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AROUNDERHOUSE Joint

Hi. Long time no talk.

This is really stupid. I don't know why. I visit your grave every few weeks. I used to go every week, but then things happened, you know how it is. It's been a long year. I'm sorry. But I visit you every few weeks and I never find it hard to talk then.

Dr. Manola said I should do something like this, that it helps a lot of people whose partners have died. Write a letter or a journal or something, like I was talking to you. I told her that you never remembered to get the mail or use the agendas I bought you, so she asked "Well, did he check his email?" And here I am.

I miss you. I suppose that's worth getting out of the way first. Which is kind of what this whole exercise is meant to solve, I guess. To accept that I miss you but that you're not coming back but that you'll always be a part of me or something equally Hallmark-ish.

But both of us know how shit I am at talking about that, so let's not. I suppose I'll tell you about my month. It's been a good month, I guess. The Zoloft works better than the Lexapro, so I don't feel like throwing up every time the lights are too bright. Improvement. Work's been okay.

I walk Dodger now. For the first couple of weeks I didn't, but he'd still hop off the couch at 6:00 on the dot, grab his leash in his mouth, and wait by the door. Eventually I got tired of looking at him sitting there with his literal puppy-dog eyes. Least he isn't shitting on the rug anymore.

Well, that's me. How've you been?

Still dead? Yeah, figured.

This is stupid

Hi. Sorry about that little tantrum. I talked to Dr. Manola about it and she said that it'd be hard but it's worth doing. I said she wouldn't know and she told me her husband had died of pancreatic cancer 15 years ago and she still wrote to him every year on their anniversary, so boy do I feel like a jackass. This is my penance, I guess. I'm going to take it seriously.

So, yeah. I don't know. This is still awkward. Which is probably a dumbass thing to say considering I'm writing to a man who I'm married to, and considering I'm not even writing to you, I'm writing to myself.

Was. I keep catching myself doing that and having to correct myself. Was married to. I need to get out of the habit. Manola says it's about me wanting to move on but honestly it's just that people then ask where my wife is and then I have to say "actually my husband" and then they say "oh jeez, i'm sorry, my bad. where's your husband?" and then I have to say "actually he passed away last year" and then they shut up. There is no standard response to someone telling you their spouse is dead. I mean, when Manola told me her husband died I froze up and blurted out "same". Dumbass. But she laughed, and I laughed, and I feel like your fucked-up sense of humor meant you'd have laughed, too.

I really don't know what I'm going to do without you, man. That whole thing about the people asking me where my husband is, that's mostly in my head. Between the two of us, most of "our" friends were really your friends. I mean, they definitely made the effort. They invited me out for drinks and shit, I was the sadsack that always said no until they stopped asking. Can't blame them for that. I don't really go out anymore.

They should make a "so your spouse died" starter pack, I think. Everyone thinks about the big things. Funerals, grief counseling, the house. But what's funny is that you're soprimed for most of that stuff that it doesn't really wreck you. Or me, anyway. The little things are what fuck me up. Like, a half-watched episode from season 4 of Dexter has been in our Netflix continue watching for a year. I said we should stay up and finish it, but you had work the next morning, and we went to bed. And then the next day you weren't there anymore.

That's the shit they should tell you. Your stuff is still in the closet, though Manola tells me I should get rid of it. I donated most of your physics textbooks to the library. Sorry. But I figured they were better off with people who could make heads or tails of them. Pretty much the only thing in them that I can understand is your name on the inside cover.

Speaking of books, work has been good. We got a grant that Vanessa was really gunning for. Lot of money, lot of books, maybe expand the rare books section a little. We also hired a new girl at my desk, Kim. She's nice, big reader. We've been chatting about American occultist literature. Shit, I thoughtI was into weird spooky stuff. This kid's on another level.

Man.

I think the part of this that makes me mad is that I've had a near-perfect go of all this. Like, in terms of how difficult spousal death can be, I'm… very low on the scale. Your family's been supportive, to the best of their abilities; they're also dealing with losing a son. Mine… well, we knew that was a lost cause. I'm healthy, I'm getting professional help, I have a regular job.

And I still feel like garbage without you.

I think this is enough introspection for one night. I'm gonna try to make this a habit. Every couple of weeks, maybe. I don't know yet. Goodnight, Morg. I love you, and I miss you.

Dodger had a little scare this week, got nipped at by another dog at the park. I took him to the vet. Usually you do it, so predictably, I had to go through the song and dance of them asking where you were and then the inescapable cavalcade of "oh my god"s and "I'm so sorry"s and other assorted condolences.

Except it hurt just a little bit less this time around. Not a lot less, mind. Just, you know. A bit. Enough to notice. Maybe it means I'm getting better, or maybe it means I'm getting numb, or maybe it means I need to get Manola to adjust my dosage. Jury's out.

And Dodger's fine, by the way. Just thought you'd want to know. I miss you and I love you.

