gnawed deep within your bones, causing painful pangs to crackle through you. Your knees buckled, unable to bear your weight any longer.

Expectedly, an arm wrapped itself around your waist and hoisted you up, pressing your body against his own.

Strings of water slid down from leaves nearby, splashing onto the pavement. Your forehead pulsated—that familiar sensation of dread that emerged each time you found yourself caught up in a complex, seemingly inescapable web. Usually, you’d bear the scissors to free yourself. But this time?

The webs cut into your skin, threading through your nerves. Every fibre of your being was tangled. The slightest movement would cause the intertwined nerves to be ripped out of your skin. A violent flash of lightning illuminated half of Caleb’s face.

“Who?” He lifted his chin, gazing at the sky as if buried deep in thought. When he looked down at you, he did so with a familiar darkness in his eyes. Envy. “Oh. Him.” His frown curled deeper as he uttered the last word.

“Why would that matter? It’s about us now.”

You locked your jaw. “What did you do?” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

As if able to distinguish between the rain and the remnants of your despair, Caleb brought his gloved hand and cradled your face. His thumb brushed against the tears, tossing them away as though they didn’t belong on your cheeks, and didn’t deserve to be shed from your eyes.

Not regarding another man, that is.

You flinched at his touch. A new, unsettling calm dawned over his countenance. And in a flick, all emotion dissipated from his eyes. His lips relaxed into a neutral line.

“I got rid of him.”

Your lips parted, but no words were uttered. A lump of saliva knotted in your throat. Your tongue was overcome with foreign saltiness.

“What do you mean…?”

No response.

“Caleb…” you stuttered, placing your palm on his hand, more to comfort yourself than to coerce him, “What did you do?”

His fingers trailed over your own. A tremor ran down your spine at the sheer tenderness he displayed, treating you as if you were a precious glass ornament ready to shatter at the slightest prick. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Your arm dropped to your side. “You… did you hurt him?” Caleb didn’t reply. He only leered down at your trembling lips with an impenetrable mask. Or perhaps it seemed as such to you because you couldn’t be bothered enough to pick him apart.

You sucked in a breath and exhaled audibly. Your head lowered until you were staring at the surface of your mud-coated shoes. Think. What could get you out of this situation? Your eyes lingered on your feet for a while. The cogs whirred in your brain, working, but producing no reliable output.

A flock of thoughts flooded you—irrelevant, unimpressive, shrill, and horrid thoughts. What would he do to you once he’s got you in his grasp? You swallowed the saltiness, nearly gagging at the taste of your own bodily fluids.

But then, a thought emerged.

Bodily fluids. Bodily gases. You smelled ammonia—a common gas released upon the decay of a corpse. But amidst the urine-like stench, you smelled something else.

A strong stench of bleach—something you only picked up once you’d ventured inside the room. Meaning it was present nowhere else. The corpse crime scene hadn’t been cleaned. There was no need to tidy up after a corpse that hadn’t bled. And there was no residue of liquid bleach anywhere within the room. If there was, you certainly would’ve noticed.

“Chlorine.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze.

Finally, Caleb’s eyes flashed with a hint of emotion.

“I smelled chlorine in Caroline’s room.”

With an amused tilt of his head, Caleb wordlessly challenged your wits.

“She didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered with chlorine gas.” You glared up at him. “In gas form, chlorine is extremely noxious. Seventh grade chemistry stuff. You made it too easy.” You shook your head. “Once she expired, you didn’t hesitate to take her out.”

His lips curled to form a smirk you couldn’t shake off. It felt so out-of-place. So visceral. As if it didn’t belong on his pretty face.

It’s an expression he’d donned countless times in the past. But each time, it was a playful, giddy smirk. A boyish grin, more so. The one you’d flash before committing a silly act.

But this one conquered your nerves with an uneasy rattle.

Eyebrows slightly curved, his eyes subtly squinted, a feral glint alight in his gorgeous violets, and with his lips angled oddly. Your stomach churned. It felt as if you were being preyed upon and tested.

Nonetheless, you stood your ground. You ensured that every bit of you would exude defiance, from your visage to your body and to the hairs of your neck. But your insolence only seemed to rile him up. The lunatic look in his eyes deepened alongside his uncomfortable smirk. Your fire exhilarated him, as if watching you ablaze with passionate rebellion was the prettiest you could be.

Like it was one of the many things he absolutely adored about you.

In spite of his admiration, he wouldn’t let you have your way, though, would he?

“A harsh accusation. But,” his hand returned to your face, as if it was unable to keep itself from it, as if it belonged glued to its side, “The world knows you to be the killer.”

“You weren’t raised to be a monster.”

Caleb cocked his head to the side. He hummed.

“Sure it wasn’t you? Don’t worry, you can tell me.”

Your balled fists trembled. “So,” you drooped your head, letting your hair fall before your eyes, “I was right.”

“Then, tell me,” you continued, “How do you know the fleet won’t turn on you next?”

“Once you reach a certain rank, you’re free from those risks. She was merely a sergeant.” His shoulders jerked to a casual shrug. “The media needed a culprit. The law doesn’t care who it is, they just need a scapegoat. A person to throw into a cell.”

“Which was me.” You eyed him in disbelief.

In a sharp movement, Caleb squeezed your chin and brought your face to his, forcing you onto your tiptoes. “But,” an alien, hoarse voice rasped, “I wouldn’t let them have you. They wouldn’t take you from me. Not again. Not after…” You could see fragments of a memory flash in the reflection in his eyes—a memory you seemed to share with him, but one that wasn’t yours.

