#smiling at my screen like a madwoman

[dragon-ascent]

i want chonkli to do the tiny tongue sticking out like my dog pointy does

I LOVE POINTY SO MUCH OK PLEASE GIVE THEM A MILLION KISSES AND HEADPATS AND SCRITCHES AND CUDDLES AND SNUGGLES AND BOOPS ON MY BEHALF. (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)♡♡♡♡♡

And GAH just imagining Chonkli mini-blepping like this angel makes me want to sob and scream and eat someone /pos

[ncityprincess]

pick up the phone, baby

plot: phone sex with boyfriend jaehyun

MDNI

you tossed your head back and let out a long sigh of frustration. there you were, stark naked and sprawled out in the middle of your large bed. with your man out for the night, it left you feeling lonely and needy. you were trying to find a way to pass some time all alone in your quiet apartment.

it wasn't like this was your first night alone without jaehyun. you and jaehyun always gave each other the space to have your own separate lives and interests outside of the relationship. jaehyun encouraged you to go to brunches and vacations with your friends, and you made it clear that you respect his lifestyle and friendships.

however, you weren't feeling so understanding this particular night.

you kept rubbing at yourself, itching for your climax like madwoman, but it never came. you just couldn't satisfy yourself the way you wanted to. you decided you needed some extra reinforcement and went to go fish for your trusty vibrator, only to find out it was dead. perfect.

why did jaehyun have to have his guys night tonight of all nights…

"fuck it!" you spat out and retrieved your phone from under the thick comforter. it took you no more than five seconds to unlock your phone and call your unsuspecting boyfriend.

jaehyun reached for his phone in his back pocket when he felt it vibrate. Considering the possibility that it could be you calling, he got up from the couch in search of some quiet and privacy. "yo yuta! you can take my turn." jaehyun said as he tossed yuta his controller. yuta merely nodded at him and picked up the controller so he could get ready to play.

jaehyun walked past the kitchen where Johnny and taeyong were making themselves drinks and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. low and behold, it was your beautiful contact photo gracing his lock screen. jaehyun picked up your call with a smile.

"hi my love, everything okay? have you eaten something yet?" jaehyun rambled into the phone like the attentive and sweet boyfriend he was. his innocent line of questioning almost took you out of your horny haze, the whole reason why you had called in the first place.

"hi." was all you said back in an airy tone.

jaehyun scratched his head softly. "um hi, is everything okay?" he repeated curiously.

"how's your little party with the guys going?" you asked in an even tone, mindlessly twirling a strand of your hair.

jaehyun had to admit, he was stumped. this outing wasn't something out of the norm for him. he always got together with his members. whether it was to play video games and order ungodly amounts of takeout, or sing karaoke until sunrise, this was nothing new. he appreciated you seemingly taking interest in how his night was going, but something was off...

"so far so good. we've just been playing the game and hanging out. we actually just ordered some pizza. I can bring you back a few slices if you want? we ordered from that place that we went to a few weeks ago. you know, the one next to the park. Their mozzarella sticks were......uh y/n?" jaehyun paused when he heard your labored breathing on the other end.

what jaehyun didn't know is that you were running your hands up and down your body while he was talking in that sexy husky voice of his. you always had a thing for his deep voice. it brought tingles all over your body. your hands had settled back on your dripping pussy, right where they were before you had called him.

"mm, mhm?" you moaned out, almost not realizing he had called your name. you were so into how good his voice sounded over the phone...

"what are you doing?" jaehyun questioned.

you let out a soft giggle, running a hand through your hair. "I'm laying down in our big bed, all alone and bored." you replied slowly. seductively.

jaehyun got a whiff of your bedroom voice and didn't waste any time letting his mind wander to darker places. he walked back over toward the bathroom door and locked it.

"aww, you poor thing. what's a girl like you gonna do about that boredom, huh?" jaehyun goaded.

his words shot directly to your core, making you speed up your movements on your buzzing clit.

"what am I gonna do about it, or what am I doing about it?" you purred out mischievously.

jaehyun smirked and ran his hand over his jaw. so that's what his girl was doing this whole time. being a little slut.

"oh you naughty girl. that's why you're calling me, huh? can't stand being alone so you need me to talk you through it?"

"I mean if you're offering, yeah I'd like you to talk me through it actually"

jaehyun glanced at the door. the faint sounds of the video game and the guys' intermittent laughter and chatter seemed to mask over what was going on in the bathroom.

or at least he hoped so.

“baby, the guys are right outside the door.” he said with a warning tone. it only made you wetter.

“i don’t care daddy, need you so bad." There it was, the one word that made Jaehyun go insane.

“fuck. you and that slutty fucking mouth of yours…”

“it's your fault. you made me this way.” you sighed out, spreading your legs even wider.

“oh did i?”

“you know you love it when i talk nasty, daddy.”

jaehyun chuckled incredulously and leaned his back against the cold bathroom wall. “you’re something else, you know that y/n?”

“oh just shut up and make me feel good already” you said with a twisted smirk.

jaehyun groaned softly and shoved his hand down his grey sweatpants, ghosting his hand over his stiff dick.

"what are you doing to yourself, darling?"

you bit your lip, excited to tell him every last detail. "I'm grabbing my tits while I rub my pussy. but I really wish it was you doing it."

"yeah? you wish I was home so I could take care of you? touch all over my little baby and make her feel good?" jaehyun spat on his hand and slid it up and down his shaft. holy fuck he couldn't wait to get home to you.

"mhm. I love it when you put your hands all over me. it's not the same without you."

jaehyun felt a tinge of pride in his chest, knowing that he had a beautiful girl waiting for him at home who craved him just as much as he craved her.

"fuck baby. is that pussy ready to be fucked yet? think you can slide a few fingers in?" jaehyun gritted out, feeling himself get close due to the erotic situation he was in.

you didn't hesitate for a second and slowly slipped two fingers inside of yourself. you let out a slutty moan when you felt your fingers stretch you open.

jaehyun chuckled darkly, "I guess I have my answer then. go on, fuck yourself nice and deep for me. I want you nice and stretched out for me when I come home tonight, ok?"

"yeahhhhhh." you whined out and rocked your hips against your hand. who knew all you needed was the sound of your man's voice to get you off. this was way better than whatever you were trying to do before.

"god Jae I'm sooo wet. need you." you whined out, turning over onto your stomach. you felt your fingers much deeper in this position and let out more lewd sounds of pleasure.

jaehyun wanted nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs and hear all of those delicious sounds in person. he was halfway tempted to leave the hangout without saying a word. could you blame him? the love of his life was at home fucking herself to the sound of his voice.

jaehyun jerked himself off roughly, eager to get himself off quickly. not only was the situation he was currently in extremely hot, he was also mildly aware that his friends were waiting for him to come back and join them.

"alright baby, I need you to cum for me. let me hear how hard you can make yourself cum."

you were so close you could taste it. all it took was a few more bounces on your fingers and you were exploding all over them. jaehyun's face contorted in immense pleasure while listening to you ride out your high and before he knew it, he was blowing his load all over his hand. it took every ounce of self control to not make a sound in this echoey bathroom.

both of you were catching your breath and calming down from the intense highs you experienced.

"well I never thought I'd find myself jerking off in taeyong's bathroom but there's a first time for everything I guess."

you covered your face in your hands, slightly embarrassed thinking about what just transpired not too long ago.

"don't come back too late ok? I'm not done playing with you, daddy." you said lightheartedly.

jaehyun finished cleaning himself up and pulled his sweats back up. "aye aye, honey. call me if you need anything. I love you so much."

jaehyun wrapped up in the bathroom and tried his hardest to act like he wasn't just phone fucking his girlfriend a few minutes ago. jaehyun walked into the kitchen to grab some water. Johnny smirked slightly and grabbed his drink. He exited the kitchen past jaehyun, but not before busting his balls.

“tell y/n i said hi” johnny said with a shit eating grin.

[titanic-angel]

мιgυel o'нara х ғ!reader

⁎︎✴︎ adronιтιѕ 1 ✴︎⁎︎

ѕynopѕιѕ ➪︎ мιgυel o'нara нaѕ a ѕтrange, claѕѕιғιed reqυeѕт oғ yoυ. нιм, and нιѕ dιgιтal aѕѕιѕтanт, lyla.

warnιngѕ ➪︎ swearing

noтeѕ ➪︎ enιмιeѕ тo coworĸerѕ тo ғrιendѕ тo loverѕ ѕlowвυrn ! ongoιng, υpdaтeѕ вeтween every ғew day

▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂▂︎◣︎◥︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎

She chose you because of your name.

Lyla was a program, a buzzing core of digits and code, analytics her only language. It was unlike her to go by her heart, because she didn’t have one.

But she wanted one.

The heat of skin, eyes that could look, really look, at someone. The softened hair under her finger tips- printed with a map of grooves and lines that separated her from every other. She wanted the individuality that a human body could give, and that her pixels would never achieve.

Miguel made the mistake of giving Lyla a mind of her own, because now she wanted a body to match.

After pulling a difficult, relentless, and borderline maddening attitude for years, he finally gave into her wishes, under a condition.

Only one engineer.

The creation she asked for, the mockery of humanity, could take forever, even with her limitless knowledge and Miguel’s high tech and steady hands. But despite this, Miguel refused her a team of engineers to conjure a body that would make history. In order to prevent an overlap of his secrets and the real world, Lyla was to choose only one individual who could make her a body, and keep a secret.

An individual, who, had a lovely name.

You’re transcripts were impressive enough, but not recognized; so that when you were to be snuffed, stolen under fluorescent yellow lights, the only memory left would be that of a keycard scanner.

Its ironic, that a senseless A.I made her decision off feeling. But she saw youth in your eyes, a harsh comparison the age and wisdom that spoke in purples under your lashes. It was overwhelming, the amount of life you had ahead of you, a mortality characterized by the dismal way it said goodbye. But Lyla craved it, a madwoman of science and self.

A collection of illusions that was foolish enough to believe it could be anything, something, else.

Hope is a drug.

So, addicted, she said, “her.”

Miguel would pause, eyes roaming the expanse of your face, the smile in your eyes, the taint on your teeth, your tongue, the crevices of you jaw. His clicked, eyes doubtful.

But Lyla’s were resolute.

“I want her.”

▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂▂︎◣︎◥︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎

Vague.

It was a font that thrived in obfuscated shadows. It was limitless in its unknown, clouded by things that should’ve been said, or instructions never specified.

Your pathetic heart clung to every word that stuck itself to an stark white screen, palpitations thrumming against your tonsils.

Staring back at you, an email from Miguel O’Hara, that read simply, vaguely, Meet at my office at 4:00 PM.

Your distaste for the font had now only grown.

It was impossible to work at Alchemax and not to hear his name praised at least once. Interns, employees from every felid, article after article were relentless in their awe of the man’s work.

But you weren’t stupid.

You were an observer. You knew at least fifty people who would claw him apart, sell their soul to the underworld, sacrifice an eye and ear to sit where he does, most of whom are just as qualified for the position.

That doesn’t exclude you.

It was something you despised about the company, it’s big gestures of gratitude to those with a name- only to turn with a gloved hand to feed the hogs, the greasy and bloodied heart of the operation, messily scraps.

But much like a farm animal, you were trapped in by a pen of promise and chance.

You were a pig with her farmer, believing even under the cleaver that she would see the bigger field on the other side of the fence. That gamble for praise, a trophy and a house to put it in.

But Miguel wasn’t just a pig.

He was the show hog. Big blue bows, pretty golden plaques and a pillow to sleep on.

But at the end of the day, he was fed the same slop, just in a different trough.

Even so, he had it all. He had everything you didn’t.

Well, everything but email etiquette.

So you, frantic in the newness, clung to your bag, heavy with uncertainty. You brought everything you needed- or didn’t. Papers from 2 weeks ago, two years ago, updates and criticisms, research and theories. It all felt so, infuriatingly, unsteady.��

You despised your leniency, your willingness to play along. But you blamed Miguel even more. It was embarrassing for you, to run down flights of stairs on a whim. Foolishly you ask yourself who does he think he is, despite knowing the answer.

Given, you had never met the man. He was similar to the newness of the space, a gap, a tear in the pages of Alchemax’s directory, the hazy profile in your inbox a mere pixel of his program. But you could already smell his dismissiveness, his arrogance.

You of course, could’ve made the executive decision, having a mind of your own, to ignore the email (if not out of spite, out of fear).

But maybe the whispers of his name intrigued you. Maybe, you had read the articles written about him offhandedly, jealous, but impressed. Maybe, shamefully, your curiosity was strong than your own resolve, willing to bend and mold into the shape of those 6 words and a time because you wanted to know the why.

His demand, written with so little grace or gratitude, had been met, when your labored breath fanned across the white doors.

You knocked, because you had manners.

When the white door opened, you came to the realization that nothing, not even a high resolution photo, could do his presence justice.

His head nearly touched the door, soft tufts of brown hair falling wildly, exhaustedly, over his ears. High cheekbones at a sharp angle, hollowing out his cheeks in a faint shadowed line. A mouth that looked gentle, despite its creased frown. The valley of his skin was rough and uneven, granular creases of age digging into the space under his nose, his mouth, his eyes.

They were a deep brown; almost red under the overhead lights, wandering above your head, before looking at you with an intensity that made your swallow hard.

The lab coat and dress shirt were flattering around his shoulders, the cotton molding to his massive gate like elastic. They stiffened at the sight of you, breath heavy and pink cheeked, before he released a sharp sigh when his gaze moved to the clock above your head.

4:02

“You’re late.” That wasn’t a lie.

“You we’re vague.” But that wasn’t either.

“I said my office” he said, stepping to the side, gesturing you to walk in (or, to his office to prove his point, either one made your teeth grit).

You followed his arm in. On his wrist, a patch of discoloration- the bruise yellow in contrast to warm brown.

Strange.

You’re eyes began to make sense of your surroundings. White walls, sparse pictures, a desk, two chairs, two computers, stray wires and scraps.

It was similar to a doctors office- suffocating, boring, unsettling.

“You didn’t say why,” you glanced at one of the only framed papers on the wall, a certificate declaring him as the head of research regarding anti-matter.

You hated to admit it, but his name looked good on paper.

“Miguel.”

You heard his tongue click before he sat down at his desk behind you. “Mr. O’Hara is fine.”

You laughed, turning to him with a sneer. “You’re clinically insane if you think I’m going to refer to you by Mr.”

He motioned for the seat in front of him. You stayed where you were. He narrowed his eyes, “it’s proper etiquette.”

You laughed again. For his arrogance, he was funny. “Don’t talk to me about etiquette. You still haven’t debriefed why I walked a marathon to get to your office.”

We’re you being a little harsh? Absolutely. But people like him, demanding, flippant, who liked to play boss; they used employees (who were just as if not more talented than they were) as their pawns. Employees like you.

You has no issue with the label bitter. It accurately describes your attitude towards most of the head-of’s at Alchemax.

Truthfully, the rise and fall of his shoulders and his rugged edges made you nervous.

But you weren’t a piece of meat in his teeth.

You refused to be the shaking fawn. But you knew you’d never be the wolf sitting across from you.

So you became the hunter willing to shoot both.

He sighed, a harsh sound that vibrated your ribs. “Please just…sit down.”

“I’m fine standing, thanks.”

He rubbed his temples, muttering incoherent Spanish under his breath. “Why must you be so difficult?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then you felt the air spark.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, fingernails digging into your palms, threatening blood. It was paralyzing, the sudden scent of bleach being replaced by, if it counted, the smell of yellow.

“You’re no fun Miguel, that’s why. She is, though.”

In your paralysis, you found the strength (or bravery) to move you head to your left, eyes fuzzy but alert, in an attempt to place a face to the yellow.

When you did, she was grinning.

You stifled a scream, lodged in your throat, scraping at your tongue, heavy. She giggled, turning upside down.

“Hello there.”

▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂▂︎◣︎◥︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎

“This is my digital assistant, Lyla,” he sighed, “she likes to make an entrance.”

