#sim: joshua hall

[a-fundie-bunch]

Josh Hall here. It was me and Maria's wedding today - still can't believe I've got a wife now! Sure, she's a little older than me, and maybe I could do better. But she's pretty enough, and she does what I tell her, and that's all I need really.

I'm just praying her dad doesn't find out we actually had our first kiss before the wedding. He'd kill me if he knew. It was worth it, though... kinda.

I moved out after the wedding - moved in with the Browns instead. Yeah, I know - my wife's supposed to join my family, not the other way around - but there's no room for her back home. And anyway, I don't want Maria around Phoebe - that woman's no good. She'll give Maria ideas.

[louisupdates]

CuritibaCult: e veio aí! MUITO JOGADOR, SIM! Louis Tomlinson jogando futebol ontem à noite (12), na Ligga Arena

© Joshua Halling

[sbfairywren]

I did episode two!

MAG 2 - Do Not Open

Case number:

#9981122

Statement of:

Joshua Gillespie

Regarding:

Regarding his time in possession of an apparently empty wooden casket.

Date of statement:

Original statement given November 22nd 1998

Metaplot:

N/A

Character/s mentioned:

Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute

Joshua’s friends

Man sat across from Joshua (John)

Two delivery men

Tim Stoker, researcher

Location/s mentioned:

Magnus Institute

Amsterdam

A place where they stayed, Elandsstraat

The place the man lived, Liverpool

Joshua’s place of work, Bournemouth

Other notes:

Bournemouth is Jonathan Sims’ home town

Institute was originally unable to find anything on the coffin

When mentioned to Tim he found that Breekon and Hope did exist until 2009 but based in Nottingham

No records of deliveries available

During Joshua’s time in Bournemouth no one else lived in the building and no one moved in after he left

The building was demolished

Tim couldn’t find why no one else lived there

Statement notes:

Went to Amsterdam after graduating from Cardiff

Not very sober

Left alone mid-May

Studied architecture

No map so got lost mid-afternoon

Went to a cafe to relax and got fully dark before realising he wasn’t sat alone

Man is very hard to picture (maybe because of drugs)

Man from Liverpool needed someone to look after a package before it gets picked up

Man had 10,000 pounds in an envelope 

Accepted the offer and was told that John would be in touch

Panicked and couldn’t return the money

Can’t remember anything from after the encounter

Decided not to spend any of the money and wanted to return it

John didn’t show up until after he returned to England

A year later he was willing to spend the money

Started a low paying job in Bournemouth

Finally spent some money on renting a nice flat in the centre of town

Assumed he would be impossible to find due to the lack of details shared and the new beard

Answered the door to two red faced delivery men (well over 6 foot) with a large package

Delivery guys not wearing any uniforms

Once they placed the box they left without answering any questions

Package about two metres long, one metre wide, sealed with packing tape with address written in large curving letters

Felt he couldn’t leave without opening the box

Coffin inside the box (unvarnished pale yellow wood, wrapped in a thick chain)

Lock was closed but had the key inside

The lid read “DO NOT OPEN” three inches high

Note read “Delivered with gratitude – J” (presumably John)

Called in sick to work and watched the coffin for an unknown amount of time

Went to the coffin and could not smell anything (such as rotting flesh)

Hand brushed the coffin and it was very warm

Made a cup of tea and just stood there

He stepped back into the hall and removed the key

Placed the key on the table next to the door

Moved the coffin into the livingroom and pushed it against the wall

Wood warm, chain cold

Assumed the coffin was full of drugs

Avoided the coffin as it made him nervous and could smell nothing impling there’s no dead body inside

Felt less and less nervous

After a week, he returned to using the living room but always keeping one eye on the coffin

Absentmindedly placed orange juice on the coffin a sound of movement followed

Deliberate scratching under the juice

Picked up the glass and scratching stopped

Placed the glass at the other end and it took four seconds for the scratching to move

After removing the glass the scratching lasted for another five minutes

Deliberately ignored it and decided to never interact with it

When it rained the coffin began to moan

Was reluctant to make friends thanks to the coffin so was reading a lot

Was reading  Michael Crichton’s The Lost World when it started raining

Barely past midday but had to turn on the light

Groaning was almost melodious, almost singing

Somehow knew the sound was from the coffin

Ignored it but the same situations elicited the same responses

Got used to everything and did nothing about getting rid of the coffin

Coffin gave him bad dreams, would wake up being unable to breath

Started sleep walking, found himself over the coffin holding the key

Issue never recurred outside of his home

Tried to move the key to more and more inaccessible placed but found himself to have placed the key in the lock

Placed the key in water and froze it and was unable to reach it while sleep walking

Did that for almost a year and a half

When it rained the coffin didn’t groan and then someone knocked at the door

John and the delivery men were at the door and were shocked to see him alive

John was told where to stick it

John was impressed when he saw the key in ice, Joshua smashed the ice and John picked it up

Didn’t follow the three into the living room

Someone started screaming

Only left the kitchen when the delivery went outside

Joshua followed and watched them lock the coffin in a van labled “Breekon and Hope deliveries”

There was no sign of John

Got a new job and moved to London

Apparent entity/s depicted:

 Buried

[imagines-1directioner]

Fresh Star - with Zayn Malik e Louis Tomlinson

Situação: ex!namorado!Zayn Malik x ficante!Louis Tomlinson x Leitora

Contagem de palavras: 1654

Pedido de @halls-de-menta: Eu queria tanto a continuação desse meu pedido. Queria que a continuação fosse ela já tendo superado o relacionamento com Zayn seguindo em frente com outro (pode ser o Louis 🥺), aí ela lança uma música (Don’t start now) e a música é sucesso, e ela dá uma entrevista falando da inspiração da música, e do relacionamento com o Louis e de como ele foi importante p ela conseguir passar por isso, e mostra tb como ele faz ela muito feliz. Espero que não tenha ficado muito confuso e dê p entender minha ideia 😬 Já tô morrendo de ansiedade 🥵🥵🫠

N/A: adorei seu pedido, meu bem! gostei bastante de escrever a história, espero que te agrade e que tenha ficado como imaginou. peço desculpas pela demora.. a ask está lotada de ideias e tá difícil de selecionar com tanto contexto inédito. mais uma vez agradeço pelo pedido e fico aguardando seu feedback.

curte e reblogue o post para me ajudar 🫶

- Muito, muito boa tarde pra você que tá chegando agora na BBC Radio 1! Eu sou Nick Grimshaw, e hoje estamos com a maravilhosa, deslumbrante e apaixonante S/N/C! - apesar da entrevista acontecer através do rádio, você esbanja um sorriso largo como agradecimento diante dos elogios que é pego pelas câmeras que gravavam a entrevista para mais tarde ser postada nas redes sociais.

- Vou ficar desacostumada com tantos elogios a cada volta do intervalo.

- Nada menos do que você merece. - Nick dá uma piscadela com o olho direito e sorri, assim como você, retribuindo a simpatia. - Bom, como esse é o bloco final tendo a sua ilustre presença nos studios, quero que você nos conte sobre o estouro de ‘Don’t Star Now’. - comenta animado. - Que música fantástica!

- Ohh, você gostou?

- Se eu gostei? - o radialista questiona retoricamente. - Eu amei! Inclusive peço até desculpas para a equipe mas eu vou deixar meu lado profissional de lado e trazer o fã de S/N/C ao vivo para dizer que ‘Don’t Star Now’ está na minha playlist de divas pop e de longe é um dos melhores single pop em uma escala estratosférica.

- Muito obrigada, Nick.. de coração. - sua alegria era tanta que palavras foram difíceis de serem expressadas diante de tamanha gratidão e orgulho que sentia.

- Agora voltando ao meu trabalho antes que perca meu emprego, como foi que esse fenômeno surgiu? - você e mais alguns membros da rádio e da sua equipe riem pela piadinha feita pelo apresentador.

- Essa canção surgiu de repente.

- As melhores surgem assim.

- Exato! - novamente você ri e Grimshaw sorri. - Eu estava me recuperando de um caso sério de coração partido e Joshua, como meu amigo e fiel escudeiro desde o início da minha carreira, foi passar o dia comigo. Estávamos na sala, bebendo café e jogando conversa fora e de repente ele começa a brincar com as teclas do piano até que, involuntariamente, tocou a melodia inicial da música e no mesmo segundo eu olhei pra ele e disse ‘O que tá fazendo?’ - Nick estava entretido na história, assim como as pessoas no studio e claro, os ouvintes. - Obviamente Josh se assustou, me olhou como se eu estivesse acusando-o e deu de ombros, tipo ‘Não tô fazendo nada!’. - todos, inclusive você riram. A cena daquela criação nunca deixaria sua memória. - Eu pedi para ele repetir e como um bom músico logo se ligou que aquilo foi uma inspiração e tocou novamente. Escutar aquelas simples notas despertaram um gás em mim e trinta minutos depois já tínhamos a letra e boa parte da estrutura musical pronta.

- Do jeito que ela conta parece fácil criar um hit do zero.

- E realmente foi! - mais risadas são ouvidas. - Mas isso é raro, viu? Ainda mais quando estoura tão rápido.

- Você ficou surpresa com a repercussão?

- Demais! - responde dando ênfase. - Foi um susto bom, sabe? - o moreno faz que sim com a cabeça. - A gente soltou a música de madrugada e logo pela manhã já estava no topo dos streamings, e em quatro, cinco dias era número um na Billboard. Algo insano!

- Imagino o quanto foi maravilhoso se deparar com esse acontecimento. Porque essa música é definitivamente um acontecimento!

- Foi e está sendo, Nick! É incrível receber o feedback do público, seja por números de ouvintes, seja pelo engajamento nas redes sociais. Escutar a sua música tocando sem parar é uma sensação tão acolhedora e ao mesmo tempo surreal que até agora eu não me acostumei. - sua risada desacreditada demonstrava facilmente o quão maravilhada você estava em meio a nova atmosfera de coisas boas que estava imersa. - Está sendo um momento incrível e com certeza um dos melhores da minha vida. E eu sou imensamente grata.

- Isso é realmente ótimo de se escutar! - o rapaz diz ao dar um sorriso e em seguida aciona alguns botões da mesa de som, provavelmente para ajustar algum ruído e seguir a entrevista. - Bem, eu não pude deixar de notar que você disse que estava se recuperando de um coração partido..

