#Guess who had a migraine while writing this

[taranida]

Alan Thomas "Scratch" Wake-Za(Sei)ne or 665-???-667 or the Alan headcount; part 2

The second part is finally here. It took most of my time: the Alans I’ve discussed in the first part are, aside from Awan, I guess, pretty straight forward, no big revelations, not much conflicting facts. Now we step into the territory of the Alans, who spark arguments and never-ending questions of their true nature.

This part, as was the first, will be split in sections for each Alan we have, list of the things we know that I deemed relevant (and didn’t forget to mention in this jumbled mess) for the theory; and a bit of dissecting of some of the points.

If you didn’t read the first part it is strongly advised, since once upon a time it was one theory and parts are heavily intertwined. There we took a look at Alan from the first game, Alans from the DLCs, Imaginary Barry, Alan from AWAN, and Noir-Casey. Now we will take a look at more controversial Alans. I know some of them will raise a lot of questions, but bear with me.

A fair warning, it is a lengthy read, maybe take some snacks and drinks and hop in for a ride. And before we begin, allow me to introduce alternative covers for this mess; to set the mood, yaknow:

I'm not sorry.

As promised, I will put the AW1 Alan here as well, as he’s our best baseline for the character. There are few new points, but for those who will read parts back to back, I put them at the very start of the list.

Alan Wake before and during 2010.

I’ll call him just Alan; so, what do we know about him:

Alan considers Alice to be his muse.

Alan has a Number One Fan—Rose Marigold.

Alan was born in 1977… or 1978-1979, the guide for AW states he was 31 in 2010, the memorial in AWII reads 1977-2010; go figure.

Alan was born in New York or moved there at a very young age, since he and Barry, who grew up in New York, were childhood friends.

Alan was born with a condition that made him sensitive to light to the point of being blinded by it and prone to migraines.

Alan never knew his father and was raised by his mother, Linda Wake, who had mental issues and spent a lot of time in various institutions while Alan was growing up. Alan was deeply affected by the absence of his father or a father-figure in his life.

Alan had crippling nightmares as a child before his mother gave him the Clicker.

Alan’s first published story was “Errand Boy,” which centred around a broken and twisted father-son relationship, horror, and a lighthouse occupied by the creatures that might’ve been an inspiration for the Taken.

Alan’s first serious writing gig was being a semi-regular writer on the Night Springs show. He hated it, by the way, felt that it was trash, and he was not a real writer. But he got over it; Night Springs ended up being a huge part of his personality.

Alan might’ve taken a job as a night watchman, carrying a gun and torch, in hopes of getting inspiration for his stories; as he states in one of the manuscripts, his first passion was crime. It was a boring gig, but at least he ran into Alice.

Alan is madly in love with Alice and cannot live without her.

Alan also knew that Alice actually can live without him and was always afraid that she will leave him, not allowing himself to truly believe that she loves him.

Alan’s first novel was about Alex Casey; the series grew and brought him success that he didn’t handle well. Parties, fights, substance abuse—all this rock-star lifestyle BS.

Alan considered only two people being close to him: Barry and Alice. And they didn’t get along well, although both care about him and genuinely love him, as he did in return. We have no information about what happened to his mother and what relationship he had with her.

Alan hit a writer’s block after the last Casey novel and his state started to deteriorate. He was moody, angry, and quick to lash out; the rock-star BS intensified. This drove his marriage to a breaking point.

Alan’s involvement in the vacation is unknown; he did say in one of the flashbacks that he wants a vacation for him and Alice, but Alice surely was the one to arrange everything and choose Bright Falls.

Alan forgot more dreams about the Dark Presence than Clay Steward remembers.

Alan had nightmares on a regular basis at the start of the first game; if it’s connected with giving the Clicker to Alice is unknown.

Alan had anger issues.

Alan was a sceptic.

Alan wrote everything that happened in 2010, taking inspiration from Tom Zane’s books, he found in the shoebox in the cabin, and advice from his non-human editor Barbara Jagger. His scepticism didn’t stop him from writing supernatural events and Lovecraftian beings.

Alan, even at the time of the first game, had very strict rules about how exactly he should write to make fiction come true. He presents it as some sort of hunches or a writer’s wisdom.

Alan can manipulate time.

Alan ate the Dark Presence and enslaved the Bright Presence.

Alright, maybe the last fact was a bit too exaggerated, but it’s not without truth. Alan did indeed enslave the Bright Presence (and, frankly, everyone who has been mentioned in the manuscripts, plus some others, whose manuscripts Alan didn’t find), but the deal with the Dark Presence is a bit more nuanced. His last words, before he sat down to write “the ending to the story,” effectively rewriting the whole loop we just witnessed in the game, were about balance. Knowing what we know now, Alan might’ve consumed the Dark Presence’s powers whilst banishing her, effectively becoming too large of a presence himself to leave the Dark Place, or he took her place because, as he said, the scales have to balance, everything has a price; the price of killing the Dark Presence and freeing Alice from the Dark Place is staying in the Dark Place (as he himself believes in AWII) with complimentary Scratch in your head. Both of those possibilities have supporting evidence, and it doesn’t really matter which one of them you choose to believe; they lead to the same outcome.

Being consistent af, I will address the third fact(-ish?): as far as I know, no extra material was deemed non-canon, therefore the guide for AW is still a source one can use. Yes, it has some conflicts with the games, but the games have some conflicts with the games, and given the loops, memory issues, and the nature of this story, that has no need for retcons (‘tis just another loop, mate!), I’d say Alan just doesn’t remember his own birthdate and changes it on a whim. Or there might be another reason, drawn from other sources, that have nothing to do with our story.

Honestly, I’m not sure other facts need any clarification; people who will read this surely know a thing or two about Alan Wake. Moving on.

Now to the part proper. As it goes in this blog, we will start with Thomas Zane (honestly, I never have thought that in my RCU theory blog I will spend so much time talking about—of all people—Tom Zane)—the real one, not a Finnish knock-off, and his Bright Presence version. I’ve written extensively about him, so I will try to be as brief as possible. So let’s make a step back into AW1.

Thomas Zane

What do we know from several in-universe sources about Tom and his, let’s say, legacy, Meaning the Bright Presence using Tom’s identity, of course. I don’t see a point in splitting the two, it will be explained later.

Tom was a very famous poet. If we are to believe Alan’s taste—a good one.

Tom wrote—at some point in his life—about Lovecraftian horrors lurking beneath Cauldron Lake.

Tom might or might not be a local of Bright Falls, nowhere it is stated if he moved there or was born there, we simply have no information about this.

Tom was a passionate diver.

Tom lived in the cabin on Diver’s Isle, which he owned; we have no idea for how long he was occupying the place, but he was an important part of the Bright Falls community, so much so, the Isle was called after his diving hobby. So, probably, he was occupying the isle for a long enough time.

Tom might or might not been in contact with the Old Gods of Asgard; it is never stated that they were acquaintances, but the boys knew about Tom’s existence at the very least, calling him “the other writer”. Also, in the diner the boys seem to be happy to see “Tom”.

Tom dated a local girl Barbara Jagger; they were not married, as I saw people believing this was the case, but it was not so. Tom considered Barbie a piece of the puzzle, that brought everything in his life together. He was never a very happy man before he met her, she changed that with ease, being young, vibrant and full of life. He fell for her fast and she became his muse.

Tom had a Number One Fan—Cynthia Weaver.

Tom was scared of how his writing had power beyond that of a regular art, even if a very good one, and if not for his assistant, he would’ve given up. This assistant was Emil Hartman.

Tom wrote Barbie back after she tragically drowned in July 1970. She came back with a complimentary Dark Presence inside.

Tom tried to kill the Dark Presence that took over Barbie by cutting its (filled with darkness) heart out first and then diving into Cauldron Lake with it.

Tom tried to shif+del the Dark Presence and all the horrors he unleashed by writing himself, Barbie, his works out of existence.

Tom left a shoebox with his books in Bird Leg Cabin, containing a poetry of his, probably published at some point.

Tom wrote the Last Poem, his masterpiece; after the Dark and Bright Presences claimed his and Barbie’s bodies, he recited it as he was diving deeper into Cauldron Lake, creating a baby universe, where he and Barbie could live happily ever after.

Tom was memorialised at Cauldron Lake Lodge by Emil Hartman.

Tom left a loophole—shoeboxes, knowing that there might come a time when they will be needed.

Tom, after the ordeal with the Dark Presence and diving into Cauldron Lake, saved Cynthia with his light, tasked her with guarding a shoebox of his, and consequentially ruined her life, making her the town’s crazy lady. He enforced all this by keeping contact with her: talking to her via television, from beyond, from below.

Tom might’ve written a manuscript, describing how Alan came into possession of the Clicker in his childhood and how he used it in 2010.

Tom entered Alan’s dream to teach him about the danger of the dark.

Tom saved Alan from the Dark Presence with his light, freeing Alan from the cabin.

Tom was the one to scatter the manuscript pages around. Or, how he said, “deliver them in the right place at the right time,” but as a person who did collect all the manuscripts, I would beg to differ.

Tom is elevated enough to have the knowledge of the Dark Place’s concept of geography, let’s say.

Tom is elevated enough to influence the Dark Place.

Tom is elevated enough to know and use means of communication within the Dark Place without meeting face to face.

Tom never explicitly stated that he wants to escape the Dark Place, but he did search for the way out.

Tom knows about means of communicating with the real world from the Dark Place.

Tom helped Alans from the DLC for the first game to reunite.

Tom’s number is 667.

This is the list of the things the first game, This House of Dreams, and The Alan Wakes Files (together with the guide for AW1) want us to believe. I’ve scrutinised most of them already (literally just look at my first theories), so I won’t go into details. Let’s just say, most of it doesn’t add up. Tom wrote himself, his works, and achievements out of existence, but couldn’t write out Cynthia’s articles? They surely weren’t in a shoebox, Barry was in the archives, I highly doubt that whomever works there keeps old newspapers in shoeboxes for forty years, or that Barry wouldn’t take an opportunity to throw a jab at the “yokels” if that was the case. Tom wanted to make people forget him as if he never existed, but people didn’t. An argument might be made, that Hartman, Cynthia and Andersons are an exception, due to their tight connection to the powers of Cauldron Lake, yet Hartman notes in his diaries in Control, that regular townsfolk had encountered Tom after the eruption that destroyed Diver’s Isle. And he was memorialised! Even forty years after his dive, the memorial (absolutely not in a shoebox) still clearly reads his name, occupation and connection to Hartman for anyone to see. So, Tom kinda-sorta wrote himself out of existence, but kinda-sorta didn’t.

It is alluded that Tom knew that the horrors, unleashed onto our world, were not as much of a result of him writing Barbie back, but a result of him just writing. He even wanted to stop, only for Hartman to convince him to continue. Tom only bothered to do something decisive because he wanted to save his lover. There is a connection here.

In This House of Dreams, we have the line “he’d tried everything he could think of to banish it from her, but everything had failed” about Tom’s efforts to bring the real Barbie back, yet his only known action was… cutting her heart out? I mean, okay, maybe at that point he was more concerned with not allowing the Dark Presence to taint Barbie’s body, accepting that his beloved muse is dead, then again, he willingly gave up that body in the Last Dive. We can write it off as actions of a desperate man, who couldn’t think clearly and consistency wasn’t on the table, but still, we know of no other attempts to free Barbie from the Dark Presence. It went from, as Cynthia pointed out, not understanding that something is wrong, to cutting the heart out and writing them both out of existence. Sounds awfully like a first messy attempt at saving the muse.

The usefulness of writing himself out of existence is a whole other can of worms. Why did Tom leave a shoebox with his books in the cabin? It’s a small detail, that can be glanced over; after all, he left many of his possessions in the cabin, not planning to ever return. Yet the books, unlike everything else, that, we know was preserved just fine (who the hell brought the damn rocking horsie in the cabin ffs?), were placed in a shoebox. If Tom didn’t have a habit of arranging things in shoeboxes, he did it deliberately. Why then we have another shoebox under Cynthia’s care? Let’s quickly deal with the habit of placing things in shoeboxes: there is not even one evidence he was wont to do so. Tom didn’t want the isle to go down then? He wanted, but he wanted to save the books on the bottom of the (bottomless) lake and it’s a pride thing? It doesn’t make any sense as is; but if we consider the cabin as a place of power, the picture starts to become clearer. Tom wanted those books to be found, he placed them in a shoebox for a reason. And I don’t believe he was the cause of the eruption; I would bet it was caused by the Dark and Bright Presences battling after the Last Dive, or just a disaster, that had nothing to do with anything supernatural. But a more plausible explanation: the cabin was never drowned before Alan got into DP!Barbara’s trap. And from the options of how exactly the isle went down, I would bet on the version with the Presences battling. It makes more sense, since in the mines Alan hears Alice’s voice and finds Cynthia’s sign, pointing that the way leads to Cauldron Lake; it’s probably an active threshold, that was opened in 1970 and caused the eruption. Dates add up as well, Barbara drowned on 10th of July, the eruption happened on 18th of July. This eruption, btw, left Bright Falls with no power for approximately 24 hours, which smoothly leads up to the next point.

Cynthia claimed that she was saved by Tom’s light, but it is highly questionable. I would suggest, that this event happened after the end of Thomas Zane in our world and his replacement by the Bright Presence, possessing the body of Tom. In those 24 hours, when the town had no power, the Dark Presence could do whatever it wanted during nights, and “Tom,” the Bright Presence, could be there to save people with light. Or a person; because Cynthia, as he said, was needed. The Bright Presence is also the most likely candidate to be seen by the townsfolk, who recognised him as Tom Zane.

Since Cynthia’s involvement was mentioned, I will briefly talk about her. The woman’s life was completely destroyed, and not by the Dark Presence’s touch; by Tom (or, more accurately, the Bright Presence, but I will refer to the entity, that screwed Cynthia’s life here as “Tom” as she believes it was him) and his scheming; she was reduced from a normal person with a good job and maybe a hopeless crush (which is not a big deal, really, many people experience it) to a loony, obsessed with light, lamp, and guarding the shoebox with a piece of paper: changing the lightbulbs in the Well-Lit Room on a very tight schedule. Tom couldn’t give two shits about her, even though she was his and Barbie’s friend. He even went as far as to keep her leash as short as possible by contacting her via some crazy things. Another connection emerges. (I really wish one day I could write about Cynthia and the tragedy of her life; her story is the saddest in the whole AW.) There is one more thing to point out about Cynthia: she did her job splendidly—changed the lightbulbs, kept the Well-Lit Room safe, kept the town safe from darkness (to the best of her abilities, being crazy lady and all), yet she never glanced into the page. How much easier it would be for her to just read the message and pass it on at the right time? Instead, she was breaking her back, tending to Well-Lit Room and guarding the page. Another parallel.

Let’s address the Buck-Toothed Charlie in the room. Tom, presumably, wrote a page about Alan and the Clicker. I will leave the full text below, so we are on the same manuscript here:

Alan, seven years old, would fight sleep to the bitter end. When he did sleep, he soon woke up, screaming, the nightmares fresh in his mind. One evening, his mother, sitting by his bed, offered him an old light switch. She called it the “Clicker” and flicking the switch would turn on a magical light that would drive the beast away. To imbue the talisman with all possible power, she added that it had been given to her by Alan’s father. Alan never knew him, and anything of his took on mythical proportions in his mind. With the Clicker firmly in his hand, Alan finally slept like a baby. Now, almost thirty years later, Alan thought of this, as he stood on the rim of Cauldron Lake, the Clicker in his hand. He took a deep breath and jumped.

In one of the manuscripts we learn that Tom knew, that despite all his efforts, the Dark Presence might return one day; therefore, he wrote shoeboxes as a loophole. So, did he know that the Dark Presence might return or did he make sure by writing the Dark Presence return? Which is it? Because if he wrote that page about Alan, he wrote (implied, but Alan taught us that it might be even more powerful than what’s written directly) the return of the Dark Presence as well, the last paragraph is the most damning in that sense; but if he wanted a safeguard, he couldn’t possibly write Alan and the Clicker on the rim of Cauldron Lake, since he wouldn’t have known about the circumstances of the Dark Presence’s return. Looking at both possibilities we have:

Tom knew, orchestrated and guided everything that transpired in 2010. That means he did it for a reason. What reason? I have no idea, but if I were to speculate, I think there are a couple of options. First one: to kill the Dark Presence once and for all and free Barbie’s body (Barbie is the only force that can make him do something), not caring how many people will die in the process and how many more lives he will ruin (this also implies, he, not the Bright Presence, was the one to screw Cynthia, by writing her fate beforehand). Solid reason, goes somewhat fine with the character. Still, we can’t forget that Tom actually wanted to stop writing before Barbie’s death, maybe not as strongly as he should’ve, but he had some consideration for the world outside of his love nest. Would he really doom so many just to kill an entity, which for all he knew, might’ve never had an opportunity to come back? Another point for it is more in line with the second game: Tom created a hero that will set him free. There are several issues with this one. For a start, why would he create a hero, that will take forty years to arrive and do the deed? Alan was trying throughout all thirteen years he spent in the Dark Place, pushing the hero role onto multiple people, connecting stories to craft the perfect narrative, and still was shocked that it took him so long. And guess what? If Tom did write Alan as a hero, as a saviour, shaped his life, giving him all those powers, well, with all the might of this writing, he forgot to write the most important part: the escape itself! Neither Alan, nor Tom were freed as a result of the events of 2010. An argument might be made, that Tom was playing a longer game there; but let’s even assume, he was, indeed, preparing Alan to free him in 2010. For Tom forty years after the Last Dive the world would’ve been alien, everyone he loved dead, everything he cherished forgotten, everything he knew changed, yet he willingly gave the hero forty years? Or, if we consider the longer game: even more? It’s some cryonics phantasy more than anything at this point. The most important piece of information we have, that ruins this theory: Tom needs no saviour; he’s living “happily ever after” with Barbie on the private isle in the Dark Place. He’s not in the miserable loop, trying to find a way out, he’s the artist who made it in the Dark Place, who learnt how to use its power to his advantage and even reunite with his dead love. He’s exactly like the boys of OGoA in the end of the Final Draft—just chilling, happy to be with the person he lost.

Tom didn’t know how and when, he had nothing to do with the events of 2010, he just left the one and only shoebox (we know for sure about the one in the cabin; the one in Ordinary is questionable, and I’ll explain why the Well-Lit Room one is excluded), so if something were to happen, the unfortunate artist who got trapped in the Dark Presence’s web could harness some knowledge from his writings and story. But then he never wrote the manuscript, he never tasked Cynthia with protecting the shoebox and he never shaped Alan’s life. Whodunit? Alan. He knew when and how he should get instructions from Deus ex Machina, he wrote the whole story about what happened in 2010, he was controlling the powers that had access to the Clicker (that probably ended up in Cauldron Lake together with the cabin), he learnt about the shoebox in the cabin, a loophole, as he labelled it, he knew that the quest of finding the Lady of the Light should be the last step to finish the story. He has clear motivation, means and nothing really goes against it. Even after he reads the manuscript, he says “my mind swirled. I had given the Clicker to Alice. Yet it was here. Zane had written it into existence... in a story I had written” which puts Zane as a character in Alan’s story. In The Writer DLC the Bright Presence, an echo of Tom, says “I’m not the author of your story” and then refuses to elaborate when Alan presses him. This is the most we get on the topic of who wrote whom and what, and it’s quite clear.