She blinked.

“Holy fuck.” You whispered.

You had finally (reluctantly) took a seat per earlier request, thighs pressed together and, by anxious habit, picking your stray thumb skin. It was loose off your nail, flimsy under your subconscious fidget.

Currently, it was one of the only forms of control you had over the situation. You couldn’t really process if it should feel comforting, or unsettling.

Miguel’s stale gaze made that decision for you.

You cleared your throat.

“Did you make…her?” Now you just felt stupid. The look they both gave you didn’t help.

“Short answer…yes. I made her. But she-“

“I eventually just started updating myself until I became the gorgeous, stunning lady before you!” She said, grinning at you brightly, expectantly. You nodded, cautious.

“I see. So,” you turned to Miguel, “i think if you’re experiencing issues with…” you paused, looking at the hologram. She glitched, and smiled, “Lyla.”

You nodded, again. “Right, Lyla. I won’t be of much help. I’m an engineer, not an A.I expert, so if you need assistance-“

“But you can help!” Lyla flashed in front of you and, startled, your ripped the skin tag clean off.

Ow.

She stood (floated) on the table in front of you. Suddenly, yellow and orange squares appeared around you, and once the glaze of obscurity was blinked away, you realized they were your files.

Your photo, the research in your bag, and the ones you left at your desk. Hell, as you looked closer you noticed school records, family photos and their records.

It all stared back at you, a clarity that made you feel nauseous.

“Listen, kid,” she paused, her glitching body coming to your nose, finally making your vision break from the screens, “I don’t like being in this form anymore than you do. My beautiful mind deserves more than,” she motioned to herself, “this.”

Your mouth felt dry. If you knew where this was going-

“Two years ago,” a small square came to the center, “you worked on a robot. But not just some science fair, miniature, boring robot.”

Her eyes shimmered, brighter than the rest of her body.

“A robot that looked human.”

She scrolled through the article, the one that on release had made you cringe, “given, it was unsuccessful, but it’s detailing, it’s functions, they felt-”

She turned to you, and suddenly all your life disappeared from around your chair, leaving you in the dim light with Lyla’s silhouette.

She glitched, and for a moment you saw the humanity in her yellow. Somewhere, deep within the pixels, she was-.

“Real. I want to be real. And you’re going to help me.”

You paused. “I am?”

She laughed. “Well I hope so!” She threw her arms out, gesturing at the, now gone, files, “you could redeem yourself!”

You’re nose wrinkled. “I don’t need to redeem anything. My work-“

“Was a failure,” you winced, “that article still stains your reputation here at Alchemax, and I’m positive it’s the reason a mind as bright as yours is not higher up here.”

Even if it hurt to hear aloud, the truth always hurts. She was right. That experiment years ago lived and breathed down your neck. Now, you play a desperate game of catch up with the mistake that got a mile ahead of you before you took one step.

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll bite. What do you need me to do.”

“Make me a body.”

You laughed, startled at how simply she put it. “Sorry Lyla- that’s just…well it’s near impossible.”

“You’ve done it before.”

“And I failed, as you so gently pointed out.” You hated how hopeless you sounded when you said it, how you belittled yourself. But once again, the truth hurts.

“But you won’t this time.”

She hovered over your finger tips, smiling gently up at you. “We can help each other. I want a body, and you want a good reputation. If you build this for me…”

“We both win.” You finished.

She grinned. “Exactly.”

You groaned, your head falling to look at your lap. Your thumb still throbbed at the place you picked at your skin, the pinkish flesh stinging in the stale air. You wondered why Lyla wanted this- the fragility and the vulnerability that came with being…alive.

It was fleeting and it was calloused, a worn down tapestry that kept the face of agony and regret painfully clear, even as the rest of its body faded with time and age.

But you supposed, that there was a beauty in it. An untouched phenomenon- life wasn’t permanent, but it was special.

The grass is greener on the other side.

“Alright.”

Lyla laughed, leaping up to your nose.

“So you’ll help?”

“Yes. But what’s the catch.”

Her head tilted.

Your gaze moved to Miguel.

Despite his silence throughout this whole discussion, his analytic stare did not move from your face. It dug into your skin, his silence louder than any roar he could conjure. It’s animosity overwhelmed your skull, making the words that left your clenched throat hoarse and weak.

“What’s the catch.”

His chest rumbled in what you (hoped) believed to be a sigh, shouldered slumping. “You can’t…tell anyone during the process. You’ll be paid, but it’s classified information. No one can know what your doing.”

You almost stood up and left.

There wasn’t any pride, any joy in your work unless there was credit. Of course, scientific and engineering discoveries weren’t fueled by the promise of history, but you were a fool if you believed it wasn’t part of the process.

Michelangelo didn’t paint the Sistine Chapel to have people simply walk under his ceiling.

He wanted them to break their own necks to admire it.

But, a part of you hesitated.

Maybe the slow game was smarter. To become Miguel O’Hara’s colleague, to mold and shape and sculpt under shadows. Until your own masterpiece, much too alive to dust in an old museum, was revealed to an open skies and wonderstruck audience.

You felt guilty, doing this for your own gain rather than the goodness of your heart. But they knew who they hired. They knew it was a consensual abuse of power from both sides.

They knew that status would always taste sweeter than empathy.

You stuck out your hand.

“Deal.”

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parт 2 ⇁︎

[neverendinglabyrinth]

Analyzing 35 Portland Row:

Back at it with my set decoration posts, but lets overanalyze 35 Portland Row, shall we?

I love the way most of the house seems untouched, like it was frozen in time. Presumably, Lockwood never really "redesigned" the home from its original state, maybe a couple of changes here and there (which are more noticeable as we move on to other rooms) I say this, because of the contrast between pristine and messy in the areas.

The entryway:

I assume that the perspective pictures were taken as a way to assess how the set was going to look, in perspective 1 you can see the pillows on the bench missing, and in perspective 2 the clothing rack/hanger are completely missing.

On screen, we see that contrast I was talking about, you can see the way the clothes are almost stacked on that clothing rack (we can see George's coat, for example) I regard this as the kids respecting the space, since it is Lockwood's house they, most likely, don't want to trash it with their personal mess (or maybe George is the one that sets the 'mess-boundaries' to lighten the cleaning work).

On the other side of the spectrum we see the neat decorations and respected vases (respected as in, not using them as holders or trash bins) and the well cleaned masks and antiques hanging on the wall.

The Living Room:

This room is the "look how professional and neat we are" room, it is (by far) the cleanest one of them all, here is where they receive people and it is evident that they don't use it much by themselves, I know this because of the alarming lack of books laying around. I promise you, in Portland Row there are books EVERYWHERE.

Proof:

(these are just from the first couple episodes)

The Library:

I would argue that this is the "let's talk" room of the house, because it's the place where all of the information is. This is the room with the most "Lockwood flare", plus it's the perfect place for me to talk more about the messiness contrast.

In the scene where Lucy goes to talk to Lockwood, she has an apple core in her hand and this madwoman sets it ON THE TABLE (outrageous) but she looks for a spot where she wont ruin the table OR the books beside it. THE SELECTIVE MESS, PEOPLE! And Lockwood doesn't care, he just smiles, thankful.

Also there's a piano on the corner. (Hey! Locky, play Piano Man!)

The Kitchen:

Lockwood & Co's kitchen my beloved <3

By far my favorite room of the house, it is so cozy! From the spice rack, to the pot holders, to the kitchen utensils, the DETAILS. I'm in love, I love it.

And of course, the thinking cloth. The kitchen is the heart of Portland Row 35. And the crumbs on the table mean the world to me. LIKE DO YOU GET IT? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE SIMBOLYSM OF CRUMBS ON THE TABLE?

I love kitchens, and I love set decor. That's all I have to say.

The Rooms:

Last sections of me nerding out about set decor, I promise!

Lockwood's Room:

It's safe to assume that Lockwood doesn't spend much time in his room, so it stays mostly neat. Probably only in use when he's sleeping or getting changed, and most of his time is spent in the library or in the kitchen with the others.

Lucy's Room:

Okay, this room is a set decor work of art. Why? Well, because it is a prime example of a characters personality shining through in a new space.

Not only does it show what it was before (a storage attic) but it also shows what it is now (a personal room) AT THE SAME TIME! You can see the way Lucy organizes everything contrasted with the way it was laid out before.

(look at the shopping bags she was carrying when talking to Kipps beside the bed, CONTINUITY!)

George's Room:

One thing about George is that he is way too excited about The Problem to care about actually cleaning and organizing his own room.

I think that his room is a physical representation of how his brain works. Books on the floor, papers stacked over anything, post it notes on the wall. You can just see the way his brain jumps from one thought to the other by the way his room is laid out!

The set decorator credits: JUDE FARR

So that's it! Im sure i missed a couple of things so if you want to add your observations, please do! And if i made any mistakes or incorrect assumptions I apologize, i am by no means and expert, I just like the subject.

[denaliwrites]

How the Wine Plays Tricks on My Tongue

Crowley x GN!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Plot"

Summary: Much to Crowley's amusement, it turns out there's a movie about the Dyatlov Pass Incident -- and you just watched it. Sequel to Dance on a Tightrope of Weird.

Soundtrack: Crazy = Genius by Panic! at the Disco

Requests: Open!

Warnings: The ravings of a madwoman (it's me, hi, I'm the madwoman, it's me). Spoilers for Devil's Pass (Harlin, 2013).

"Crowley! Crowley -- you'll never believe... what I found."

You'd been drinking.

Crowley regretted supplying you with wine the moment he saw you, sitting up in bed, hugging a pillow almost as big as you to your chest, and staring blearily at the TV.

"What did you find, dearest?" he asked with a sigh as he leaned up against the doorframe.

"There's -- there's a movie."

Crowley blinked. "I rather think there's a lot of those, actually," he said, both exasperated and trying to bite down a smile, lest you see and be encouraged to keep this up.

"No, no -- idiot." Ouch. "You don't understand. Look!"

You pointed vehemently at the TV.

He leaned forward and at a slight curve so that he could see the screen. On it, he saw the selection page for a movie called Devil's Pass.

"What am I looking at, love?" he asked, turning back to you with an eyebrow curiously cocked.

"It's --" You groaned in frustration. "It's about the Dyatlov Pass Incident!"

Oh.

Oh, no.

You were back on that, then, it seemed.

Crowley resisted the urge to sigh and instead moved to sit down beside you. His intention was to gently coax you away from the movie, maybe put on something a little more relaxing.

Instead, your arms slithered around his waist, locking him in place. And -- where had that remote come from -- why were you pressing buttons -- why was the movie starting --

Oh, no.

"Darling, I don't think now is really --"

"Shut up and watch the fucking movie."

You were quite bossy drunk, apparently. He would've liked to explore that more, if not for the fact that you were... well, drunk.

As the movie played, he eventually relaxed, even going so far as to wrap you up in his arms and pull you into his lap. Him making moves to stay made you relax as well, thankfully, and soon enough the two of you were cuddled up together.

He barely paid attention to the movie -- his eyes were on you, admiring everything from how engrossed you were in the story to things like your hairline and the shape of your nose.

He wasn't one to give God credit for many things, but you? Even Crowley could admit that you were one of Her greatest masterpieces.

He didn't expect you to pull away when the movie ended, but you did -- and, in fact, he only knew the movie was over because you pulled away. "Something wrong?" he asked, sitting up with you and taking in your dumbstruck expression. "Darling?"

"It was -- it was so bad."

He nodded absently. "The majority are, dearest."

"No, it -- like, it was... it was So. Bad."

Oh, no.

"Like -- first of all, turning the real, tragic deaths of nine people with still-living relatives and friends into a cheap monster movie? Morally questionable at best. But also the -- the time travel? And becoming a mutated monster because you used a time machine, a-and these mutated monsters from our time being the cause of the Incident? I..."

Crowley hushed you with a soft sound and a kiss to the temple. "It's all right, darling. It's over now, you never have to think about it again."

"Oh, this is all I'll be thinking about for days. Weeks."

He'd hoped that, because you were drunk at the time, you'd be wrong. But nope. You really did think about that cursed movie for exactly 17 days, 9 hours, 42 minutes, and 38 seconds.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

[ID: The first image Psychonauts fanfic banner on a black-to-gray gradient background. On the left in white text it says “Prompt #7: What Have I Done?” On the right is a bright red animated figment of an open Psycho-Portal with scribbles inside.

The second image is a Bad Things Happen Bingo card. Various prompts are marked with a half-brain (prompt requested but not filled) or full-brain (prompt requested and finished) symbol, while the “What Have I Done” prompt specifically is marked with a full brain symbol. /end ID]

And now after NOT taking multiple months, here’s the next fic in my @badthingshappenbingo challenge!

I am currently NO LONGER OPEN FOR REQUESTS. I have enough to work on to get a bingo! I MAY decide to reopen prompts later if I want to keep going after finishing these fics, but for now, requests are closed!

This prompt requested by @jaywings, who also beta-read, as did @portalcartoon! (Also thanks to @mechmolar who's been animating my gif frames since Photoshop stopped working for me.)

Prompt: What Have I Done Characters: Ford Cruller, Lucrecia Mux, other Psychic 7 members Warnings: Implied death/murder, implied drug use

---~~~---

The first time Ford sees her on that warm summer night, the rest of the world turns fuzzy. Her eyes catch his immediately, and his heart flutters, his face flushing. She hasn't even spoken yet, and already something about her is making him smile like an idiot. It takes him a moment to realize Otto has been talking. With a jolt and a stutter he asks Otto to repeat his words, but his friend's voice only fades into the background once again, and Ford's gaze is on her once more.

He can't help but notice, she's smiling too.

—-

Otto is saying something, but he can't hear him. The world has turned fuzzy, and all he can see is Lucy's smiling face in the photograph on the table, and the letter in his shaking hands.

—-

The first time Ford sees her powers, he can only stare in awe. His and Otto's attempts at hydrokinesis had resulted in mere bubbles and splashes, which they'd had fun fooling around with, splashing each other when one wasn't looking.

Lucy is not fooling around. With a mere thought, she commands the water as though it were an extension of her outstretched hand. She moves with grace and precision, yet with enough power that their previous mining efforts are dwarfed in comparison. Massive waves wash away dirt and stone and other minerals and draw heaps of glowing crystals to their feet, leaving not a droplet behind.

—-

Bob and Helmut link trembling hands, and a nearby vine beckons Ford nearer.

The television screen is small and colorless, and the figure in the distance is barely discernible. But her command of water is unmistakable, even though it is people, not stones, that it brings to her feet.

—-

The first time Ford enters Lucy's mind is among one of the first times he has ever entered a mind. It is frightening yet fascinating as he sets foot on a giant quilt that undulates like gentle ocean waves. Buildings made of patchwork resemble a town from a faraway place, like something out of a picture book. Though he is attacked by the same small creatures he had seen in Otto's mind, this world is vastly different. Some of it is locked away to him, however, and he urges Lucy to open her mind more, eager to explore this uncharted territory.

—-

They have explored the Gulch, their psychic powers, and each other's minds, but the war room is entirely uncharted territory. The government was never supposed to be involved, and yet here were politicians representing every country Ford had ever known and then some, all of them begging their little friend group to please do something. They speak of the horrors this "monster" has committed, and one points out that they have no idea what she will do next.

But they say that Ford and his group of psychic heroes—surely they must know what lies in the mind of this madwoman.

Ford and the others exchange worried glances. He knows what he put into her mind... but none of them know what has happened to it now.

—-

When Ford continually pushes Lucy to open up more, he feels no deep worry or fear. Over the years they'd known each other, they had explored each other's minds, probing into the depths, looking for what new wonders there were to find.

Memory Vaults remain open, frolicking through the mindscape with their mouths agape. Exposure to certain substances sooth Doubts and Regrets and make Censors sluggish to act, allowing for more ease of exploration. New doors open, allowing for more and more depths to explore.