- Sim. - seu pequeno riso preso nos lábios mostra que sabia o que viria pela frente. Afinal você conhecia a fama de Nick. Ele conseguia tirar “segredos” dos artistas com certa facilidade.

- A pergunta é: essa recuperação tem a ver com o seu último relacionamento com o Zayn Malik? - mais cedo ou mais tarde você sabia que o assunto viria à tona, e antes da entrevista começar você e a equipe tinham ciência de que o seu ex seria pauta em algum momento.

- Muito do que eu vivi nos últimos anos foi retratado na música e até mesmo no álbum que será lançado na semana que vem. E claro que meu relacionamento com o Zayn fez parte de uma parcela bem significativa da minha vida, até porque foram seis anos juntos.

- Wow, não sabia que era tudo isso.

- Pois é. Nos assumimos publicamente dois anos depois desde que começamos a ficar juntos. Foi um relacionamento intenso, em todos os sentidos. Ele foi a pessoa responsável por incentivar minha carreira como cantora já que tinha experiência no ramo, além de estar comigo em momentos importantes da minha vida profissional e pessoal.

- Vocês se conheceram ainda no colégio, certo?

- Sim.. estudamos juntos durante todo o ensino médio. Eu conheci o Zayn antes da One Direction e fomos namorar anos depois. Ele sempre me manteve por perto, tínhamos um vínculo muito forte e que foi extremamente difícil, pelo menos para mim, quebrá-lo. Então sim, eu quis afogar as minhas dores do término no que eu sei fazer de melhor, que é música.

- Você vai querer me matar mas.. tudo o que diz na canção é real? - embora ele estivesse sem graça, a curiosidade do radialista falava mais alto que sua cara de pau.

- Como artista, eu carrego comigo o dom do exagero, Nick. - você entrou na brincadeira de um jeito que não fosse te comprometer.

- Claro!

- Mas quero deixar claro que em nenhum momento Zayn veio cobrar algo depois que terminamos ou ficou incomodado de me ver seguindo em frente com outra pessoa como mencionado na canção. Na verdade não temos mais contato, embora ele frisasse que ainda tínhamos um ao outro. - ao dizer aquilo sua mente te levou a cena dolorosa em que Zayn foi até seu apartamento buscar os últimos pertences após o fim do namoro. - A música não envolve unicamente o meu relacionamento com ele. Eu como uma pobre mortal já sofri muito por amor e fim de namoros. Tenho uma bagagem cheia de sentimentos reprimidos e resolvi depositar na arte musical. Minha história com o Zayn apenas contribuiu para a criação.

- Entendi.. belíssima resposta. - a feição supreendida de Grimshaw fez você gargalhar. Obviamente ele queria uma resposta mais concreta e sabia o quão escorregadia você era para responder perguntas comprometedoras. - E realmente existiu alguém que seus ex’s não quisessem ver você dançando? - questiona fazendo referência ao refrão do seu single e você não segura a risada.

- Felizmente sim!

- E por acaso é o ex parceiro de banda do Zayn?

- Você só está me complicado, Grimshaw..

- São somente perguntas jornalísticas, eu juro. - se fez de desentendido.

- E eu preciso responder?

- Se não for causar problemas.. - você sacode a cabeça negativamente e solta um riso divertido como se estivesse sem saída. E você realmente estava. Seu relacionamento com Louis já havia sido especulado mas nada concreto foi dito, nem por você e nem por ele. Antes mesmo de ir ao studio da BBC Radio 1 vocês conversaram e Tomlinson comentou que por ele tudo bem você mencionar que estavam juntos. Ele te fazia muito bem, te ajudou a superar Zayn e cuidou de você como ninguém havia feito. E embora você quisesse contar que vivia um romance gostoso, o famoso ditado ‘o que ninguém sabe, ninguém estraga’ falou mais alto em sua cabeça.

- OK.. se você quer que eu fale sobre Louis, eu falo.

- Meu Deus! Não imaginei que seria tão fácil!

- Você me deixou sem ter para onde fugir.

- Então os rumores são verdade?

- Nem todos. - você diminui as expectativas com uma risadinha. - Nós não estamos juntos definitivamente, mas Tomlinson esteve comigo após toda a separação e tivemos a oportunidade de nos conhecermos melhor através da irmã dele, que é minha amiga. - você explica. - Louis é um pacote completo da felicidade. - seu sorriso entrega muita coisa. - Ele é uma pessoa incrível, muito querido e respeitoso, além de ter um coração imenso. Foi ele quem resgatou a minha autoestima, o brilho nos olhos, o frio na barriga que infelizmente perdi com o tempo. - por um instante você esqueceu que milhares de pessoas te escutavam, inclusive Louis, e apenas disse o que seu coração mandou. Profundo e certeiro. Você gostaria que ambos os rapazes soubessem como você se sentia de verdade. - Enfim, ele se tornou alguém especial na minha vida que eu espero carregar comigo pra sempre.

- Fico muito feliz por você, querida! - Nick pega suas mãos com delicadeza e acaricia de modo fofo. - Quero te agradecer pela disponibilidade de estar conosco hoje. Foi um imenso prazer te receber!

- Eu que agradeço pelo convite.

- Amei de verdade o nosso papo, e espero você com o Louis na próxima!

- Eu ainda te mato, Nick.. - seu riso acompanhado da frase fez com que o apresentador fizesse uma carreta travessa e logo fugisse do assunto.

- Fiquem agora com o hit do século: ‘Don’t Star Now’ da inesquecível e talentosíssima S/N/C! - a batida da sua música começa e sua participação no programa foi encerrada. Você e sua equipe agradeceram a rádio e depois de quinze minutos já estavam no carro à caminho da última reunião sobre o lançamento do álbum.

Já no escritório, você sente seu celular tremer e sorri ao ver quem havia te mandado mensagem.

O sorriso não sumiu do seus lábios e por meros segundos, olhando a imensidão do céu azulado pela janela da sala de reuniões você agradece Zayn pelo término. Caso contrário você não teria Louis em seu caminho. _________________________________________

Feedbacks são sempre bem-vindos e de extrema importância para quem escreve. Se possível, não esqueça de deixar um comentário sobre o conteúdo lido acima na ask! Adoraria saber o que achou :)

xoxo

Ju

[ulkaralakbarova]

An urgent phone call pulls a Yale Law student back to his Ohio hometown, where he reflects on three generations of family history and his own future. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: J.D. Vance: Gabriel Basso Beverly “Bev” Vance: Amy Adams Bonnie “Mamaw” Vance: Glenn Close Lindsay Vance: Haley Bennett Usha Chilukuri: Freida Pinto Papaw: Bo Hopkins Young J.D. Vance: Owen Asztalos Matt: Jesse C. Boyd Phillip Roseman: Stephen Kunken Ken: Keong Sim Travis: Morgan Gao Chris: Ethan Suess Kevin: Jono Mitchell Uncle Pat: Bill Kelly Uncle Arch: David Dwyer Lori: Sarah Hudson Jimmy (Bev’s Brother): Ted Huckabee Bill (Nurse): Nathan Hesse Cousin Nate: Max Barrow Bonnie (Mamaw, 30’s): Sunny Mabrey Jim (Papaw, 30’s): Brett Lorenzini Young Bev (6 years): Tierney Smith Cheryl: Helen LeRoy Emma: Kinsley Isla Dillon Adult Frank McFee: Ryan Homchick Chip: Joshua Stenvick Brooks Houghton: Bill Winkler Brett: Chase Anderson Pamela: Amy Parrish Rich: Ed Amatrudo Hiram Walcott: David de Vries Cocktailer #1: Holly Morris Cocktailer #2: Brandon Hirsch Server: David Alexander Obsequious Server: Alexander Baxter Waiter: Steven Reddington Wiry Law Partner: Angelo Reyes Stodgy Partner: John Rymer Young Bonnie (Mamaw 13 Years): Abigail Rose Cornell Adult Louis Zablocki: Lowrey Brown Young J.D. (4 years): Hunter James Evers Dane: Riley McNerney Pool Woman: Zele Avradopoulos Mr. Selby: David Jensen Holler Aunt: Skylar Denney Young Louis: John Whitley Doug: Zac Pullam Young Frank: Shane Donovan Lewis Officer #1: Mike Senior Officer #2: William Mark McCullough Kameron: Dylan Gage Katrina: Hannah Pniewski Doctor: David Marshall Silverman Dr. Newton: Jason Davis Davis: Joshua Brady Nasty Cashier: Cory Chapman Nurse: Tatom Pender Patient: Cathy Hope Ray: David Atkinson Salesperson: Adam Murray Scared Woman: Dianna Craig Meghan: Emery Mae Edgeman Young Jim (Papaw 16 Years): Rohan Myers Meals On Wheels Delivery Man: Matthew Alan Brady Young Lori (6 years): Lucy Capri Sally Coates: Déjá Dee Kyle: Daniel R. Hill Arguing Girlfriend: Jordan Trovillion Secretary at Club: Yossie Mulyadi ICU Nurse #1: Alisa Harris ICU Nurse #2: Tiger Dawn Rehab Mother: Darla Robinson Rehab Recepcionist: Belinda Keller Old Mamaw Blanton: Jessie Faye Shirley Nurse Vivian: Cheryl Howard Law Candidate Tim: Tim Abou-Nasr Curt: Leland Thomas Griffin Officer Connor: Drew Emerson Jones EMT #1: Justin P. Turner EMT #2: Joshua T. Schneider Marine Barber: Tony Ward Dining Hall Manager: Mara Hall Jill at Financial Aid Office: Tess Malis Kincaid Gas Station Attendant: Chris Charm Intake Receptionist: Mary Kraft Shoe Store Manager: Suehyla El-Attar Study Hall Friend #1: Matthew Withers Study Hall Friend #2: Jessica Miesel Study Hall Friend #3: Benjamin Rapsas Peter (uncredited): Ethan Levy Middletown Resident (uncredited): Bret Aaron Knower Film Crew: Original Music Composer: Hans Zimmer Producer: Brian Grazer Producer: Ron Howard Post Producer: William M. Connor Executive Producer: Diana Pokorny Production Design: Molly Hughes Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Robert Hein Director of Photography: Maryse Alberti Casting: Carmen Cuba Producer: Karen Lunder Stunt Coordinator: Monique Ganderton Writer: Vanessa Taylor Compositing Artist: Daniel L. Smith Camera Operator: Thomas Lappin Compositing Artist: Michael A. Martinez Supervising Art Director: Gregory A. Weimerskirch Costume Designer: Virginia B. Johnson Set Costumer: Bob Moore Jr. Makeup Department Head: Eryn Krueger Mekash Foley Artist: Heikki Kossi Art Direction: Shawn D. Bronson Rigging Grip: Gary Blair Makeup Artist: Erica Stewart Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Josh Berger Compositing Artist: Steve Dinozzi VFX Artist: Bryan Haines Visual Effects Producer: Chris LeDoux Original Music Composer: David Fleming Set Dresser: Aaron Robert Hall Assistant Art Director: Chris Yoo Costume Supervisor: Dana Pacheco Sound Designer: Grant Elder Makeup Artist: Jodi Byrne Set Costumer: Robin Fields Compositing Artist: Brad Lucas Set Dresser: Sam Carter Makeup Artist: Andrea Vieth Set Dresser: Maxfield Ladish Set Dresser: Natalie LeCompte Rigging ...