Normally, you’d pry further. Coerce him, utilise his vulnerable emotions to spill the truth from his lips without having to properly ask. But by now, you’d given up on his rehabilitation. Now, your most vital priority was survival.

“You put a tracker in that bracelet.” A proud grin spread across his face. He had the audacity to silently congratulate you after all that.

“This?” He held up something near his face. A shiny, silver chain with a sparkling white sapphire pendant dangled from his fingers. “You forgot it at the inn. Here.”

Gentle fingers grasped your arm. He slid the chain onto your wrist before hooking it shut. “You were made to be clad in jewels. A Goddess.” You shuddered at the abrupt softness of his voice. Sincerity was engraved into his movements.

For a moment, it felt as if he were simply a man in love, and nothing more. A man awarding his partner with a treasure purchased by hours of his hard work, made only for the one he loved so dearly. You yearned to close your eyes, to let your world sink into darkness so you could paint a picture of your own—one where the two of you were simply a happy, normal couple, living a humble, free life. But dreams were merely dreams. In the end, you had to wake up.

A frown graced your lips. Your bad luck charm had followed you into your doom. And once more, the shackle was clasped to your wrist.

“Did they touch you anywhere?” He gripped your arm. His eyes poured over your body.

“What?”

“The authorities.” He affirmed. “Did they—”

You pried your form away. A visible tick emerged in his forehead. “No, they didn’t.”

“Why…” his eyeballs quaked, rolling about in his head with fervour, “Why can’t you just…” His teeth sank into his bottom lip viciously, drawing blood. “Are you afraid of me? Of what I’ve become?”

If it were just this morning, when he’d sourced you with the warmest form of solace as he cradled you on his lap, you would’ve denied that claim. You would’ve fought back with all your heart, with passionate proclamations on how you feel the safest when with him, and how nobody feels like home other than him.

Just a few days ago, you’d approached him out of fascination. Love, yes. But above all things, you were intrigued. Lured by his mystical, webbed, and broken mind. Eager to pick apart the strands of his brain tissue and see for yourself how they operated.

But now?

You weren’t just afraid.

You were terrified of him. Of whom he had become. And who he could transform into in the near future.

So, you simply let your head hang as you pursed your lips into silence.

The man didn’t move. He didn’t shift, whimper, nor shout. He simply stood there with you. Beneath the cloak of the large, black umbrella. A gentle thunder ruptured the air. The gale softened. The tempest was nearing its end. The grey storm clouds were returning home.

“If you love something, you should work hard to earn it.” You wiped a few stray droplets off your eyes. “If you love me, you should work hard to be a better person for me. You can’t just… do this.”

With slow, sincere motions, Caleb lifted your arm and slotted it with his.

“Let’s go home, then. I’ll work hard for you this time. We can make things right.”

But you didn’t move. You simply stood, pulling back your arm ever so slightly. Not desperately, not angrily, just… subtly. As if your own games had tired you out. Because they had. What use was there in fighting back? You had already lost.

“There is no home to return to, Caleb.” A soft voice spoke. His lips twisted into a frown. Brief anger flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t speak. What was there to say? He knew you were right.

“Let’s go build one, then. We’ll begin from nothing.” His fingers tightened around yours. “One step at a time.”

“My home,” you averted your gaze, hesitant to continue, “doesn’t include you.”

The wrath returned, spreading through his visage like poison dipped onto a pond’s still surface. His grip tautened painfully. “What? Don’t you love me?” There was a scoff in his voice, a forced friendliness. “All right. I get it. You’re shy, is that it?” he grinned. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Much like a lot of his smiles nowadays.

You stared back at him with a worn countenance, unresponsive to his tease. But something subtly stirred in your chest. Nothing pleasant. Fear. He was at it again. He was walking a fine line between mania and sanity, and he threatened to topple over and fall into the clutches of psychosis at any moment.

Knowing what it was scared you more. Most would mistake it for hurt, for desperation or any other normal feeling in the book. But you knew all too well it wasn’t that.

He was losing himself. You were, both physically and psychically, driving him mad.

Caleb’s smile slackened. “Pip-squeak.” He shut his eyes in an attempt at self-restraint. When he opened them, your nerves screamed. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Either,” a step forward, “you come with me, help me fix what I broke, or…” he stopped. His lips neared yours. His hot breath fanned over your eyes. The knot in your stomach tightened. Tears rose to your eyes.

You should move away, display the last bits of your dimming defiance. But what was the point? It was all over. He’d caught you, and now, the victor would claim his prize. Your soaked clothes clung uncomfortably to your torso, moulding to your shape. It pressed against your chest. Suffocating, revealing, vulnerable—the words raced in your mind. Bile rose to your throat. The weight of the clothes dripping down irked you, but not more than how you felt practically revealed under his gaze.

You gulped.

“Ya know, killing an important member of the fleet is a serious offence.” His eyes skimmed over your body. You tensed right as he caught himself and deflected his gaze.

You understood what he implied. Granting you a swift, painless execution was the kindest decision the fleet could come upon.

“But,” the coldness in your eyes matched his, “you wouldn’t let that happen to me, would you?”

“Smart girl.” He ruffled your wet hair. “Either you come with me, or I drag you home kicking and screamin’.”

The lack of reluctance in his voice startled you, paired with the sheer casualness of his tone. You could tell he wasn’t lying.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t,” he confirmed. “So, shall we go home?”

You don’t respond. You only look at him. With empty, broken eyes, with a dimming spark of defiance still lingering in them.

And in his eyes, you spotted emotion. His brow furrowed, curled. His lips threatened to drag into a frown. He was recollecting. Zoning out on the image of your face, drifting away into the land of memories. Your patients often entered this semi-delirious state, so you’d naturally learned to pick up on it. During those times, you’d simply offer silence. Because for most, the memories they recalled whilst vulnerable and overwhelmed were the ones they hid from themselves the most. If you were to interrupt his thoughts, he’d never confront himself again.

