#a small detail you notice in that scene actually is that the child-lock is still on cause it won't open

[annymaght]

Something I wanna talk about with Kenji's character in Chaos Theory is the recurring theme of Claustrophobia.

Mickieart, who designed the interior of Kenji's trailer, said that they designed it to feel minimalist but also claustrophobic.

(By mickieart on Instagram)

When Kenji has his panic attack after losing his dad, he tries to open the door despite the car not having even stopped yet.

Claustrophobia is a really strong way to convey Kenji's emotional state.

He feels trapped in his current life, having lost Brooklynn, then Darius when he hid from everyone, and his dad is in a halfway house. Not only does he feel isolated, conveyed geographically, but he can't escape that mindset that everyone around him is disappearing and he can't reach them, either because of death or resentment.

He must also feel trapped in the feelings he still has for his father, that he still loves him even after everything, which is why he lives so close to him. But of course these feelings haven't quite risen to the surface yet.

So when he dies, those feelings boil up and he becomes even more claustrophobic than before.

Kenji trying to open the door in that scene is a small action that speaks volumes. Amazing.

[scribespirare]

Do you think you could write an a/b/o for omega Miles babysitting Mayday at HQ, and tsundere alpha Miguel doesn't know how to cope? The way you write these two is just *chef's kiss*

Nonnie i could kiss you for this request i love it so so much. i kinda...went a little nuts with it lmao. first its sappy then it gets sad and it ends very horny. its 2k long ajdfkdj;a. i think im gonna write the sex scene later and post it as a full fic.

There are very few things that can stop Miguel O'Hara in his tracks these days. He's been there, seen it all, got the goddamned spider suit to prove it. Surprising him is nigh impossible and he likes it that way.

For some reason, Miles Morales seems to be at the top of the list of things that can get to him though.

Miles, with his big dark eyes and his sneer and his inability to listen to common sense or reason. The Omega superhero who defies every stereotype about his gender. Who smells absolutely amazing and is stunning in action, lithe body built perfectly for his acrobatics.  

Miles, who is currently sitting in HQ's control room with Mayday in his lap, his face bright and smiling as she babbles at him. He's got her little hands in each of his own, lifting them one after the other as she stamps her feet.

"I know!" he says in response to her babbling, attention completely on the little girl. "It's crazy, right? Tell me more about it."

Mayday obliges, her babbling raising in both pitch and tempo like she really is going on a diatribe of some kind. She seems to be enjoying having a captive audience and isn't going to let it go to waste.

It's...well, Miguel really and truly has been stopped in his tracks. It's the first Omegean thing he's ever seen from Miles. Normally he's so contrarian and difficult, not to mention eager to jump into danger and equally as capable of actually handling it. You'd think he was an Alpha the way he behaves, small, lithe form be damned.

Seeing him like this, soft and sweet and smiling, his scent bright and nearly floral, is...doing things to Miguel. Bringing up feelings and urges that he's known were there, but which he'd been successfully keeping under lock and key.

Miles suddenly seems to become aware of Miguel's presence, and he looks up. His smile fades a little but it's a smile all the same, and Miguel's pretty sure Miles hasn't smiled at him since...well, everything. It looks good on him.

"Hey, wasn't sure when you were going to be back. Peter asked me to babysit for him though and I figured hanging out here would be better than taking her home with me. Not sure how I would explain that one to my folks."

The idea of someone mistakenly thinking Mayday is Miles’, that the Omega has a child, has been mated and more, makes Miguel’s nostrils flare. He clamps down ruthlessly on the reaction, knowing that if he doesn’t his interest will undoubtedly be noticeable in his scent.

“Just keep it down,” are the words that come off of Miguel’s tongue. They’re better than Do you want a child? or You’d make a good mother or, even worse, I could give you one of your own, if you want. 

Miles’ smile turns into a frown and then an unhappy twist. He clicks his tongue, says, “Whatever, man,” and goes back to Mayday. He’s speaking quietly to her now but Miguel can pick up his own name and big meany and assh- wait I can’t say that to you.

Miguel just heads for his central computers, waking them up and logging into the system to check on how everything is running today. But he can’t help the way he watches Miles’ and Mayday’s reflections on the screen. He can’t pick up many details like this but he can still smell them. Happy, pleased Omega, and the young, innocent scent of a child unpresented. Of babe and mother.

Christ, Miguel is going to hell for this.

It’s been about an hour of Miguel pretending to work but actually getting very little done, when Miles speaks up. “Hey, Miguel, you know stuff about kids, right?”

Miguel’s shoulders hunch and he breathes out slowly. Of course he does. He turns, glaring back at Miles. Mayday has been dragging him around the room with her crawling and right now they’re both hanging upside down from the ceiling, Miles sitting cross legged and her on his shoulders.

“Yes,” Miguel says sharply.

Miles’ mouth twists, but for once it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at Miguel. “Sorry, that was kinda insensitive, huh? I was just curious, ya know, about parenthood and all.”

Another bolt of longing shoots through Miguel. It’s part arousal, part wistfulness for his lost family.

You could start again, part of him says. Children. A mate. It’s not too late for you. He’s right there.

“What do you want to know about it?”

Miles shrugs, which causes Mayday to wobble dangerously and laugh delightedly about it. “Just, is it good? Like, hanging out with Mayday is great, but I can’t imagine having one of my own.”

You don’t have to imagine, Miguel thinks, but says, “It’s different, when they’re yours.”

“How so?”

Miguel sighs and holds out his arms to Mayday. Even though she’s halfway across the room she immediately lets out an excited shriek and climbs her way down a protesting Miles’ body. It takes only a minute before she’s dropping into Miguel’s arms and then crawling all over him.

“Kids are work and energy,” Miguel explains. “When they’re someone else’s, you’re happy to give them back after a certain point. When they’re yours, even when you’re annoyed or upset with them, you still know it’s all worth it. You can’t imagine a life without them.”

“Oh,” says Miles. He watches quietly for a moment as Mayday continues her excited quest to make Miguel look as ridiculous as possible, before he too crawls across the ceiling and drops down. Sadly it’s not into Miguel’s arms like Mayday had.

Gingerly, Miles’ takes the little girl back, and she goes willingly enough. “Sorry if that was like, rude or anything. And don’t kill me for saying this but you sound like you make a really good Alpha, mate wise.”

Miles is halfway across the room again before Miguel can reply, like he really is expecting retaliation. Miguel just shakes his head and pretends to go back to his work.

I am a good Alpha he thinks. I could show you. We could have a whole litter of kids. You’d love it. And then inevitably Miguel’s thoughts turn lascivious. He ends up losing himself to a daydream about exactly how he wants to breed Miles (facing each other, his fangs buried in Miles’ throat, Miles’ flexible, coltish legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging in to coax Miguel into fucking him harder) while watching the Omega’s reflection.

He doesn’t come up for air until Peter makes his appearance. The man gives Miguel a quizzical look but is distracted quickly enough by his daughter. He sticks around long enough that Miguel does actually get some work done, and when his voice finally fades away Miguel figures he’s alone.

That is, until Miles clears his throat directly behind him.

Miguel doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. He turns and looks down at the Omega in annoyance, raising one eyebrow in a silent question.

Miles looks shifty, transferring his weight from one foot to the other like he’s thinking about running, but he’s got that mulish jut to his chin and a hard glint in his eyes that Miguel recognizes at the stubborn streak that’s lead them into more fights than he’d like to admit.

Is regularly wanting to throttle a teenage Omega better or worse than wanting to fuck him?

“Spit it out, kid,” Miguel eventually snaps.

Miles juts his chin out even further. “I’m not stupid,” he says, which, well he’s just inviting a scathing retort with that. Miguel’s expression must convey this because Miles rallies and goes on quickly, not giving the Alpha a chance to cut in. “I’m not! I saw how you were looking at me today, with Mayday. And then your scent…you were looking at me through the reflection on the computer screen.”

Miguel stiffens all over because fuck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grinds out.

“The hell you don’t! Even Peter smelled it. You’re into me, you smell like you want to jump me.”

There’s one of two ways Miguel can play this; deny it till his dying breath, or agree and pretend it doesn’t matter. His panicked brain picks the latter, because Miles isn’t stupid, and he’s tenacious as hell. He’ll hound Miguel until Miguel gives him an answer the Omega is satisfied with.

“So?” Miguel says.

That makes Miles pause, his eyes flicking back and forth between Miguel’s. He clearly isn’t seeing what he wants to though, brow knitting in confusion. “What do you mean ‘so’? So, you’re horny as hell for me.”

“You’re an Omega and I’m an Alpha,” Miguel explains slowly, like he’s speaking to a child. “It’s biology.” Which of course just ruffles Miles’ feathers and makes him puff up even more.

“That’s bullshit. You’ve never smelled like that before around me,” Miles insists.

Miguel is butting up against almost the exact same decision from before. Does he own up, or does he keep denying it means anything?

With a faint snarl of annoyance at having been put in this situation to begin with, Miguel says, “Most Alphas seeing an unbonded Omega with a young child are going to be affected.” The word horny will absolutely not be crossing his lips. “It sparks an instinct in us.”

Miles narrows his eyes, a faint smirk curling at his mouth. He thinks he’s won. “A breeding instinct,” he accuses.

Miguel turns his gaze skyward, giving a quick prayer to whichever poor saint is watching over him today to give him patience. “Yes, Miles. A breeding instinct.”

“I knew it!”

“Congratulations,” Miguel says dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now will you go away so I can do some work in peace?”

And there’s the chin jut again. Stubborn ass Omega. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The corner of Miguel’s lip twitches of up into an involuntarily snarl. “Well I’m done with you, malcriado. Vete.”

“No. I want to know if this was a one off,” Miles demands. “’Cause like, sure seeing an Omega with a kid might work for you, but my theory is that you’re already into me and it just pushed you over the edge. You’re too uptight to let your scent go wild like that unless you’re like, close to losing it.”

How the hell is this kid so damn perceptive? Clearly Miguel’s going to need to work on his defenses if Miles is reading him like a damn book. He sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose with two fingers, trying to figure out how to get out of this.

Well, he’s dug this fucking grave. Time to lie in it.

“Fine, Miles,” he says wearily, dropping his hand and making direct eye contact with the Omega. “Yes, I have more than a passing interest in you as a mate. Seeing you with Mayday made me think about having children with you myself. Are we done with this line of questioning now? Are you finally satisfied?”

Miles smiles slowly, then wrinkles his nose. “Having children with me, huh? That’s an incredibly boring way to talk about breeding. Why so family friendly? Just say you wanna fuck me. And no, by the way, I’m not satisfied yet. You gotta make good on all that before I let it drop.”

Silence reigns as Miguel’s brain just churns through the words, understanding them individually but failing to grasp the big picture.

“Not, like, immediately though!” Miles rushes to add, oblivious to Miguel’s plight. “I’m not ready for kids yet, not to mention my parents would kill me. But we could, you know, practice?” He looks stupidly hopeful, staring up at Miguel with that little smile on his lips, rocking forward on the balls of his feet.

“You…want me to breed you,” Miguel says slowly.

Miles snorts and rolls his eyes. “Well, practice breeding me. But yeah, that’s what I just said didn’t I? Get with it, old man, we’re wasting daylight here.”

Miguel’s never been one to follow orders. But how’s an Alpha supposed to resist?

[mrpenguinpants]

Xiao: Fainting HCS

FUCK. I FORGOT TO POST THIS EARLIER. AHHHH. I HAVE WORK IN LIKE 2 MINUTES SO I’LL BE BACK TO REPLY TO EVERYONE. 

Hey anon! So sorry it took me forever to finish writing this but good luck if you’re planning on pulling Xiao. I really wanted to finish writing this fic as an offering to the gacha gods that c1 xiao wants to bless me (even tho that’s not gonna happen). But good luck to everyone rolling today^^.

Disclaimer: I have not watch anything about Xiao because my hype can only take so much. This was written before 1.3. So if I get anything wrong or I’m missing something. That’s why.

---

Can I just say how far Xiao has come in my writing since the first part of the semi series? Sniff, feel like we’re making character development for a character that’s not even out yet. I can’t wait for mihoyo to take my HCS and rip them apart.

Xiao Semi Series

[ Friendship ] [ Falling in Love ] [ Cuddles ] [ Protective ] [ Affection ] [ Jealously ] [ Opposites Attract ] [ String Of Fate (Soulmate) ]

[Masterlist]

---

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

​  @hanniejji​@mikeysbike​​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @sunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​ @dai-tsukki-desu​ @thicmitten​ @nonniechan​​ @snowy224 @mayumintsu​ @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki​ @legionqueensav​ @eva-0403 @youaskedfurret​ 

Xiao: Fainting HCS

Instant panic mode engaged. If you’ve ever doubted his adepti power of swiftness you’re about to be mistaken. He’s noticed that you seem a bit out of it but brushed it off as you being tired from your recent journey. If there was anything bothering you, you would tell him. But as he turned around to greet you back, it seems like time is slowing down for him. He sees how your eyes glazed over and become unfocused. The muscles in your body snap and you drop to the ground. He can feel his blood run cold as past memories that have been waiting to jump at him suddenly claw at him but he doesn’t even register them. He’s already running towards you.

He’s already caught you in his arms before you can even meet the wooden floor. His brain is racing as he quickly checks your pulse to make sure you didn’t suffer from a heart attack or a curse. He makes a quick search over your body to check for any injuries, he can already feel the red hot iron of anger fill his system at the thought of someone trying to take advantage of you or threaten you. He’s usually logical in these types of situations, even the death of Rex Lapis didn’t shock him this much, but he’s been battling his conflicting feelings ever since he met you. But now that he’s finally accepted you and himself, he wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to you. His mind flashes to Guizhong before he shakes away the thought.

It doesn’t occur to him that you might be sick as he tries to shake you awake. Whatever teachings Guizhong and Morax have taught him fly out the window as he holds you so close to his chest, he’s pretty sure his grip on you is bruising. He knew mortal souls weren’t as strong as adepti and staying around one might cause sickness or even worse- death. Was this his fault? He can feel the drop in his stomach as he tries to reign in his emotions and powers, not here.

Verr almost screams when Xiao breaks the wooden ceilings and lands in front of her. She’s scared that there was a monster outbreak or something was wrong with Xiao before she notices your passed out form in his arms. As much as she likes to joke around and thinks your relationship with Xiao is cute, she knows that if anything came to seriously harm you she wouldn’t able to calm Xiao before he goes on a rampage. You mean so much to him and he hasn’t opened his heart to anyone except you.

She can tell he’s nearly past his breaking point as he looks at her with dilated eyes as he asks, no commands, her to help you. It’s such whiplash to her. Xiao’s always been polite and reserved that she almost forgets he used to be a demon slaying Yaksha, but this isn’t the time for her to worry about that. She quickly leads him to the backroom since there’s no way Xiao wouldn’t bite any hand that comes near you. Bless Verr’s heart since this isn’t the first time she’s had to handle Xiao’s outbreaks that she manages to save face and contact a doctor that was staying at the inn to look at you. She does feel a bit bad for the doctor who looks like he’s about to piss himself in fear as Xiao growls and watches the doctors every move with piercing yellow eyes.

Xiao is still wary when the doctor and Verr try to calm him down and examine you more closely, always flinching back whenever their hands get too close to you, letting out a dangerous hiss whenever there’s the slightest twitch of discomfort in your face when the doctor feels your heated forehead. As soon as the doctor concludes that you’ve been sick for the past few days and your body just needs to heal itself and recharge, the tension on Xiao’s shoulder loosens and the suffocating aura that’s been filling the room slowly filters out. Verr can’t help but sigh in relief but can’t bring herself to scold Xiao for breaking the inns roof as she watches him look over your form with worried eyes as he softly nudges your cheek. He’s still holding you but his grip has loosen slightly as he rests his forehead against yours. He breathes a sigh of relief as he rubs small circles in your hand. Xiao’s never been the most affectionate or shown to be the most caring but you’ve seriously scared him. She quietly leaves him be and closes the door as she begins to prepare to fix the damages.

Xiao never leaves your side as he waits for you to wake up. He can’t help but berate himself for not confronting you. The doctor said you would be fine but he can’t but imagine your body falling in a more violent scene. He quickly shakes those thoughts away as he paces around the room, sits besides you, then goes back to pacing. Usually he would go on a walk or beat his aggression out but he doesn’t want to leave you alone should you awake early.

Xiao doesn’t ramble about his day while you’re asleep, instead he just observes your features and the small movements you make to remind him that you’re okay. How your chest moves up and down as you breath or how your eyes sometimes scrunch in sleep. You’ve made him almost trip when you did it the first time since he thought you were waking up. He can’t help but think back to his fellow Yaksha’s and what they would say if they saw the way he was acting now.

Since his panic attack has mostly subsided he’s found himself growing more curious. He’s still worried about you but he’s managed to reason with himself that you’re okay, just sick which he’s going to scold you a bit for when you awake, so he softly brushes his fingers across your face. Before snatching his hand away in embarrassment. What the hell is he doing? Guizhong would slap him sideways if she saw him now. He huffs at himself as he deflates a little and rests his head on the bed beside your head. He’s patient. He will wait when your ready to wake up.

When you suddenly gain consciousness, it feels as if the entire world is weighing you down. You slowly blink open your eyes to see a worried Xiao hovering over you, his hands awkwardly in the air since he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch you.

“How are you feeling?” Xiao asks as his eyes dart all over the place before resting on your face. You’re still a bit out of it but you can tell he must have been really worried. You try to give him a small smile but with how scuffy you feel you can bet it’s not a pretty picture.

“Like I got slammed with one of Zhongli’s meteors,” you tried to laughed before coughing as Xiao quickly pressed a cup of water to your lips. Slowly letting you drink and calm down. 

“If you have time to make jokes then you’re alright” Xiao sighs before his features change slightly. His eyes glaze over in concern as a small frown appears. He really does look like a kicked kitten as he slumps over as the stress finally lifts as he feels your hand softly run through his hair.

“Sorry,” you say, he must have been so stressed out while you were passed out for him to look so exhausted. He simply nudges into your hand before turning his face to kiss your palm,

“There’s no need for apologies. I’m...just glad you’re okay,” Xiao mumbles before he’s back to pressing his head into your stomach. You can’t help but smile delicately as you reach over and bring Xiao up with you until he’s lying over you as you hug him gently. There’s a bit of shuffling before you’re able to spoon him as he let’s himself relax after the two day panic attack he just went through.

---

When you’ve fully recovered Xiao seems to hover around you a bit more. Well not a bit, a lot more, but no one has the heart to tell him that. It’s actually kind of adorable seeing the aloof and reserved adepti seem to follow you around like a loss duckling. Making sure you’re okay and you’re not overworking yourself. He still keeps his tough demeanor but you seriously gave him a big scare.

When Zhongli and Childe come over for their weekly visits of tea, they were aware that Xiao had locked himself in a room to watch over you and anyone that even stepped near the door would be skewered with a spear - and Verr would make them pay for the damages (Zhongli) and whatever consequences Xiao saw fit (Childe) - but they are happy to see you’re okay. You all fall back into your usual rhythm of conversation or Childe trying to get a rise out of Xiao while you and Zhongli talk about how lovely the weather’s been.

Zhongli let’s you in on some details that Xiao or Verr never mentioned while Childe and Xiao are fighting about who knows what. How Xiao wouldn’t leave your side or that he resembled a kicked kitten as he nudged your hand when he thought no one was looking. He offers you some medicine herbs to help with exhaustion and to take care of yourself. Likewise, to give Xiao some pain medication on his behalf. You’re one of the few good things in Xiao’s life and he doesn’t want anything bad happening to you.

---

Hmm. I didn’t mean to but I totally believe in the dad zhongli train and I think Zhongli basically just gave you his blessing? Maybe I’m thinking too hard on this haha.

Maybe this is better? Trying to figure out writing styles are hard. Either way, I’m never gonna end up kicking my paragraph HCS habit haha. If you couldn’t tell, I really like feral protective but lowkey vulnerable types (coughrazorcough). Xiao is so OOC at this point I don’t even know how to fix it. Please come home Xiao. 

(Edit: FUCK YEAH HE CAME HOME WITH DILUC. WE 90ED THIS BITCH AND IM ABOUT TO MAX HIS TALENTS. ILL SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL (since people have been asking) WHEN I GET BACK FROM WORK)

[cynettic]

I just read Kitsune reader x yan Scaramouche's fic, may I have gotten hooked on it? and of course, it's just perfect and that's why I'm here to lose a part two with nsfw, thank you in advance and understand if you refuse:3

Link to Part 1

Summary - Taking you captive, Scaramouche continues to see you as a pillar of support. Coming back home to have you there, always. Even if it meant chaining you up.

Pairings - F!Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Smut, slight noncon ( I tried to make it as consensual as possible but its difficult with yandere themes ), fingering, electricity play

Rating - NSFW

Penpal - Ahhh I'm actually beginning to get attached to this series, might end up writing a couple more posts with different hc and stuff. I hope you liked the post though, have a great day <3

A/N - The literal definition of the ‘stoic cruel boy who’s mean to everyone but you.’ Oh well, Scaramouche is ooc af, but I did change a few things in his backstory so its supposed to make sense for this story ;) Also- since we dont know Scaramouche’s actual name, I have the reader still… yknow, call him Scaramouche. Which is kinda weird cause its his harbinger name but oh well. Also, credit to @cycletr4in for proofreading it ;3

Taglist - @cursedraiden

Stay with Me pt.2

Scaramouche was a gentle captor.

In contrast to piercing eyes and harsh stares when it came to others, he had a soft spot for you. Like the ice that encased him whole melted at your touch, craving for the warmth only you could give him. For your arms around him, to play pretend and imagine he were a child, free, fearless, unbound. A child in your arms, safe and protected.

But you were held hostage, which meant that the chains around your wrists and legs held you down and secured you. Like you were bound to one spot like you’d always been, except this time you didn't have a choice.

You weren't waiting for the Kitsune Saiguu.