Here will be a good time to also mention, that no matter why, the Bright Presence going by the name of Tom Zane was nothing but helpful to Alan. It weakened itself to free him from the cabin, it took the manuscripts to deliver them in the right place at the right time and then gave instructions on how to proceed into the cabin to confront the Dark Presence. In the DLCs the help extended to almost companion-like, even making Imaginary Barry jealous. The Bright Presence was a father-figure, which Alan always yearned for, and at that time Alan had more pressing matters on his mind, than to write himself friends. What I’m trying to say, he would be content with an ally, any ally to help him on the journey, not necessarily the one who’s kind and softly spoken. It’s not clear if the Bright Presence behaved this way because this is his true self, dragged into the story, or Alan did let his daddy-issues get the better of him. There is a lot of evidence that the Bright Presence is not a “good guy” by human standards, yet, he did acted with kindness and care, even if just for show.

Tom’s number is 667, as is marked on his diving suit.

This is a “quick” summary of the “real” Tom Zane and the Bright Presence, who at some point was acting in his name. Moving on to not-so-real finish Tom Zane, who, for the sake of clarity, I will call Seine.

Thomas Seine

Again, a list of things we know about him from some in-universe sources:

Seine was born in Finland.

Seine is an auteur and managed to make a name for himself in Europe. His film “Nightless Night” won a number of European awards.

Seine moved to US and changed his (perfectly fine) name to more Americanised “Zane”. His partner Baba Jakala moved with him and changed her name to Americanised Barbara Jagger, too. The extent of their relationship (was she his muse or not) is unknown.

Seine purchased an old manor (or commissioned it to an unknown architect, meaning it was brand new) outside the Bright Falls, which will eventually become Valhalla Nursing Home.

Seine planned to build Oceanview Hotel and a film studio in Bright Falls.

Seine established an artist commune in Bright Falls; members, aside from him and Baba, unknown.

Seine was a cult leader apparently, since the unknown members of his commune were seeing him as a person worth revering, and a shepherd of sorts, who guides his flock.

Seine was into “magic” mushrooms to reach a state of higher artistic inspiration.

Seine was in the process of filming “Tom the Poet” in Bright Falls; did the production start there or not is unknown.

Seine did finish the film. The film was lost.

Seine played his dark double (the poet, the writer, the diver, Thomas the Rhymer) in his films.

Seine mysteriously disappeared in 1970.

Seine is trapped in the Dark Place. He doesn’t like it there and wants to escape.

Seine doesn’t have Baba with him, her fate is unknown to the point, we cannot be sure if she’s even dead or alive.

Seine is elevated enough to remember some of the loops.

Seine is elevated enough to have the knowledge of the Dark Place’s points of interest, let’s say.

Seine is elevated enough to shape the Dark Place.

Seine is elevated enough to know and use means of communication within the Dark Place without meeting face to face.

Seine is elevated enough to know that he cannot die in the Dark Place.

Seine occupies his own puddle in the ocean of the Dark Place, which can be accessed via a projector.

Seine owns a cinema in the Writer’s City.

Seine is in a peculiar position to be able to change places with Alan.

Seine is scared of the police and FBC.

Seine claimed he worked with Scratch.

Seine, apparently, is of a high opinion of Scratch, calling him a magnificent visionary.

Seine’s number is 665.

As is seen from the list, there is a lot to be desired as to specifics. We have not much information about Seine and his whole life is a jumbled mess, yet where Tom’s life lacks a lot of details as well, we have the most important piece of information—how he ended up in the Dark Place. With Seine we have nothing. I will stand by the belief that it was done for a reason, to show that he has a potent ability to change reality, but not as refined and precise as that of Alan. Now, to be honest, Alan fucks up royally as well, but his reality-altering writing is coherent; he can use the neat little trick of “you suggest, they fill the blanks”; Seine cannot. That’s why we don’t know who was Baba, who were the members of the cult-commune, how did Seine end up in the Dark Place, why are all of his films lost, and why the hell does this man have so many god damn dark doubles. Honestly, if everyone around is a dark double, it’s time to look in the mirror.

Seine is an enigma: we have no manuscripts (or do we?) about him, no songs by the boys, nothing. Even the films, he presumably made before and around 1970 are based on the novels by Alan—both in the Dark Place and in our world as well. The manor he purchased or built appears to be a new addition to Bright Falls’ area as we can learn that not everyone remembers it to be there. The plaque in the Valhalla Nursing Home claims, that the manor was built for Seine in 1965, the news article about him claims, he purchased it and it was already old, on the manor itself we can even find the date: 1887. Which is it? Seine managed to insert himself as a filmmaker in the minds of many, but not everyone. Some still remember him as a poet. Most notably: Jesse, who is under the protection of Polaris, and Cynthia, who might be under the protection of the power of love (but most likely the Bright Presence’s light), of course, let’s not exclude Alan himself, who forgets everything, but at least twice has had a conversation about poet-filmmaker with Seine.

We have a manor that’s old, but new; career in poetry, but filmmaking; films that were made, but lost; films that were made before 1970, but based on the works of a not-yet-born writer; and a bunch of other contradictions. What was the artist’s commune? Who were the members? Why is it described as a cult-like in an article, that favoured Seine? How did Seine end up in the Dark Place? Why did the boys never-ever address his existence? And where are the magic mushrooms in the flashback of artistic collaboration with Alan?

Also, there is a question of appearance. In Control’s AWE Alan remarks that Seine looks different (from Zane), in AW2’s Room 665, he asks why Seine looks like him. In both cases Seine does look like Alan, but in AWE he has the same hairstyle, beard and even wears the same outfit (The Layered One), making a mirror-perfect image, yet Alan doesn’t comment on this. In Room 665 Seine wears Alan’s suit jacket from AWAN, cleanshaven, rocking leather trousers and, weirdly enough, has Alan’s wedding band as a necklace. A clear departure from a carbon copy we saw in AWE. I will talk more about it in a bit, but we have yet another Buck-Toothed Charlie in the room: the FBI detective Anderson has an option to look at Seine: in Suomi Hall and in Valhalla Nursing Home; needless to say, she doesn’t react, although one might think she’s quite familiar with Alan’s features to recognise his face even through a genius disguise of beardlessness. Does that mean Seine is not seen as Alan to people outside of the Dark Place, or is it a problem of a beholder, who doesn’t connect the movie made before Alan’s birth, but based on his work? Just food for thought.

Returning to the outfit. It is a clear departure from a carbon copy, but still Seine seems to be pretty attached to some things. The suit jacket is a minor thing, really, it looks cool, what else do you want? The wedding band on the other hand is questionable. In the article about Seine Baba is mentioned as his partner, not his wife of fiancée. For all we know, he could be preparing to propose or she could be just his first lady in a cult with all the dark shit that comes with it. The band may or may not have a meaning for the character of Seine, as he tried to write his life into reality. Or it might be there just to spite Alan.

Throughout the second game Seine does everything to manipulate and backseat Alan in the direction, not really beneficial for the both of them. He obviously has his own goal, that is—getting out of the Dark Place—and uses Alan. He’s not at all a friend to Alan and it’s clear from the very first phone call, where Seine probing if Alan remembers and assures “I got you now,” which has a sinister undertone: from now on Seine, indeed, got Alan—as a tool for his design. The second call cranks this subtle hostility to eleven, Seine asks about the progress, expresses his content with it, then hits Alan with a question about Alice—a low blow by any means, then he brings up the Dark Presence and Scratch (who, he’s surely aware, are the same entity). If it’s not a classic attempt at convincing someone that the only person, who has their best interest in mind, is the speaker, I dunno what is it. And this will only escalate. In the moment when Alan had enough time (even to adapt Rose’s fanfiction into a script as an attempt to escape) and desperately needs a friend like Tom Zane from the first game, he gets Seine, who, by all means, is not interested in truly helping. The scene with changing places in room 665 is one of the moments where Seine shows his real face and intentions; he’s not fazed when it doesn’t work, not at all. He has the whole cinema to try again: making Alan question if he’s the author or a character and trying to trap him in an endless loop. Note, that this draft of Initiation is the only one where Scratch doesn’t make an appearance.

Yoton Yo, that is shown at the end, spells what Seine tried to achieve. The cult leader returns in all of his sinister glory. The film even succeeded to a degree: there are similarities in the endings of AW2 and the film. Yoton Yo is truly a companion piece for Return, but in another showcase of prowess in reality-changing abilities, it only manifests when given a room: Ahti’s song, Casey being sort of a sacrifice and the final dialog between Alan and Alice, all those little things. Seine was not written into Initiation or Return, he inserted himself into those stories. Might be with the help of the Alan-ex-machina on the phone, but not by the Alan(s) we play as.

With all this in mind: Thomas Zane and Thomas Seine are not the same characters (yet they are the same entity at their core). Where Zane’s story is coherent and corroborated by multiple beings, Seine’s is not—it lacks consistency, always gets stuck in the narrative conflicts and falls apart at every turn.

Scratch

Scratch is the Dark Presence of AWII. He is a Dark Presence with unique qualities: he can actually create and he doesn’t need an artist to achieve his goal (but he wants one). Let’s just jump to the list.

Scratch is a Dark Presence.

Scratch can create, more so, if we believe certain someone, he’s a magnificent visionary.

Scratch is knowledgeable enough, but somewhat restricted by Alan’s previous experiences.

Scratch killed Alan multiple times; if we believe Alan, he also stole from him and desires to become him.

Scratch might have the memory problems Alan has.

Scratch has a tremendous paranatural power inside and outside the Dark Place.

Scratch can use anyone as a host in our world.

Scratch can use Alan as a host in the Dark Place, if he can use someone else, is not clear.

Scratch is overprotective over Alan, he kills him, yes, but he also kills Noir-Casey when Alan is threatened. One might call this a toxic obsession.

Scratch is in love with Alice, knows she’s alive, and was actually created from Alan’s love for Alice.

Scratch was named after Mr. Scratch, yet he’s a huge downgrade from a clever, charming and sadistic dark being we saw in AWAN.

Scratch is D!Alan on steroids: they both are Dark Presences, both can create, both are Alan, both represent the part of Alan that is nasty and angry, yet there is a notable difference.

Scratch doesn’t want to destroy Alan even after he’s won, he wants to reunite with Alan. In many ways Scratch is R!Alan who refuses to give up.

Scratch is insecure and wants to be admired, wants to be a real artist, revered for his genius and literary skill.

Scratch is made of contradictions: he kinda cancelled the Deerfest, and made Bright Falls a little less bright according to Pat, to… make an eternal Deerfest with sunshine and rainbows! He is a mindless monster, as he presents himself during the boss battles, but he is a patient planner, as we know from his time inside Alan’s head and then possession of Casey at the right time. Scratch is a ruthless killer, but he doesn’t kill Rose, who actually has the audacity to hide on his property, more so, after he has his way, no townsfolk are killed.

Scratch makes few appearances in Initiation: in the metro and in the hotel, he does a lil’ jumpscare in the cinema, but doesn’t participate much in this draft.

Scratch tricked and betrayed Seine, if we believe this soapy story.

Scratch and Alan were never seen in one room as doubles; one might say Scratch looks like a black cloud with photos of Alan, attached to it with a stapler.

Scratch’s number might be 666.

To clarify some of the points. As stated, we never saw Scratch and Alan together in one room, Tim never saw Scratch, even Mr. Door never referred to Scratch directly, he talked about an evil double, but it doesn’t really mean he was talking about Scratch. As of now, we have to assume, that Scratch can operate only if he has a host: Alan that is; so his ability to write might manifest only when he possesses Alan. It would be quite hard to type as a destructive dark cloud with X-ray-like pictures of Alan attached to it. This point is also somewhat supported by BarbaraDP’s last words “I will find a new face to wear” as if she couldn’t do anything without a host. Taking all this, Scratch might be Alan unleashed: a magnificent visionary, because he couldn’t give a damn about the rules and hoops Alan created, or people he will hurt in the process, he just writes as he feels, and we know Alan himself have a pretty fucked up imagination. Scratch in his “magnificent visionary” mode is, probably, the greatest Master of the Dark Place on par or even stronger than D!Alan; and both of them are so powerful because of the same reasons.

Scratch, as Alan says, “got” him multiple times, and this is probably the times when Scratch was partying with Seine and writing the original Return. Or not partying, Scratch might’ve been hellbent on his task enough not to waste precious time before Alan will take control.

As a Dark Presence Scratch, obviously, has better awareness of the Dark Place and who’s in there, therefore his lines, when he chases Alan through the Wellness Centre about how everything will be theirs, including Alice, point to him knowing she’s alive and in the Dark Place; at this point Alan himself believes that she’s dead. And Scratch doesn’t need to use her as an incentive to harness Alan’s powers, he genuinely wants to just be, you know, happy: reunite with Alan and have it all, including their beloved wife. For him it is a happy ending, as Scratch puts it. Now here’s the question, that really bothers me: does Scratch know an easy way to free her from the Dark Place or does he refer to the entire world becoming the Dark Place therefore, the Wakes will be reunited? (Given his egotistic phantasies, obviously the latter, but it doesn’t mean he has no knowledge of an easy way out of the Dark Place.)

Scratch is a contradiction: with all the horror story elements he brought into Return, he also doesn’t have the Dark Presence’s tendencies we are used to. Yes, controlling people is bad, but he doesn’t want the world to be full of Taken, eternal darkness and whatever else BarbaraDP wanted; he wants it to be a happy place with a god-like Alan Scratch Wake (Seine’s cult-dreams are surely contagious). Which, to be fair, probably in a deeper way does align with what Barbara wanted, yet she lacked humanity, Scratch has plenty of it, no matter how twisted it is. Still, his quest for the world domination is not about what we saw before: for violence to have an oomph it lacks in the Dark Place, or feeding on suffering, or destruction for the sake of destruction; he just wants to be the most successful writer with the best wife (and fame, and worship, and everything revolving around him). Not the inhuman goals, let’s be honest.

Scratch might be a vessel into which Alan dumps everything he hates about himself, but he’s also the vessel for the determination and refusal to give up. In a way they are a twisted reflection of Alans from AW’s DLCs: Alan is the one who goes insane and wants to give up, let the waves carry him wherever, but doesn’t go on a mission to kill his other half; Scratch is the one capable of rational though and planning, but does try to kill Alan and is a Dark Presence. And “kill” here is pretty literal: Alan can die in the Dark Place, he just won’t stay dead, Scratch knows and abuses it. Even after Return was clicked to come true, if Scratch catches Alan, the death screen looks like possession and resembles the first time Alan got got in the talk-show studio.

Scratch’s number might or might not be 666, he does make an appearance in the room 666, and Alan says he can feel that Scratch was there, but there are many questions, surrounding this room.

Now there is a question why exactly Scratch never makes an appearance in the cinema. I’d say this draft of Initiation is so heavily influenced by Seine, Scratch just doesn’t have a place there. But, wait, wasn’t the whole summary of Initiation, that we hear from Mr. Door at the very beginning about a writer, tormented by his evil double?

Moving on.

Alan Wake

Firstly, we need to establish that there are always multiple Alan Wakes. I’m not talking about figments of his imagination or even the shadows, that haunt the Writer’s City. At every given moment there is at least Alan-the-writer and Alan-the-character, where the former is the one who has the luxury of the TV, radio and the plot-board, and the latter is the one who’s roaming the Writer’s City, killing enemies, chatting with Tim and cosplaying a PI. But they are not the only Alans out there—there is the same pair of Alans in every loop and twist of the Spiral, countless Alans going through the motions at all times. I will talk only about those we see on the screen. (Oh, and Alan on TVs? I have no clue what he is. :D He might be a subconsciousness of either Alans we see, of some Alans from any other time, or even a memory, stored in a form familiar from the first game. I will exclude him altogether, there is not enough info to determine who he is, yet I will use his words.)

I would love to make a split for Alan-the-writer and Alan-the-character, but it’s already quite confusing with the amount of Alans we have highlighted only in this theory. So I will combine them and call them Wake for clarity. Before the usual list of relevant facts, let me quickly explain the difference between the Writer and the Character, and remind about the concept of the driver’s seat.

Last thing first: the driver’s seat was first introduced in The Writer DLC, when Alan entered Stucky’s gas station, complained about the location and remarked, that he was not the one in the driver’s seat. Which means, there is always an Alan in the driver’s seat, who determines the rules, and is in control (at least, more than others). Counterintuitively I would say in AWII the Character is the one in the driver seat, not the Writer. Yes, the Writer can reshape the Dark Place under some circumstances, but I would challenge the idea that the Writer is creating what the Character is experiencing—I think it's all just remnants of the previous loops—the Writer is documenting what’s happening, he's more of a tool. The Character is going through a hero’s journey and the Writer is just there to help, he’s that voice that narrates what’s happening, transforming a nightmare into a story. We rarely see the Writer having an insight that the Character doesn't have, but we see the Character having it all the time—the echoes come through him, the very first time we play as Alan, it is the Character, thinking there was no Dark Place in his life at all. Like in the first game we have the Character make his way to the cabin, in AWAN, again, Alan steps into the shoes of the Character; in AWII the Character makes the story, sees the echoes, learns about Alice and even if he dies, the Writer dies too, yet if one really thinks about it, it should be vice-versa: if the Writer stops writing, the Character dies, but if the Character dies, the Writer can write anything from new protagonist to resurrection. The only times when they are merging or meeting is when the Character steps into the real Writer’s Room, accessing from the apartment in Parliament Tower.

There is another Writer, who, I believe is not a mere tool, as those two; but we will talk about him a bit later. For now, I just wanted to establish who is in the driver’s seat—Alan-the-character. With that out of the way, to the important points:

Wake gave up. Multiple times actually.

Wake is a shadow of his former self; no matter what other Alan we look at, Wake is the most confused, scared, lonely, uncertain and needs a hug (even completely insane D!Alan, albeit, with questionable desires, comes off stronger and with clearer goal). And it started even before Control’s AWE.

Wake’s memory is practically non-existent, it’s just a suggestion. Throughout the game we see some improvement, but we start with him thinking, that he never experienced 2010 and needs to come back home to Alice by dinner.

Wake is not of sound mind. He didn’t lose all his marbles, but surely has a shortage in that department.

Wake somehow managed to strike a friendship with Ahti.

Wake somehow managed to involve Mr. Door into his plans: at least two times. Mr. Door is playing the role of the host on In-Between and also a host for Night Springs. If there is any other things Mr. Door is forced to perform for Alan is unknown as of now. I would pile that up with the manuscripts about Door in 80’s and the one Tim transported into the Dark Place; Alan giveth, Alan taketh.

Wake shaped the Dark Place into the Writer’s City. The Return defines it not as “the Wake’s personal and shamelessly overgrown puddle,” but “the ocean that was the Dark Place itself.“

Wake also defined the Dark Place as Ahti’s bucket; but two things can be true at the same time.

Wake consciously controls time and aware of this ability of his.

Wake is bound by the rules and surroundings he himself created and imposed—in part to torment himself.

Wake leans into the darker themes, believing them being more effective for achieving goals.

Wake has to go through the Hero’s Journey of Initiation before he can attempt to escape.

Wake goes through three separate yet connected drafts of Initiation and there is a forth one, that exists on its own.

Wake can be seen in one room with: other entities, such as Ahti, Door, and Tim; other Alans, such as Wake, Noir-Casey, Seine, and the dark cloud of Scratch.

Wake’s spiritual animal is an owl; an owl represents him and his.