In spite of her dulled inhibitors, Lucy expresses her fear sometimes, unsure if they're pushing each other too far. But Ford assures her that all is safe, here. Nothing can reach them here in the Gulch, and he puts her hands in his own, assuring her that she can trust him.

They are far from any troubles.

—-

The helicopter takes them far, far from the Gulch. The ride is silent and tense, no one saying a word, even over telepathy—or none of them speak to Ford, anyway. Bob and Helmut stare at their interlinked hands, Cassie and Compton huddle close, and Otto looks blankly ahead, his face unreadable.

None of them meet his gaze.

—-

Her horrified gasp shatters their peaceful morning. Lucy stares at the newspaper for an eternity before it drops from her shaking hands, and her sister's name leaves her trembling lips.

Ford's immediate thought is to comfort and reassure her, but she's already packing her bags, deaf to his words.

His words of comfort soon turn to pleas to stay—everything's changing too fast. Their minds are different. She doesn't know what will happen. (He doesn't know what will happen.) But she insists that she must leave, she must help her sister, and nothing he can say will sway her.

It's when she leaves, taking off riding on a wave, that it strikes him that they'd never taken the time to close up their minds. But he tries to reassure himself—he knows her. She won't let anything harmful into her mind, and they'll see each other again, once this is all over.

—-

The first time Ford sees Maligula, he does not recognize her. He's not alone, as all of them stare at her in horror, wondering at the identity of this monster standing before them.

It's not until Bob calls out to everyone that this is Lucy—that this is their friend—that recognition sets in, and nearly brings Ford to his knees. This is it—this was Lucy who brought those people to her feet, who wiped this country off the map, who let this terrible darkness into her heart—or out of it.

...But she hadn't done that alone.

It was Ford who had begged her to open those doors in her mind in the first place.

And he stands before Maligula, a single horrified thought running through his mind:

What have I done?

[lowkeyren]

My brief reverie contains 3 PROMPTS of

"Wait...Since when are you guys married?!" (Dan Feng)

"Easy, just buy me a nice ring and leave the lying part to me." (Blade)

"Stop, you're not allowed to smile at me like that" "Like what...?" (Jing Yuan)

with 1 TROPE of secret relationship.

TY :3

yippeee xianzhou men :3

SORRY FOR TAKING... LIKE FOREVER BUT I'M FINALLY WORKING ON MY MILESTONE EVENT. going thru all your reqs rn and im giggling at my screen like a madwoman.

ps. im sorry if blade’s part is a bit wonky, cus i made that prompt with fake dating trope in mind AND SECRET RELATIONSHIP IS LIKE THE TOTAL OPPOSITE, i struggled but hey.. never back down nvr give up ig 🙏🏻

pps. bye his part ended up being almost 1k words. can you tell i love him

posting this later tonight!!!! (in like 3-4 hrs xx)

will link: here

[evita-shelby]

National Anthem

Yes that Lana del Rey song lol.

Tagging: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife

Rated: M 🔞

Warnings: use of ethnic slur, slight racism, canon typical violence

It was Roosevelt’s idea and while Jack owed him a great deal for his success in business and now politics, he was not going to let Franklin choose him a wife.

He didn’t need some prissy princess with as much personality as a wet mop to take him the rest of the way up.

Barely worked with his brother, Laurence, who fucked off to France and left his bitch of a wife and his kid, Gina, in his care.

No, Jack will do this himself, chose a woman who doesn’t bore him and won’t nag him to death.

The Rileys of Mexico City were perfect.

Rich beyond imagination, had enough Irish and Spanish blood to make them more palatable to high society and had ties to the three worlds he lived in: business, crime and politics.

Better yet, they had an heiress ripe for the taking.

Eva Smith, daughter of Patricio’s dead youngest sister and worth almost a million dollars.

A total mystery, even her file had so little on her.

Christ, he isn’t even sure she speaks English.

But she is good to look at.

Her dark hair is pinned under the veil she wears to mass, her dark brown eyes made up like a vamp and red lips he’d love to see wrapped around his---

Jack Nelson cannot finish that thought when his future wife turns to look at him with a knowing look in her eyes.

“Forgive me Father for I am going to sin.” He mutters to himself as he follows her into the empty confessional booth.

The church was not empty, Jack had spent the past fifteen minutes watching the back of her head since he arrived here on a weekday on a place so holy he has never fucked a woman here.

He has thought of it, he is only human after all.

“I do speak English, if you had read the file you would have known my father was an Englishman.” She said through the lattice screen.

“He was an English gypsy. Got on a ship and arrived in Mexico as your mother’s husband.” He points out.

“Ah, so you did do your homework, good boy.” The woman points out with a teasing lilt.

“Your turn, sweetheart.” Jack says to keep it going and see what she knows about him.

“Your name is John Fitzgerald Nelson, you were the second son of four siblings, two of your younger siblings died of consumption, your elder brother died in France and your first kill was the priest who forced himself on your sisters.” She answers and he wished he could get a good view of the vixen who knows things that were definitely not on his files.

“Did I get that right, baby?”

No one knew why he killed the priest, save for him and God.

Even sweet twelve year old Gina hadn’t known he’d avenged her when she died in their mother’s arms.

He was expecting a fraud, or worse a madwoman.

He got something worse.

Jack leaves the booth only to tear open the door she hides behind.

She is standing, smiling like the cat that ate the cream and pulls him into the narrow space.

“I’m going to marry you.” Jack declares as he finds a better use for her wicked mouth.

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Despite Everything

Afton has a gift for Sydney, but some things were best left forgotten.

POV: Sydney Herrera Time Frame: Early days at the Pizzaplex, before Gregory's escape

---------

.

The dimly lit room had Sydney’s nerves on edge the moment he crossed the doorway to enter. Ever since he and Vanessa had been moved into the Pizzaplex, pressure had been ramped up to keep him under Elizabeth Afton’s control. Seemed she was starting to catch on that he’d been working to help Vanessa keep aspects of her personality, poking and prodding to be sure she kept reacting to him in ways that he knew were truly her.

That was the point of Afton’s ‘training days’ for him, reasserting her power and control over him to remind him of his own helplessness. Master File would fiddle with his head through the damned implant, messing with what he could see, could hear, could feel, creating visions more real than his memories to taunt and terrorize. Afton was more physical, slicing shallow cuts over his body when his senses were dialed up by the Master File, turning once stinging injuries into excruciating wounds that left him hoarse from screaming. Then she’d bandage him up with a smile and send him back to Vanessa, fully aware he’d hide it from her to keep her from asking the sort of questions that would trigger her own implant’s defenses. The more Vanessa questioned, the more the implant would forcefully herd her down a path of compliance that would make it easier for Afton’s plans.

Was that what she was planning to do today? More playtime with her damned scalpels and stupid smug looks?

Sydney tensed at the thought, gritting his teeth in frustration that he couldn’t do anything but just take the abuse and swallow it down. Afton smiled at him from her desk, leaning against it as her computer screen behind her pulsed, a sickly purple glow that let him know who else was in the room. Not that it mattered if Master File was in that machine, since he had the whole of the Pizzaplex network to move in and could just as easily connect to the implants. Hell, he might even have done it already.

“You called?” Sydney bit out through his teeth, glancing around the room quickly to take stock of what else she had going on in here. If he had an idea of what kind of torture she was in the mood for then he’d have a chance to prepare himself to not break under it.

“It’s come to my attention that you haven’t been as skilled in carrying out your.. special duties.. as our records say you had been in your prime,” Afton began thoughtfully, tapping painted nails on the surface of her desk. “The skills you have currently do seem to indicate a reliance on muscle memory, but you hesitate and hold yourself back quite often.”

“Too bad. You only have me, no one else,” Sydney replied curtly. He kept the urge to shift nervously tightly under control, some trained technique to hide his feelings learned from a source he’d long forgotten. He already gave so much of himself to the madwoman, he was going to do his best to make her fight to scrape any more of him away.

Afton made some small sound, a breathy little sigh that sounded equally amused and disappointed with him. “I’m well aware of that, but you promised me a Panther and instead I got a kitten,” she pointed out, lifting her arms to fold them over her chest, “so I’m within rights to seek.. an alternate solution.”

That didn’t sound good. Sydney tensed again, doing another sweep of the room furtively. The woman laughed lightly, pulling his attention back to her with a wary expression. She made a gesture with one hand, and a familiar ‘chair’ descended from its bay in the ceiling, shaped much like the one in Parts and Service for doing maintenance on the animatronics. The only difference between the two were the leather straps affixed to this particular chair.

Sydney immediately stepped back, gritting his teeth as a filing cabinet he’d initially dismissed as just background furnishings rippled away to reveal an endoskeleton bare of any casing. Once again the Master File had tampered with his vision, annoying technology that riddled the Pizzaplex to help Afton manipulate the crowds in her search for Remnant sources. It moved with unnatural fluidity, stepping forward to his retreat and grabbing his arms.

“You always do this on our special times together,” Afton sighed in false dismay, “Really, don’t you know that doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity?”

“Speaking from experience?” Sydney spat out, struggling to push back against the endoskeleton as it forced him to take steps towards the chair. His heels dug into the tile, squeaking as the soles of his shoes scraped over the polished surface in attempts to grip the floor. Stress skyrocketed from the proximity to the endo, and Sydney twisting every way he could to get free was more from the rising panic of being in the machine’s clutches than it moving him to the chair.

Master File’s derisive laughter rang through the speaker system as Afton pouted, eyes narrowed in an offended glare. “He has you there, Darling,” the artificial spirit pointed out.

“I’ll have you know that I was close to getting the results I wanted,” the woman declared haughtily. “It’s all these blasted cretins interfering where they’re not wanted for whatever reason! Like they live to get in my way.. whatever did we do to deserve such nuisances?!”

“You got my past self killed, you rancid bitch!” Sydney yelled furiously, shoving backwards one last time against the endo before it successfully shoved him down into the chair. A second one stepped out of the illusion of a tall office plant to assist with turning him over, unfazed by him kicking at whatever part of the endo he could reach.

“Death is just an inconvenience to us at this point, Mr. Michaels,” Afton replied flatly, pulling away from her desk to approach him. The straps cinched tight against his wrists and ankles, pressed his chest and waist flush to the chair so any thrashing was minimized to near immobility. “I mean, look at you,” she went on as the endos stepped away, returning to their stations now that their tasks were done. “According to the police reports documenting your.. remains.. you died at the age of 43, ripped apart by the very animatronics my former husband hired you and your partner to collect for us. Not that old, but certainly your body must have been riddled with damage from life as a mercenary.”

“Mercenaries don’t exactly have a reputation for ending up in a retirement home most times,” Sydney grumbled between strained huffs, still struggling to force the straps to loosen in some way.

“And you somehow managed to slip out of your one way trip to hell and come back in the body of a healthy young man,” Afton continued as if he hadn’t spoken, a smile on her face as she gestured to the screen. “Yet unlike the Remnant transfer processes that allows me to live on in new bodies, and will be used to restore my dear daughter and Dr. Afton, you lost so many memories.” She reached down, cupped his chin in her hand to make him face her directly. “You lost yourself, Mr. Michaels.. Panther, and that’s the real tragedy of your past demise,” Afton told him, looking at him with the fakest expression of sympathy Sydney had seen since his mother weaseled her way out of being at his high school graduation to drag-.

He jerked his head out of Afton’s grip, shoving the memory down and casting it into obscurity with a grimace as he felt Master File’s tingling touch dance over his mind.

“Oh my, my, you can win that round, Darling,” Master File purred, files blooming to life on the screen at Afton’s gesture, “The next one is mine, though.”

Images and documents littered the screen as Sydney’s gaze was drawn to them almost magnetically. The face on display.. it was that of a stranger, but not quite. That older man with the wide grin in the scanned photo had the same eyes Sydney did, that ice blue color that seemed so much colder and more malicious in that older face.

Was that...?

“You don’t even recognize yourself, such a shame,” Afton murmured, reaching out and tidying up the collar of his shirt, “I suppose that explains your lacking skills. But that’s where having me as your employer is a boon.” She smiled wider when he looked at her in confusion. “One of the things my husband did, while trying in his own way to bring Emelia back to life, was create a learning artificial intelligence to make up for her degrading memories. A mimic of sorts,” she explained with a flippant little gesture of her hand. “It was to study all our home videos of Emelia, learning her mannerisms from them, learn to be Emelia from them, and then her Remnant would be fused with it to create a fully digitized version of herself rather than a copy like the Master File.” Her eyes gleamed with excitement as Sydney stared at her in faint horror. “Then that would be uploaded to a paired mimic animatronic that would be able to adapt and adjust itself to let Emelia ‘grow up’ under the illusion of her looks with his special discs. A novel idea, but I wish my daughter to have a body of flesh and blood.”

“Yeah, you’re all fucking insane,” Sydney said slowly, pushing himself away from Afton as much as he could under the restraints.

“Now, Dr. Afton is someone who doesn’t seem to care what kind of body he has as long as he’s alive to continue his research, to defy Death and bring it under heel,” she went on with the same maddened glee, “But I wanted to be sure the Mimic program could accurately ‘bring back’ a dead personality through study of historical records, and Panther had a lot of records that his partner hadn’t thought to destroy.”

A chill ran through Sydney as he swallowed, trying to dislodge a sudden lump in his throat. “Wh-what the fuck...?” he murmured as Afton leaned closer, filling his vision with her maddened smile.

“I’m going to give you back your memories, Panther, be thankful to me,” she said, giggling at the end of her words. “Upload the Mimic!”

A sudden splitting headache pulled a cry from Sydney’s mouth as he jerked in place. Reality faded as he sank into darkness, Afton’s painted smile still looming over him as he drifted away.

.

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

.

Hazy walls of concrete gray meshed and connected awkwardly with walls of creamy beige. The cheap furnishings of his and [REDACTED]’s apartment phased in and out with the battered furnishings of a long ago time, a cooler set in front of a reclining chair like a footrest. Pockets of void took up space where there was nothing familiar or unfamiliar, the emptiness cast by amnesia with only faint feelings or sensations leaking out.

Sydney stood in open space, standing on a clash of wood paneling and concrete floor. He held still, glancing around cautiously as he felt a new presence encroaching in his mindspace. What was happening? What did Afton do to him this time? What did she mean by giving him back his memories?

Could she actually do that? Could she fill in those blanks he’d had to live with for so long? He swallowed again, uncertain of what to feel about that. He had been dangerous in the past, that was something he’d been told over and over, by someone who had been proud of that for him. Sydney had leaned into that at first, used the skills that had carried over with him against a bully that continuously went after that someone. But then what? He didn’t know what to do after breaking the kid’s personality so he’d left them be after, only to see them day after day at that school when he went for a pick up, a broken kid with a lost and confused expression. The same expression Sydney caught himself wearing if he glanced at his own reflection.

He couldn’t bring himself to use those skills again after that. There was no reason to make more people like himself. ..But....

If he had his memories back.. if he knew why he had these skills and what he did with them....

“So this is the punk who took over for me?” a rough voice asked in amused skepticism, the words echoing through the hollow building of the mindscape. Sydney jumped a bit, caught off guard by the sound as he spun to track the origin of it. It was easy enough to do; the man from the photo stood not far from him, imposing and broad, dressed in heavy black clothing. He smirked in a way that looked a hair’s breadth away from breaking into that wide, wide smile, ice blue eyes bright compared to the shadows he stood in. “Well, hello there, Shadow Mine,” the man greeted in a low tone, stepping forward and closer to Sydney, looming over him through the sheer strength of his presence, “Now there’s a Panther here.”

“You.. you’re who I used to be? With all the memories I lost?” Sydney asked warily. Now Panther smiled widely before letting it dim down to something less crazed, a smirk like he had before.

“Well, more than what you have at least,” the man returned, stepping to one side to look around at their surroundings, “So this is what you built up for my mind? Could barely picture our base in Florida, huh?”