At approximately this time, several of Llewellyn's research supervisors submitted their evaluations — they cited that the quality of his work had steadily degraded over the preceding months, and expressed concern regarding his mental state. Per standard protocol, Supervisor Tet offered Jr. Rsrchr. Llewellyn an appointment with the on-site counselor, but the offer was refused.

Happy anniversary! lmao

I'm a little drunk. Just a lil. went by the cemetary earlier with flowers. I had a wholee thing planned out in my head but that's a funny thing about cemetaries. Once you're actually there, standing in front of the grave, its hard to ignore the fact that youre basically just talking to a rock. All the love in the world can't make you stop feeling awkward or dorky about talking to a rock that doesnt talk back. Or maybe that's just me.

Then again I guess I'm doign the same thing here. I dunno!Maybe it's because writing it out is easier than saying it aloud or maybe because seeing the little wheel spin as it says "sending" makes it feel like its going somewhere. But writing these makes me feel like I'm. idk. closer to you. That I can feel you. Don't know whether that's good for me or not. Go figure.

It's funny I think that between the two of us I'm the one that doesn't believe in an afterlife. You're a physics researcher, I'm a lit grad, but you always said there'd be something after all this. never bought it, myself.

But it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. no, sir. I think I'm getting a little more open to the idea, that there are things out there we don't understand.kim showed me this grimoire she said belonged to her great-grandmother. This sect of Korean self-proclaimed mages, something about snakes. Been reading a lot of stuff in that vein, from the rare books section of the Library.

currently i'm on a hot date with this bottle of bourbon Kim gave me for my birthday, so i'm gonna finish that up and then go regret this in the morning. miss you, love you

Llewellyn's work continued to degrade in efficacy and quality. On December 27th, 2015, a meeting was scheduled between him and Supervisor Tet, where he was duly informed that as per the terms of his employment agreement, three consecutive quarters of negative evaluations would result in his removal from the program and placement into the Humanoid Containment Wing of Site-17.

Llewellyn refused an offer of amnestic therapy, apologized for the subpar work, and affirmed that it would not happen again.

Two years. Time flies, huh?

I think there's an acceptable time period for grieving, and that I have dramatically stumblefucked right past it. But I'm getting better. Your folks had me over for Christmas. That was really decent of them. Looked at your baby photos. You were an ugly fuckin' baby. Told stories. I didn't know you went to Space Camp, you bastard. I thought it wise not to relay the time we shared a blunt in your lab after hours, one of your students came in, and you doused it in a beaker of something and it started bubbling and I nearly died laughing.

Your brother came by, too. I know you would've liked to see that. We didn't really talk about the sudden change in demeanor, obviously, but he hugged me, which indicates growth, if nothing else. In a weird, roundabout way, I think you helped him grow more after you were gone than you ever did when you were still here.

Anyway. Things have been good, these past few months. Really good. Kim - I guess I'd have to call her my best friend now, if by method of elimination. Ha-ha. But I invited her over. I hope you don't mind. I really, really hope you don't mind. But while she was over, she spotted something. One of your books, the ones I hadn't sold. The hide-covered one you kept in your bottom bookshelf. I guess I always assumed it was a research notebook or something, honestly, but she cracked it open like she recognized it. And then put it away real quietly, wouldn't really explain what the deal was. She didn't stay long after that.

Hope you've been good, too. Are you getting in fights up there? Hope so. Love you and I miss you.

At this point, Llewellyn's work had returned to average levels of quality in an upward trend, and once again received positive evaluations from his supervisors, who praised his focus on the projects. The disciplinary matter against him was considered closed.

Jesus you would not believe the day I've had.

Shit. I don't even know if I can be sending you this but who the fuck else am I gonna tell, right? Showed up to work today and Kim said she had to show me something. I was a little weirded out but whatever, okay, followed her to the Kayler Wing. We go down a couple hallways around the back, and I'm getting weirded out, and then she disappears through a door I've never seen before, and I follow.

I don't even know how to describe it, man. It was a library, but like, it was aLibrary. I have no fucking idea where or how or what. Just, huge vaulted ceilings and shelves andwhat the fuck. I thought she fucking slipped me something and started freaking out and then she was next to me and calming me down. And then I saw the fuckingthings walking around.

My brain's way too full of thoughts. I still think she might've slipped me something. But I swear to God, I saw these… fuckingbug things walking around and these Dementor looking fucks and jesus christ. But I wasn't scared, was the thing, not after the initial shock wore off. It was… familiar. It was like every library I've ever been in. We walked around for, it must've been hours. I have no idea how big it was. She said she wasn't terribly sure what it was either, but her family had been accessing it for generations.

I looked at the books as we went by, because it was the only way to avoid staring at the freaky other things perusing the shelves, which I was firmly told was impolite. Books on Italian history, quantum physics, magical superstructures, dead societies, preparation of something calledKalikor, all on the same shelf.