You didn’t know what burdens his heart bore. You didn’t know how many times his flesh tasted the bite of steel. And you certainly didn’t know whether what he felt had justifications. But one thing you knew for sure was that Caleb had to confront his past soon. If he didn’t, he’d lose himself to his obsession.

But you knew it was a matter you couldn’t manipulate. It was not something you could push and pull behind the scenes to manoeuvre them the way they should be moved. There were parts of the human mind that even the most talented psychologists couldn’t access, and if they could, they were not to interfere.

And because of that, most patients embraced a similar decision each time.

He tilted his head. The onslaught of broken memories fragmented before disappearing entirely amidst the purple voids. Just like most, Caleb had chosen to run. And then, without hesitation, he took your arm and pulled.

“Atta girl,” he cooed.

The faltering rain drowned everything—the drum of your heartbeat softly thumping against your ribcage, slowed by the exhaustion biting your limbs. In the distance, the last train to Linkon rattled past.

With a crestfallen gaze, you stepped towards him. Caleb wrapped his arm around your waist and gently lugged you close. The cage you couldn’t see before clamped shut. And so did any possibility of his rehabilitation that you’d initially planned on.

And then, together, you stepped into a new beginning—a future that was no longer yours.

[kanmom51]

Hi. For some reason I’ve been stressing over Jimin going into the military. Then I saw RM’s letter this weekend and started thinking of his enlistment. Is it possible for RM and Jimin to go at the same time. I think I would feel so much better if that could happen. I know it isn’t likely but could that happen?

I love your blog and you are the only one I felt comfortable asking about this.

Hi @5becats. Thanks for your love and support.💜💜

Look, anything is possible. I do see a few of them perhaps enlisting around the same time, maybe not exact same day, but same draft period. I doubt the military would want two or more of them at the same training centre at the same time. Mainly for security reasons. I also don't think the military will have them posted (after their basic training) in the same units maybe even bases, unless if a couple of them get into the band.

Now for JM. I understand your sentiments. I wouldn't want him to enlist on his own either. But like I mentioned, even if a couple of them enlist at the same time the likelihood of them being together on base during training is super low.

I, for one, being super selfish at the moment, and unashamedly admitting to it, am hoping that JM doesn't enlist just yet.

I'm not sure what JM's working on at the moment, but he clearly is working on something (re: his 10 day stay in NY). It could be more new music, it could have been a MV shoot, it could have been a Dior or Tiffany shoot, it could have been all the above. I'm really hoping that if it was a MV shoot, it's not for a goodbye song (I, for one, am going to be devastated when that announcement comes for JM, and I am hoping it's gonna be later rather than sooner). There have been quite a few clues to there being more music on the way from JM. But him creating more music doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be released prior to his enlistment. It also doesn't mean that PJM2 is on it's way either, not in the near future, that is.

I kind of have this dream of the maknae line enlisting together. Again, that probably wouldn't be same enlistment date for the three, but around the same time frame, allowing them to do their service more or less at same time and discharged around the same time too.

This will allow JM to be around when JK releases his solo album and during the promotions, something that I know would be super important to both of them.

My heart will literally break if JK has to go through his first solo release without JM being able to be there by his side (even within the limitations set for them during JM's promotions).

[lasnevadascryptid]

I'm gonna say something that might be controversial but I'll say it anyways.

Ahem.

Ranboo's lore is unoriginal by dream SMP standards, not just as a concept. Naturally it's unoriginal by concept standards other people have come up with this idea before.

But on the dsmp he is not the only person to have this lore, and this issue for lack of a better word is why I LOATH to bits people scapegoating CC dream for whoever the CCs didn't or don't communicate. He may have owned the server but the lore wasn't is idea and largely didn't partake in lore, and from what I understand didn't overlook it either.

My impression from looking at fans talk about the lore behind the scenes stuff was that Wilbur was to some unknown extent in charge. But as I heard more stories and rumors about the treatment of the server's playerbase towards their fellow player, it became clear neither was true, and it was always that responsibility to communicate with the other players fell upon to the individual CC to do so, not Wilbur and certainly not Dream as many seem to claim.

Even your favorites are guilty of this, you should scapegoat Dream to ignore the issue just because they're your favorites and Dream is easy to punch down on and pin all the problems of the server on. Hell I rarely see any drama go by without Dream being dragged in as blame partly blamed on him regardless of we know or not he's involved or to blame. He is partly to blame, but not solely like I see a lot of people imply.

The miscommunication problem should have been called out a lot sooner, evidence was kinda always there, but it's now way too late, and i genuinely think some good would have happened if it was addressed.

For example:

Fundy and Ranboo have the exact concept for their lore. And it's never addressed. This is lead to a lot of interesting parallels and themes between the two that are never acknowledged. If it wasn't for the fact the way they discussed their lore and ideas for it, I'd assume it's intentional but it's very clearly not and I think their lore suffers for it.

What is Fundy and Ranboo's lore? Well, person has a supposed subconscious other version of themself with powers the consciousness version doesn't have, and causes the person to have issues sleeping, and generally causes them bouts of severe mentally health issues and "spells" of unreality and disassociations.

This subconscious self claims to the same person as the awake conscious self, and claims to genuinely want to help, but does so in a way that comes across as scary, unhelpful, strange and unusual, their actions and methods concerning. They also claim not to exist. Also, the more this subconscious self takes over, the worse the mental health of the waking conscious self gets.

