#but this person assumes harrison was saying that

[enhaflixer]

Touché - DATING YOU TO DISTRACT YOU BUT GETS DISTRACTED FIRST

Academic Rival!Jake x f!Reader (Smut, Crack, Fluff) MDNI 18+ ENHA HARD HOURS

Jake Sim has one job—beat you in the race for the Harrison Fellowship. His strategy? Get close. Get under your skin. Get you too distracted to focus. His method? Kissing you stupid. Pressing you against walls. Finding out exactly how far he can push before you snap. The problem? You like to push back. Now, between tangled sheets, heated arguments, and “just one more time” turning into every damn night, Jake’s got a new problem. He’s not thinking about winning anymore. He’s thinking about you. 💔 “This was supposed to be a game. So why do I feel like I’m the one getting played?”

-

You drum your fingers against the desk, watching Professor Martinez pace at the front of the lecture hall. The midterm papers are stacked neatly in his arms, and you can practically feel the anxiety radiating off the two hundred students packed into the room.

But you're not anxious. Not really.

You know exactly what score awaits you—the same score you've received on every major assessment since freshman year: the highest in the class.

Your eyes drift across the lecture hall to where Jake Sim sits, surrounded by his usual entourage. Even now, minutes before receiving a grade that could make or break their GPA, they're laughing at something he's said. The sound of his rich laughter carries across the room, drawing more than a few admiring glances.

Jake Sim. Campus golden boy. The kind of person who walks into a room and immediately owns it. The kind of student professors mention in other classes. The kind of face that appears on university brochures—which it literally does, as he's been the unofficial "face" of the university's marketing materials since sophomore year.

He's also the only person who's ever come close to beating your scores.

"Before I hand these back," Professor Martinez says, silencing the murmurs, "I want to discuss the grade distribution."

He clicks to display a graph on the projector screen. The curve looks normal enough, with a significant peak around the B-range.

"As you can see, the class average was 78.4," he continues. "We had a standard deviation of approximately 12 points. However—" he pauses, adjusting his glasses, "—we also had two outliers."

The next slide shows the same curve with two dots far to the right of the main distribution. Your throat tightens with a familiar tension.

Jake's eyes meet yours across the lecture hall. His expression is casual, but you recognize the intensity in his gaze. This is what it's always been like between you two: a silent acknowledgment of the competition that's defined your college experience.

"Our top two scores," Professor Martinez announces, "were separated by only half a point."

The room stills. This is closer than usual.

You see Jake sit up straighter, his perfectly coiffed hair catching the light as he leans forward. Even from across the room, you can see the flash of white teeth as he grins confidently. His friends nudge him, already assuming victory.

"Mr. Sim scored an impressive 98.2," Professor Martinez says, and a ripple of impressed murmurs spreads through the lecture hall.

Jake's golden-boy smile widens as he accepts congratulatory shoulder pats from his friends. He hasn't looked at you yet, clearly believing he's finally done it—finally beaten you.

"And Ms. L/N—" Professor Martinez pauses, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, "—scored a 98.7."

The half-point difference might as well be a chasm.

Jake's smile freezes in place, his dark eyes immediately seeking yours as the realization hits him. He's lost. Again. By the slimmest of margins.

You allow yourself a small, satisfied smile before looking down at your notebook, pretending to be humble about your victory. But inside, you're savoring the moment. It never gets old, watching the golden boy settle for silver.

After class, you take your time gathering your materials, accepting quiet congratulations from a few classmates. Unlike Jake, you don't have an entourage. You have acquaintances, study partners occasionally, but your focus has always been on achievement rather than popularity.

As you make your way up the steps of the lecture hall, you sense someone behind you. You don't need to turn to know who it is—you can tell from the expensive cologne and the sudden hushed whispers of nearby students watching the university's academic rivals in proximity.

"Congratulations," Jake says, falling into step beside you as you exit into the hallway. His voice carries none of the warmth it does when he's with his friends. "Half a point. Must be nice."