Wake can reach into our world, creating thresholds right and left; he doesn’t fully understand how it works and the consequences.

Wake is elevated and tremendously powerful, his problem is not lack of ability, it’s lack of understanding and knowledge.

Wake can die but won’t stay dead in either worlds as of now.

Wake in creative collaboration with Alice created Scratch with the help of the bullet of light.

Wake can carry Scratch from the Dark Place to our world and back—in his head.

Wake can feel Scratch’s activity, but doesn’t understand much about it.

Wake can make Scratch do his dirty work in the Dark Place and in our world, “losing” the driver’s seat when it’s needed.

Wake is ready to return to his worst nightmare, sacrificing himself for the good of others and makes yet another leap of faith, believing Alice to be dead.

Wake has a peculiar case of a writer’s block at the end of Return.

Wake went through countless loops of Initiation-Return to arrive at the Final Draft.

Wake is the Master of Many Worlds.

Wake’s number might be 3. Just 3, yes.

That’s a weird collection of points, much was skipped, obviously. Let’s clear some of them up and get to the point, since it’s our last Alan to discuss before I will start drowning (meaning conclusion?). Through the points it can be seen, that from the most pathetic of Alans Wake goes to the most powerful one. He is, probably, Alan-ex-Phone at the end of the Final Draft. The second game is his Hero’s Journey, that he completed and his ascension, that happened at last, therefore we have conflicting points at the start and at the end.

Now, looking at all of it with the knowledge of the Final Draft, we can safely assume, that Wake’s state is self-imposed. He must remember nothing, he must be confused, he must not understand what’s going on, or he won’t act on his free will, won’t grow as a hero. The downgrade is needed for the story, because Wake has to suffer. Even the shape of the Dark Place, as written in the manuscript, is that of Noir-York just to torment Wake. Now, this manuscript is very important, the Door manuscript, that is given by Tim. First of all, it establishes that Wake turned the entirety of the Dark Place into the Writer’s City; everyone else, who has a puddle there, is a tenant for the landlord-Wake (and most of them are hating him and trying to kill him; sounds legit). Secondly, it shows how fucked up this ball of yarn of a story must be to meet the conditions. Multiple parties are being involved just into delivering this exact page: first the Door “allows” Wake to spy on him, then the page leaves the Dark Place, then someone has to find it to give it to Tim, for Door to snatch Tim away for him not to give up the manuscript too early, all this. It’s so overcomplicated, because Wake, as a true Alan is complicated. He gives powers right and left, making his “characters” immune to the story in the right moments or capable to decide when he can or cannot spy on them, when the mere name of any of them written on the page by his hand is already meaning he’s in control. Even Ahti has a mental breakdown because of Return, and he has the whole Dark Place in his bucket; the very Dark Place, which makes fiction, that torments him, come true.

I put the writer’s block here, because we have a similar case of Alan having a writer’s block in the middle of the story in 2010: when he tries to write something to give a ransom for Alice. Why both Wake and Alan have the same problem in the most important of times, only to have a spark of inspiration shortly after? Because they are in the story at those moments, if they will write a word, they might change the course of what was written.

Wake’s number. He doesn’t really have one, but everyone on this list were connected to a number, so I’ve decided why not? Wake is strongly associated with three: three drafts, three loops, three stories, three owls, three main players for Initiation, (only!) three costumes in the extra-menu… pardon me.

The Drowning

Time to explain myself, I guess. Let’s start with Tom Zane; he’s the first in the list and has a long history of being a suspect in the creation of Alan Wake. So, why do some think he wrote Alan and his story, when the Bright Presence on his behalf explicitly stated that he’s not the author of Alan’s story? Two things: the manuscript in the Well-Lit Room and he simply was first. Both might not be true.

With the manuscript in the Well-Lit Room, I assume, everything is quite clear; I explored the possible scenarios where Tom was the author in the section about Zane, but I will quickly recap it. Tom couldn’t write this manuscript without Alan writing him write it because Tom didn’t want the Dark Presence to return and the manuscript would be exactly that: writing the Dark Presence’s return. Tom also is content on his private isle in the Dark Place, as This House of Dreams states through the Bright Presence, so he has no business writing Alan’s Amazing Adventures in Bright Falls. This House of Dreams is twice canonised in Control and AWII and still is a valid source of information; Tom’s happy-ever-after is also confirmed by the boys of OGoA in Herald of Darkness. With this said, the whole first game is written by Alan, everything and everyone there is acting as he wrote them to act; therefore, the Bright Presence, being “Tom” in Alan’s mind, could produce the page, but the content of the page is what Alan wanted it to be. In other words, Alan, being an author of this story is an author of everything written by the characters of his story.

With Zane being first things get a bit more complicated. Let’s dive into the dark ocean of connections,time manipulations and other boring, mundane stuff. In the Zane section I pointed out how there are many things that connect Tom’s story with Alan’s story, I will recap them as well. Tom and Alan both are successful writers, have a muse for whom they are able to do unimaginable things, lost the muse to the Dark Presence in Cauldron Lake, were touched by the Dark Presence, wrote stories to defeat said Dark Presence, left behind a Number One Fan with a mission (who possesses the manuscript with a name of the “hero” for whom the manuscript is intended, and never reads it), a friend with traumatic memories, and townsfolk with PTSD and sensitivity to light. Now, this is surface connections, but if we dig deeper, we have more. Tor and Odin, after Alan is touched by the Dark Presence, recognise him as Tom; when Alan jumps into the lake, the Dark Presence literally pretends to be his muse and at the end of trying to coax him to go back to bed, slips up and calls him “Tom” as well. With all that Cynthia doesn’t recognise Alan as Tom’s double, and she would be most familiar with his features; as would be Hartman, who, as well, doesn’t see any similarities between Tom and Alan, aside from their reality changing powers. On the way to the cabin in the Dark Place, Alan hears a dialogue between Tom and Barbara, spoken with his and Alice’s voices. The lady on the photos in the Ordinary shoebox is fair-haired, instead of the Dark Presence’s dark-haired image. In The Writer when Rational Alan is on the bridge to the cabin, Dark Alan says ”it was even taking the people Wake knew, turning his friends against him,” yet in the battle the people against Alan are Barry (friend, check), Tor and Odin (???) and Hartman (Tom’s friend), which is very curious choice of people. I understand why Tor and Odin could be considered friends, but why Hartman? Why not Sarah, whom Alan bonded with? Now, if you choose to believe that AWAN ended with Alan and Alice going to the private isle in the Dark Place and live their happy ever after as did Tom and Barbara, even more connections emerge. The drowning cabin in AWAN is yet another hint, that the story was repeated. The question is: which story was actually first?

I already noted that Zane’s solution with cutting the heart out and diving into the lake sounds awfully like a messy first attempt to have somewhat happy ending. We learn about it during the week, that plays out according to the story Alan wrote: everything there comes from him, even the TV’s that he sees, even the shoebox he finds, and certainly the manuscripts we read. The very manuscripts, that describe what happened in the 70s: the narrative takes us back in time and we look at what happened there through the eyes of Tom Zane. That can answer the who wrote whom question. Does it matter whose story happened first now, if we know for sure that Alan’s works can change past as easily as present or future? With all the connections I mentioned, and the very presence of Tom in the theory that counts Alans we have in games, I think it’s obvious what I’m going for. Tom Zane is Alan from the first loops of Departure: he failed to save Alice then, but as his wont, left some breadcrumbs for his future self to learn. Later his story evolved and he got a new name and different, yet very vague background, turning into a plot device just like Noir-Casey in the second game: a character, who helps and gives Alan a torch and a gun. The books in the cabin were placed into a shoebox deliberately, the memorial for Tom and Cynthia’s articles weren’t erased, because they had to be found. In the beginning of the Final Draft Alan says “a fictional poet once wrote” before reciting Tom’s poetry; Alan is pretty capable of writing poetry, we can see it in This House of Dreams, and the poet, written by him, would be a fictional poet. The filmmaker, obviously could not create the poet, since his movie is based on Alan’s novel.

Another thing I want to address here is AWAN’s ending. Again, I believe Alan and Alice from AWAN did end up in their own baby-universe in the Dark Place; as I stated in the first part, in the manuscript Alan calls the film his salvation, their salvation. It’s important that it’s “his” not “hers,” because it’s not the answer to the grave danger Mr. Scratch poses to Alice (the very reason Alan scrapped the very first Return to write this Return), it’s the answer to Alan being separated from Alice. Those words are also followed by “our chance to be together,” which, again, has nothing to do with saving Alice from the evil double. If Alice’s film did create a safe place for them to be together, considering that AWAN takes place somewhere around This House of Dreams’ events, the story of Tom Zane could’ve been rewritten again; Tom and Barbara could’ve gotten the happy ending after Alan learned how to achieve it. It’s not the escape ending he wanted, but it is better than being trapped in the nightmare part of the Dark Place or possessed by the Presences. And This House of Dreams might be an extra that was designed to help us figure out what happened in the end of AWAN and answer all the questions that were left unsolved at the time: with the pictures that show suspiciously Alice-like lady, who is said to be “the diver’s girlfriend;” the story of the Last Poem; the nature of the Presences and the Dark Place; sets of poems that show Alan’s capability in this craft; and what exactly was the shiny-floaty thingie from the first game.

Which leads me to the explanation I promised: why didn’t I split Tom and the Bright Presence. There might’ve been no Bright Presence in the first game or it’s DLCs. We learn about the story of the Bright Presence after—it was not written in Departure, in Departure the floaty-shiny thingie was Zane; it might’ve changed in the DLCs, where the story was not written, but dreamed, it might’ve been written by the Master of Many Worlds Alan, who finally decided on what the Bright Presence is. Depends on how you want to interpret the line “but… I am not…” in The Writer: is it about the Bright Presence not being Zane, is it about the Bright Presence not writing the manuscript on his own volition, or is it about something else. Ultimately it doesn’t matter, the Bright Presence doubles down on the identity of Tom Zane shortly after, when he levitates the tree; therefore, I would assume he didn’t do anything Tom wouldn’t do.

The last things left to address here are the line in Herald of Darkness, that separates Alan and Tom: “he could write a new story like Tom Zane before him,” and how the boys talk about Tom in the first game, calling him “the other writer.” The argument might be made that if the boys see them as different entities, then they should be; as there is nothing more trustworthy than the Old God’s songs. Yet, if we read into it as if Tom were the character of Alan’s story, who ultimately won the happy ending by writing a new story, it’s not unimaginable to use—in a song—those words: Tom Zane, being a character in a story, was put into the same struggle before Alan and managed to make his way out of it. “The other writer” is not in a song, and can be taken with a grain of salt, as the boys didn’t recognise Alan as Tom when Odin asked him to put Coconut, they only recognised him after the Dark Presence’s touch. They also call Alan “boy” and “sonny” even after they recognised him as Tom, which is a tad sus, since if they would see him as their long-lost friend from the 70s, they wouldn’t have a habit to address him as their junior, they would be more or less same age. The boys were in their thirties at the time Tom’s ordeal took place, for them to see him as “sonny” material, he should’ve been what, ten?

How it all comes together. I want to repeat the most important part in taking in the first game’s events: we do not see neither first nor last loops of the story; we do not know how it started nor ended; we are thrown into the middle to end and see at best the penultimate loop, as it is partially confirmed, that something akin to the first game indeed happen in the reality of the second game. At any time in previous loops Alan could rewrite everything including how exactly the Wakes ended up in Bright Falls, moving his previous attempts to save Alice to 70s as a set of dos and don’ts. It works exactly as it does in the second game, and we see the remnants of his tries that are left behind: the boys remember him as Tom Zane, but also see him as their junior, calling him “boy” or “sonny”, being the only ones with powers to pierce the story a little bit; the cabin is still there at the start of the story, but disappears shortly after with a very questionable explanation; the plane, which carried people attracted to study the 70s eruption is crashed in 2010 inexplicably, with Alan witnessing it; and all the other little things that slipped through the cracks of changing the past so drastically. Could Tom become his own person in this mess of a spiral? He could’ve, not like we don’t have other examples of this happening; Barry and Casey do act like separate entities, and we have even more examples to discuss. Speaking of.

So, Tom Zane is Alan from the first loops of Departure, who ended up being a supporting character, and whose story was rewritten multiple times; who’s Tom Seine then? This is the moment where we step into the territory of the holy trinity of owls, which, as you could’ve guessed by now, is represented by Wake, Seine (665) and Scratch. I’ve pushed the idea of 665 being yet another Alan even before the NS DLC came out, but with it pointing out how they are indeed the same entity as Scratch and Alan are the same entity, there are just all the more evidence.

What do we have aside from the DLC? Ahti makes no difference between Tom Seine or Alan, in his eyes they are the same person, who at the same time is a filmmaker and has a photographer wife; he addresses Alan as Tom, but not Tom-the-poet. The film, that was created to free 665 and Alan from the Dark Place is the same film that allegedly won multiple awards in what? 60s? 50s? Obviously something here is not right, but what’s even less right is the Tom the Poet film, that was based on Alan’s novel. 665 also cannot be Tom Zane from the first game, or even an extension of him, since he’s lacking everything that made Tom Zane Tom Zane: he didn’t live in the cabin, wasn’t a diver, didn’t have a muse-girlfriend who was important for him even after decades in the Dark Place, wasn’t a poet. More importantly, we have the Control’s cutscene, that shows how the encounter in room 665 was somewhere in the beginning of the loops; Seine is a mirror image of Alan from the first game, but he’s already started to differentiate himself from yet-another-Wake, he has different voice and different attitude. And it’s not like we don’t have examples of this: Barry even looks differently, as does Casey; R!Alan has a completely different experience from D!Alan and his attitude is almost opposite; even the two Alans that interact in the second game look a tad different and have a completely different attitude. It all depends on the experience and what shaped them. The more 665 remembers from the loops, the more he is distancing himself from Alan: first the voice, the place, then he’s getting a make-over and turns against Alan completely. His connection still allows him to try to take the driver seat, to take control, and switch places with Alan. In this he’s not unlike Scratch, for some reason they both need to take the driver seat from Alan.

Were 665 his own man, why would he need to do that? Why is he acting like the Dark Presence that has to find a face to wear? Can he be yet another dark presence? Maybe? Considering how Scratch was born from Alan’s love for Alice and D!Alan was a result of desperation arguably everything that’s made from Alan’s feelings or experiences could be considered a dark presence if it acts accordingly; 665 is somewhere in between. Aside from the possession (or more like place-switching, which is not how Scratch does it or how Barbara’s Dark Presence did it in the past) and maybe his own Taken, he lacks every other characteristic of a dark presence: no dark clouds, no mystic powers, no jumpscares. Yet, 665 needs Alan’s… I’m not sure here, body? Realness? Both can do, I guess, since 665 wants to take Alan’s place. Why in the world, were he his own entity, he would need Alan’s place, seized in the Dark Place? With his likeness he could get out and take over Alan’s life as Mr. Scratch, who was his own entity, tried to do. But for some reason 665 needs to switch places before he attempts to escape.

This can be written off as his malice; he’s acting in a way that suggests that he doesn’t only wants to escape, he wants to trap Alan as well. Throughout all three drafts of Initiation 665 is the one to pull strings, to backseat and guide Alan into traps: one after another, the biggest of them being scaring him into haunting Alice and then pumping him up to kill Scratch without hesitation. 665 never shows that anything was done in Alan’s best interest, on the contrary, in everything he does, he comes off as manipulative and antagonistic. But malice alone is not enough, since 665 fails to achieve the most important of his goals—to actually escape.

Time to queue Scratch in. Between 665 and Scratch, and it might sound mad at first, Scratch is a good guy. And hear me out, he actually is. Obviously the dead give away being Scratch’s lines in the very end of the game, where it is clear what his goals are: Alice and world domination. Alright, the latter is quite questionable for a good guy, but, hey, a dark presence can dream, right? Jokes aside, Scratch doesn’t want anything Alan doesn’t want, more so, he wants to share it: he wants to be a successful writer, to reunite with Alice and do all this with Alan—after merging and becoming whole. Scratch doesn’t really go nicely about it, but we can see how he’s in many ways not the sharpest axe in the shed: he’s animalistic and abrasive, he sees the target and goes for it. With some exceptions his answer to anything is murder. And that’s what makes his role in the second game so fascinating. Let’s look at it from different perspective, shall we?

Scratch’s straightforwardness allows us to take his word: he wants Alan to “come home,” to reunite and become whole. He’s not against him, he’s actually team-Alan through and through. He shares goals and desires, yet lacks nuance to understand them fully. Scratch is literally a love-child, that is he was created from Alan’s love for Alice. He is going for the right things in the most wrong ways possible. With that said, if we look at his actions through the lens of what he said in the Wellness Centre, they might be not so antagonistic after all. First encounter with him allows Alan to snap out of his state of delusion, when he thinks he’s still in the real world and just doing a show before going home to Alice; in the metro he appears to remind Alan about the Dark Presence (and curiously destroying the cult altar); in the hotel he actually politely waits until after Alan finished watching another episode of Alex Casey before chasing him away from room 666. Was murder a good way to go about all those things? Not really. Was it necessary? Most likely, violence is something he believes in. In the first encounter everything is easy enough, Alan had to snap out of delusions to try and get out. In The Writer the Bright Presence makes it very clear: one must abandon all delusions to survive in the Dark Place, let alone to escape. In the subway Alan has to remember; his memory is a very important point in his hero’s journey. In the hotel… well, we need to talk about room 666.

Room 666 is obviously connected to Cynthia and her story of becoming Taken, and leads to Tom Seine. In his part I mentioned how we kinda don’t have a manuscript about him, and it’s partially true, we cannot be sure who “Tom” from Cynthia’s manuscript is, it might be 665, might be her imagination. What we do know is that some Taken can have two stories: Nightingale is killed in the Dark Place by cultists before he’s killed in the real world by cultists again; same goes for Cynthia, she’s killed (taken) in the bath in the real world by a mysterious man before she’s killed in the bath in the hotel by the Devil. Curiously, she spends some time in a “hotel in New York with Tom,” before she goes to deal with Tor, by pressing herself into the dark water, which she recognises as “Tom.” Everything here hints that the mysterious man in the bathroom in Valhalla and “Tom” from the hotel are the same person; but also is the Devil from the play. There is only one character, who fits all three of them: 665. He’s taken the identity of Tom Zane, he lives in the hotel in “New York” and he’s a cult leader. He’s also conveniently neighbouring room 666, where the Devil is located. So, why does Scratch allow Alan to see the vision before chasing him away? Why does he even chase Alan away in the first place? What if room 666 is yet another trap, where Alan is in more danger than he realises?

There is also the third draft of Initiation, where the Grand Master of the Cult of the Word makes an appearance and the most interesting Initiation 0, summarised for us by Mr. Door. The Grand Master and the whole cinema story-line are an ending of sorts to the whole cult ordeal in all the previous drafts; we get the Yoton Yo and the character-creator question to explain what was the deal with the Cult of the Word and what was their plan. It goes to show that even if all the drafts are separate attempts, they are also tightly connected. Which makes the Initiation 0 even more important: who’s the evil double, that torments the writer? If we are to look at this question without the knowledge of the previous games or Alan’s mad ramblings about Scratch and Mr. Scratch, the answer is evident: there is only one other character, who appears as Alan’s double and can be classified as “evil”—665. Scratch not only arguably not evil or against Alan, he’s also not a double, he has no body, he’s a presence, literally; Alan in the point of the story where he shoots himself from the past is surely not evil. Can Initiation 0 be this cheeky little hint, that the tormenting of Alan is not done by Scratch?