In both cases this leads the person to another person with a smile motif often known for being shady or morally grey at best, others of the server often keeping their distance from this smile man. Though when they met this smile man, it's in a dream, and it may not even be the real person, the real deal, but rather something conjured up by the subconscious self to serve a purpose of sorts.

Especially now on the QSMP it's plastered everywhere to point if I wonder it's meant to be subconscious programming of sorts and for whom.

Besides a man with a dubious moral code and smile motif, they also come across a mysterious entity. For Ranboo, his Enderwalk ARG calls this entity Z. Just Z. And as for Fundy, it's not named, but there is a shadowy cloaked figure that chases him until he wakes up.

In both cases, they eventually give into this subconscious self seeking help and guidance, hoping for answers from the self proclaimed subconscious version of them directly.

And that's kinda it. Nothing comes from the similarities, and as far as I can tell. They aren't intended to be this similar. I WANT to theorize that they are similar because Z/"Nightmare" is lying to Fundy and Ranboo for some unknown reasons.

But it's basically confirmed that's not the case, Ranboo implied he didn't really know what they wanted from their character having changed their lore and even species a lot, eventually settle on: full blooded enderman that's just a chimera/half albino, and he's not possssed by anything it's genuinely a subconscious self that trusts dream for some/no reason???

And it's too similar to be Fundy somehow was predicted or copying Ranboo in the sense of again, Ranboo kept changing what he wanted the end to be, hell he changed how his death was play out, Wilbur confirmed it was gonna be self sacrifice to save Tubbo only for it to changed to be by Sam's blade.

I largely believe things could have been different if they just communicated, especially given how to some extent unintentionally Fundy gets replaced by Ranboo as Philza's grandson, as in Philza rejects Fundy in lore and disowns him only to turn around and allows Ranboo to live with him and Techno in their secluded fuck off away from everyone else cabin when they shunned nearly everyone else. Additionally Ranboo's being Fundy's last ally prior to Las Nevadas.

It could have been very interesting. It's clear as CCs they talked but also clear there similarities by chance are not intentional. The only thing that hints that I'm wrong here in my eyes is Z talks to Fundy in ender only for Fundy to realize what it means, meaning CC fundy knew about the ender walk but to what extent?????

:(((((((((((((((( stuff like this makes wish things... turned out differently. I genuinely wanted a s2 of dsmp. But seeing the CCs either not show up the ender dragon fight and or slowly quietly leave. Just. Ugh. The community thrives just bittersweet seeing the CCs move on to greener pastures.

[decks-writing-blog]

Whatever the Fuck Benrey Is: Chapter Twenty-Two: He's Fine

Chapter One

Previous

~

Benrey’s sentience was an accident. That became more and more obvious the further they got into the files until it was outright stated as a shocking development once the scientists noticed their experiment wasn’t quite the mindless blob they thought it was. After the reveal of what he’d been made for, that wasn’t too surprising – who needed or wanted a healing goo dispenser that thought and felt? – but that didn’t make it a fun realization. He was supposed to have been alive the same way a house plant was because that’s basically what he was supposed to have been.

Naturally when Subject X – Benrey couldn’t exactly pretend it wasn’t him anymore, could he? – started showing clear signs of intelligence, furthering testing began, all documented of course. The start of all the poking and prodding that had never seemed odd until Benrey had seen a somewhat similar situation portrayed in a video game with a distinct tone of it being a bad thing.

Shape shifting was the first of its bonus powers to manifest. It was bad at it, barely able to keep any shape as it tried and failed to copy the scientists, much to their delight. Why was it trying to copy them of all people? They sucked. Yeah there was no one else around but still. Benrey had been a dumb kid. Not surprising though considering he wasn’t supposed to have had any intelligence whatsoever.

Gordon, every so often asked how he was doing or if he needed a break. Benrey almost snapped at him about it after the third time but… it was a good sign. For now at least, Gordon still cared enough about him to continue to ask. Whether he cared enough to actually stop if Benrey said he wanted to was impossible to know. He could test it but it’d be too much trouble. The longer they kept going, the sooner they’d be done and then Benrey would see how Gordon felt about him after.

Benrey had deleted the purring video and hadn’t purred anywhere his handlers could see afterwards, meaning there shouldn’t be much on that particular talent of his. Gordon might decide to find out more. Measure the sound frequency of his purring or something like that. Or he might want to know other things Benrey’s old handlers hadn’t been able to figure out or hadn’t thought to test. Would he listen when Benrey told him ‘no, I don’t wanna be studied’? Only time would tell.

As they got deeper and deeper, dipping into late evening, requiring Benrey to switch on the light, they eventually hit things that stirred memories in him. At first just vague things that could’ve easily been explained away as him starting to look for things he remembered apart from the scientists. But then little Subject X started figuring out how to form the parts that made human speech possible. That he actually sort of remembered because he’d felt proud of himself for it after trying so hard for so long.

“Wow,” Gordon said after the first recording featuring him speaking properly, “you sound kinda like how you do now. Not like the exact same but, you know, similar. But I guess I don’t know why I expected you to sound like a normal child because you clearly weren’t one.”

“I was trying to sound like the scientists.” Because back then he’d been too stupid to not know better than to try to impress them. He’d been a dumb, lame, boring kid. If he could go back and talk to his younger self, he’d be tempted to punt it like a football down an elevator shaft. Not to kill it of course – in case it didn’t come back because that power hadn’t manifested yet, he clearly hadn’t started with all his powers after all – it was him after all, but to try to knock some sense into it because it was an idiot.