"It is," you reply coolly, clutching your midterm paper with its red 98.7% circled at the top. "Maybe next time."

Jake stops walking, forcing you to stop too unless you want to seem like you're fleeing. You turn to face him, noting the way his dark hair falls perfectly across his forehead despite the late afternoon humidity that has your own hair frizzing at the edges.

"There's always the final," he says, his voice lowering into something almost like a threat. "And the Harrison Fellowship application is due next month. Midterms are just one battle."

You raise an eyebrow. "A battle you lost."

Something flashes in his eyes—not anger exactly, but frustration mingled with something else. Challenge, perhaps. Determination.

"This isn't over," he says, his voice carrying just enough for a few passing students to slow down, sensing drama between the two top students.

"Never said it was," you reply with a sweet smile, hugging your perfect test paper to your chest.

Jake maintains eye contact for a moment longer than comfortable, then breaks into the easy, charismatic smile that's plastered across half the campus publications. The sudden shift is disorienting, his intensity disappearing behind his golden-boy mask so quickly you almost doubt it was ever there.

"See you in Advanced Statistical Methods tomorrow," he says cheerfully, as if your competition is just friendly banter. "Front row as usual?"

"Where else?" you respond, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanor.

He winks—actually winks—before turning to join his waiting friends, who immediately surround him like a protective bubble of popularity. You watch him go, telling yourself the flutter in your stomach is just the satisfaction of victory, not a reaction to those dark eyes or that practiced wink.

One of Jake's friends says something that makes the whole group laugh, and you catch Jake glancing back at you before joining in. Something about his expression makes you uneasy, like he's not quite done with this interaction.

You shake off the feeling and head toward the library. The Harrison Fellowship application won't write itself, and you'll need to maintain your perfect GPA if you want to beat Jake Sim for that too.

What you don't realize, as you push through the heavy library doors, is that Jake is watching you go, his mind already formulating a plan that has nothing to do with studying—and everything to do with making sure you don't beat him again.

-

Jake closes his apartment door behind him and leans against it, loosening his tie with a frustrated jerk. The congratulatory words from his friends still ring hollow in his ears. Second place. Again.

"Damn it," he mutters, tossing his backpack onto the couch. His roommate looks up from his laptop, eyebrows raised.

"Let me guess. You didn't beat her again?"

Jake shoots him a glare that would silence anyone else, but Ethan has been his best friend since orientation week. He's immune.

"Half a point," Jake says, collapsing into an armchair. "Half a freaking point."

Ethan whistles. "That's close, though. Closest you've gotten."

"Close doesn't get me the Harrison Fellowship," Jake snaps, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up for the first time all day. "Close doesn't get me into Stanford. Close is just another word for failure."

"Dramatic much?" Ethan chuckles, turning back to his computer.

But Jake isn't listening anymore. He's staring at the ceiling, where he's pinned his vision board—Stanford acceptance letter (photoshopped, for now), Harrison Fellowship certificate (also photoshopped), summer internship offer from Goldman Sachs (real, but he turned it down for a research position), and a cutout from last semester's dean's list (where your name appeared just above his).

A slow smile spreads across his face as an idea forms.

"I need to change tactics," he says, sitting up straight.

Ethan glances over. "What do you mean?"

Jake jumps up and begins pacing, energy suddenly radiating from him. "I've been trying to beat her on a level playing field, but that's clearly not working."

"So what, you're going to cheat?" Ethan frowns.

"No, nothing like that," Jake says, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm going to... distract."

Ethan closes his laptop, now fully invested in the conversation. "Distract how?"

Jake's smile grows wider, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm going to ask her out."

Ethan stares at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter. "You're joking."

"I'm completely serious," Jake says, grabbing his planner from his backpack and flipping it open. "Think about it—if she's spending time with me, that's less time studying. If I can get under her skin, disrupt that perfect focus..."

"That's cold, man," Ethan says, though he sounds impressed. "Even for you."

Jake shrugs, already jotting down ideas. "It's not personal. It's strategic."