“Is that where this is?” Sydney asked, looking around in wonder at the concrete walls. A sudden spike of tension ran up his spine and he whipped his head around to track where Panther was, furrowing his brow as he watched the man just slowly circle around him. “What are you doing?”

“Every time you speak you just prove more and more that I’d be doing you a favor, Shadow Mine,” Panther replied, watching him back with a calculating look. “I can see why Router hasn’t made much effort to get you back.”

What?

“He hasn’t made the effort because I made sure he doesn’t try,” Sydney growled, clenching his hands into fists as he turned in place to keep the older man in his sights. Panther chuckled into one hand.

“Is that what you tell yourself as cold comfort? Funny, but it’s more sad,” he replied with a shrug. He tilted his head, his gaze lidded as he continued circling Sydney. “You’ve been holding yourself back on the skills I worked hard to gain, not because you have this fantasy of being ‘good’,” Panther purred, “but because you fear what Router’s reaction would be to see you get halfway through my M.O. and then fail to follow through. The disappointment would be soul-crushing for him, and you’d be the one to blame.”

His blood chilled as his eyes widened. Router had given up a clean slate, a true second chance at life, to bring him back too. And he came back missing so many memories, so many of those moments between them that Router cared most about. A failed revival? His breath caught in his throat. Did Router.. was that why he kept making references to their past lives? Testing to see how much of him was actually Panther?

“Oh, you’re getting it, aren’t you, Shadow Mine?” Panther remarked with a dark laugh, “A pale imitation of me getting himself kidnapped so easily? Caving to a few razor cuts that I would have dismissed as just a hazard of shaving? You’ve fallen so far it’s a wonder Router didn’t just put a bullet through you at first chance to spare you and him any further embarrassment of your existence.”

Sydney lifted a hand to his head, heart pounding as blood rushed through his ears. “N-no,” he stammered out breathlessly and shook his head, trying to clear it of the words circling around, whispers echoing them in the space around him, “No, I.. I know what you’re doing…”

“And? So what?” Panther asked mockingly, “It’s not like you have the skill to do anything about it. You’ll hem and haw and worry over someone else’s feelings, and in a merc’s line of work that’ll just get you dead first. Or in the case of this life now, you’ll just get Router killed. Is that what you want? To fail to the point of getting him killed?”

“No!” Sydney blurted, burying his hands in his hair as he staggered back, away from Panther pressing down on him through his sheer imposing aura. “S-stop.. stop! Those are my memories!”

“You stand there sniveling and sobbing and dare call yourself Panther?” the older man declared in offense, “Shrinking in on yourself like so many of my marks before they broke in my hands and you dare claim that, despite everything, you’re still me?!”

“My name is Sydney Herrera, not Sydney Michaels!” Sydney snapped back, pressing forward in a fury to force the intruder out of his mind, one way or another. His hands flew up in surprise when Panther grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back against a wall, holding him in place.

“You’re no Panther, either,” the mercenary growled darkly, “But that’s what I’m here for, Shadow Mine.” Sydney stared up at him in equal parts frustration and fear, fingers digging into the hand gripping him in feeble attempts to pry him off. “You can be the meek little civilian playing house with that woman, but I get this body when the real work needs to be done.”

“Y-you’re just software that b-bitch put in my head!” Sydney hissed, mustering up every ounce of anger to glare defiantly up at the recreation of his past self.

“And yet I’m more true to the memory of Panther than you could ever hope to be,” Panther countered coldly, “A mimic that succeeds where you failed. You could wither away to nothing in here and nothing of substance would be lost. I doubt Router would even miss you when you’re not the one he wanted to begin with.”

A sharp gasp, a numbness crashing over him, and Sydney could only look helplessly up at the face he once wore in the past, his hands loosening and going still around Panther’s wrist. A wetness on his face as tears welled unbidden and spilled down his cheeks.

“Afton may act like she’s got you on a leash, but make no mistake. You belong to me, Shadow Mine,” Panther crooned, “This body was meant for me, but I’m a considerate kind of guy. I’ll let you be in the driver’s seat when dealing with the tedium of playing nice with the blondie, and when the real fun stuff happens, I’ll take over and handle things. Maybe I’ll be snoozing, then that Master File asshole can drive for me until I’m up. You can just enjoy a nice quiet existence with Blondie, and when we’re all done with her, you can sleep and leave everything to me.”

“L-leave it.. to you?” Sydney murmured with a shudder. A dangerous person, unleashed on a world that wouldn’t have any idea what was coming....

“Sure~,” Panther laughed condescendingly, “I can’t wait to use that voice; won’t take me long to train it to work for me like mine did.”

“My voice is mine. W-won’t let you..,” Sydney struggled to say before clacking his teeth together to bite off his words. Panther blinked a few times before laughing again in mild disbelief.

“You’re seriously going to pull that with me? Alright, this could be fun. Let’s see how long you last,” he murmured and lowered his head to press their foreheads together, until all Sydney could see was his own eyes looking back at him in malicious glee. “Keep existing, Shadow Mine, and I’ll be here, watching, waiting. And you can live with the knowledge that any time you open your mouth to talk, the words that come out might not be yours. Maybe it’ll be the moment I speak through you.. and break whoever you’re facing.”

It took everything Sydney had to glare back through his tears, refuse to show his fear on his face, lips pressed together to hold in any sounds out of defiance. Panther just smiled at him knowingly, amused by whatever he saw. He reached up with his other hand and lightly patted Sydney on the cheek with mock affection.

“Back to the land of the living you go, Shadow Mine, but know that from now on.. I’m here, waiting for you to let your guard slip. Keep that driver’s seat warm for me,” he quipped and laughed as even this world began fading from Sydney’s sight.

.

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

.

Sydney groaned softly as he blinked back to wakefulness, a heavy fog still clouding his senses. Afton was undoing the straps holding him to the chair, humming cheerfully to herself and looking pleased. Right, she made that software version of Panther and shoved him into his head as a ‘gift’.

He already didn’t talk very much out of worry that he could accidentally ruin someone’s mental state, now he had to be especially cautious with speaking with that mimic mercenary squatting in his mind. What could he do to protect Vanessa from himself? Maybe he could convince her to use some of their breaks as time for him to teach her self-defense, and then carefully increase that until she could have the strength to take him down in an emergency.

“Now you’re all set to be even more useful to me now, and when Emelia is back, you’ll be perfect for taking care of any issues for her as her personal guard,” Afton remarked with a happy clap of her hands once the last strap was undone. “Off you go now, Mr. Michaels,” she added with a cruel smile, “I’m sure you’ll keep this visit between us, as usual.”

“It’s Herrera,” Sydney hissed, pushing himself up. He swayed from the motion of getting to his feet, a wave of disorientation passing over him that made him dry heave and grip the chair to steady himself.

“Not for long~,” Afton sang out, stepping up to him to drag a nail down his spine and make him cringe at the contact, “Back to your room now. Appreciate your gift.”

He flipped her off as he staggered to the door to get out and away from her, and she only laughed, the sound following him even once he shut the door on her and made his way back to Parts and Service.

[operaticsigh]

supermarket struggles; a short piece!

WORD COUNT: 788

DESCRIPTION: inner monologue from the perspective of an oc of mine who loves tiramisu, wine, and probably has attention span issues. here she is in a supermarket. birthed from boredom at 1am!

8p.m:

tonight, i'm in a strangely imaginative mood. i think that boredom can do magical things to a person.

i enter my local supermarket, smiling weakly at my pixelated reflection on the overhead security screen, with dry lips that crave shitty tiramisu and even shittier wine. i gaze (weary but bewitched all the same) down the infinite rows of bustling checkouts, mostly staffed by young, underpaid cashiers. they all have dead eyes that betray their tired, mechanical smiles. “me too,” i think in wry sympathy.

all at once, an unpleasant, nauseating emotion detains me, as if the defective Trolley i've been pushing has unpredictably and very discreetly pressed a gun against my stomach, holding me hostage, whispering orders like, “one word and i'll shoot. push me to the bath and homewares aisle, understood, bitch? you think my wheels are squeaky? just wait until this bullet enters your gut!"

naturally, i comply, i ponder my invented dilemma, i whimper and push my captor around - who has undeniably squeaky wheels - like the cowardly hostage i am. fearfully perusing the towels and soap dispensers (for which i had no need, being that i still live with my parents), i feel a vague pang of injustice.

pushing my Trolley past aisle after aisle, my thoughts veer from feigned fear to half-assed anger at the theatrics my mind is conjuring. how dare my own trolley threaten me? cautious but indignant, i shuffle through rows of products totally disconnected from me. my eyes despairingly mull over highlighters (pack of 3), chicken breast (raw, diced, hung, drawn, and quartered), sunscreen (SPF 50, occasionally carcinogenic), and microwave pasta bake (1 for the price of 5).

at this point, i’m in a selfish mood during which any items that do not serve me immediately begin to look extremely dystopian and unnecessary. oh, the horror of more than one ice-cream flavour. this store is consumerist hell. perhaps the whole supermarket should just be constructed of tiramisu and cheap wine!

furthermore, if my fiendish trolley ever sets me free, i plan to awkwardly and avoidantly use the self-checkout. so why do the young cashiers have to be here, when they're clearly just as tired and disillusioned as me? “you egotistic bastard! of course the cashiers have to be here. who else is going to scan everyone else’s fucking items?” snaps the Scary Trolley. i ignore my irascible captor and continue thinking of myself.

a few minutes later, in the toilet paper aisle, a shining wave of enlightenment breaks over me, and i soon realise that i’m doing the poor staff here a real disservice, that i’m surely increasing their workload by entering the supermarket and walking about and mumbling like a madwoman. none of them are being paid enough to deal with me making up childish hostage scenes and ambling about so aimlessly. selfish, silly me. i beg the 4-ply rolls for salvation. as i walk - “forgive me, tinfoil and baking paper rolls, forgive me, for i have sinned, i beseech you; save me!” i weep silently, “…and i will repent for my wicked selfishness! definitely.”

…

i really should just get my items and go. stop toying with thoughts of gun-wielding Trolleys and religion. i want to leave, anyways; the ambience of supermarkets has always repulsed me, mostly because i’ve always been a believer that supermarkets use hypnosis. harsh, numbing lights, no sense of time, winding and labyrinthine aisles, and a drilling, overenthusiastic voice eerily repeating, “Customer Announcement… PARENTS! Are You ALL SET for Back to School? Are you SURE you’re ALL SET? You’re not. We know you’re not. We know everything about you. You especially, Mrs Carter in Aisle 32, Baking Goods. So be sure to head to our clothing section for an Unmissable De-”

i remember how i once lost myself in this store for 2 hours and came out in a vegetative state, having bought nothing. if i stare long enough, the shelves of cereal (why am i here again?) grow to fantastical, gleaming, beanstalk-heights. maybe the cannibalistic giant at the top is the Supermarket God. maybe i just have to climb.

shaking away these ridiculous thoughts, i finally turn into the dessert aisle, and my shallow religiosity and overactive imagination escape me. quite freely, i grab my increasingly unpopular tiramisu, with an honest but fleeting worry that the supermarket may one day remove it. perhaps to be replaced with another variation of fruit cheesecake.

i keep my eyes riveted on the dirty linoleum, in fear of further emotional distraction or any other potential hostage situations. i choose a cheap merlot (probably poison), pay by self-checkout, and leave, abandoning my trolley with a vague sense of loss. i’m reeling from the passionate drama we’ve just acted in together. i’m faintly embarrassed that 30 minutes have passed.

[pinkmirth]

Omggg I just found out you started writing for Castlevania and I read your Richter fic and it was so gooddd, I was wondering if you ever planned on writing for Trevor in the future? I barley see fics for him let alone Black reader fics and I felt that your writing would fit perfectly for him

aw, nonnie! it makes my day to hear that you liked ‘preserve’ 🎀 it’s one of my favorite fics i’ve written, especially ‘cause richter totally deserves more content. and ohmygod, i adore this question; to answer it, yes a million times over!!! i’m definitely gonna be writing something for trevor in the future :) i’ve been binging castlevania lately (currently on s4) and whenever treffy ‘n his pretty blue eyes comes on screen, i’m smiling to myself like a madwoman >< his fighting sequences are always amazing (though brutal hmm), his voice is so gruff & yummy, and i don’t even have to tell you how undeniably fine he is . . . sypha baby i’m so sorry, but i’m in love with your man! i have a wip for him, but i’m waiting to receive a good plot idea so that the writing flows smoothly. overall, i loveee the belmont boys, and more content for them is soon to come! ❤︎

[ch4rryc0smos]

REVERIE | 07

SOMETIMES ALL I THINK ABOUT IS YOU!

synopsis ┊kenji sato returns to japan, leaving behind everything he's ever known. and fate plays a cruel joke on him, when hazel vellichor walks back into his life, albeit not by choice. she makes a trip to japan, for a charity event, for another speech, and somehow; media wrangles her in for more drama. what they don't know is that she's ultrawoman, and kenji's ultraman, and there's more than to the eye here. they're well intertwined and every time they tug away, the knot gets tighter. everything leads them to each other, and now japan is in their hands, and they have to unravel every secret they refused to acknowledge prior to this. and they have to accept every role bestowed upon them, whether they like it or not. somehow, all of this leads to is them learning that there was always more to their friendship, and that they were truly two puzzle pieces, fit right next to each other.

genre ┊ childhood-friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, slight angst, tooth rotting & chaotic fluff, co-parenting (?)

pairing ┊ken sato x fem-self insert/oc, ken sato x public figure!self insert, ken sato x childhood-friend!self insert

warnings ┊ mild cursing, mentions of drinking, trauma, heavy topics (?), events in ultraman: rising take place alongside this story.

word count ┊1.4k

author's note ┊part 07! i'm a bit worried about some stuff (a bit is an understatement, i'm terrified), i hope you enjoy this! working on 20 right now, it's insane to me how far this has come, not going to lie :') happy reading!

prev. | next

A few days pass, but the guilt never truly leaves Hazel’s mind. Even when she meets with a relieved Mr. Sato. He seems beyond happy to know that she’s okay. Although, Hazel thinks there might be something else on his mind. All she’s been doing is going over previous packages and transactions and all that bullshit from the KDF, but then Hayao says he’d like to visit her. She can’t deny him that. 

For maybe the second time, in eight hours, she stands up from her seat, no longer staring at her screen like a madwoman. She’s quick to walk across her whole place and unlock the door to welcome in Mr Sato. Who doesn’t seem to have a smile on his face. No glint in his eyes, nothing. Hazel thinks it would be really impolite if she asks him as soon as he enters, so she makes a mental note to ask him after she’s at least got him a cup of tea.

She has him sit down on the couch, and he sighs. Hazel frowns. “Would you like a cup of tea, uncle?” she asks. When he looks up, she smiles softly. 

He nods, not uttering a word. That doesn’t make her feel particularly great. Oh, they were going to have a full debunking therapy session. She’s humming softly as she brews his tea, the silence from his side is unnerving. Because he usually isn’t like this. And Hazel really wonders what’s gotten to him so bad. 

When she returns with the cup of steaming tea, he thanks her quietly. She sits down beside him, and tilts her head to get a good look at his face.

“What’s wrong, uncle?”

She doesn’t know how to react, because if porcelain shattering into pieces could be an expression, it might have been his right about now. 

He tells her over multiple sips and minutes spent in silence about how his son was partying right after a magnificent beast died, and how he thought that Hayao didn’t look for his mother. And Hazel didn’t think Ken was like that. Maybe he was really confident, but this… was insensitive. In many ways. Maybe karma’s been getting to him, because all of his games recently have been shit. 

“And he’s been struggling…” Mr. Sato whispers, sighing right afterwards.

“With his games? Yeah,” Hazel says. Hayao turns to her, and he’s looking at her inquisitively. Oh. “I’ve been watching his games, my best friend really likes baseball.” She scratches the back of her neck. 

Thankfully, Mr. Sato looks much more light, much happier than when he walked in. Hazel smiles at him, and he smiles back. 