Hell, you didn't even have your vision.

This brought on resentment for the dark haired boy. You hated him, you despised him for holding you down under his own judgment. But at the same time, all you saw in him was a child, a little kid who hadn't had the time to grow up. The one who refused to do so because it was his only way to survive in the type of world he lived in. Hide behind that same facade he developed as a kid, snide remarks and unrelenting cruelty.

Just to come back to your arms, sobbing because he was still that child. Sobbing because he was still hurt. Sobbing because you were still his beacon of light, of hope.

He depended on you.

And as much as you built up harsh words to use against him, they dissolved in your mouth when you saw him. His vulnerability that he saved for you and you only. A deep part of you cared for him, a little too much.

Gentle fingers brushed through the locks of Scaramouche’s hair, twirling it around and playing with the strands. It was smooth, a small detail no one would have the chance to notice from the distance he put around himself and others. A quiet hum left his lips as he leaned against your chest, eyes fluttering closed against the soothing feeling of you against him.

The lavish silk sheets were soft against your skin, pillow pushing your form to sit up. Just enough to have Scaramouche in your arms, knees on either side of his body as his head rested under your chin. His chest rose and descended, almost on beat with yours, if not just a tad slower.

You hoped he wouldn't hear the way your heart thrummed against your chest.

Warmth, his body flushed against yours, the luxury of a bed and the small candlelight on your bedside. Different from what you’d grown into just on the side of the trail, sitting for decades. Or with your time with the Kitsune Saiguu, it was never this warm, never this gentle.

But this warmth ended at your beating heart, furiously blazing. Sending an urge of adrenaline through your body, whispering ‘run’ through your veins. A primal urge that would've had your hands around Scaramouche’s neck, till he was wrangling and dead.

Till you could escape.

Hand slowly sliding down his jawline, you let your gentle fingers ghost along the soft skin of his neck. Claws outstretched and ready, sharp and pointed with a deadly intent to kill. You could end him so quickly, overturn his trust and make an escape. You deserved it, you deserved freedom. Not a delusional boy who thought himself protector against someone who’s lived decades more than him.

Jolting at the sensation of a soft grip on your wrist, you watched with idle fascination as he simply cupped your wrist in his hold. Not stopping you, not restraining you, he simply brought your hand to his face. To his lips where he pressed the softest of kisses into your palm. So heartfelt and genuine that all you could do was freeze, not even considering clawing his face.

“I love you.”

You both stayed in that position for a few moments more, silence cradling the tension that slowly dissipated from your body. Forlorn eyes watching as he shift the angle of your wrist to kiss your fingertips. He wasn't waiting for an answer, basking in these soft moments where he could hide in your hold. Like a child, forced to grow up too quickly, yearning back for his foolish naivety, yearning for the childhood he missed.

You were that childhood.

Which is why he clung to you so dearly, showed expressions he didnt know he could make, hold you captive under the impression that it was ‘right.’ What he was doing was okay.

Claws retracted, you pursued your lips, holding back the tears of frustration that burned at your eyes. You hated him, hated him for the chains on your wrists, for the disappearance of your vision that you’d given so much value to. Hated him for the warmth he still made you feel.

You hated him.

You felt like a housewife in some respects. Not with the cleaning and cooking part, and of course no children were part of the equation. But in terms of support, you stayed rooted to that room, loose chains too strong for you to break or tug holding you down. Window was too far, and you were stuck moving around the bed and the desk that sat just a little farther away.

Attempts at having your vision back or more freedom in movement had been discussed with Scaramouche, but as childlike and free as he acted with you, he was not an idiot.

“I don’t plan on underestimating you,” was his answer, head resting on the plush of your chest. “You’re strong, always were. But I have to take extremes to make sure you don’t get hurt, some people out there are stronger than you.”

You wanted to point out that there were a ton of people stronger than him as well, but you kept your mouth shut. “Can I at least see the house? I’ve been cooped up here for so long…”

And he cant say no to such an innocent request as that right?

So he unlocks the chains, the vision at his side reminding you that he was strong. You solely knew that he’d been tough as a kid, and under the intensive training he’d seemed to endure, he was much much stronger. You werent willing to give it a go and lose his trust just yet.

Not like he really trusted you anyways-

At the very least, you’d hoped to get some sort of blueprint of the house, and all you’d received was confusion and your mind making up that the house itself was a maze.

“Didnt we… just pass through here?”

Glancing at the obvious frustration on your face, Scaramouche chuckled, pulling your arm through the hallways you swear you’d seen three times prior. “Nope, most of the hallways look pretty similar. The house wasn't built for dumbasses.”

You flashed him a look and were about to make some snideish rebuttal before you saw the smirk. You knew what he was doing, trying to comfort you with casual arguments you both used to have. Consisting of you telling him to work on his people skills, and him calling you a lazy ass. Of course you missed it, but you also knew you couldn't go back to it.

And then there was the issue when you learned that he was a harbinger.

A scene you didnt want to replay in your head, when a maid burst into your room, Scaramouche acting a tad more intimate. He had an awful tendency to do that, hug your waist and press his face against the crook of your neck. Press gentle kisses down the length of your shoulder that had you shuddering. You weren't used to intimacy, and considering you’d watched him grow up, it was just weird.

Stuttering, the maid had demanded that he was requested by the Tsarista. You’d seen the fear in her eyes when Scaramouche slowly turned to her, seen the unshakable immobility of standing under his gaze.

“Do not enter.” He said, “It’s on the door.”

That was the first time you’d seen Scaramouche kill.

You hoped it’d be the last.

But you’d seen death before, so much death in the time of the Kitsune Saiguu. And for a few seconds, you found yourself fearless as you yanked against the chains, yelling at his figure at the doorway.

“Tsarista?” You snarled, standing just a few feet away from him. His hand on the girls neck, clenching around the pretty skin of hers. Disgusted, the chains that held you back from closing the gap and throwing the girl away from him were impossible to overcome. “Why the hell does she need you?!”

‘Let go,’ you wanted to say. ‘Let her go, she’s going to die.’

It worked, because the ironclad grip was gone, the maid tumbling to the ground lifelessly. You’d been too late, and now her blood was on his hands, your hands. This was your fault and you had half the self control not to thrash against the chains with sharp claws, hands on his neck.

The hard steel gaze vanished in an instant, and like he’d regained his senses, he took a few steps to you. Hands clenching to fists before loosening to fingertips brushing against his palms. Confusion, regret and guilt clouded his features like a child waiting to be reprimanded. You didn't back away, stood firm and fierce when standing and keeping a tough front.

You wanted to cry.

“Its… its a long story.” He finally stated to your question, and when you didnt budge, he took a deep breath. In control again, he closed the distance between the two of you, “I’m sorry.” And that same thrum of electricity jolted through your body, sending you into a spiral of the girls lifeless eyes and Scaramouche’s childlike eyes. Till everything went black.

You woke up with the body gone. Scaramouche was gone as well.

You learned that Scaramouche liked to have things his way. Which meant that he was always in control, always had control of every situation.

Even in those short stretches of vulnerability when he rested in your arms, he still held something over you. And you had to adapt, shift for his wishes, coddle him and stay as his beacon. Because he was stronger, and even if you’d find some way to escape, he would find you.

It was odd, and you slowly let go of the image of him as a child, you knew he was a lot older. He’d probably reached the age your body was stuck in, and with every sweet kiss he pressed to your lips, you knew he saw you as some sort of lover. But as someone who wasn't in control, you simply had to play along, just until you found some way to make your escape.

Without killing him.

_-_-_-_-_

“Strip.”

Laying on one side of the bed, your eyes jolted open at the commanding voice. Slowly, you sat up, eyeing the dim figure at the doorway. Without the help of a candle or the moonlight at the window, you could distinguish Scaramouche at the doorway, taking off the large headpiece as he flung it to the ground.

“Excuse me…?” Your voice was soft, rusty after an evening nap.

“I’ll make you feel good,” was his only answer. Slowly making his way to the bedside till he could properly face you. His eyes were soft, but there was an odd sort of determination that you hadnt seen before. You held back his stare, confusion lacing your features when he suddenly started pulling off loose decorations that hung on his clothes. Just till he unlaced the vest and slid off his shirt. “Don’t worry.” But you didnt know quite what he meant until he leaned further to you, catching you off guard.

So you yelped when his hands suddenly slammed down on your shoulders, shifting you to have access to the buttons of your top layer. He was quick when undoing them, simply swatting away at your hands when you protested and tried to pull him away. Throwing it to the edge of the room when he was done, you could only thrash in horror when he undid your trousers just as quickly, pulling them down before you could grab them back up.

“Scaramouche? Hey-”

And then he threw you down on the bed, exposing you in your undergarments in the cool air of the room. Shivers crept up your spine and bristled across your skin, and before you could curl up to at the very least hide away, you felt a tug at your chains. Fear finally settled in when you saw Scaramouche attach the chain to the bedpost, until your hand was lifted up and he began to do the same to the other.

“Wait wait wait, stop and explain what you’re-”

Only then did he pause from what he was doing, slowly looking down to properly face you. His eyes slid up and down your body, and he took a step towards you. “I’ll make you feel good,” were his only words, and you were forced to take them as all he was planning on giving you. Only when he sat on the bed next to you did you realize what he meant, hand settling on your shoulder, waiting.

“Alright,” you said slowly. Painfully, the words bit your tongue, but you were merciless against someone who had control against the situation. You could say no and you knew Scaramouche would stop, he was gentle to you and you only. And even if he’d been firm just before, you knew that he’d still stop if you asked him to.

A part of you felt thrilled to have that power over him.

Another part of you just wanted to escape.

But you didnt have any hope to do so unless you were willing too give him everything. Because he expected everything and would do anything in his power to obtain it. You’d let him fiddle around with this delusion, thinking that he had control. Until he didnt.

Which is why you didnt flinch when his hand gently slid up your stomach, cold against the warmth you’d had under the blankets. Rubbing gingerly against your skin and drawing smooth shapes over before he slowly slid over your body. His eyes seemed to glint under the darkness of the room, lust filled and wanting.

You didnt shift uncomfortably, you pretended to be that doll he expected you to be.

Just staring up at him as he slowly leaned down to kiss you. His lips felt like snowflakes on a winters day, idly swaying side to side to catch one in your mouth. Jolting like electricity when they melted into your touch, red and swollen when he pulled back. You now vividly felt every touch, as if a current flowed and static jittered in the places he briefly brushed his fingertips.

“You always take such good care of me,” he breathed, lips slowly drifting down your chin. Just past your jawline and right on your neck. The space between your head and shoulder, a soft vulnerable spot that had your lips humming at the affectionate pressure. “Its my turn to take care of you.”

And then his lips were everywhere, collarbone, shoulders, cleavage. Just until his teeth were tugging off your bra, face nuzzled in between both breasts. Both of his hands now resided on your hips, grabbing both thighs to hold them up and against him. You could feel him hard, pressing so close to your heated core.

You managed to keep your reactions in check.

Just until he slowly grinded against you, mouth on your breasts as he again pecked the soft mounds, molding his lips against them as if he could remember the texture, memorize the feel. It was just to that point that mindless sounds slipped past your lips, turning to gasps when his hands on your thighs suddenly buzzed, and static rushed in. Your legs felt weak, entire body thrumming in response to the electricity he sent jolting.

He was using his vision.

The realization was numb against his lips on your breasts, hands slowly stroking the skin of your sides, travelling up. He hovered over you for mere seconds before mashing his lips against you once more, different. He was no longer gentle, and it was with the contact on your tail that you lost all control. When he gently moved it out of the way, backing up.

You were a mess.

Not that you tried to be, you’d been doing your best not to enjoy his touch. But it was hard when your core heated up so fast, mashing both legs together in hopes he wouldn't notice. You knew he would, any action beyond that was just you trying to save your dignity.

He sat there like he was enjoying the sight, the first time you’d seen him actually portray any visual confirmation of satisfaction towards the chains. He’d drink dry any ounce of control you gave him, and it was impossible not to give him it all when you were visionless and vulnerable.

But the dignity you struggled so hard to keep shattered when his hands brushed against your inner thigh.

Fingers slowly made their way to the padded fabric of your undergarments, two digits rubbing the area slowly with expertise. You bit your lip, muffling any groan of anticipation, hiding the way your hips tried to rock back into the gesture. Desperate, oh so desperate. Hiding back the whimpers as he slowly quickened the pace of his fingers against your garments. “Archons Y/n,” he murmured. “I haven't even put anything in and you’re already a squirming mess.”

“Shut u-up,” was all you managed, trying to shift away from the pressure against your clit. But his other hand was on your hip, holding in place. You could only watch and press your thighs tightly together as he slowly slid down your panties, resuming hovering over you. Distracting you with kisses, his fingers gently stroked your core, two fingers slowly sliding into your cunt using your juices.

He was gentle when pumping both fingers in and out, too slow when you thrust your hips to meet his fingers, pleading for him to go faster. But he liked hearing your cries, slowing down when you begged, quickening when you whined and just lay there, taking it.

You shuddered the first time electricity jolted from his digits.

It was when he had three fingers that he sent the static up your body, back arching with such intensity that it even had him chuckling. “Oh? You like it that much?” And then it is like something buzzed against your body, fingers vibrating against your clit as your thighs tightened around his hand. So much that you thought you’d crush it, but it didn't matter, not with the electrifying feeling against your body. It felt so odd, so overwhelmingly good that it had your legs sliding up and down the bedside, toes curling as the static grew and you fell paralyzed to his touch.

It didn't take long with his fingers thrusting in and out of you to cum. Moaning mess when he gave you the time to breathe, teeth biting your bottom lip and then mashing against yours. Your eyes grew fuzzy and most happened in a haze, and all you knew the entire time was that you’d given yourself to him, and that it felt good. You couldn't see the childlike wonder in his eyes anymore, not the need of a beacon or of support. No, the look he shared was feral, the smile tinting his lips almost scary. But it felt too good to care, and you let yourself enjoy his ministrations.

He pulled out and suddenly his own shorts were undone, boxers thrown to the side of the room just like all your other clothing. You didn't see how big he was, just felt his hard shaft against your throbbing cunt, pussy dripping and legs open wide and tired after your first go at it.

You expected him to be gentle like he’d been with his fingers. But he pressed the tip against your core, and in one full motion he was in. Teeth grinding against each other, you held back a scream, shock coursing through your body, overwhelmed with pain and discomfort. It hurt. But it was quickly overshadowed by his movements as he slid in and out of you, slow when pulling his hips back, and rocking himself completely inside you each time. A pattern that let you catch your breath and lose it all the same. Like he was continuously having a go at hitting the deepest parts of you, pulling back before fully thrusting into you and sending waves of pleasure and pain alike.

It was expected, but you couldnt hear yourself.

Not with your mind trapped in a haze of how he felt, body still buzzing after how he’d pulsed his vision through you. And now you were at the mercy of his member, hips swaying along with his, no energy for you to rock with him and try to push him deeper.

Archons, you didn't even think he could go deeper.

But you were proven wrong again and again as he kept the steady pace, hands clawing at your ass and hips. Stabilizing himself and trying to press himself against you, as far as he could go. Slowly, his hands drifted up to your hair, playing with the soft sensation of your furry ears. Pinching and rubbing, fingers coaxing the back of them like a massage. So gentle, but it paled in comparison to the harsh treatment of his dick.

You came first, gripping the chain with your hands in an attempt to stay stable. Walls clenching around him one last time before you got your release, your moans turning into cries when he continued to thrust into you. Your body felt numb, all nerves centred on the way he pounded into you, chasing his own release.

When he did, he pressed his head into your chest, his own breaths heavy with pleasure. Not pulling out, you could only lay there helplessly as his seed filled you, warm in contrast to the electricity he’d shot up your body just earlier. He didnt pull out, and laying in your chest, your heavy breathing didnt stop until he was asleep, collapsing on you and using you as support yet again.

Taking only a minute later to regain control of your senses, you shifted uncontrollably at his member inside of you, sending waves of pleasure every time you moved. Your wrists were restrained and you were stuck in this position till morning.

Achingly, you looked down at the boy, wondering how you would ever manage to escape.

[starring-movies]

The Haunting of Bly Manor: Episode Analysis

Episode 8 - The Romance of Certain Old Clothes

Episode 8 is the penultimate episode of The Haunting of Bly Manor. This episode, as well as Episode 5, are some of the absolute standout episodes of the season and in this one we are given the origin story of who The Lady of the Lake was.

We find out that “towards the middle of the 17th century” the current owner of Bly Manor at that time had died, and he left his two daughters as his heirs to the estate. His daughters were Viola and Perdita, and Perdita was five years younger than her sister. It’s an interesting detail that in Latin, ‘perdita’ means ruined, wasted or lost. In accordance with the meaning of her name, Perdita’s life is completely wasted and lost to Viola.

In life - Perdita lost her husband to Viola (Arthur was first interested in her but Viola presented herself as the lady of the manor so that he would marry her instead), she lost most of her life to caring for Viola when she became sick with “the lung” and she literally lost her life to Viola when Viola strangled her.

In death - Perdita gets lost as a ghost when her face and memories all fade.

An amazing detail; is that when Viola and Perdita are mingling with the various suitors, no one in this scene actually opens their mouth when it looks like they’re speaking to another person. Everyone makes the physical gestures towards one another which you make when you speak to someone (like one person leaning in to be heard and the other leaning in to listen), but no one’s mouth actually opens in speech. This small detail, as well as the whole episode being in black and white, helps to immerse us into the fairytale or gothic romance-like tone of the episode.

After Viola marries Arthur, they have a child together. We discover that the origin of the phrase “it is you, it is me, it is us”, which is used to invite a ghost into a person, was first said by Viola to her baby daughter.

It’s not made completely clear, but it’s straight after Viola notices Perdita and Arthur looking at one another that “her suspicion began as small”, but also when “the tickle in her lungs” began. This may just be a coincidence, but if it’s not, then it’s strongly suggested to us that Viola’s illness stemmed from the jealousy and suspicion that planted itself within her - like an almost ‘Dorian Grey-style’ physical manifestation of the jealousy that infected her heart.

When the doctor’s treatments for Viola’s illness don’t work and her condition starts to look more terminal, Arthur calls the vicar to her bedside to preform an absolution rite. Out of sheer stubborn wilfulness Viola refuses to repeat the rites, saying to the vicar for him to “tell your god, that I do not go”. Arthur tries to covnince her to repeat the rites by telling her “it is not about your body any longer, my love. It is your soul we must treat. It is your soul I worry for”. Again it’s not made explicitly clear, but it’s strongly suggested that Viola doesn’t die peacefullly and her soul is imprisoned in the chest of clothes because she didn’t say the rites and so her soul was not properly treated before dying.

As Older Jamie is telling the story, she says that “then five times around the sun, and all is different”, as this was when Viola found Perdita dancing with Arthur and started to treat Perdita awfully. In Episode 9 Older Jamie also says that “five years would pass, and there was peace” for her and Dani, before Viola started to take over Dani’s body. It seems that Viola was given “five times around the sun” before she started to see the connection between Perdita and Arthur growing stronger and when all became different; and so Dani and Jamie were given “five years” of peace before Viola reared her head and made everything different for them.

We also see a similarity being drawn between Viola and Peter. Viola is still hanging onto her life and refusing to die and Perdita says to her that “you should think of her, Vi. Think of Isabel. What will she be left with, what memories of you will she carry? Will it be this? This version of you? Because Viola, with love, let it be anything else”. It’s clear that Viola obviously does love her daughter but at the same time, by refusing to let go, she’s acting somewhat selfishly. Perdita is right when she says that Isabel will not carry any fond memories of her mother, but only a vision of her slowly wasting away in a “living death”. In the same way, Peter does love Rebecca but his decision to drown her was a completely selfish one, only thinking about his own loneliness and what he wanted.

We then see that Viola’s soul has been trapped in the chest which she locked her clothes in. While trapped in the chest she repeats a constant cycle of “sleeping, waking, walking” as she waits to see her daughter who will open the chest when she is of age. However when Perdita is the one who opens Viola’s chest, Viola strangles her as revenge for being killed by her and for her opening the chest that was supposed to be guarded until Isabel could open it. When Viola sees Arthur’s reaction to finding Perdita’s dead body, she doesn’t see “the changes wrought of time” but she sees “only his sadness”. This is heartbreaking for Viola, to see the man who was once her husband lamenting the loss of her sister.

Thinking that Viola’s chest was cursed, Arthur throws it into the lake so that Isabel would not succumb to the same curse that killed Perdita. It is this “absolute abandonment”, this “final insult”, which breaks Viola’s heart completely, and it’s from the anguish she feels and “stubbornness alone” which stops her “being pulled towards some other place, some realm beyond”. This stubbornness that Viola had, and because she ignored the pull from the “realm beyond”, meant that “she instead made her own gravity, gravity of will”.

We find out that The Lady of the Lake’s journey through Bly Manor started when her chest was thrown into the lake. The trip that Viola makes is in the hope that she would one day find her daughter. She walks to her old bedroom in the hope that she will find her daughter but then when she doesn’t find her, she remembers that she died and that her daughter had left her. This remembering would break her heart after every single trip, and so she would sleep to forget what had happened and then would wake back up having forgotten. It is also revealed to us that most of the other ghosts which we see in the manor are people who got in the way of her path, the most tragic of whom was the Doll Face Ghost, who was a little boy that she mistook for her daughter and drowned.

Through this we are also presented the idea of the danger of becoming blindsided by anguish and stubbornness. Viola began her journey through the manor with the purpose of finding her daughter, but then as time went on and she forgot more and more, the journey just started to become a ritual, something repeatedly done mindlessly and with no purpose. Through this repeated ritual, she completely loses the purpose for which she once did this, and as a result takes the life of an innocent boy because she could only remember that she was searching for a child and so she thought that this must be the child whom she sought. Viola allows anger and grief from love to seethe inside her, and eventually it takes over her completely, leaving only that anger in control of the shell of her body.