[thatsimblog]

[youngfcs]

oi oi Cib, tudo bem? Poderia me indicar alguns fcs (qualquer idade, etnia, etc) na faixa dos 14-19 que se encaixassem no universo de Stranger Things, por favor? Obrigada <3

Olá Olá, anon! Tudo sim e você? Espero que tudo na paz! Claro que posso <3 Vou tentar te dar bastante opções que eu acho que poderiam fazer parte de ST!

F:

Zoe Margaret Colletti (15-20)

Yara Shahidi (16-22)

Whitney Peak (15-19)

Teagan Croft (13-18)

Sophia Lillis (15-20)

Rowan Blanchard (15-20)

Nina Lu (13-18)

Meg Donnelly (16-21)

Lola Tung (15-19)

Kim Doyeon (16-22)

Jenna Ortega (14-19)

Isabela Moner (15-20)

Halle Bailey (16-22)

Emily Alyn Lind (16-20)

Azul Guaita (16-20)

M:

Willem De Schryver (16-20)

Nicholas Hamilton (16-22)

Michael Garza (16-22)

Lucas Jade Zumann (15-21)

Louis Partridge (14-19)

Joshua Bassett (16-21)

Igby Rigney (15-19)

Griffin Gluck (15-21)

Edvin Ryding (15-19)

Chosen Jacobs (15-21)

Adrian Öjvindsson (16-22)

Aidan Gallagher (14-18)

Cory Gruter-Andrew (15-20)

Jaden Michael (14-18)

Kit Connor (15-18)

Não-Binário:

Lachlan Watson (15-21)

(cib)

[gamerwoo]

Wonwoo: Atlas

Characters: Wonwoo x female reader

Genre/warnings: mafia au, angst, little bits of fluff here and there but it just adds to the angst tbh, alcohol, smoking, Woo being depresso

Word count: 2,632

Summary: Atlas shrugged his shoulders, said he'd drop that boulder. Call me in the morning when I'm sober, find me in the corner in a coma.

a/n: this was inspired by the song atlas by keshi (and if u like sad boy vibes i highly recommend his music!!!). things in italics are flashbacks (also i didn’t even listen to atlas for half of this i just listened to call me kevin play the sims lmao) ALSO im doing 2 other keshi songs (probably for mingyu and hongseok but idk) and while this technically is a mini series using keshi songs, they won’t be a continuation of this fic. they’re going to be their own lil things. ok that’s it goodbye

2 soon | the reaper 

Limping down the street, the streetlamps being the only source of lighting, Wonwoo’s mind couldn’t help but wander. There were no cars going by at this time of night, not even a cool breeze to listen to the shaking leaves in the trees. The street was dead silent other than his heavy footsteps as he tried to make it home on his own. He was sure God or whatever higher power out there was out to get him lately since on top of everything else, his car had broken down and he was left to walk the rest of the way after calling Mingyu to make sure someone would get the car.

Had anyone been walking around this time of night, they’d probably call the police seeing Wonwoo awkwardly walking down the street with his hurt leg. Despite the nice suit, it was unbuttoned, slightly torn, and stained with splatters of blood. His white shirt underneath was half undone and splattered with blood as well, his tie was hanging loosely around his neck, his hair was disheveled, his right eye was beginning to bruise, and the left corner of his lip was caked with dried blood. There was a trail of dried blood going from his nose to his top lip as well, and his tired expression only added to his awful appearance. 

“Oh my god, Wonwoo!” you gasped when you spotted him from the window, Joshua and Minghao rushing out behind you.

It was one of the first times he’d come home beaten up. You didn’t know about his line of work when you’d first started dating, but when it began to become more serious, he had to break and tell you. Finding out your boyfriend was in the mafia worried you for obvious reasons, to a point where for a while, two of the men he worked with had to stay at the house with you to make sure you didn’t go off trying anything stupid. But you did often pace the kitchen, checking out the window that faced the street to see when his car pulled in. And one night, you saw him be helped out of the car by Seungcheol because Wonwoo was so beaten up.

“It’s okay, baby,” he reassured you as you rushed to him.

“Careful, careful,” Seungcheol warned, not wanting you to throw yourself into him or anything. Jeonghan had just stitched up his gunshot wound, but Wonwoo made him swear not to tell you that much.

“What happened?” you asked, looking him over. He looked about as messy as his clothes, and that was saying something since he was missing his jacket he left the house with, and his shirt was barely hanging onto his body by thin threads. You moved to Wonwoo’s other side, putting his arm around your shoulders. “I’ve got him.”

Seungcheol carefully leaned your boyfriend’s weight onto you, letting you practically carry the poor man inside. Wonwoo managed to smirk at how worried you were. He knew it just meant you cared, and that meant the world to him.

“You’re so cute,” he chuckled, which then turned into coughing that only worsened your anxiety about his injuries. “Let the boys handle it, okay? I’ll be fine.”

You scoffed, “Not a chance.”

Wonwoo pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocket, taking a cigarette and a lighter out from the pack. He put it between his lips and lit the end before taking a long drag and letting the smoke waft out from his mouth. His eyes locked on the driveway of his house as he recalled how many times you’d dragged him inside, sat him down on the couch or leaned him up against the sink in the kitchen and patched him up. He smiled fondly, remembering all the times you’d scolded him for so long until you were just repeating yourself, only to sigh and say, “You know I love you, right?”. 

But now, he walked up the driveway alone. Despite his limping, there was nobody to carry him home. He had to push himself up the steps, pausing on each one to brace himself for the next. He walked into the house, expecting the echo of his footsteps that he was used to even during your relationship, but not used to the emptiness he felt in the house. At least when his shoes would hit the hardwood as he walked to the bathroom to clean himself up, he knew you were upstairs. But now, he knew he was the only one in the house, and that was a new feeling. A new but vaguely familiar feeling of being alone. He was alone before you, but he was so accustomed to your presence that he forgot what it was like to not have anybody there when he came home.

“Wonwoo--”

“Go back upstairs,” Wonwoo huffed, trying to get to the basement while Junhui and Mingyu helped him.

This time it was worse. You were used to him coming home later, so you no longer wasted an hour or two pacing by the kitchen window, but instead waited until you heard the heavy sound of his boots against the hardwood in the hallway, going toward either the kitchen or the bathroom. He wasn’t always hurt, but this time, he was in worse shape than he’d let you know. That was why there were more men with him.

“But--”

“_____,” he growled, his eyes glancing up at the stairway you were now frozen on. He’d used this voice before -- only a handful of times to show he was serious and didn’t want to fight you on whatever it was -- but it always made you freeze completely where you were. “Go.”

Mingyu and Jun continued to help him to the basement, Seungcheol and Soonyoung following behind them. You waited until you heard the basement door close before dropping your head and going back up the stairs to your room.

Glancing away from the staircase, Wonwoo continued down the hall to the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon he left unfinished on the counter before going for the basement door. He threw it open, not bothering to close it behind him because there wasn’t a point to anymore. He was lucky he managed to get down the stairs without falling down them before he went over to his little corner where his desk was. They’d used the basement for plenty of things before, but it was mostly where he kept his ‘business things’. That’s why you weren’t to go down there -- not that that didn’t stop you from checking on Wonwoo from time to time when he had locked himself away down there.

Wonwoo flopped down in his chair, opening the bottle and taking a swig. He stared across the room, trying to grasp the reality that he was alone in the house. He wasn’t sure when it would finally sink in, but it hadn’t yet. It had been a month and he still had himself thinking he could hear your footsteps as you tried to sneak downstairs to check on him, or the shower running with your soft singing drifting from under the door. But the harsh truth was that you were gone an he was just imagining these things.

At first when he got home, you were the first thing he would check on. He wanted to know about your day, what you did, how you were feeling. He was grateful when you had dinner made for him -- even if it was cold by the time he got home -- and loved relaxing on the couch or in bed with you when he got home. But he slowly started seeing you less and less. He didn’t see you most days at all, so you looked forward to the nights. But more often, he started politely turning down dinner to go the basement -- that eventually turned into straight-up ignoring it to go do more work at his desk. Instead of checking up with you, he started going straight to the bathroom to clean himself up before silently grabbing a small snack and retreating to the basement until you were already fast asleep and he was crawling into bed for 2-3 hours of sleep. It got to a point where you barely saw Wonwoo at all.

And as Wonwoo took another drink right after letting out more cigarette smoke, he knew it was all his fault. He got too caught up in his job. He loved you, but he didn’t realize he wasn’t showing it like he should’ve. He made you feel unloved and forgotten and overlooked. It wasn’t a 50/50 situation, it was 100% his fault that you left him.

He put out his cigarette in his ash tray and eyed the bottle before he put his feet up on his desk and took a longer drink this time.

-

“Wonwoo,” he heard your voice in his ear, trying to shake him awake after another late night. But he had the day off today, and you were excited to spend every moment with him that you could. “Wonwoo, wake up!”

A smack to his cheek had his eyes shooting open as he let out a gasp.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo,” Mingyu breathed, sitting back as he realized the older man was awake, “I thought you were fucking dead. How much did you drink?”