He places a hand on her shoulder, a bit shaky, but it’s fine. “Thank you, for listening to me.”

“It’s nothing, uncle.”

The atmosphere with Mr. Sato was nice, mellow. But with Maple? She’s raging about how bad Ken’s games have been. She thinks he might be sick. He looks exhausted, she says. Which, he does, alright, but Hazel thinks she might be looking into it too much. 

“Did you see when—” Maple starts, again. Hazel knows exactly what she’s about to refer to. Yes, she’s seen it.

She sighs, “yeah, I have.” She repeats. 

Maple seems heartbroken, enraged, and everything in between. Ami is worried, but also seems curious. Hazel spends a decent bit of her time debunking baseball games with Ami, Chiho interrupting randomly.

It’s one of those days where neither Ami, nor Maple are there to keep her busy. And as per Mr. Sato’s requests, she’s been researching less, because apparently, she needs to maintain her eyesight. So, she can’t find enough things to do, outside of spending her time planning future speeches, or writing—More like jotting down the random scenarios that pop up in her head. 

Moments like these are when she realises just how pointless of a person she may actually be. When she feels like she needs to be doing something, but is doing, nothing. 

The thought taunts her, dilly-dally’s around her mind, and she huffs, fighting the urge to rot on her phone. She’s already taken a walk, contemplating calling up Mr. Sato and ask up more about his origins, but she talks herself out of it.

Thankfully though, a call comes to her rescue, or that’s what Hazel thinks. She’s about to pick up, but then she notices the caller ID and her heart’s in her throat. Why is Ken Sato calling her? She’s willing to believe it’s a mistake, that he’ll realise within the next few seconds that he’s probably ringing up the wrong person, but when the persistent ringing echoes through her room, she hovers her finger over the button, finally pressing down. 

“Hello…?” she whispers, not sure why she’s talking at a whisper, but doing it anyway. She isn’t expecting the huff of annoyance from the other side, but doesn’t bring it up.

Finally, there’s silence. “Hey, Ami—” 

Oh, he thinks he called Ami. She doesn’t say anything. But she’s sure Ken’s realised because of the silence in her background. There’s no babbling from Chiho, or the sound of a T.V playing, none of that.

“Oh, shit. You’re not—”

Hazel can’t help the laugh that leaves her. “No, I’m not Ami.” But wait, how does he have her number in the first place? She has his, alright, but it can’t go the other way around. 

“Uh, I’m so sorry—” he starts, and the way he’s unravelling is a bit amusing to Hazel. Still, she asks him how in the fuck he has her number because that… she does not like. “Ami gave it to me.”

She is going to talk to Ami about this. 

“Oh,” is all she says though, and she sighs. 

She won’t lie, it’s a bit awkward, but it’s fine, because at least her thoughts aren’t getting to her right now. Even though there’s a few moments of silence between them as Ken finds his words, her mind isn’t talking. She’s focused on listening to him.

“So… coffee?” he asks. 

She’s smiling at her phone. “You don’t need to worry about that, you look like you’re suffering enough these days, anyway.”

Ken laughs nervously on the other side. “Yeah, I have. It’s been tough, but I’m going to show Shimura what I’ve got, why exactly I’m a giant.”

At the spike of determination in his voice, Hazel’s intrigued. It’s adorable. “I sure hope—I think you will.” She isn’t a die-hard baseball fan, but she has a belief in Ken, even if… he gets beaten up once or twice.

“How’re your injuries faring?” she asks, trying to continue the conversation before she feels weird about what she said to him. 

He hums in contemplation, and it finally seems that he’s past the initial awkwardness. “Doing all good now, why do you ask?” 

Hazel can hear the smirk through the phone, but she also doesn’t regret asking him. “What? I can’t ask a guy if he’s taking care of himself?”

“I mean, of course you can, but—” he starts. Hazel laughs, shaking her head.

“Yeah, well, whatever, shut it.” He does in fact shut up, but it’s just to humour her. “I might grace you with my presence,” she says, rolling her eyes at her own choice of words. Which only seems to amuse him. He hums. 

“When would you like me to pick you up, my lady?” Hazel’s sure he only used that pet name to play into the conversation, but she likes it. 

It takes her a moment to register his question, but then she looks out of her window. “Woah, there’s no need for that, I can drive myself.”

“Hey, let me be a gentleman?” he says, and it sounds like he stands up because she hears a creak in the background. Then she hears footsteps. He’s probably walking around? She can’t tell.

“Nah, I can do it myself.” She shrugs. She doesn’t know how she’s gotten so friendly with Ken, but here they are. Maybe he’s charismatic (he most definitely is, she just doesn’t want to accept it, yet.)

When she ends the call, she has to sit there for a moment, wondering if she’s done the right thing, or not. But before she reaches a point where she’s just sulking, she calls up Maple. Although, she should’ve known that letting slip why she seemed to be so ‘cheerful’ might send her best friend into what she could only call a frenzy. 

Now she has to deal with said frenzy.

ch4rryc0smos © 2024 … do not repost, alter, translate, or steal my work.

[onlyswan]

oh art :(

i saw your recent ask. Take as much time you need. i understand the audience's curiosity to want something new asap but some people forget that there are people behind these screens who spend time out of their precious day to sit and write, and yes it's passion but you have a life too in which you have to work to fill your stomach up!!

ive seen writers on here just leave because they get overwhelmed with the pressure to post their work timely. you're human remember that, everyone's internal clock is different and it's not easy to whip up and write something either. i just hope you don't get under the pressure, take care and be very healthy :)!

also i have a life update hehe. im 13 weeks preg now and the morning sickness has started to subside but I've started my cravings journey. see, i did have a phase for pineapple on pizza but now im literally eating fruits with bread??? like i made a sandwich today but instead of putting cucumbers and tomatoes i put in kiwi and mangoes with cheese and ate it like a madwoman 😭😭😭 also god i feel like eating my laundry detergent, ive been holding myself, telling myself - " ari, don't do it, you'll regret it " but time is ticking and im worried that i might just eat a spoonful of detergent anyday 🥴

hope that humoured you in someway atleast haha! take care art, i loveeee you and your art <3

- 🐽

i really am grateful for everyone’s support and interest and i’m always happy to write whenever i can !! 🥺 i guess the only thing i’m asking for in general is feedback on a latest drabble before you ask about the next. even a simple ‘i loved it!’ would make me smile. as a writer my goal is to invoke thoughts and feelings and it can be disheartening when it feels like i’m not reaching anyone, yk?

and thank you so much for looking out for me! 🫂 tbh in my very core i only do what i want to do so when i feel pressure they clash dramatically lmao but we’re gooood i’m dying to write but i’m just busy and i need to rest my brain </3

omg i’m so glad to hear that !! and your cravings surprisingly sound healthy so that’s good 🥹 BUT PLEASE PUT THE DETERGENT AWAYSHSHKDFJKGK you made me laugh thank you and i love you too 😭🫶🏼

[yerion]

jeon jungkook drives you to think strict criticism isn’t too bad, purely because you didn’t expect things to turn a bit steamier than intended.

as the one and only female esports player, misery was at your fingertip when your skills suddenly deteriorated. however, the stoic leader of your team—jungkook, simply couldn’t sit back. he puts you back on track, yet no one told you sparks would fly; and the crazy fact that it’s inevitable.

pairing : jungkook x you (as aeum). au(s) : tsundere!jungkook, leader!jungkook, gamer!jungkook, roommates!au. genres : fluff, (intense) mutual pining, slowburn, innuendos of suggestive themes, (a sick) love triangle.

content : you thought your skill was the one problem here, but you eventually realise you’re quite surrounded by guys that you’d like to go on your honeymoon with. clearly, consequences follow since you’re not the only person who thinks so (the rest of the world does too).

peek jungkook’s mind in this playlist.

previous chapter. next chapter. chapter directory. masterlist.

chapter four.

word count : 5k.

taehyung?

kim taehyung?

the kim taehyung who touched your hand earlier?

oh my god.

your first instinct startles you into backing out—you break into a coughing fit, hurriedly retracting your arms, stretching them up in the air while smiling awkwardly at jungkook’s bewildered scowl.

come on, jungkook.

do you understand the drill?

tell me you do right now!

jungkook’s brows sink even further, and you automatically burst into a dry laughter to deflect the thickening tension.

“how was that, captain?” your laugh simmers into a giggle, “did i successfully crack your back?”

jungkook pierces his gaze into your eyes for a brief moment before cracking into an amused scoff. “is that what it was?” he stifles a grin. “you almost got me thinking it was something else.”

“like what?” you blankly spit out.

“i’ll leave it to your imagination.”

imagination?

your imagination goes far and beyond, into the seas of r-rated movies.

you choke—like actually choking on the saliva that was naturally on its way down your oesophagus.

you’re certain you’re going to choke the next time you inhale air as well.

“worrying about the tournament must’ve been a useless concern of mine,” taehyung walks closer to your boundary, and he stops just when you can pick up on his luxurious scent. “since the two of you seem rather—” he chuckles breathily, “—intimate.”

dear, lord.

never again.

you frantically flip your entire body like you have rent due, staring intensely into taehyung’s fiery eyes. “want me to crack your back too?” you suggest like a madwoman. “you know how our backs are, we always feel like a damn eighty year old after every session!”

taehyung looks at you wordlessly, and jungkook stays silent.

you emit a laugh and clap a few times. “i definitely agree,” you rapidly bob your head, “i wouldn’t take on the offer either.”

the pretty, flawless night falters when you suddenly hear your stomach erupt hysterically, screaming for your attention amidst this gut-wrenching silence.

great!

you look into the eyes of jungkook and taehyung, switching between the two as your laugh dissipates.

the night can’t be any better.

you sheepishly scratch the back of your neck and purse your lips.

taehyung opens his mouth in realisation. he’d be snapping his fingers as well if his hands weren’t stuffed into his coat. “you haven’t eaten yet,” he notes. “want to drop by your favourite restaurant?”

you flinch and shake your head in denial. “that’s a hassle.”

your eyes land upon jungkook again, watching his mouth open to speak, but he ends up inhaling a short breath instead when you notice taehyung step closer towards you.

“who fed you lies?” taehyung hums. “it’s appropriate of me to take you there tonight.” he hints at his abrupt exit during the screening.

by yourselves?

you can’t help but to be conscious of jungkook, especially after knowing taehyung was the guy who intentionally caught your hand.

what if…

but ever since your unexplainable incident with jungkook, everything feels rusty to you.

it’s like the feeling of re-emerging into an old hobby, not knowing where to start despite everything feeling awfully familiar.

god, you miss your life back when it was repetitive and extremely mundane.

back when you actively fell for unattainable korean actors, like ahn hyoseop.

you’d close your eyes and it’d be easy for you to picture his dreamy smile, massive hands and his pumping biceps, but now?

now?

your mind has been corrupted by two overly and unnecessarily handsome men that don’t even belong to you.

you’re actually doomed.

you’re a two-timing freak who ponders about two guys who both laid a finger onto your bare skin in the span of one week.

you deserve to rot in hell.

“i was going to cook some ramyun,” you quickly deflect, rubbing your stomach. “i’ve been craving it all week.”

“you sure?” taehyung asks sceptically.

“yes,” you conclude enthusiastically. “let’s all go, together.”

you detach your feet from the ground to spurt out with taehyung’s arm, grasping jungkook’s arm on the way to drag them towards your home.

you feel jungkook’s arm tense up in reluctance, but he silently forfeits to your eagerness.

meanwhile, taehyung leaves you in control.

strolling across the paved path of the garden, you step into the cosiness you’re accustomed to by entering the keycode and unlocking the main door.

your living room welcomes you with warm illumination. you assume the rest of the members have made it back home after their outings and left the lights on for you, taehyung and jungkook can return to.

although you and your team had quite a party recently, things in your house are neatly tidied.

grinning mischievously at both taehyung and jungkook, you hurriedly haul them to the kitchen.

the beret sitting on your head slips off your hair amidst this, causing you to automatically jerk your body back to retrieve it, but you end up watching jungkook catch your beret reflexively right in front of your eyes.

“watch where you’re going.” jungkook places the beret on top of your head. he effortlessly pulls his arm away from your grip, stepping back once to examine you under a new light.

you swallow nervously, feeling helpless under his fierce gaze.

he’s seriously deflating all the air out of you.

things only turn worse for you when you watch jungkook’s eyes roll down.

you’re not in an oversized shirt or track pants like any other day, but you’ve donned yourself in a leather skirt, a burgundy satin collared shirt.

you want to jab his eyes with your two fingers.

“don’t you look pretty today?” taehyung inserts.

“only today?” you reply cheekily.

“i would say more, but i was beating someone to it.” taehyung sways forward to whisper into your ear.

you were stuck in the moment; stuck on how to even compute a normal sentence into your head until you pick up on the sound of water gushing out of the tap.

you turn your head, and the clanking of metal eventually finds your ears. then, your eyes widen at jungkook preparing the ramyun.

“i’ll do it—” you attempt.

“forget it.” jungkook interrupts. “i’d rather you go sit down.”

“it was my idea,” you shuffle towards jungkook’s back, peeping past his shoulder on tiptoes. “let me take over.”

jungkook sets down three packs of ramyun beside the boiling pot before whirling back and crossing his arms, leaning back against the counter.

“what?” you huff.

“it’d be a shame if you stained your shirt.”

“i don’t really—” you cough to hold back on your words, because you feel as though you shouldn’t protest further. “thanks, captain.”

“now what do you do?”

“get on my knees and thank you repetitively?”

jungkook arches a brow. “i won’t stop you.”

woah.

woah.

woah!

why wouldn’t he stop you?

get your head out of the gutter!

you’re already destined for hell, so don’t extend your crimes!

“i meant sit down,” jungkook clarifies. “don’t make me repeat myself.”

you resist the need to snort and rebel against your leader’s demand. you flash a sour face at jungkook’s broad back when he turns back to the pot.

“did i miss a lot of the movie?” taehyung asks.

“for sure,” you exaggerate. “you missed your opportunity to bawl your eyes out.”

“more like i missed my opportunity to see you cry.” taehyung clicks his tongue teasingly, “unlucky.”

you straighten your back and jut up your chin to feign triumph. “i didn’t cry.”

“i don’t believe you.” taehyung grins and tucks a finger under your chin to keep you upright. hesitant to look into his eyes as of this moment, you stare at his bulging adam’s apple to barely cope. “who are you trying to fool?”

“you.”

“it’s not working.”

“unbelievable.” you narrow your eyes, deliberately pressing down your chin against taehyung’s finger harder to weigh his digit down.

taehyung retracts his finger back almost too quickly for you to catch and squeeze them for revenge. “i see right through you.”

“must be nice.” you exhale in defeat.

“you’re not going to ask where i’ve been?”

three things you have in mind—an emergency, a hidden girlfriend calling for his help, or one of your members desperately requesting for a taxi named kim taehyung.

“not unless i’m told.” you percuss your nails against the wooden surface of the dinner table absentmindedly as you dart your gaze onto taehyung.

he has something in him that brings you to concentrate.

it’s like he’s casting a spell on you everytime he ignites a conversation, whether it’s small talk or not.

“so?” taehyung raises his brow suggestively. “you can ask, if you’re curious.”

“you better have a good reason, kim taehyung.” you snipe playfully, “no man has left me during a movie before.”

“it was yeontan,” taehyung reveals. “the caretaker back at my own place said he ate something wrong, so she urgently took him to the vet. as much as i didn’t want to leave you behind, staying to enjoy a movie felt quite impossible.”

yeontan—is a little pomeranian taehyung adopted years back.

you’ve seen him waddle around the house with his small feet and chase after seokjin and hop into yoongi’s arms to garner his affection.

anything he did painted a helpless smile on taehyung’s face every second of the day.

his poised aura would only dim and flicker then, shaping him into an innocent idiot just for yeontan alone.

that’s how you know how much taehyung adores his pet.

the feeling of remorse runs into you like a bulldozer as you hold in a breath. “how is he?” you ask softly.