As well as this, we find out that the reason that all the ghosts have lost their faces is due to a side effect of forgetting. As each of the ghosts gradually forget who they once were, this gets physically shown on their face. It is a visual representation of memories fading as the details slowly get lost and then they are eventually lost completely.

You can read my previous The Haunting of Bly Manor posts here:-

Episode 1 - The Great Good Place

Episode 2 - The Pupil

Episode 3 - The Two Faces, Part One

Episode 4 - The Way It Came

Episode 5 - The Altar of the Dead

Episode 6 - The Jolly Corner

Episode 7 - The Two Faces, Part Two

——————————————————————————

[amorousadepti]

❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry 

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while. 

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation. 

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place? 

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion. 

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!" 

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.) 

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?" 

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns." 

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—" 

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon. 

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something." 

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this." 

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."  

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes. 

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday." 

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!" 

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield. 

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip. 

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!" 

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile. 

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you." 

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?" 

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?" 

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone. 

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand. 

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him. 

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow. 

Except— 

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before. 

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier. 

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place. 

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar. 

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!" 

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick." 

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade." 

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is." 

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed. 

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"  

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?" 

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?" 

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier. 

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot. 

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine. 

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!" 

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place." 

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!" 

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please." 

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker. 

Hungrier. 

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more." 

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering. 

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax." 

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him. 

You're glad to drown. 

[deardragonbook]

Those really weird dream sequences and when are they good?

I used to think that almost all dream sequences in books were bad. I don’t recall what books I was reading at the time but I specifically recall them being just a bunch of nonsense. 

Until one day, I read one that didn’t only entice me, but I read it three times in a row. Why the desperation? Because it was telling me something. Although what it was telling me wasn’t essential, just foreshadowing and food for theories, I just wanted to know. No. I needed to know. 

So, bad dream sequences are the ones that don’t serve a purpose. It’s just a bunch of shocking imagery for the sake of it, because you need some excitement but the next action scene is too far away. 

Or because you have a cool image in your head and you think despite it’s lack of relation to the story it will entice your reader regardless. Perhaps you like other people’s dream sequences and don’t know what you like about them. 

For me, a good dream sequence tells you something, perhaps gives you some important details about a characters past, perhaps some insight on their emotional state, it tells us about what they’re worried about, it’s tell us what they’re scared of. 

I think the most important thing is to know what you’re trying to express before writing the sequence. Choose the essential details and then mix in some less-esential but in no way irrelevant ones. 

Let’s use an example from my writing, spoilers ahead for Act 1 of Oppida Institute for Reformation (obviously, slight spoilers, it’s available for free in the link at the bottom of the post if you’d like to read it and then come back!): 

Slumber came fast, but it was not pleasant. She found herself in the Institute, her arm was hurting, why was her arm hurting? She looked down at it to see it was bleeding. Why was it bleeding? She turned her arm over, but couldn't find where the blood came from. She hummed and began to walk towards the exit.

She knew this building. She hated it. But she knew it. She reached the familiar door, pushed. Nothing, it wouldn't budge. She hummed again and wondered off to find a window. But there were none.

She was tired. So she headed upstairs, towards her room, she needed somewhere to sleep. The building had been empty up until now, but when she entered the hallway with the rooms it was full. There was a child at every door.

They were younger than Elizabeth. She didn't know who any of them were, they didn't have names, but she somehow knew they were from the Institute.

They looked at her. Or past her? No. Definitely at her.

"Hello?" she couldn't hear her own voice, but they reacted to it by tilting their heads.

She didn't know who they were, until it dawned on her, they were the children who she hadn't got to in time. She looked at them closer. They all had cuffs on their wrists. The cuffs she'd worn when thrown into the carriage.

She looked down at the ground, it wasn't stone anymore but wood. She looked back up, the walls were wood, the doors to the rooms were now all like the exit to the carriage. The ground began to move and she lost her balance falling to the ground.

She heard banging, it was the sound of her banging on the exit of the carriage.

She gasped for breath. Before waking up in a cold sweat in her bed at the orphanage. She was crying. She was crying loudly.

Thankfully her room mate was missing, nobody noticed.

Okay, so what was the goal with this scene? Context for those who haven’t read the story: Act 1 consists of Elizabeth infiltrating what is believed to be an abusive institution to find evidence. She finds this evidence but is promptly found out and nearly “shipped off” in a wooden carriage fighting for survival. 

She is rescued before anything truly bad can happen to her. However, she’s shown to be quite stressed and her attitude towards the adults in charge further hint that the events are having a larger impact than she wants them to know about. However, this is the moment where all readers should realize how deep the trauma runs. 

Prior to writing the sequence, I knew I needed to show the Institute, the carriage and the children. The Institute being the origin of the trauma, the carriage being the overflow and the children being her largest regret. The children who came before her, who she didn’t arrive in time to save. 

Okay, so three things to work with. What about the other details? Where do they come from? Let’s take a look by listing them: 

-Pain/bleeding in her arm: this a quick early hint at what’s to come for those who read the chapters in order. In the carriage she banged her shoulder and in extension her arm against the wooden door. Although not stated because of the adrenaline and the lack of relative importance, this is something painful and damaging. This is also foreshadowing to the next chapter where she is taken down with an odd amount of ease, partly due to exhaustion from this nightmare, but also partly due to invisible injuries needing recovery. 

-Locked door and no windows: obviously representing the feeling of being trapped that she had while living there. 

-Being tired and heading to her old room: it shows how despite being back home, she still holds that instinct from the time she was there. 

-The building being empty except for children: after she found evidence obviously the building was emptied, employees were arrested, children returned to safe homes. But in Elizabeth’s mind, it’ll never be fully empty, for it still holds those children who weren’t allowed to ever go home. 

-The children standing at the doors: this is a throwback to this exact thing happening at the Institute. 

-The children being younger than Elizabeth: This one is interesting because in the actual story, it’s mentioned that Elizabeth’s the same age as most of the attendants. Why make them younger here? Because Elizabeth perceives them as such. She’s an apprentice, a guard to be, responsible, mature. They’re children that need protecting. It’s her job to protect them. Just like an older kid to a younger child. 

(Plus children are always spookier). 

-Not being sure about where they are looking: Who’s to blame for them not making it? They look past her, at the real culprits, but ultimately Elizabeth still blames herself so they’re eyes return to her. 

-Not being able to hear her own voice: This is just something that happens (to me) often in dreams. And that’s another thing you can incorporate into dream sequences, actual realistic things from dreams, it can help sell and seal the scene. It also adds to the spooky factor and makes the wooden noise coming up later stronger and more impactful. 

-The sudden recognition: Another thing stolen from my actual dreams. I often am confused as to who people are until my brain fills me in on the story it’s trying to tell. 

Obviously I don’t expect anybody to pick up on all of these details, especially not to this extent. I expect some are obvious, while some are near impossible. I expect there are details I did not add on purpose but people will over read, or read differently. But the point is, there are details, there are layers. There’s nothing wrong with readers giving stuff their own twist!

Plus, nothing is added in just for the visual affects or to sound spooky. There is thought behind these random details. 

Another thing to note about this scene is the point of view and the pacing. Usually I’m a lot more to the point with my writing, asking questions and giving a lot of opinion create a slower pace I’m not always a fan off. But this is a different plane, mixing up the pacing and showing a lot more of Elizabeth’s feelings helps separate it from the real world. 

It helps set the tone and more importantly, it allows for more impact in the final scene. 

The final scene, the climax of the dream sequence, the whole place turning to wood, the noise and the feeling of the ground moving. It’s an example of a scene that uses the senses, only missing smell here. But we don’t usually experience things so vividly in dreams, right? Well, that’s why she wakes up. That’s why it’s the climax. 

I think it also helps to think of every dream sequence as it’s own little story, with it’s introduction, midpoint and climax. You can also consider them as little chapters if you’re going to have several, but be careful with overusing dream sequences! Especially if you do like I do and mix up the pace, if a reader enjoys your writing style, having that style change often may be frustrating. 

Anyways, I hope this made sense. I don’t know if using an example from a story few of you will have read is a good idea because a lot of the details won’t make sense on their own, but it’s something I had easy access to and actually knew everything about. 

Did it work for you? Would you rather I try to make something up next time? Feel free to tell me, I aim to imrpove, as we all do. 

As usual,  check out my socials and book here. Also, my Wattpad is in there, so if you enjoyed this small extract from Opida’s Institute for Reformation, you can read twenty three chapters of it for free! Plus a new chapter every Tuesday. 

What’s your favorite dream sequence from a book you’ve read? 

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Baking Cookies

All Brothers x gn!MC

Format - Scenarios / Headcanons

Words - 2633

Content warnings - tooth-rotting fluff, some implied sexual activity (nothing explicitly stated or described)

Prompt/Inspiration - MC bakes cookies for Mammon, AO3 request

Summary - You spend the day baking cookies and spending some quality time with your favorite demon.

AO3

Scene -

Baking was perhaps one of your favorite hobbies. For special occasions you always whipped something up for your friends and family. And everyone could always count on you to bring oodles of cookies to holiday parties.

Since being in the Devildom, however, you haven’t been able to bake anything and you were sorely missing your hobby. Finally you decided to ask Lucifer about it and he arranged to have some human realm ingredients and kitchen appliances brought in for you.

While you were getting things set up in the kitchen, you suddenly felt some arms wrap around you from behind. When you turned to see who it was you saw….

Lucifer

He pressed a kiss to your temple when you turned to look at him, smiling warmly at you

He had come to check in on things and make sure that everything had arrived in working order

You thank him for his thoughtfulness, pecking him on the cheek in return

He wants to know what you plan on making, so you tell him about your favorite cookie recipe

He gives you another kiss to your head, and then says he has to go finish some RAD related things

But he asks that you bring him a cookie when they are done

And promises to come check on you later if he gets the chance

After spending most of the day in the kitchen, you finally have all your cookies on cooling racks

You realize then that no one else has bothered you all day

The fact that Beel never made an appearance strikes you as especially odd. You had even made extra so you could make sure you still had enough for everyone else if he popped in for a snack.

Hesitant to leave your cookies unattended, you text Lucifer and tell him that you’re done and voice your concerns

He explains he had placed a small spell on the door to keep the scent of your baking contained, so your cookies will be perfectly safe for the time it takes for you to bring him a couple yourself

When you arrive in his study, he’s still working diligently, but pauses briefly when you enter to call you over to his lap

Not wanting to stop working, he asks that you give him a bite

You of course give him what he wants, and assuming he’s trying to embarrass you, make sure to maintain eye contact with him the whole time

This results in a rare blushy Lucifer moment 😍

You take a bite of the same cookie, and he comments that there is some chocolate on your lips (there isn’t)

When you go to wipe it away, he stops your hand and kisses your lips

“Here, let me get that for you.”

After he pulls away, you smirk at him and inform him he has some chocolate on his own mouth

Needless to say, he isn’t getting much work accomplished after that

And it’s entirely possible that the rest of your cookies get discovered (and consumed) while you are...busy

Mammon

He’s very curious about what you’re up to

Wants to know if he can help, he’s kinda excited about the idea of making cookies from scratch

You tell him he can stay, but he has to listen to you exactly

He agrees “Of ‘course I can handle some bakin’. How hard can it be?”

Poor, sweet summer child

To his credit, he tries, he really does

But you finally have to stick him on “fetching detail” because of the utter chaos that results when he does anything else

There is flour everywhere, vanilla extract and other liquids are spilled on the counters, he’s probably dropped a few eggs too

By the time you get the first batch in the oven, you’re pretty worn out. It reminds you of baking with a small child, honestly.

You look up at Mammon, and he doesn’t seem to be having as much fun as you would have thought

He’s noticed the mess all over the kitchen, and starts to feel self conscious about how much trouble he’s caused

But you know the best way to distract him...is by teasing him

Hopping up on the counter next to the mixing bowl, you call him over so that he’s standing between your legs. He wraps his arms around your middle and rests his head on your shoulder

You return his hug, kissing his cheek, and thanking him for the help

“I couldn’t have done it without The Great Mammon.”

You then ask him if he knows what the best part of making cookies is

He lifts his head up to look at you, curious and feeling a tiny bit better

You then scoop some cookie dough out of the bowl with your finger, and act like you’re about to offer it to him, only to put it in your own mouth instead

He blushes. Hard. Which makes you smile

You go to do it again, and this time he catches your wrist and...helps himself to the cookie dough

After that, there is a lot of laughter and giggling that can be heard from the kitchen

In the end, you only manage to make a single batch of cookies, but you wouldn’t have had it work out any other way

Leviathan

He’s resting his head on your shoulder so you can’t see his face, so you give him a quick peck on the top of his head

You honestly hadn’t expected for Levi to join you, you knew he could bake too, but he had said he was busy today with whatever otaku stuff he does when you’re not there

He mumbles something about being bored and lonely, so you ask him if he wants to help and immediately perks up and agrees

You two make a great team, and manage to get things done in record time

You and Levi sit on the ground next to each other, backs against the cabinets, playing mobile games together, while the cookies are baking and cooling

The cookies you had decided to make were sugar cookies, thinking that Levi would get a kick out of decorating them

And you would be right

You’re amazed at the level of details he’s able to draw with royal icing. They’re almost too cute to eat

He’s a mixture of proud and embarrassed as you compliment him on his cookie decorating skills

You take lots of pictures so you can post on Devilgram and brag to everyone about your amazing boyfriend

Asmodeus is probably the first one to see your posts about the cookies and he hurries to the kitchen to see them himself

Cue another round of bragging about your boyfriend and his cookie decorating skills

Poor boy is getting pretty embarrassed now, especially since he can hear the rest of his brothers coming down the hall to see what all the fuss is about

So you gather up a plate of your favorites and make a hasty retreat with Levi to his bedroom, locking the door behind you

You climb into his tub with him, sitting between his legs and reclining onto his chest, with one of his arms around your waist

He puts on some movie that he knows you both enjoy, and you eat your cookies together while relaxing

When the movie is over (and the cookies all eaten), he hugs you close and hides his face in the crook of your neck

He tells you he’s had a lot of fun today, and that it was worth missing his gaming live streams for

And that’s probably like the sweetest damn thing he’s ever said to you 💗

Satan

He immediately asks you if he can help

He loves learning, so baking with you seems like a great way to pick up a new skill

He makes for a really great helper: follows directions to a T, asks plenty of questions, precise in his measurements

He’s also really good at keeping the kitchen neat and orderly

As you prepare to put the last batch of cookies in the oven, you watch Satan start cleaning up and wonder why his room is such a mess if he can be so meticulous in other areas

Once the cookies are in the oven, you begin to help Satan tidy up

Until…

You stumble a bit and Satan catches you

But...you had been carrying a bag of flour

Now...you are not carrying a bag of flour

Satan is covered in a POOF of white and you immediately start apologizing and trying to clean him off (while trying desperately not to laugh because honestly he looks pretty ridiculous)

He picks the bag of flour up off the flour, without saying a word, then looks at you, and then the bag, and then back at you before smirking

You start to get a very bad feeling about this

Before you can even blink, Satan has grabbed a handful of flour and tossed it right in your face

A food fight of epic proportions ensues

It does not stop until Lucifer can be heard stomping down the halls

“MAMMON what have I….”

Lucifer freezes when he enters the kitchen

You and Satan also freeze

And the three of you just stare at each other

“What is going on here…?” Lucifer finally asks

“Baking cookies…?” you reply

“...baking cookies…”

Lucifer then turns and leaves as quickly as he came. He does not have the time to deal with this. And it’s you who is at fault here. He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to do. Yell? Hang you from the rafters? He decides that’s a problem for….later.

You and Satan burst out laughing as soon as Lucifer is gone

A few sweet kisses are exchanged before you decide to actually clean up

Once the cookies are out of the oven and cooling, Satan invites you to his room for a much needed shower

“Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

And you are very much comfortable with it

Asmodeus

He’s come to check on you and see what all your excitement from earlier had been about

You explain about the cookie recipe you were going to be working on and ask if he wants to join you

He’s more than happy to help you, and was actually hoping you’d ask

He then presents you with a set of matching aprons to wear while you work, one for him and one for you

Asmo is a pretty good helper overall, but he’s very playful too

Lots of chocolate flavored kisses, cookie dough sampling, and pats on the ass

(You’ll probably have flour handprints on your ass, make sure to give him a matching set though)

It takes a little bit longer than normal for you to finish all you had planned, but you don’t mind. You really enjoyed having Asmo there to keep you company

While you start cleaning up, Asmo says he’s going to draw a bath for you so you can get cleaned off and relax

You make sure to grab a small plate of cookies to take with you, sorting the rest into pre-portioned and labeled boxes for the others to help themselves to

When you’re done, you join him in his room and are greeted by the most divine, relaxing scent you’ve ever experienced

Asmo emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in a robe and quickly helps you undress

The two of you slip into the tub together, with you sitting between his legs as he massages your shoulders, and your scalp while he washes your hair

You didn’t realize how tense your muscles had been from hunching over the kitchen counters all day, but he makes quick work of all the knots and kinks and soon you’re feeling much better

You then swap positions so you can pamper your favorite demon as well, he of course can’t resist making all sorts of exaggerated lewd sounds while you wash his hair, which leaves you giggling/chuckling

When you’re done, he leans back against you and you drape your arms over his shoulders and around his neck, just holding him close and enjoying the soothing warmth of the water

After the bath, the two of you curl up together in his bed, taking turns feeding each other the cookies you had set aside, smiling and flirting, exchanging lots of sweet kisses

The Attic Club Sandwich (Beelzebub / Belphegor)

It’s Belphie who has his arms wrapped around you, resting his chin on your shoulder

Since Beel had sports practice today, you decided it would be the perfect opportunity to bake him some cookies as a surprise

Belphie is there to...supervise

He spends most of your baking spree clinging to you or hanging off you in some form

But he does help out occasionally when you ask him to hand you things or put stuff in the oven

You catch him sneaking chunks of cookie dough, “for quality control purposes” he says

You let it go since you’ve already planned on baking a rather large quantity to make sure Beel would get enough to satisfy himself

With the last of the cookies in the oven, you start to clean up and Belphie hoists himself on top of the counter next to the mixing bowl, helping himself to any leftover remnants of cookie dough he can scrape off

Insists he’s helping by “cleaning the dishes”

As you wait for the final batch to cool, you spend some time just cuddling your beloved bratty demon, standing in between his legs while he buries his face in the crook of your neck and holds you close

Beel arrives home around then and heads straight for the kitchen to find out what smells so good

His face lights up when he sees you and Belphie

You see Beel and greet him with a smile, walking over to give him a sample cookie

He lets you feed it to him, blushing like the adorable teddy bear he is

Satisfied that your cookies have been Beel Approved™️, you send Beel away to shower, exchanging a quick peck before he goes, and letting him know y’all will be waiting in the bedroom with the rest of the cookies when he’s done

Happy boi hurries off to take the quickest shower of his life, and you and Belphie head to the twins room

Belphie decides he can be a bit helpful and agrees to carry the rather large box of cookies for you

Which leaves your hands free to loop through his arm and walk with him

While you wait for Beel, you sit in Belphie’s bed and he snuggles up against you, his head resting on your lap and his arms wrapped around your legs

Says he doesn’t need any cookies since he ate enough while helping(?) you

He falls asleep almost instantly, baking(?) cookies is a lot of work for him

It doesn’t take long for Beel to finish washing up and join you on the bed, wearing some comfy lounge pants, wrapping his arm around your shoulders

He lets you feed him cookies for awhile, exchanging lots of sweet chocolate chip flavored kisses in between

He’s so happy and thankful that you thought of him today and prepared something special just for him, you make sure to tell him Belphie helped too and his smile gets even broader

When you start to feel tired, you rest your head on his shoulder and he polishes off the rest of the cookies on his own

Beel then presses a kiss to the top of your head, before snuggling closer to you, hugging you tight

Feeling warm, relaxed, and secure, you drift off to sleep between your two favorite demons

[spencers-renaissance]

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

[cblgblog]

So my issues with Irondad are well documented at this point, starting from their very first scenes. Specifically the utter tone deafness of Peter’s recruitment, by both Tony and the writers. Tony starts the movie being blamed for the death of a 20-year-old kid who was in the wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. That accidental death that can be put down to negligence on his part, is pivotal to what happens next. So pivotal he uses it in his pitch for why the other Avengers need to sign the Accords.

Tony, midway through the movie, deliberately brings a 15-year-old child into this conflict. A child he blackmails into going with him, because if you don’t, I will tell your aunt.

Charles Spencer was an innocent civilian, wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. He died. That tears Tony up, as it rightfully should. And yet, in the midst of his crusade about following laws and accountability, he lies to May Parker about taking her 15-year-old nephew out of the country and into a warzone. Ignoring some well-established laws about child soldiers.

Tony blackmailing a child who’s had his powers for 6 months into participating in this conflict makes no sense. Ever. It especially makes no sense in the context of Charles Spencer and his mother. Yet neither Tony nor the writers seem to comprehend this. Which is why Irondad has been bullshit from the start. Blackmail and kidnapping are not sweet, father-son moments, even if you ignore the fact, as the MCU wants to, that Peter had a father already, in Ben Parker. He has a loving adult parental figure in May Parker. Both of whom cared about him before he had spider powers that might be helpful to them.

All of this, I’ve said before, so have others. And then I realized that I actually hate Irondad more than I thought. That Feige and co. mishandled it even more than I thought, and why? Because of this.

We know the story. Peter was, supposedly, this kid Tony saved at the Stark Expo in Iron Man 2. Started out as a fan theory, and then was confirmed that yes, this is true, this is exactly what we intended.

Now, we know Civil War had different writers/directors than Homecoming or FFH did. We also know that, for all the lip service of, ‘It’s all connected,’ we know that the creatives in these different franchises do not always talk to each other, and that they often blatantly contradict each other.

Taking all that into account, acknowledging that…the dumbasses at Marvel did not think up the idea of Peter being the Iron Man 2 kid. They heard the theory, thought it was cool, then took credit for having meant that the entire time, yes, that was totally us.