Considering the slap Mingyu gave him didn’t hurt as bad as the metaphorical slap that his awful reality gave him, clearly not enough.

“None of your business,” Wonwoo slurred as he struggled to keep his eyes open, definitely hung over from drinking until he passed out -- again.

“You need to stop doing this,” the younger boy sighed, giving Wonwoo a stern look, “not even just because Seungcheol’s fed up with it, but because it’s not healthy.”

“What does it matter?” he grumbled, refusing to get up. Instead, his hand searched the floor for his bottle of alcohol.

“Will you stop with that shit? Come on, Wonwoo, _____ leaving doesn’t mean the end of the world!”

“Have you ever been in love?”

When Mingyu was silent, Wonwoo scoffed, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Well it was still your own fault she left you,” Mingyu stated, rolling Wonwoo onto his back with his shoe. “You said it yourself, so you can’t say it’s not true. You neglected her and now you’re throwing yourself a pity party when you did it to yourself.”

“Get out of my house,” Wonwoo groaned, deciding to cover his ears instead of search for the bottle of bourbon. 

“You’ve been pulling this shit every fucking day for a month,” Mingyu spat, ignoring how obviously annoyed Wonwoo was getting. Everyone was annoyed with Wonwoo’s behavior so this was only fair. “Someone always has to waste their time and come here to make sure you didn’t drink yourself dead.”

“Then stop checking!” Wonwoo shouted, finally peeling his eyes open to glare up at Mingyu. “Go the fuck away!”

“Leave me the fuck alone!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. You stood in front of his desk, your own angry expression dissipating and being replaced with hurt instead. The two of you had been arguing because he’d been so distant, and while you understood that the basement was where he got more work done, you didn’t see the need for him to continue working when he was away ‘working’ all day. But his anger bubbled over and now he’d crossed the line.

“Wait, _____--”

You just shook your head at him, eyes filling with tears as you rushed to go back upstairs. Wonwoo called for you to come back, but you just ignored him, slamming the basement door closed. Wonwoo groaned and sat down in his chair, rubbing over his face with his hands.

That was definitely the biggest push for you to leave.

And now here he was, in the same room his life started falling apart. Why couldn’t he wake up to you like he thought he was? Better yet, why couldn’t he wake up and have everything just start over? He wanted to go back to when things were good and he wanted to keep them that way. But life didn’t work that way. It couldn’t just reset, it just kept going.

But Mingyu had to be a nuisance and interrupt Wonwoo’s dreams where everything was actually going well and he was happy.

Mingyu sighed, taking a seat in Wonwoo’s desk chair. He rested his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair. Why did Seungcheol have to send him to check up on Wonwoo? Why not Seungkwan or Seokmin? Somebody who had people they loved and could relate to Wonwoo? No offense, but Mingyu didn’t give two shits about Wonwoo’s broken heart.

“Look,” Mingyu said a bit softer, trying to be more level-headed about this, “I get you’re upset and you’ve never had to deal with heartbreak so you don’t know how to cope. But with this kind of...lifestyle, you should really need to come to terms with the fact that nothing will ever really go the way you planned it to.”

“That isn’t good advice,” Wonwoo sighed, not even trying to sit up. His eyes had even closed again, so Mingyu knew the older man didn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. “Just go.”

Mingyu stood, rolling his eyes and fixing his suit jacket, “Seungcheol’s going to be pissed, y’know.”

“Good for him.”

“Whatever,” Mingyu sighed. “I’ll send Seungkwan tonight to make sure you haven’t slipped into a coma or something.”

Wonwoo only hummed in response, waiting until he heard the Mingyu’s footsteps go up the stairs before closing the basement door. Then he finally pushed himself up off the floor, stumbling the whole time. But it was only to retrieve the bottle of bourbon with only a little left at the bottom. So he took the bottle, wobbled his way up the stairs to the kitchen to get another, and then carried on to the living room, finishing off the first bottle.

“Well, well, well,” you grinned seeing Wonwoo emerge from the basement. He was still in his ‘work’ clothes, but everything was undone to make it a little more comfortable for him since he was at home, “look who decided to show up.”

“What’re you watching?” he mused as he wandered into the living room and glanced at the TV. “Wheel of Fortune?”

You shrugged, “It’s 2am.”

“Eh, it’s not the worst show,” Wonwoo sighed as he let himself drop back onto the couch beside you. He normally would’ve scolded you for staying awake so late, but it was a Friday night so he couldn’t give any excuses as to why you needed to be in bed. Besides, he wanted to hang out with you for a bit before he was way too exhausted. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, shifting so you were leaning into your boyfriend’s side.

You kept your eyes on the TV, playing along like you had been before. You still continued to say your answers out loud despite Wonwoo sitting right there, but he merely chuckled. He thought it was kind of cute.

You were so immersed in the show that you didn’t even feel his gaze on you for the last five minutes.

“_____.”

“Hmm?”

You turned your head to look at him, seeing him smiling at you with so much fondness.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Wonwoo opened the second bottle as he stared at the TV, his reflection in the black screen reminding him that he was alone -- not just on the couch, but completely, utterly alone.

He put the bottle to his lips.

[lesarchivesmagnus]

Les Archives Magnus – Episode 2 : Ne Pas Ouvrir

ARCHIVISTE

Déposition de Joshua Gillespie, concernant son temps passé en possession d’un cercueil en bois apparemment vide. Déposition originale faite le 22 novembre 1998. Enregistrement audio par Jonathan Sims, archiviste en chef de l’Institut Magnus, Londres.

Début de la déposition.

ARCHIVISTE (DEPOSITION)

Tout a commencé lors d’un séjour avec des amis à Amsterdam. Tout ce que vous êtes en train d’imaginer et vrai. Nous avions tous une vingtaine d’années, étions fraichement diplômés et avions décidé de passer quelques semaines à faire les fous sur le continent, vous pouvez sûrement donc imaginer le reste. Il y a très peu de moments pour lesquels je peux dire que j’étais sobre et encore moins ou j’agissais comme tel, même si ce n’était pas pire que mes amis qui avaient carrément du mal à se gérer parfois.

C’est peut-être pour ça que je suis sorti seul ce matin-là ; aucune idée de la date exacte mais ça devait être mi-mai. Les autres étaient en train de dormir pour se remettre se leur gueule de bois collective et j’ai décidé de sortir me promener sous les rayons de soleil de cette matinée néerlandaise. Avant d’être diplômé de Cardiff avec les autres, j’étudiais l’architecture, donc j’attendais avec impatience de pouvoir me balader seul quelques heures et d’admirer l’architecture du centre d’Amsterdam. Je n’ai pas été déçu, c’est une magnifique ville, mais j’ai réalisé trop tard que je n’avais pris aucune carte ou guide avec moi, et une heure ou deux plus tard me retrouvais complétement perdu.

Je n’étais pas particulièrement inquiet comme c’était encore le milieu d’après-midi à ce moment-là, et me perdre dans les ruelles avait été en quelque sorte ce que j'essayais de faire, mais j'ai quand même décidé que je ferais mieux de faire un réel effort pour retrouver mon chemin vers l'endroit où mes amis et moi étions logés sur Elandsstraat. Je fini par y arriver, mais comme je ne parlais pas le néerlandais, j'ai passé une bonne heure à prendre le tramway dans des mauvaises directions.

Quand je suis enfin rentré sur Elandsstraat, il commençait à faire nuit et je me sentais très tendu, alors j'ai décidé de faire un saut dans un des cafés pour me détendre avant de rejoindre mes amis. Je ne peux pas dire avec certitude combien de temps j'y suis resté, mais je sais qu'il faisait déjà nuit lorsque j'ai remarqué que je n'étais pas seul à ma table.

J'ai essayé de décrire l'homme qui était assis en face de moi à plusieurs reprises, mais c'est difficile. Il était petit, très petit, et il donné l'impression d'avoir une étrange intensité. Ses cheveux étaient bruns, je pense, coupés assez courts, et il était rasé de près. Son visage et sa tenue n'étaient pas du tout marquants, et plus j'essaie de penser à son apparence exacte, plus il est difficile de se faire une image claire de lui. Pour être franc, cependant, je suis tenté de mettre cela sur le compte de la drogue.

L'homme s'est présenté sous le nom de John, et m'a demandé comment j'allais. J'ai répondu du mieux que j'ai pu, et il a hoché la tête, disant qu'il était aussi un Anglais se trouvant en pays étranger. Je me souviens qu'il a utilisé cette phrase exacte parce qu'elle m'a paru très étrange à l'époque. Il a dit qu'il était de Liverpool, bien que je ne me souvienne pas qu'il ait un accent quelconque, et qu'il cherchait un ami sur lequel il pouvait compter pour lui rendre un service.

Là, aussi défoncé que j'étais, je me suis méfié dès qu'il dit ça et j'ai commencé à secouer la tête. John m'a dit que ce n'était rien de trop coûteux, qu'il fallait juste s'occuper d'un paquet pour lui jusqu'à ce que des amis viennent le chercher, et qu'il était prêt à bien payer. Je pensais qu'il parlait de trafic, et j'étais sur le point de refuser à nouveau quand il a mis la main dans sa... veste, je crois ? et a sorti une enveloppe. Il y avait 10 000 livres à l'intérieur. Je sais ; je sais, j'ai compté. Je savais que c'était un choix stupide, mais je n'arrêtais pas de repenser à mon ami Richard qui m'avait dit combien il avait été facile de faire passer une livre de haschisch à la douane lors de son premier voyage en Hollande, et ayant maintenant cette somme d'argent dans mes mains...

J'ai dit oui. John a souri, m'a remercié et m'a dit qu'il me contacterait. Il a quitté le café et j'ai immédiatement commencé à paniquer à cause de ce que j'avais accepté. Je voulais le rattraper et lui rendre l'argent, mais quelque chose me pesait, m'empêchait de quitter mon siège. Je suis resté assis là pendant un long moment.