“Yeah, uh… normal kid stuff, trying to be like your…” Cutting himself off Gordon turned to face him properly. “This whole thing is really fucked up, you know that, right? Like you’re aware they’re not treating you like how you’re supposed to treat young children. Not that I know a whole lot about that kind of thing, I’ve never had a kid or even want one but I know that ain’t it. So like you know that…”

Benrey cut in. “Stop feeling bad for me.” Not when he wanted to study Benrey too, just like the scientists he was claiming were ‘fucked up’ for doing so. Even if he was nicer about it, it still didn’t give him the right to try to tell Benrey how he should feel about his past. “Keep going. There’s a lot left to go through.” There was no way they were going to finish tonight but getting as far as possible was still preferred. Especially if it didn’t leave Gordon any time to stew on it being ‘fucked up’ or whatever and thus decide to be annoying about any of it.

Gordon took a breath, about to say something else, probably stupid, but seemed to think better of it as he let out a sigh instead. He swiveled the chair back around to obey.

With the ability to speak came the the ability to communicate, relay thoughts and feelings. Which was the start of the questions and all the tests. Most of which had to be recorded of course. Did it hear, see, taste, and/or feel differently than humans did? How smart was it exactly? Could they teach it to read, write, and do math? With a basis on such down, could it be left alone with a work sheet or book and be able to teach itself more when commanded to? Would it explain how it changed shapes and colours? What did it feel when it healed after being cut? Did it feel the same when other forms of potential damage, like if someone slapped it, were inflicted on it?

The final question and the bonus question it brought about how its odd body reacted to and healed from various non-cutting damage sources ended up with its own video. A few minutes into it… “I remember this,” Benrey said as he settled into leaning against Gordon’s chair again. This would hopefully be less aggravating to watch than the rest of it had been up until now.

“Didn’t you say you couldn’t feel pain?”

“Nah, never said that. I can uh… prevent it I guess. Healing makes it go away, obviously but it still hurts until its healed. So it hurts for like a second or two and then its better. Except when I turn off feeling where the pain is gonna be or whatever. Don’t know how it works,” another thing Gordon might try to study him to figure out, “but I was bad at it back then ‘cause I was bad at everything.” As they’d clearly already seen, he didn’t come into being with all his powers and stuff fully ready to go or even seemingly there at all. Little him hadn’t even had the idea to phase through anything at this point. It would figure it out relatively soon though because well… Benrey remembered this and what it had led to.

“Dude, that makes this worse. Why are we watching this?”

“’Cause you want to. Went all the way to the old facility hoping for the chance to. But uh… pay attention, it’s ‘bout to get good.”

X was getting fed up with the testing. Pain, even if it lasted only a second or two, wasn’t fun. It had also learned how to make teeth recently, defaulting to sharp because it was an easier shape to make fit together. The final straw came when the scientists decided to see what an electric current running through its body would do to it. Did it cause damage? If so, would it be immediately healed and then done again, creating a damage to healing loop? What did that feel like to X?

The scientists wouldn’t be getting answers to those questions though, not yet anyway, as, as soon as they started, X yanked away, slipping out of the scientist holding its’ grasp. It then jumped – more like slid because, barely humanoid, it was still rather blob like, especially its lower half – off the table. “No more. I’m done.” There wasn’t much emotion in its voice, speaking taking more effort back then meant the tone was more controlled, but Benrey remembered being mad. The experimenting had been going on long enough already and the electricity had hurt more than anything he’d encountered before.

“We’re not done yet.” The scientist bent down to pick X back up. As she reached for it though it lunged forward to bite her hard it as possibly could. Her entire hand and part of her forearm in its mouth, she screamed as she yanked back, dragging X along with her, blood gushing out around its mouth.

Gordon paused the video. “Is this uh… the thing you told me about?”

“Yep. My earliest memory.” At the time of sharing it anyway, now a few earlier ones had been jogged back into his mind.

“Um… if that’s the case, we know how it ends so we should skip it.” He reached for the mouse again but Benrey leaned over him to grab it instead.

“Nah, it’s funny, you’ll see. I’m hurting her ‘cause she deserves it so it’s funny. She quits ‘cause of this, it’s great.” He pressed play on the video and as he pulled back, he grabbed the chair and rolled it a little further away from the desk. Far enough back that Gordon couldn’t reach the mouse without getting up. He would see that he’d been wrong the whole time and that it wasn’t a big deal. Benrey couldn’t be permanently hurt and thus it didn’t matter. And even if he’d still been figuring out how to stop the pain from happening in the first place back then, it still hadn’t lasted long. The damage certainly hadn't. And death was just a brief nothingness, only a little different from dreamless sleep, before waking up to being perfectly okay. So this whole sequence wasn’t a huge issue, neither was anything else they’d done to him. He was fine.

On screen, the scientist – Benrey didn’t recall her name even after Gordon had read it not long ago – collected herself rather quickly. “Let go right fucking now.” At the time Benrey had only heard the projected anger in her voice. Now though, more familiar with emotions and the ways they effected humans’ voices – even if he was still not great at it, he knew better what to listen for now – the quaver in her voice was impossible to miss. She was frightened and in pain; distressed.

X didn’t let go. It was still boiling with the still somewhat new feeling of anger. And the blood tasted good. Not as good as soap but it was a taste Benrey had always enjoyed.

The scientist stood, wincing as X’s weight dangled at the end of her arm. She turned her glare on something past the camera. “Don’t just stand there, get this thing off me.”

There was a scuffle before the scientist manning the camera rushed out to try to pull X off her arm, making her yelp in pain for a moment before reigning herself in. He then set X on the table again to try to pry its jaws off her arm. Futile efforts all around; X was too smooth, soft, and slippery to get a good grip on.