We know this because it is never mentioned in canon. All those Tony and Peter interactions, all those times of yes, Mr. Stark, I just want to be like you, Mr. Stark, and Peter never mentions that? When Tony takes he suit from him in Homecoming and Peter says that he just wants another chance, wants to be like Tony, would he not mention that hey, you saved my life, Mr. Stark. You saved my life and I just wanted to be like you, and now I can be, now I can save lives like you, just please give me another chance.

If the Iron Man 2 theory were true, would he not say that? In FFH, when he’s all guilt-ridden, I didn’t save him, would he not mention that hey, he saved my life before I was Spider-man, before I was special, before I was anyone?

Now I know what you’re thinking. The Iron Man 2 thing isn’t that big a deal. It’s not a crucial thing. And you know what, you’re right. It isn’t, it’s just always annoyed me, in an eyeroll way, that the same people who couldn’t count properly between 2012 and 2017 (8 years later flashing in giant letters across our screens means that Homecoming was meant to take place in 2020), that these same people who let something so blatantly timeline breaking get through then took credit for a kind of cool, kind of clever fan theory. It’s annoying.

I’ve now realized, however, that it is far more than annoying to me. Because TPTB at Marvel did not think of that idea for themselves, but if they had, and if they’d run with that idea? If they had, it would’ve made Peter’s recruitment in Civil War so much more fucked up than it already is, but so much more interesting. So, so, so much more interesting.

I’ve talked about why Spidey’s own movies (as much as you can call them that given the level of Tony infiltration) prove that the theory isn’t true. Now let’s go to Civil War. Different writers, yes, but let’s talk anyway about why we can tell from CW that Peter was not that kid.

He gets home. May is like, look who it is, Tony Stark. Not, look who it is, the hero who literally saved your life. When Tony locks himself in Peter’s room with him (still fucking gross, Jesus Christ), Peter is just, nope, I got no idea what you’re talking about. That’s—no, I’m not a superhero, no. He’s defensive. He’s apprehensive. He’s trying to figure out what fresh hell this is. He’s trying to hide stuff from Tony. If this is the guy who saved him at the Stark Expo, why this reaction? Why not, oh my god, you saved my life, I thought I’d never see you again, not, not up close I mean. When Tony asks him to do a thing, why is it not, well yeah, duh , you saved my life, where do we start? Or even, okay, I don’t really wanna do this, but, you saved my life, I owe you?

So, nobody wrote a fucking word of any of Peter and Tony’s interactions under the theory that he was the Stark Expo kid.

But what if they had?

Tony shows up at May’s place. He does not know who Peter is, in relation to their “meeting” before. He’s expecting to have to do some level of smooth talk to get in here but, nope. May’s just, oh my god, you saved my boy’s life, come in, come in!

We don’t know for sure that Peter was orphaned by the time of the Expo, but if we base it on comics and prior films, he likely was. Most versions seem to have him fall under Ben and May’s care between 2 and 6.  O1’ birthday means he would’ve been around 9 at the Expo. So, more than likely, Ben or May or both were the ones there with him. They may credit Tony with saving their lives as well.

So, Tony starts the movie being called out by a grieving mother. Going down this route, we’re at the midpoint…and here’s a different mother telling him how great he is. How he saved the most important thing in her life. How if Ben were here (May’s wearing her wedding ring around her neck btw, you can see it in the scene), Ben would say the same thing. Shake his hand. Hug him.

Now, Tony’s got a sharp ass mind, when it’s not clouded with booze or drugs or the like. Since he wasn’t wasted at the Expo, there’s a good chance that, given some details, he remembers saving this kid. He remembers how small this little boy actually was. He remembers how light this kid was when he grabbed him. It was a few seconds in a long ass night, that he hasn’t thought about in years, but to May Parker, it’s everything.

So maybe at this point Tony’s rethinking this. He’s remembering that little boy, realizing how young he still is. He pulled that boy from danger. And now here’s this woman who invited him into her house, told him how her husband just passed recently, things have been hard, especially for Peter but God, he’ll love to see you. Maybe Tony’s rethinking this, coming up with a way out, when Peter shows up. And then, aw hell. The kid’s just a mess of excitement and shock, possibly tears…okay now it’s just gotten harder to make an exit.

Let’s pause here to say that May Parker is not fucking dumb (“Cut the bullshit. I know you left detention. I know you left the hotel room in Washington. I know you sneak out of this house every night.”).

May is not dumb. Letting the 50-year-old dude go into her nephew’s room with him, alone? Arguably dumb, even if it is Iron Man. Letting him grab the kid for some Stark…thing, and take him wherever Tony said he was taking him on 12 seconds notice? Even more arguably dumb.  CW as it’s written dumbs down May’s character for the sake of an already questionable plot point. Especially since she literally says she’s not a fan of Tony in Homecoming. Yes, her comment there comes after the “internship,” her noting Peter’s distraction and stress because of it. But still, it’s fucking weird that she’d let this man take her kid out of the country, alone, in CW. It makes her dumb for the sake of plot.

But if Stark saved Peter’s life not so long ago? It at least makes a bit more sense. He’s a hero. Peter literally wouldn’t be here without him. Why would Tony hurt him now?

So, back to the scene. Peter’s probably less paranoid about showing his stuff to Tony. Probably not spilling everything himself, but when Tony notices things, Peter’s probably less panicked over it, more willing to confirm. Yes, he’s got these powers, okay? And he hasn’t had them for long, but he’s trying to do good, like Tony. He’s trying to do the right thing, like Tony.

Now, this kid has such literal hero worship going, and he’s so damn inexperienced, he admits that. And Tony’s still got Charles Spencer’s mom in his head. He’s dead, Stark. And I blame you.

Can Tony really take this kid—actual minor kid younger than Charles was—take him and put him on the field against the goddamn Avengers? That woman out there with the dead husband and the ring around her neck, what’s he going to say if Peter gets hurt, or worse? Sure the kid obviously has skills but, can he risk another grieving mom?

So, maybe Tony’s rethinking this. Maybe he can still get out of this, improvise a Plan B. But then there’s a text from Nat or Ross. Where are you? We’ve only got a few hours, what’s the play?

Special circumstances, nobody in that group is really gonna fight to kill…it’s special circumstances, and he can keep the kid mostly sidelined.

This time, he doesn’t have to blackmail Peter. He doesn’t have to threaten to expose his secret. Peter’s willing, either because he genuinely wants to, or he feels he owes Tony a debt. So there goes the dick factor of Tony literally blackmailing a child. And the lack of questions Peter seems to ask about what he’s fighting for, the acceptance of vague answers, that’d also make more sense in this context.

In this version, Tony is both more and less of a dick. He’s doing less active threatening and manipulation…but he’s also being doubly manipulative. His genuinely good deed gives him an easy in with the Parkers. He’s playing on the credibility of an earlier, at least somewhat better version of himself. One who saved Peter Parker and hadn’t yet ended Charles Spencer.

Look, I won’t lie, I legit don’t know what I’m saying anymore, except that Marvel sucks for taking credit for a thing that they definitely do not have credit for. Which isn’t particularly new for them, and wouldn’t particularly matter if the thing they took credit for (and didn’t do anything with) could’ve offered some interesting story possibilities.

[anntoldst0ries]

shinrin-yoku (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.7k, PG Summary: When life's difficulties hit, Noelle navigates her way through them by turning to the nature. Category: Hurt & Comfort Warnings: mentions of trauma

A/N: May is a Mental Health Awareness month and here in the UK the theme is nature. My MC, just like me, runs to the woods when things get tough. It helps her clear her head and reconnect with inner strength.

I struggle with mental health myself and it’s important for me to speak up and address the subject. There is nothing worse than shaming or discrediting someone’s difficult feelings. It’s fine not to be fine.

If you struggle alone, please don’t. My inbox will welcome you with open arms. Two heads are better than one, even if we just complain, at least we can complain together 💜

For @choicesmaychallenge2021 Day 13 - Mental Health

SHINRIN-YOKU - A Japanese term for ‘forest bathing’ or the sense of well-being you experience while in nature.

~~

It all starts with a seed. This tiny element which, without aid, is sentenced to certain death. But give it the right soil. Give it water, sun. And it can grow. Into something big. Powerful. Scary.

~~

She is five years old.

They live in a townhouse, a classy Victorian era building. Undistinguished, one of many merging into the background of a typical London street. The colors are also very standard,  dirty white married to ivory beige, bar for the deep green door - their rebel child.

For the random passerby, it’s nothing special. But for her, the walls of a storey house encapsulate the whole world.

The garden behind the house is neat and clean, visibly well taken care of. She doesn’t remember exact details anymore, but she remembers begging her parents to go camping in the garden with her brother. The ticklish feeling of long and slim blades of grass on her tiny feet. Looking at the stars with pure awe and delight, that only the unspoiled mind of a child is capable of.

The plot of land that the house has been built on borders a beautiful forest. A wooden fence separates the two.

To her, it’s a passage to a magical world.

A world without any particular order, living its own life, unconstricted by rules. Not in the slightest does it resemble the garden on her side of the fence, where things grow according to the rules laid out by the adults.

There is a feeling inside her that she’s too young to name, to throw it in lingual context. It’s not until years later that she realized what it had been. Freedom. To grow however you please. To be what you want to be.

Robust, effuse trees tower over her, making her feel so small. As if she hasn’t already been feeling small enough, living in a world full of giants.

But they mean something else too. They bring a secret and a promise. Promise of a bigger world out there, far from the confines of the place she calls home.

The forest draws her, singing a melody that only her heart can understand. One day, she will be a part of it.

~~

She lives the teenage dream life.

That’s what everyone says.

She doesn’t have any real problems. She’s lucky not having to worry about money. She’s got friends. Her family is great. She just needs to stop whining. Her life is perfect.

Their words, not hers.

None of them know what happens behind closed doors.

The childhood forest is a cloudy memory. Her home is now thousands of miles away, in a city with a giant red bridge, which for some bizarre reason has ‘golden’ in its name.

But the call from nature doesn’t care about distance. It can find you about anywhere. It’s different and yet the same.

Because nature beats in one rhythm and speaks in the same language, everywhere.

The morning is chilly and humid. She’s wearing a wooly coat, carelessly threw on a pair of PJs hiding underneath.

Her steps are brisk, breathing short and heartbeat elevated. Something’s bothering her blanched face.

The voice, again.

When it first appeared, she thought it had her best interest at heart. Used to give her advice and like a good friend, ream her out when she did something bad.

Over time, things took a turn for the worse.

Snarky comments. Casually mentioned wrongdoings. Feedback on what she could have done better, differently.

Noelle hoped the voice would go away on its own.

It hasn’t.

Not only did the voice not go away, but it was actually growing stronger with each passing day. Became more vocal. Judgmental. Openly hostile.

It fed on her fears.

It’s your fault - it told her - that your parents are getting divorced.

You are not good enough.

Even a lie, repeated enough times, will finally become the truth. And so it did for her, to the point where she couldn’t distinguish her own voice from the voice of the tormentor. Sounds faded into one.

Whoever said words can cut like a knife was right. But those who knew thoughts could leave scars that are much deeper, were truly wise.

The young, beautiful girl who never hurt a soul, became a hostage. A prisoner locked in the jail of her own head.

A giant tear rolled down her face. Made of all the words her heart couldn’t say.

She hugged the tree tightly and inhaled the woodsy aroma, the scent filling her lungs fully.

It’s sensuous.

Just like that, she is small again.

~

She’s got all that she ever wanted.

Degree from one of the best medical schools. Graduating with honors and glowing recommendations from even the strictest professors, who kept assuring her that her future in medicine is so bright it’s actually blinding. Then, a dreamy residency in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

Pretty impressive, right? Even a fool could see that. But the only fool whose opinion she cared about, couldn’t. All these things were clearly not good enough for Ethan Ramsey to stay.

She wasn’t good enough for him to stay.

Not longer than a year ago he was just a concept, an ideal without a face, body and voice. To her, he was a celebrity, a hero, someone whom mortals don’t have access to.

It was preposterous to consider for even a second Dr Ramsey could actually see something in an intern.

Standing among the moss-covered trees, every fiber of her being was filled with the thought of him.

Did the Amazonian forest remind him of her, just like every forest around reminded her of him?

Just when she won the battle for her career, she lost another. Because life had to be a zero-sum game.

As painful as that would have been, she wished she had something to hold onto. A scene she could replay in her mind. An image of him walking away. Or saying goodbye.

But he left without a word.

That was the pattern. That was history repeating itself.

She took her shoes off and stepped on the soil frosted with morning dew. It’s cold and wet. It’s refreshing. She is grounding. Reconnecting with Earth.

Tunes in with the rivers of grass, towers of trees, fences of bushes.

If the trees could speak, they’d tell stories not many people would believe in.

Tales of heartbreaks. Parables of spirits.

They are all nature’s poems.

Hauntingly beautiful. Riveting. Written without a single word.

Because nature speaks its very own language that only the soul, not the mind, can understand.

Pain is ripping her apart. But it reminds her that she’s alive. And this, in itself, is a miracle.

~~

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Some people call her a survivor. But it doesn’t feel like the right word. So many things in her died. So much was lost.

The attack took a lot from her. Danny. Bobby. Sense of security. Identity. Direction.

Right and wrong, good and bad, righteous and vicious. These are all just words. Someone needs to come and teach her the meaning of them anew. Draw lines, mark out frontiers. Save her from herself.

The ground is soaked. Torrential rain turned the soil into soft mud, warm and easily slipping through her fingers. She falls on her knees, praying for the ground to consume her.

Fill every part of her. Silence the internal cacophony. To sink into oblivion.

Not many people knew about the panic attacks and recurring nightmares. They’re always the same.

She’s standing in the middle of a swamp. Danny and Bobby are drowning, their arms reaching out for her. She knows she can only save one of them. She runs out of time trying to figure out how to save both. As a result, they both die. Time stands still and yet everything is spinning, moving, racing. The reality is a riot of overbright colours.

Suddenly, a ring breaks the silence. A polyphonic intruder. She looks at the screen through hooded eyes and notices the caller’s name. It’s him. He’s petrified. Worried to death. Asks her to stay where she is.

Some time later, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour - who knows? - he emerges from the gathering of stocky oaks.

The moment he catches the sight of her, he starts running. She notices a lab coat underneath the jacket. He’s soaking wet.

Even though he is so close, he doesn’t slow down. Crashing into her, he scoops her in his arms. Catches her in the tightest of embraces.

Asks her if she’s fine. No. Not that question again. She’s tired of people fussing over her and gets angry.

Had it not been for the attack, would he even be here? The voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t matter to her. He’s there now.

Deep baritone is gentle and full of concern. It’s not like that. It’s not his intention to fuss. He’s simply worried. Because she is the most important thing to him in the whole world. Yes, he wasted so much time. That’s why he refuses to lose even one more second.

A dam breaks within her. Eliciting a quiet sob. She clutches his shirt, holds onto him for dear life. Moments later, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Singing her poignant birdsong.

How is she supposed to cope? Will things ever go back to normal? What is normal anyway?

In the confines of the infamous patient room she never felt more scared in her life. But here, out in the open, she feels so safe. As if she’s had a silent agreement with nature, which vouched to protect her at all costs.

And this time, nature had an ally. Because Ethan will protect her, even if it’s the last thing he does. Holding onto each other, they stand in the nothingness.

It keeps them grounded. Connected to their roots. Turning over new leaves. Bending before they break. Growing.