Je ne me souviens pas de grand-chose des jours suivants, si ce n'est que je m’inquiétais de savoir quand je reverrai John. Je faisais attention à ne pas dépenser l'argent qu'il m'avait donné, et j'avais décidé de le lui rendre dès qu'il se présenterait. Je lui dirais que j'avais fait une erreur et que je ne pouvais pas accepter son argent ni m'occuper de ses affaires. J'ai essayé de profiter, mais c'était comme une ombre qui planait sur moi, et je ne pouvais pas m'empêcher d'y penser. J'ai attendu pendant des jours, jusqu'à la fin de notre voyage, mais il n'est jamais venu. J'ai vérifié ma valise de façon maniaque avant de monter dans l'avion de retour, au cas où quelqu'un y aurait glissé quelque chose, mais il n'y avait rien de spécial dedans. Je suis rentré en Angleterre avec mes amis encore défoncés et 10 000 livres dans la poche de mon manteau. C'était surréaliste.

Ce n'est que près d'un an plus tard que je me suis senti assez confiant pour dépenser une partie de l'argent. J'avais déménagé pour travailler dans un petit cabinet d'architectes à Bournemouth, sur la côte sud. C'était un emploi de départ et le salaire n'était pas très élevé, mais c'était la seule offre que j'avais obtenue dans le domaine que j'avais choisi, alors j'y suis allée dans l'espoir d'acquérir de l'expérience et d'obtenir un meilleur poste dans un an ou deux.

Bournemouth était une ville de bord de mer de taille décente, bien que beaucoup moins idyllique que ce que j'avais imaginé, mais les loyers pour un logement à moi seul étaient un peu hors de ma gamme de prix, étant donné mon niveau de salaire de départ. Je ne connaissais personne d'autre là-bas et n'étais pas disposé à partager mon logement avec des inconnus, alors j'ai décidé d'utiliser une partie de l'argent qu'on m'avait donné à Amsterdam l'année précédente. Je me suis dit qu'il était peu probable qu'ils me retrouvent à ce stade - je n'avais donné à John aucune de mes coordonnées lorsqu'il m'avait parlé, pas même mon nom, et s'ils n'avaient pas pu me trouver au cours de l'année dernière, il était peu probable qu'ils puissent me suivre ici. De plus, s'il s'agissait de trafic de drogue, comme je le soupçonnais, 10 000 livres n'étaient probablement pas une somme d'argent si importante pour eux pour qu'ils veuillent me traquer jusqu'ici. Et puis, avec le recul, ça paraît stupide, mais je venais de me laisser pousser la barbe et je pensais qu'il serait difficile pour quiconque de me reconnaître comme le même type. J'ai donc dépensé un peu de l'argent de John pour louer un bel appartement d'une chambre dans le Triangle, près du centre-ville, et j'ai emménagé presque immédiatement.

Environ une semaine plus tard, j'étais dans ma cuisine en train de couper des fruits pour le petit-déjeuner quand j'ai entendu la sonnette de ma porte. J'ai ouvert et suis tombé sur deux livreurs au visage rouge. A eux deux, ils transportaient un immense paquet, qu'ils avaient manifestement dû manœuvrer dans les escaliers étroits de l'immeuble où j'habitais. Ils m'ont demandé si j'étais Joshua Gillespie, et quand j'ai dit oui, ils ont dit qu'ils avaient une livraison qui m'était adressée et l'ont fait passer dans le hall.

Ils ne semblaient pas venir d'une entreprise de livraison que je connaissais et ils ne portaient pas d'uniforme. J'ai essayé de leur poser quelques questions, mais dès qu'ils ont posé le paquet par terre, ils se sont tournés et sont sortis. Ils mesuraient tous les deux plus d'un mètre quatre-vingt et étaient très imposants, alors je n'aurais pas pu faire grand-chose pour les empêcher de partir, même si je l'avais voulu. La porte s'est claquée derrière eux, et je me suis retrouvé seul avec ce paquet.

Il mesurait environ deux mètres de long, peut-être un mètre de large et à peu près la même profondeur. Il était scellé avec du ruban adhésif et mon nom et mon adresse étaient inscrits en lettres épaisses et courbées sur le dessus, mais il n'y avait ni adresse de retour ni cachet postal d'aucune sorte. Je commençais à prendre le risque d'être en retard au travail à ce point-là, mais j'ai décidé que je ne pouvais pas me permettre de partir sans avoir vu ce qu'il y avait à l'intérieur, alors j'ai pris le couteau sur le comptoir de ma cuisine et j'ai coupé le ruban adhésif en gardant le paquet fermé.

A l'intérieur se trouvait un cercueil. Je ne sais pas à quoi je m'attendais, mais ce n'était pas à ça en tout cas. J'ai fait tomber mon couteau et ait juste regardé le cercueil sous la surprise. Il était fait de bois non verni, jaune pâle, et était enroulé d'une lourde chaîne de métal, qui était verrouillée par un lourd cadenas de fer. Le cadenas était fermé, mais la clé se trouvait à l'intérieur. Je m’apprêtais à la prendre, quand j'ai remarqué deux autres choses sur le couvercle du cercueil. La première était un morceau de papier, plié en deux et placé sous la chaîne, que j'ai pris. L'autre était la présence de trois mots, gravés profondément dans le bois du cercueil en lettres de trois pouces de haut. Ils lisaient : NE PAS OUVRIR.

J'ai retiré ma main du cadenas lentement, sans savoir ce que j'étais censé faire. À un moment donné, j'ai dû m'asseoir, car je me suis retrouvé par terre, appuyé contre le mur, fixant cette chose bizarre qui était apparue inexplicablement chez moi. Je me suis souvenu du morceau de papier, et l'ai déplié, mais il était simplement écrit " Livré avec remerciements - J ". Aussi étrange que cela puisse paraître, c'est seulement à ce moment-là que j'ai fait le lien avec l'homme que j'avais rencontré à Amsterdam. Il m'avait dit qu'il voulait que quelqu'un s'occupe d'un paquet pendant un certain temps. Était-ce le paquet dont il parlait ? Est-ce que je devais garder un cadavre ? Qui allait venir le chercher ? Quand ?

J'ai téléphoné au travail pour dire que j'étais malade et je suis resté assis là, à regarder le cercueil pendant ce qui pouvait être des minutes ou des heures. Je n'avais aucune idée de ce qu'il fallait faire. J'ai fini par me déplacer vers le cercueil, jusqu'à ce que mon visage soit à quelques centimètres du couvercle. J'ai pris une profonde inspiration, en essayant de voir si je pouvais sentir quelque chose de l'intérieur. Rien. S'il y avait un cadavre là-dedans, il n'avait pas encore commencé à sentir. Non pas que je savais vraiment ce qu'un cadavre sentait. C'était au début de l'été à ce moment-là, ce qui voudrait dire qu'il devait être mort récemment. S'il y avait un cadavre là-dedans. En me levant, ma main a effleuré le bois du cercueil et je me suis rendu compte qu'il était chaud. Très chaud, comme s'il avait été exposé au soleil pendant des heures. Ça m'a fait avoir un frisson et j'ai rapidement retiré ma main.

J'ai alors décidé de me faire une tasse de thé. J'avais un sentiment de soulagement en me tenant à côté de la bouilloire, car de cet angle je ne pouvais pas voir la chose dans le hall. Je pouvais juste l'ignorer. Je n'ai pas bougé même après avoir rempli ma tasse ; je suis resté là à siroter mon thé, sans même remarquer qu'il était encore bien trop chaud pour être bu confortablement. Quand j'ai finalement eu le courage de retourner dans le couloir, le cercueil était toujours là, immobile.

J'ai finalement pris une décision et, en saisissant fermement le cadenas, j'ai récupéré la clé et l'ai placée sur la table du hall d'entrée, à côté de la porte. J'ai ensuite saisi le cercueil et la chaîne et j'ai commencé à le tirer plus loin dans mon appartement. C'était bizarre de le toucher : le bois avait encore cette chaleur troublante, mais la chaîne était aussi froide qu'on s'y attendrait d'un épais morceau de fer, et apparemment elle n'avait pas pris la chaleur. Je n'avais pas de placard avec assez d'espace pour le ranger, alors j'ai fini par le traîner dans mon salon et par le pousser contre le mur, le plus loin possible. J'ai découpé le carton dans lequel il avait été placé et l'ai mis avec les ordures à l'extérieur. Et c'est comme ça que j'ai, semble-t-il, commencé à garder un cercueil chez moi.

À ce moment, je pense que je présumais qu'il était pleine de drogues, du moins aussi loin que je pouvais supposer quoi que ce soit sur la question. Pourquoi quelqu'un stockerait-il quelque chose de façon aussi évidente ou avec un parfait inconnu comme moi, ce n'était pas une question à laquelle je pouvais même supposer une réponse, mais j'ai décidé qu'il valait mieux y réfléchir le moins possible. Pendant les jours qui ont suivi, j'ai évité mon salon, car le fait d'être si près de la chose me rendait nerveux. Je restais également attentif à une quelconque odeur de pourriture, qui pourrait indiquer qu'il y avait quelque chose de mort à l'intérieur du cercueil finalement. Mais je n'ai jamais rien senti, et au fil des jours, je faisais de moins en moins attention à ma mystérieuse cargaison.

Environ une semaine après son arrivée, j'ai finalement recommencé à utiliser mon salon. Je regardais la télévision, surtout, et je gardais un œil sur le cercueil immobile. À un moment donné, j'ai eu l'audace de l'utiliser comme table. Je buvais un verre de jus d'orange à ce moment-là et je l'ai placé par inadvertance sur le couvercle, sans vraiment me rendre compte de ce que j'avais fait. Du moins, pas avant que j'entende un mouvement en dessous. Je me suis figé, en écoutant attentivement et en regardant fixement, en espérant avoir imaginé les choses. Mais je l'ai encore entendu – un grattement doux mais insistant, juste en dessous de l'endroit où j'avais placé mon verre. C'était lent et délibéré, et cela provoquait de légères ondulations à la surface de mon jus.

Il va sans dire que j'étais terrifié. Plus que cela, j'étais troublé. Le cercueil était resté dans mon salon, enchaîné et immobile, depuis plus d'une semaine à ce moment-là. S'il y avait eu quelque chose de vivant à l'intérieur au moment de sa livraison, il semblait peu probable que ça soit encore en vie. Et pourquoi ça n'avait pas fait de bruit avant s'il y avait quelque chose à l'intérieur capable de bouger ? Je pris doucement mon verre et immédiatement, les rayures cessèrent. J'ai attendu un certain temps, en considérant mes options, avant de le remettre en place à l'autre bout du couvercle. Il a fallu environ quatre secondes pour que le grattement reprenne, maintenant avec plus d'insistance.

