#there’s only a room with a pencil sharpener and pens

[paper-possum-party-pal]

The Prankster of the Parable (and all other stories)

[boobearymuch]

Their Habits —♡ LADS Scenarios

—♡Summary: Everyone has habits, but not everyone enjoys having you point them out... —♡Tags: gender-neutral, pure fluff —♡A/N: Silly thing I whipped up after being told I bounce my leg too much lolll —♡ masterlist

—♡ Zayne

Zayne squints so much without his glasses. He insists he only needs them when his eyes get tired—but clearly—that wasn’t the case. “Zayne, look!” You eagerly pointed out a flyer posted on the door of his favorite boba spot. They were hosting an event next weekend, it read, and encouraged customers not to miss out on the opportunity. You watched his hazel eyes sharpen into a squint.

“Event…?” He still had trouble reading it, though, and absently tugged your clasped hands forward as he leaned in for a better look. After a few seconds, his eyebrows relaxed, and he hummed appreciatively, “They’re introducing new flavors. Perhaps we should…what?” 

You failed to conceal an amused smile. “You need your glasses, old man.” The nickname was not received well, by any means.

“The text is small.” He answered coolly, “The average person would also have difficulty reading it.” Then he slipped his hand around your waist, eyes narrowing, “And I’m not old.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you laughed, “Have you considered contacts?” The look he gave you was deeply unamused, “No, no, you’re right. You look cuter in glasses, anyway.” Zayne's ears tinted pink under your playful stare. 

“...Let’s go inside before they close.” You pinched his flustered cheeks.

“Are you sure? The menu is so tiny. What if you can’t read it and order the wrong thing?” Your mouth promptly shut after his grip on you tightened in a warning. Zayne remembered to bring his glasses on your next outing (and the one after that).

—♡ Sylus

Sylus hums nonsense when it’s too quiet. It’s like he constantly needs to fill silences with some kind of noise. Even his humming is off-key…

“What song is that?” 

Sylus barely spared you a glance, “What song?” His fingers worked a microfiber cloth into the metal of his pistol. 

“The one you were just humming.”

He huffed, “Didn’t realize I was humming, sweetie.” Then he removed the cloth to admire his handiwork, “Don’t you recognize it?”

You almost felt bad for saying this but, “...No?” Sylus finally glanced up from his work to shoot you a look. A concerning one.

“Really? You had it on repeat all day, yesterday.” Horror dawned on you at the realization, “The chorus has been stuck in my head since morning…” And then a laugh sputtered from your lips. 

“Oh my god, that sounded nothing like it.” Sylus glared and returned his focus to his pistol with what you could only describe as a pout. 

“What a picky kitten.” You bit your lip to stop the smile threatening to break loose. He was a god awful singer, but the room felt emptier without his noise. Gently, you padded over to where he sat, and invited yourself onto his lap. Despite his mood, a hand wrapped around your waist without hesitation.

“Sing it again.” Sylus’ hold on you tightened, “I think I like your version better.” A soft chuckle left him, and quietly, he hummed once more.

—♡ Rafayel

Rafayel taps. All. The. Time. Taps his legs, hands, pens, pencils, anything and everything within reach. And he’ll deny the hell out of it when you ask him to stop. “I wasn’t doing anything,” The candies on his phone screen lit up and exploded with color as he scored another combo. Too engrossed in his phone to realize the arm slung around your shoulders was still tapping you. You leaned into him with a huff.

“You’re doing it now.”

Rafayel gave you a sidelong glance, frowning, “I dunno what you’re talking about, cutie.” You suddenly captured his hand to still it, and Rafayel gave you the most scandalized look, “If you wanna hold it that badly, I’m not stopping you.”

“You’re not even aware you’re doing it,” You blinked incredulously, “Are you?”

Rafayel threw his head back and groaned dramatically, “Doing whaaat?” Then he lifted his head to press his forehead against yours and huffed, “Is this your way of telling me to get off my phone?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like a fish up close like this.” Rafayel pulled away to roll his eyes and clicked his phone off.

“Alright, fine, you have my attention.” Then he began tapping his foot, “You know, that’s a little offensive to say to a Lemurian. You could get cancelled for that.”

Your hand drifted to his bouncing knee, and you watched as both your hand and his leg now jumped up and down. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?!”

—♡ Xavier

Xavier is always chewing on something, and it is almost always never gum. It’ll be something random, like a straw from a drink he’d long since finished. The strings of his hoodie, a toothpick. Once, it was a plastic tie. He reminded you of a teething puppy; he’d probably chew on wires if you left him alone long enough. Today, though, his chew toy of choice looked a lot like…

“Xavier, is that my pen?” 

He blinked, eyes floating from his comic book to your frown, “Yours…?” His jaw froze mid-chew. 

“Yeah,” You scooted closer on the couch, “the one from my desk at work.” 

A blush crept along his cheekbones, but he didn’t drop the pen like you expected him to, “...Are you sure?”

Your eyes fell to the pen trapped in the corner of his mouth, “The one with little stars on it? Yeah, that’s mine. I thought I lost it at work, why do you have it?”

The comic book shifted in his hands, “I found it, that’s why.” This explanation would be more convincing if he hadn’t shifted his gaze sideways. His blunt fingernails picked nervously at the corner of his book, curling the edges.

“Xavier,”

“Okay, I borrowed it.” You bit back a chuckle, and he guiltily removed the pen from his mouth. It shined with his spit, and the cap bore teeth marks, “You can have it back.”

You couldn’t hide your grimace fast enough, “...Actually, you can keep it.” Xavier merely blinked before bringing the tip back to his mouth. Then a smile curved the corner of his lips.

“My pen now, hm?”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Melting Pot II

Ingrid Engen x Mapi León x Child!Reader

woso-dreamzzz Kids x Child!Reader (Nena)

Summary: A day in the life of the Engen-Leóns

You have a big house because you have a big family.

Or...Ingrid has a big house because she has a big family.

Your Mama says Ingrid has a fancy job which means she's very busy and gets lots of money. You think she's lying because Ingrid always has time to hang out with you and your nieces.

You have a lot of nieces.

Cub was Mapi's belly baby but that doesn't make her any less your niece. Then there's the twins, Bebita and Skatt. They were oopsy babies like you. Sunshine is next and then Teeny.

That makes five.

You have five nieces and you love them so much.

You keep a tight grip on Sunshine's hand as you're all led outside for pickup. You're her auntie and Ingrid says she's fragile after having her heart transplant so you make sure you don't lose her in the group of bodies heading outside.

Cub is up further ahead with your sister's twins following after her. Teeny lags behind because she's hanging back with one of Tia Alexia's twins.

But you keep a tight grip on Sunshine's hand because she's vulnerable and you're a good auntie.

Mapi is there waiting at the school gates and she hugs each and every one of you individually. You all get kisses too and her lips flutter around your face before you push her away.

"Really, Nena?" She says," I'm feeling a little offended here."

You giggle. "Silly, Mapi!"

"I'm not silly!"

"You are, Mami!" Cub agrees. She's hanging off of one of Mapi's strong arms and Mapi rolls her eyes.

"Let's agree to disagree," She says," Now, has everyone got everything? Bags? Bottles? Toes and fingers?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Alright, then. Buddy up, please. Hold someone's hand."

Bebita and Skatt crowd together and you keep Sunshine while Cub grabs Teeny, who whines a little while waving goodbye to her friend.

It's a very long walk back to the house so you only walk a little bit before Mapi gets you all into the car together.

You get to sit in the front because you're not one of Mapi's babies. You're her sister-in-law (although Ingrid always says you're not Mapi's sister-in-law yet) and then Cub and Sunshine sit in the way back because they're a pair.

Teeny, Skatt and Bebita sit in the middle because they're still little and Mapi needs to keep an eye on them.

"Is Ingrid home yet?" You ask as Mapi hands out snacks before driving off.

"Sorry, Nena," She says," Not just yet. Soon, though. She's been stuck in meetings today."

"What's for dinner?" Bebita asks.

"Spaghetti."

"I want lots of cheese on mine!" Skatt butts in and suddenly everyone is yelling their own choices and you giggle.

Your family is very big and very loud.

Ingrid says it's chaotic.

You think that means there's a lot of love to go around.

"Can I make Mama a picture?" Teeny pipes up suddenly.

She's been a little sad since leaving her friend behind at school. Teeny is the niece who spends the most time out of the house. She hangs out with Tia Alexia and her twins a lot.

Ingrid says it's because she's good with Pequeñita. They're painting buddies.

Teeny is always drawing and painting and if she's not drawing and painting then she's playing with Mr Pina, her hedgehog.

"Can we make Mama a picture too?" Bebita asks.

"Er...I don't know girls," Mapi says as she drives up the hill to the house," Have we got the supplies?"

"I've got paper in my room," You say.

"I sharpened my pencils last night." Teeny now.

"Mama got me new pens last week," Skatt adds.

"I've got glitter!" Sunshine says.

"And I've got the glue for the glitter!" That's Cub in the way-back.

"Mama bought us all new aprons too!" Bebita tacks on.

Mapi sighs. "Sometimes," She says," I think you lot gang up on me."

"Please, Mami?" Teeny asks," We won't get messy."

That's a lie, or, at least half a lie because Teeny is always messy. The others aren't though. Just Teeny.

It seems Mapi is thinking that too so you jump in.

"I can keep Teeny clean!"

She pretends to think about for a moment, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. She sighs.

"I guess so. But-"

Her words are drowned out by the cheering of you and your nieces and she struggles to get you all out of the car quick enough when she pulls up to the house.

It's dark by the time Ingrid gets home and she curses herself as soon as she locks the car.