Alans are plenty, but let’s not forget, that the whole story of the games is a love story after all. And there is a last piece of evidence, that shows—we might not even come close to see all the Alans there is.

Alice. Love is strange. Even apart, we are still together in our memories. We put each other through hell to set us free. Again and again. Different versions of us. Alice helped me get there. Where I needed to be. It has taken so long. The process to change reality is so delicate, to be true in just the right way, and still find a way past our flaws. So many drafts. So many photographs. So many lives lived outside time, an eternity apart on this journey to finally arrive here. 

[deadlysoupy]

DATV banter if my Rook (Urchin) was a companion 2/? (part 1)

if you can't tell this is my addiction now. i pretend i'm being productive while not actually writing any long pieces i wanted to write. everyone wins!

Neve: Are you having any more headaches after Solas and Elgar’nan exchanged pleasantries in your head?

Rook: Well, they’re not headaches anymore, that’s for sure.

Neve: Migraines?

Rook: Yep.

Neve: If you need it, I have a good method for getting rid of them. Not permanently, of course, but they dissipate faster. I can cook something up for both of us.

Rook: Oh. Really?

Neve: Sure. Swing by my room and let me know.

Rook: Oh?

Neve: (laughs) Don’t get too excited now.

~~

Neve: So. You killed a noble.

Rook: Not my… proudest moment, but I don’t regret it.

Neve: That had to earn you some enemies.

Rook: Oh, for sure! I’m surprised no one tried to assassinate me yet. Unless they did try, and I was just too good.

Neve: (laughs) You are hard to get a hold of. But doesn’t it bother you?

Rook: Does your job bother you? You crossed a lot of important people in Dock Town.

Neve: Touché.

~~

Rook: You aren’t much of a crow, Lucanis.

Lucanis: Excuse me?

Rook: You’re more like a cat.

Lucanis: Are you… going to explain it, or?..

Rook: Nah, you figure it out.

Lucanis: (sighs) You and your riddles.

~~

Lucanis: You look good in leather, too.

Rook: Really? I don’t know…

Lucanis: You should try it. It could highlight your waist.

Rook: Oh? Been looking at my waist, have we?

Lucanis: I suppose I was. Just don’t wear capes. 

Rook: Ah, yeah, tried capes and other long dingly things. Got caught in a trap and almost ended up impaled. Don’t recommend wearing capes or cloaks in dungeons.

Lucanis: Duly noted.

~~

Rook: Davrin. What starts with an “A”...

Davrin: No. Nope. Denied.

Rook: But I didn’t even finish!

Davrin: And you won’t. Just keep walking.

Rook: (whine)

(a little bit later)

Rook: I’ll be quick. What squawks but doesn’t— 

Davrin: I said “no”! 

Rook: You’re a fun killer. A fun hunter.

Davrin: Uh-huh. Complain to someone else.

(and a little bit later again)

Rook: …

Davrin: …

Rook: Why can't you hear a phoenix go to the bathroom?

Davrin: …

Rook: Because it's pee is silent.

Davrin: (coughs to interrupt a laugh)

Rook: Ha! I heard that!

Davrin: (coughs) No, you didn’t.

Rook: O-oh, my dearest Davrin. I will never let you live this down. You like pee jokes?

Davrin: We aren’t talking about this.

Rook: Can we pee about it?

Davrin: I’m locking you up in your room when we get back.

Rook: Nice try. I can pick the lock.

Davrin: Not while tied up.

Rook: You wound me. Isabela teaches classes on how to unbind yourself to five-year-olds.

Davrin: Well then I’ll… figure out what to do with you later.

Rook: Challenge accepted, Pee Boy.

Davrin: I hate you.

~~

Rook: I had a pet once.

Davrin: Oh, yeah? 

Rook: A rat. It died.

Davrin: Oh. I’m… sorry?

Rook: (sighs) I’m making a terrible point. What I was trying to say is… We’re not always in control of who we take care of. You’re doing good, Davrin, even if you don’t think so.

Davrin: Uh. Thanks for the vote of confidence? Why did you bring this up in the first place?

Rook: I heard you talking to Assan before we left off. I guess I just had to say something.

Davrin: Hey. What did we talk about snooping?

Rook: “Snooping is bad”.

Davrin: That’s right. But thanks, Rook.

~~

Rook: “Professor Volkarin”, huh? You're a teacher?

Emmrich: Was, Rook. And, to be frank, I deeply miss it.

Rook: I wonder what you teach.

Emmrich: Simple evocations, really. Etiquette dealing with the dead, Nevarran culture.

Rook: Cool. Cool. Do you, um… teach reading, by any chance?

Emmrich: Well, most of our students already have some kind of basic knowledge of grammar…

Rook: Oh…

Emmrich: …But I would love to teach you, if you're willing.

Rook: Oh! Okay! Yeah, I’d love to.

~~

Emmrich: Rook, you’ve been to many an ancient crypt and ruin, correct?

Rook: Not to brag, but yes, I’ve been to a few.

Emmrich: Excellent! I would highly appreciate your help in uncovering a few mysteries I’ve come across. Your expertise would bring a new perspective on things, I’ll be sure to not waste it.

Rook: I… You want my experience in your research?

Emmrich: Why, yes! I’m sure you have a lot of knowledge on ancient architecture, traps, old magic, and many other skills I haven’t a clue about. Is that a problem?

Rook: No, I’m just… No one really wanted my skills in anything before. 

Emmrich: And that’s their loss, my dear. I assure you, your knowledge is as precious to me as any other book.

Rook: Wow. Thanks, Emmrich. That’s… really kind of you.

Emmrich: It’s nothing, I assure you.

Rook: Not to me.

~~

Rook: Harding. Hey. Lace.

Harding: Oh, sorry! What?

Rook: What do you call a sad cheese? A “blue” cheese. 

Harding: (hearty laughing) What was that! That’s terrible! 

Rook: (laughs) I know. You were all caught up in your thoughts, and you looked sad, so.

Harding: (chuckles) I was thinking about the Stone, but your awful joke helped. 

Rook: It’s what I’m here for.

Harding: To be a bard? Sorry, I should have clarified. To be a bard college drop-out?

Rook: No offence taken. Or maybe a little.

~~

Rook: Lace. You’ve been pretty much anywhere, right?

Harding: I’ve been to a lot of places, but I wouldn’t say I’ve been everywhere. My short legs can only carry me so far.

Rook: Still, you’re experienced. What’s the most romantic, or, I guess, scenic place you’ve seen?

Harding: “Romantic”, huh? Got someone to impress?

Rook: So what if I do! You wouldn’t want me to drag them out into the streets of Minrathous, right?

Harding: Oh, no, of course not. But… If I could recommend any place, it would probably be Val Royeaux, the capital of Orlais. Beautiful palaces, good roads, fancy attires…

Rook: Maybe something closer to home? I don’t even know if we have an eluvian that would reach so far.

Harding: You’re missing the point. Orlais has wyverns.

Rook: …oh. Wait, how did you…

Harding: (laughs) I notice things. 

[skyfallscotland]

I don’t know if this is weird, but I don’t have many friends and I am weird, admittedly so…yolo, but this is just a diary post really of all the things on my mind right now.

• The response on ink & mistletoe was really lovely and I’m especially grateful for it while I’m still having a rough time.

• I really wanted to write more this week because I wanted to finish off ink & mistletoe and Truth & Talon before Onyx Storm comes out, but I have a migraine again and I’ve just been so exhausted it’s not happening, which sucks.

• I did start a new book though—my first of 2025—Just For the Summer by Abby Jimenez. One of my resolutions for the new year is to read more actual books, so I’m off to a start at least. One thing that wigged me out though, it’s first person past-tense? What the fuck is that, why are we doing that? My brain does not like.

• Speaking of Onyx Storm, should I start posting my theories now as I write them, or just save it for one big post a few days before?

• I’m still incredibly bothered by not only the continuing trend of oh surprise another special edition with content not available to you! But also mostly the response from other people to it, mostly Americans, because no one else is saying “no one’s making you buy them all” or “having choices is a good thing” because uhh *checks notes* we don’t? We just pay twice the amount of money you do for made-in-a-sweatshop, falling apart crap with less features.

• Also, just as an aside so you all are ready, I’m fairly certain there’s a special edition of Iron Flame coming…probably with bonus content. Someone asked if she was going to do one because it just had plain edges and she replied with a winking face. I’m going to say in Feb/March, and with dragon edges to match OS & the original FW print run. Call me Cassandra, idk.

• My (undiagnosed, I guess) OCD is getting worse, so if anyone has any tips or tricks for that throw them my way because seeing a psychiatrist in this town is not only the price of a small car, but almost impossible. Everyone’s books are closed, because we’re all a fucking mess apparently idk. They did say they had someone who might find me and my eclectic collection of mental illnesses “interesting” though, so I at least get to send my referral through 🙃

• Lastly, I am once again calling for people to stop drowning. If you come to Australia, please understand how rips work. If you’re not a strong swimmer, don’t swim anywhere there aren’t lifeguards. You are not as safe as you think you are, I promise you. Almost every day there’s been another drowning death that’s been entirely preventable and it’s infuriating, half the time there are kids involved. Don’t put your kids at risk for fuck’s sake. View the below if you’re curious (or coming here). I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t spot them from front on, most people can’t unless they grew up on the beach, but again, if you can’t that’s why you shouldn’t swim anywhere help can’t get to you. 31 people drowned in four weeks is madness when there are over 600 patrolled beaches in this country. And people worry about the wildlife, good lord.

[sunny374940]

Feeling better, darling?

This is a little self-indulgent story about Emmrich helping Rook through a migraine.

Here on ao3

Rook was lying in bed, curled up in the tightest ball he could manage. His head was pounding, he was dizzy and his stomach was churning with nausea. He kept his eyes shut tight, as there were sickening spots dancing around his vision whenever he opened them. He had been awake for a long time now, though Emmrich was already gone when he woke, probably going to work in his study. Rook wanted him here, but couldn't get out of bed to go find him. He wanted to at least fall asleep to escape the pain, but he couldn't manage that either.

He pressed his forehead into the mattress to try and alleviate the horrible throbbing ache, but no such luck. He knew what he was in for, it would be hours before the migraine ended, and all he could do was lie there and suffer. He was freezing, having slept only in his underwear, but the thought of having a blanket touch him made his skin crawl, and so he lay shivering atop the bedcovers. At least it was quiet in the bedroom and the curtains were drawn, muting the light coming in somewhat.

His blessings didn't last long, however, as the door opened and Emmrich strode inside.

“Darling, it's nearly noon, why are you still in bed? Did I exhaust you too much last night?” he asked, all cheerful and way too loud, and he drew the curtains open.

Searing bright light hit Rook's face and it burned itself painfully through his eyelids. He cringed away with a whimper and threw his arm across his eyes, but even that small movement made another wave of nausea roll through him. Shit. He really didn't want to puke, especially not in front of Emmrich. He tried to breathe deeply, but it did nothing to keep the bile from rising in his throat. Emmrich at least had the presence of mind to close the curtains again, when he saw Rook's reaction.

“Rook? Dearest, what's wrong? Are you ill?” He sounded so worried. Rook probably looked as bad as he felt, then.

“Migraine,” he whispered between labored breaths, just barely managing to keep himself from vomiting.

“I can try healing-”

Rook interrupted him, desperate to get the words out before Emmrich started getting ideas about using magic on him.

“No magic. Makes it worse.” He remembered all too clearly the one and only time he had a healer try helping him with a spell. He'd spent the rest of that day in such agony that he contemplated bashing his skull open to make the pain go away. Magic really didn't play nice with his brain. He could hear Emmrich fidgeting with his hands, making the bangles on his forearms jingle softly.

“But surely there must be remedies,” he said, tone hopeful, like he would have gone to the edge of the world if he could find something that would help him. The thought was nice, and he almost felt bad for dashing that hope.

“Woke up with it, medicine won't work. Shush. No talk.”

He loved hearing Emmrich's voice, could listen to him go on about his theories for hours on end, but now it was pure torture, the sound stabbing right into his brain like red hot needles. Emmrich really did stop talking, an impressive feat, given how much he probably wanted to interrogate Rook about what he could do for him. Instead Rook felt the mattress dip and Emmrich was hesitantly making his way towards him on the bed.

The idea of Emmrich touching him was appealing, maybe he would stop being so damn cold. Emmrich touched his side gently, oh so careful not to disturb him overmuch, and the warmth of his hand was wonderful, taking his mind off the pain for a moment. Rook wanted more, so he flailed his arm around until he alighted on Emmrich's hand and dragged him forward to lie at his back. He sighed at the heat radiating off Emmrich, the shivers that had been plaguing him finally subsiding. If only his fucking head would stop trying to explode. He tried to stretch his neck to get rid of the painful stripe of stiff muscle that was making the ache of his head so much worse, but the movement did nothing but make his head swim.

Emmrich must have realized what he was trying to do, because he raised a tentative hand, running it along the side of the muscles at the back of his neck, until he found the knot there. He pressed gently with his thumb and Rook almost moaned at the relief. Emmrich then got to work, massaging the tense muscles of Rook’s neck and back and Rook was slowly relaxing under the touch, the pain abating at last. He was exhausted and sleep finally claimed him.

He woke up well into the afternoon, feeling weak and still a bit dizzy, but the pain was gone and he could almost weep with relief. He was warm and Emmrich was still there, cuddled against him, and he had covered them both with a blanket at some point.

“Hello, darling,” he whispered when he noticed him stirring, as if worried that anything louder might set the pain off again. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, thank you,” Rook said and he turned over to look at Emmrich for the first time that morning. There was a worried crease between his brows and Rook smoothed it out with a thumb, earning himself a relieved chuckle from Emmrich.

“You stayed with me?”

There was a tinge of disbelief in his voice as he realized that this actually was the first time he didn't have to go through this alone. Emmrich looked almost offended at the implication that he would want to be anywhere else but here with his ailing lover.

“Of course I wouldn't leave you alone in such a state! What if you needed me?” he sputtered indignantly.

“Aw, you're so sweet.” Rook smiled brightly at him, kissing the tip of his nose.

That post migraine exhilaration that always came with the relief of being pain-free at last was settling in and Rook purred happily to himself. Emmrich perked up at the sound, beaming at Rook, glad to see him finally feeling better. Then Rook's stomach rumbled, reminding him that it had been empty since yesterday and wouldn't tolerate this state of affairs any longer.

“I'm starving,” Rook announced. “I need some breakfast.”

“I believe the word is dinner, my dear,” Emmrich said with a smile.

“Whatever, I'm going to the kitchen. Come with me?”

“With pleasure,” came Emmrich's answer. He helped Rook get out of bed and get dressed and together they made their way to find something to eat.

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[xoxochb]

— about anything ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

★ - “wanna listen to the sound of you blinking wanna listen to your hands soothe listen to your heart beating listen to the way you move”

warnings: this is really short pairing: luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite a/n: this is entirely random but I wanted to write something simple today :)

for once, the hermes cabin was utterly silent. you had left your cabin early this morning because you’re siblings believed it was acceptable to spray loads of perfume at ten in the morning while you still slept. so, you had taken it upon yourself to leave cabin ten and spend the day in your boyfriends cabin. however, he was absent, you assume because he had counselor duties to attend to this morning unfortunately. so you waited. with your cup of coffee and your jane austen novel, you cozy yourself atop his bed, wrapping the blankets around your frame to shield your skin from the cold air-conditioning of the cabin. for two hours you had waited in silence, all the other hermes children had left for reasons you would guess were their own duties to attend to, so the cabin had been left to just you

bored, you close your book and let your head fall onto the pillow, and as you were ready to fall into slumber you hear the cabin door open. you allow your eyes to flutter open to see who had entered, and lucky you, your eye catches your favorite mop of dark curls progressively getting closer. you smile widely and sit up as luke takes a seat beside you on his bed

“hey. did I wake you?” he asks silently to preserve the quiet tone of the moment

you shake your head slowly, letting yourself fall back into the bed. “no, I just laid down”

luke murmurs a gentle ‘oh’ before laying down alongside you underneath the blankets. both, similarly, you wrap your arms around each other finding instant solace in the serene situation. you pull his head to your chest, his ear right over your beating heart

“what were you up to today?” you whisper. before responding, luke snakes a hand under your shirt, rubbing up and down your skin

“training… more training…”

you nod understandingly and stop yourself from continuing the conversation. you knew that his training was draining and had made the consecutive decision to let him rest. but— he whispers a silent plead for you to speak about your day until his eyes close shut

“I didn’t do much, I just kind of… read a lot. when I left my cabin this morning it smelt like perfume, I got a migraine so I came here hoping you hadn’t left but you were gone so… I took a small nap and I woke up feeling fine then I read emma for a bit and I had my coffee because you know me and my coffee addiction. then I was going to take a second nap while I waited for you but then you came in— so that was really my whole day”

luke hums in response, presumably on the verge of falling asleep from your honey-sweet voice

“that sounds nice. besides the migraine”

“definitely,” yoy laugh lightly, twirling your fingers through his hair to lull him to sleep at last “now rest. I’ll be here when you wake up”

you feel him smile upon your skin. “I won’t fight with you on that”

and he surely did not, moments later obeying your instructions

[sugoi-and-spice]

Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission

Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

AO3 Link

A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.

Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.

I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.

Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)

Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD

“Hey, hey— are you alright?”

She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days. 

“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?

The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”

And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.

But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.

Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.

“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”

“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”

“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”

“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”

“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.

She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.

“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”

She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.

Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:

“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.

Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.

“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”

And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.

The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.

But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.

It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.

And that was better than nothing she supposed.

Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”

Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.

“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head,  “Damn it— you can say that again.”

Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”

She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”

“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”

Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”

She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.

“If I do… Do you mind—”

“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”

She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person. 

The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.

And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.

She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.

She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.

Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s. 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”

She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.

“Yeah, I fucking told you.” 

Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.

She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.

If only for a little bit.

“What’s going on?”

She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.

“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”

“You start your period or something?”

He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same. 

Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.

“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”

She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.

“Are you nauseous at all?”

Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.

“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.

“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”

He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.

And between her legs.

“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.

“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”

“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief. 

…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?

She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.

“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.

He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.

“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”

She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.

“No funny business?” she pressed.

He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”

More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.

So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.

Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.

She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.

“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”

Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”

In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.

With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.

A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair. 

He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.

“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”

“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.

She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”

He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.

Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.

She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets. 

“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”

She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.

By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.

Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.

“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”

She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.

“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”

It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all. 

Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.

Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.

He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck. 

Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met. 

Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.

Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.

And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.

It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Shigaraki wasn’t here.

She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…

She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…

Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.

Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.

Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.

If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.

She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed. 

She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.

And really fucking nauseous.

She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.

A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.

“Let it out. Just let it all out.”

She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.

“Here.”

She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.

 “Drink some of it too.”

She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice. 

And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form. 

Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”

“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”

She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.

“Don’t like salmon?”

“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”

“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”

Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.

“W-What?”

Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—” 

Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something? 

Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.

“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.

She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…

“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”

She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest. 

He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”

She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.

“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last. 

“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”

He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach. 

She sighed.

“Yeah… Yeah okay.”

Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed. 

But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.

She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.

“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”

She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.

But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.

Like something was wrong .

Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.

There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…

And a little dish of four pills. 

Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…

“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”

As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.

And she was ready to get the fuck off.

“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”

Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping. 