"And what if she says no?" Ethan challenges.

Jake looks up, his signature confidence returning. He runs a hand through his hair, instantly restoring it to its usual perfection, and flashes the smile that got him voted "Most Likely to Succeed" three years running.

"No one says no to Jake Sim," he says with a wink.

Over the next hour, Jake crafts what he considers the perfect plan. He maps out your study schedule based on when he's seen you at the library. He notes your usual coffee spots, your preferred study locations, even which days you attend office hours. He's been your competition long enough to know your habits.

"Phase one: casual coffee," he mutters, writing it down. "Phase two: study dates. Phase three: actual dates."

Ethan watches with growing concern. "You know, most people just ask someone out because they like them."

"I do like her," Jake says absently, still planning. "I like beating her."

"You sound abusive."

"You know what I mean."

"And what happens when midterms are over? When you've gotten what you want?"

Jake looks up, genuinely confused. "Then I end it, obviously."

Ethan shakes his head. "You're going to fall on your face with this one, Sim."

"Watch me," Jake replies, holding up his planner with a flourish. Every hour of the next two weeks is now color-coded and annotated with his "Distraction Campaign."

He's never been more excited about a project in his life. The Harrison Fellowship is as good as his. And the look on your face when he finally beats you? He can already imagine it, can already feel the sweet satisfaction of victory.

What Jake doesn't account for is the possibility that his perfect plan might have one fatal flaw: himself.

-

The next morning, you're settling into your usual spot in the library's northeast corner—the one with the perfect combination of natural light and distance from foot traffic—when a coffee cup appears in your peripheral vision.

"Americano, extra shot, light room for cream. That's your usual, right?"

You look up to find Jake standing there, holding not one but two cups of coffee, dressed in a blue button-down that makes his eyes seem impossibly dark in comparison. His hair is artfully tousled, and he's wearing the smile that graces the university's promotional materials.

"How do you know my coffee order?" you ask, suspicious.

Jake shrugs, sliding the cup toward you. "I notice things."

"Like my study schedule?" You glance pointedly at your books, then back at him.

"Actually, that's why I'm here." Jake pulls out the chair across from you without waiting for an invitation. "I was thinking we could study together for the Advanced Statistical Methods final."

You nearly choke on your first sip of coffee. "Study together? You and me?"

"Why not? We're the top two students. It makes sense."

It makes absolutely no sense. You and Jake have been academic rivals since freshman year. Studying together would be like a gazelle inviting a cheetah to dinner.

"What's your angle?" you ask bluntly.

Jake places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Can't a guy just want to collaborate with a fellow academic?"

"A guy, yes. You? No."

His smile shifts into something more genuine—smaller but reaching his eyes. "Fair enough. But I'm serious. Professor Rivera's finals are legendary. Even I could use some help with time series analysis."

God, I'm good, Jake thinks, mentally congratulating himself. The humble approach is working perfectly. A little vulnerability, a touch of self-deprecation, and she's already softening. Time series analysis? Please. I memorized that chapter last week. But she doesn't need to know that. Step one of the Distraction Campaign is officially in motion.

Against your better judgment, you agree. You tell yourself it's because you can keep an eye on him this way, maybe even figure out his study techniques.

By the fourth study session, you're beginning to regret your decision. Not because Jake is unpleasant company—quite the opposite. The problem is that nothing gets done when he's around.

"So if we apply the Durbin-Watson statistic here—" you begin, only to be interrupted by Jake's phone buzzing for the twelfth time in twenty minutes.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all as he checks the message. "Study group chat. They're trying to figure out where to meet later."

"You have another study group today?" you ask, exasperated.

"No, tonight's the Alpha Delta Pi mixer. I'm helping set up." He flashes that campus celebrity smile. "You should come."

"Pass," you say, trying to refocus on your notes. "Some of us prioritize academics."

"All work and no play," Jake tsks, leaning back in his chair. His foot nudges yours under the table—accidentally? You can't tell.