She hadn't meant to stay so late but she'd had meetings with Frido and the rest of her heads of department and then the website went down a few hours before the new sale went up so she'd had to call Caro up from her IT cave to get her to fix it.

It had been meeting on top of meeting on top of meeting getting everything ready for the launch next month that she'd hardly had time to stop and eat, let alone make it to the school with enough time for pick up.

She slips into the house.

"Hi, Bagheera," Ingrid says as the cat meanders towards her, tail flicking against her leg," It's good to see you too."

Mapi's in the living room, aimlessly flicking through channels. "You're home."

"Sorry I'm late. Work-"

"I know. Frido called. It's fine."

"No," Ingrid says," It's not. I said I'd pick up the girls today and-"

"Ingrid," Mapi laughs," Trust me, it's fine. You're practically single-handedly keeping us afloat. I'd hate to think about where we'd be living if you didn't have such an important job."

Ingrid's cheeks flush. "What did I do to deserve you, huh? You're such a smooth talker."

Mapi grins. "It's just one of my charms." She winks. "I'm your sexy arm candy, remember?"

Ingrid laughs. "Yes, you do look very good in a suit, don't you?"

"Want me to model some more for you?"

"I certainly want you to model something for me," Ingrid says," But it's not a suit."

She leans forward to kiss Mapi before freezing, pulling back suddenly.

"Ingrid? What is it?"

"I..."

Her eyes roves around the room.

Something's different.

The floor is spotless. The kitchen is clean. There's the lingering smell of whatever Mapi cooked the girls for dinner and-

The girls.

That's what's different.

Six little girls live in this house and yet there is practically no noise whatsoever. There's no giggling and laughing from Ingrid's twins. There's no running from Cub. There's no rhythmic thumping of a ball being kicked from your room. There are no spills of paint from Teeny's projects and there's no clicking of Sunshine's camera.

It's just...calm.

"Where are the girls?"

"Huh? The girls? Oh...They wanted to surprise you with something they made. I think they took it up to our room."

Ingrid strains her ears but still can't hear anything.

It's embarrassing how quickly she hurries up the stairs.

It's never good when a house of six girls goes silent.

Mapi follows after her and Ingrid wrenches the bedroom door open.

She stops, a smile appearing on her face.

Her girls are asleep on her and Mapi's bed, all cuddled up together under a massive portrait.

It's made up of several pieces of paper taped together and Ingrid knows it's meant to be of her.

"They wanted to draw you a picture," Mapi says," I didn't realise how big it was until they brought it up here."

"It's perfect," Ingrid says," Thank you for helping them."

"I didn't do much. Just taped it all together and-oh!"

It's nice that Ingrid can still make Mapi blush with just a simple kiss to the cheek.

"You're such a good mami, Mapi," Ingrid says," You're so good with them."

Mapi gives her a bashful smile. "It's bedtime. I can take them."

"No," Ingrid says," You've been with them since school ended. I'll take them to bed."

"Are you-"

"Mapi," Ingrid says," Go downstairs and watch some tv with Bagheera. When I come back, maybe you can model what I want you to model."

Mapi's face goes bright red and it's almost like she can't get downstairs quick enough.

Ingrid takes her time putting her girls to bed.

Cub is first, taken into her bedroom and put up high in her cabin bed. Garfield is splayed out on the middle of the carpet. León-León is already asleep too, taking up half the bed but Cub immediately curls around him in her sleep.

Bebita is next and Ingrid has to be careful walking through her room because it's like a minefield and she makes a mental note to make Bebita clean it up in the morning.

Skatt comes after her and Ingrid has to check that all her terrariums are closed so none of her bugs escape in the night.

Teeny follows after and Ingrid spares a glance over at Mr Pina's enclosure to make sure the little hedgehog's food bowl is filled up and his water is fresh.

Sunshine is put to bed after Teeny and Ingrid makes sure to flick on her fairy lights on in case she wakes up in the middle of the night.

You're last and wake as Ingrid lifts you.

"Ingrid," You mumble.

"Yes, Nena," She says," It's me."

"Did you see your picture?" You ask, still groggy as your head lolls on her shoulder.

"I did. You girls did such a good job with it."

"Made sure Teeny stayed clean."

"I could tell. You did such a good job, Nena."

She sets you down in your bed, pulling the covers up all the way to your chin as you yawn.

"Made sure Sunshine didn't get lost at school too."

"You're such a good auntie," She tells you, kiss your forehead," But it's bedtime now."

She goes to leave.

"Ingrid!"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Ingrid flicks off your light. "I love you too, Nena."

[black--sun]

@white--moon

Ichigo plucks a pencil out of the cup on the desk and uses his shorter knife to sharpen it down until it’s even height with all the rest. Then he nudges Shiro’s pens into a line. He’s already straightened the rest of a desk that looks like it hasn’t seen use in months. Maybe years. Ichigo rocks the chair back on its hind feet and does the math to see if that time frame adds up before glancing over the room again.

It’s the only room that could possibly be Shiro’s. But just in case, he’d checked the closet.

Shiro is around somewhere, but Ichigo’s been waiting hours for him to make an appearance. It might be time to risk guards and go looking. What if he left to head back to the city while Ichigo’s been closed in his room?

He shouldn’t be here.

He stands from the desk to keep from getting too comfortable. As if he could. From the window, he can just make out the lighted pool and the floor to ceiling glass windows that lead out to it at the back of the mansion.

…Nice to see he isn’t still some kind of exhibitionist.

The entire place is so Shiro, it leaves a dull ache in his chest.

Ichigo hopes those windows below are bulletproof. Not that Shiro ever seemed to care much for real security. Ichigo wonders if that’s changed. Wonders if he’s the first person to come hang out in Shiro’s bushes and figure out the routes and timing of the guards. Though, Shiro always did have a knack for inhabiting spaces that were defensible more from the inside out. Escaping wasn’t much of an option back when Shiro ran his people from the warehouse. Maybe it’ll be that way here, too.

He crosses his arms. There’s blood under his nails, not that it can be seen in the dim light. Neither can his black outfit. But Ichigo steps into the shadows all the same as someone passes in front of the door. He still wears a harness, but now it’s on the outside of his shirt and holds a small collection of throwing knives and a gun. Shiro’s old knife is back to being tucked into his boot, still his favorite and the most reliable in his collection.

When he was hired for this job, he’d nearly told the guy to fuck off and not to bother. Shiro’s definitely the type of person Ichigo would agree to kill, but then again, Ichigo was also the type of person he’d agree to kill these days. He can’t imagine Shiro ending up stuck on someone’s knife if that scenario doesn’t also include that someone’s bloody death. Though, he also didn’t anticipate the swell of protective temper that surfaced.

He frowns. Maybe Shiro’s entertaining. Or maybe Shiro’s changed and Ichigo shouldn’t be poking around here, waiting to be killed himself.

[peppermintmagicianlynn]

TimBer Week 2024: Twenty-Questions

TimBer Week 2024 Day #1: Twenty-Questions/Party Games

Set in high school years, after Bernard meets the Drakes. Tim is kind of a try-hard at party games. Bernard is a dirty cheater.

Study sessions were Tim's most common after-school activity these days. He, Bernard, and sometimes Darla would hang out and yet never accomplish any real studying. Since Darla was unavailable today, the boys had forgone the library to instead hang out at Tim's house. His parents wouldn't be back until later, so they were free to take over the living room.

Textbooks were spread out on the coffee table, the Xbox was stashed in the hall closet, and Tim had already threatened to duct tape a pencil to Bernard's hand if he didn't stop trying to derail their efforts with his bigfoot-sighting videos…when the electricity cut off.

"Should have seen that coming," Bernard remarked as Tim brought the emergency lamp in from his bedroom, enough to cast a small glow over Tim’s armchair and Bernard’s spot on the coach. "Power outages always get bad on this side of town during the winter months. I meant to warn you about that."

Tim waved him away, settling back into his seat with a sigh. "I guess study group is over. Were you going to head home now?"

Bernard draped himself over the couch pillow, holding a dainty wrist to his forehead as if the very thought made him weak. "And leave you in the dark, all on your own, with just your crazy elevator boy to look out for you? It’s like you don’t know me at all, Drake!"

Tim scoffed. "Bernard, of all the guys I've been friends with, I'd say you’re the least cryptic of them all." Tim had run an extensive background check on Bernard after their week of knowing each other, paranoid about any more surprises from the people he made friends with. He’d found no vigilante affiliations, no alcoholism or online gambling addictions, and no evidence of him being the secret heir to a terrorist cult. Bernard was as regular a teen boy as Gotham ever saw.

Bernard turned his face so that their eyes met across the dim lamp light, watching Tim with a disbelieving smirk. Tim cocked an eyebrow, daring him to claim otherwise.

"Well then, how about we put that assertion to the test?" The blond reached for the abandoned notebook and pen between them, quickly scribbled something across the sheet of paper. He then tore it out of the book, made a grand display of folding in half and tucked it behind his back. "Time to put your money where your mouth is, Drake. Twenty-Questions! You're B+ average self against my own astounding genius!"

Tim was not a stranger to challenges, neither in his vigilante teams nor among his civilian friends. Oftentimes, he felt they were completely unnecessary, just wasting energy to prove something that he already knew himself capable of. As long as he wasn’t humiliated in front of someone he really respected, he didn't rise at just anyone's baiting.

However, since becoming friends with Bernard Dowd, he'd found himself prone to showing off quite a lot lately. Any time the other boy said "I bet I could do this better than you", Tim fell right into his trap with little thought to his ex-secret identity. So far, the only things he had never beaten the other at were video game related.