Quand j'ai enlevé le verre cette fois-ci, il ne s'est pas arrêté pendant encore cinq minutes. J'ai décidé de ne plus faire aucune autre expérience, et j'ai plutôt pris la décision très sérieuse de l'ignorer. J'ai alors estimé qu'il me fallait soit utiliser la lourde clé en fer pour l'ouvrir et voir par moi-même ce qu'il y avait dedans, soit suivre l'instruction de l'entaille et prendre la résolution de ne jamais regarder à l'intérieur. Certains pourraient me traiter de lâche, mais j'ai choisi la seconde solution, qui consistait à interagir le moins possible avec la clé pendant que ça vivait dans ma maison. Bon, j'imagine que "vivre" n'est peut-être pas le bon terme.

Je savais que j'avais pris la bonne décision la fois suivante où il a plu, et que j'ai entendu le cerceuil se mettre à gémir. C'était un samedi, et je passais la journée à rester à l'intérieur et à lire un peu. J'avais peu d'amis à Bournemouth, et le fait d'avoir un mystérieux cercueil dans mon salon me rendait réticent à établir le genre de liens qui pourraient amener les gens à venir, je passais donc la plupart de mon temps libre seul.

Je ne regardais pas beaucoup la télévision avant même que mon salon ne soit occupé par le stockage de cette chose, et je me suis donc retrouvé assis dans ma chambre à lire beaucoup. Je me souviens qu'à l'époque, je venais de commencer Le Monde Perdu de Michael Crichton, quand il s'est mis à pleuvoir dehors. C'était une forte pluie, du genre qui tombe tout droit, sans vent pour la perturber, jusqu'à ce que tout soit sombre et humide. Il était à peine midi passé, mais je me souviens que le ciel était tellement couvert et sombre que j'ai dû me lever pour allumer la lumière. Et c'est alors que je l'ai entendu.

C'était un son doux et grave. J'ai vu L'Armée des Morts, je sais à quoi les gémissements des morts-vivants sont censés ressembler, mais ce n'était pas du tout ça. C'était presque... mélodieux. C'était presque comme un chant, s'il était étouffé par vingt pieds de terre battue. Au début, j'ai pensé que ça venait peut-être d'un des autres appartements de mon immeuble, mais au fur et à mesure que ça continuait, et que les poils de mes bras commençaient à se dresser, je savais, je savais tout simplement, d'où ça venait. Je suis allé dans le salon et me suis tenu dans l'embrasure de la porte, regardant la boîte en bois scellée continuer à émettre son doux son musical avec la pluie.

Il n'y avait rien à faire. J'avais pris la décision de ne pas l'ouvrir, et cela ne m'a certainement pas donné envie de reconsidérer la question. Je suis donc retourné dans ma chambre, j'ai mis de la musique et ai monté de volume assez fort pour couvrir le bruit.

Et ainsi, cela a continué pendant quelques mois. Ce qui se trouvait dans le cercueil grattait dès que quelque chose était placé dessus et gémissait à chaque fois qu'il pleuvait, et c'était tout. Je suppose que cela montre qu'on peut s'habituer à tout et n'importe quoi, aussi bizarre que ça soit. J'ai parfois envisagé d'essayer de m'en débarrasser, ou de trouver des gens comme vous pour enquêter, mais j'ai finalement décidé que j'avais en fait plus peur de celui qui était responsable m'avoir confié le cercueil que du cercueil lui-même. J'ai donc gardé le secret.

La seule chose qui m'inquiétait, c'était de dormir. Je crois que ça m'a donné des cauchemars. Je ne me souviens pas de mes rêves, je n'en ai jamais fait, et si je faisais des cauchemars, ils n'étaient pas différents - je ne m'en souvenais pas et je ne m'en souviens certainement pas maintenant. Mais je sais que je me réveillais toujours en panique, serrant ma gorge et luttant pour respirer. J'ai aussi commencé à être somnambule. La première fois que cela s'est produit, c'est le froid qui m'a réveillé. C'était au milieu de l'hiver et j'ai tendance à ne pas garder le chauffage allumé quand je dors. Il m'a fallu quelques secondes pour me rendre compte de l'endroit où j'étais. Je me tenais dans le noir, dans mon salon, au-dessus du cercueil. Ce qui me préoccupait le plus dans cette situation était le fait que, lorsque je me suis réveillé, j'avais l'impression de tenir la clé dans ma main.

De toute évidence, cela me préoccupait. J'en ai même parlé à mon médecin traitant, qui m'a orienté vers la clinique spécialisée dans le sommeil de l'hôpital voisin, mais ces incidents ne se sont jamais reproduits dans le cadre clinique. J'ai décidé de cacher la clé dans des endroits de plus en plus difficiles d'accès, mais je continuais à me réveiller avec elle dans les mains et je commençais à être paniqué. Quand je me suis réveillé un matin pour découvrir que j'avais en fait placé la clé dans la serrure et que j'étais, pour autant que je sache, à quelques secondes de l'ouvrir, j'ai su que je devais trouver une solution.

En fin de compte, ce que j'ai entrepris de faire était peut-être un peu compliqué, mais cela a semblé fonctionner : Je plaçais la clé dans un bol d'eau et je la mettais ensuite dans le congélateur, en l'enfermant dans un bloc de glace solide. Il m'arrivait encore parfois d'essayer d'atteindre la clé dans mon sommeil, mais le froid de la glace me réveillait toujours bien avant que je puisse en faire quoi que ce soit. Et au final, c'est devenu une nouvelle partie de ma routine.

J'ai vécu comme ça pendant près d'un an et demi. C'est drôle comme la peur peut devenir aussi routinière que la faim - à un certain moment, je l'ai juste acceptée. Le premier indice que mon temps à garder le cercueil touchait à sa fin a été quand il a commencé à pleuvoir et que c'est resté silencieux.

Je ne l'ai pas remarqué au début, car mon habitude à ce moment-là était de mettre la musique dès que le temps commençait à se dégrader, mais après quelques minutes, je me suis rendu compte qu'il n'y avait aucun bruit à couvrir. J'ai donc éteint ma musique et suis allé vérifier. Le salon était silencieux. Puis on a frappé à la porte. Le son était léger et discret, mais il résonna comme le tonnerre dans l'appartement silencieux. J'ai su ce que je verrais dès que j'ai ouvert la porte, et j'avais raison. John et les deux livreurs se tenaient là.

Je n'étais pas surpris de les voir, comme je l'ai dit, mais eux semblait surpris de me voir. John a pris une seconde pour me regarder de haut en bas, presque stupéfait, alors que je lui demandais s'ils étaient venus chercher leur cercueil.

Il a répondu que oui, et qu'il espérait que cela n'avait pas posé trop de problèmes. Je lui ai fait savoir ce que je pensais de lui, et n'a rien eu à me répondre. Il a cependant semblé réellement impressionné lorsque j'ai sorti la clé du congélateur. Je n'ai même pas essayé de la décongeler - j'étais tellement impatient d'avoir cette chose hors de ma vie que j'ai juste fait tomber le bol de glace sur le sol et l'ai brisé. J'ai regardé John ramasser la clé glacée sur le sol et je leur ai dit que la chose était dans le salon.

Je ne les ai pas suivis. Je ne voulais pas voir ce qu'ils faisaient du cercueil. Je ne voulais pas voir s'ils l'avaient ouvert. Et quand les cris ont commencé, je ne voulais pas voir qui criait ni pourquoi. Je n'ai quitté la cuisine que lorsque les deux livreurs ont passé la porte avec le cercueil. Je les ai suivis dans les escaliers et j'ai regardé, sous la pluie battante, ils l'ont enfermé dans une petite camionnette portant l'inscription "Livraisons Breekon et Hope". Puis ils sont partis. Il n'y avait aucun signe de John.

C'est la dernière chose que je sache. J'ai trouvé un nouvel emploi et j'ai déménagé à Londres peu de temps après, et maintenant j'essaie juste de ne pas trop y penser.

ARCHIVISTE

Fin de la déposition.

Il est toujours agréable d'entendre que ma ville natale n'est pas entièrement dépourvue d'événements étranges et d'histoires sinistres. Les glaces, les plages et l'ennui, c'est très bien, mais je suis heureux d'entendre que Bournemouth a au moins quelques apparitions à son actif. Cela dit, le fait est que la déposition de M. Gillespie commence par la consommation de drogue et se poursuit avec le manque de témoins corroborants comme thème central, ce qui signifie que qu'il s'agit bien uniquement d'une histoire sinistre. Lorsque l'Institut a enquêté pour la première fois, il semble qu'il n'ait pas été en mesure de trouver une seule preuve pour appuyer l'existence de ce cercueil griffé, et pour être franc, j'ai pensé que cela valait la peine de faire perdre du temps à qui que ce soit maintenant, près de vingt ans plus tard.

Cela dit, j'en ai parlé à Tim hier, et apparemment il a fait quelques recherches de son côté. Breekon and Hope existait en fait, et était un service de coursiers qui a opéré jusqu'en 2009, date à laquelle ils ont été mis en liquidation. Ils étaient cependant basés à Nottingham, au nord de Bournemouth, et s'ils ont conservé des traces de leurs livraisons, elles ne sont plus accessibles.

Ce qui est intéressant, cependant, c'est l'adresse que M. Gillespie a fournie pour l'appartement dans lequel tout cela s'est déroulé. La société de location qui le gère tient des registres détaillés sur les locataires qui ont habité dans ses bâtiments depuis quarante ou cinquante ans. D'après ce que Tim a pu trouver, il semble que pendant les deux années de sa résidence, M. Gillespie était la seule personne à vivre dans tout l'immeuble, les sept autres appartements étant totalement inoccupés. Personne n'a emménagé après son départ, et l'immeuble a été vendu à un promoteur et démoli peu après cette déposition.

Comme on pouvait s'y attendre, personne ayant travaillé pour cette société de location dans les années 90 n'est encore là, et malgré les efforts de Tim, nous n'avons pu obtenir aucune explication sur la raison pour laquelle, dans un immeuble de cette taille, M. Gillespie a passé près de deux ans à vivre seul, à l'exception d'un vieux cercueil en bois.