They get lost. Mother Nature has a reward for those who do. They have a chance to find themselves. Over and over again.

~~~

If you made it this far - thank you & you're awesome 🥰

Tag list: @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @terrm9@starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @jamespotterthefirst @lisha1valecha @writer-ish @maurine07 @drakewalkerfantasy@iemcpbchoices @liaromancewriter @lem-20 @lucy-268 @oldminniemcg @queencarb @qrkowna @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @utterlyinevitable @stygianflood @udishaman @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @binny1985 @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @archxxronrookie @tinkertailorsoldierspy @schnitzelbutterfingers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @theinvisibledreamergirl @custaroonie @irisofpurple @chasingrobbie @ethandaddyramseyx @quixoticdreamer16 @coffeeheartaddict @takemyopenheart @aworldoffandoms @potionsprefect @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[imagine-always-and-forever]

Flutterings & Tequila - Part 13

A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: you’ve decided to go clubbing with your best friend the last summer before college starts to take your mind off of the Mikaelsons who have invaded your life this summer. Specifically, you’re trying to distract yourself from Niklaus Mikaelson and the flutterings he has caused you. Tequila is your friend tonight.

Part Summary: Clue hunting.

Warnings: typical stuff you’d see in the show

Word count: 3,115

Tags:  elle88531,  violentmommabear42, pisicakawritesshitatfour, a-quarter-horse-called-biscuit, hoeofnjadaka, thegingerthatwaited, despressolattes, aomi-nabi, pie46733, (let me know if you want to be tagged or I missed you out on the tag list!)

Authors note: so I’ve been saying I’d get back to this for ages. I know. But truthfully I hit such a brick wall that writer’s block as a concept had to add another tier to it’s existence just for me. Thankfully, for no clear reason whatsoever, it poofed away as some strong desire to write this again came to me after work. So... tada? Also I am sorry but so so many of you asked to be tagged (I’m very flattered!!!) that I think I’m missing a bunch of people. If I missed you send me a message and I’ll add you to the list. Enjoy 😊

Part 1  |   Part 2  | Part 3  | Part 4  | Part 5  |  Part 6  | Part 7  | Part 8  | Part 9  | Part 10  | Part 11 | Part 12

You’re trembling slightly as you walk down your stairs, breath coming out shakily as you try to calm yourself down. You had 24 hours to find out at least something about what the Mikaelsons were doing here. 24 hours and no clue where to start.

  Through the back window you could see Klaus and Elijah making their way out of the guest house. Their expressions were drawn and Klaus had a small black bag clutched in his hand. Your eyes darted to the door to the house. Were you that stupid?

The fact that your feet were already moving you forward gave you a clear yes, but at least you could report back to Josie that you did, despite her belief, have some sort of self-preservation. It was just a really fucked up kind.

  The door to the guest house opened with ease. Of course the Mikaelsons didn’t think to lock it. What was the point? Who would try to get in to their home without their permission and who would live to tell the tale?

  Well, hopefully you.

The painting supplies were still right where you left them. Your eyes swept across the room in front of you, cataloging what you saw. You’d helped Josie redecorate last summer, but it looked like the Mikaelsons took it upon themselves to do some of their own renovations. It was a little bit embarrassing how little of the place you’d payed attention to when you were here with Klaus.

 They’d rearranged half the furniture for gods sake and you hadn’t noticed at all. With a frown on your face, you examined the new layout of the room. You wondered what prompted the rearrangement. The couches being moved about made sense to give Klaus extra space for his easels. But what was the purpose of switching the office area with the dining room?

  The office, which you were truthfully rather proud of last summer, looked like Elijah’s doing. Two bookcases now sandwiched in the desk against what was supposed to be the accent wall of the room. Not a single bit of the pop of color on the wall was visible now. The imposing set up didn’t even look touched. You could feel your eyebrows tense as they tried to furrow further with your deepened confusion. Dust collected across the books on their shelves. You swiped a finger through it. Coated.

It surprised you that Elijah wasn’t as much of a neat freak about his environment as he was abou his appearance. Though, you suspected if he was he’d have spent most of his millennia+ on earth cleaning up after his siblings. You snorted to yourself. Didn’t he already do that?

A blank space on one of the shelves drew your eye. Amongst a sea of books and paperweights, a patch of dustless real estate on an otherwise packed bookcase stared back at you. If those Nancy Drew books you read as a child had taught you anything, that prominent rectangle of empty space meant that something had been moved. And recently.

That, you smiled to yourself, was a lead.

A scan of the desk and the rest of the shelves confirmed that whatever it was hadn’t simply been reorganized. You pulled open the drawers of the heavy oak desk. Pens, paperclips, highlighters, sticky notes, stapler, hole punch, scissors, and more pens. No. Notebooks, empty folders, the coffee maker’s instructional guide. No. Empty space with a single pen cap rolling around. No.

A dead end.

You got down on your knees. The floor was clean. Under the couches, too. The ottoman with the lift up storage option, empty. The side tables small draw with it’s tendency to stick (a single missing screw from Ikea can really screw your building abilities), empty. You moved to the TV console, frustration building.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

You checked the shelves. You were too short to reach the top ones but the Mikaelsons weren’t. You grabbed a chair and stepped up. It was in vain. Careful to put it back as you’d found it, you moved the chair in defeat. You checked the kitchen. Drawers and cupboard were empty. The fruit salad in the fridge seemed to judge you and you sighed. You didn’t expect it to be in the fridge but it was almost eight at night and you’d torn the downstairs of this house a part.

 The Mikaelsons could be back any minute and you’d found nothing. What if there was nothing? Had you wasted hours of your short time frame on trying to find something that didn’t exist?

It dawned on you that Klaus’s little black bag just might have –

A groan escaped your lips. What a colossal waste of time. Time that to you did not have to waste. You closed the fridge, head coming down to lean on the cool stainless steel door in defeat. Maybe there was a clue you could find back in the main house. Josie’s room might have something that you could give Jess.

With a deep breath, you straightened up. No point in giving up until Jess’s voice was ordering you to kill yourself. Josie would expect nothing less from you, and in truth, so do you.

As you walked through the house to the door you passed by one of the many shelves you checked and just like in one of those long rumored witch’s intuition stories, something pulled your eye to it once again. Something pulled your eye directly to an unassuming wooden framed photo that you didn’t register as new. So, something you’d had to have seen a million times by now, surely. But why then did it feel so very important to look at it?

You walked over, cautious of this intense urge in your blood. It was often hard to tell with magical urges if something was for good intent or bad.

  The photo was in black and white. A little girl sat on a dock, one tooth missing right in the front. A man in an ornate three piece suit that had to predate the Georgian era stood by her, looking out of place but pleased with himself. Beside him was a boy that looked around your age. He was scowling in the photo. In his had he held something tightly, as if he would die if it were ever lost to him. Your eyes scanned the photo back and forth, that feeling still present. What was it? What were you supposed to see?

  The background of the photo was just water. A lake most likely. There were no lakes here. Where were they? Who were they? You leaned in to get a closer look. The photo quality was bad and it wasn’t until you looked hard that you realized it wasn’t a photo at all. A painting. A small, incredibly detailed painting.

  Klaus?

But no. How? You knew this painting wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You also knew that some how you had never noticed it. How could you go so long seeing something so often, convinced it was just a photo of something unimportant?

Almost like magic. Why would anybody spell this little painting with an unnotable spell? More specifically, why did Josie (because it had to be her) cast this spell when you were the only other person than her to see it? You didn’t have guests usually. It was why you had been so surprised when she had announced the renovation of the guest house last summer.

  The moment the skin on your fingers touched the painting’s surface, a vision clear as an actual photo slammed into your mind’s eye. Blinded by the image, nothing existed but it and you were enraptured what you saw.

  It was the exact image that had been painted, but the details were sharp. You could see the threads of the man’s suit. The pours of the little girl. The splintered wood of the old dock. Everything of the moment preserved perfectly in a snapshot.

  There was no sound. You felt nothing from the scene. This was not a vision of the past that let you experience the moment with those in it. You could see the wind sweeping through the girl’s locks but you couldn’t feel a thing. This was the scene of the painter through the painter’s very eyes.

But who’s eyes? And who were these people?

You looked focused on their faces. The little girl’s slightly downturned nose and her rounded jaw clicked in your mind as your eyes rested on her’s. Josie. A young Josie. This made sense. This was a memory Josie had that she wanted to keep private. But why? And why keep the painting if she wanted it secret? The man beside her was probably her father, right? 

As your eyes shifted to his features and they sharpened into view for you, Josie’s body blurred away. No, you realized. That was not Josie’s father. Though you had never met the man or seen his photo before, you knew this was not him. Because this was Elijah Mikaelson.

  At least it made sense now how they knew Josie. Old friends indeed. But what on earth was Elijah doing standing on a dock on some lake with a Josie when she was a child and a boy? As your eyes darted to the boy, the change of the image didn’t surprise you. Josie and Elijah blurred and he came into focus.

  Despite not having known him for as long or studying his face too much, it was clear by his eyes that you were staring at a teenage Jess.

You gasped and were ripped from the image.

  Around you, the guest house came back into view. In your hands, clutched tightly, was the photo. Your heart rate was up and you didn’t know when you had started to breath so quickly or so hard. You blinked your dry eyes. Josie, Jess, and Elijah?

  The sound of wheels pulling up on the gravel drive had your head shooting up. They were back. You didn’t have time to get to the house and though beautiful, Josie’s flower filled garden didn’t actually give you much cover to hide. Without a second thought, you dashed up the stairs.

  The bathroom door was open and from downstairs, it was easy to see. Too obvious someone was here. The bedroom beside it was locked and you didn’t have time to find the spare key somewhere on top of the door. The closet next to it was too small with the vacuum in it. It wouldn’t do. You spun around, unsure how close the Mikaelsons were and if they were listening. 

The other bedrooms had their doors open. Shit. Too suspicious. One door, directly across from the stairs remained. Could you even make it before they opened the door?

You didn’t have a choice. The handle to the room jiggled and the door clicked open. You slipped inside and went to close it as gently as possible when the front door opened. You froze. The door was still a jar. They’d notice if for sure.

“Well that was fun,” Kol sighed and you heard him flop onto the couch.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be fun,” Rebekah huffed and her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way through the house.

  “Drink?” Elijah asked nobody in particular.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah said with a short tone and you almost squeaked in fear as you realized she was starting up the stairs.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, sister!” Kol called after her.

  “You’re a reckless idiot without a scrap of self-control,” she seethed back.

“It’s not like he actually liked you,” Kol scoffed.

Something expensive sounding shattered followed by Kol’s laugh.

  “May I remind you that this is not our home?” Elijah’s calm voice of reason came.

  You waited with baited breath for something to happen next. If Kol could get one more quip in to make Rebekah break something else you could use the distraction to close the door properly.  

“What happened?” Klaus said, evidently just entering the house.

  “I’m going to bed,” Rebekah stated and you closed your eyes as a curse tried to come out of your lips.

  “Sister,” Klaus stopped her and his voice was much closer now. He was on the stairs with her, you guessed. “You cannot get angry every time one of your many suitors gets eaten by our brother. You know how he is,” he explained in a hushed voice with a taunt.

Something smashed against the wall again.

“KOL,” Elijah reprimanded.

  A thud sounded against the wall and you reached for the door, ready to close it if another opportunity struck.

  “Enough property damage,” Klaus told his brother.

  “It was her fault anyway. You know it,” Kol argued.

“I was getting him to trust me,” Rebekah’s voice was further away. She must have joined her brothers down stairs again.

“And that involved opening your legs for him, did it?”

You knew it was coming so as Rebekah jumped to attack her brother, you ceased the moment to shut the door. The soft click would be lost to them as they tried to pull their sister and brother apart.

  The room you were in hadn’t been touched since the renovation. You walked over to the window to see if there was any feasible way down.

  “Deal with it,” Klaus’s voice came from just outside the door. 

You whipped around, eyes wide, as you realized they solved the little dispute far faster than you thought they would. You dropped to the ground as you heard Elijah reply to his brother. The door clicked open as you lifted the duvet and scooted yourself as quietly as possible under the bed.

  Luckily, Klaus’s instructions invoked a lot of opinions from his siblings. He stood in the doorway and barked out orders at them. Something else was thrown. As you spelled your breath silent, you spared a thought for all the things you’d have to replace by the time the Mikaelsons moved out.

Klaus shut the door with a harsh thud and switched on the light by the bed. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sheer bad luck you had that this of all the rooms was his.

  Klaus moved around the room, silent except for his steady breathing. Something was placed delicately on a surface in his room. Then, he moved to the window and you heard it slide open. He breathed deeply. The rustling sound of fabric peaked your interest. Something landed on the bed. The unmistakable sound of a zip had a flush come to your face. Oh no.

  Another thing was thrown on the bed. You imagined Klaus’s shirt and jeans piled on his sheets. This was bad. He was going to bed. You were going to be stuck down here for the night.

Klaus opened his door. Huh? And then he left. Wait what?

Cautiously, you lifted the duvet and peeked out. Nothing. You scooted to the other side of the double bed, wincing as the underneath spring of the bed caught your hair and it pulled. The other side confirmed that he had definitely left and shut the door behind him.

  Apparently the plus side of hiding under the bed of a paranoid hybrid with even his siblings at times out to get him was that he kept his room strictly closed off to everyone else.

  You scooted out from under the bed. The window, now open, was your best bet. Who was to say if the path to the door was empty or if you could open the front door without alerting anyone. A well timed cushioning spell would make the rose bush you’d land on hurt a little less. The thorns would still be a bitch though.

  A sudden realization hit you that you forgot the painting at some point in your scooting. You rushed back to the bed and had to scoot back under a bit to reach it. As your hand touched it, you were once again rushed into the snapshot of the scene.

This time you knew you weren’t the painter. You looked down to your right at the top of Josie’s head. To your left was Jess. This was Elijah’s view. Which meant, if you looked straight ahead you’d most likely see –

It wasn’t Klaus.

  You frowned. You were sure it would be Klaus. But you didn’t recognize the man painting on the tiny canvas in front of him with a concentrated look on his face. He had brown thinning hair and a sullen face with cupid bow lips and a nose people would pay good money for. He was an odd man that was handsome and not. You wondered who he was and tried to get the image to focus in further to find some distinguishing feature of some sort.

You were once again ripped back into reality as you registered the sound of footsteps outside the door. The window would have to wait and you dived back down and rolled under the bed, hitting you head as you did so. You bit your lip in pain as the door opened.

Klaus was back.

  You couldn’t say if he was gone long or not as you had no idea how much time you had been lost to that vision. It didn’t seem long, but then again they never did.

  Klaus sighed. The distinct sound of a towel rubbing against hair was the only sound in the room for a while as you put together that he just came from a shower. So, he was probably naked. You bit your lip for a different reason. You listened as Klaus toweled himself dry. He pulled a drawer open and assumingly put on some kind of clothing. You hopped it was at least a pair of underwear.

The bed dipped as Klaus sat. The lamp was clicked off. Shuffling from above. The bed dipped in different places as Klaus got comfortable. As luck was not your fan, he settled directly above you. You didn’t dare scoot one way or another. He’d surely hear it.

So you were spending the night here then. Great.

Klaus fidgeted above you again, having the gal to not find a comfortable position for the night. You stared at the springs and mattress centimeters from your face in annoyance. To be fair, this could have been the comfiest floor in the world and you still wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not with Klaus above you and the rest of the Mikaelsons scattered about the house. No hope of escape until morning.

  A sharp inhale cut through your self pity. Another one. Was he…?

[where-theres-smoak-2]

10 More Little Details from JATP.

I made this post a few days ago about all the little details I had spotted in JATP and I said that there were probably more that I had missed, well I found more that I missed. Again most of these are probably old news to most people but they are new to me and I always get excited about the details, the nitty gritty of a show and I over analyse everything so I figured I would share all my thoughts with you guys. Obviously there are spoilers. I’m going to start off with some smaller details first just some funny little things I spotted then we can take a trip down the rabbit hole and really go crazy with the whole over analysing thing.

1) Starstruck. 

Hey you remember this truly iconic and amazing scene where Willie and Alex literally fall for each other? 

Well I think considering how much chemistry was going on in that scene I can be forgiven for not noticing this at first but the star on the ground next to them has the name Dave Hoge written on it and I kept thinking the name sounded familiar. 

Then I remembered that David Hoge is the name of one of the producers on the show so I think this is in relation to him unless there’s another Dave Hoge that I don’t know about. 

2) Post It’s. 

Speaking of little details floating around in the background. If you’ve read my other posts I talked about how Luke’s missing person poster was behind him when he was eating the hotdog. Well there’s another interesting poster right next to it. Unfinished business at the orpheum. Also note that the date on the unfinished poster is Dec 1994 and we know that Luke ran away from home in december which coupled with its proximity to his missing persons poster makes me think that his unfinished business has something to do with his parents. 

Also later in episode 3 when Alex and Willie are talking on the bench there are so more fun posters behind them. 

Ok so if you can pull your eyes away from the beauty of Willex for a moment (I know its hard) you can see that one of the posters says detention and a second that says Small Dark Room and again mentions the orpheum. Obviously this is a throwback to when the boys were detained in a small dark room before being pulled back into the world by Julie. But another thing worth noting is that the Small Dark Room poster has a purple background and you are going to get tired of me saying this but purple is associated with magic, know of any magician’s in the show? I can’t help but wonder if Caleb was actually keeping them detained in that room for some reason waiting until he needed them, the purple could indicate that magic was what trapped them there. 

3) Poisoned Hotdogs? 

One of the theories I had was that the boys didn’t die from food posioning but that Caleb had actually heard them play whilst they were alive and decided that he wanted the band right there and then, so he posessed Sam the hot dog guy and actually poisoned the boys. Since then I have found some evidence that might back up that theory. If you look again at that detention poster above, undeneath in yellow writing is the word toxic. So the posters if you put them all together actually spell out a sequence of events, Toxic as in the boys are poisoned, detention and small dark room as in they were trapped in the small dark room, unfinished business, they come back and are released from that small dark room because they have unfinished business. Still not convinced? Well how about this in the episode when they find out about Bobby, Luke is wearing a shirt that says poison on the back. Coincidence? Hmm I think not.

4) Tell Me What You’re Longing For. 

So in episode 2 when Julie comes home and finds the boys in her room each of them seem to be obsessing over a particular object. On the surface this just seems like a funny scene but when you look a bit deeper the objects that each of the boys choose actually says a lot about each of their characters and where they are at mentally and emotionally in that moment. 

Alex for example has fixated on the photo of Julie and her mum and is trying to pick it up. It seems to me that Alex has chosen this particualr object because its what he longs for with his own parents. In the photo its a happy little girl and her mother is kissing her and showing her affection. Also the boys know a little about Julie’s mum at this point and so they know how supportive and loving she was to Julie. We know that after Alex told them he was gay his parents, well Luke says they were never cool again, but we can guess that they didn’t show Alex much love and affection after that. This obviously would have really hurt Alex. Another reason why I don’t think Alex got much affection from his parents is because when Julie was crying after singing Wake Up Alex’s first instinct was to hug her, he also reprimands the boys for not hugging him when he was crying in that room for 25 years, this shows that a hug was something that he wanted. Also he always seems surprised whenever Willie would take his hand like its something he’s not used to. He hesitates before hugging Willie in episode 9 seeming to be conflicted and unsure before he finally gives in and just sinks into Willie, I mean to me it just seemed so desperate like he needed that contact but because he was never really hugged by his parents he is unsure about whether its ok or not. Also the most telling of all is also in episode 9 when he asks if they can try that hug thing again. Basically I don’t think Alex’s parents hugged him enough if at all and so when he sees that photo of a mother showing love to her child he is drawn to it as its something he has always wanted. 

If we move onto Luke, he is trying to get his hands on Julie’s dream box. Again this is really in line with his character. We know that Luke is all about following your dreams. Also we find out that Julie stores her song lyrics in that box and we all know how passionate Luke is about writing and music. I do find it kinda funny that Luke zeros in on the one thing in the room that’s connected to Julie’s music. It’s like he’s got a radar that could sense that that was where Julie had hidden her music away. Also in my previous post I mentioned the connection between Caleb and Greek Mythology well this could be another nod at Greek Mythology. It could be a nod to pandora’s box. Today pandora’s box has a lot of negative connotations around it, how many times have you been warned not to do something in case you open pandora’s box? It’s this idea that bad things will be let into the world. However in the myth Pandora shuts the box and locks hope inside of it. The myth tells us that its this hope that helps the humans get through all of the hardships that had come from the box so it does kinda have a happy ending or I should say a hopeful ending. It’s interesting to me that Julie says that the box is just full of things that don’t make her sad. Julie has all of the bad things out in the world with her and has locked hope away in that box. Just like Zeus says to Pandora, Julie tells Luke not to open the box, and just like Pandora, Luke ignores her and does open that box. When he does he releases hope and happiness back into Julie’s life. But its not just Julie that locks her emotions up, Luke does too. He is ignoring his feeling about his parents and his regrets, he trys to ignore his feelings about Julie too, however one emotion he does let out is his anger at Bobby. I think when it comes to Luke you could say that he himself is the box but that he is the opposite of Julie in the sense that he’s keeping all of these negative emotions trapped inside and has locked hope out. Julie is the one who opens that box for him and lets those emotions go when she helps him feel connected to his parents, before he thought he had no hope of ever being able to make things right with them again but Julie shows him that he can. She does it again when all the boys have resigned themselves to their fate because they don’t think there is any hope that they’ll be able to play the orpheum and therefore complete their unfinished business. But then Julie shows up to snap them out of it and remind them that there is still hope and not to give up. She comes up with a plan and gives hope back to them just as they did for her. We know that Luke longs for a connection to people through music and this is exactly what he gets from that box he finds a connection to Julie through their joint pain at losing their mothers, the pain that helps them write the songs for the band and eventually find hope. 

Ok so then we come to Reggie. At first glance it doesn’t look like Reggie is doing anything at all, I mean he’s just laying on the bed. But actually this too can be significant to his character. He’s not just laying on the bed he is stroking the bed sheets and looks very relaxed and content, he’s got his eyes closed and he’s just enjoying the comfort he’s feeling. I think this tells us that what Reggie is longing for is home. Reggie seems to enjoy anything to do with the home. We know that Reggie likes to spend his time more in the house with Julie’s family than he does out in the studio. He also made that comment about liking showers and the occasional bath, I don’t know about you guys but when I think about home I think about warm baths and cozy beds and hanging out with my family, those home comforts so to speak. These are all the things that Reggie is drawn to. Also if you think about the country song he wrote its called Home is Where My Horse Is. Again he’s thinking about home. The scene where the boys get emotional about Ray talking to Rose is also significant. I mean when you think about this is a man who is talking about his home and the memories he made there with his family and who is faced with leaving his home when he clearly doesn’t want to leave. Reggie’s reaction to this is to go back to his own home, to go see his parents. When he gets there its to find his home is gone. We know this hurts him because it comes up again later when they find out Bobby has stolen their songs, after Luke says it’s not about the money Reggie points out that if Bobby has shared with their families maybe his home wouldn’t have been turned into a bike shop. Losing his home is hitting Reggie hard and so when they all return to Julie’s room the thing that draws Reggie in is that feeling you get from being in bed at home.