Bernard was challenging him, Robin (retired though he may be), to a game of deduction. Tim felt his grin turning feral at the thought. God, he wouldn't even know what hit him. "You're on." 

Let the Game Begin!

Question 1: Was it a living thing?

Bernard groaned. "You are so boring, Drake. No one starts out that specifically."

But the answer was yes.

Question 2: Was it a person Tim knew?

"Come on!" Now the other boy was whining, throwing out his arms in exasperation. "Humor me a little here, or it won't be any fun!"

But yes.

Tim opened his mouth to ask the gender of the person, his sharpened mind knowing exactly what questions would break through any potential traps…but then he actually looked at Bernard's face. He was hard to read sometimes, always determined to keep his calm-and-cool act in full force, but the façade could crack now and then. And right now, something like disappointment was screaming from the set of his shoulders, the twist of his mouth.

Tim felt suddenly like a bad friend, being so try-hard over what was really just a game. Bernard was being silly, just as always; so maybe Tim could afford to be silly, too.

Question 3: Was it a famous person?

That vague inquiry brought Bernard back up to his previous energy, a genuine smile growing on his face before he forced it into the usually laid-back grin. "Yes."

Hmmm, that was not quite where Tim had thought this would go, but that definitely made the game more fun.

Question 4: Did the person live in America?

Bernard paused to think for a moment, stroking his chin dramatically. "Yes?" The hesitance in his tone was slipped into Tim's growing data set as "Origin Unknown".

Question 5: Did this person currently live in Gotham?

Now Bernard was the one with a crazed smile. "Yes. For now."

Were sentences like that allowed in Twenty-Questions? Tim was pretty sure they weren't, but it did give him a bit more information to use, so he would allow it. Bernard’s chatty nature was going to be his undoing.

Question 6: Was the person dangerous?

"No."

Damn it. There went Tim’s theory it was going to be a cryptid or urban legend. Bernard would definitely use a game like this to segway into more of his conspiracy theories. And that answer also meant it wasn't going to be any of the common Gotham villains, either.

Question 7: Was this person a hero?

“I think so, personally." Bernard threw his arms behind his head as he lounged against the cushions, a picture of ease. Tim smirked at his blatant confidence, feeling even more excited to take him down.

Question 8: Did that person wear a cape?

"No."

Oh, okay then, not a vigilante. So…maybe a public servant? Commissioner Gordon was pretty famous and he was definitely heroic.

Question 9: Did the person wear a badge?

"No."

Question 10: Did the person wear a uniform?

"No."

Tim propped his chin on his wrist, turning his gaze to the side as he reconfigured his mental schematics. They were already halfway through the game but he felt even more in the dark than when they started. He tried not to sink into serious mode, reminding himself he wasn't in work-mode and this wasn't a case with someone’s life on the line. It was just a game with his goofy friend.

Still, if he wanted to win, he might have to start getting his questioning back on track. He'd already humored Bernard enough.

Question 11: Was the person female?

Bernard shrugged. "Maybe."

Tim wanted to jump over the coffee table and strangle him. "Wha- that is not how this works! You have to give me an actual answer."

"Au contraire, mon ami. If you'd ever played one of those digital versions of this game, you'd know that they always include a ‘Maybe’ option. Don't get mad at me if you jumped into this while uninformed.”

Tim growled, ready to call this whole thing off if Bernard was just going to be an ass about it. This game was his idea.

Bernard grinned his way, radiating smug energy. "Hey, you don’t have to play the game. But you would have to concede that you didn't win it, either. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't have given up that fast, I bet."

They kept going.

Question 12: Was the person old?

"No."

Question 13: Was the person still alive?

"Yes."

Question 14: Was Bernard acquainted with that person?

"Very well," Bernard said, his smile slipping into something a bit softer than before. Until he caught himself and turned his face to the side. "Uh, I mean, yes."

Tim wasn't deflected, staring at his friend who was determined to stare into the dark corner of the room. He couldn't hide the sudden redness of his ears, though.

Darla. He was talking about Darla.

With that realized, Tim felt his shoulders slump, all the tension and energy gone in a flash. God, this guy was so predictable. Even after months of just being friends with her, he still had a crush on their classmate. It was so annoying. 

No point in dragging this out any further. Tim would rather just sit in silence.

Question 15: Did the person go to their school?

"Not all the time. Uh, I mean, maybe."

Tim's brain exploded.

"Did I stump you?" the blond laughed at the obvious shock on his face.

Tim ignored his taunts, cycling all of this data over and over, scattered by both this strange answer that just didn’t fit with his previous conclusion and the weird rush of relief that battled for his attention. He shoved both of them away and focused. If he was turning into a try-hard again, sue him.

So, objectively, Bernard was cheating. Not just his bullshit "maybe's" but also all these additional sentences he was "accidentally" slipping in. No, that was intentional, made to confuse Tim with unnecessary information. Could he even be outright lying? Nah, Bernard liked to win too and getting caught with deliberate falsehoods would make him a bad sport. He wasn't lying, just keeping it all vague for the sake of his punchline.

Tim was running out of questions now, but he still had to throw out one more test. A dangerous gamble.

Question 16: Did this person have dark hair?

"Yes."

A straight answer, said with full confidence, that cut his list of potential suspects in half.

Data Currently Collected: a person whose hair was publicly known (cut out a portion of the vigilantes in Gotham) and was dark colored, heroic, famous, no cape, young, possibly goes to their school. That "not always" comment might still keep Darla in the game, since she sometimes missed classes for "family things". Other possibles would be students known to cut classes which wasn't an insignificant number. Even Tim would sometimes…

His eyes widened, train of thought grinding to a halt even as his analytical mind kept spinning, weaving the data into a new theory against his wishes.

Skipped classes, dark-haired young, famous…

Did his name still circulate through envious mouths, months after the lockdown? Were there still videos online of him meeting the president? Forgotten posters with his face on it tossed aside in street gutters?

And what Bernard had looked like when he answered Question 14, that quiet but obvious happiness at just the thought of that person….

Tim swallowed, not sure why the idea of that look being for him made his hands suddenly clammy.

Question 18: Did Bernard spend a lot of time with the person?

"Yes."

Question 17: Was Bernard friends with them?

"Yes." Bernard grinned hard, no smugness in that look at all, though he quickly turned away again. Like he had to be embarrassed about his own enthusiasm.

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

"Three questions left, Drake. Better make them count."

"Are you gonna use another ‘maybe’ answer?" If he said yes, Tim would quit this game in protest and never have to think about this ever again.

Bernard turned to look at him, scanning his face. Then quietly, "No. I'll be honest."

And that terrified Tim even more.

Question 18: …Did Bernard like the person?

"Yes." The flood of red on Bernard's cheeks sent a rush of confused emotions through Tim. He couldn't tell if they were good or bad. "Two more questions, Drake."

Question 19: …

"Or do you want to just take a guess?"

A part of Tim was scared to say it out loud, the very idea of what Bernard could mean by all of this…it would be like opening Pandora's Box. Nothing would be the same anymore. Forget about winning, Tim didn't know if he could survive making the right guess. If he could even process what it would mean for him just for guessing it right.

So, like a coward, he offered, "Darla Aquista?"

And in that instant, the tension broke, leaving jagged edges between them.

Bernard looked away, his smile turned melancholy. "Wow, Drake, I guess…I guess you do know me pretty well." He pulled the paper out from behind his back, though Tim could see how his fingers trembled. Tim was shaking too, not sure if he was ready for what was written on it. If he should play being pompous about his win and tell Bernard he didn't need to show him the proof. If he could just…

"However…I guess you don't know me quite that well!"

In two quick moves, Bernard slammed the paper down on the dimly-lit coffee table and with a laugh that the Joker would envy, flipped over the back of the couch. Tim, shocked, glanced down at the paper which had been left writing up.

Dana (Pre-Dye job)

Outrage like he had never known flooded through Tim, ripping a scream from his throat that was as thunderous as a war cry. He cleared the table, lamp, and coach back in one summersault, then ran after his absolute asshole of a classmate.

"You piece of shit! You freaking lying garbage heap!"

"There were no lies involved. Only slanted truths!"

"That is not how this game works!"

"Excuses of the outwitted!"

Some days later, Jack would be cleaning around the house and find a piece of paper slipped between the cushions of his couch. He would ask his wife about it, but she wouldn't have an explanation for why their son's name was written on it.

----

Bernard is a troll who had no intention to play this game fairly from the start. If Tim thought he would and let his guard down, that was on him!

Why yes, I am a fan of Kaguya-Sama: Love is War. How could you tell?

[chiefdirector]

Storing | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen

Soft muttering came from the almost empty detective’s bullpen. The only light came from a far to dim desk lamp and the far too bright computer screen in the back of the room. It had been a while since this desk had been used, Grey had told the Sergeant in charge of the detectives at Mid-Wilshire to keep the desk clear, despite knowing all the terrible things about long-term missing person cases, he could help but hope that (Y/N) would return home, and when she did he knew that she wouldn't want anything to change.

The desk had been tidied, the papers she had left sprawled all of it had been neatly stacked up and filed away. The blunt pencils in her pot had been sharpened and the almost dead pens had been replaced with new ones. Although, it was all for naught as the desk looked as messy as ever as (Y/N) remained hunched over the paperwork she was filing through.

Due to the happenings in her home that morning, she had requested an expedited return to the LAPD. Tim, Lopez, and Grey had supported her claim. She was reinstated, but only fully in the office. If she were to leave the station on shift, she would have to be assisted by another officer or detectives due to her still healing shoulder.

Tim watched her work from a distance, a pained expression flashing across his face as he realised that she wouldn't be resting any time soon. There was nothing he could do except to watch her. He knew that she would talk to him when she was ready but it still upset him. Watching her be like this made him realise that a part of her was still on the run, and he may see that part of her again.