Fin de l'enregistrement.

[a-fundie-bunch]

"So Maria... now that we're engaged, do you wanna, like... kiss or something?"

"No way! You're supposed to do that on your wedding day, right? My Dad would kill me."

"Oh, c'mon, don't be like that. I won't marry you if you don't do it - and you ain't that young anymore, so good luck finding another guy like me."

"...ugh, fine, then."

[tabloidtoc]

Us, July 6

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Prince Harry vs. Prince William -- who’s to blame? 

Page 1: First Look -- Alessandra Ambrosio at the beach 

Page 4: Who Wore It Best? Kris Jenner vs. Jennifer Lopez, Kerry Washington vs. Nicole Scherzinger 

Page 6: Loose Talk -- Padma Lakshmi on homeschooling her 10-year-old daughter Krishna, Regina King’s feelings on the world’s response to the Black Lives Matter movement, Chelsea Handler showing her support for the historic Supreme Court ruling that forbids employers from discriminating against LGBTQ employees, Gwyneth Paltrow revealing that she’s been teaching her 16-year-old daughter Apple how to drive since she was young, Cardi B clapping back at body shamers who claim the rapper photoshops her pictures 

Page 8: Contents 

Page 10: Hot Pics -- Tiffany Haddish pumps up a crowd during an outdoor Juneteenth celebration, Amy Schumer and son Gene, pregnant Katherine Schwarzenegger and Chris Pratt go for a stroll 

Page 12: Alex Rodriguez and Jennifer Lopez, Britney Spears sprints barefoot through the grass, Cardi B and her daughter Kulture, Joshua Jackson shows off a fresh quarantine cut 

Page 13: Kylie Jenner and daughter Stormi along with cousins Penelope Disick and North West at Kanye West’s ranch in Wyoming, Courteney Cox dives 

Page 14: Life Is a Picnic -- Norman Reedus and his daughter, Sofia Vergara and pup Bubbles, Gabrielle Union and daughter Kaavia

Page 17: Love Your Mother -- stars give Mama Earth the attention she deserves by hugging trees -- Gisele Bunchen, Sean and Catherine Lowe’s sons Samuel and Isaiah, Salma Hayek, Cara Delevingne, Katharine McPhee and her dog 

Page 20: Pride and Joy -- stars are spreading the love to the LGBTQ community -- Kandi Burruss of RHOA, Jonathan Van Ness, Ricky Martin, Kerry Washington, Ruby Rose 

Page 23: Stars They’re Just Like Us -- Justin Bieber plays golf, Jimmy Kimmel reads a new book, Halle Berry stretches, Adam Sandler walks his dog 

Page 24: Love Lives -- Raven-Symone and Miranda Maday quaran-tied the knot 

Page 25: Dom Lemon and Tim Malone still go on date nights even during the pandemic, Ilana Kloss is singing the praises of her iconic long-time partner Billie Jean King, David Burtka thanked husband Neil Patrick Harris on his birthday 

Page 26: Hot Hollywood -- Danny Masterson out on bail after being charged with three counts of rape, other stars get called out -- Justin Bieber, Ansel Elgort, Riverdale cast, Chris D’Elia 

Page 27: Angelina Jolie’s kids come first which is why she ended her marriage with Brad Pitt, being known as Meghan Markle’s bestie is no longer Jessica Mulroney’s claim to fame -- now she’s known as the woman who threatened single mom Sasha Exeter with a libel lawsuit after the influencer called out what she considered white privilege in the wake of Black Lives Matter protests and Jessica has hired a crisis PR team to find a way to put this behind her 

Page 28: A Day in the Life At-Home Edition -- Maggie Q 

Page 29: Newly single Sofia Richie isn’t ready to mingle -- since calling it quits with Scott Disick she hasn’t been interested in or open to dating anyone now while Scott has been spending time with the mother of his three children Kourtney Kardashian 

Page 30: Cover Story -- What tore Prince William and Prince Harry apart -- sibling rivalry, the pressures of royal life and warring wives: the truth about their broken bond 

Page 33: A Day Fit for a Prince -- Prince William’s 38th birthday was extra festive this year because it coincided with Father’s Day 

Page 34: Summer Lovin’ -- body-confident stars are feeling great this bikini season -- Megan Thee Stallion 

Page 35: Sofia Richie, Carrie Underwood 

Page 36: Jessica Simpson, Mindy Kaling, Brie and Nikki Bella

Page 37: Winnie Harlow, Rita Ora, Julianne Hough, Simone Biles 

Page 38: Style -- now trending: statement sleeves -- Ellie Goulding, Aubrey Plaza, Cynthia Erivo, Katy Perry, Camila Mendes, Chrissy Teigen 

Page 40: Beauty -- July 4th staycation essentials -- Andi Dorfman

Page 42: Entertainment 

Page 46: Fashion Police -- ruffles edition -- Ella Balinska, Thomasin McKenzie, Florence Pugh 

Page 47: Zara Larsson, Molly Sims, Saoirse Ronan 

Page 48: 25 Things You Don’t Know About Me -- Rob Riggle

[anaticula-ana]

University Update

My post of Sim State University will be up tomorrow. I’m going to make a short post here though that lists everyone’s LTWs and Majors. Everyone rolls their own major. If they roll wants for two different ones I’ll chose which suits their LTW best. Some of them make sense, others not so much...

Land Dorm

Virginia - Political Science - Celebrity Chef. I’m guessing Daytona influenced her major. Will she be forced into a political career or be able to work towards her own dreams?

Scot - Literature - Marry off 6 kids. Being a family sim, this is no surprise. I can see Scot becoming an english teacher at Widespot Public School or working for the Widespot Town TImes.

Jane - Physics - 6 grandkids. This will be easy to achieve as she and Scot plan to have six kids. She could also become a teacher, or maybe she will become a scientist as Widespot is becoming a hot spot for Scientific experimentation.

Goldie - Drama - 20 pet bffs - She is a Hart. Harts like Drama. No other explanation needed here.

Opal - Biology - Hand of Poseidon. Her family used to live near the ocean, where her dad worked as a fisherman. His ship was lost at sea which resulted her mother and she moving away from the shore to Widespot. Opal would love to return to the ocean though. Hopefully she can convince Goldie to do so. If not It’ll mean an hour and a half drive to work every day as Widespot doesn’t yet have high speed trains.

Martin - Mathematics - Media Magnate. Martin wants to be a finance specialist for the paper.

Allegra - Art - Education Minister - Allegra knows the value of both education and the arts. With her in charge each school will focus more on the arts to create well rounded students.

Sorority

Heather - Drama - Rock God. Heather dreams of being rich and famous. She isn’t too sure about how she’s going to get there, but it’s going to happen.

Tiffany - Literature - City Planner. Tiffany has studied homes throughout history, and more importantly, homes in science fiction novels about the future. She’s heard about a small town called Widespot and wonders if she may be able to put her stamp on the world by moving there.

Brittany - Drama - 50 1st Dates. Brittany likes to be wined and dined. She has no intention of ever marrying or having children as her own parents abandoned her. She would rather never have a family again that turn out to be anything like her own mother, so she never dates anyone past three dates.

Fraternity

Kevin - Psychology - Graduate 3 kids from College. Kevin isn’t really sure what he wants in life, just that he’s going to be with Tiffany. They have dated ever since kindergarten. 

Castor - Philosophy - Space Pirate. Castor read a lot of science fiction as a child and thinks nothing could be better than being the next Hans Solo.

Ashley - Mathematics - Hall of Famer. Ashley is attending university on a sport scholarship. He has always been a soccer fan since the kirt time he kicked a ball.

Joshua - Biology - 5 Top Level Businesses. Joshua is also attending university on a sports scholarship. He’s more interested in the fortune aspect of sports and hasn’t yet decided what he plans to do after he graduates.

I’ll be playing the other houses in sink with the Widespot ones, but won’t be posting anything about them unless it will affect Widespot as a whole. Ashley, Brittany, and Jane are all seniors beginning this semester and will be graduating in two rounds. 

[ulkaralakbarova]