The harder the two of them tried to make it let go, the less X wanted to. Not that there was any visual evidence of that but Benrey remembered it. They were getting more and more flustered, freaked out, panicking, especially the bite victim. His first taste of being a disturbance and causing problems; a pivotal moment in his life.

“See? It’s funny,” he said to Gordon.

“I don’t know, man. She deserves it, sure but… you sure you wanna watch to the end?”

“Yes.” Because it was all fun and funny. Nothing to feel bad for him over. He was fine.

Eventually the two of them brought a third guy in to help. It was his idea to start inflicting pain. Just a little at first, pricking with the scalpel, drawing out a drop or two of blood before it healed. And then stabbing and cutting, trying to cause enough pain got make it let go. Hitting it with a hammer was proposed but immediately denied; bite victim’s hand was too deep inside it to not take damage form such a move too.

Third guy then pulled out a proper knife to try through the teeth. Another failure, they weren’t real bone but they sure were hard. He switched to trying to cut around them instead. Too slow though, especially with how careful he was not to hurt bite victim. The wound closed up behind the knife long before it could get all the way around

X stayed silent throughout, outwardly only betraying its pain through closing its eyes tighter and tighter as it bit down even harder. If it focused, it could block the pain without feeling it but it for even a moment but it was hard to focus after it had failed to even once.

When it did finally make a noise it was too muffled by the arm in its mouth to be audible. Benrey couldn’t recall exactly what it was trying to say but did know it was trying to let go now and attempting to say so. Its teeth were stuck bite victim’s bone though; it couldn’t. It was running out of juice and wanted the pain to stop.

The fear had been a bitter stark contrast to the earlier anger and feelings of victory. Even now, remembering it, made him tense up, his teeth growing longer and sharper as if he were about to starting biting something too. It was a feeling he shouldn’t be able to feel because he couldn’t be hurt in anyway that mattered. He’d been weaker back then though, softer and less capable. They’d been hurting him. The damage healed a second later, banishing the pain as well but the knife kept going, trying to go fast enough around to cut the hand free because he couldn’t let go. Teeth were bones and bones were hard, making them, dissolving them, if he’d even been able to think clear enough to remember to try back then which well, maybe he hadn’t. He couldn’t let go and so they’d kept hurting him.

The camera scientist returned with another long sharp knife and started helping. Bite victim’s composure was lost now, she was sobbing with pain. She had sharp teeth lodged into her forearm bone after all.

Benrey had always had a limit to how much he could heal at once before the blood flow stopped and he died. These days, even at his weakest, it was a lot – on Xen with all the passports feeding him, there’d been a moment when he’d thought he might be impossible to kill – back then though, it hadn’t been much. Not long after the second knife cutting into him too, little X reached it.

Upon death, it stopped bleeding and thus stopped healing. And thus bite victim’s arm was soon free at last. Sobbing and panting for breath she retreated. Stumbling over, she pressed her back against the wall, sliding down it. She held her injured out out in front of her, X’s blood had healed it but its teeth were still lodged in it. “Help me with this.”

Neither of the other scientists even looked at her. They were focused on the sliced up blob of X on the table. Only one of their faces was visible, it was locked in a grimace. “I think uh… we may have learned something entirely different from this experiment than intended.”

“Yeah that the fucking thing is violent and an evil piece of shit.”

“That too,” camera man said, “but also uh… there’s a limit on its healing. I think its dead.”

“Fuck, shit,” other guy said.

Camera man turned back and hurried over to the camera, stepping around behind it again. “I’m sure we can--” The video ended.

“There, we watched the whole thing.” Gordon’s voice had that familiar quaver in it. He was upset. Angry? … Maybe. It was hard to tell, more so than usual, but probably, right? “Are you satisfied?”

No, Benrey wasn’t satisfied. It had been worse than he’d remembered. Not funny at all. His teeth were still sharp, digging into his gums as he clutched the top of the office chair. There was a tight band wrapped around his chest, making it hard to breath.

Gordon tried to swivel the chair but Benrey’s grip on it wouldn’t let him. He stood instead, turning to face him as he did so. “Benrey?” What expression he was making, Benrey couldn’t see as he set his gaze on the floor. His tone was just as unreadable. “Are you okay?”

Benrey lifted his hands to press to the side of his head, clutching it. “You were right.” His voice sounded raspy and rough even to himself. “My life sucks.” They’d done stuff like that to him over and over. He told them to stop but they never listened. They didn’t care. No one ever had.

Stepping closer, Gordon pushed the chair aside. He lifted a hand, almost touching Benrey’s shoulder but stopped. “What do need from me? How can I help?”

What was he even talking about? Help Benrey with what? None of it made sense. Benrey was about to explode or scream or something! He dug his fingers into his scalp, forming claws and drawing blood. Blocking the pain came instinctively now, easier to do than not to because he’d gotten really damn good at it. Before he could turn it off…

Gordon grabbed his wrist, pulling it away from his head. The other, he pushed with his gun hand. “Whoa, hey, let’s not do that. I know you can heal and stuff but… please don’t do that to yourself, okay?”

Benrey could resist and do it anyway. Gordon was still holding his wrist but his grip was gentle and by default Benrey’s other hand was basically free. Gordon couldn’t hold both his hands no matter how hard he tried because he had only the one.

“Look I… I’m trying to help but I really don’t know how. My instinct is to do what you do for me when you’re comforting me after a nightmare but… I can’t sing a sweet voice for you and I don’t know if you wanna be touched or… or if you want me to just sit next to you and talk or be silent or… I don’t know. Please help me help you… if you can.”