– - - - -

Morning soon came, and with it an influx of officers.

(Y/N) stood from her desk with a stretch and moved to make her way into the morning briefing. This was one of the things she missed most about being a detective, the rapport with other officers built in rituals like this. But today’s meeting was nothing lighthearted at all. Instead of taking a seat, she walked to the back of the room and leaned against the window as Grey began to talk.

“As we know, yesterday morning Officer and Detective Bradford’s home was broken into, we have  no arrests yet but we are expecting more activity. So we will continue to have one unit outside. Smitty, you take Nolan today. Harper you will be with Detective Bradford, see if you two can jog any memories of hers that will help.” Grey flipped through the papers in his podium, looking for the rest of the specialised assignments. “Lopez, West. You will be going to a series of addresses in which Regina Diaz owned to see if you can find anything else. The rest of you will be business as usual, but you may be called back for another assignment. Dismissed.”

(Y/N) pushed herself of the window and walked down the aisle between the desks to greet Nyla and John. “I assume you wanna head out soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you at the shop. Dont be long.” Harper said, walking off, leaving her alone with John.

“Is she…?”

“Always like that? Yeah, but you grow used to it.” John smiled. “You want me to show you where the shop is?”

(Y/N) laughed and nodded. Nolan gestured for her to follow him. They walked in silence for a few moments before John couldn't contain himself anymore. “How are you doing? Being back here and all; I read your file before the Diaz raid. It must be a big adjustment.”

(Y/N) nodded, processing Nolan’s words. “Yeah… you’re right. It’s definitely an adjustment.”

John stopped in his tracks, noticing (Y/N)’s hesitation. “I haven’t upset you by asking that, have I?”

“No, not at all,” (Y/N) pushed her hair back from her face. “It’s just that nobody has asked me that. How I’m adjusting that is. Everyone just expects me to be the same old (Y/N), but I don’t know if she exists anymore. And i’m scared that once people realise that, they will no longer want to help me put a stop to all this.” She took a breath. “Sorry, I was rambling. Just ignore me.”

John reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her in her place. “Don’t apologise. That’s perfectly normal. If anything, you're doing better than most; if I were you, I would be out of my mind.”

“Thanks Nolan, I appreciate this.”

“Anytime,” John smiled, “Now I better get you to Harper before she castrates me and then get to Smitty before he forgets me… again.”

(Y/N) laughed, “He hasn’t changed then.”

“Unfortunately not.”

- - - - -

“Take a left at the next exit,” (Y/N) said, looking up from the GPS on her phone. “And then just follow the road down to the end.”

“Okay,” Nyla said, taking the turn as instructed. “You know, I get what you’re going through.”

(Y/N) hummed, turning her head away to look at the industrial buildings they passed. 

Harper tried not to roll her eyes at (Y/N)’s silence and carried on talking. “I was deep undercover too. I got caught out by one of them when I was with my daughter, it almost cost her her life, and it cost me custody of my kid.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) started, but was cut off by Harper continuing to speak.

“Don’t apologise. She’s fine, and I got her back. My point is that you don’t need to shut Tim out. He wants the best for you. He’s really trying.”

“I know. It's just hard knowing what could happen to him by my being here. And it would be all my fault. I don’t think I could live with that.”

“He did. He blamed himself for two years because you didn’t come home. He thought you were dead, everyone did.” Nyla pulled over the car. “We’re here. But don’t mind me asking, why are we at a storage facility?”

(Y/N) got out of the car and began to walk through the maze of lockers, Harper hot on her heels. “When I caught wind of Regina’s operation at the house, I knew that it could end badly for me. So I opened this storage facility in Tim’s name.”

Stopping outside locker 4823, (Y/N) pulled out a key from her back pocket and put it in the lock, turning it open. As the lock fell to the ground, she opened the locker. The inside was pretty sparse, a couple of cardboard boxes, a gun case and two polaroids were on the ground. 

“This is every conceivable threat I ever received in the last two years. If there is a pattern with the break in, we will find it here.”

Part Thirteen | Part Fifteen

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh  @kmc1989  @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e

Tags are open :)

[newtthetranswriter]

could you write yuta x reader, just a cute college au with maybe a jealous juts at or party or a study session in the dorms fluff? please and thank you if you want lol

Pairing: Yuta x gn!reader

Word count: 2076

A/n: Hey thank you for requesting this. I had fun writing it. Yuta is one of my favorites so it was nice writing for him again. I hope this is what you were hoping for, I’m not sure if I really captured the Jealous Yuta but I tried. Also the college part is implied, it worked best for me to leave them in the normal jjk world with curses and stuff but I tend to write with the mindset of everyone is aged up to college age, so hopefully it works for you, Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

It’s the Friday before exams which typically means a weekend long study session. Each time we do this a different member of our group is chosen to host in their dorm, this time I’m the lucky one to host our crazy group. Study sessions with this group always go wrong in some way, be it because someone ends up spilling something over everyone's books while being dumb cough Panda cough, or if anyone falls asleep they get a lovely drawing on their face courtesy of Toge. But I'm determined to make this session go on without anything going wrong.

You see, I have a foolproof plan to make everything go well. No drinks near books, no dips or sauces, and definitely no pens or markers. I gathered all the supplies we would need, that also wouldn’t pose a problem to our study session. Colored pencils instead of highlighters and pens, flash cards, chips, drinks in spill proof containers and an abundance of paper towels just in case.

“Welcome to my room, now put every pen and marker or anything that can be used for vandalism in this box. Take a seat on the floor and then I will go over the rules.” I said holding out a lock box as I greeted my four friends as they entered. I received a disgruntled look from Toge as he begrudgingly placed all his writing utensils in the box.

As everyone took a seat in a circle on the floor getting out their books, Panda paused for a second before piping up, “Hey wait what do you mean rules, and why are the pens and markers being locked up.” Toge nodded in agreement, being upset about having his favorite weapons taken from him.

“Well you see, everytime we have a study session someone causes trouble. There are three rules for this weekend. One, if a drink can not be sealed with a lid, is to stay on the table. Two, no dip or sauces around the books or note pads, if you want to snack it has to be at the table. And finally all the pens and markers are locked in this box which only I know the code to, as no one here needs a temporary tattoo on their face.” I said with a slight glare at the cursed speech user.

“Makes perfect sense but what are we supposed to use for color coding if all the markers are locked up?” Yuta asked, looking at me with confusion.

“Colored pencils, I picked up a bunch and there’s a pencil sharpener in the middle if its needed.”  I responded while sitting down between him and Toge so we could start our study session.

We were currently all studying for our math exam, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to look at Toge who was writing something down in one of his notebooks after confirming that he had my attention. He had a slight look of confusion on his face as he wrote out his question.

How do you solve this equation again, letters in math don’t make sense at all. I smiled gently before grabbing my own set of notes to explain how to solve the problem. What I failed to notice was a certain sword user was looking at us. I didn’t see the hint of envy in his eyes as I leaned close to our friend to teach him the math problem.

After about another hour of studying math we all decided to take a short break, we all moved to the small table I had in my room to eat some chips and drink some energy drinks cause we all knew it was going to be a long night. While drinking my rockstar I started a conversation with Toge, just checking to make sure he understood the material we were studying after I had helped with his previous question. I once again failed to pay attention to the other things happening around me, as Yuta was once again watching the interaction between me and our friend.

It seemed that even though I missed the look of jealousy flash across his face, a certain green haired woman definitely saw it and decided now would be the perfect time to have some fun.

P.O.V switch (3rd person)

Maki wasn’t normally the kind of person to meddle in other people's lives but when it came to embarrassing Yuta, that was fair game in her mind. He just made it so easy. Watching the look of jealousy flash across his face as two of their friends talked about math two feet away just lite a fire in her mind and she just wanted to poke the bear.

“Hey Yuta” she said, tapping his shoulder pulling his attention away from the two friends. “You think Inumaki and Y/L/N would make a good couple? I mean they get along so well, and Y/n seems to understand Toge perfectly despite his limited vocabulary.” She asked, trying to get a reaction out of the shy boy.

“Ummm- I- I’m not sure, I mean maybe, I don’t see why not” Yuta hesitated as he scratched the back of his head nervously. Maki could hear the slight sadness in his voice as he forced himself to agree.

“I mean I wouldn’t be surprised if they were secretly dating already, he’s had their attention all night, They have barely even spoken to any of us but him.” Maki continued trying to get more of a reaction out of the poor boy.

Hearing the conversation Panda also decided it was time to poke fun at Yuta. “Maki’s right Yuta, I haven’t seen Y/n this focused since Gojo let us pick anything in the mall for him to buy.”

Yuta turned back towards his two friends who were now chuckling about something he hadn’t heard. “You guys are probably right, they look really happy together.” He said with a frown before moving back to his seat in the circle of textbooks and notes. After everyone had got done snacking they all moved back to the floor to keep studying.

P.O.V back to first person

After another couple hours almost everyone had passed out on the floor of my dorm. It was getting close to three in the morning so it was understandable, but what shocked me most was that me and Yuta are the last two awake. Normally Yuta is the first one to fall asleep and fall victim to Toges trash doodling, but I guess having his weapons taken made the light haired boy not care about being the last one awake. I’m still confused as to why Yuta was awake but I brushed it off as him just wanting to study longer.

I was almost done with a note card for our history exams when I heard Yuta clear his throat. I looked up at him prompting him to say what he was going to as the look on his face said he wanted to say something.

“I- Is- urgh- Is there anything going on between you and Inumaki?” I stared confused at my friend as he asked one of the weirdest questions I’ve heard in awhile.