“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”

He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”

He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…

“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”

He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.

“ Both of you .”

She froze.

No.

No, he couldn’t mean—

She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:

“... what? ”

Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.

“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”

She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.

He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!

“Th-That’s not funny.”

His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.

“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”

“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”

“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”

He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”

Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.

“B-But my birth control pills…”

“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”

Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.

And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came. 

Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.

Horribly fucking right.

Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly. 

“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”

His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.

“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”

[sansaorgana]

Hi! It's anon from the period thoughts hehe! I think you're spot on with all of that! Thank you :) Any chance you can do a fic with it?

Gale w/a girlfriend or wife that's having awful period cramps/day?

hiii 😘 guess who started her period today? ME 🤣 when I realised this request is next in the line to be written I laughed 😛 because it's something I'm going through at the moment, I got a bit carried away and it's quite long for a cute little fic like that haha 🥰

I have about 10 MOTA requests to write in my inbox 😅 so please, go easy with them for a while 👉🏻👈🏻 especially that requests for Feyd are open now, too 🤩

You were laying on the couch under a blanket, mindlessly watching the TV with your eyes hazy from the painkiller you had taken. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working for the pain but it was making you feel even more dazed out.

When you heard the front door opening, you sensed the feeling of guilt forming a knot in your stomach. Buck was coming back home after work and not only his house hadn’t been cleaned but also there was no dinner waiting for him on the table. You hoped he’d survive on the sandwiches but you felt bad for him.

“I’m back!” He announced his arrival but you didn’t move. You simply couldn’t.

You heard him undressing and taking his shoes off before peeking into the living room and looking at the TV.

“You’re watching this?” He asked surprised. Well, the program was stupid as hell and you were aware of it.

“I don’t want to but I can’t move to turn it off,” you admitted in a raspy, tired voice.

“Are you okay?” Buck furrowed his brows and approached the TV. He crouched down and turned it off.

“Thank you, it was starting to give me a migraine,” you admitted with a sigh.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He turned around to face you. 

“I’m sorry, I have those days,” you explained.

“What days, love?”

“Ugh…” You winced at one of the cramps. “Code red, Gale. Those days,” you specified.

“Oh,” he straightened himself and put his hands on his hips, getting visibly awkward. “What can I do for you? Does it hurt a lot?”

“Yes, it does. Just leave me here alone…” You mumbled. “And don’t get angry at me because I haven’t done anything around the house. Haven’t cooked anything either,” you lowered your voice, a little scared of his reaction.

You didn’t expect your husband to be angry about such a thing. He was not like most men. But he still could get a little frustrated and irritated. You wouldn’t blame him for that but it would still feel awful to disappoint him like that.

“Hey, you don’t feel good, it’s fine,” Buck only said. “I can make myself sandwiches,” he shrugged his arms. “Have you eaten anything?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Not really, no,” you answered. “I took a painkiller but it’s not helping. It made me hazy, though.”

Buck stood there in silence for a while, looking as if he was thinking intensely about something.

“I have an idea,” he said finally. “Are you allowed to take baths in your state?” He asked and you laughed at him.

“Jesus, Gale, can you imagine not being allowed to take a bath when you’re bleeding for a few days straight?” You asked and he blushed adorably. It was quite cute how he was feeling uncomfortable with the subject of periods and how little he did know about them… yet, he still tried to help.

“Let’s run you a bath then,” he nodded.

“Gale, please…” You sighed. “Baby, you’re tired after work. Just make yourself sandwiches and get some rest, too,” you tried to stop him.

“I’m fine,” he assured you. “Come,” he approached you and picked you up bridal style with the blanket still around you. You squeezed it in your fist so it wouldn’t fall down and let him carry you to the bathroom upstairs.

Buck sat you carefully on the closed toilet seat and turned the faucet on to fill the bathtub with the warm water. He opened one of the drawers of your bathroom cabinet and hummed to himself.

“What kind of bath do you want?” He asked, unsurely.

“What do you mean by that?” You leaned back, resting your head on the cold bathroom tiles.

“You have all sorts of things here… Rose, lavender, vanilla…” He read the words on the bottles of your bath oils.

“Lavender helps,” you told him and Buck nodded his head.

He took the bottle out and you watched him carefully tilting it above the bathtub… only to pour half of it inside the water. You gasped.

“What?” He turned his head around, startled by the sound leaving your mouth.

“You’re supposed to add a few drops…” You sighed, too tired to get annoyed. Also, getting annoyed when he was trying so hard to help you would be simply unfair.

“I’m sorry… Should I run another bath now?” He asked.

“Don’t be crazy. You’ve no idea how much money you’ve just poured down there,” you let out a tired chuckle.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Buck closed the lid and put the bottle back in the drawer. “But is it safe to bathe in it now?”

“Only one way to find out, is it?” You shrugged your arms.

Buck approached you to help you stand up but you shook your head.

“No, no,” you stood up by yourself on shaky legs. “I don’t… I don’t want you to see…” You explained shyly.

“It’s just some blood, I can handle it, baby,” he assured you but he was blushing again.

“Please, just leave me here and go downstairs to eat something,” you told him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Actually, I’ll go to the store,” he stated. “I’ll buy us some proper dinner and I’ll be back in twenty minutes. You won’t drown in the meantime, will you?”

“Don’t be daft, I’m not a baby,” you smiled at him and he nodded.

Buck left the bathroom and when you were left alone there, you allowed the blanket to fall down on the floor. Then you got rid of the rest of the clothes and went inside the bathtub, sighing out of relief at the feeling of the warm water.

You were sitting there for so long that the water turned cold, however you felt too comfortable to leave. It was Buck’s soft knocking upon the door that made you finally move.

“I’m back. Are you alive there?” He asked through the door.

“Yes, I’m about to leave now,” you answered.

“Alright. I have chicken,” he told you. “Do you want tea?”

“Yes, please.”

You heard his footsteps going downstairs as you watched the water go down the drain before you stood up, grabbed a towel and dried yourself before putting dark underwear, a black nightgown and a robe that you had in the bathroom cabinet. You put the dress and underwear you had been wearing earlier to the laundry bin and picked up the blanket to fold it and take it with you downstairs to put it back in the living room.

You felt so much better after your bath, you had to admit it. Your hair was wet but you didn’t bother with drying it. It was around six in the evening and you already looked like you were about to go to sleep but you knew that Buck wouldn’t mind that at all.

And indeed, when you walked inside the kitchen, he didn’t even ask about it nor furrowed his brows at your nighttime attire. There was a chicken with mashed potatoes and a salad on the table already, alongside the tea he had made for you.

“I bought more of that lavender oil so you don’t run out of it,” Buck pointed at the unpacked groceries on the kitchen counter. “And something sweet for you,” he added. “The lady at the store was nosy, she asked me why I was buying chicken for dinner and was my wife sick so I told her the truth and she told me women like sweets when they have… those days,” his cheeks turned pink as he moved the chair for you and you sat down with a smile.

“She was right,” you told him. 

“Oh, good, for a while I was scared she just wanted to swindle me to spend more money,” Buck chuckled and took a seat in front of you. “So, after all, she was helpful.”

“Yeah, I know what nosy lady you’re talking about,” you nodded at him. “She’s annoying but she’s also sweet. Hard to explain,” you giggled.

“And how do you feel now?”

“I feel much better, thank you,” you nodded and reached your hand out to caress his and give it a light squeeze before you both started to eat the chicken.

Buck was telling you about his day at work and you were listening with a slight smile. You would usually comment and ask questions or gasp at some things, demanding to know more gossip. But today you were just nodding your head and smiling, still listening but less attentively.

“I’m sorry, perhaps you’d rather eat in silence. You’ve mentioned getting a migraine before,” Buck shut his mouth suddenly.

“I would have told you if I wanted you to be quiet, baby. It’s fine,” you assured him. “And the migraine is gone now. The bath really helped me.”

“Well… I think I’ve already said everything anyway,” he laughed and stood up to get the empty plates from the table to put them in the sink. “I will wash them and you go upstairs and lay in bed. I’ll bring you the dessert when I’m done.”

“You’re absolutely the sweetest, you know that?” You asked him. 

“I’m only taking care of you, darling. Like husbands do. You take care of me, too. Every day,” he looked like he didn’t understand why you were so grateful and it was making him even more special.

And he didn’t even know.

You wondered if his heart was truly so pure that he had no idea how other men could treat their wives. Whenever someone would mention some dreadful story of this sort, Buck would always widen his eyes as if he found it hard to believe. Perhaps he was truly that innocent and oblivious. Or he just couldn’t imagine being so cruel. Either way, he was a gem.

“I just love you so much,” you whispered, getting emotional. Most likely from the hormones.

“I love you, too,” he answered, a bit surprised. “Go upstairs, baby. Do you want me to carry you?”

“No, I will manage,” you stood up and kissed his cheek before leaving the kitchen.

In fact, you’d love him to carry you. But you didn’t want to bother him too much. So you just went to the bedroom and then you sighed at the sight of the freshly put white sheets. You had changed them in the morning, stupidly forgetting about your period coming soon.

With a grunt, you started to take them off. Your moves were slow and when Buck joined you upstairs, you were almost done.

“What are you doing?” He widened his eyes and put the tray he had been holding in his hands down on the vanity table.

“I put them on this morning but I have to change them now. I don’t want to stain them with blood,” you explained.

“You should have waited for me, I’ll do that,” Buck approached you and took the sheets from your hands. “Give that to me.”

“Buck, you’re a sweetheart, but I’m not dying or sick. I can do that, really,” you tried to assure him. “It’s not like it’s my first time having those days,” you explained, carefully avoiding the word period around him because you could only imagine how uncomfortable it would make him feel.

“You can help,” he agreed. “Give me the sheets you want me to put on,” he pointed to the wardrobe with his chin and you rolled your eyes before opening it and handing him the dark navy blue sheets. He gave you back the white ones and you folded them before putting them back.

When the bed was made, you sat under the cover and rested on the pillow. Your husband placed the tray in front of you and you smiled at the sight of a cake and some ice cream.

“Is it alright?” Buck asked.

“Yes, yes, it is,” you nodded with a smile and started to eat.

“By the way, I’m totally getting you a dishwasher,” he sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed and caressed your wet hair.

“Are you crazy? They're expensive!” You protested.

“But it’s going to make your life easier,” Buck pinched your cheek playfully. “You can’t say no, by the way, I’ve already made my decision.”

You didn’t say anything then and just finished eating as he watched you with admiration in his eyes. You offered him a few bites and he agreed to take them but most of the dessert was yours to eat on your own. When you were finished, you laid down, ready to take a nap. Buck took the tray from the bed and leaned in to place a kiss upon your forehead.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” he whispered softly.

“Well, then, my dreams better be of you,” you smiled at him lovingly, “if you want them to be sweet.”

Buck winked at you and went back downstairs to take the tray down. You were starting to fall asleep by the time he was back to lay down next to you and hold you close, making you feel loved and taken care of.

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[thrillered]

"You Know I Mountain Dew It For Ya" | Spencer Agnew x Reader | Pt. 14

Part 14: The Date

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Guys I'm so sorry this is so late lmao

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“That’s SO good, wait.” You laughed. Courtney was testing a new TNTL bit with you, explaining the props and joke. “I think that would kill either Amanda or Trevor.” 

“You think so? I wasn’t completely sure the joke made sense to anyone but me.” 

“If you don’t do it I swear that I will.” You laughed, high fiving Courtney before heading back to your desk. 

Your day had been great so far. You filmed a beopordy and had a meeting about an upcoming character based games video. Everyone loved the character pitches you gave, boosting your confidence a little higher all day. 

Your date with Spencer was tonight. You thought you would be more nervous but so far you only felt excitement and positivity. Everyone could tell you were absolutely giddy, the energy radiating off of you was contagious. 

You felt like you were bouncing off the walls, every time you saw Spencer you both were blushing messes. 

—

Everyone broke for lunch, giving you the opportunity to spend some more relaxed time with Spencer. 

“Hey,” You began, sitting next to Spencer with your plate of food. 

“Hi beautiful.” He responded, earning a swat to his arm as you blushed. 

“What’s the rest of your day lookin’ like?” You asked, beginning to eat. 

“I’ve got another meeting then we’re shooting a games video and a Shayne guesses. Oh! Which reminds me, would you be able to fill in for Court in the video? They got a bad migraine and their medication isn’t helping so they went home.” 

“Yeah of course, anything for you and Court.” you smiled, happy to help and happy to film. The rest of your day was writing and sitting in on the Shayne Guesses video so you were glad to have a little more excitement. 

“You’re the best.” He grinned, placing his hand on your knee and squeezing it gently. 

The rest of lunch went by peacefully, people coming and going from your table to talk and hang out before making their way elsewhere. You and Spencer went your separate ways, him reminding you that games filming was in an hour, leaving you with a gentle hug. 

—

You managed to get a good start to a sketch, outlining it and creating a rough draft before you left to film. You walked into the sound stage and got mic’d, excited to film. Mario Party was up on the TV so you prepared yourself to do a ‘don’t win’. 

The video began, everyone being introduced– Shayne, Trevor, Angela, and yourself. You were about to begin when Spencer interrupted, making it known that it was actually ‘WIN mario party’. 

You were on a team with Angela while Shayne and Trevor were together. 

“Okat this isn’t fair!” You and Angela complained. “Shayne and Trevor and the 2nd and 3rd nerdiest losers I know! And Angela doesn’t even have her glasses!” 

“I don’t even have my glasses!” Angela mirrored. 

“Okay… one: Rude.” Shayne began. “Two: who’s which?” 

“Trevors number two and Shayne's number three.” You explained, like it was obvious. 

“Wait who’s number one?” Angela asked. 

“He’s right behind that camera.” You laughed, gesturing to Spencer.

This made everyone laugh, knowing it was probably 100% true. Spencer got up and walked behind the couch, kneeling to speak directly into your ear, “Hey so never say that shit ever again.” 

Trevor, who was sitting next to you, laughed so hard he started choking. 

“Frankly… that’s accurate.” He laughed when he made it back behind the screen. 

—

“No this is actually insane!” You exclaimed, after another win for you and Ange. “I take back what I said, maybe me and Ange are actually the best gamers here.” 

Angela high-fived you, emitting a screech with it before pulling you into a bro-hug. 

“Okaaay… that’s enough.” Trevor laughed. “I will not let my good gamer name be besmirched.” 

“Oh shut the hell up.” Angela interjected. 

You strategized with Angela to make it to the star seeing that you could both earn double stars. “It’s so over for you guys,” You began, watching your character move across the screen. “I literally freaking got your asses, Im literally- i’m literally getting so many stars and you will never have as many stars as me.” You said seriously, in a low monotone voiced bit. 

—

“You know what I’m thinking about?” You asked, playing the final round of Mario Party. “Spencer in Gentleman’s don’t win. That shit was so stupid.” 

“You’re literally obsessed with me.” Spencer commented from off camera. You immediately stood up, acting like you were going to step up to him. 

“I’m just kidding!” He backtracked, “It’s actually the opposite! I’m obsessed with you, not the other way around!” 

“Yeah that’s right.” You and Spencer laughed, knowing he was actually telling the truth. 

The rest of the shoot you could feel Spencer’s lovestruck gaze against you, sneaking glances when the game allowed. 

—

“Alright thank you guys for joining us! Me and Ange have proven, once and for all, that we are the best gamers in the office so don’t forget to subscribe and press the bell to be notified when me and Angela win another game and these dorks LOSE!” You outro’d, everyone saying bye before you cut. 

“Alright we have a half hour break before we shoot Shayne Guesses!” Alex announced. 

You were talking with Trevor as you both walked out of the stage, heading towards your desks. You finished your conversation and parted ways, heading to your desk and sitting to continue writing. 

You spent a few minutes writing, engrossed in the document, before a mug was placed before you. “What-,”

“Hi Y/N” Spencer said, pulling a chair next to you. “You always have tea around this time.” He continued, noticing your slightly confused face. 

“Thank you Spence,” You smiled, feeling warm. 

“How's the writing going?” He asked, leaning into you slightly to scan over your screen. 

“Pretty good I think. It’s not super fleshed out but so far I’m really proud of it.” 

Spencer’s phone buzzed, signaling he was needed for filming. “You’ll have to let me read it when it’s done.” He stood with this, grabbing your laptop and holding a hand to you. “Let’s go film Shayne Guesses.” 

You grabbed his hand, blushing as you walked together to the set, feeling him squeeze your hand every so often. 

—

“This drawing is so awesome.” Shayne laughed, staring at your drawing on the screen. You were trying to keep a poker face, almost breaking when Spencer looked around the room and landed on you. “If I hadn’t already guessed Courtney I might have guessed them… This could be someone from art.. But I’ve already guessed most of them.” 

You had drawn him doing the middle splits, using one of his instagram posts as inspiration. 

Shayne was looking around the room, trying to decide from reactions who drew it. You were sitting closer to the back, your laptop on your raised knees to shield your face slightly. 

“This could be you Spencer.” He remarked to Spence who was next to him. 

“Honestly, that is really flattering.” 

“Well now it doesn’t seem like its you… I- I don’t know though so I’m just gonna guess you.” Shayne decided, bracing himself before changing the slide. “Y/N!?” 

The room cheered, Spencer waving for you to come over and say something. 

“You said you never thought you’d be able to do this splits so I thought maybe this would inspire you or like, you could put it on your vision board.” You joked, your hand on his shoulder as you leaned into frame. 

“I really thought I was gonna get you! My streak of always guessing you is lost now! This drawing is so sick tho, thank you.” 

“A comedian, actress, musician.. Now an artist? What can’t she do?” Spencer jested. 

—

Your day had been incredible. You had felt just excitement all day but now that you were at home, alone, you were anxious as all get out. 

Spencer was supposed to pick you up in 10 minutes. You had been ready for about 40 minutes, scared you would be late or mess up your makeup. Now you were sat at your kitchen island, facing the door, trying to will Spencer behind it. It felt like hours had passed of you waiting but every time you checked your phone only a minute had passed. 

Finally there was a knock at the door. You were immediately able to tell it was Spencer. Even though you were anticipating his arrival you'd be able to recognize his knock anywhere; something so menial, but a detail you’d never want to forget. 

You were greeted with a stunning bouquet of flowers upon opening the door. A smile shooting across your features as you saw Spencer. He was wearing a casual suit, with his glasses and his hair perfectly styled. 

“Oh my gosh, they're beautiful.” you cooed, taking them from Spencer before inviting him inside while you found a vase and a home for the flowers. 

“Not as beautiful as you.” Spencer teased. 

“That's so corny.” 

“But it's true. You look… just wow…” Spencer breathed, taking in your appearance. “I don’t think there’s a word in any language, old and new, to properly describe you. Not just your incredible beauty, but also your dazzling mind. I feel so lucky to have the honor of taking you out.” 

You laughed and blushed at his antics, smiling as he held you an arms length away to look at you. You were wearing a deep blue silk midi dress and black heels. You weren’t sure how nice to dress and thought you may have overdressed but seeing Spencer's dark blue suit match your dress perfectly eased any nerves you had. 

“Okay stop being a dork, take me out.” You joked, excited for the night. 

He laughed with you, placing a sweet kiss on your lips before taking your hand and guiding you out of your apartment. 

—

Spencer helped you out of the car, the Griffith Observatory in front of you. He gave his keys to the valet and was back at your side. 

“Spencer what is this?” You asked, in awe of the beautifully lit area, framed by stars. 