Benrey finally looked up at his face. His expression was just as unreadable as his tone. Neither of which should be right now, he was very expressive, Benrey was just in a weird, horrible head space, making it hard to think because the pressure was too much. He needed scream. Attempting to take a breath to do so failed; the band around his chest was too tight. Instead he forced out a, “Touch. You’re warm.” What Gordon was trying to ask his help with he had no idea but being touched more did sound nice.

Apparently waiting for that, Gordon stepped closer to gently pulling him into a hug. He was warm and soft and wonderful. Benrey pressed into him, balling his hands into fists in the back his shirt. Instead of screaming he made an entirely different kind of sound, one he’d never heard himself make before. He’d heard other people make it though in video games, movies, and even in real life a few times. So he knew what it was, hearing it from himself was weird though.

“It’s okay,” Gordon whispered, rubbing his back. It felt really nice but somehow made Benrey cry harder anyway.

Turns out another advantage of being short was how easy it was to press his face in Gordon’s chest as he sobbed into it. It was stupid, lame, and dumb but he couldn’t stop now that he’d started. Didn’t even really want to.

He cried and cried as Gordon rubbed his back and murmured sweet assurances to him. None of his words really meant much, it was just beautiful background noise to cut against the wretched sounds Benrey made.

Eventually, after what felt like hours but might’ve been only a few minutes for all he knew, his sobbing and tears slowed and then petered to stop. Leaving him feeling wrung out like a dishrag or more like a spring that had been wound too tight but had finally be allowed to release all that tension but was now malformed with it. The pressure from his chest and mind was gone, making it possible to think again.

He shifted in Gordon’s arms. Not trying to escape, just enough to allow himself to look around a little, take stock of the room. Somehow unnoticed Gordon had moved them to sit on the couch, Benrey curled up in his lap, pressed to his chest. At Benrey’s movement…

“Feel better?” Gordon’s voice was still barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.” Even though Benrey should’ve never felt that bad in the first place. If he’d had it his way he would’ve continued to never confront that moment properly or any of the other bad ones. Of course that would’ve meant Black Mesa would’ve eventually found those records instead but they might’ve just kept them and never looked at them. “It’s your fault.”

“What is?”

“It. You’re making me feel things I’m not supposed to.” Whatever that feeling had been exactly, it had sucked! Horrible and awful, it was kind of feeling best avoided at all costs. But Gordon and Benrey’s feelings for him had ultimately lead him to it

“I uh… I’m sorry. I don’t think there are really things you’re suppose to feel or not feel though. You just feel how you feel and there’s no supposed to or not about it. Still though… sorry about making you see that.”

Benrey could just let him feel bad and take all the blame because they never would’ve ended up here if not for his nosiness so it was his fault. Watching the whole video had been solely Benrey’s decisions though, Gordon had tried to skip it the moment he’d found out what it was. “Nah, I made you watch it. So my fault too.” In trying to prove it was fine to Gordon, he’d instead proved Gordon right in that it wasn’t fine. Nothing about it was fine.

Despite that, he still wasn’t as annoyed with or mad at Gordon as he should be for being so disruptive, making him confront things he didn’t need or want to confront. He was warm and soft, holding Benrey close still even though he was done crying. The tears soaked in this shirt didn’t seem to bother him either

“Either way I think uh… we’re done for at least today, huh? Maybe just in general?”

“For today. Finish it tomorrow.” To make sure Gordon got as many of his science questions involving Benrey answered. So that the temptation to know more couldn’t be fulfilled with a long strung out series of him sneaking to view the files more. He’d then have to either respect Benrey’s request to not be studied any further or wouldn’t. Of course if it was the former, he could change his mind later down the line but for as long as he didn’t, Benrey would know for sure he mattered more as a person to him than an experiment. He’d enjoy that for however long it lasted.

Gordon sighed. “Okay. Whatever you wanna do. For now uh… wanna get something to eat then play games ‘til its time for bed?”

“Do I get to get back in your lap when we play?” Feeling better didn’t meant he felt good or normal. Comfort wasn’t something he should need but well, Gordon arms around him were really nice.

“Yeah, if you want to.”

“Okay then, I guess.”

~

Next Chapter

[ufonaut]

Might be a weird ask, but after that convo about the JSAer's ages, what about their partners and kids (especially the kids)? Because of the sliding time scale, characters like Jennifer-Lynn, Todd, Rick, Jesse and Jack Knight are presumed to have been born sometime in the late 80s or 90s (as of 2023)? So that leaves a situation in which most JSAers kind of avoided having kids until they were in their 60-70s? That or maybe DC will one day say that these kids also are time-displaced.

see my best friend katie (@slaapkat) and i have spent ages trying to figure this one out, and i know the folks over on the cbr forums (which is basically the last bastion of old time fandom, not that that's necessarily a good thing) have been recently discussing this exact thing post-lost children finale... and, well, there's no easy answer!

there's cases like rex tyler, where even by wendi's first appearance in showcase 1956 #56 it's pretty obvious she's significantly younger than rex (she's introduced as a 'girl' and rex already has grey temples by that cover date of '65) and that's made even more clear in hourman 1999 #24 when their age difference actually leads to some arguments about rex not getting the hip music wendi listens to but. that's just one case of many and it's one that'd have to be updated with the timeline, too.

i think the solution is either time displacement or what i'm personally leaning towards is having the jsa's time in ragnarok come sooner and last longer, have them come back at a decent age (having effectively been frozen during their time there) and then settle down and have families. with that particular avenue, i think we'd reach around the same ages roy thomas had in mind during infinity inc. i've gotta say this is one of the main reasons i love judy garrick's introduction so much, having her born in 1949 is absolutely a stroke of genius and jay & joan having the first of the jsa kids is perfect considering they're the only ones of the 'default' couples to have ever discussed marriage & kids in their actual golden age comics (as per flash comics 1940 #35 and #45)!