Finally gaining the ability to process thoughts again. “What do you mean, Me and Toge are just friends, where is this coming from anyway?” I asked, really confused as to why yuta would think I liked Toge that way. Sure he was a great friend but that’s all he is to me, a friend. If I liked anyone it’d be Yuta, he’s sweet, caring and always knows how to cheer people up.

“W- well you guys seem really close, and you’ve spent most of the night chatting with him, and it’s like you can understand everything he says even though he doesn't speak normally.” I watched as Yuta started to get flustered. “I-i just assumed you liked him, and I mean it’s fine if you do, I was just curious.”

“Yuta there is nothing going on between me and Toge. I’ve been chatting with him all night because he’s dyslexic and was having trouble with the fact that some math problems have letters in them.” I said, trying to explain myself. “And as for understanding him, I’ve known him for a long time, I’ve learned to use context clues when talking to him. If everyone is having a happy conversation, he’s probably also trying to share in the joy. He also will text or write down stuff he has to say that he can’t express properly with onigiri ingredients.”

“Okay that makes sense, but when everyone was eating you guys were laughing there’s no way you were laughing about an algebra problem?” Yuta responded, still trying to figure everything out.

I blushed slightly, I know exactly what he’s talking about. When we were all up getting snacks, Toge had written a message in his book about the fact that he thought Yuta had a crush on me because he keeps staring at me; I was laughing because I thought it was absurd, there’s no way Yuta likes me. I mean yeah it’s weird that he seems so concerned about the status of mine and Toge’s friendship but he’s probably just being protective.

“Oh, Toge was just telling me about something stupid that he watched one of the first years do earlier.” I said, trying to brush it off. But I guess I failed at hiding the blush on my cheeks because Yuta didn’t drop it.

He looked at me skeptically before grabbing the abandoned notebook that sat by Toge’s sleeping face, Flipping through to the most recent pages. I tried to reach for his hand to stop him but I was too late. He was already reading one half of my previous conversation.

“Yuta, you shouldn’t be doing that, it's Toge’s book, put it back.” I tried to reason with him as I watched his eyes widen as he continued reading Toge’s comments to me about finally confessing my feelings to the boy with cursed power that was only second to that of Satoru Gojo.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting for his reaction Yuta just set the notebook down and smiled at me. “You know, he was right, you should have just told me sooner. It would have saved us both some trouble and I would have been able to do this a lot sooner.” He said leaning closer to me. I was about to ask what he meant but I was cut off by the feeling of his soft lips meeting mine. It was quick but still conveyed every emotion neither of us had the courage to put into words.

As we pulled apart Yuta looked into my eyes, “I’ve liked you for a while now, if you don’t mind after exams are done I would love to take you out for lunch some time. I-if you want to t-that is.” And just like that he was back to the stuttering mess I fell in love with.

“Yuta, I would love to go out with you.” I responded standing up and grabbing his hand. I pulled him up and stepped over our three friends, passed out on the floor and moved to my bed. Normally when these study sessions turned into sleep overs, everyone would sleep on the floor except the person who’s room it was, but I figured fuck it. This is my room and if I want to cuddle with my new boyfriend, I will. “Come on we should really get some sleep” I said as i sat down on my bed sliding towards the wall to give him space to lay down with me.

“A-are you sure, I mean I'm fine sleeping on the floor. Plus won’t they think it’s weird if they wake up and we’re sharing your bed?” Yuta asked, a massive blush on his face as he slowly sat down on the edge of my.

“Oh stop worrying about it, just lay down and sleep. We’ll deal with them tomorrow, they’ll find out one way or another. Also it’s my room. I make the rules, if they don’t like it, well sucks to suck.” I said pulling him to lay next to me. Realizing I’m serious, Yuta finally relaxes. I let out a relaxed sigh as I cuddled up to him and finally let sleep take over.

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

May's Strip Game

Whispers and Rumors circulate in all manner of conversation today. Talk of the Royal Beth. Another Red and Gold Gala? No, someone clarifies. The Manager, it would seem, is running a publicity event.

[>Go, for the Scandal and Drama of it all.] [>Go, because of... personal investments.] [>Go, for curiosity's sake. ] [>Go, for lack of anything better to do]

[<Perhaps not.]

Red and Brass. You arrive at the Royal Beth, and are directed to a side room by the staff. As they usher you in, you are handed a small, monogrammed notepad, and a sharpened pencil. Several of the staff, you notice, are giggling. Several more are gossiping. You begin to wonder where the Manager is, that he would permit such behavior, and then you see him.

He stands, tall, if not proud, upon a small, raised stage. There are item tags, visibly attached to his articles of clothing. A quiet, papery rustling indicates there are more, hidden from sight. You decide to take a seat, where you can get the most of whatever spectacle he is going to turn himself into. A fundraiser? He wears the expression of someone who made a decision which they are beginning to suspect they will regret. His smile is tighter than usual, and his eyes held wide as more guests swarm into the windowless room.

"Ahem. Esteemed Guests, I have an announcement." His voice sounds as though a quiet whisper from just behind your ear, rather unusual for a speech given to a crowd this large. "Tonight, The Royal Beth will be hosting a campaign to help with the alleviation of certain costly strains. You, the participants, are to," his voice falters, and he moves to hide his hands behind his back, before regaining composure. "You are to vote upon which articles of clothing of mine you wish to remove. Write your number matching the label for the clothing article on your notepad, and Staff will come to collect."

You notice his articles of clothing. The only visible labels at the moment are a #1 upon his Stovepipe Hat, and #2 upon his Frock Coat.

"Voting may begin."

[>Ask about how you are meant to pay]

Is he certain? "No, no, we don't accept your currency here."

The rules of the game: This is a strip game! I'll draw art of the Manager, you pick which article of clothing you want to see removed from this man, and in 24 hours the vote will conclude! I draw him minus that article of clothing, and a new round of voting will commence! I'll let him get pretty naked, but I'll likely be keeping his drawers on, and one or two other things. No color or ink for the first few days because. I still don't have lining pens yet.

Enjoy, Delicious Friends!

{Part Two>} {Part Nine >>>}

[slavic-roots-western-mind]

Backpack must-haves: Exam edition

My previous post covered the every day college backpack essentials, but exams usually have their own particular set of must-haves.

The last thing you need is to be frantically throwing random things inside your bag on the morning of the exam, when you could be taking the time to go over the main notes and to gather your thoughs and focus.

1. The pencil case

Depending on the uni, you can bring your bag inside the examroom and put it under your desk, or leave your bag outside and bring just a see-through pencil case into the exam room.

Regardless, bring a clear pencil case, or a plastic bag or a ziplock bag, and be sure to have enough working pens (running out of ink in all pens is a re-occurring nightmare of mine), pencils, an eraser, sharpener, calculator, highlighters.

If in doubt, just ask your tutor few weeks before, or check your uni's exam policy.

2. Wallet.

Student ID, some cash for the bus ride back and a coffee with a quick snack, driver's license.

No need to bring every single piece of documentation, you can save that for later if applying or re-applying for a student visa if you currently are or will be an international student soon e.g. exchange student, applying for grad programs, summer programs etc.

3. Water bottle

Once again, a clear or see-through water bottle is the way to go, especially for winter exams. Maybe it's just me, but the dry winter month's have me coughing like there's no tomorrow. The only way I'm making it through is with throat lozenges, my tea thermos and water.

4. A jacket, hoodie, or something warm

Exam rooms are notoriously cold, so bring some sort of jacket. The last thing you need is to catch a cold and spend the next exam's red-eyed and sniffling.

5. Health and beauty case

This is a must bring regardless of where you go.

Tampons, pads, painkillers, any meds that you may need, deodorant, hand sanitizer, tissues etc.

This may seem like a tad too much, but trust me on this. It's better to be overprepared rather than underprepared.

6. A summary of the most important concepts/theories/formulas etc.

Should you study the morning of your exam, all the way until you enter the exam room or should you just chill and focus on keeping calm? A debated question, so any insights from the poll would be greatly appreciated.

Nonetheless, most people that I know still end up going over the concepts minutes leading up to the exam, or during their commute to uni, so bring a quick guide just in case.

Even if you don't use it, it's still good practise to write your notes out to remember and understand them better.

[writer-and-artist27]

Tagged by @windwardstar.

…Thankie, Osie. I needed this to take my mind off the lack of sleep.

Tagging: @teddog, @partialdignity, @abalisk, @shinyvivillon, and @lovingempress. Only if you want to.

[cowboygreeting]

𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚒. 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚒. 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

cw: drug mention

Canvas saddle bag. Mnemosyne steno pad – A5, of course. Two LEUCHTTERM1917 Drehgriffel – ballpoint pens, black and red ink, moss and orange barrels. Extra-firm Blackwing pencil. Steel Blackwing pencil sharpener. Travel-sized Neutrogena Norwegian hand cream, half-empty. 16oz water bottle, insulated, with a little sippy straw. Loop earplugs, case hooked onto one of the straps. Vape. Vape charger. Extra juice cart. Protein bar, in case he's hungry. Two extra protein bars, in case someone else is hungry. No cellphone, not allowed that here, but his Discman and his earbuds fit inconspicuously enough, so he slides them in as well. He can wear them for the walk over. It might help to soothe his nerves a little.