“he’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have messed around.” you clench onto your own hair in frustration, ravaging all the curls you made this afternoon.

taehyung grins to himself at your comical reaction. “did you think i left you for something else?”

you shake a dismissive hand. “i did think of scaring you at night, but i’m scrubbing the idea out of my head.”

“in your zombie onesie and vampire cloak, i bet.”

“you’re never going to forget that, are you?”

“how could i?”

“i’m seriously going to do it.”

taehyung glances over to jungkook momentarily. “that reminds me,” he falters, which is something you don’t witness often from the socialite kim taehyung himself. “you and jungkook—”

you and jungkook?

his name bears so much weight.

to think you can be associated with him, shocks you.

before anything, a pot and two bowls come crashing down against the wood like thunder, breaking your stream of thoughts.

although the sound was standard and ordinary, to you, it was deafening.

it’s like someone snapped their fingers and threw you out of hypnosis.

“even your ramyun is impressive, jungkook.” taehyung admits as you gape at the quality of the instant ramyun.

what the hell did he do for the ramyun to turn out like this?

how did you not hear him cut up any spring onion, chilli and meat, or crack open eggs?

“ingredients were laying around.” jungkook replies casually.

“are you not eating?” taehyung questions.

“not when she’s starving.”

huh?

you flutter your eyes upward, eyeing jungkook curiously. “what’s that got to do with you eating or not?”

jungkook saves his words for a few seconds. “enjoy,” he says, then goes on to exaggerate the distance between you and him again—physically.

like always, he keeps unnecessary words buried within him and walks out of the scene, spiralling up the stairs ahead.

shouldn’t you enlighten him with your results?

your heart bounced for him.

“my heart is going frantic because of you, jungkook.”

you’re never going to say that.

most importantly, do you like him—or do you feel as though you have to like him because that happened?

was that a mistake?

if it was, can you accept it?

“you called?” though jungkook is upstairs, his precise diction can’t go unheard. he’s soft-spoken and afar, but you can still pick up on his voice. “hayoung?”

hayoung?

song hayoung?

you hear jungkook’s door shut.

“that has to be his girlfriend.” you wonder aloud.

“maybe.” taehyung concedes.

“i told you,” you chuckle awkwardly. “he has too many secrets.”

“he does.”

the definition of monday is a lot for you.

it’s the start of the new week, the first day of training; another day of work; a day closer to the tournament.

if only your mind wasn’t a battlefield right now, you’d be beyond prepared for scrims.

scrims—or pro scrimmage—is an unofficial match planned prior to a tournament. elite teams compete against each other as means of practice and preparation.

this session is critical for all esports teams, since this is the only time teams get a legitimate peek of each player’s skills before the official game.

you call it a taste test.

“aeum,” namjoon announces. “i want you to try talon this game.”

“talon?” jimin repeats in doubt. “should we risk that?”

“she doesn’t have much playtime as talon.” taehyung advises.

“taehyung is right,” yoongi says. “this isn’t an ordinary match either, we’re playing against team seventeen right now.”

“i’ll do it.” you concur confidently.

your fingertip wields all the power in you as of this moment.

upon your own words, you immediately click onto talon’s icon to lock him into your screen completely, withholding you from selecting any other champions for the rest of the selection time.

“i believe in you.” namjoon confesses.

“coach, don’t give me the typical words of encouragement.” you breathe out nervously, “give me something different.”

namjoon bursts into a deep laughter. “and you sounded confident too.” he clears his throat, “go off, our mid-laner.” he says in a voice worn off of authority.

“that was pretty cool,” jimin whistles, blending in a giggle at the end.

actually, your pool of characters to play isn’t as wide as the rest of your members.

every role—yes, but not every champion.

it’s been a buried insecurity of yours for a bit, all because namjoon exclusively told you flaws like that are completely acceptable. he heartened you until there was no end.

he said, “other players struggle to achieve what you have. so the ideology of expertising and understanding only a handful of characters? that’s all we need.”

drawing out a long, deep breath, you watch the timer on your screen go down.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

the game begins.

“we got this,” your voice transmits into the mic attached to your headset.

“of course.” taehyung responds heartily, and the two of you quickly exchange glances while you eyelessly navigate your character in-game to run towards the middle turret.

the start of every game is always repetitive. there’s barely any variations unless you’re against a counter character, the opposing team plans to gank early—or the enemy jungler comes after you for first blood alongside the enemy mid-laner.

so far, none of that seems to be happening.

so far, so good.

your game runs smoothly.

you don’t miss any of the minions and scoop up all of the gold there is offered.

you poke at the enemy whenever you see an angle.

they’ve missed their shot on you twice, but you haven’t missed yours.

“first blood!” the feminine, bold voice in-game exclaims as soon as the ‘first blood’ ripples and spreads across your screen.

the icon of elise accompanies the impressive announcement as well—jungkook eliminated the enemy support—lux, down in the bottom lane.

“as expected,” yoongi snickers into the call. “jungkook.”

“i have nothing to say.” namjoon shrugs his shoulders.

jimin sucks in a breath between his teeth, “you almost got their miss fortune too.”

“she’s next.” jungkook says.

at that moment, you watch ryze—the enemy in your middle lane, buffer behind a thin wall of minions.

perhaps he’s taken aback by a streak of groans and curses from his teammates after jungkook’s attack, you take that as your opening to pounce onto ryze and single-handedly eliminate him too.

“you have slain an enemy!” the feminine, bold voice in-game exclaims once more, and your username fades into the screen with the enemy username—hoshi.

hell yes!

you’re not as sexy as jungkook, but that was still sexy of you.

“that’s aeum for you.” taehyung says.

“amazing,” namjoon applauds. “that was quick-witted.”

“uh oh,” jimin’s laughter leaks from him. “bet they’re all agitated now.”

ever since you and jungkook had your turns of annihilating team seventeen, the rest of team was fast to overtake the enemies.

in terms of destroying turrets, team soul—your own team is at utmost advantage. the early kills in-game accelerated the match and eased the early stress and burden for your team.

that’s when team seventeen rushes over to the mountain drake’s nest.

the mountain drake—is a monster summoned in the center of the map for junglers, if not, the entire team to slay to gain a buff that amplifies damage for the whole party.

with it, tables could turn instantly.

“they’re after the drake,” taehyung reports nonchalantly. “i’m on my way.”

“i see them,” your breath hitches as you observe the whole team brawl against the mountain drake. the sounds of all five characters slashing is, once again, obnoxious to you, and in a sense, it boils your blood.

“remember, we’re attacking as a team. wait for us.” jungkook commands. “each of you, relay the cooltime of your ultimates.”

“mine’s up.” yoongi proclaims. “i’ll be there in ten seconds.”

“mine’s up too,” jimin says. “right behind you, captain jeon.”

“mine’s up in six seconds, it’ll be ready by the time i make it to aeum.” taehyung articulates deeply.

“mine’s up.” you say absentmindedly.

“we’ll kill them after i smite the drake.” jungkook determines.

one of the enemies—garen, the top lane character, unknowingly backs away towards where you are.

based on your judgement, you think he’s avoiding the drake’s attacks because he’s low on health and mana.

as expected, garen is after the honeyfruit right in front of your character on stand by.

an enemy is reachable, and he’s vulnerable.

you scan your map briefly, and none of your team members is near.

shit.

what do you do?

you can turn the tables.

by pressing multiple keys almost simultaneously and exhaling a decisive breath, you commit to jumping onto the blind enemy to quickly eliminate him with a combo of yours.

“you have slain an enemy!” the feminine, bold voice in-game exclaims again, and your username fades into the screen alongside the enemy username—1woo.

fuck.

fuck.

fuckity fuck.

you did it, but you did exactly what you were taught not to do.

you’re being unnecessarily aggressive.

the enemies are turning to you now, guarding the drake and initiating stance—just to kill you and time you out.

for no reason, the enemy you were independently up against in your middle lane sticks out like a sore thumb to you within the bunch.

come here, ryze.

you purple, bald-headed freak.

coincidentally, ryze squirms behind his team, only for him to crawl towards your character alone in seconds.

the rest of the team follow him, but they’re late—they’re inevitably a few seconds behind.

ryze is exposed, and his health is quivering in the middle.

you can go for another kill.

an opportunity like this doesn’t find you easily.

if you execute this well, you can wipe out everyone—on your own.

“aeum,” jungkook suddenly bellows as if he just read your thoughts.

you’re confident.

from here, your team will arrive in approximately five seconds.

but… within that five seconds, you can either slay him—or you will be slayed.

you don’t lose another second. you immediately decide to launch a skill at ryze, and his health significantly lowers when another unexpected skill latches onto him.

you didn’t catch the glimpse of what the skill looked like.

who was it?

you don’t have the time to think.

you slip in another attack to put ryze down in defeat, and you track down another enemy—miss fortune, coming your way to eliminate her as well.

“triple kill!” the feminine, bold voice in-game yells out your impulsive execution.

“nice,” yoongi praises.

“jungkook got the drake,” jimin informs. “we need to rush them now.”

within that short amount of time?

how?

your team charges into the fight, carving the health out of the remaining enemies.

as each of them dip to a low range, you’re first to flash into them to click each of the characters out of the arena.

“pentakill!” the feminine, bold voice in-game yells out louder than any other time.

“push the middle lane,” jungkook asserts. “we’re ending it.”

jungkook is true to his words—he guides the team to victory by leading the team through the middle lane.

the enemies would spawn right before jungkook’s eyes (as he’s the first to be seen), but he’s godspeed to kill them, one by one, in a timed manner.

jungkook is efficient and he’s insanely talented when he’s provoked. the way he calculates and balances his skills leaves every player with their mouths open, you wouldn’t be astonished if a player considered retiring because of him.

he probably has the creators of the game contemplating about the difficulty of the game.

“good game, team soul.” namjoon bobs his head in approval.

slipping off your headset, you shamefully bunch up your arms and legs together to shrink in your seat.

you mentally recite all the apologies you have saved in your mind, unsure of when to vomit them all out.

you’re certain it’ll take you over a day to beg forgiveness from namjoon and jungkook though.

“and really well done, aeum.” namjoon tells you. “i think you made the right choice there, initiating the battle when team seventeen was after the mountain drake.”

raising your head, your brows collapse in question. “what makes you think so?”

“there was no guarantee we were going to win that fight against team seventeen back there.” namjoon explains, “though jungkook is capable of stealing the drake at the last given second, there’s still a chance that strategy would’ve fallen through.”

“i agree,” yoongi spins around on his chair, folding his arms before smiling at your softening features. “you knew we’d get there in time as well.”

“you carried.” jimin smiles widely.

“you guys are crediting me too much.” you huff out air. “it’s because i had excellent support.” you beam at your team members, “thank you.”

“use the rest of the day as free time, everyone.” namjoon instructs. “i’ll see you all tomorrow.”

jimin stretches his arms in the air when namjoon turns around to walk out of your team’s den. “i guess i’ll go back to sleep.” he yawns, “i was too nervous before the game even began—”

“aeum,” jungkook’s eyes are on the ground with his arms crossed as he cuts in sternly. “have a word with me.”

jungkook’s icy words pricks everyone in the room to silently escape his proximity.

jimin and yoongi wordlessly climb the stairs, and taehyung eyes you earnestly before following the others up the stairs.

restlessness blankets you when you hear three doors close in unison, simply because you know that was the cue for jungkook to drown you with sharp-edged words of discipline.

in silence, jungkook smoothly drags his chair over to you. gazing down, he presses his dominant elbow onto your desk, just so he can rest the edge of his head against his fist.

his thighs and knees are inches away from yours, and you just want to melt and neglect the world right now.

you listen to him inhale, and you watch his eyes inspect your end-game summary and statistics that automatically opens everytime a match finishes.

“i… strongly believe your statistics are a better sight than mine,” with your hand wrapped around your mouse, you let your cursor hover over jungkook’s username in-game. “you absolutely destroyed them near the end.”

jungkook clasps his tattooed hand on top of yours to escort your mouse cursor over your username instead.

his warmth transfers onto you and brings goosebumps to your skin, evoking each transparent strand on your body to stand in surprise.

“what are you doing?” you dare to ask.

“showing you what’s better.” jungkook replies. “you should be proud of yourself.”

you wriggle your hand out of his grip coldly, breaking free from his addicting heat. you’re not risking yourself to danger today.

“learnt from the best, captain.” you respond lightly, but anyone can detect the intended surliness in your voice.

“a test,” jungkook muses. “you said?” he asks like it’s nothing sensitive to you—hell, you can’t even blame him because men are the most clueless beings on earth.

“jungkook, we don’t—” you interfere in embarrassment.

“if you wanted, i could’ve just—”

“can we act like nothing ever happened between us?” you chime in again, eliciting an airy laugh. “since we weren’t able to answer each other’s questions.” you fan yourself dramatically, “a grown man and woman can make mistakes all the time, i totally understand.”

“mistakes?” jungkook’s eyes harden.

you look down to crack into a bitter smile before inching in closer to jungkook’s face.

his eyes don’t waver, the weight in his gaze is too intense for you to even bear.

“was asking all that a mistake too?” you manage to mutter under your breath nonetheless.

“it may as well.” jungkook answers.

“what did i say about you being vague—”

the crisp, melodic notification sound from your computer goes off fleetingly, causing your words to wane. you recognise the sound right away—it’s the messenger system encrypted in-game.

someone sent you a message?

on league of legends?

when you notice that jungkook beat you to check your own message first, you eagerly snap your head towards the screen, but jungkook immediately turns the display off with one swift motion of his hand before you can even read a single letter out of the mysterious message.

“what was that for?” you frown at the blank screen, reaching out to the back of your monitor to switch the screen back on again.

jungkook grabs a hold of your wrist to lower it down. “don’t worry about it.”

“isn’t that a message delivered to me, mr. jeon?”

“not every message is worth reading.”

you sigh out loud before whipping your hand out of jungkook’s clutch once more. “i’m bound to read it tomorrow though.” you shake your head, extending your arm to turn the display back on—this time, jungkook doesn’t stop you.

as the darkened display colourises, you feel your heart plummet to the bottom of your stomach.

it drops so hard; so hard to the very point you could gasp at the impact and wince.

the after effects of your heart losing its strings makes you want to genuinely vomit, or curl up into a ball and never face reality again because you’ve never felt such a big cruelty before.

[34742748392] : feeling happy because u got a pentakill in scrims?

[34742748392] : it’s scrims, u annoying bitch

[34742748392] : ur fucking kidding

[34742748392] : ur just a leech that gets carried by jeon jungkook

[34742748392] : can’t wait to see u at the live tournament ^^ i’ll be there

you spring out of your seat in horror, and your head starts to blur, like someone smacked the base of your skull with a baseball bat. blood isn’t visible on the outside, but you’re definitely bleeding on the inside.

questions storm and swell up in your hollow mind as you burn up—you feel like you could explode into ashes.

34742748392—the username is made up on the spot, the person planned to curse you all along.

how do they know your k/d/a?

how you played?

scrimmages are always private.

always.

you listen to jungkook’s chair stagger backward when he stands up onto his feet.

instinctively peering up to catch him striding towards you, he doesn’t just pull you into his chest but he walks as close as he can before slowly wrapping his arms around you.

he’s gentle, even though you can feel the strength in his arms as they’re tightly locked around your torso, trapping you in his infinite warmth.

different to that night, you can actually feel the life in him—the blood pumping in his veins, the heated breath coming off his lips.

“don't think.” he just says.

[supercorpkid]

Mind Controlled – The Series.

Part 3 – Make it stop, please.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader, Lex Luthor x Niece!Reader, Lillian Luthor x Granddaughter!Reader.

Word count: 2340.

Warning: Injuries, violence, pain, angst. Very graphic.

Previously on the series - part 1, part 2

You don’t know for how long you’re shut out from the world. Probably a few hours, but there’s no way to know for sure. Your body aches for destruction. Lex asked you to show National City your worst side, but you haven’t shown them all. You only showed your family, so you can’t calm down.