“I know how you love LaLa Land and heard about an event and snagged some last minute tickets.” He explained.

“This is incredible.” 

“This is just the beginning.” Spencer noted. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

[crazyunsexycool]

A Love as Sweet as Honey

Chapter 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

word count: 3.4K

Warning: mentions of blood, migraine, little bit of fluff I guess, a little bit of Charlotte, Also a new character is added... 👀

A/N: Well look who decided to finish writing chapter 2 of ALASAH. This is just a filler chapter. It's kind of to show how Steve and Honey kind of look out for each other. Also this is kind of self-indulgent since I've been getting a bunch of migraines lately... lol Anyways, the next chapter is where it's at.

Series Masterlist

You stood by as the jet landed. The bright sunlight had you squinting as you finished getting your gear on. To your right is Mrs. B with a few more people that worked in the medbay. She was supposed to be on maternity leave but the mission had been harder than the team had imagined and they would need all hands on deck. 

“You call me if you need anything.” She says as she moves to stand by you. She was always looking out for you. At first you thought it was just because you were friends with Steve but it was more than that. Maybe she could sense that you didn’t really have anyone you could count on. And although you weren’t sure how to show her you appreciated it you hoped she knew you did.

“I’ll be fine.” 

“I know you will but if you need anything, call me.”

“I will, mom.” You rolled your eyes playfully but Mrs. B smiled proudly. 

The rear cargo door opens and some agents are moving stretchers down the ramp. Mrs. B and her team rush over and begin to work. You give them a few minutes before grabbing your bag and heading into the jet to do your part. At the ramp Sam exits and he stops in front of you.

“Steve’s still in there.” He informs you.

“Is something wrong?” 

“Some civilians and agents were hurt pretty badly. The mission failed and he’s beating himself up over it. You might want to give him a minute before going in there to get that case Doc.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” 

Sam gives you a quick nod before heading into the compound. You take a deep breath and look back at the jet. While you were very understanding of needing space and time away from people, you didn’t think that this was good for Steve. So after another minute of thinking through how you would approach him, you decided to just go in and do your job. 

The overhead lights are dimmed. The floor is littered with gauze, packaging and ripped uniforms. There’s caked up dirt and blood too. You try to ignore it and step over it as best as you can until you’re closer to the front of the jet. A lone figure sat in the dark. All slumped shoulders and head hanging low. Even as you sat next to him, Steve didn’t move. 

“I heard about the mission I-“ 

“Please don’t say that it wasn’t my fault or that it was out of my control.” He murmurs. He’s completely defeated. 

“I was going to say that I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. I think that you did your best.” 

“People got hurt.” He replies with a clenched jaw.

“But they didn’t die.”

“But they could have.” 

“And you got them to the people that could save their lives. Do you feel like you could have done more?” You tilt your head to look at him better.

“I could have done things differently.” 

“I said more.” 

Steve sighs as he runs a hand over his face and then shakes his head. “I don’t know that I could have.” 

“Then you did your best. Sometimes your best isn’t good enough but you can’t blame yourself for it. You’ll kick ass next time.” 

Steve nods but you can tell he doesn’t believe it.

You get up and head toward the chamber where hazardous materials are stored to grab the briefcase you came for. The whole reason for the mission in the first place. There’s some shuffling behind you and then laughter from Steve so you turn to find out what’s so funny. 

“What?” 

“You look like a rubber duck with that thing on.” 

You looked down at your yellow hazmat suit. There was a hood you had covering your hair, gloves, a face mask and disposable shoe covers.

“I’m going to remember you called me a duck.” You smile as Steve huffs another laugh. 

“Charlotte calls you a duck all the time.” 

“That’s between us girls.” You say before turning back to the job at hand.

Before you can remove the briefcase you have to check for any leaks so you grab a few things out of the bag you had with you. After doing a few preliminary tests you deem it safe to move so you put everything back and grab the briefcase. 

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” You tell Steve. 

“I’ll be out in a minute.” 

“Nope. You’re leaving now. You can mope in your apartment but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here.” 

“I promise I’ll be out in a few minutes.” 

You shake your head. “Just go to your apartment. I’ll call Mrs. B.” 

“She doesn’t scare me.” 

“Fine, I'll bring in the big guns. I’ll call Charlotte and Henry.” 

“You wouldn’t.” Steve gasps.

“Try me.” You raise your brows. “Now grab your shit and let's go. I have samples to run.”

“Fine.” Steve grabs his shield and bag and follows you out of the jet. 

You walk in silence together until you get to the elevators. 

“I’ll see you later ok?” 

“You got something new to work on, I don’t think I’ll see you for at least three days.” Steve smirks. 

“I’ll check in with you at some point. You really did your best.” 

Steve nods but looks a bit dejected. 

“Go get some rest.” You say as you enter the elevator and Steve heads down the hall to the living quarters. 

The pain started slowly. At first you thought it was just stiffness in your neck from being in the same position for so long. But then the sounds of the lab and the conversations were too loud. The light was too bright. You were blinking slowly as you tried to focus on something around you. It wasn’t until the nausea hit that you knew you had a few minutes to clean up your station and save all the information you had before you needed to leave. You excused yourself with Bruce, who was looking at you with concern. He was kind enough to escort you to your apartment just to make sure you actually got there.

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?” He asks as you stop in front of your door.

“I’ll be fine.” 

“I can get someone from the medbay come up here.” 

“No, I'm good. I’m sure with some sleep this migraine will go away.” You say quietly.  

“Well you don’t have to come in tomorrow. Rest up and let me know if you need anything.” 

“Thanks Bruce.” You say before heading inside. 

****

Steve is just closing the door to his apartment when Mrs. B turns the corner. She has her medic bag with her and instinctively Steve looks to your door.

“Mags, what's going on?” 

“Y/N asked me to come up. Said something about a headache.” She says while stopping in front of your door.

“Oh.” 

“I’ll let her know that you’re right here if she needs anything. I’m gonna go check on her.” 

“Ok.” 

****

After taking a nap and waking up feeling worse you did the only thing you could think of, called Mrs. B. If it weren’t because you were in such a weakened state you would’ve found more medicine for your headache. But you could barely get out of bed. 

“Y/N, it’s me. May I come in?” You heard Mrs. B call out softly. 

She was right outside your bedroom door so you just groaned in response. The door opens and the light from the living room fills the dark space you had created for yourself. You groan again and she closes the door. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” She whispers as she sits at the edge of your bed. 

“Mi-migraine. Vomit. So bad.” You say with slurred speech. 

“Do you get a lot of migraines?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Ok. I’m going to step out and check our records and I’ll be right back to help you. Are you allergic to any medication?” 

There was complete silence for a moment and you felt Mrs. B’s cool hands on your forehead and you sighed. It was so hard for you to think straight so it took you a minute to come up with an answer. 

“No.” 

“Ok, I’ll be right back.” There was some shuffling around and the sound annoyed you but then you felt something cool on your head. “It’s an ice pack, maybe it could soothe you a bit.” She whispered and got up. 

It felt like hours had passed as you laid there waiting for Mrs. B to come back. Really it was just a few minutes but the pain you were feeling was so overwhelming that you couldn’t keep track of anything. 

“Y/N, I’m going to give you something for the pain ok.” 

“Mhm.” Is the only acknowledgement you could give. 

She moved quickly and quietly next to you in order to give you something to ease this pain. After she was done, Mrs. B sat beside you and pushed your hair away from your face. A motherly gesture that at a different time would have startled you but you welcomed it at the moment. She stayed for a few more minutes before grabbing her things. 

“Y/N?” She calls your name softly.

“Mm?” 

“Steve is out in the hallway. He wanted to know if it would be ok if he came in to check on you.” 

This was so new to you. No one ever really worried about your well-being. Now there were two people that were looking after you. It was nice but also hard for you to accept the help and attention. You only called Mrs. B because you knew that as a medical professional she wouldn’t deny helping you and out of everyone in the medbay you only felt comfortable with her coming into your apartment. Steve was something else entirely. Yes you lived across from him and you even had him over for a movie night but you hadn’t really unpacked then. If he came in now it would be like he could really see all of you. But at the moment you also needed help or the reassurance that someone would come in to see if you were still alive.

“Ok.” You barely manage to say.

“Alright I’ll let him know but you can still have Friday call me if you need me.”

“Thanks.” You say while turning away from her and closing your eyes again. 

****

“Y/N? Hey, can you hear me?” The words were rushed and panicked. “C’mon open your eyes. Y/N open your eyes.” 

You groaned in response. The pain you felt was horrible. You were nauseous too. A nice cool feeling comes over your forehead and you lean into it. 

“Y/N, can you hear me?” 

It was Steve. A panicked, worried Steve was talking to you but you felt like you were underwater so you only hummed. 

“I’m going to take you to the medbay.” He whispers as you’re lifted up in his strong arms. You lean into his chest and fall back into unconsciousness.

You were groggy and confused when you finally woke up. Your body ached and you still felt that dull pounding in your head from the overpowering migraine. The more alert you became the more you realized you weren’t in your room or your apartment. 

“Y/N?” Asked a sleepy voice from beside you. 

“Steve?” You rasp out. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like my head got hit with a sledgehammer.” You groan. “Where am I?”

“I had to bring you to the medbay, I came in to check in on you and found you passed out on your bathroom floor.” 

You just stared at Steve for a moment. “I-I don’t remember getting out of bed.”

“It’s ok. You were really out of it. The doctors said your migraine was really bad.”

“I haven’t had one this bad in a long time.” 

Steve cups your cheek, running his thumb back and forth. You lean into the touch and close your eyes, completely missing the worry in Steve’s eyes. Physical contact wasn’t something either of you did normally but it was nice to feel his warmth. Truth be told you craved being closer to Steve all the time.

“You know Charlotte and Henry came by to see you.” He says after a moment making you open your eyes. “They left their teddy bears because it would make you feel better. Henry even picked some flowers for you.” 

You look down to find pink and orange bears holding paws laying on your lap. A small bouquet of wildflowers is in a cup full of water. It makes you smile. “They’re sweet.” 

“They were very worried about you, so we’re a few other people. But let me call the nurse and then I’ll let them know you’re ok.” 

A nurse walks in a few minutes later. She checks your vitals, asks a few questions and leaves again. The small interaction drains you again. Steve takes a seat again as you watch him through hooded eyes. 

“You know you don’t have to stay right?” You whisper. 

“I know. I want to.” He replies softly with a smile. “Get some rest and I’ll be right here if you need anything.” 

It had been a few days since you had woken up in the medbay. Since then Steve and Mrs. B had both been checking up on you regularly. Mrs. B making sure you were taking enough breaks and drinking plenty of water. It still felt odd to you, to have people that genuinely cared for you. There was no motive behind them coming to see you. 

You’d been around them for almost two years already and you still felt like an outsider. Their concern was genuine but you didn’t know how to react to it. You wanted to do something nice for Mrs. B and then something for Steve. 

“Hey.” Bruce startled you out of your thoughts. “I’m about to head down, walk with me?” 

“Sure.” You grab your tablet and head out with Bruce. 

He was going on a mission, a rare thing these days, and wanted to go over a few projects. This is what you were hired to do. So all the way from your office down to the jet he rattled off what he needed done and you made notes and asked questions. Bruce said a quick goodbye before walking towards the jet. 

“Hey,” you walk up to Steve who was looking at his own tablet. “Ready for your mission?” 

“I hope so.” 

“You’ll be fine. Remember you can only do your best. Don’t be reckless, I need you here.” 

Steve smiles, his cheeks flushing a little. 

At the other end of the hangar Bucky is giving his family kisses. Next to him is a blonde woman. When she sees Steve she starts walking his way, a smile on her lips. 

“Steve, how have you been?” 

“Good. How have you been Sharon?” Steve nods at her. 

“Good. Glad to finally have a more permanent residence.” Sharon says while crossing her arms over her chest. “This mission is going to be a hard one.” 

“You’re going on this mission?” 

“Yeah, didn’t Fury tell you? I’m starting here today. I’m the official liaison between the Avengers and the CIA.” 

You silently listen and look between them, unsure if something is happening. It feels like it is and you don’t like it at all. 

“This is doctor Y/N Y/L/N. She works with Bruce, Y/N this is Sharon Carter.” Steve introduces you. 

“So you’re the one who stole my apartment across from this one.” Sharon lightly smacks Steve’s chest. “If you didn’t want to be my neighbor again you could’ve just said that, Steve.” She chuckles. 

You’re annoyed by her instantly and you can’t hide the expression that says as much. It’s like she was trying too hard. Maybe you just didn’t want to share Steve’s attention. This friendship between Steve and Sharon didn’t feel like his friendship with Mrs. B. There was some underlying tension between the two people in front of you. 

“Yeah well, last time I thought you were a nurse. A CIA agent sounds more dangerous to have as a neighbor. Besides, Y/N here keeps me on my toes.” 

“Oh well,” Sharon looks between the two of you, trying to decipher what kind of relationship you have. “If you want a fun neighbor, let me know.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, getting the attention of both of them. While Steve seemed to have been caught off guard by Sharon’s comment overall, she seemed taken aback at your small reaction. 

“Have a safe mission.” You mutter before turning and heading back inside. 

“Duckie!” Lottie yelled across the hangar. “Wait for me.” She ran and stopped beside Steve to give him a hug and say a quick goodbye. 

“Don’t I get a goodbye?” 

Lottie who had been halfway to you turned, scowled in Sharon’s direction and shook her head. “No.” 

“Charlotte.” Mrs. B called out. “That’s not nice. Don’t be rude to Sharon.” 

“Bye.” Lottie says, the one word dripping with annoyance, and turns to run to you. “Can I be your ‘ssistant today?” She asks sweetly. You tried not to laugh at the quick shift in her mood.

“Sure, I could use all the help I can get.” 

“Ok. I’ll be the best ‘ssistant.” Lottie takes your hand and pulls you towards the entrance of the building. 

“Did I do something to piss her off?” 

Mrs. B joins Steve and Sharon and shakes her head. 

“At least not yet.” Steve quips, causing both women to look at him. “Her visions.” He reminds them both. 

“Still, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Sharon waves off the concern. “We should get going though, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you later Mags. Bye Peanut.” 

“Be safe.” Mrs. B calls out as Sharon and Steve head to the yet. 

You were about to close the door of your apartment behind you when the sound of tired footsteps echoed in the hallway. Pulling the door open just a bit you see Steve making his way towards his own apartment. He’s so tired he doesn’t even notice you stepping out of your apartment. 

“Hey.” You greet him.

He turns and gives you a tired smile.

“How did it go?” 

“The mission was a success. I did my best.” 

“That’s all that matters.” You smile. “I won’t keep you, you must be exhausted.” 

“I think I could sleep for days.” Steve blinks owlishly at you.

“Well fortunately your neighbor is boring and won’t keep you up.” 

Steve grimaced at the memory of Sharon’s comment a few days prior. He didn’t think you were boring at all. In all honesty he was glad you were living across the hall from him. Steve found some sort of comfort in having you close. 

“I don’t think you’re boring. I’m glad you’re my neighbor.” 

“Maybe I’ll make you regret it.” You quip making Steve huff a laugh. “Anyways, go get some rest.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Steve turns and starts opening the door before you call him.

“Would it be ok if I check in on you?” 

He gives you a tired smile but nods. “See, you’re the best neighbor.” 

You watch him disappear into his apartment before closing the door behind you. Now you get to repay Steve for having been so caring when you got sick. No one had ever cared about you as much as he had in that moment. Even when he was busy with reports and training he always made sure to check in on you. 

So you make sure he does in fact sleep as much as he needs. Although you don’t cook you’ve learned what he likes and make sure his fridge is stocked. When Sharon inevitably shows up knocking on his door you’re more than happy to send her away without her getting to flirt with Steve. The thought alone makes you irrationally angry because you know that Steve can be with whoever he wants to. When Sharon turns back around to see if you’re still standing in the hallway you send her the fakest smile you can muster. 

It was nice, having someone take care of you and you being able to return the favor. You felt like something was shifting in your friendship with Steve. And even though you weren’t sure what it was you would welcome it with open arms. Because being around Steve made you feel safe and cared for and you’d dare to say even loved. 

Ch. 3

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[ashomodeus]

How the OM bros + Dateables react to walking in on M!Mc in just a towel after a shower.

Notes: Bad grammar, I haven't written in 2 years, I'm rusty. Though the Mc in obey me is gender neutral, or advertised as such, I just wanted to write about a M!Mc. Probably smut warning. Milking mentioned and other kinks as well, probably. Sorry, it's all over the place. I'm writing this with a killer migraine and whilst at work. Consider this an I'm backkkk. PLEASE SEND REQUEST IM SO UNORIGINAL. Or even send a request on a full story of one of these scenarios.

Part 1: Lucifer, Mammon, Levi

Part 2: Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie

Part 3: Solomon, Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon

I would like to thank Beyonce for everything...

Solomon

● Honestly he had no idea why he wanted to visit Mc. It was just an urge. He didn't see Mc anywhere so he walked into Mc’s room. That's when he saw Mc was infact just wearing a towel.

● Mc stared at Solomon confused. Solomon normally knocks because he has common sense. Solomon stared at Mc. Solomon stared at Mc's body. water drops racing down his body. "You dropped something." Solomon teased. "I did not-" As Mc tried to answer Solomon used his powers to drop the towel. Solomon grinned. Mc is trying to cover his body back up but Solomon reassures him. "Don't you worry, I'm admiring." Solomon decided to take off small parts of his uniform.

●No need for him to be fully clothed as well. This attention and Solomon undressing has gotten Mc's throbbing cock just twitching for action.

● Since they're finally alone... Solomon grabs Mc.

●He knew Mc would have just been getting out of the shower by now. This is why there was a sense of urgency to find Mc. It all clicked for him.

●"Why don't we take advantage of this empty room... though if they want to watch they can."

Diavolo

● Diavolo was trying to ask Mc a quick question (Hiding from Barbatos). He opens the door and sees Mc in a towel. His first thought was 'how can a human look this good' but then he realized how rude it was to stare.

●"Mc do you mind if I stared at you" Mc was flustered by the question. He turned his head away from Mc but as soon as he heard a shy no I don't mind he whipped his head around.

●Diavolo sat on the bed and Mc sat on the bed with him. Mc asked what Diavolo needed and Diavolo was trying to think of an excuse but he couldn't think of anything besides "I just wanted to see you" Which wasn't completely a lie. Mc's face got a little red as he realized he has just a towel on infront of the prince.

● Diavolo could sense that embrassed feeling and stated. "There's no need to be shy if anything I'm the one who's being shy." Diavolo laughed as he took off his shirt. Mc was mesmerized by Diavolos muscles. Reaching out to touch them but freezing right before. Diavolo grabbed Mc’s hand and placed it on his pants. That's when Mc realized Diavolo was extremely hard.

●"Look at the problem we have both created" Diavolo teased.

● Guess Barbatos is going to be waiting a WHILE

Barbatos

● Barbatos was invited over and he wanted to see Mc. As he got to Mc's door he realized the possibility of Mc freshly out of the shower but he shook his head before entering Mc’s room. Of course Barbatos was right. He stared at the toweled Mc and closed the door. Mc hasn't noticed Barbatos yet. The shower Mc took was a steamy shower and now he is all hot and bothered. Mc drops his towel and turns around he saw Barbatos and panicked.