He still has two hours before the orientation starts. So at least one and a half before he's reasonably allowed to leave his room. And hypothetically, he could leave his room at any time, he doesn't think they lock them in at night; it would be nice, maybe go for an early morning stroll — early, early morning stroll — hit his vape (he's not about to test the smoke detector sensitivity on his first night, thank you) in peace and try to stop his chest from thudding like it's been since he'd arrived, but — he hasn't. Nobody's told him the rules, and if there's one thing Seth likes, it's guidelines. Acceptable parameters. Or something to gauge off of — someone else to make the mistake, ask the question first. He will if he has to, but if he doesn't have to —

— well. The time passes anyways. He fixes his hair in the mirror twice, combing the pomade through and fussing with it until it looks bad enough that he has to take a do-over – Blind Barber, for the record. Smells like amber and tonka. Delicious. He loves the notes of almond. Leaves a little earlier than he told himself he would to give Rohan a little wake up call; he yanks the blanket off the bed like he did when they were in college, and tosses a bar at his head, only wincing a little when it actually hits him. It's soothing and familiar enough that, for a moment, when he slips his earbuds in and starts down the hall, it feels a little more like a university dorm than it does a hospital wing.

The feeling carries him through the door and into a chair with an empty seat beside it. His bag lands in the seat next to him, which he hopes his colleagues take as a hint, because it's never stopped feeling embarrassing to be an adult saying sorry, saving this for someone, but he is, so. He pulls his notepad and pens from his bag, lays them out on the table in front of him, and dates the first page, ORIENTATION in big block letters at the top. He's one of the first, and only pulls his earbuds out and shuts his Discman off as more of the others start filing in. The room starts to swell with sound and movement — just shuffling and murmurs, but it's enough for the wind to fall from his sails completely when he raises his head and starts looking around.

Not a lot of familiar faces. Some too familiar, but impossible to place. Enough to give him the lightheaded, dizzy feeling that's plagued him — most of his life, but flares any time anyone at the Foundation has him doing anything but minding his own business. Ro's explained the difference between amnestics and dissociatives a million times, but the shit they dose them with just feels like ketamine with tendrils. And, God, are people talking already? It's all ringing in his ears and the RBF he knows he's making and wishes he wasn't – eye contact and smile, goddammit – he'd to stop his lip from twitching first. It takes him a second. He's used to it. Hopefully, the smile that follows – once he feels like a person again – isn't as alarming as it feels.

Rohan's filled the seat beside him at some point during his little episode, slung his bag on the back of his seat, and between the jab at his ribs and the water bottle he's retrieved for Seth, he's able to check back in, with enough time to start sketching down names and impressions — chicken scratch that can't be read over his shoulder and an inconsistent shorthand that'd be harder to decode than it's worth if they could, but the sounds of pen on paper is unmistakable. He watches for people's reactions to the fact of his note-taking. Sorry, folks. That's what he's here for. Studying you.

God. Do any of these people want to be here?

It's almost a comfort, the grimness emanating from so many corners of the room. The assurance he's not the only one with concerns, and the — freedom from being the biggest buzzkill of the pack. He might be sour on the assignment, but he can sit through an orientation like a professional, more than — the operatives among them especially — seem to be able to manage. A kick under the table seems to signal his turn and he refreshes his smile, fully human and mostly authentic this time – trying to be, at the very least.

"Hey everybody! I'm – Cowboy Greeting?" It's half a question when he says it, call sign still foreign and gaudy in his voice. "But Seth's fine, whatever you prefer. It's, uh – well. I'm looking forward to getting to work with all of you; most for the first time, I believe, though I know I have one or two past co-conspirators in the room."

The chuckle he chases that with is half-hearted, maybe more artificial than the overhead LEDs, and painfully social worker-coded. Jesus Christ. And his mouth is even drier, almost as dry as the room. A fucking mess. A debacle, no saving it. "I'm a junior researcher, currently under AEED.. I haven't been here long, but I've bounced between a few different departments and facilities as part of my work — kind of big-picture policy review? Are people doing what they're supposed to do, do we want them doing what they're supposed to be doing right now, looking at outcomes, that sort of thing. My background prior to starting with the Foundation was in social work and nonprofit policy, so."

Definitely the most long-winded description of paper-pushing legitimacy-bestowing bullshit he could give — and maybe that would've been a better approach for some of his new colleagues, but he's never been in the business of giving his bosses a reason to eliminate his position, and he's not about to start.

"Anyways. Again. Really excited to work with all of you. And if anyone's looking for a gym buddy for their time here, definitely hit me up. Know that's gonna be my first stop after we're done the official tour."

First stop. Definitely. Right after a vape break. He's going to need it.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Thirteen

My mother calls me during a late morning walk down by the beach. My ankles are submerged in the salty sea water and I’m blissfully enjoying my alone time when my phone buzzes. I know who it is before I even take it out of my pocket, because nobody calls anybody anymore, only parents. I lift it to my ear, already feeling drained by the pending conversation before she says a word. 

“Hello?”

“Hi Evie, I’m checking my emails here and I don’t see anything from your school yet.”

“School?” The word seems somehow abstract to me. It’s summer, I shouldn’t have to think about school, never mind its looming return date. There’s so much summer left to enjoy. 

“Yes, it’s the first of August, usually they’ll have sent a booklist by now, but I don’t see anything in my emails yet.”

“Maybe they’ll send it later.”

“Can you check if they’ve sent it to you?”

“I’m not near a computer right now.”

I hear her sigh. “Well did they give you a list at the end of May? Is it buried in your school bag somewhere?”

“I dunno, maybe, you can check.”

“For God’s sake.” She mutters, and I feel like rolling my eyes. This is the last thing I want to think about. 

“My bag is in my room somewhere. You can check under the desk maybe.”

“It’s like a tip in there.” She says, and I can hear her move around, opening my bedroom door and shuffling through my things. 

“Mam, do we have to talk about this now?”

“Evelyn, I wish you could clean up your clothes off the floor. The cut of this room. I hope you’re not leaving the Healys’ mobile like this.”

“I’m not.” I lie. “I’m cleaning up my clothes.” 

The beach around me is full of sunbathers and children, all merrilly enjoying their holidays, and I’m certain that none of them are thinking about school. It’s too early to be confronted with this, and I in fact haven’t even been watching TV. I’ve so far managed to avoid the cruelty of the back-to-school ads and live in blissful ignorance, pretending that the summer is endless and September does not loom ominously ahead of me.

In the distance there’s somebody running along the shore, and I absently wonder what kind of self-punishing idiot would do something like that in the heat of the day. In my ear my mother rifles through papers. “I can’t find any list.” She says. “Are you sure you got one?”

“I never said I got one.”

“Then why are you sending me on a wild goose chase?”

I sigh loudly. “You sent yourself on one. I don’t know what I need for school. I’m sure they’ll send the email with everything I’ll need soon.”

“Well, how’s your uniform?”

“There’s a hole in one of the elbows of my jumper.”

“And your skirt?”

“I think it’s fine.”

“Alright well I’m going into town later, I’m going to get a packet of white shirts and a new jumper. Anything else?”

I squeeze my eyes shut trying to think, but the prevailing thought is of how much I hate this conversation, it’s like mental exertion. “Black pens.” I manage. “And A4 notebooks.”

“What else?”

“Maybe some school socks.”

“Do you have a sharpener and eraser?”

“I think so.”

“You think?”

“Okay, will you check my pencil case and see? I can’t remember.” I hear her shuffling around some more and stare out at the sea, vacant little boats bobbing on the surface. The runner is getting closer to me, I can hear his feet distantly hitting the wet sand. 

“Your eraser looks worse for wear.”

“Because I was stabbing it with my pencil.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“Thanks.”

“What about a lunchbox?”

“Mam…”

“Evie! I’m trying to make sure that you’re organised this year, and not leaving everything until the last minute as usual.”

“I know, I just, I think I have everything I need. I’ll check my emails when I’m home and see if I have the booklist. I just want to think about summer, not school.”

I hear her sigh. “I know, I’m trying my best. Do you know when you’re coming home?”

“Not really, sometime at the end of the month.”

“Well your first day is the 27th, so if you could arrange to be back before then…”

“I will, Shane is driving back for his debs a few days before that anyway, so I suppose we’ll all be coming with him.”

“Oh, very good. Does he have a date to the debs?”

“I don’t know, probably though. I don’t ask him about that kind of stuff.” 

“Well do you think he’d ever ask you to go with him?” She’s insane. She’s been obsessed with this weird idea she has of me fancying Shane since I was at least twelve. I think I might have once, but only because he was the only boy I really knew. Now, I couldn’t imagine anything more mismatched, in fact, the idea of it sends a shiver down my spine.

“That’s not going to happen, I’m sure he’s going to go with someone who isn’t his little sister’s friend, mam.” I’m halfway through my sentence when I realise that I recognise the running man. He’s got dark brown hair, golden tanned skin and he’s wearing a green t-shirt that’s stuck to his body with sweat. It’s Jude. I immediately panic, believing nonsensically that him seeing me on the phone to my mother is the most embarrassing scenario imaginable and almost fling my Blackberry into the sea.

“Well, you never know.” She goes on. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Mhm, yeah absolutely” I start anxiously flailing and tucking my hair behind my ear, having no idea how good or bad I look. I’m horrified to see that Jude, even while sweaty and jogging towards me, is completely and utterly beautiful. 

“Do you think he’d ever ask you on a date?”

“Hm, what? Shane? No. Never.”

“Ah it’s a shame. And how’s Kelly getting on?”

“Okay.”

“And Claire?”

“Fine. They’re fighting.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have to go.” I hang up the phone just as Jude reaches me and he slows down, wiping sweat from his face with his upper arm and smiling a wide, white smile. “Hey Evie!”

“Oh hey! I didn’t know it was you!” I try my best to sound breezy and unbothered, even though I can’t stop conjuring up horrible images of how I must look in my head. I imagine myself at my absolute ugliest, nose pink and shiny, hair sticking up weirdly, simultaneously greasy and frizzy. I reach up to smooth it down, and it feels fine, but I can’t be sure. 