Each object the the boys choose are representing what each of the boy is longing for most. Alex longs for a loving parent, Luke longs for a connection to someone through music and Reggie is longing for home.  

5) Gone with the Wind.

This is one that is probably really obvious but in episode 1 when julie goes to the studio as she opens the doors a breeze rushes out. We know from the fact that she apologises for not going there that this is likely the first time she has visited since her mom died. I think this breeze is like her mother’s spirit is rushing out and into the world. 

You can see that the breeze is moving from the inside out from the direction Julie’s shirt is rippling. I like to think that once her spirit was released Rose got to work right away putting all those little clues/ dahlias about the place. 

6) Sunflowers. 

In episode 9 within the first few minutes we get several images of sunflowers.

 First when Alex is talking to Willie there’s some flowers outside of a shop, then when they go into the Orpheum’s office place there’s a vase of sunflowers on the desk, when they get back to the studio you can see that there is another vase of sunflowers on the unit behind the boys and then finally Julie is wearing a top with a sunflower on it. Sunflowers represent loyalty and are also another connection to greek mythology. The story of the origin of the sunflower goes that a woman named Clytie fell in love with the sun god Apollo. There are different versions of the myth and in some versions Apollo loves her back but then falls in love with someone else and in others he never loves her back. But in every version the outcome is the same Clytie is turned into a sunflower and she is so in love and loyal to Apollo that she continues to watch him fly across the sky in his chariot every day. This is why sunflowers are associated with adoration and loyalty. But the Myth also tells the story of loving or wanting something that you can’t have. This theme comes up alot in the show. First with Julie and Luke, its that star crossed love, they have feeling for each other but one’s a ghost and the other is a lifer. But I actually think the sunflowers are a hint at what was to come in the episode. Afterall the yellow of the sunflower is symbolic of friendship so I actually think Caleb is the one that wants something he can’t have. He wants the band but ultimately he can’t have the band because of the loyalty and friendship they have with Julie. 

7) It’s All About The Accessories. 

Another thing I noticed on rewatch is that several of the characters have necklaces that might have some significance. The first I want to talk about is Luke. Luke is nearly always wearing this necklace. 

  I think the only time he isn’t wearing it is at the end of episode 9 when he is that suit outfit. Now I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on semi-precious stones because I’m not but I do have an interest in them and their symbolism and properties. I’m fairly sure (though not certain) that this is Agate, or more specifically Black Agate. Now if I’m right and this is Agate then it could have some really interesting symbolism. Agate is used as a grounding stone, it’s suppose to help keep you grounded and balanced. It brings stability. We know that something is grounding the boys to this earth, to be clear I’m not saying its the stone but that the stone is symbolic of that connection that is keeping them here and connected to Julie. Agate is also suppose to help with emotional trauma and black agate is often given in times of bereavement to help ease the pain of grief. We know that Luke is grieving about losing his mother and father and seeing them grieve for him, so its really interesting to me that he is wearing a stone that is meant to help ease that pain as that is exactly what happens, through his song Unsaid Emily he is able to bring some comfort to his parents and ease their pain, in doing so he also eases his own pain. Another propeity of agate is that its suppose to protect agaisnt evil curses. Again this connects to Caleb and the curse he puts on the boys and how ultimately that curse is broken, Julie protects the boys with her love. So I think this stone not only represents Luke but also represents Julie and how she protects and brings comfort to the boys and Luke in particular. Another interesting thing about Agate is that it is closely related to the moon. Why is that interesting you might ask well because of this... 

Julie is also nearly always wearing the same necklaces, one I think is a saint or virgin mary, the second is her name with a flower, which I think indicates the deep connection she has with her mother and the third has moons. The moon is often associated with magic and like said agate is closely related to the moon, It is another link between Luke and Julie and the ‘magic’ that connects them. I mentioned in that previous post that Julie often wears the colour purple which is also associated with magic but more on that later. Again I think its really interesting that both Julie and Luke wear necklaces that can be connected to the other. 

But I don’t think they are the only characters that wear necklaces that might be linked. The next one I want to talk about is Willie.

We often see Willie wearing this key on a chain around his neck. The most obvious symbolism here is that Willie is the key to something. It could be that it symbolised how Willie was the key to bringing the boys to the Hollywood Ghost Club or the fact that he was the key to finding out more about the ghost world in general, I mean Alex and by extension the boys learn alot from Willie. I like to think its also because he is the key to Alex’s heart but that’s probs just my shipper heart influencing me. Another thing it could symbolise is maybe Willie is the key to their unfinished business somehow. I am really curious to know what the key goes to I mean keys unlock things. Like...

 you know padlocks. I do think there might be some connection between one character wearing a key and another a padlock which is opened by a key. It could be a hint that Willie and Flynn will have some kind of connection, maybe they will have to work out a mystery together or act as a team to help the band and the only way they can do it is by working together. I also think the fact that Flynn is wearing the padlock is signifcant. Padlocks to me represent safety and security, you put a padlock on something that you want to protect or keep secure. Interestingly the name William means protector or warrior. I do think that Willie and Flynn will have an important role to play in protecting the band. Ok so next lets talk about Alex. 

 Alex also has a necklace that he wears often. His is a simple gold chain. But again I think it has some symbolism to his character. Chains have been a symbol of everlasting love and life since ancient times, its the circle that never ends. We are all pretty sure that its the bands everlasting love that saves them from Caleb in the end. Also Willie’s love for Alex (and yes I’m saying love) is what leads to Willie trying to save them too. But chains also have a negative connotation, one of opression. As I talked about earlier Alex has been judged for being gay and likely faced alot of opression due to his sexual orientation. Chains are also symbolic of inprisonment which again links into Caleb’s plan to trap the boys at his club. Gold is also associated with purity as it never tarnishes or rusts and well is there a more pure soul than Alex’s? Something else that is interesting is that in many cultures gold was used in burials as it is said to protect the souls in the afterlife which is similar to Luke’s Agate necklace which is also used during times of bereavement. Another thing that is similar between Gold and Agate is that gold is also said to protect against curses and is often related to magic.  So lastly we have Reggie. 

 Gonna be honest this one was a little harder and I spent a little while studying the necklace and doing a little bit of research, the reason why this one was harder is because there seem to be three different materials at play here. There’s the light blue beads, the dark blue beads (which I thought were black at first they’re not) and the metal pendant. But lets start with the light blue beads, to me they look the most like blue calcite. Again not an expert but if it is blue calcite it again has some interesting symbolism to it because blue calcite is often used to enhance psychic powers so that you can commune with the spiritual world. I mean obviously this is symbolic of the fact that Julie is able to see and communicate with our ghostly boys. The dark blue beads I think are lapis lazuli, again if I’m correct then this is another stone that is used during burial because it is thought to protect and guide spirits in the after life. It also like gold and agate is said to protect, it protects you agaisnt psychic attack and said to be able to block curses. The metal pendant was the hardest part for me, at first I thought maybe it was silver but to me it looks too dark and dull to be silver. What it could be though is lead. And yup you guessed it lead is also linked to death as well as spells. 

So yeah pretty much every character has a necklace that has some kind of symbolism around it and even more curious than that alot of them can be connected to each other. All three of the boys have stones or metals that are meant to protect and are associated with both death and spellwork. Those stones also link back to the moon. The other thing worth pointing out is that Willie also wears a shell necklace which obviously can be connected to the ocean which is also connected to the moon. Gold can be connected to the sun and Lapis Lazuli is also often connected to the sun, the sun is often connected to the moon as they both represent cycles and opposites, willie wears a key that connects to Flynn’s padlock, basically all of them can be connected to each other in some way. But of course I could be reading way too much into this and they’re really are just pretty necklaces. 

8) Cats and Dogs. 

Speaking of accessories I do want to go back and focus on Flynn again for a moment. One thing I noticed about Flynn is that its not just the padlock that is a consistent thing with her outfits. She is often also dressed in clothing that has cat prints. She also has cats on her backpack and in episode 2 she wears a necklace with a cat on it along with her padlock necklace.   

Rmemeber earlier when I said I thought Flynn would play the part of a sort of protector to the band well as you can see Flynn often wears leopard print, in African lore the leopard is said to be the guardian of the dead and is said to show the way to the next realm. There is a similar myth in Ancient Eygptian culture through the cat goddess Bastet, whilst she had many forms throughout time and many duties one of which was to protect and guide. Another interesting thing about this goddess is that she was also the goddess of women’s secrets. We know that Flynn is the only one that Julie told about the band. Also leopards are seen as a counselor in the spirit animal world a role that Flynn often plays for Julie. The leopard represents your psychic self and future telling. Again this fits Flynn’s story as it is her who figures out that Julie’s mother is leaving signs and working behind the scenes so to speak. 

But whilst it seems to me that cat’s are more heavily associated with Flynn’s character its not the only animal that can be linked to Flynn. She also is sometimes seen with dog imagery. She sometimes carries a dog purse.

Since ancient times dogs have been considered to be psychic and also able to see ghosts. This could be a hint that in season 2 Flynn will also be able to see the boys. Also like the cat the dog in ancient greek mythology is associated with the dead and is also a guardian for the afterlife, hades has a three headed dog named cerberus that guards the gates to the afterlife. 

Other cat/ dog imagery can be seen in those posters I mentioned earlier. 

Of course this could all be just a coincidence and might not mean anything at all. But what else is interesting about these posters is if you look at the cat one again, it’s accompanied by a poster showing someone playing music and what to me looks like a spirit type thing appearing. Then there’s the one with the cat right under it which is interesting because the poster says mammoth offspring on it but that defo looks like a cat to me not a mammoth. As a slight tangent though the mammoth thing could be a reference to the talk about bringing the wooly mammoth back from extiction, its symbolic of that idea of bringing back to life something that has been long dead. Anyway under that there’s a poster of a woman with a moon in the sky and the words acting moon. Cats are often closely related to the moon and both the moon and cats are closely related to witchcraft. What does that matter you might ask? Well...

9) So we’re going with witch?

Remember that hilarious scene in episode 1 when the boys are discussing how Julie got all her stuff in their studio so fast Reggie offers up the suggestion that Julie is a witch because there are chairs floating on the ceiling. Luke is inclined to agree with him at first before Alex shoots them down. I think this is another one of those scenes where you just think its a funny moment but then when you think about it makes perfect sense. I mean I legit think Julie is a witch, or at least she has some kind of magic. There are so many things that link her with magic. I already talked earlier about the moon necklace she wears. But she also has a moon on her jeans in episode 1. 

Again the moon is heavily linked with magic. Also there is the fact that her companion Flynn seems to be linked to cats and witches often have cats as companions/ familiars. 

As I said earlier the colour purple is representative of magic well the first time Julie makes the boys appear to an audience in Bright the light that the technician sets on her is purple meaning Julie literally glows purple before she does this magical act of making the boys visible. 

A similar thing happens before their performance for Finally free though its not as intense. But you can see that purple glow around her. 

And again, whilst its more subtle, for Edge of Great when Julie is coming out of the studio the light in the studio is purple and once again she appears to be glowing purple.  

Also this would again put her as an equal rival for Caleb. We know that he is a magician so in my opinion it would make sense for Julie to posess some kind of magic, like I said her and Caleb are opposite sides of the same coin. So yeah in conclusion Reggie and Luke are right Julie is a witch.

Edit: Also I forgot to add this one in but in episode 9 she is wearing a top that says ‘Mystic Child’ on it along with flowers and moons and stars. 

 10) All Eyes On Bobby.   

So the final thing I want to talk about is Bobby/ Trevor. Don’t ask me why because I would not be able to tell you but I can’t help but be intrigued by his character. I wonder why he did what he did, why did he steal the songs and not give the others any credit? Did he grieve his friends? Or are they trying to paint him as like this villian who doesn’t care about anyone? Well I actually think we can get some answers to these questions from a rather interesting place. His daughter’s song All Eyes On Me. If you take some of the lyrics and put them in a different context I really do think they can be linked back to Bobby. There are several connotations to stealing, ‘I'm stealing all the attention’ or another one is ‘Stealing looks, it's robbery’ and another one ‘ I'm taking over your playlist’ I mean bobby really did take over Luke’s playlist in the sense that he took all the songs. So now that we’ve established that this song could very well be hinting at bobby what else can the song tell us about his motives and mindset. Well there is that section ‘ They don't get the shine that I get, Some get jealous, They can't help it, They wish they were me.’ I actually think this part is about Luke. Julie says that whilst the album he released of Luke’s songs did really well his other albums weren’t as good. Now she doesn’t say that they are bad just that they weren’t getting the same attention Luke’s were. This also tells us that Bobby like Luke also wrote songs. But I think that Luke’s songs always got more attention and praise and over time Bobby began to gain some jealousy towards Luke because as the song says Bobby doesn’t have the shine that Luke does and Bobby wishes he was Luke. More evidence in the song that Bobby felt this way comes from the opening lines ‘ Whenever I walk in the room, All the focus on me, The way I talk, the way I move, They all want on my team.’ I feel like this might have happened alot, that Luke would just get loads of attention whenever he walked into a room and everyone wanted to talk to him. Then if you look at these lines ‘ I make an entrance when I don't try, don't try, Cause all I see is all eyes on me, I only lead, I never follow, follow.’ Again this could be a hint at how Bobby was feeling towards Luke at that time like Luke got everything easy, he could get attention without trying. Also I’ve always got the vibe that Luke was the leader of the band and so its possible the line about only leading never following could be that Bobby felt that Luke wasn’t paying enough attention to his ideas and was starting to feel a little bit of resentment towards him. Maybe he was also feeling a little like he was in the boys shadows. It’s worth noting that in the song Now or Never whilst Luke, Alex and Reggie all have solo pieces where they sing Bobby doesn’t, yet we know he must be able to sing, I don’t care how good Luke’s lyrics were if Bobby couldn’t sing he wouldn’t have got a platnium record. I think some of this can be picked up in that beginning scene with Sunset Curve and Rose. Bobby is the first one to approach her but then the rest of the group comes over and despite approaching her first he ends up being the last one to give her his name. Also most of the interaction happens between Rose and Luke, Alex and Reggie with Bobby barely speaking at all. I do feel like whilst all the boys were close Bobby was a bit more of a timid one around the others and didn’t stand up for himself or his ideas like the others do. For example we know that Alex and Reggie will push back against Luke. When Luke tells Reggie to stop putting his country songs in his journal you can guarantee this isn’t the first time he’s had to tell Reggie that, also when he says it Reggie just retorts that its a gift and he should have another look at it. This shows that Reggie isn’t afraid to pitch his ideas to Luke even if Luke says no. Also when Luke tells Alex no dancing and Alex just immediately starts dancing as a retort. I get the sense that it wasn’t the same with Bobby. Now don’t get the wrong idea I’m not saying in any way that the boys bullied or deliberately pushed Bobby out more that Luke, Alex and Reggie kind of have this banter and they bounce off each other but it seemed to me like Bobby struggled with this and just couldn’t keep up with it. During the conversation with Rose you can see that Bobby looks a little annoyed and you can understand why, he works up the courage to talk to this girl and instead his bandmates kind of take over the conversation which is why he reminds them about the hot dogs I think he figured if they were gone he’d be able to have a more comfortable conversation with her.  

Which brings me to my next question, how did Bobby react to his bandmates deaths and did he ever feel any guilt about stealing the songs. Well on the surface his actions right after seem a bit suspect and there is that line in All Eyes On Me ‘Must have won the lottery’ which if we take this song as actually being about Bobby then it could be construed as he was kinda happy that his band mates died that he almost saw it as a stroke of luck. I mean couple that with the fact that right after their deaths he layed low and changed his name plus the fact that he stole their songs it doesn’t look like he cared all that much and I’ll admit for a hot minute there that is the image I had of him. But then I looked closer and actually there are quite a few signs that Bobby isn’t as fine and dandy as he first seems. One example is the fact that he meditates, meditation is often used by people with mental health issues such as depression, anxiety and insomnia. I’m not saying that just because he meditates he must have some metal health issue just that its a possibilty especially when you combine it with the other hints. For example after the guys haunt him and he rushes out telling Carrie that he’s going to see his therapist, Carrie rolls her eyes. I get the feeling from this that seeing his therapist is something that her dad does often which again could indicate that he was more effected by his bandmates deaths than we know. Another subtle hint that he might be still struggling with their deaths is that we see him returning from a run in episode 9 that along with the meditating and the therapist tells us that he cares about his health and wellness which you know good things but its possible that the reason why he cares so much is because his friends died at a really young age which was traumatic for him and made him think about his own mortality and so he maybe becomes a bit obsessed with his health. Also him laying low and changing his name can be explained by the fact that the press were looking for him we know that from the article Julie read in the pilot. Bobby had just lost his friends and I’m sure the last thing he wanted was the press asking him a load of questions and there’s a good chance he knew that they were looking for him. He and Rose probably exchanged numbers at the Orpheum and seeing as the band were going to play there it wouldn’t be a stretch to think reporters would have gone there to see if they could get a way of contacting Bobby. Rose could have called Bobby to warn him and this is why he changes his name not to cover his tracks because he stole Luke’s songs but because he was avoiding the press so he could grieve in peace. I think he then might have then tried to get his music out there after some time deciding the guys would have wanted him to keep chasing his dreams. But he runs into a problem of nobody is all that interested in his songs, I think in a moment of desperation he plays one of the bands songs, he goes back to something familiar and they love it. He tells one little lie and then it snowballs to the point where he can’t take it back without causing irreparable damage to his reputation. I could see him trying to justify his actions to himself by telling himself that the songs belonged to the band and that he had as much right to them as the boys and well the boys weren’t here so what was the harm. As to why he didn’t give credit to the band it was probably because he knew that if he gave credit he would have to explain what happened to them and then their tragedy would haunt him for the rest of his life, the media and fans would all bring it up, maybe he just thoguht he wouldn’t be able to deal with that pain and so he just stays quiet and then he just gets buried in the lie, the record label wants more songs so he records more and more of Luke’s songs and then when he has enough of a name and loyal following of fans he starts recording his own songs. The reason why I think it went down like this is again from the song All Eyes On Me the verse ‘They know my face, They know my name, Reputation on lock, It's not my fault I got the fame, Ain't my fault it won't stop.’  The beginning part about knowing his name and his reputation on lock makes me think that after that first album he had enough of a reputation to secure himself and that he no longer needed Luke’s songs and I think at this point that guilty consious really kicks in and he decides not to record anymore of Luke’s songs. I really do think Bobby chose not record anymore as we know that he didn’t record all of Sunset Curves songs, he didn’t record bright, finally free or unsaid emily (thankfully) and he could have which to me suggest it was a consious decision on his part to stop. If he really was money hungry and all he cared about was fame and money then he would have recorded the rest of their songs. Another reason why I think Bobby has a bit of a guilty conscious is the line ‘It’s not my fault I got the fame.’ That to me sounds like something someone might say to try and convince themselves that they are not guilty of something, like Bobby is trying to justify his actions by saying that it wasn’t his fault that they died and he lived to go on and be successful, that it was just luck, which would circle back to the line ‘must have won the lottery’ this isn’t about celebration a lottery is about sheer dumb luck and he is recognising that. But here’s the thing that sealed it for me and convinced me that Bobby isn’t this completely heartless person who never cared about his friends. 

Just look at this guys face. This is right after the boys appear on stage in Stand Tall. Look his expression isn’t one of jsut shock to me that is the face of a man who is grieving, who is feeling pain at the loss of someone he loved. I mean he looks devastated and his eyes are welling up, this is pure emotion and you’ll never convince me that this is the face of someone who didn’t love those boys like they were family. 

I do want to say though that I in no way condone what Bobby did, he either should have given them credit or not recorded the songs. I’m just trying to explain what I think his thought process was during that time and point out that this image that he is some fame hungry monster isn’t entirely true. I do think that we could see him getting a redemption arc in season 2 and maybe some rifts can be mended. 

I also think that Carrie will get a redemption arc and will make up with Julie. I do think there is alot of parallels between Sunset Curve and Carrie and Julie. It’s the same story of they were really close friends but then they have a falling out and end up as enemies. I think this is way they use Carrie’s song to tell the story of Bobby and the boys. Another reason why I think they are going to possibly get a redemption arc or at the very least play a bigger part in season 2 is because of the flowers, those little signs that Julie’s mum likes to leave. In episode 9 when Bobby comes in and sees Carrie watching that video on the table is a boquet of flowers, of white roses, white orchids and lilys.

Lilys obviously have a lot of symbolism of remembrance but they also represent rebirth and renewal. Orchids in some cultures represent unity and white orchids are said to represent hope. The roses I obviously think is a connection to Julie’s mum but white roses symbolise new beginnings. This makes me think that there is hope for a new beginning for Bobby, Carrie and Julie and the Phantoms. I do think it’ll be the memory of Rose that brings them all together after all Bobby knows that Rose/ Julie’s mum is the girl they were talking to in the pilot. I think he’ll tell the boys this and I think each of their connections to Rose is what will help mend the rifts between them all.  

Ok well that’s it for now because this post is getting way way too long. If you have taken the time to read all the way through this then thank you, let me know what your theories and thoughts are I’d love to hear them. I’m definitely going to be posting more about JATP its my current obession right now the next post is going to be about Alex and Carrie and how I think they might have some kind of plotline in season 2 so keep an eye out for that if you think that is something you would be interested in.  

[agentfrostbite]

It's Saturday and I'm in the mood, so let's talk about Elijah Kamski

Specifically about how he treats his Chloes. Obviously this is an opinion, and everyone is entitled to theirs, but as I read Chlonnor ship fics (they are adorable and I am unrepentant), I notice that a lot of them have Chloe becoming a deviant after Connor chooses not to shoot her. I don't have a problem with this, per se, but I have noticed several things in game that makes me think she's already a deviant.

1. The other two Chloes are already deviant

It's a small detail that tends to get overlooked because you're busy focusing on meeting Elijah and "OMG, Amanda's dead??" and later whether or not Connor actually shot Chloe. But these two girls right here?