that being said, even keeping canon as it is, i don't think it's actually as big of a concern as it seems at first glance! out of the original team mcnider, kent, al, wes, corrigan, johnny t and terry never had kids -- with the caveat that grant emerson isn't really al's son and the closest thing wes has to a kid, sandy, is kept ageless in sand monster form for as long as necessary. similarly, johnny t's peachy pet can keep her original timeline as she doesn't inherit any legacy, and the hawks can have hector at any point because it's his return from the dead as fate that needs to be in line with the current timeline instead of his actual birth. as stated above, rick also requires no real update because rex could've simply met wendi much later and dating a twenty-something year old actress as a status symbol doesn't make him more of a creep than he already was if it happened in the 60s or in the 90s.

and here's where it gets problematic. david & jack knight... well, let's say ted's in the same boat as rex, he's not a family man type to begin with. jennie & todd? i can see alan holding onto his confirmed bachelor status for as long as he's able until societal pressure wears him down, and mr gbc ceo getting with young secretary alyx rose thorn makes him a believable straight cliche that would raise no suspicions (and it would also account for the blind anger of the 90s sentinel era, he hates what he's had to do... plus, you know, other real world events of the 90s that might influence for the worse the way alan feels about being gay)*. the one that's really giving me trouble is jesse quick but i suppose we can either move up johnny and libby's wedding and allow johnny the normal course of his original canon (he was still a bachelor living with tubby watts by adventure comics #174 in '52) or jesse's older than she looks and the speed force lets her age real slow.

as for their partners, in the case of those who aren't simply with significantly younger women, it's canon that they were all bathed in that weird ian karkull shadowland radiation that makes the jsaers themselves eternally sorta young as per all-star squadron annual #3.

WHEW THIS GOT LONG, I'M SORRY!! what do you think?

*as a side-note to the alan situation -- considering his marriage with alyx rose thorn lasted precisely a day and a night, molly's timeline doesn't need to be moved up for longer than a couple years when alan eventually gives in to that too and we can have their divorce somewhere around 2011 as a fun reference to the life-changing events of new 52.

[yanmuffins]

what if the dimension of batman vs vampires p&f reader and damian accidentally stumbles upon is vampire!reader dimension? oh, and they arrive after vampire!reader is killed and turned into a vampire

the drama if p&f reader looks the exact same as vampire!reader (honestly, i see them as two different people since p&f reader is the same age as Damian and vampire!reader seems to be dick's age), since bruce looks at them and can't quite remember If vampire!reader looked like this when they were little

they all looking at p&f reader and damian being kids and wondering If vampire!reader were like that at this age, but then realizing that they don't have memories of vampire!reader like that

the despair, the anxiety, the guilt they fell

Why didn't they noticed vampire!reader sooner? why didn't they acknowledged them? why why why why

now vampire!reader it's nowhere to be found, and they could be in danger (they are), hell, for all they know they could be dead! (they kinda are)

and p&f reader and damian slowly backing away as they watch these alternate versions of their family descend into madness

let's just hope that version of the batfam finds vampire!reader fast and don't become desperate enough to end up becoming yanderes for p&f reader too

context &. context.

interesting!!!

i think vampire! reader and p&f! reader are basically just different versions of the same person. p&f! reader is gender neutral so they could be whatever gender you want them to be, while vampire! reader is female. also, you are correct, vampire! reader is older. while p&f! reader is around a year older than damian and came to the manor after him (being around 10 when they came to the manor and 14 in the fic), vampire! reader is around 21-years-old, closer to jason in age, and came to the manor somwhere between dick leaving for the teen titans and bruce adopting jason.

so, yes, p&f! reader is not only younger, but was the last one to arrive at the manor in their reality, and they had a pretty good, healthy childhood before that. not to mention bruce already had damian, so the concept of a biological child wasn't entirely alien to him, and they already had their hands full with him. the familial bonds ate tight-knit, lives are too busy, bruce already has to deal with his exceptional children and since reader is so normal, they're kinda overlooked.

and although there are similarities in the way and reasons both readers are neglected, i think it's worse with vampire! reader. she's around 7 when she comes to the manor, the circumstances around it being extremely shady (it was a scandal), and she's there before anyone except dick, whom she has shallow interactions with. from then on comes jason and the following children, and she just has to watch her father (and older brother) make time for everyone but her.

anyway, appearence-wise, p&f! reader and vampire! essentially look the same, or at least extremely similiar. but here's the thing: vampire reader's bruce does remember what his daughter looked like when she was around p&f! reader's age. and that's what makes him crumble, because vampire! reader looked abstemious and somber from a yong age, which is a far cry from her younger, alternate-dimension version.

that fact hits him the hardest, but dick notices it too. his birdie looked like a mini-adult from the day she came to the manor, and seeing p&f! reader he just wishes he could have actually bothered to be there for her. jason notices it the most because he was the one closest to reader before joker killed him, as she was the only one in the manor around his age. the others, though?

they have no idea. mostly because they weren't there when vampire! reader was a kid, but there are some memories; of her welcoming them home, little acts of affection, trying to get close to them. and they took it for granted. they started noticing her lately, yeah, but as it seems it had been a bit too late.

vampire! au damian would feel kinda jealous of the sibling bond p&f! reader and damian share, it would stir conflict between the two damians which i think could be funny amidst the angst (if you ignore that they're both kinda terrified of this batfam spiraling). all in all, i think bruce thinks of how shit it is to have a child missing so he would make sure to help send both p&f! reader and damian home safely. he's got his own kid to take care of and good lord, that's going too big of a mess for him to even worry about the two intruders in his dimension.