“Just out for a walk?”

“Yeah, just enjoying the sun.”

“Same here. Hot, isn’t it? Sorry, I’m so sweaty.” He gestures to himself and I take it as permission to look at his body. I feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to look at him.

“I suppose that’s what happens when you go running in a heatwave.”

“I know, there’s no escaping it though, it’s just been hot all the time lately, even at night it’s the same so if I don’t get out and run when it’s hot I’ll never do it.” He nods towards the sea. “At least I can swim after it, and the water is so nice.”

“Yeah it’s lovely.” I agree. “I’ve been getting in three times a day.”

He nods and looks down at his shoes. A bead of sweat drips from a strand of his saturated hair down onto the sand and he shuffles side to side in a manner that seems impatient. He wipes his upper lip with the back of his wrist. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t… I didn’t um, text you after that night we went to the graveyard.”

I’m surprised so I laugh a little. “Oh, no, well I didn’t expect you to, like I wasn’t waiting for a message or anything, it’s fine.”

“I know, I just said that I would when I was free and I didn’t, I’ve been kind of distracted the last couple of weeks.”

“It’s okay, I understand! I get like that sometimes too.”

“I just have a bad habit of saying I’ll do something and then not doing it, like, I’m a flake. I hope you weren’t waiting to hear from me.”

“No way. I didn’t notice.” I say, even though I did. “Don’t worry, I honestly do that all the time, things just get in the way.”

“Well, if you want we can hang out now? Are you busy today?”

“No, I’m free.”

“Okay well, do you feel like a swim?”

“Right now?”

“Why not, yeah.”

I glance down at my shorts and t-shirt. “Oh, well I don’t have my togs with me at the moment.”

“Me neither I was going to go in naked.”

“Wha- oh, um, really?” 

“No.” He grins and grabs the fabric of his shorts “I’ll just wear these, they kind of double up as running shorts. Look, you don’t have to if you don’t have anything to swim in, I just thought I’d ask. Maybe we can hang out later if you don’t have-”

“No!” I say with far too much frenzy. “Just give me a sec, I’ll run up to the mobile and grab my togs, just… just wait here.” I turn and I run away from him down the beach, my feet drumming hollowly on the sand as I go. It doesn’t take me long to get back to the caravan park, just up through the dunes, over a rough-hewn fence, between two overgrown hedges and onto a gravel path that leads all the way through a muddle of holiday homes towards ours. Then I dash up the deck steps and into my bedroom at the speed of light, the PVC doors slamming into the walls, hoping the whole time that Jude hasn’t given up waiting and gone swimming without me. I snatch the slightly damp bikini I wore this morning from the window where it was drying and wriggle quickly out of my clothes. Once my underwear has been ditched among the tangled mess of my sheets I get into my togs, tie the neoprene strings behind my neck and then within thirty seconds flat I am ready to complete another five-hundred metre dash.

Prev // Next

[myfckingnameisnuwanda]

The New Knife Game (Klance)

"There is an old tradition, a game we all can play You start by getting liquored up and sharpening your blade You take a shot of whiskey, you grab your knife and pray And spread apart your fingers, and this is what you say"

Keith turns around on a corner, half listening to Lance’s voice in the distance.

"'Oh, I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop, chop, chop If I miss the spaces in between, my fingers will come off And if I hit my fingers, the blood will soon come out But all the same, I play this game 'cause that's what it's all about'"

A rather creepy song, if you asked Keith. He wasn't sure, but he thought he had heard it somewhere before.

"No, you can't use a pencil, you cannot use a pen The only way is with a knife when danger is your friend And some may call it stupid, some may call it dumb But all the same, we play this game because it's so damn fun"

What even was that incessant tactactac sound?

"Oh, I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop, chop, chop If I miss the spaces in between, my fingers will come off And if I hit my fingers, the blood will soon come out But all the same, I play this game 'cause that's what it's all about"

There was Lance, in the sort-of-living-room they used at the Castle. He was doing something in the common table, but Keith couldn't see very well what it was...

"Oh, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, I'm picking up the speed And if I hit my fingers, then my hand will start to bleed"

Was that a fUCking knIFe?!

—

Keith screamed his lungs out, and now Lance has a scar all around the base of his ring finger.

[curiouscompanions]

Entry #2

Greeting you again, Reader.

So, just the five of us are left. Five people who are still alive, five individuals stuck in this cursed place, trapped between virtuality and reality, just the five of us… five is such an insignificant number, isn't it? Is it really worth trying to save us somehow? Wouldn't it be better to take care of hundreds of other people? Isn't it worth making sure no one else ever chooses the path we chose? You know, when I observed what was happening in the Office, I often tried to analyze out situation, understand in which specific stretch of eternity our experiment went completely off the road where it should have gone. Unfortunately, none of my conclusions turned out to be fully correct, so all I can do now is to re-observe what happened a long time ago, a fate that can't ever be changed. You're probably wondering what exactly I'm trying to tell in my vague musings, aren't you?

Well, I'll start from the very beginning. As I mentioned in Entry #1, personnel were hired, about five hundred people or so… more than enough to make the Office alive, don't you think? It was relevant until someone from the Upstairs decided to make radical changes to the Script. I think it was a Friday noon. At exactly one twenty p.m., they herded all the employees from the fourth floor into the Meeting Room, locked them in, and then launched a digital model for the first time. Well, or a beta version of the so-called game algorithms. In short, they hastily teleported a roughly rendered protagonist model and placed it in the middle of the Room C-2… well, or, as they called it a bit later, the Two Doors Room. Then the Announcer uttered a few initial test commands and… who would have thought? Nothing happened because the first Protagonist had absolutely no motivation to move as there was no hint of free will in his code to begin with. Therefore, the first test of the game algorithm was deemed a failure, the Announcer received his portion of criticism, and the rest of the staff was released from the Meeting Room, to continue their favourite simulations of office work. The only employee who didn't even try to simulate activity was Employee #432. And you know what? In reality, he was one of the few ones who actively participated in actual real work, despite having no idea what he was supposed to do. They called it a "small social experiment." Conditions were as simple as two cents; Employee #432's desk had no computer; in fact, there was nothing on it except a mechanical pencil sharpener… and there were no pencils on the entire fourth floor. The staff used pens only, in cases when it was absolutely necessary, as most documentation was done in digital formats. It seemed that Employee #432 had one little task; to sharpen pencils. The catch was that nobody had pencils, and even if someone did, nobody was rushing to give them to him because their instructions strictly stated; 'Do not give pencils to Employee #432, do not answer his questions, ignore his pleas.' If you were to ask what the point of this so-called "small social experiment" was, I would answer without hesitation; to drive Employee #432 to a nervous breakdown, then observe and record results of his subsequent irrational actions in a place where no one could die for good. Feel free to make further conclusions, dear Reader.

The second attempt at testing game algorithms went a bit more successfully. I have no idea what contributed to this—whether it was the requalification of the Announcer into a Narrator or the direct involvement of Employee #427, who so graciously offered himself as a replacement for that glitched protagonist model. So, thanks to his volunteering and the edited Script provided by the Narrator, we finally got the game algorithms to work just as intended from the very start of the project. In 90% of cases, the Protagonist ("Stanley") chose the right door, despite the Narrator repeatedly saying; "When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, Stanley took the door on his left." Good old free will… could a man believing that he fully possesses it even in a place like the Office act differently? Obviously not. The experiment called "The Parable" received the most funding, so it continued and it was doomed to success. At least, that's how it seemed back then.

Well, I'll start from the very beginning.

O̧h ͟m͡y gǫod̨ ̀lo͠rd, hundred̴s͘ o҉f́ ͘pe͞o͘pļe, s̕o m̢any̛ ma̶ǹy͞ ̕people… how͏ co̸uld thìs ́ha͢pp҉e̛n?̶ Why͟?͟ ̸F͠or w̸h͠at?͘ M̷o͞st҉ ͏of͜ ţhem didn't do ͞anyth͟ing wrong; m͟ost of̡ ̧them l̕ed̨ a͢ simple, o͘rdinar͠y l͟ife; mo̸st of͜ the̵m h͡ąd f̵am͏ilięs, ma̡ny͠ o̵f ͢them ha͘d ch́i͡ld̡ren.̢ M͝o͞st of ̕t͏hem͟ w͘il̨l̶ neve̴r ͏rétu̷rn͢ home;͞ ̨th́ey҉ ͟won҉'̷t se͢e͜ their c͝h̴i͞ļdren ̕gr͢ow ̶u̴p̧; they̶ w̨il͞l n͠e͏ver͠ know whàt̕ ҉happ̧e҉ǹs̷ ͘t̨o our w͟o̡rld n͝e͠xt̶;͝ th̴ey ͜w͘ill҉ ̷n̛ever͏ ͝ag̶aįn have picnics įn p̵arks; ̷they wi̷l͜l͞ neve̢r͡ ͝g͘r͘o҉w ̧old̸ an̴d͟ ͟nevér die.͘ T҉hey̶ ҉a̶re us a̢n̸d ̧we are ̵them—so d̴ìff̕erent,̷ ̀y҉e҉t̵ s̕o̵ ͝s͏i̸milar̛, ̀ind͞ivi͜dual pe̢rson҉al̨i͝tięs b̛uţ so co҉nn̕e̕cte̢d ̧i̧n ҉á şiǹgl͠e ̨l̴i͡ne of̡ ̕scri̶pt…͢ "̧A͢ll̸ of hi̴ś ̴c͝o-wo͡rkęr̕s҉ ҉were g̗ͤo̫̻̭͕͢n̬͖̟͇̦͇͆͑͒ͪͮ̋e̴.̨͇͙̼͖͇ͫ̆ͫ͑ͨ."͟

Dear Reader, I am no longer sure if it's necessary for me to keep the remnants of my observations in order… but I'll try. I'll try to remember something; I'll try to gather those few pieces of data that once made me myself. Just let me do this. Let me start from the very beginning.