They're talking. They're chatting with each other. I know that doesn't sound like much, but look back on the rest of the game thus far. Androids that aren't deviant don't converse with other androids because there's no reason they should. They have a job, and unless they're being addressed by a human, that job doesn't involve talking. You know who does converse? Deviants. Additionally, they're just lounging in the pool, and I guess that Kamski could have ordered them in there because he doesn't like swimming alone/likes to swim with his Chloes/some other potentially creepier thing, but it feels a little too natural for that.

2. Kamski pushes Connor toward his own decision

Looking back on the scene, it's clear that Kamski is trying to force Connor into making the choice of whether or not to shoot Chloe, against Connor's will. He directly pits Connor's programming against his collected software instabilities to see which is stronger. Yes, he is a scientist, first and foremost, so he's gathering data through his test, but I think he's strongly leaning towards - and pushing Connor towards - a pro-deviant standpoint.

His dialogue throughout the scene puts longer, more emotional, emphatic language on the idea of deviancy and the free will of androids - specifically of Connor. He pushes Connor to attempt an answer outside his programming ("Well, that's what you're programmed to say... but you...what do you really want?") and he places special emphasis on Connor's individuality ("Decide who you are. An obedient machine... Or a living being endowed with free will...") in the critical moment just before Connor decides whether or not to shoot.

That, combined with the fact that the two Chloes in the pool are conversing - and at this point, watching the scene, one notably with a concerned/uncertain look as she turns back around - tells me that Kamski is supportive of the idea of deviants.

3. Kamski closes off and expresses almost negative emotion if Connor does choose to shoot Chloe

If Connor decides that his mission is more important than Chloe and shoots, Kamski's attitude makes a definite shift. Where earlier he was toying with Hank and Connor, giving cryptic answers and sidestepping the main issue they were there to discuss, after Chloe is shot, he switches to straight answers and short replies.

Additionally, this post by @omentrash​ highlights Kamski's obviously upset expression when Connor chooses to shoot Chloe. Call it what you like, but to me, this says he absolutely did not want Connor to fire.

4. No matter what route you choose, Kamski tells Connor about the emergency exit

In any situation where Connor ends up in a place of partial or total deviancy, Amanda resumes control of his program and traps him in the white-out blizzard Zen Garden. In this case, the only way for Connor to escape is to use the emergency exit. But he only knows about it because Kamski goes out of his way to inform Connor of it (and we'll get to the ramifications of Kamski knowing about Connor having it later).

Obviously in the deviant best ending, Connor uses this to avoid shooting Markus and the surviving Jericrew in the back, and most of the time, this ending was preceded by Connor deciding not to shoot Chloe. So yes, it makes sense that Kamski would inform him about a way out, should something like what Amanda does happen to him. But he also tells Connor about it if Connor does shoot Chloe, which lets us know that Kamski is hoping that perhaps Connor will deviate somewhere later down the line. He didn't do it here, but he might when faced with the same situation at a future time. Kamski is looking out for Connor, even though Connor isn't a deviant yet, because Kamski has hope that he might become one.

5. Deviants are capable of acting like normal androids

I include this one to illustrate that just because Chloe appears to be a perfect hostess here

and shows no emotion when faced with life or death doesn't mean that she's not a deviant. We know that deviants can, when necessary, act like normal androids. Markus and North do it at Stratford. (Specifically pointing out the part where a human opens the bathroom door, and Markus snaps to attention at the side, like a good little obedient Android janitor.)

Kamski is the Man of the Century. He revolutionized life for everyone across the planet by successfully creating a robotic assistant species that walks, talks, and looks roughly human, while doing everything a human can do with far more efficiency. Of course he gets house calls. And if his androids are deviants - and at the very least, the two in the pool are, so why wouldn't his first android be one as well? - and people come calling, they'd need to act like proper androids. Chloe, especially, since she greets people at the door and is the poster child.

And you'll notice, even in her interview, she acts more human than most androids do. She stammers, she smiles, she's clearly nervous. She shifts back and forth, readjusting in her seat like a human would. Sure, she needed to do these things to pass the Turing Test, but there's a deeper feel to it than just good programming. I think she was leaning heavily toward deviancy at that point. Not there yet, but close. That was years before we see her at Kamski's house in the game. She must be a deviant by now.

6. Kamski left an emergency exit in Connor's program, meaning that he had some hand in Connor's creation

So Kamski leaves emergency exits in all his programs; I think we've beaten the dead horse enough at this point, but I gotta do it one more time because why would Connor have his program? Base code, sure. Okay, we can make that argument that every android has the same base code as the original program. But we can also make the argument - and it has stronger evidence - that Kamski himself had a huge hand in developing the RK series. Proof? Markus.

Markus was a gift from Kamski to Carl; we know this from Connor's scan of Markus at Stratford Tower. We also know that Markus was a unique prototype, since his police file not only states this but also doesn't have a picture of him. No photo at all. Just a blank face, and "Unknown series" and a DESTROYED.

If Markus was one of a small handful, then they'd have a photo of another. They certainly wouldn't have a "Unknown Series" on the file. This makes me think that Kamski made Markus on his own and then gifted him to Carl. I suspect this means that he still has connections at CyberLife, which he used to get the parts for Markus. By giving Markus to Carl, knowing that Carl would cause him to deviate, he set up the seed of the revolution. Now why would Kamski do that, unless he was pro-deviant?

Summary

CyberLife decides to create an android detective/negotiator with the most cutting edge technology and coding the world has ever seen. This model would hunt down deviants and bring them back, if possible, for analysis so CyberLife could lock down the problem and eliminate it with a software patch. It's a delicate operation; after all, Connor starts with his toes on the line of deviancy. Presumably, when he goes to rescue Emma from Daniel, it's his first mission, and already, he's struggling with software instabilities. To think like a deviant, you have to be as unpredictable as possible. That means that he's right on the edge, and he remains on that edge for most of the game, depending on what the player decides to do with him.

So CyberLife need some assistance getting the code ironed out to ensure their Deviant Hunter doesn't become a deviant himself (until the time is right), so they turn to the man who first invented androids and has already technically worked on the RK series: Kamski. They ask - or perhaps Kamski himself offers - and Kamski works on the code. Not all of it, not even the majority, just the few bits and pieces where their almost-deviant and anti-deviant codes clash. All of his work is surely checked - secretly, of course; no need to make him think they don't trust him - so there's really only one thing he can add to Connor's program: the emergency exit. And that's why Connor is his program, why CyberLife would allow the exit to remain, why Kamski points it out, no matter what you choose.

And Kamski would do none of this - it doesn’t make sense for him to do any of this - unless he's secretly cheering on the revolution from the sidelines.

[kuroopaisen]

squabbler. (tsukishima kei)

➵ being a student in your country’s most prestigious mage university isn’t easy. even less so, when you have to turn to your sworn enemy, tsukishima kei, for help.

wc: 6.4k

warnings: gn!reader, mage!au

a/n: dariamorgendoerfer100 thank you for your support! you’re very sweet, and i enjoy your little comments T-T and a big thank you to both erin and ren for beta’ing this :( i love you both so much

Maybe you were a little early. And this was just a theory class; nothing too exciting, just an overview of the history of magic. But you couldn’t help it. You were just so damn excited.

You were the first person from your village to have earned a spot in the nation’s most prestigious mage academy, after all. Well, the first in a few decades. But that sort of detail wasn’t too important. What mattered was that you were here, in the halls of the great academy.

Said halls were currently empty. But you didn’t mind it too much. It gave you some time to admire it all. Admire how old the stone looked, without giving the impression it was falling apart. Admire how the entire place seemed to thrum with magic, echoing through every nook and cranny. Admire how even the way the sun filtered through the windows seemed to have a mythical quality to it.

However, rocks and stones were only interesting for so long. And nobody else had turned up.  

How early were you? You pouted, playing with the hem of your robes.

Were you in the wrong place? Had you misread your letters? Were you on the wrong side of campus? Would you be penalised for being late? Was your academic career in shambles before it had even begun?

At that moment, you heard footsteps. You twirled around, almost tripping over your own feet.

It was a tall blond boy, clad in glasses and an expression of sincere disinterest. He looked roughly your age, and his umber robes were just a little too short in the sleeves.

Why was he so tall? Were humans allowed to be that tall? Had he used some kind of elicit magic to spur his growth?

You’d never met anyone that tall before. Not back home. And you were a really, really long way from home. And now was not the first moment that you’d wondered if you’d made the right decision, moving so far away.

No! You wouldn’t be intimidated by this. You’d come all this way, after all, and you were ready for anything. You would talk to this boy, and you would make your very first friend at this academy. Now that was a thrilling thought.

“Hello!” You piqued up, maintaining a respectable enough distance between the two of you. You’d have liked to say it was because you wanted to be polite, but it was mainly to ensure that you wouldn’t have to crane your neck so much as you looked up at him.

The boy said nothing. He didn’t even look at you. Had he not heard you?

“Are you excited to start?” You asked, speaking a little louder this time. That was a neutral enough question. Surely, that would beget some kind of response.

Still nothing. But, you did notice his eyebrows sink a little.

“I’m a bit nervous, myself,” you smiled nervously, tilting your head at him. Maybe he was just shy?

You swallowed, trying to ignore how clammy your hands were becoming. “Are you… from around here?”

The boy glanced at you for a second, and you felt the tightness in your chest ease a little.

But instead of answering you, he reached into his bag and pulled out one of the textbooks. He opened it without a word, leaning against the wall and positioning himself in such a way that allowed him to put you out of sight.

Oh, now you were mad. What, he couldn’t even engage in polite small talk? What was he, a child? What an ungrateful little–

You glowered at him, crossing your arms as you slumped against the wall. You weren’t about to start a fight. That wasn’t worth it – especially not on your first day. But you couldn’t help but feel a little angry.

You hadn’t managed to make your first friend at the academy. Oh, no.

You’d just made your first enemy.

✧✧✧

It only took about half a year for things to start going wrong.

For the most part, you were pretty decent at this whole magic thing. It wasn’t so much a natural aptitude – although your natural abilities certainly weren’t bad – but more a testament to your hard work.

Unfortunately, that asshole you’d met on your first day – who you’d now come to know as Tsukishima Kei – was also good. But he didn’t seem to care. Admittedly, you’d taken a peek at his test scores before – yes, you know it’s unethical, but you couldn’t help it. You’d just wanted to know if he had any legs to stand on, being as insufferably smug as he was. You hadn’t liked the answer.

Worse yet, your professors liked to call on him in class. And he answered perfectly, each and every time. And yet, he always sounded so bored? How could someone be bored learning about magic? Gods, that pissed you off.

And somehow, by some cruel trick of fate, he was in every single one of your classes. The cohort was big enough to be split in two, but no matter the arrangement of the rest of your peers, the two of you were always together.

He knew you didn’t like him. You’d never really spoken about it, but there’d been a fair few times when you’d mutually glared at each other during class. You weren’t quite sure if he just looked at everyone like that, or if he was targeting you specifically. Either way, you didn’t like it.

That wasn’t even taking into account the numerous tense in-class discussions you’d had. Every time you presented an idea, this beanpole of a man decided he needed to challenge it. You’d been humiliated for the first few months, but you’d made a valiant effort to grow some thicker skin. It had worked, for the most part; some days you could even fire back at your apathetic nemesis.

You could handle him fine enough. But your dorm-mates had decided to get themselves into a massive argument. You still weren’t sure over what, exactly, but it’s origin evidently didn’t matter. You were stuck in the middle, trying desperately to smooth over the situation.

But, it was quite difficult easing tensions when each angry party had the ability to set someone’s hair on fire – even if it was against academy rules. Playing mediator was taking up more of your time than it had any right to, and it was proving to be exhausting.

Worse yet, the workload had grown even more intense, and it was starting to overwhelm you. You’d known that the academy was tough, but you hadn’t properly comprehended it before coming here. Now, you were experiencing it.

And on top of all that, you’d been hit by a recent bout of homesickness. You could handle them well enough, frequently, that they were – but all those extenuating circumstances meant that your typical coping strategies were less effective.

You’d managed to stay on top of your studies, for the most part. Except, unfortunately, for one subject in particular.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t wrap your head around alchemy. You always seemed to mess it up – and no amount of private tuition from the professor could help. You could tell she was a very clever woman, but it was obvious that because she just knew so much about it, she had a hard time noticing where the gaps in your knowledge might be. And frankly, the amount of time you spent speaking to her after class was getting embarrassing.

You’d decided that you wouldn’t speak to her this afternoon. It wouldn’t be productive, for one, and you were worried that you were wearing her patience thin. Perhaps it was time to find a proper tutor…

None of your friends were particularly good at alchemy, and you didn’t know any of your upperclassmen. Did the academy have an official tutoring program? You’d never actually looked into that sort of thing. But trying to search out that sort of thing would take precious time that you should spend studying…

That’s when he walked past you.

Tsukishima Kei. Top of the class.

A horrible idea blossomed in your mind. One that made your stomach churn.

Can I swallow my pride? You thought.

Yes. I’m desperate.

As soon as you finished that thought, you turned and tore down the corridor as fast as your legs could carry you. He was already what felt like half a country away. Damn him and his long legs.

“Hey!” You hollered, cursing your own lack of stamina. “Hey, Tsukishima!”

He paused, looking over his shoulder with an expression of baffled irritation.

You skittered to a stop behind him. “Please tutor me,” you said, each word punctuated by a deep breath.

“Huh?” He grimaced, looking down at you. “No.”

“No please!” You gasped. “Please!”

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at you, turning around.

Oh, you weren’t letting him get away that easily.

You dashed around him, standing right in his way.

You were running on pure instinct and desperation now, bowing sharply with your fists clenched at your side.

People were definitely starting to stare. But you were pretty damn desperate. The examination was barrelling towards you, and you certainly hadn’t studied enough for it.

“I’ll help you if you stop making a scene,” he hissed, face flushed with embarrassment.

You shot up to full height, looking at him with an expression that appeared to be misplaced adoration. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Did you listen to me at all—”

“Tomorrow night, seven o’clock,” you breathed, “The library. Bye!”

You fled, not giving him the time to refute you. And you were glad you ran; you could feel your cheeks burning, almost as much as your chest was. You hated running, but you needed to make sure he wouldn’t change his mind.

That was unequivocally one of the most embarrassing things you’d ever done.

But you were pretty damn desperate.

✧✧✧

Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided not to come. Your trust in him was tenuous at best; you could only hope that you’d appealed to at least some iota of human decency locked behind that mask of apathy.

Suffice to say that morale was low.

It had been a long day. One of your friends had roped you into renovating the greenhouse with them, and that had been much more work than you’d anticipated. Apparently all the plants along one of the walls had to be relocated, and all in one day. You’d wanted to say no when you’d found that out, but your friend had been so stressed. You hadn’t had the heart to walk away from them.

So, you’d been diligently running around all afternoon, slowly feeling the work ebb away at your energy reserve. All the while, you’d been worrying about your study session. Wondering if Tsukishima would turn up. Wondering if he was actually capable of salvaging your alchemy grades.

You glanced at a candle in one of the alcoves, each inch burned representing an hour passed.  

Tsukishima was late.

You sighed, resting your head on the desk. It was foolish of you to put your hopes in him. He had no reason to extend a hand. If anything, your academic blunders were probably a feather in his cap. You hated the thought of him revelling in your failure. Were you really so stupid as to ask him for help?  

Before you knew it, you’d closed your eyes, fluttering in and out of consciousness. You would’ve made more of an effort to stay awake, in case Tsukishima did turn up and use the fact you were sleeping as an excuse to run off.

But you were just so tired…

Tsukishima Kei… bastard…

You could hear students shuffling around the library, but nobody seemed to be approaching you. How long had it been now? Were you a fool for waiting around for so long, for a boy who obviously wasn’t coming?

Alchemy… I have to pass…

A warm, pleasant sound came from above you, rousing you gently from your half-consciousness.

Was that… a laugh? Well, it wasn’t a true laugh; it was something more like a chuckle, like the person responsible for it was ashamed to be so amused.  

Your eyes fluttered open, all bleary from your nap. “Huh?”

“If you don’t wake up, I’ll leave.”

Your head snapped up at that, your archnemesis coming into vision. You realised, then, that it must’ve been him that laughed. That unfortunately came hand-in-hand with the revelation that you didn’t hate the sound.

“I was tired,” you grumbled, stretching your arms above your head in a grandiose show.

“Whatever,” he sighed, slipping into the seat next to you with the air of a man who was about to start calculating his debts. “Maybe you should just head back to your dorm,” he sighed. “I don’t know if you’re in any state to study.”

“Listen,” you hissed, “I’m tired. And you’re late.”

“Relax,” Tsukishima yawned, reaching one hand into his bag. “I had work to do.”

You blinked at him, trying to soothe the anger brewing in your chest.

“I actually finished early, by the way.”

“Oh,” you swallowed, the anger quickly slipping into a mild guilt. “I’m— sorry—”

“Whatever,” he sighed, tossing a textbook onto the table.

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. You were supposed to be studying, right? That meant you couldn’t be too abrasive, lest you get nothing of worth done. Could you do that?

“Let’s just get this over and done with, alright?” He sounded just as bored as always.

You mumbled something incoherent, even to yourself.

“What do you need help with?” Tsukishima sighed, electing to ignore you.

“Uh…”

“Don’t say everything.”

You stayed resolutely silent.

“Fucking…” Tsukishima groaned, rubbing a temple with his fingers.

“Well, that’s not very polite,” you grumbled, crossing your arms as you sat back in your chair.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what to focus on,” Tsukishima snapped, frustratingly straightforward. “Do you know the basics of chrysopoeia?”

You blinked at him for a moment. “Yes…?”

“Do you know what that is?”

“That’s when…” You frowned, racking your drowsy brain for the answer. The term was familiar, but…

“Come on.” Tsukishima looked like he was one breath away from getting up and leaving. “We did this last year.”

“Oh!” You gasped, sitting up a little straighter. “Gold! It’s gold!”

Tsukishima sighed. “Almost. Do you remember how to make gold?”

“What am I making it from?” You frowned. “You can’t ask such a broad question.”

He blinked at you for a second, seemingly frustrated at the fact that you were right. The base metal mattered, after all.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m sure you know how to do it with lead, so… how about copper?”

The two of you ran over a series of transmutations, helping Tsukishima figure out the gaps in your knowledge. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or annoyed by the fact that you knew more than he’d expected. You, at least, felt some sense of pride; you were smarter than he’d given you credit for. Although, another part of you felt as though you should be offended by the fact he’d thought you’d be stupider than this.

You glanced at the candle again. Another two hours had passed. Gods, you were getting tired. You plopped your crossed arms on the table, sinking down over them and using them as a pillow. You closed your eyes for a second, letting Tsukishima methodically explain the theoretical process of refining an alkahest.

“Are you even listening to me?” He hissed, nudging you with an elbow.

“Mhm,” you murmured, half your face covered by your crossed arms.

Tsukishima had half a mind to bonk you on the back of the head with his textbook. But, he wasn’t about to do that. Not when you seemed like you’d explode at him for the smallest of provocations.

It was a real shame you looked so cute, all sleepy—

What… the fuck? He thought to himself, freezing at the revelation.

You? Cute? Those were not two words that belonged together. Not under any circumstance.

“Get up,” he hissed, two fingers poking at your temple.

You groaned, trying to hit his assault away with a limp hand.

“We’re done here,” he huffed, standing up sharply.

You jolted upright in your chair, looking up at him with wide eyes. “But we’re not done!”

“It’s one in the morning,” he grumbled, pointing at the candle nestled in a cranny on the wall next to you. Sure enough, the wax had melted, leaving a stump that was only a couple of inches tall.

“But… but I still don’t feel like I’ve caught up,” you groaned, standing up with a creak in your bones. How old were you? Sixty?

“Not my problem,” he shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

No. No, you weren’t letting your one chance at academic redemption get away from you that easily.

“Tsukishima,” you whined, turning to look up at him with the most desperate puppy eyes you could manage. You had half a mind to clasp your hands together in front of you to really complete the image. “Tsukki—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Whoops. “I’m sorry!” You said, the phrase jumbling out a bit too quickly. “Please… please help me out again. Please.”

He looked down at you, his eyebrows pinched together in a look that you could only describe as mild disgust. Were you that annoying? Was this such a waste of his time?

“Fine.”

Huh? “Wait, are you serious?”

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

An unbridled grin broke out across your face. You’d looked deflated mere seconds ago, but now you’d been given new life. Tsukishima was doing all he could to ignore how radiant you looked in the dim half-light of the lanterns.

“If I said no, you’d just keep pestering me about it,” he grumbled, turning his back to you.

You pouted, but had nothing to say. Unfortunately, he was right. You just turned back to your books, packing them into your bag.

“Hurry up,” Tsukishima sighed, making you jump.

“Hm?” You looked over your shoulder, surprised to see him still standing there.

“I want to go to sleep.”

“Then go to bed,” you blinked.

“I will,” he said, “but I can’t do that until I’ve dropped you off at your dorm.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that you almost apologised. Almost.

“Huh?”

“Just… just hurry up, okay?”

✧✧✧

“Hey, Tsukki? hat’s wrong?” Yamaguchi frowned, tilting his head at his companion. “You’re usually great at this stuff.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tsukishima grumbled, letting his hand fall to his side. He’d been trying to produce a solid ball of light for the past five minutes.

“Are you sure?”

Tuskishima clenched his fist, feeling a wisp of air escape from it. Ah, so he’d been producing something, at least. But regardless, he was wasting their designated time in the courtyard. And he certainly didn’t plan on wasting any more of it by indulging Yamaguchi’s desire to pry into his private life.

“You’ve been kind of off these days, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi pouted, eyebrows pinched together as he regarded his friend. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

“I’ve been sleeping fine,” Tsukishima snapped. Even he knew that was a disproportionate response. But the fact of the matter was he certainly wasn’t sleeping as well as he could be. It was just that every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts managed to find their way back to you.

And quite frankly, he didn’t want to see you anymore than he had to. Even if it was in his half-asleep thoughts, where you were smiling up at him like you actually wanted to see him—

“Tsukishima!”

Oh no.

He cringed, jaw clenching as he saw you running towards him from the other side of the courtyard, your robes fluttering behind you.

Yamaguchi glanced at him, eyebrows raised just a little.

You came to a stop in front of them, giving them each a little bow. Only Yamaguchi returned it.

“What do you want?” Tsukishima swallowed, uncomfortably aware of Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi murmured. It was less his name and more a plea to not be so rude. Tsukishima could tell that from Yamaguchi’s tone of voice alone.  

You looked up at Tsukishima, your features pulled into a look of perfect indignation. “Oh, so he’s allowed to call you Tsukki.”

“Bold of you to assume he ever asked me for permission,” Tsukishima grumbled.

You pouted at him for a moment, until your eyes lit up with a certain kind of mischief that Tsukishima had come to dread.

“He talks about you a lot,” you said, turning to Yamaguchi with the brightest smile on your face.

“I do not—”

“You sound like a good friend,” you beamed, hands behind your back. “Tsukki seems to hate literally everyone, so good job!”

“Why are you like this?” Tuskishima groaned, his hands coming up to cover his face.

“Like what?” You asked, your expression the perfect picture of innocence.

He wanted to choose his next words carefully. Very carefully.

“Ah!” You straightened up, your head whipping around to the other side of the courtyard.

“Is everything okay?” Tsukishima frowned, only the smallest touch of concern in his voice.

“I have a meeting,” you said, twirling around in a flurry of robes. “Bye!”

Tsukishima opened his mouth to shout after you; something about how you can’t run away from an argument, about how this entire exchange was entirely useless, about how you needed to keep better track of time…

But you were already gone. All he could do was stare at the spot you’d just been, a look of mild displeasure on his face.