There’s a relentless inhumane feeling cursing through your veins. You keep hearing Lex’s voice saying ‘my bösewicht’, like he is calling you back to the world. You don’t know how it’s possible, but it is.

The glass turns back to translucent again, and you look at Alex on the other side. You tilt your head at her, trying to look scary. She laughs.

“You can stop the madwoman act.” Alex types something on the screen next to the door, and goes inside, putting you back in the handcuffs that strips you off of your powers. “Don’t try anything funny, I’m very low on patience when it comes to you, dear niece.”

“I can tell you the same.” You sass back.

“Oh.” Alex takes something from her pocket. “That reminds me.” She puts a metal thing over your mouth, that immediately turns into a gag, covering half of your face. “No more talking back. We’re full of your shit.”

Alex places her hand on your arm, cuffed in front of your body, gripping strongly and guiding you through a few corridors and rooms. You finally arrive at where Lena and Brainy are, and she sits you on a chair, tying you in it with leather strips over your ribcage. A red sun lamp is quickly turned on, and if you weren’t gagged you would laugh. That’s a lot of precaution for someone she claims not being scared of.

Lena comes closer and studies you for a second. She cups your face and gives you a soft smile. It makes you sick.

“This is for your own good, babygirl.” She connects some wires to your head. Looks back at Brainy with an affirmative nod. He presses a few buttons, types some things, you feel an electric current cursing through your veins and you’re out.

When you wake up, you’re still tied to the chair. Same wires on your head, no more gag on. It takes you a while to focus your eyes back, but you look at Lena in front of you.

“Who’s behind this?” She asks and you blink twice slowly. “We know you’re being mind controlled, tell us by whom.”

“Never.” You growl. “I’m not being controlled, I’m free from your leash. Why can’t you accept that?”

“Because it’s simply not true.” Lena mutters. “It doesn’t matter who did it, we know how to stop it.” She says looking at Brainy, Alex and Kara on the other side of the room. “But if you tell us who did it, Supergirl can go pay them a visit.”

“You say you love me every night, mom.” You look at Kara right after, daring her to come closer. “You too, momma.”

“We love you, baby.” Kara answers, coming closer, and you give a side smile at that.

“How can you love me, when you only love the good side of me?” You look at them both, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “How can you claim this is true love when you can’t love my bad side?”

“This isn’t your bad side, my love.” Is Kara’s hand that goes to your shoulder first, but Lena’s hand follows right after, on the other side.

“Do you actually believe none of this is me?” You scoff when they agree with their head. “You’re very naïve to believe this is all Lex.”

“Lex!” Kara barks, and you bite your tongue angry with yourself. Oh no, things are actually starting to look bad for you.

“Do it, Alex.” Lena turns back to your aunt. “NOW!”

There’s a stronger shock wave hitting your brain this time. Everything becomes loud, and confusing and painful. It’s excruciating.

“MOMMY, THIS IS HURTING ME. PLEASE STOP. PLEASE!” You yell, trying to get out from your cuffs. Struggling out of the chair with all the strength left in you. Why are they doing this? “Mommy, make it stop.”

It does. The pain and the noise stop. All messy thoughts overpowered by someone else.

“Kid, can you hear me?” Kara asks, holding your face with both hands. You whimper snapping your eyes wide open.

“Get your hands off me, Supergirl.” You add a scorn to her name. She lets go of your face.

“Alex, one more time.” Lena says again, and your eyes widen at the thought of that.

“I’ve always known you hated me.” You yell at her, and before there’s any answer another shock wave hits your brain again.

And if you thought the first one was bad, this one makes your eyes roll back into your skull, tears fall from your face without your control. Your scream is so loud, the entire DEO probably heard you.

“YOU’RE KILLING ME! WHY ARE YOU KILLING ME?” You yell, with whatever voice you have left. Fully sobbing, twisting and turning in your seat, neck veins about to explode.

“STOP! STOP!” Kara yells for Alex behind her. “You’re gonna kill her!”

The pain stops. You grunt, and growl, saliva dripping from your mouth like an angry dog. Your palms are full of blood again, nails digging in the same open cuts from hours ago. You gasp for air, eyes unable to focus on anything.

“Mommy, they’re hurting me.” You manage to say, throat hurting from all the scream. Black spots are consuming your sight and it feels like you’re going to pass out. You feel light-headed from the blinding pain. “Make it stop, please.”

“You’re ok, baby. Mommy is here. I’ve got you.” You hear Kara’s words, and you feel the leather strips easing up from your raw flesh.

“Kara, wait.” Lena asks, and you close your eyes. Vision goes dark, and the pain goes away.

“NO, NO, NO!” You yell more to yourself than to anyone else.

All messy thoughts overpowered by someone else.

“GO ON.” You try to yell, but your voice doesn’t get loud anymore. It’s just a very high-pitched whisper. “Give in, Lena. Kill a kryptonian. Give in to your Luthor side, we’ve always known you would.”

“Shit!” Lena slaps her hands on her tights and stands up.

“Go ahead, kill me.” You raise an eyebrow defiant.

“One more time.” She looks at Alex and Brainy.

“LENA!” Kara yells, and you see Alex getting away from the lever she was pulling.

“I can’t, Lena. I won’t.” Alex raises her hands, and shakes her head in denial. “It’s too much, we don’t know the possible outcome.”

“I know!” Lena screams. “It will bring my daughter back! You saw her, she was here. I need to get her back!”

“I won’t do it.” Alex walks out of the room, Brainy leaving right behind her.

“Fine! I’ll do it myself!” Lena walks to where they were, but Kara yells before she pulls the lever.

“You're hurting her!” Kara studies your expression. You might have a bitchy grin on your face, but you know you probably look like a wreck. “You’re not hurting Lex! You’re hurting my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter too!” Lena yells back.

“I can’t let you do that again.” Kara pulls the wires connected to your head, all at once. And that leaves a sting everywhere. “I can’t let you pull that lever again.”

“Kara, I know what I’m doing.”

Kara turns off the red sun lamp, she looks at Lena.

“That might be true, but I can’t risk my daughter’s life while you fight your brother and your old demons.” Kara pulls the chair off the floor, picking it and you up, and walking towards the direction of your cell. “I can’t let you near her, Lena. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“You can’t do that!” Lena growls following you both. You grin, satisfied with them tearing each other apart without you having to say a word. “I didn’t do that when you hurt her, or did you forget?”

“I will never forget that!” Kara yells, her voice stronger than you’ve ever heard. Like thunder shaking the whole place. “But I was exposed to red kryptonite! What is your excuse for this destructive behavior?”

“Kara.” Lena uses her most serious tone. “I know what I’m doing. I would never hurt my child. If you can’t believe me, then we have a serious problem.”

“I believe your judgment is clouded by the anger you’re feeling towards your brother.” Kara breathes deep, still walking. “I believe you want to do good. But it’s my daughter’s life and I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it. We have to find another way.”

“Stop saying she is your daughter! She’s my daughter too!” Lena’s voice also rumbles throughout the place. “You have no right to do this.”

“I’m sorry.” Kara repeats carrying you away.

“If you keep me away from her-” Lena stops walking, falling a little behind. Kara stops moving and she looks behind to where Lena is. “You’re keeping me away from you too.”

There’s no answer. At least not a verbal one. But when your chair keeps moving farther away from Lena, you know what Kara’s answer is. And Lena knows it too.

And you can’t help but feel like you’ve won.

You’re back at your cell, but they haven’t shut you off again. You hear Kara and Alex talking on the other side. You feel a shiver down your spine when you hear Lex’s name, and that Lena and Lillian are paying him a visit.

And paying a visit to you, is J’onn J’onzz himself. Examining you from the other side of the glass.

“Kara, I can’t confirm to you this won’t erase all of her memories from this episode.” You hear his strong voice. “If she’s being controlled, none of the thoughts were hers in the first place. Which means she can’t retain them.”

“Let it.” Kara crosses her arms and looks at Alex nodding once, like telling her to open the cell. “I rather have her forget all the pain she has lived today, anyway.”

“Very well.” He sits in front of you. You’re still cuffed, tied to the chair Kara so gently broke off from the floor. “Excuse me, Superkid.”

It feels strange having two people fighting for space inside your mind. Actually, three. Because you’re still there somewhere. But you’re not fighting them. You’re just letting them do whatever they want, as a weak-minded person would.

You open your eyes and you don’t see the DEO cell you were in, but rather a prison cell. Lena and Lillian on the other side, two guns pointed at your head.

“Mother, you rather defend an alien than your son?” You hear words, like they’ve left your mouth, but it isn’t your voice, it’s Lex’s.

“She is family, Lex.”

“She is kryptonian.” You/Lex spits with disgust in his voice.

“She is my granddaughter!” Lillian speaks louder, the closest thing to a scream you’ve ever heard leaving her mouth. “Stop this nonsense, or I’ll put a bullet through your head. And if you come back to life, I’ll do it again. I’ll pull the trigger as many times as I have to, to protect her.”

“You’ve fallen for her charm too.” You/Lex hisses. “Pathetic.”

“Stop this now!” It’s Lena’s voice that comes louder. “Let her go, or I’ll kill you again with no regrets.”

And then nothing. Not a single thought. No voice. Nothing aside from an empty void in your head.

You blink your eyes slowly, raising your head, that falls back to the chair behind you without your control. You try to scratch your eyes, but you can’t move. You whimper and finally open your eyes.

“What is going on?” You look down on yourself and around to where you are. J’onn is in front of you, Kara and Alex on your left side. There’s a strong feeling that something is wrong, when you realize you’re in a DEO cell, but you don’t know what’s going on. “Mommy, what did I do?”

“Baby.” Kara unties the strips that were holding you still in the chair. Your body collapses forward, no strength left in you to stop it. Kara holds you before you fall face first on the floor, and Alex lets you out of your cuffs. “You’re ok.”

“Why was I tied up?” You ask, scratching your eyes, like you wanted so much, to help you focus, but all you see is red, so you look at your hands and see blood everywhere. “Oh no, please tell me this is mine. Please tell me this is my blood!”

“It’s yours, it’s yours, baby.” Kara rushes to reassure you. She sits on the floor and pulls you into her lap, holding you gently. Alex and J’onn quickly disappear, and you’re left alone with her. She cleans your face; her hand becomes bloody after it. She kisses your forehead and whispers. “It’s over, it’s over baby. Mommy is here.”

“I’m sorry.” You beg, eyes full of tears. “Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry.”

“I know, my baby. I know.” Kara keeps kissing your head. You look at the cuts on your wrist where the handcuff was, and the blood staining your super suit, still leaving from the open cuts you feel on your ribcage. You look around, at the blood marks on the glass, and you weep.

“Mommy, please tell me I didn’t-Did I-Did I kill someone?” You stutter, scared of her answer.

“You didn’t kill anyone, little one.” She kisses your forehead. “It’s over. Stop thinking about it, ok? Let’s get you home so you can clean up, and rest a little.” She sighs, like she’s painfully tired. “It’s been a really long night.”

You don’t remember anything from your night, but your body aches so hard and your heart feels so heavy in your chest; you believe her. It was a long night, indeed.

[abbatoirablaze]

Down The Rabbit Hole, Chapter 7

Word Count:  4.3k

Warnings:  slight angst

"As you guys know extra credit is given to students who organize academically related events during what would otherwise be known as our 'free time,'" Chang began in an annoyed tone, "no student in any department has ever exercised this option until now."

Annie began to giggle like a madwoman, and she stood from her seat, "Tonight in the library I will be hosting a dia de los Muertos party. Dia de los Muertos, or day of the dead, is sometimes referred to as Mexican Halloween."

"Which is actually quite offensive," Chang interjected, "Some people may be familiar with Mexican Halloween as a sexual position. At any rate. If you do show up, you will get extra credit. Me, I don't even get paid. See you tonight. Hasta Noche."

"Now most of you have responded to my e-vite," Annie said as people were collecting their things, "but some of you have been e-vasive."

"Count me in," Shirley giggled excitedly, "This is my first college party. I got some tequila and I just rented Van Wilder 2: The rise of Taj, and look!"

Shirley held out her hand, which was devoid of the ring she normally wore.

"Oh, Shirley," Britta sighed, “it-“

"Yeah," Shirley said, not entirely happy, "My husband Andre has been gone for 6 months so I think it's time for me to embrace being single."

"Message received!” Pierce smirked.  She shot Pierce a dirty look.

"Pierce, Tawney, Jeff," Annie said, looking at the three of us, "I'm still waiting to hear from you."

"I don't know," I sighed, "Parties, hooking up with people...that's not really my thing, Annie. I'm sorry.  And anyways, I think Professor Duncan told me I have to go to a function in his stead that night."

"I thought I shot you a response from this pocket phone," Pierce said annoyed.  He squinted at the screen and tried to access the voice commands, "access email."

Jeff looked at me, his brow raised, "you really don't want to go to a party or hook up with people? Do you know fun?"

"Are you going to the party?" Britta asked, taking some of the attention from me. I sighed out of relief. I didn't know what to say.

"Oh, no," Jeff laughed, "it conflicts with the enjoyment of my life."

"I cannot figure out the voice command part of this thing. It's like my mother," Pierce growled out at his phone, “stupid thing.”

'Calling mother,' his phone echoed. Pierces eyes bulged and he tried to tell it to stop.

"Speaking about enjoying life," Jeff said, looking at Britta, "I don't want to beat a dead horse here but are you sure you don't see anything non-platonic ever crystalizing between us?"

Britta laughed, "I'm sure Jeff."

"Okay good," he smiled, "because one of my professors is really hot and I wanted to give you first right of refusal."

"Hello, Pierce?" a voice asked through Pierce's cell phone

"MOM?"

'Oh how's school going sweetie? Are you popular?'

His eyes bulged again, and he muttered some lie about him going through a tunnel before pressing a bunch of buttons on his phone.

'Has that boy Jeff stopped teasing you? And how's your Canadian girlfriend? I saw your father's ghost again. He's still angry.'

I looked at Jeff and we both walked out of the Spanish room very quickly, "you need to stop bullying Pierce!" I joked.

"Well, it sounds like you need to stop dating him," he laughed. I cringed and he laughed even more, "oh come on don't you find it hilarious that out of all the girls he said he was dating you?"

"He didn't say that."

"Tawney you are the only one of us that is from Canada,"he laughed, "aww Pierce has a crush on you."

"Gosh you're so gross," I laughed, gently pushing him away from myself. While it was an awkward situation, something about how Jeff was acting with me, wouldn't let me feel socially awkward, “be serious…you have stats next, an-“

'So what's Professor Slater got in store for us today?"

"Did you really not do your assignment again Jeff?" I asked, "That class starts in 15 minutes. You don't have time to get it done."

"I did it," he said confidently, "I just wanted to see if our answers line up."

"I'm sure they don't," I replied, sticking my tongue out at him. He repeated the gesture and I mocked gasped at him. He smirked and I felt his arm snake around my waist as we continued to talk about statistics, “they never do!”

It didn't really bother me, because I knew he didn't see me in a romantic way. That was just his way of protecting me. Sort of how he would call Annie 'milady,' or share a book with Britta, or even when he gossiped with Shirley.

"You know what I think is the best about you?"

"Huh?"

"You weren't even listening, were you?"

"Sorry," I admitted, "I was off in my own little world."

"I love how honest you are," he replied, "about everything. You don't care what it is, you are just so fearless in your honesty."

"Wow," I said, taking a step from him, "who are you and what have you done with the real Jeff Winger?"

"I'm serious, Tawney," he said as we neared the door to class, "you are always honest. I can count on your opinion about anything, because you don't care enough to lie."

"Where is this coming from?"

"Do you think that me going after Professor Slater is a bad idea?"

"Yeah."

He looked taken aback, "you do?"

"I do," I admitted, "I think it's a terrible idea."

"Why's that?" he asked rather amused.