[tma-entity-song-poll]

Battle of the Fear Bands B3R1: The Flesh

Body:

“literally about someone letting their body parts get stolen because they're 'tired' of 'this cumbersome and heavy body'”

The New Knife Game Song:

“Stab Stab Stab. It’s very slaughter adjacent but I think it’s more flesh cause there’s not really any murderous intent behind it, the knife just goes where it’s gonna go.”

Lyrics below the line!

Body: 

Take my eyes, take them aside Take my face, and desecrate My arms and legs, they get in the way And take my hands, they'll understand Take my heart, pull it apart And take my brain, or what remains And throw it all away 'Cause I've grown tired of this body A cumbersome and heavy body Take my lungs, take them and run Take my tongue, go have some fun And take the ears, take them and disappear Take my joints, take them for points Take my teeth, tear through my cheeks And take the nose, go and dispose Oh, would you go dispose, just go dispose 'Cause I've grown tired of this body A cumbersome and heavy body I've grown tired of this body Fall apart without me body Take my eyes, take them aside Take my face and desecrate Arms and legs get in the way Bodies break I've grown tired of this body A cumbersome and heavy body I've grown tired of this body Fall apart without me, body I've grown tired of this body Cumbersome and heavy Tired of this body Fall apart without me I'm tired of this body Cumbersome and heavy (take my eyes) I'm tired of this body (take them aside, take my face) Fall apart without me (and desecrate, arms and legs) I'm tired of this body (get in the way, take my lungs) I'm tired of this body (take them and run, take my tongue) I'm tired of this body (go have some fun, and take the ears) Cumbersome and heavy body (take them and disappear) Heavy body, heavy body Thanks so much, thanks again It's nice here, I mean we're elevated See out this big window, it's a nice day It's a bit of a bummer we're sort of passing through Montreal tonight, and I mean, we come here and we just wanna stay here And this particular event is so brief But on the one hand, y'know, we've never done anything like this before And we haven't played in Montreal in a while, so it's nice to, nice to reunite And it's nice to see ya, y'know where things are standing And this is a really good feeling in the room And uh, on the other hand, we're going to New York this evening So, that's always a good time, that uh, that big apple And uh, we're doing a residency in Brooklyn So, if you guys know people out there, I'm sure you do, some of you It's close by, right? And uh, every Monday night for the next three Mondays We're gonna be in Brooklyn, playing some music But it is not about them, nor is it about the past It is about this moment, so on that note We will Segway into a song A song about striving for a more simplistic path, I suppose It's off our new record Here we go

The New Knife Game Song:

There is an old tradition, a game we all can play You start by getting liquored up and sharpening your blade You take a shot of whiskey, you grab your knife and pray And spread apart your fingers, and this is what you say "Oh, I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop, chop, chop If I miss the spaces in between, my fingers will come off And if I hit my fingers, the blood will soon come out But all the same, I play this game 'cause that's what it's all about" No, you can't use a pencil, you cannot use a pen The only way is with a knife when danger is your friend And some may call it stupid, some may call it dumb But all the same, we play this game because it's so damn fun Oh, I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop, chop, chop If I miss the spaces in between, my fingers will come off And if I hit my fingers, the blood will soon come out But all the same, I play this game 'cause that's what it's all about Oh, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, I'm picking up the speed And if I hit my fingers, then my hand will start to bleed

[katrinawritesthings]

Jonghyun/Taemin ; the pencil drawer thing I guess ; PG

you know when you're so anxious and your brain is full of bees so you need anything to help distract you and then your nice boyfriend just starts monologuing about every little thing that he has in his room

"I do radio, remember?" It's only been a couple of hours. He smiles again, reassuring. "You don't have to worry about it." "Yeah?" Taemin says. He rubs his palms into his eyeballs, grunting in the back of his throat. "Why don't you try to stop me."

"And this is my fancy expensive pen. I use this one when I'm signing things or voting or whatever. This is another lead pencil from high school. Oh, and this one is my little Charmander pencil I got for my birthday one time. See, it has little Charmanders on it? It used to have a Charmander eraser topper too, but I pulled that off and now she's on my dresser with all of my other Pokemon. I've never actually sharpened this one because I didn't want to ruin any of the Charmanders so it's still flat on top. 

“This one is actually a paintbrush, but, like. Okay, so. I had one of those model dragon kits, right, and after I built her and painted her I threw away all of the stuff but I forgot to throw away the paintbrush. So then I was like, sure, I'll keep it. But then one day I got bored and I had a pencil sharpener and I was like, I wonder if I can sharpen the end of this. So I did. And now it's really pointy. It's like a tiny wooden stake. So if a vampire ever shows up I can shank it. But only if they're mean. If they're hot and nice then obviously I would let them fuck me. Another pink sharpie. I got this one because I thought my other pink sharpie was running out, but that one's not all the way gone yet, so–" 

"Jonghyun?" 

"Yes?" Jonghyun says pleasantly, not at all bothered about being interrupted. He smiles at Taemin on his bed, eyes closed, running his hands through his hair. He looks absolutely wretched; unwashed face, rumpled clothes, dark bags under his eyes, but at the same time he looks very much better than he was when he showed up this morning. He blearily opens his eyes, blinking through the bright light of the room until he can squint at Jonghyun. 

"Is your throat okay?" he asks. "Like, your voice?" he bites his lip, worrying the several dark blood red spots already on it. 

"What?" Jonghyun asks. "Yeah, of course," he says, tapping it gently with his sharpie. "I do radio, remember?" It's only been a couple of hours. He smiles again, reassuring. "You don't have to worry about it."

"Yeah?" Taemin says. He rubs his palms into his eyeballs, grunting in the back of his throat. "Why don't you try to stop me."

He's grinning as he says it, a joke about his own anxiety, but it's the first time that he's smiled since he got here, so Jonghyun doesn't mind the cheekiness in it. Instead, he just reaches and pinches Taemin's cheek. Predictably, Taemin puffs his cheek out to get his fingers away, grumbling as he rubs it with the back of his hand. 

 After, he sighs, deflating into the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. Jonghyun pats his arm gently. He doesn't bother asking how he's feeling; obviously, he's still not doing super great. But he hasn't asked Jonghyun to keep talking again, so he's doing better enough that he doesn't need constant distraction. Jonghyun is kind of relieved; he'd already gone through all of his plushies, toys, scented candles, and empty notebooks. He was really grasping when he started going through his desk drawers and monologuing about everything in them. 

"I'll go make you some tea," Taemin says. He pushes himself into a sitting position, and then, with a lot of grunts and wiggles, gets himself off of the bed. His hands still shake a little bit as he pushes his hair out of his face. Since he knows that Taemin will insist no matter what, Jonghyun pulls his lips up into his friendliest smile and nods thankfully. 

He also touches Taemin's booty as he walks by. For his own health. Then he listens to Taemin walk down the hallway, waiting patiently for him to turn around and come back, and–

"Can you come with me?" Taemin asks, peeking around the doorframe.

"Yeah," Jonghyun agrees. Yeah he can. He stands up and follows Taemin into his kitchen, and then around his kitchen while he tries to make tea. Jonghyun drops kisses on his cheeks, touches his butt, noses smiles into his neck. Just to fluster him, just a little bit. When Taemin fills up a mug with water, Jonghyun does the same with a second one. "For you, too," he smiles.

He notices Taemin's fingers tapping restlessly on the counter as they watch the mugs rotate in the microwave, so he gets Taemin by the waist and pushes him gently towards the fridge. Reaching around him to point, he says, "I got these four magnets from my radio station. They give me one every year; like an employee thing. And this one I stole from my shitty roommate before I moved because he didn't deserve it. I bought this cute little ween from a horny artist online...." And he keeps going until the microwave dings at them. 

Back in his room, both of them on his bed this time, Taemin dunks his tea bag up and down and Jonghyun watches his weird little fingers doing it. He's about to say something when Taemin takes a big breath and says something first. 

"Thanks," he says. "Jonghyun." He's quiet for a moment, and then, again before Jonghyun can reply, says, "do you want to play a video game with me? Whatever you want. I just need to." He makes a vague grippy motion with his hand, then flattens it out and chops it down onto his thigh for emphasis. "Do something that isn't nothing. Constantly."

Understandable. Jonghyun doesn't have anxiety like he does, but Taemin has explained how it works to him before so he gets it. It makes sense that Taemin can't stand his own brain for 2 minutes when it's actively been in anxiety attack mode since last night. 

"Sure," he says. He leans over Taemin to put his tea on his desk, and then leans even further over his lap to open the drawer underneath his pencil drawer. "When I was little and didn't understand the concept of being guilty about spending money, I got two DSes and both versions of every Pokemon game," he says, fumbling around until he grabs what he needs. He straightens up, smiling, with both consoles and his case of games. "We can play together and every time there's a rival battle we can battle each other, too." 

"Oh, sweet," Taemin says. "Can we play black and white? Best generation." When he takes a console, his hands still shake, but only a little bit. 

"Uh, if you're talking about the best generation, then I think you're pronouncing gold and silver wrong?" Jonghyun says pointedly. He shoots Taemin a challenging smile even as he opens up his game case and digs around for the right cartridges.

 "Oh, fuck you, don't even," Taemin says back, but when he shoves Jonghyun's shoulder, he's laughing, so Jonghyun takes it as a win.