He didn’t check that expression in time. Yamaguchi had already seen it.

“Oh?”

Oh no.

Yamaguchi was grinning. Widely. Usually he’d try and hide that sort of thing behind one of his hands, but not today.

“I don’t,” Tsukishima grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” Yamaguchi giggled.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” Tsukishima grunted, the tips of his ears suddenly feeling quite warm.

“So,” Yamaguchi hummed, tilting his head to the side. “Want to tell me about them?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Really?” Oh, Yamaguchi was having the time of his life. “You don’t want to… hold their hand, do you?”

“Yamaguchi.”

“What? I’m just curious.”

“Another word out of you and I’ll strike you down where you stand.”

✧✧✧

You liked Yamaguchi well enough. The fact that he was friends with Tsukishima was almost funny.

You just didn’t know why he was with the two of you right now.

“Yamaguchi.”

“Mhm?”

“Do you need to be here?” Tsukishima sighed, not looking up from the textbook.

“Aw, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi frowned, barely trying to hide the mischief in his eyes. “I just want to hang out with my best friend.”

“And?” Tsukishima prompted, rubbing his temples.

“Oh, Tuskki,” you pouted, tilting your head at him. “He just wants to hang out with his best friend! You’d really kick him out so coldly?” You didn’t know why Yamaguchi was in the mood to tease, but you definitely wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn’t ask for your input,” Tsukishima snapped, picking up his quill with an unusual amount of irritation.

Yamaguchi snickered.

“You should respect your friends some more,” you sighed, twirling your own quill in your fingers.

“Who are you?” Tsukishima scoffed. “My mother?”

“No.” You shook your head, sketching the symbol for mercury on your page absent-mindedly. “I would’ve raised you better.”

Yamaguchi had to cover his mouth at that one.

“You’re dragging my family into this?”

Oh shit, you thought, might want to backtrack that one. “You’re right, I should give your mother more credit. I can’t imagine having to put up with you for… what is it now? Eighteen? Nineteen years?”

“Do you want me to tutor you or not?” Tsukishima glowered at you. “Because if you’re going to keep being ungrateful, then—”

“I’m sorry!” You squeaked, bowing your head at him. “I take it back, you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met—”

“That wasn’t an indication to swing too far in the opposite direction,” he rolled his eyes, praying that his cheeks weren’t too pink. “Now just… just start solving that transmutation, okay?”

You pouted at him for a long moment.

“What?” Tsukishima sighed.

“I’m just wondering,” you mused, “Are you cursed?”

Tsukishima’s face dropped. “What are you on about?”

“Well, I was thinking,” you hummed, tapping the feather of your quill against your lips. Tsukishima was determined to look literally anywhere else.

“That’s not a good thing,” he mumbled.

“You’re literally incapable of saying anything nice to your friends,” you mused, tilting your head at him. “Is that because you’re cursed?”

“Do you ever say anything that makes sense?”

“See! That’s a great example!”

“What—we’re not friends—”

“Now that’s the meanest thing you’ve said to me so far!”

Why were you like this? Why were you so difficult to put a finger on? And why was Yamaguchi giggling?

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima growled, casting him a glance.

“I’ll be quiet,” Yamaguchi smiled, turning back to his own work.

“And you,” Tsukishima said, tapping you on the nose with his quill. “Get to work.”

For once, you complied. Fun as it was to get on Tsukishima’s nerves, you had an exam coming up. And if you lost your one comrade in this fight to the perils of homework, then you were willing to get serious yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Yamaguchi wasn’t actually doing his work. Not at all. He was watching the two of you, desperate to catch a whiff of any romantic tension.

He’d never seen Tsukishima be this… patient. Sure, it might not have seemed that way to anyone else, but Yamaguchi knew the lanky blond better than anyone else here. The fact that Tsukishima was taking the time to explain anything to you was a miracle in itself.

But that wasn’t enough to convince him.

No, he was convinced by the deep flush of red that graced Tsukishima’s cheeks when you beamed up at him. You’d just re-explained a concept to him perfectly, and it was Tsukishima’s dry praise that got you to light up so much.

Poor Tsukishima didn’t know what to do, simply staring at you with a look that was halfway between annoyance and confusion. Yamaguchi hadn’t thought that an ‘angry blush’ was a thing, but he was seeing it right in front of his eyes.

What he didn’t know was that Tsukishima was angry for two reasons; the first was that you were so damn cute, despite how annoying you could be. The second was that he didn’t want to admit you were cute. Which meant this feeling had nowhere to go. It would just fester in a corner of his chest, ready to jump on him while he was trying to get to sleep.

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked, shocking Tsukishima out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re glaring at me,” you said, biting your lip. “And you’re all red.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, a little too quickly.  

Yamaguchi giggled at that. Did he have to be here? Tsukishima just wanted to suffer alone.  

“Oi, guys!” A voice boomed out, much too loud for the library. “Come look at this!”

“Oh no,” Tsukishima sighed, fingers rubbing his temples. “Not them, too.”

You looked up, determined to see who, exactly ‘them’ was.

Three boys stood in front of you, two clad in the rich purple robes of the fourth years, and one in the emerald green of the third.

“Oh ho?”

“Oh ho ho?”

“What’s this?” One of the fourth years smirked, his unruly black hair sticking out at all angles. “Is our little Tsukki blushing?”

“Sure looks like it,” the other fourth year grinned, and you realised he was the voice that’d disturbed the peace. You realised, not without some amusement, that he looked something like an owl.

“Leave him alone,” the third year sighed. He had the air of a mother who’d been worn down from years of trying to look after some delinquent children.

You braved a glance at Tsukishima.

He looked like he wanted to die; but not without taking those two fourth years out with him.

“But Tsukki’s talking to someone who isn’t Yamaguchi,” Bokuto gasped, patting the third year on the shoulder. “Akaashi, this is big.”

“He talks to you, doesn’t he?” Akaashi sighed.

“Not by choice,” Tsukshima mumbled.

“Don’t be mean,” the other fourth year chided, crossing his arms.

“Can you please leave?” Tsukishima said. “We’re trying to work here.”

“Aw, you can’t talk to your precious upperclassmen?” Bokuto cooed.

“We happen to be quite busy.”

“He used ‘we’ twice,” the other fourth year pointed out, giving his friend a knowing look.

“For fuck’s sake…” Tsukishima sighed, rubbing his temples yet again. “I’m trying to help my—my friend study so they don’t fail an exam, okay?”

“I’m your friend?” You gasped, placing a hand over your chest in mock-delight.

Tsukishima only just realised what a terrible mistake he’d made.

“Oi, Kuroo,” Bokuto slapped the other fourth year’s arm with the back of his hand. Tsukishima didn’t like the look on either of their faces. “I need to talk to you about… something.”

Kuroo grinned in response, and both boys ran off so quickly that they might as well have puffed into smoke.

“I’m so sorry,” Akaashi mumbled, giving the three of you at the table a small bow.

“Not a problem,” you smiled, waving a hand at him.

He just nodded before walking off himself. You weren’t sure if he would bother looking for the other two or not.

You snuck a glance at Tsukishima. “Are you okay? You seem… stressed.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders.

“Friends of yours?” You hummed. “Like me?”

“You could say that,” he grumbled, his cheeks just as vibrant as they had been a couple of minutes ago.

You grinned, elated at your ‘win.’ Sure, a couple of weeks ago you would’ve balked at the thought of wanting Tsukishima Kei to call you his friend. Maybe it was because it had seemed so impossible to win any kind of approval from him.

Yeah, that had to be it.

“Can we go over the transmutations of iron?” You asked, cutting off your thoughts before they could steer themselves in a direction you didn’t like.

The two of you worked away for the next half an hour or so, Yamaguchi peacefully watching on from the other side of the table. But eventually, he’d seen all he wanted to see. And he wanted to give you two a little privacy; for Tsukishima’s pride, if nothing else.

“Anyway,” Yamaguchi yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m going to go.”

You jumped. In all honesty, you’d totally forgotten he was there.

“Whatever,” Tsukishima sighed. He looked a bit like he was trying to fight off a yawn himself.  

Yamaguchi stood up and gave you a little nod before beaming at Tsukishima. “Tsukki, I’ll see you later tonight at the dorms, right?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Tsukishima frowned.

“Just checking,” Yamaguchi said brightly. You had half a mind to ask him what that was about, but he’d scurried away from the table before you had time to think about it properly.

Tsukishima had decided to pay it no mind, instead just turning to you and saying something about gold. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you could feel the weight of the day beginning to bear down on the two of you.

Tsukishima groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“You okay?” You asked, glancing at him.

He sighed, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. And it wasn’t really.

But seeing him without his glasses made you pause. Was Tsukishima Kei… handsome? Had he been handsome this entire time, and you were just too blinded by rage to notice it? And what were you supposed to do with this information?

You watched, rapt with terror as he put his glasses back on.

Enemy sighted. You blinked, trying to process what was going on.

What the fuck had just happened? Were you so tired as to think that your sworn rival Tsukishima Kei was attractive?

Besides, what did it even matter if he was handsome or not? Plenty of handsome people were downright unbearable. Not that you would slander Tsukishima in such a way. He wasn’t that bad.

“Hurry up,” he grumbled, packing his own books into his bag.

Oh, right. He was going to walk you back to your dorm. Again. He’d made a habit of it, after these little study sessions of yours. The fact that he was under no obligation to do such a thing made it all seem so… gentlemanly.

You said very little as you walked side by side, too wrapped up in your own thoughts. He was supposed to be your sworn rival. And yet, there you were, feeling a bit like you were floating, and a bit like you were about to throw up.

Oh, well. This would be over soon enough.

✧✧✧

“So.”

You looked up at him, biting your lip. “So.”

“How do you think you did?”

Tsukishima was close behind you as you left the classroom, the bubble of anxious conversation rippling through your peers.

You were more nervous about this closeness between you than you’d been about the damn exam. You swallowed, quickly maneuvering your way through the crowd to find some more open space.

“You haven’t answer my question,” Tsukishima grumbled, hot on your heels.

Oh, right.

“I did the best I could,” you said, looking up at him with a smile.

He smiled back.

Oh, no. No, you weren’t used to that. You weren’t used to how cute he looked when he smiled. Oh, this was all unfamiliar territory. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to feel. Uh—

“I tried my best, and that’s what matters,” you breathed, turning around and skipping down the hallway. What were you? Seven?

Tsukishima watched you, his legs long enough to keep up with you without issue. “Are you… okay?”

He probably thinks I’m weird, you thought. I’m an adult and I’m bloody skipping down the hallway like a child—

“Yes! I’m fine!” You lied, slowing down to a regular walking speed. What were you even supposed to say to him anymore, now that the exam was done?

Tsukishima hummed, but he didn’t press the issue further. Which was worse—you abhorred the silence.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do with my evenings, now,” you said, more in a bid to fill the space between you than anything else. “I’m going to be deathly bored.”

Maybe that was a little too honest.

But you didn’t miss how he very quietly murmured, “Me too.”

Oh, you weren’t going to let that go. Not at all.

You zipped in front of him, coming to a standstill. He skidded to a stop himself, both startled and embarrassed at the fact that he’d nearly just tripped over you.

You looked up at him resolutely, a mixture of nervousness and mischief painted across your face. “That’s because you won’t be hanging out with me, right?”

Tsukishima opened his mouth as if to say something, but he seemed to stop himself from responding. But, his cheeks bloomed a familiar red, and the tenderness in his eyes betrayed him.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you felt a handful of words away from humiliating yourself. But there was a little, tiny opening here, and you didn’t want to let it go to waste.

“Would you… like to catch up later?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

“To… study?”

You did have a couple more exams to worry about. But that wasn’t what you were interested in.

“We can if you really want to,” you smiled, lacing your hands together behind your back. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to head into town?”

“Sure,” he swallowed, sticking his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t quite meet your gaze, his entire posture screaming with awkwardness. He really had no clue how to handle this, did he?

“You know I’m talking about a date, right?” A tease or two wouldn’t hurt.

“Of course I know that!” He snapped, neck and ears now slowly turning red. “I’m not dumb!”

“Ah! So you do like me then!” You giggled, well-aware that your own cheeks must be glowing by now.

“I—I never said that,” he huffed, finally looking at you.

You frowned at him, eyes wide and round with hurt. It did sting a little.

“But… But I never said I don’t,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

You beamed up at him, standing up a little straighter as relief flooded your chest.

“You’re so exhausting,” he whined, bringing his hands up to cover his face. You’d count that as an absolute win.

You laughed, stepping forward and tugging at his wrists. You weren’t used to that kind of contact, but you were determined to start familiarizing yourself with it.

He dropped one of his hands from his face with some reticence, and you took the opportunity to lace your fingers through his.

“Let’s get something to eat,” you said, positive that if his hand wasn’t tying you to the ground, you’d be floating off into the great unknown.

He said nothing. But, he didn’t let go of your hand.

Some part of you felt like gloating. You’d managed to leave the Tsukishima Kei speechless; and you’d managed to make him blush. Even if your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, and even though you couldn’t stop a smile from taking over your face, you’d managed to get the last laugh.

But, had you really?

✧ ✧

“I can’t believe it,” Kuroo snorted, watching the two of you from the other side of the courtyard.

“I told you they’d be fine,” Akaashi sighed, a little flutter of relief in his chest.

“I still think our plan would’ve been great,” Kuroo yawned, scratching the back of his neck.

“Leaving two people stranded in the forest is more likely to leave them panicked, not ready for love,” Akaashi said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo sighed, waving a hand at his friend. He glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

An expression of resigned acceptance graced Akaashi’s face. “Bokuto’s never going to shut up about this.”

[partnersatfazbear]

Fazbear Frights: What We Found Analysis

Here’s my analysis for What We Found, the third story in Gumdrop Angel. I wrote this as I read so it may be a little different than my previous analysis where I read the story first and went back.

If you’re a Michael Afton fan I highly recommend this. Also, there’s possibly some insight into William Afton, Mrs. Afton, and Henry too, so it’s worth a skim.

Pg 144 '...a place thirty-some years forgotten' Just reconfirming FNAF 3 is 30 years past *one* of the FNAF closings, presumably FNAF 2 location.

Pg 145 "The whole building was giving him [Hudson] a headache." FIX THE VENTILATION BRUH

Pg 148 '...they were able to use salvaged derelict equiptment original to the old pizzerias.' Another confirmation of something we heard from Phone Guy.

Pg 147 "How old are you?" "Twenty-three, same as you." I think this gives us Michael's age during FNAF 3.

EDIT: This kept me awake last night. Obviously this is impossible because he has to be alive for at least 10 years before 1983, BUT maybe its just reconfirming FNAF 3′s year? 2023?

Pg 149 "Hudsan's dad died and his mom married Lewis, a ridiculous balding man who wore plaid vests and smoked a pipe" Did... Did this book just seriously imply Mrs. Afton left William for Henry? Really? (Yes, there's differences; the husband is dead and the man wears plaid 'vests' but it seems very odd to include that detail. This could just have been the writer's own imagination, though.) I have seen this as a fan theory and 100% explains the jealousy aspect of William, but I can't help but kinda hate it. I think this is very important, though, and probably Scott's intention. "This horrible little man [Lewis]... would make Hudson's next ten years a living Hell" This REALLY intrigues me given the context I just went over. The text implies Lewis was fairly neglectful to our main character / Michael stand-in Hudson. Maybe I'm wrong and for some reason Mrs. Emily left and went to William? XD Haha, I'm reading too much into this page. Maybe I'll come back to this later. I figure it's more of Scott possibly including double-details (contradicting stuff with the same character that really applies to two, which has been something I heavily pointed out in previous anaylsis on this blog) Having said that, I'm going w/the former because I can't imagine Henry being abusive (neglectful yes, abusive no) and he's never been portrayed that way in official works like William has in the novels.

Pg 150 "Hudson began to screw up in class...a product of spending the night in fear that his stepfather [Lewis]... [would] beat him just for the fun of it." Ooof. Big confirm on William actually being abusive. Unless we stick with the Henry theory for Lewis (combined with Midnight Motorist Henry theory / alcoholic). "...near-daily beatings..." "his mom started taking pills to get through the day..." So, whoever Mrs. Afton is, she was definetly not paying attention. But then, most people married to serial killers either don't notice because of denial (like this) or because the killer is so manipulative / careful they can't notice.

"Barry, who had red hair and freckles..." Yo?! Is that a description of Fritz?! These friends in the story could be the other kids Michael knew's stand-in's, aka the two gravestones with names he used (Fritz and Jeremy), as shown in the checks for the games and FNAF 6. I've long figured Michael was probably friends with the victims--it makes them easier, although riskier, targets [for William]. The two friends are male, too, like Fritz and Jeremy. If you're curious about Duane's description (our stand in for Jeremy), it's "tight black shirt... muscles... black hair long enough for a glossy ponytail..." I'm not sure if this matches anything found in the novels or contradicts them, though. (The novels = TSE trilogy)

"And so it went... until the night of the fire." For context, this is before FF burns down. We're learning of Hudson's life from his close friends in childhood, his father's death, his mother remarrying, to his abusive stepfather, to his grades slipping to this line. This would be a new fire not seen/mentioned in the games...

Pg 151 "...go to Charlie's for a sundae..." Really. Really Scott. Just gonna use this name again. OK. I'm not even gonna discuss this because it's probably irrelevant. *This is confirmed on pg 158 to be an ice cream shop. No lore relevance aside the annoying name coincidences Scott loves to troll with.

"This is not... an advance into enemy territory, a fight with demons, or a descent into Hell..." Uh, what? What is Hudson talking about? XD I'm only noting it because it seems so out of place. He's probably talking about video games or something.

Another note, although I don't have a specific reference since it is mentioned off-hand many times, is that Hudson keeps referring to his "history" which is implied to have kept him from getting a well-paying job and a girl he's crushing on doesn't know this "history" which is good for him. Seems good old "Michael Stand-In" has done some jail time or something. Edit: On pg 154/155 the girl asks Hudson, "Did you do it?" Seems he may have killed his stepfather or been involved with something else just as bad. Edit 2: No, I was thinking too deep into it. This probably refers to Evan's death at Fredbear's. DUH.

Pg 156 describes an actual "prize corner" in FF! What am I even reading? IIRC this is in FNAF 3, too. So they just hand out these scary gift boxes to people that complete the attraction? (Hudson says he *would* have fun handing out the scary toys to kids when this location opens--kind of a bully thing to do, eh?)

"[Hudson] avoid[ed] glancing in any of the mirrors..." I'm only pointing this out because it could be reference to one of two things. 1) We know because of one of UCN's music tracks, William has a fear of his reflection. Michael probably shares this trait, especially since 2) after Ennard and all... and later on pg 157 it also says, "he never wanted to face: himself" Sounds like guilt, my guy.

Pg 157 "blonde hair... blue eyes..." Hudson shares an eye color with Michael. It's possible Michael had blonde hair as a child and it changed to brown (it's common, something I personally went through being technically blonde/ blue eyed myself)

"He [Hudson] knew from personal experience that toys could turn from fun...to torture ina heart-beat" Fairly self explanatory. Either Hudson's worked at a creepy location before or he doesn't like remembering Fredbear's.

*checks how much is left.* There's still 35 pages (not counting back/front) left of this... This is gonna be a lot of notes.

Pg 158 Hudson doesn't have a car. Poor Mike, probably having to walk everywhere. Especially as a corpse.

Pg 160 This page describes many physical issues Hudson has that prevents him from entering the Navy, all from the abuse of Lewis. Obvious paralell to Michael becoming an undead [because his father sent him to CBPR indirectly causing his condition]

Pg 161 "How's your granny, Hud?... ...Is she still alive?" "I don't think she can die." Does anyone in the Afton family really 'die'? XD

Pg 162 These few pages discuss Hudson's grandmother. She's described as "a seer who claimed to know the future... ...wore big men's plaid flannel shirts with baggy jeans" Um, more plaid / flannel? AGH. STAHP. Lowkey, I would totally headcanon my Aunt Jen like this, though.

Pg 163 "Hudson's mom... the way she was before Hudson's dad had died... never... particularly warm and fuzzy... but... effiencient and responsible..." More about Mrs. Afton, so that's kinda neat.

"Hudson's dad was fun and attentive." There's a good Dad in this series?

"Unfortunetly, he also struggled with mental illness." "invisible low points" (Pg 164) Kinda reminds me of how Henry is described after Charlotte's death in the books.

Pg 164 "When Steven got himself into a bad deal that cost him his small business... he'd taken his life." Oh, it is Henry! SMH. Way to use confusing paralells. So, from our understanding thus far, Hudson's real father, Steven, is our Henry stand-in. His step-father despite being described similar to Henry, is actually our William stand-in. Fair game, Scott.

Pg 164 "...he [Hudson] was locked into a supply closet..." Oh shit, you guys. So, let me go on a tangent here, because this IS important! I just watched a retrospective on Sister Location and FNAF 6 earlier and one theory for Midnight Motorist was the person in the chair was the mother and the kid was Michael. I think this little line may confirm that. In fact, the story may be the key to figuring things out. Obviously, the line is a paralell to FNAF 4's scene in which Crying Child was locked in the supply closet of Fredbear's. I know some people, including Matpat, believe[d] CC was Michael, and in this book's context, it sort of works. This does contradict Step Closer and 1000 other things that make Michael the older brother, but maybe it's hinting at MM? Abusive stepdad (possibly Henry... maybe William is gone at this point), checked out Mom (hey, grey couch lady with Foxybro's font). IDK, but its definetly something to think about.

Pg 165 Lewis is mentioned as calling Hudson "nothing" and saying "you're nothing" on several occasions on this page. Just more abuse, for those accurate fanfic writers like me. Also I kinda wanna watch Morel Orel again. Yall know my fav character is Clay. Yall know.

"You're smoke." <-- Lewis / The text later reads, "...there was some irony, given what eventually happened." BRUH. Why did your stepdad die in a fire? :V TELL ME.

"When his family's house burned down at the end of his senior year..." Huh. Is there a fire we don't know about in the game-verse? Could this explain what happened to the FNAF 4 house before MM house?!

"...it purged Hudson of Lewis and his mother." MRS. AFTON BURNED ALIVE, TOO? Bruh. I can't with this story.

The text later describes the fire is concluded to be man-made and Hudson was blamed for it. Can't say if this ties to Michael, but it IS interesting... TBF, there is a small paralell to draw between Henry in FNAF 6 and his history of suicide in the books, too.

Pg 166 "...this place's [FF] busted thermostat.." I just find this line funny.

Pg 167 "...after three weeks of keeping an eye on the place" Some more timeline context for FNAF 3. We know that Michael worked there a little while before we start playing the game thanks to one of the phone calls, IIRC, so this makes sense. If Michael was accused of [something] and also wanting to hunt down his father, then it makes perfect sense why he's working a dead end job at Freddy's over and over and over. Fun fun fun.

Pg 169 "He hated to think about a functional character [Foxy]" This line is in regards to Hudson not liking the set up of Pirate's Cove and Foxy's hook to scare people. Sounds familiar, don't it? (For Michael anyway.)

Pg 173 "Some big find is arriving tomorrow." SPRINGY BOI! COME ON BOOK, get on with the show?

Pg 176 "Granny was wearing a red-and-green plaid shirt and her baggy jeans." Nothing special, but it was specifically brought up twice. I'm kind of racking my brain trying to understand what the point of this character is outside of "woooo everything is haunted don't you know that" kind of character.

Pg 180 "...dropped the crate on the linoleum with a resounding thud." HEY. Poor Springtrap, just gettin' tossed around like the trash he is.

Pg 186 "If you weren't so stupid, I'd tell you more about it." Springtrap bringing the burn. =:)

"A voice with a burr-like rasp...hint of a Southern accent" I'm going to assume this is because it's Lewis probably in the suit in this story and not our old British lad.

"It's was Mr. Atkin's voice." THE MATH TEACHER? *goes back to check* 'The algebra teacher'. Okay...

Pg 190 Okay, so Hudson hear's Lewis' voice this time. Okay, I get it now. Springtrap in this kind of imbodies all of Hudson's old bullies, including the teacher. He also has PTSD, just FYI. IDK if anyone finds that important, but it's fairly obvious by the line "He wasn't in his bedroom. Lewis didn't just slam his head into a desk; his head had been slammed into the [arcade] game."

"Why did he hallucinate a scene from his childhood?" Oh, it's not PTSD, then. It's just the VENTILATION ERROR. lol Okay.

Just a note, as I'm reading through the more action-based stuff, I kind of feel bad for Michael if he had flashbacks like this guy. They're intense.

So, Lewis' voice finally comes out of Springtrap on Pg 213. There's that.

Pg 220 "You can just stay there [in his room]" Kind of a paralell to Midnight Motorist. Lewis is saying it to Hudson. I really feel like the kid in the MM game is Michael because of this story...

Pg 223 "Heat purges. Fire heals." I'm sure that's Henry's life motto.

The ending was stupid, but most in these stories are. Hudson is hallucinating and is implied to have burned himself alive in FF's oven. Meh? The first half of this one is A TRIP and a little insight into what I 100% believe is Michael's childhood. I think the saddest part of it all is that we never got Springtrap speaking to Michael in FNAF 3--and if it's ever remade I hope we get more of them interacting.