●Barbatos was enjoying the show as Mc struggles to grab the towel. "Is there a problem MC?"  Barbatos walks over and picks up the towel. He folds it neatly and put it in the bed. "I can always help you with your problem" Barbatos would like nothing more than to service Mc.

●He's thought about this scenario a million times. He kisses Mc on the Neck and Kissed down his body. Once he got to Mcs cock he had no problem beginning to fuck his own throat.

●Dispite knowing a lot already about humans. He only really ever wanted to please Mc.

Simeon

● Was wandering around HoL. Just doing some research. (Looking at what trauma could he use to write his next book) He walked into Mc’s room. Angels get curious too. He saw Mc in a towel and they both made direct eye contact. Simeon's face turns bright red as he rushes out. He stands outside of Mc's door and for a moment his mind thinks about what is under the towel.

●All week Mc tries to get Simeon in that same position. Mc has taken a liking to the angel. Simeon has tried to forget that day even happened. Unfortunately, his curiosity is getting the better of him. Every. Other. Thought. Is Mc, in that towel.

●Simeon even touches himself to the thought of just feeling Mc and touching them.

●Enough is Enough exactly a week later at the same time Simeon walks in on Mc. This time Mc is laying on the bed with the towel just lightly covering his cock. Simeon closes the door and locks it.

●"I need to show you how much you have tempted me"

[oneshotnewbie]

Emily PrentissxJennifer JareauxReader:

The reader is working for the BAU and has a really bad migraine (She has chronic migraines but didn't tell anyone). She is really mad and distant toward her friends (you can include the boys too but make me girls main please) and they notice it and have a little intervention with her. After that a lot of fluff where Emily and JJ care for her

Authors note: Unfortunately I don´t have an Emily Prentiss x Daughter reader story, but I have added a new one to write. Until then, there is only one Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau x Reader story from me today

ᕚ---ᕘ

You could say that you were a person with enormous stamina and a high tolerance level. Something that was a must for anyone who worked as a Supervisory Special Agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit and under Aaron Hotch. Many people admired you for not jumping off the next cliff under the unbearable circumstances of this job.

And you yourself sometimes admired your own achievements. But everyone had their limits and it was a recurring thing that happened during your work hours. You ignored the first triggers. You exceeded your physical limits and your migraine appeared.

You could have guessed it when you got back on the plane from Oxford. The terrible serial killer and the panic it caused in the city, the fact that he had abused and murdered seven women. This case had taken more of a toll on you than you would have liked and you tried to deal with your problems in your own way. Which meant you threw yourself into the work, no matter how mundane every clue was and no matter what wall you hit.

“Y/n, maybe you should take a break?” begged Emily, noticing that you were doing everything you could to get Oxford out of your bones as quickly as possible. You, however, waved her off without saying a word and continued to stare at the white board on which every clue was hanging. "Do not need a break, I am fine." The black-haired went along with it, stayed by your side and tolerated your moods even when they drove her crazy.

Non-stop, without a break and with lack of sleep and malnutrition, you battled the nagging headaches and mild nausea. You became more and more tired, yawned and became increasingly sensitive to the loud noises of the office. Something you could tolerate skillfully. But Emily and your colleagues not.

You clearly knew you were on the verge of a migraine when you started seeing visual symptoms of a migraine aura. Your vision became distorted, sometimes weaker, sometimes sharper. For a few minutes you only saw white in your left eye, but you kept going, not giving yourself a break. You knew that no other woman could die because of you.

Hour after hour you were exhausted and just trudged from the office to the coffee machine. With a nasty headache and feeling like you might throw up, you swallowed it all and sat down on a chair while Penelope talked loudly to Derek. You felt like your head was going to explode at any moment from their voices. "Could you PLEASE shut up or at least go to another room to flirt with each other?" you huffed and massaged your temples, their sighs ringing like a hurricane in your ears. "Some people want to work here."

"Babygirl, are you okay?" he asked, surprised at your momentary outburst. He had never been allowed to see you like this, you had never snapped at him. A sharp pain shot through your temples and you hastily stood up. "Hey, cutie pie? What is going on?" the technical analyst also chimed in and waited for any kind of answer.

"I am fine, just leave me alone." your words came out of your mouth hastily and probably slurred, but you did not care. You had to go to the toilet immediately. Without turning around again, you quickly walked out of the office and stumbled in the direction you were heading. Every time you made contact with the ground, the headache got worse and you begged not to throw up on the way. You saw distorted vision in your right eye while small white flashes danced in front of it.

Rushing into the bathroom, you stood in front of the sink, panting and swallowing convulsively. Having migraines was terrible and right now you could not use one. You sighed in relief when you did not throw up, as long as you did not, it was not all that bad.

Loud footsteps sounded outside the door and a knock made your head explode. “Oh, y/n.” A rough voice spoke and you looked in the mirror. Emily and JJ had pushed through the door one after the other and were now standing with their backs to you, their arms crossed over their chests. Furthermore, you paid attention to your reflection in the mirror, which said that any idiot could see that a corpse in pathology looked healthier than you. So did the trained agents on your team. "What is wrong?"

You did not even hear half of the sentence, the second word was the end of it. You ran into one of the stables, fell to your knees and managed to bend over the toilet just in time. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears streamed down your cheeks and you threw up violently. “y/n?” the blondes voice had an worried undertone and you did not notice her standing strictly behind you. The next thing you felt were cool hands on your neck and shoulders.

Jerking away from the touch, leaning your head back against the wall as you pulled your knees into your body. You tried to block so many sounds and other sensations from your body, while only this crushing and throbbing pain existed in your head.

Once again you felt cold hands on your skin and everything in you protested as they helped him to his feet, an arm was placed around your shoulder and led you out of the bathroom and through the hallway. Soon your face made contact with a pillow and a relieved sigh rolled past your lips. You did not know where you were, just that it was quiet. Still, your currently oversensitive ears heard Hotch appearing to be talking to Emily, JJ, and the rest of the group. "No, we have no idea what is going on."

“Did you ask her?”

"We tried, but we got no response." at some point there was an angry snort at the blonde's answer and there were more footsteps in front of the door. The squeaking sound echoed through your head, pounding inside before the space on the couch shrank and a shadow appeared in front of you. "Sweetie, cards on the table. Tell us what is going on?"

The voice of the of the blonde was painful, yet it was strangely comforting to hear a familiar and loving voice. Still, you flinched violently as something cool was brushed onto your forehead. The nausea slowly subsided. "Chronic migraines since adolescence. But not so severe for a while."

Long fingers tugged at the disheveled and stray strands of hair on your face before she stood up again and walked to the windows. The room darkened, blinds closed and you moaned pleasantly. After making a trip to the door, she told the expected teammates what you had told her. You only heard a quiet "I will stay with her, but someone has to get me the medication out of my bag," before the door closed quietly and she sat down on the office chair, looking over you thoughtfully.

JJ waited for Emily to come back with some things and watched you laying there in pain, exhausted and completely distracted by the thunder in your head, trying to be as silent as she could. A few minutes later, the door opened again. You saw Emily through squinted eyes and spotted a bucket in her hand, a bowl of water, wipes under her arms and a large disposable syringe.

"What do you want to inject into me?" you asked surprised and a little frightened by the size of the abnormally large syringe. The blonde knelt down in front of you, pulling up your sweater and waiting for the black-haired one to hand it over. "Metoclopramide,"

"How do you know what to inject into me and where did you get it from?"

"You are not the only one who gets migraines. I used to get them often enough and since then I have always had an injection with me to protect myself from them in case they happen again." she frowned and laughed quietly. You nodded in acceptance and there was a moment of silence before a hot, stabbing pain shot through your lower torso and you cried out. "That hurts!"

Emily sat on the armrest and slipped her fingers between your own. You squeezed it tightly and she hoped to take the temporary pain away from you. "Why did not you tell us?" the black-haired asked sadly you huffed through gritted teeth. "I did not want to be a burden to you. I did not want to seem weak," you replied, shrugging.

"It was stupid of you not to say anything. At least to JJ or me." She paused briefly and you raised your head in confusion before nodding in understanding and looking over at the blonde. With a half-smile, she placed a band-aid on the wound and placed a thin blanket over your legs. "Okay. Next time I will let you know, I promise."

They both nodded and stood up. While JJ was putting away the trash, Emily leaned over and gave you a gentle kiss on the top of your head before she disappeared out of the door. "I will make you some tea,"

"You never make tea."

"I will do it today for a very special and stubborn person." She spoke in a whisper, winking at you. You laughed quietly and already felt a million times better than you did a few minutes ago. With a yawn, you sank deeper into the pillow and watched as the blonde turned on a small lamp at the desk in the dark room so she could continue working. "Thanks,"

[aliteralsemicolon]

what do u think about Maeve as a character and as a love interest for Spencer?

Well she definitely exists. She was definitely a canon love interest 😐 I choose to forget a lot of details from that whole incident on purpose. Talking about this is just beating a dead horse bc I think my opinion is just a general consensus.

but here's what I think anyway:

The storyline

I won't talk about it for long because I feel like it's obvious, but the whole situation was handled so poorly. It kinda just showed up out of no where on one random peaceful day. What do you mean Maeve didn't want Spencer to get the BAU involved because 'it could endanger him'? Babe, he's already in danger just by being in a relationship with you, but I guess that just doesn't fucking matter. Also, what the fuck do you mean that Spencer just went along with it? I'm sorry? Spencer Reid, who becomes very impulsive when it comes to the wellbeing of his loved ones? He just agreed to sit back? Not even investigate in his free time?! By the time ZUGZWANG happens, we as viewers know how the BAU operates. The BAU was more than equipped to successfully deal with Diane. We know what they're supposed to do in a stalker situation, but for some reason they ignore nearly every goddamn protocol and then they're surprised when Maeve dies??

Maeve as a character

Listen, I don't dislike her because she was Spencers love interest. I'm actually somebody who's very keen on love interests for Spencer. I want that poor man to be happy. I dislike Maeve because she's one of the worst recurring characters on the show. She's very morally annoying. Not grey, annoying. Maeve is a geneticist. Geneticists, for the most part, study gene interactions and evolution. She has no fucking business diagnosing and prescribing shit from one look at an MRI scan. I don't even wanna talk about how medically inaccurate the migraine bit of the storyline is. Somehow it gets dumber. I don't know what she said for sure, but I know for a fact that she said something like she had to get to know Spencer because of how interesting he seemed. FROM HIS MRI SCANS?! Are we ignoring how unethical this is? Please, I cannot fucking do this. But there's more. Apparently she loves Spencer. She says as much at the end of a phone call AND literally writes that one love quote in the Narrative of John Smith for him. She loves Spencer, but fails to mention how she was engaged literally not long before she met him. And she doesn't feel an ounce of guilt or sadness when he ex-fiancé (whom she also supposedly loved) gets shot in the head in front of her? Also there's certain times where she just comes off as very emotionally manipulative, but in the dumbest way possible. The thing is that I don't even hate her because she's like this. Some of these things actually give the character potential to become a really interesting and complex character. It's because she tries to come across as the opposite. The writers try very hard to portray her as an intelligent, good and innocent character, but everything she does is very selfish and stupid. Personally, if I was a geneticist and some fucker reached out to me to ask about his MRI scans I would redirect him to a fucking neurologist or something.

Maeve as Spencer's love interest

She's introduced to us a mysterious woman over the payphone. We get glimpses of her body in a dark room and we watch her fiddle with things while walking around, but we don't actually get to see her face until later. Her voice is meek and sultry. If this sounds like some wattpad introduction then that's because that's literally what it is. Maeve is introduced to us in a very Y/N esc way. The whole relationship is very much wattpad story written by a 14YO back in the day. Wait I take that back, even fucking 14YO's writer better shit. At least their stories were worth ruining your sleep schedule for. I can't even be upset, Maeve is literally not the first female character portrayed this way on the show *cough* Jane Seaver *cough*. MGG didn't want Spencer to have a love interest so Maeve was written to die. I just wish they at least tried to do the characters and the story justice. Viewers couldn't even connect to Maeve because she was just thrown at us one day and then literally killed a second later. Even if she wasn't unlikable I find it very hard to imagine that I would've cared about her death, because I literally had no time to bond with the character. It's also just very awkward when she shows up after her death because I feel disconnected with Spencer's emotions. Mentally, I know that she's his first great love or whatever, but emotionally, I do not give a fuck. She does not match Spencer's freak. What she is, essentially, is a female version of Spencer (but through the male gaze because she's a woman so ofc she's slightly dumber and Y/Nified). Spencer is one of the most complex established characters on the show and Maeve as a partner for him is just very boring. And even if she's was interesting, I PERSONALLY FEEL LIKE the actors have no chemistry together. He's had more chemistry with love interests that lasted for a way shorter period than he does Maeve. Ironically, the most chemistry he has is with the one person he despises the most (Cat Adams) and I think that speaks volumes. God, I wish so badly that they utilised the bar tender he did a magic trick for or the forensic scientist in that bombing episode.

Again, I'm pretty sure most of the fandom feels this way. I'm fairly confident that I might have more to say, but I cannot be bothered anymore.

[dorkagedoodles]

And there we have it folks - the end of Empyrean Book I! I sound like a parrot but just ... thank you so much for reading! Also, for everyone's convenience, the afterword is also in text under the "keep reading" bellow. <<< PREVIOUS ✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧Page Archive✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧

(To be continued ... ) AFTERWORD

I’ve been putting off writing this for way too long, thinking I have plenty of time until suddenly: BAM! December was upon me and the final update of Empyrean Book I was uploaded while I had the worst migraine in years and couldn’t even scramble together a last minute afterword. But here we go. I’ll try not to care about sounding professional or eloquent, just so I can get it done.

First I want to say a big thank you to everyone who've read Empyrean, all the way through or just a little bit, I’m grateful nonetheless. And extra big thank you to everyone who’s left comments or nice tags in the reblogs etc. I’m awful at responding, but I’ve seen them all and really, really appreciate it.

I worked on the book on and off for three years and I’m pretty happy with the end result. Of course, this is just the beginning of the story. I have an outline for the whole thing, aiming for a total of four books of similar length which will, as you can guess, take a loooooong time. Which brings me to my second point.

Empyrean will go on hiatus for the time being. For how long? I wish I knew. While Book 2 is all scripted and currently in the sketching stage, I have no idea when I’ll have enough finished pages for an update. Once I do, however, I’ll probably update as I finish the pages, rather than wait for the whole book to be complete.

I don’t think I need to explain much of why this is. It’s simply being an adult. It’s having rent, bills and a cat with special dietary needs. And what Empyrean brings in joy it certainly doesn’t bring in money, so ever since July I’ve drawn almost nothing but freelance work.

Despite that, I still feel positive about the future of Empyrean. It’s already been published in parts in a small Swedish magazine and I’ve met people and opened doors that would have been impossible, had I not created Empyrean. Long time followers might remember how I’ve long wanted to be able to support myself by making art. And right now? That's exactly what I’m doing.

Finishing Empyrean will take many years and, in the end, it might never even get picked up by a publisher. But I’m at peace with both of those things. I draw Empyrean entirely for myself and would continue to do so even if not a single other person was reading it. Though … as long as there’s at least one such person I will keep uploading it too!

Lastly, I’ve been looking into self-publishing and hope to give that a try. No solid plans yet, just counting costs, looking at kickstarters and such. I’m currently neck-deep in a big project, but once that’s over I can start thinking about it again. When the time comes, I will of course post about it.

I think that is all. It got a bit longer and ramblier than I planned but oh well.

Again, thank you so much for reading Empyrean! And until next time! -Hans

[vodika-vibes]

Could I please request a mystic same faces gods au with Echo, I feel like Echo would be the god of the people who are physically and mentally affected by war or something.

I also like that Rex could maybe be the god of survivors guilt a more last one standing type thing, the good and the bad, because I saw you were having trouble writing for him.

No hurry on this I know you have a shit ton of requests, so be sure to pace yourself and don't feel bad for taking time off for writing.

Accidents Happen

Summary: War has swept through your small village. The Imperial army has killed almost everyone. You’re one one a handful of people who managed to escape the slaughter. And now you have to bury your people.

Pairing: TBB Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1996

Prompt: Mystic AU - Same faced gods AU

Warnings: Reader survives two massacres

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So it took me a little bit to come up with an idea that I was happy with. And, while I'll never say migraines are good, taking two days off back-to-back seems to have helped me get my mojo back. Anyway, I hope this is close to what you wanted!

It’s hot.

So very hot.

You push a strand of sweaty hair out of your face and then kneel next to the small canoe that you’ve been repairing for the better part of the day. Confident that it’s as repaired as it needs to be, for what it’s going to be used for, you straighten and wave toward a man near the water.

He waves back and then says something to the teenager standing in front of him before he turns and jogs over to you. “This one all set?” He asks.

“Yeah, it’s not perfect, but it’ll work.”

He kneels and checks on your work before he nods once. “You didn’t do half bad. Good enough for someone who has never done this before.”

You shrug, “Thanks, I guess.”

He shoots you a sympathetic look, and lightly touches your shoulder, “We’re almost done here.”

“And then what?”

He averts his gaze, “I don’t know, kiddo. I really don’t. But, we’ll make it through this.” He squeezes your shoulder, “Will you go and make sure that the bows are all in working order?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good lass,” He pauses, “We’re going to be okay. You’ll see.”

You’re not sure you believe him. You’re not sure you want to believe him, but you don’t have the energy to argue with him. So you just nod and turn to trudge towards the hunter’s hut.

Three days ago, you joined your uncle and cousin on a fishing trip upriver. It was supposed to be a fun day, you were going to teach your cousin how to repair fishing nets, and your uncle was going to teach him how to find the best places to lay nets, and throw out a line.

A sudden violent storm forced the three of you to take refuge in a cave miles from home. The storm raged for hours, and you were only able to return to the fishing village after your uncle determined that it was safe to get back on the water.

You returned to the aftermath of a massacre. 

Homes burned to the ground, market stalls shattered in pieces, and bodies strewn across the place.

There were no survivors.

But then, when the Empire decides that a place no longer deserves to exist, it’s quickly wiped off the map.

This brings it up to two massacres that you’ve survived since you were born. The first one happened when you were a child, your Uncle had always been a loud adversary against Palpatine and the Empire, and the Empire decided that his whole family needed to die for it.

That time you escaped with a missing arm and severe burns across the majority of your back. Though almost your entire family survived the massacre.

You suppose there was no way you were going to get that lucky twice.

Which brings you to now.

It’s not possible to bury the dead, the village is too close to the water, so the village practices water burials. When done right, they’re beautiful and tastefully done.

However, with only three people, and one of them under the age of 15, these funerals aren’t going to be beautiful or comforting. It’s just going to be another reminder of everything you’ve lost.

And you’ve lost everything.

You stand in front of the Hunters hut, your hands, both flesh and metal, are shaking, and all you want to do is close your eyes and pretend that the last week never happened, and you can open your eyes and your mom will be there again—

But that’s not possible anymore. 

Your mom is dead. Just like your dad. And your brothers.

And you come to the stark realization that you can’t do this.

You drop your hand to your side and then pull your hands to your chest. You can’t do this. You can’t be here. You can’t stay here.

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

With that final thought, you turn on your heels and you run into the forest.

You’re vaguely aware of your uncle and your cousin calling your name, but you ignore them.

Maybe, if you run far enough fast enough, everything will stop hurting. 

You run until your lungs are burning and your legs are aching, and then you keep going. You run and run and run until the moon rises over the horizon and your legs collapse under you.