Seen-it-all New York detective Frank Keller is unsettled – he has done twenty years on the force and could retire, and he hasn’t come to terms with his wife leaving him for a colleague. Joining up with an officer from another part of town to investigate a series of murders linked by the lonely hearts columns he finds he is getting seriously and possibly dangerously involved with Helen, one of the main suspects. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Frank Keller: Al Pacino Helen Cruger: Ellen Barkin Sherman: John Goodman Terry: Michael Rooker Frank Keller Sr.: William Hickey Gruber: Richard Jenkins Serafino: Paul Calderon Struk: Gene Canfield Dargan: Larry Joshua Lieutenant: John Spencer Gina Gallagher / Lonelyheart: Christine Estabrook Miss Allen: Barbara Baxley Older Woman: Patricia Barry Murdered Man: Mark Phelan Raymond Brown: Michael O’Neill Doorman: Michael Fischetti Omar Maldonado: Luis Antonio Ramos Efram Maldonado: Rafael Báez Black Guy: Samuel L. Jackson Ernest Lee: Damien Leake Tommy: John Thaddeus Willie: Joshua Nelson Supermarket Manager: Christofer de Oni Supermarket Cashier: Dwayne McClary Helen’s Mother: Jacqueline Brookes Toastmaster: Thom Curley Cable Supervisor: Fred Sanders Clipboard Guy #2: Larry Mullane Clipboard Guy #3: Anthony Catanese Bartender: Thomas Wagner Doorman: Manny Alfaro James Mackey: Brian Paul Tense Woman: Deborah Taylor Sasha: Ferne Downey Raymond Brown’s Wife: Nancy Beatty Clipboard Guy #1: Tony De Santis Yuppie Detective #1: Jackie Laidlaw Yuppie Detective #2: Paul Hubbard Surveillance Team Member: James Kidnie Sherman’s Wife: Bridget O’Sullivan Criminal Type: Franz Fridal Hallway Cop: James O’Regan Hallway Cop: Wayne Best Young Cop: John Bourgeois Young Cop: Hugh Thompson Bride: Miranda de Pencier Groom: Ty Templeton Denice Gruber (scenes deleted): Lorraine Bracco Film Crew: Editor: David Bretherton Director: Harold Becker Director of Photography: Ronnie Taylor Unit Production Manager: Louis A. Stroller Producer: Martin Bregman Costume Design: Betsy Cox Script Supervisor: Blanche McDermaid First Assistant Camera: Yves Drapeau Second Assistant Director: Rocco Gismondi First Assistant Director: Michael E. Steele Second Assistant Director: David Sardi First Assistant Director: Thomas J. Mack Camera Operator: Andy Chmura Casting: Mary Colquhoun Production Design: John Jay Moore Second Assistant Director: Madeleine Henrié Additional Photography: Adam Holender Associate Producer: Michael Bregman Makeup Artist: Irving Buchman Hairstylist: Bryan Charbonneau Hairstylist: Bob Grimaldi Makeup Artist: Irene Kent Key Makeup Artist: Leslie A. Sebert Stunts: Dick Ziker Writer: Richard Price Stunts: Glenn R. Wilder Stunts: Buddy Joe Hooker Production Assistant: Liam Kiernan Stunts: Kenny Bates Stunts: Steve Boyum Stunts: Rick Parker Stunts: Shane Cardwell Production Manager: Barbara Kelly First Assistant Camera: Michael Hall First Assistant Camera: Horace Jordan Location Manager: Debra Beers Production Accountant: Dorothy Precious Production Coordinator: Toni Blay Sound Mixer: Keith A. Wester Boom Operator: Steve Switzer Gaffer: Rae Thurston Best Boy Grip: Howie Balbraith Grip: Randy Tambling Dolly Grip: Robert DaPrato First Assistant Art Direction: Lucinda Zak Set Decoration: Gordon Sim Set Dresser: Raman Majlath Property Master: Vic Rigler Wardrobe Master: Gail Filman Second Assistant Camera: Rick Perotto Assistant Location Manager: Anne Richardson Assistant Accountant: Karen Demontbrun Assistant Set Decoration: Richard Ferbrache Assistant Property Master: Jeff Poulis Wardrobe Assistant: Debi Weldon Production Secretary: Regina Robb Carpenter: Boyd Allen Scenic Artist: Reet Puhm Transportation Coordinator: Neil Montgomerie Unit Publicist: Joan Eisenberg Still Photographer: Rob McEwan Casting: Stuart Aikins Extras Casting: Scott Mansfield Additional Editing: John Wright Assistant Editor: Francine Fleishman Assistant Editor: Irvin Paik Assistant Editor: Charlene Olson Assistant Editor: Haydn Streeter Supervising Sound Editor: Norval D. Crutcher Supervising Sound Editor: Randle ...

[thatsimblog]

[theaceace]

So you know my monster!jon posts? I started writing a Thing. It’s a little softer than my posts because I am physically incapable of anything else, and it’s sort of building up to pre-JonMartin

(it isn’t finished, and at the rate I write it may never be finished, but I know some of you like spooky boy Sims so here we are. Enjoy?)

There’s an ache in the space between his shoulder blades and his sternum. Jon knows that if he pressed a hand to the spot there would be nothing where he used to feel his heart beat. The ache pulses sometimes, throbs even, but never in time with rushing blood. His blood doesn’t rush anymore; it ebbs and flows, beats against his skin in waves, roars in his ears and sings behind his eyes. It pulls his limbs tighter and tighter, until he thinks the barest touch could snap him apart.

He has no way of knowing for sure. People avoid his touch, these days.

Beneath his hands a tape starts to thrum gently, reels spinning although there’s no statement to record, and no recorder to hold the tape. Gently, he brushes his fingertips over the edges of something that feels a touch too smooth and warm to be plastic. Behind him, the door opens – the real door, of course, that had always been there.

Jon doesn’t look up.

“No,” he says, and he is proud of how steady his voice is. He pulls in threads of Gertrude Robinson, Adelard Dekker, Joshua Gillespie, a hundred different voices from a hundred different statements, and weaves them all together against his tongue until he sounds as close to himself as he can manage – or at least, close to how he remembers sounding. He used to try to joke that he’d lost his voice, until he realised that no-one else thought it was funny.

Well. Gerry thought it was, but Gerry had always been a little unusual.

“Jon,” Elias says, weary and impatient. “This isn’t a debate.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Jon says through Karolina Górka’s resignation, and some of Elias’s own acerbic bite. “Nothing ever is with you.” He still doesn’t turn, but he sees the way Elias presses his mouth tight in a brief, irritated line. Then the expression smooths away as though it never existed, and Jon is left with the impression of a smile that doesn’t even reach Elias’s cheeks, never mind his eyes. Jon rubs his fingertips against his ragged thumbnail, bitten down to the quick. It’s an old habit, one that he picks up when he quits smoking, and abandons again when he has a cigarette to roll between his fingers. He hasn’t had a cigarette in a long time – can no longer stand the way the smoke curls through his hair and ashes cling to his collar. It feels too much like the fast-hot bite of Jude’s touch, or the wind tearing his breath from his mouth.

Come to think of it, he hasn’t had a breath in a long time either. He takes one now, curious; tastes dust and the obnoxious cologne that follows Elias like a cloud.

“There’s no need to be unpleasant,” Elias mutters, and Jon knows he isn’t just talking about their argument, such as it is.

“Certainly not,” Jon agrees, and thinks some remarkably unpleasant things knowing full well that Elias is watching him do so. “And there’s no need to keep discussing this. I don’t need assistants, I absolutely do not want assistants, and quite frankly, Elias, I think I would rather you just shot me again than go through this song and dance day in day out.” The reminder is enough to leave Elias drawn up to his full height by the time Jon finishes talking.

“I have apologised for that,” he says stiffly.

Jon scowls; a little confused, a little furious.

“No,” he says, and is aware that the sound crackling in his throat is less his own now. It curls against his teeth and coats his mouth like oil. Or poison. “You said it was regrettable that you’d allowed things to go so far, and that if you’d realised you wouldn’t have wasted the bullet. It’s not the same thing, Elias.”

There’s a reason, Jon reflects as he watches the colour leech from Elias’s face, as he listens to the sharp rasp of his heel turning on carpet, as he tracks the man’s progress back through the corridors of the Institute, that fairy tales paint names as things of power. He runs a hand through his hair, pushes his dark glasses up onto his head. He’s already seen the paperwork, of course. Elias, despite his best efforts, is no more able to lie to him now than anyone else. He knows that there will be three researchers joining him in the archives whether he likes it or not – and he most emphatically does not.

Timothy Stoker – currently cooing delightedly over photos of Rosie’s newborn nephew – Sasha James – sipping hot chocolate in the staff room – and Martin Blackwood – anxiously circling close to Jon’s office, then pacing away down the hall, before turning with a determined stride that lasts almost to the door. Jon watches him repeat this a couple of times, curious. It would be easy, so easy, to pull at the gossamer strands of intent, of thought, of emotion, that make up Martin’s decision. To read his actions aloud – recorded for posterity, of course – and watch as he unravels into a statement of his own. Such a simple solution to his problem, too – he couldn’t have an assistant no longer capable of connecting his own thoughts, and it might warn away any other potential jobseekers.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes himself to his feet, tips his glasses back down to cover his eyes, and pops his head out the door.

“Martin?” He calls – he doesn’t bother to make himself sound surprised, or pretend that he doesn’t know who Martin is. They’ve worked adjacent to one another for years, although the longest conversation they’ve had lasted four sentences, and finished with Martin a stammering wreck. An unfortunately common occurrence, for people that spend any time talking to Jon outside of a statement.

Still, it couldn’t have traumatised him too thoroughly – otherwise he wouldn’t have applied to move down to the archives.

Martin flinches, a motion exaggerated enough to rock his whole body backwards, and Jon watches disinterestedly as he catches himself on the wall. His round cheeks flush – embarrassment, Jon sees, as well as the jolt of adrenaline that came with his sudden appearance. Jon knows that he moves very quietly, and the walls of the Archives have a knack for swallowing sounds almost before they begin.

 “Jon!” Martin manages; he clears his throat and pushes himself away from the wall, tugging restlessly at his sleeves. Although he stands nearly a full head taller than Jon, the way he ducks down and curves his shoulders leaves them almost eye-to-eye. He’s used to taking up as little space as he can, to avoiding notice and letting people’s eyes slide easily off him; Jon reads it in every tense line of muscle and tendon. It must feel particularly strange to him, working in the domain of the Beholding, even if he isn’t really aware of why.

“Was there something you needed?” Jon asks. The answer floats lazily to the forefront of his mind, but he bites his tongue and waits for Martin to speak. Waits while Martin tries to meet his gaze, waits as he shifts from foot to foot before finally gathering himself.

Martin is afraid of him – it’s unfortunate in a colleague, but rather unavoidable. Yet, here he is, following Jon into his new office and taking a seat across the desk; here he is pulling at a loose thread in his cardigan with shaking hands; here he is smiling at Jon, just a little too wide to try to mask his anxiousness. Jon doesn’t smile back.

“Um,” Martin starts, then hesitates. The words sit in the air between them, and Jon knows them already, could pull them from Martin’s mouth with half a whispered thought, but something stops him. “Jon, I know you didn’t really want any assistants after – well, now that Gertrude’s gone, at least that’s what Elias said, and I know that I probably wouldn’t be your first choice even if you did, but I just wanted to say that. Um. I am looking forward to working with you, and if you need anything – at all! Then you can, er, you can always ask.”

Jon is silent for a long moment, stunned. It isn’t often that he’s surprised like this; he isn’t sure of the last time it happened, in fact. It takes conscious effort not to lower his face and look at Martin over the tops of his glasses. That isn’t at all what he’d expected Martin to say – had been waiting for an uncomfortably formal introduction given the brevity of their former interactions, at which point Jon would have been compelled to point out that he knew everyone in the Institute, and really Martin, such banalities are completely unnecessary. Instead, he finds himself fumbling.

“Martin are you – are you worried about me?”

[aondaneedles]

The boys of the Urele-Oresha-Chum fraternity is famous for their parties and their clashing personalities.

(Sorry for that uninspired introduction, I played them almost three weeks ago.)

Castor, the big man on campus, wishes to become a game designer one day, while his fraternity brother Kevin wants nothing more than a big family and lots of grandchildren. Stereotypical playboy Ashley and jock Joshua meanwhile want to woohoo with 20 different Sims and become a Hall of Famer, respectively.