I have no idea what I saw today. But I wish you could've been there with me.

The I/Os monitoring Llewellyn's communications flagged this as a likely reference toNx-001, and dispatched Fireteam GIGAS from MTF Sigma-3 ("Bibliographers") to contain Andrew Llewellyn and identify the Way. A lab containment breach drill (the source of which could not be identified) delayed the deployment of Fireteam GIGAS by several hours, and they touched down in Pasadena, California at 17:46 local time.

An investigation of the Llewellyn apartment indicated that it had been abandoned several hours prior, with several necessities taken and Andrew Llewellyn nowhere to be found. His associate, identified as Kim Tae-Bok, could also not be located.

Despite investigation, no conclusive means were found through which Jr. Rsrchr. Llewellyn might have warned his husband or Kim Tae-Bok in advance of the Foundation raid.

Hi. I'm not sure if I'm gonna be able to write to you again, though I guess I could just write into a journal or something. No shortage of paper around here. Still, it's not the same.

We're in the Library. The Other Library, I mean. I don't know what happened. Kim was in my apartment, shaking me awake, telling me we had to go, that they were coming. I asked who, told her to calm down, but she just pulled me out and downstairs. I still had — and have — no idea what was going on, but she started my car and floored it to the Library. Popped a window and made our way to where the door was. I wasn't gonna follow her. Then I heard the jackboots coming up the stairs and the helicopter and went in.

We've been in the Library for a day or so now? She says that they can't get us here. Hasn't explained much, but says that everything, food, clothes, is provided here.

I have no fucking idea what I've fallen into, Morg. I'm scared.

Somehow my phone is still working, but signal is spotty and I have a sneaking suspicion I'm not gonna find a charger here. I'll write when I can, but in the meantime, I think it's about time for me to sign off for a little while. I love you, and I miss you.

After this event, Llewellyn's research supervisors noted that he seemed emotionless and withdrawn, though completing his work satisfactorily. This demeanor faded after several weeks.

No SCP-7288 associated e-mails were received by Llewellyn again for a period of four years, 6 months, and 15 days.

Hi. Long time no talk.

I've had a lot of time to think about how I was gonna write this, but now that I actually have the opportunity to do it, none of them really seem like good ideas.

Well, to start us off: It's been a long 7 years.

When I last sent you something, it was my first time inside the Library. I didn't even know what it wascalled. And now I'm a Wanderer! Funny how things work out.

The past few years have been… interesting. The first few months were rough. On the run from the Foundation, taking safe harbour in the Library, figuring out what the hell to do from there. But we got by. Made connections — friends in high and low places, throughout the occult world. Librarians, Wanderers, neither, in-between. I've stood on the skyscrapers of Eurtec, I've explored the alleyways of Three Portlands. Seen Esterberg's cobbled streets, the threads of Sloth's Pit, even took a triapse to Undervegas. I've hit the four corners of the anomalous world and gotten in my fair share of trouble along the way.

Kim hasn't been a bad traveling companion at all. But I just wish I could've seen it all with you.

And part of me knows that's impossible. That you can't bring people back from the dead, not in any way that matters. As trite as it is, that you're still with me as long as I remember you.

But the problem is theother part of me. The part that has been chewing on the butt of a cigar for years, thinking about how this all just doesn't quite line up.

The first tip, to me, was the fact that you had a magic grimoire from the fucking Wanderer's Library in your closet and never thought to mention it. I didn't realize it then, but now? It's unmistakable. Not even as a "look at this freaky book," you just… never mentioned it. You were hiding it. Which, I forgive you, I've hid my fair share of shit from you too. But why would you do that unless you knew what it was?

Okay, that told me you were, on some level, involved with all this magical shit. That's a shock, but what was more shocking was the fact that people knew you. Everywhere I went, the name Morgan Llewellyn kept popping up. Someone who knew your parents, which explains why you avoided your family like the plague. Someone who was a friend of yours when you went to ICSUT (can't believe you're not even a real Beaver, you bastard!). Someone who remembered working on a spell proof with you, and called you one of the last bright magicians, and assured me that your prodigious powers would have kicked in had you suddenly been hit by a 2-ton hunk of metal going 60.

Everywhere I went, there you were. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

The last piece in the puzzle, though, was when I took your grimoire back to the Library. The Librarians always appreciate lost material being returned, appreciative enough to give me a little tidbit of information: the Library doesn't retain debts from beyond the grave.

Then the rest of the stuff fell into place. The fact that the body was conveniently disfigured beyond recognition, the fact that nearly nobody, nobody at all, could even remember you being at work that day, much less getting in an accident driving home.

You're still alive, you dumb handsome bastard.

And for once in my life, I'm praying that someone has you. Because the alternative is that you left by yourself, which I don't know if I can handle, or that you're really dead. Which Ithought I could handle but turns out, I never really believed it myself.

I'll be waiting, Morg. You know the place. I love you, and I miss you so, so much.