A roll of thunder jerks you from your spiraling thoughts. Slowly, you push yourself to your aching feet and look around the dark forest, looking for shelter. 

There.

Not far from where you finally collapsed is a massive tree. If nothing else, the branches will offer you some shelter from the weather. Though, as you approach the tree, you realize that there’s a hollow beneath the tree.

It’s risky. Very risky.

But a sharp crack of lightning loud enough to make you flinch encourages you to toss caution to the wind as you carefully lower yourself into the hollow.

The hollow is bigger than you expect.

The tunnel leads deeper and deeper beneath the tree until you trip over a tree root and fall into a room that can only be described as magic. If only because the moment you fall into the room, braziers light up with a warm flame.

Warm in the sense that the moment they light, the coldness that’s sunk into your very bones since the day you discovered the massacre lessens, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days.

You shift so that you’re sitting properly, and look around the room properly.

The walls seem to be made up of roots from the tree sitting over you, while the ground feels like it’s some kind of stone.

Most interesting is the bed nestled against the wall. The bed looks clean and the blankets look warm. And, even though the bed looks brand new, it doesn’t look like anyone has been down here aside from you in ages.

Thunder rumbles loudly above you and you nervously bite your lower lip, before slowly walking over and sitting on the bed. It’s softer than you expected, like something from another life, rather than a random bed found under a random tree miles from civilization, and you can’t help but run your hand across the soft, almost velvety, material of the blanket.

When was the last time you had the chance to enjoy something nice like this?

Years, probably.

Surely there’s no harm in sleeping here, just until the storm finishes. Just until you feel better. Until you feel like you can face your uncle without screaming at him for ruining your life.

You kick off your shoes and lay your head on the pillow, burying yourself in the soft blanket and the soft material, and drifting off into the best sleep you’ve had in years.

You wake the following morning feeling more rested than you’ve ever felt in your life.

There were no nightmares, no memories of burning skin or laughing monsters lurking in the shadows. You still feel like you’re in a dream, kind of.

You feel warm, floaty…and safe.

You can’t remember the last time you felt safe.

Slowly you sit up, though you really don’t want to, and you’re about to swing your legs off the bed when you notice the strange man sitting at a table that definitely wasn’t there the night before.

He graces you with a small smile, “Good morning,”

In your experience, a strange man in your sleeping quarters is not generally a good thing, but you aren’t afraid of him. Actually, you still feel very safe.

“...good morning.” You greet slowly.

His smile widens, and you can’t help but notice that he has a nice smile. “Did you sleep well?”

You consider him for a moment, “I did. Better than I have since I was an infant, probably.”

“Good, I’m glad.” He stands, and you note that he has a prosthetic arm, and both of his legs are prosthetics. “My name is Echo, this,” He gestures to the room with his prosthetic hand, “you can call it my temple.”

“Temple?” You ask as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You notice his gaze drop to your legs, specifically the burn scars on your left leg. Normally you’d toss the blanket over your leg, and make a smart comment about how staring is rude, but you have the feeling that he isn’t judging you.

“Temple.” Echo agrees. He crosses the room to you and kneels at your feet, it feels wrong, somehow, but you can’t quite put into words why it feels so wrong, “I am the Patron God of the innocents who have been irreversibly harmed by war.”

His flesh hand brushes against the scars on your leg, and for once, you don’t jerk your leg away.

“I don’t understand.”

His smile is sad, “You summoned me.”

“I didn’t.”

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, “Unlike my brothers, I can only be summoned under a very specific set of circumstances. Involving physical injury,” He lightly touches his prosthetic hand to yours, “and mental anguish.”

“That’s an awful way to have to be summoned.” You finally say.

He chuckles, “Well, because of the very specific requirements of my summoning, this is the first time I’ve been summoned.”

“I’m sorry, you must have been busy—”

“Not so busy that I couldn’t come when called,” There’s something strangely fond about the look on his face, and you can’t help but reach up and brush your fingers against the ports on the side of his head, “I also admit to being excited to finally having a priestess.”

That should make you nervous, right?

“But I didn’t summon you intentionally.”

“That’s been happening a lot lately,” Echo replies, amused.

“I don’t know anything about being a priestess.” You add with a small frown.

He lightly pulls you off the bed so that you’re sitting in his lap, and his forehead lightly presses against your own. “Close your eyes.” Immediately, and without really thinking about it, you do as he asks. “Good, very good. Do you feel it, cyare? There’s the beginning of a bond—”

He trails off as you find the thin thread connecting yourself to Echo. It’s thin and wispy, like a spider thread, though you have the feeling that it won’t break easily. 

You lightly touch the thread and feel a surge of affection from Echo, and you can’t help the small sigh that falls from your lips. “Is that…you?”

“It is.”

“It feels like it should be stronger,” You murmur.

“It will become stronger, once we solidify the bond.” Echo promises, “That will come naturally, we don’t have to rush.”

You hum softly, although—

“We don’t have to, but you want to,” You notice, as you focus on the bond for a moment. His, slightly flustered, embarrassment washes through you, and you open your eyes to peer at him.

He looks slightly sheepish, “I’d like to get to know you before I take you to bed. Doesn’t mean that I don’t want you, though.”

Slowly you nod your understanding, and then you close your eyes again. Echo makes you feel warm and safe, and you could drown yourself in him if he let you.

His fingers are warm against your jaw, “Can I kiss you, cyare?” Echo murmurs, “I think it’s a good first step.”

You nod once and tilt your head slightly. He leans in and brushes his lips against yours in an innocent kiss, and then he kisses you properly, his hand settling firmly on the back of your neck while his other arm wraps securely around your waist.

Echo breaks the kiss and releases a contented sigh, “I’m going to take care of you, cyare.” He murmurs against your lips, “Everything is going to be alright. I promise.”

And, for the first time since childhood, you believe it.

[bnuuys-writing]

Twisted Wonderland's Phantom

Hi! I hope you enjoy this! This is the introduction of the crossover of Phantom of The Opera x Twisted Wonderland. Do forgive me if theres any grammar mistakes or repeating themes. I wrote this with a migraine lol but I have been seeing everyone talking about this for months now, and today was the day I have decided to write it now that I have a small break from school + My job rn. 

If you have any questions, or wanna talk headcanons, or just want to shoot me a compliment; feel free to throw it in my inbox!! &lt;3

Chapter One(You are here!), Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Leona's Ending, Malleus' Ending

~Bnuuy out!

Y/N, also known as the prefect of Night Raven College of Magic. AKA The Dorm leader in charge of the lonesome home named The Ramshackle; or in other words, Y/N the Magicless Human. The story has been told many times in rumors or whispers of the magicless human within the prestigious magical all boys school across the crowds of thousands. How they arrived with the other new years and how life started for them within this new world as a cat sitter, as well not being able to use any sort of magic left a mark within the school. Yet, here they stand, with friends from across all the dorms within the school as they have saved them from countless Overblots.

“Guys, I’ve told you many times, I’m just going to the library to go check out a new book. You do not need to follow me!” Y/N exclaimed tirelessly as their compatriots, Ace and Deuce, followed them with smiles on their faces.

“Cmon Y/N! Lighten up! Its the final school year of Night Raven College! Certainly you don't want to be sticking your nose in some boring books! Right Deucy?” Ace chimed out as he nudged his fellow troublemaker who only grunted at the elbow.

“Well… Y/N can do whatever they would like to do-” Another nudge from Ace’s elbow, perhaps a bit more rougher this time caused Deuce to cough a bit. “-But yes! You could be spending time with us at the unbirthday parties! And plus, the alumni are coming today! Riddle, Vil, Leona, all of your friends are coming to visit the school JUST for this week! Don't you want to see them?” Deuce asked, rubbing his side where Ace had nudged a bit too roughly.

True, this was indeed your third year at Night Raven College with no luck in finding your way back home, so this was your only chance to start studying hard to make your footing and to make a stand for once you are officially graduated from the College. Only making it more the wiser to really get your butt in gear of trying to find what you would want to do after this year. Grim would most likely be on his own, having surpassed both Ace and Deuce in study, but you could’ve guessed it was out of pure power instead of intelligence. Deuce would most likely follow his dream of becoming a police officer and making his mother proud, as for Ace…? You shuddered slightly at the thought of Ace becoming more than just a student at Night Raven College, and couldn't bring yourself to think about the possibilities he might have as an adult-prankster.

“I do but guys, you already know what you will or want to be doing outside of Night Raven, and I don't… So, I have to get started on getting my foundation really set up before I am graduated.” Y/N started towards their two friends, Grim just happily purring away on your shoulder as you argued back and forth before shaking your head. “Follow me or not, but I’ll be going into the library to see what I can do for a living as a magicless person within Twisted Wonderland.” Rolling your eyes while opening the large door to the library with a loud creek, the two could only watch as you walked in and the door shut with a loud slam.

Now the library was impressive, many books dating from all around from history to How To’s books. If Crowley knew anything, it was that he was an impressive hoarder of books- although you doubted he knew that- or doubted if he could even read considering all the slacking he's been doing in getting you home. So much for a Gracious Kind Headmage. Humming to yourself as you began to walk down the countless isle of books, memories flashing within your head as you pass down certain isles.

How Floyd Leech chased you down the history isle, begging to squeeze you while you were ushering a poor certain Riddle to run away and hide. Becoming Floyd’s new toy for the next hour until he got bored.

Rook Hunt recommending some certain weird books about how hunting and survival tactics would be important for you if you ever got lost in the wilderness. At least now, you’re able to tie a knot very well as well as start a fire!

Jamil and Kalim studying hard at a table- Well… Let's be honest here, more like Jamil trying to force things into Kalim’s mind who was more busy talking to you and asking about your day than actually studying.

Lastly, Malleus reaching above you to grab a certain book you were wishing to read for fun and for him to hand it to you with such gentleness, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you called to your friend, Tsunatrou so happily and thanked him for reaching the book for you.

Pausing at that isle as you could almost see the figures of your friends whizzing past your eyes like shadows of long forgotten dreams. Shaking your head slightly, you trudged forward only for something hard to hit your head, causing a familiar NYAH! To echo within your ear as your shoulders become lighter. Grim and this large thick book layed on the ground as you rubbed your head in pain, letting a quiet groan in pain as you collected yourself back together.

“Grim, how many times have I said not to drop things on me?” You questioned out accusingly towards your roommate who only let out a small pout, shaking his head furiously at your accusations.

“It wasn't me this time, I assure you Y/N! This book fell off that really top shelf!” Grim pointed his paw up to the very top shelf that you knew you would need a ladder to reach. Sighing, you picked up Grim and held him close to your chest as you looked down at the book accusingly only for your reaction to turn miffed and confused. The words on the book were swirling around in different languages, if you could assume, for only when you reached out to touch it, it changed to your native tongue.

“Phantom of The Opera?” You whispered out, eyebrows raised as you looked at the book with curiosity and disregarding the whines of Grim who suggested that this book was not a book you two should dig into. Grabbing the book and stuffing it into your bag, you quickly left the library with a newfound of urgency to head straight back to the ramshackle and dig into the book with a profound sense of curiosity. 

Crewel did say to you once while you were trying to find a certain book about potionology within his room, of course with no such luck sadly, that books sensed with magic will choose who will read them next. That sentient books were also very dangerous if put into the wrong hands if the book chose who it got transported to next wrong.

“Y/N! MYAH! I don't think we should dig into this book!” Grim shouted out at you as you set him down on the couch within the Ramshackle, having run home quickly to dig your nose into this book. Grim could feel it, but you couldn't. Something was wrong with this book but he couldnt put his paw on it just yet…

“Oh hush Grim! Everything will be okay! I'm magicless, remember? I don't think I can even wield a grimoire!” You stated out as you rushed up the stairs after having placed your keys, phone and wallet down on the counter. Leaving a very concerned Grim behind your tail with ears folded down and a queasy feeling in his stomach that was not akin to premium tuna fish hunger…

“That's what I'm worried about…”  

It wasnt hard to get yourself settled in your room, book in hand, ready to dig into its contents or find out what this Phantom of The Opera is. The Alumni should be here within the next hour so certainly you had a bit of time to at least get started into the book, right?

A small glimmer rippled through the hard cover of the book, as if whispering you to open it, begging you to turn to the first page. As if you were under Jamil’s special magic, you slowly peeled back the cover and turned to the first page only to find it blank, then the next page, following the next page. All of it was blank! Sighing in frustration, you began to flip through the pages until the book forced you to stop on one. On the page, a glimmer rippled through it only for a large red rose to appear, a mask, and a diamond ring. A message soon appeared underneath the items, a prompt;

Choose One.

Huh… This is interesting.

Humming in curiosity, you reached forward to pick up the rose, it was clean of all thorns and had few leafs on it. A delicate specimen that Riddle would’ve shamed you for plucking had it been in his own rose garden. Yet, once your fingers glazed over the stem, your vision began to get heavy and dark, it was getting harder and harder for your eyes to stay open as you fell unconscious in a matter of seconds.

Meanwhile, Grim huffed and puffed downstairs, waiting for you to come out from your room to feed him. An hour had passed and you promised to feed the Alumni and Grim tonight at Heartsabyul! Yet you were still locked away within your room and here he is, waiting on his henchman again! 

“Y/n! Cmon! Im hunnggryyyy!!” Grim shouted out from downstairs, making his way up to your room now. WIth a hard shove into the stubborn old door, he found himself with the book on your bed and with you nowhere in sight. Stunned and alerted at your lack of presence, he let out a loud MYAH! As he booked it downstairs and out the door to the one place he knew he could go to for help.

Heartsabyul.

The party was already booming, the roses had been painted red, everyone seeming to be enjoying tea and the treats that were brought along. At least Riddle seemed to be enjoying himself back in his seat of Queen. Leona wasn't too far down but he seemed uninterested in all the sweets but more of the meats that Savannahclaw had brought in for the party. Of course, Azul had also brought along Floyd and Jade to sell out merchandise of her flourishing outside of NRC business. Jamil and Kalim were off to the corner, Jamil having brought their own food for Kalim to eat. Iida and Ortho were obviously nowhere to be found but some snacks had been going missing here and there. Vil and Rook were pestering Epel who had flourished perfectly, complimenting their Poison Apple. As for Malleus? My, did he receive an invitation? No one can recall.

“GUYS! I NEED HELP!” Grim’s screeching voice ripped through the garden, causing all fun and festivities to stop. Usually when Grim is screaming, a Prefect is certain to follow afterwards. Yet, As Grim bounded over the table to Ace and Deuce with no Prefect in tail, the air got visibly tense.

“Y/N HAS BEEN ABDUCTED AFTER THEY PICKED UP THIS BOOK FROM THE LIBRARY THAT HIT THEM IN THE HEAD! I CANT SMELL OR FIND THEM ANYWHERE!” Grim screeched out as Deuce and Ace were looking at him weirdly. Suddenly, the sunny day within Heartsabyul got cloudier… And Cloudier… To where it looked like it was about to storm.

“Where is the Child of Man?” An all too intimidating presence made itself known. Malleus, with a decorated invitation personally assigned by Y/N stood by the entrance of the garden. Lilia, Silver and Sebek all standing there alongside him. Leona was not impressed by this showcase of purely a tantrum from a now King of Briar Valley. The air was tense, the cake was suddenly no longer sweet and the tea was ice cold.

“Settle down Malleus, I’m sure this is one big prank from Grim to try and scare us all.” Lilia spoke, a small ‘fufu’ following afterwards as he stared out into the large crowd. Leona was the next one to speak, slicing the tense air with a knife.

“I hoped you wouldn't show, yet here you are. And Grim, if you’re pranking us, its a horrible prank and you need to try better next time.” Leona sighed out, rubbing his temples as he stood up. He didn't need to be here anyway, if it weren't for his brother pestering him to go and Cheka kept getting into his business now as being a little older of a cub. If the only one who was taking it seriously was Malleus, Deuce was also included in the worry.

“What do you mean Y/N got abducted, Grim? Where are they?” Deuce asked out urgently as he stared down the grey haired familiar of yours. Grim looked around the room, hoping other than Deuce and Malleus were worried, he could smell the concern rising from Leona but made no rush to comment about it. Vil and Rook were both on edge as they stared down the cat and Riddle’s eyes were boring into the soul of Grim, as if trying to see if he was lying so he could cast his unique magic on him.

“Well! Like I said, there was a book that fell on top of Y/N and I in the library and the words kept moving-” Grim was cut off by Vil who’s eyebrows raised up in alarm.

“A Sentient book? Did they open it?”

“If you would let me finish- yes! They did! Y/N ran up to our room and when I went in there to collect them to come here, the book was open and they were missing!” Grim started out quickly, ears falling to the sides as they thought of their poor henchman, being kidnapped or even worse! Having gone back to their world without saying goodbye to him!

Riddle stood up abruptly out from his hair and sighed. “Let us go then, if Prefect needs our help, we will give it. Just as they have helped us through our overblots.” Though, he could hear some grunts of displeasure around the table.

“Nehhh~... Whats in it for us though?” Floyd’s voice came out, looking bored as ever as he stood near this little popup cart that Azul set up for Jade and him to run. At hearing a price to help Y/N, others began to agree until a flash of lightning hit the tree not too far and trailed after a large boom of thunder. Malleus was not impressed by the company he was in, and quickly proved to change their minds. The answer was clear;

Help Y/N or get Smited Down by the King of Briar Valley.

It's a good thing they of course all loved you very much! 

So here they stand, Grim pointing down to the book accusingly as he sat on Deuce’s shoulders. Leona, Vil, Rook, Riddle, The Tweels, Azul and All of Diasomina stood within your room. All accusingly staring down at your book with mixed faces of confusion, annoyance, and regret. While the book was still open, still had the mask and diamond ring upon its sparkling surface with the sentence below it

Choose One.

“Do you really think Y/N chose one?” Ace would ask out curiously, reaching forward only for his hand to be stopped by Rook who was smiling at him. 

“Mon ami, you wouldn't want to toy with what you don't know, oui?” Rook lightly scolded Ace who only huffed and pulled his hand away from the blonde frenchman. 

“Its sad that I didnt teach more about Sentient books to our little potato. Mayap they would’ve learned that messing with such forms of magic is forbidden- Especially when it hits your head in the library.” Vil would sigh out as he looked over the items. What could a mask and diamond ring have to do with anything? Did Y/N take something? If they did, what was it?

“I do not see the issue with these items. Certainly it must be easy to collect Y/N.” Malleus would state as he would reach forward and grab the mask. Being a man with powerful magic, he didnt instantly get knocked down but it did temper with his magic. Sebek was immediately alerted by this and attempted to grab the mask to protect his master. Silver reached out to do the same and Lilia was there to catch Malleus’ fall before they all were transported in. Their souls became little wisps that were shot straight into the book while the mask stayed floating before crumbing into dust.

“Well, I understand now.” Deuce would state out and shake his head. The last one was the diamond ring. Leona’s hand was first to grab it. 

“There is no way that damn lizard is going to save Y/N. I’ll be the one to do it.” Yet Vil, Rook, Riddle, Azul and the Tweels were grabbing after him. They wanted their share of glory in helps of finding their beloved Prefect. Afterall, the King and the Prince shouldn't have all the glory now, nor all the fun- Could they?

As their souls turned to wisps, they all shot into the book as Ace, Deuce and Grim watched this debacle happen before their very eyes. With a loud bang, they all came to realize that the book had shut itself and a title appeared before the Adeuce gang.

The Phantom of The Opera.