"Because you don't really want a relationship," I said with a shrug, "the chase gets you going, but the idea of commitment. You want nothing to do with that."

"I really like Professor Slater," he said slowly, “what if she’s different?”

"And you really liked Britta."

"Fine," he said simply, "you think it's a bad idea. Help me turn it into a good idea. Help me overcome my need to run away from commitment."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"And why not?"

"Because you're my friend," I started, "and she's technically my boss."

"What if I could help you?"

"Excuse me?"

"What if I could help you out?

"With what?" I scoffed, "I've got a great GPA!"

"Guys," he said quickly. I sucked in my breath. He smiled, realizing he'd found a chink in my armor, "I can help you get guys."

"I have a boyfriend," I said, trying to recover, “I don’t need your help!”

"Oh yeah," He laughed, "I'm sure you do."

"I do," I said, feeling hurt. He looked at me for a second before realizing I wasn't joking and that he'd hurt my feelings.

"I'm sorry, Tawney," he sighed, "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just...like I said I'm really into Professor Slater."

He stared at me for a second and I gave him the best stony face I could. He looked like he was trying to think of something to say but came up with nothing. After another moment he walked into class.

I watched him from my place at the door. The class was starting to fill up, and Professor Slater was getting her notes ready. I watched Jeff for a second. He was prepared for class, pulling out the assignment, and a notebook. He looked at her in a way and I believed what he said.

He didn't want to just be hooking up with her.

I walked into the room and sat down beside him, "I'll help you...but you've gotta help me out too."

He smiled, "deal."

"So, Jeff Winger, huh?" she asked me. I nodded, "why is he into me all of a sudden."

"I don't know," I admitted, "I mean honestly, I kind of thought he was still into Britta, but I guess he's over her."

She nodded thoughtfully and looked at her reflection. She was dressed as Robin Hood, "thank you for letting me use your dorm to get changed by the way."

"It's no problem," I admitted. I stared at my own Halloween costume, extremely unsure of my choices...but this was gonna be the way to get him to notice me again, “thanks for getting me out of going to the teacher’s party for Duncan!”

"So, you're going as catwoman?"

I nodded, "Yeah. I uhm, my boyfriend Abed Is going as Batman, and we decided on kind of like a couple costume. "

"well, that seems very outside of your comfort zone," she said, noticing how little the costume actually covered, “is that okay with you?”

"yeah,"I admitted, "I was gonna go with a more original version of her, but I really wanted my boyfriend to just lose his mind."

"I'm sure that'll do it," she laughed, "so...do you think I should give him a chance?"

"Who?" I asked, "Jeff?"

She nodded, "who else, Garrity? Chang?"

I couldn't help but laugh as she was listing people off. I took a second and thought about my deal with Jeff. If I helped him out, he'd show me how to keep a guy interested. I mean he'd already given me advice on the costume...So I guess for the time being I kind of owed him.

"He's a good guy," I admitted, "and a really good friend. I mean sure, he's kind of like a dad to the group, but that's just because he really takes care of everyone. Heck one time he just showed up here at 2 AM because he was thanking me for not telling the others I was tutoring him."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," I laughed, "he's kind of odd."

"You're tutoring him?" she asked pointedly. It took me a minute, but I gathered what she was saying.

"Oh god no," I said quickly, "nothing like that. He just showed up because he was...well I don't know why he showed up at 2. But he left after he said thank you and that was that."

"And does he say thank you at 2 AM to you very often?"

"No," I replied even quicker, "It was just that one time."

"Mhmm..." she nodded. She turned back to the mirror and finished up on her costume, then grabbed her clutch, "Thanks again for letting me get changed here. Is it okay if I pick up my regular clothes tomorrow?"

"Of course." I replied. She gave me a wave and left. I felt a wave of relief rush over me as she closed the door. I don't know why I'd gotten so nervous about talking about Jeff.  I looked at my costume one more time.

I really shouldn't have listened to his 'the skimpier the better' rule, but I didn't have much of a choice. It was either this cat woman, or a poison ivy who literally was lingerie and netting. I threw it on quickly and looked at the clock. It was almost 9.

"Damn it," I growled out at myself, "I'm late."

I hurried up and started towards the library. My heels clicked against the concrete. Soon I found myself in a rhythm. The clicking matched my breathing, quick but steady. I made it to the library as everyone began to file back in.  I found the kid who had the sign in sheet and told him my name.

"Tawney?"

I turned to see Annie looking like a skeleton in a well-fitted onesie.

"Hi."

"Oh my god," she said, covering her mouth, “you look amazing!”

"Wowww," a voice said from behind me. I turned to see Troy, "Tawney is that you?"

I nodded, too afraid to remove my mask. Troy came up to me and circled around like a vulture, "This is for real a really good costume. You came as Cat Woman."

"Yeah," I said, taking a breath, "The Halle Berry one."

He held his hand out for a high five, and I smiled. He admired the costume, “this is so cool.  And it’s authentic…is this a real cosplay?”

“Sure does feel like it!”

"Wow," a voice said quickly. I turned around to see Jeff in what looked like a cowboy get-up behind me, "you really took my advice to heart."

I nodded, "I don't look bad do i?"

"Not at all," he said, stressing every syllable. I smiled even more and pulled the play whip off my back, “you look phenomenal.”

"Oh my god," I said excitedly, showing him all the parts of my costume, "it even came with this. How cool, right? It's almost an authentic cosplay."

"That sounds so nerdy," he laughed, taking a sip from a beer, "but I can't even be upset about it."

I grinned even more, "really?"

Jeff leaned in towards me, and I shivered as his breath hit my neck. His body was so close, I could feel his body heat, "I will never say this again, because you are my friend, but you look so hot right now. If I didn't now you, I'd be all over you."

I took a shaky breath, and even shakier step away from him.

"Thanks," I said, unable to look at him, "so...when's lesson 2?"

Britta came up, looking like a squirrel, "Tawney? Is that you?"

I nodded and she looked around the room, "so many people are staring at you. You don't even look like yourself."

"Thank you?" I questioned, "hey. I uh, gotta go find someone. I'll catch you later."

"Okay," she said quickly, "bye."

I walked out of the room and looked around on the mostly empty floor. I couldn't find Abed. That is, until I looked out the window, and saw him on the ledge over the entrance. I crawled through the open window and stood on the platform.

He didn't turn to me. But I knew he knew I was there.

"What?" I asked, playing it cool. I took few steps towards him, "cat got your tongue?"

"Cat woman," he said in a gruff voice, finally turning towards me. He had a large smile on his face, and he slid his chapstick into his pocket, "it was only a matter of time until you showed up."

"From now on, we will refer to each other by our Spanish nombres," Senor Chang said loudly, "there will be, what's this? "

He stopped his speech to see Pierce throwing paper balls into Jeff's mouth. Chang smiled, and urged him to go on, "I'll allow it. It's okay. Do it."

Pierce giddly threw another ball but it missed Jeff's open mouth. Senor Chang started speaking lightly so that he kept the flow of the class going.

"Oh he's gonna get it," Troy whispered to me. I couldn't help but laugh a little bit. Chang made his way to Jeff and ducked to his height, “oh here he comes!”

"BUENOS DIAS WINGER!"

He jumped awake and Chang began to laugh.

"Alright, that's good. Everyone out. Class dismissed."

The class gathered their things and started towards the door. Jeff angrily made his way out of the classroom. Troy wrapped himself around Annie, "Hey, Shirley. Tawney, look. I'm Annie's backpack!"

"Stop it, Troy," she giggled. I shook my head, and followed out of the classroom, holding hands with Abed, “Troy!”

Ever since Halloween, he'd really started to notice me. Little, subtle things that Jeff was teaching me was making Abed more receptive.  The only downside is that we were both exhausted.

The only time we could really get together is after 11, so he'd usually come by my dorm, and I'd give him tips and tricks on how to get Professor Slater, while he would talk to me about guys and what they liked.

I thought to the notebook I had in my desk at my dorm.

Rule #1. If you are interested in a guy, put yourself out there. Nothing is sexier to a guy, then a girl who wants to be his.

"Hey, do you want me to walk with you from class?"

"Yeah," I smiled, finding my voice, "I can meet you outside of your film class."

"I can come to you," he smiled, "then we can go to the cafeteria and get some coffee? You look more tired than normal!"

I tried to ignore the last part of his comment, which sounded way too much like an insult. I'd been up most nights because Jeff was tutoring me. I cringed just thinking about it.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I replied, "Why?"

"You just got this look on your face," he stated, matter of fact, "like something unpleasant happened."

"I was just thinking."

"Was it about how the lights in here are eerily like a horror film?" he asked, "I was thinking about that a moment ago."

I looked around, taking in the lighting. He was right. There were a few lights that were out, and one at the end of the hall that was flickering. It did feel eerie. I shivered.

"Don't worry," he smiled, full of confidence, "I'd protect you."

"You do remember that I know martial arts, right?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "now that I think of it, that would be really comical. You would probably be saving me from an attacker."

I giggled and we stopped in front of my class. He kissed me on the forehead then walked down the hall. I couldn't help but feel on cloud nine. So much so that I hardly noticed the teacher dismissing us. Class flew by.  I all but skipped down to Abed's film class only to find the classroom empty. I walked in, but the lights were off. It looked like everyone had left much earlier.

"Hey!"

I turned around to see Abed with 2 lattes.

"Our professor let us out early," he explained, "so I walked to the café and got your favorite. I hope you don't mind."

"Aww," I cooed. He handed me the latte, and then took my free hand in his, "Abed you are so sweet."

"I just want you to know that I really appreciate you, Tawney," he replied, "you are a really great person, and I wanted you to know that I really value our relationship."

"Our relationship?" I asked, playing coy. I took a sip of my latte and smiled. Vanilla and peppermint.

Jeff Winger's rules to guys.

Rule #2. Forget about what I said with rule 1. Guys love it even more when a girl is kinda ditzy. But in a cute way. Be like a sexy Urkel. Did I do that?

Rule #3. Giggle. Guys love when a girl is flirty and giggles. Makes them feel really manly.

I couldn't help but laugh at the two next rules that Jeff had given me the other day. I looked at Abed and he was positively beaming.

"Yeah," he replied, "Our relationship. I like that you are my girlfriend."

"I like that you're my boyfriend, Abed."

I looked around. We were walking through campus. Hand in hand. Like a regular couple. I felt like I was soaring, and nothing could bring me down. He opened the door for me when we entered the library and again when we got to study room F.

"Hey guys," Annie said as we entered, “how’s it going!”

"Hey," I smiled at Annie, “how are you?”

"I tell you, before aids," Pierce grinned, "sex was like shaking hands."

"Hence aids," Abed said, sitting down. He had one of the paper fortune tellers that he was pulling from his pocket. He began playing with it and looked around the room, "what?"

"Are you playing with a paper fortune teller?" Shirley asked.

"Yeah," he nodded, showing it to her, "Tawney showed me how to make them in Spanish today. They are really interesting."

"Oh Brittles," Pierce smiled, "I forgot to tell you I went and talked to Vaughn."

I looked at Britta, my eyes wide. Her jaw dropped, "What?"

"Bad news is that I couldn't patch things up between you two," he sighed, "You really did a number on him. The good news is that I'm the new keyboardist in his band. "

"So let me get this straight," she began, "I asked you not to talk to him and you completely ignored me?"

"Hey tiny," he grumbled out, "you're missing the headline. I am in a rock band."

"Oh well I'd like to be there when the band finds out!" Jeff said, coming into the room.

"Oh, hi Jeff," Britta said, changing subject, "We were just talking about how in today's econ-"

"CARRR, You are living in your car," Shirley said, pointing a finger at him, "Boy you are living in your car. Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not good at being coy."

"I'm not living in my car," he replied. His face screwed up and I could see him looking at me out of his peripherals, "I'm just sleeping in it for a couple of days while I work on some problems with my condo. It's a very temporary issue."

"A temporary issue?"

"Yes Tawney," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I gotta pay some meaningless fees and then they'll put my locks back on the door. And that'll be that."

"How are you gonna get the money?"

"Believe me kitten," Jeff said in a fool-hearty manner, "Winger's got the moves."

"Oh Jeff," Shirley cooed, "do you need a place to stay, sweetie?"

Troy sighed, "I'd offer, but my dad is kind of racist."

"You could stay with me in the dorms," Abed offered, "My room has a bunk bed which is kind of a misnomer, because it's kind of the real deal."

"The next person that mentions charity or pity will be mentioned by name in my suicide note."

"Oh," Shirley groaned, “oh dear.”

Everyone started feeling uncomfortable and they paired off. Britta pulled Abed away, and Pierce bolted, leaving me with Jeff.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He looked at me and shook his head, "I don't."

"Is that why you've been saying you can only come over super late?"

"I've never slept over at your place."

"No," I muttered, "but you have stayed over until we have to leave for classes."

"We're helping each other, remember?" he asked, "I'm sorry teaching you how to talk to a guy takes forever."

"You don't have to be rude, Jeff."

"Rude?" he asked, "I've been staying in my car, and teaching some pathetic 20-year-old how to talk to guys. And it's clearly never going to work. All you ever do is dress like an old librarian, and you act more innocent than Annie."

"I don't think I want to deal with you like this Jeff," I sighed, standing up. Suddenly I felt really bad about the outfit I'd picked out, "maybe you can conversate with me more when you get over whatever pity party you're throwing yourself."

"Pity party?" he asked when I got to the door. He stood up, "I'm not having a pity party for myself. You are. You're fawning over some imaginary guy. Have you ever even been kissed? I bet you haven't. You look to nervous to look a guy in the eyes, let alone kiss one."

"You don't need to personally attack me you jerk."

"No," he groaned, "I'm telling you the truth. Because someone has to little timid Tawney. You need to become an adult woman. Stop hiding behind your glasses and baggy clothing, and just be a woman. Like when you were dressed up at Halloween. At least you had some substance to you. You were a hot slutty cat, instead of a boring, lame girl."

I felt a heavy rage. My breathing was shallow and ragged, and not for any reason other than I wanted to beat the shit out of the asshole in front of me.  Before I knew what I was doing my hand dragged itself through the air between us and slapped him. His head whipped so fast he probably had whiplash to accompany the dark red handprint that was forming on his face.

"Screw you, Jeff Winger. At least I have a heart."

I all but ran back to my dorm. When I got there, I collapsed on the floor and began to cry.  I know Jeff didn't mean what he said.

But why did he say that? All I ever did was try to help him?

Once I calmed down, I made it to my bed and plugged my phone in. That's when I saw a message from Abed. I clicked it.

'Not sure where you went after study group. Hope you can come to Night Under the Stars...'

I checked the time. It said 6:45. I cleaned myself up and looked in my closet.

I'll show him.

When I slipped into dress, and threw on those heels, not only did I feel sexy, but I felt confident. I pulled my hair down and put in my contacts. I checked myself out in the mirror. I looked different. Almost unrecognizable.

I practically pranced down to the cafeteria. Abed was waiting for me by the snack stand. When he saw me, a piece of popcorn he threw in his mouth fell out.

"Wow."

I felt sure of myself. I walked right up to him and kissed him.

"Hi," I said after he'd pulled away, “thanks for inviting me!”

He was speechless. It looked like he was calculating something in his mind.

"If you want to grab a spot, I can get us a drink."

He nodded and made his way into the crowd. I got us a Coke and went to find him. He was at a table with Jeff and Britta. Britta's eyes sparkled when she saw me, "Tawney you look incredible."

"Thanks," I said, sneaking a glance towards Jeff. I could see that he was practically drooling. I smiled to myself, then went to the other side of the table where Abed stood, "is coke okay?"

"Yeah," he smiled. He nervously placed an arm around me and kissed me on the cheek. I playfully took some of his popcorn, "Hey, did you know when there's a scene about a couple at a rock concert, they usually have a really good time and they kiss?"

"Is this you saying you want to kiss me?"

He chuckled and nodded. I pulled his face to mine as the music started.

Chapter 8