"Can we please get back to time series analysis?"

"Sure, sure," he concedes, but within minutes, he's tapping his pen rhythmically against the textbook, creating a distracting beat.

You grab the pen from his hand. "Jake. Focus."

He grins. "Sorry. Did you know you get this little crease between your eyebrows when you're concentrating? It's cute."

The comment throws you so completely that you lose your place in your notes. Jake takes advantage of your momentary disorientation to check his phone again.

"Don't you have a system?" you ask, frustration mounting. "A study schedule? Notes? Anything?"

Jake laughs. "I have a photographic memory. I just need to read through something once."

You stare at him in disbelief. "That's..."

"Unfair? Yeah, I know." He winks. "But we all have our strengths. Mine's memory. Yours is..." he gestures vaguely, "...being intensely organized, I guess."

You narrow your eyes, not sure if you've been complimented or insulted.

The pattern continues for a week. Jake shows up at your study spots with coffee, snacks, or once, inexplicably, a small potted cactus ("It reminded me of you—prickly but low-maintenance"). He asks insightful questions just often enough that you can't justify kicking him out, but he constantly interrupts with texts, stories, or unnecessary observations.

"Did you know the librarian at the front desk used to be a professional ballerina?" he whispers, leaning so close you can smell his cologne. "She performed with the National Ballet for ten years before blowing out her knee."

"Fascinating," you mutter, trying to ignore how his proximity makes your heart rate pick up. "Can we please focus on the practice problems?"

"I was focusing," Jake protests. "I finished the set fifteen minutes ago."

You glance down at his paper. Sure enough, all twenty problems are completed, with work shown in his surprisingly neat handwriting.

"How did you—I've only done eight!"

Jake shrugs, looking pleased with himself. "Photographic memory, remember? I read the chapter once."

"Then why are you even here?" you snap, frustration boiling over.

His expression softens into something unreadable. "Maybe I like the company."

You don't have a quick response for that.

-

The day before your Advanced Statistical Methods final, Jake suggests studying at his apartment "for a change of scenery." Against your better judgment, you agree.

You arrive to find his roommate Ethan headed out the door.

"You must be the competition," Ethan says with a knowing smile. "Good luck." He shoots Jake a look you can't interpret before leaving.

Jake's apartment is surprisingly neat, with an unexpected number of books lining the walls. You'd pictured a bachelor pad with pizza boxes and sports memorabilia, not this adult space with actual furniture and framed art.

"What? Did you think I lived in a frat house?" Jake asks, reading your expression with annoying accuracy.

"Kind of," you admit.

"I'm more than just the campus golden boy, you know." There's an edge to his voice you haven't heard before.

The study session starts out productively enough. You quiz each other on formulas, and Jake makes flash cards that actually help clarify a complex concept you've been struggling with.

Then, in the middle of explaining autocorrelation, Jake suddenly says, "I'm starving. Want pizza?"

Before you can answer, he's on the phone ordering, and somehow twenty minutes disappear into a conversation about the best pizza toppings (you: mushroom and olive, him: Hawaiian, which leads to a heated debate about pineapple as a legitimate topping).

When the food arrives, Jake insists on taking a study break. One episode of a show turns into three. When you finally check your watch, it's 11 PM, and you've accomplished maybe a third of what you planned.

"I should go," you say, gathering your notes.

"It's late. I can walk you home."

"I live in the north dorms. It's a fifteen-minute walk."

"Exactly. Perfect opportunity to quiz each other on regression analysis."

You want to say no, but he's already grabbing his jacket.

The night air is cool, and Jake walks close enough that your shoulders occasionally brush. True to his word, he quizzes you on formulas as you walk, and you're begrudgingly impressed by how much he actually knows.

At your dorm entrance, he hands you a final flash card. "Last one."

You take it, squinting in the dim light. Instead of a formula, it reads: "Coffee tomorrow morning before the final? 7 AM?"

You look up to find him watching you intently, his usual confident smile replaced by something more hesitant.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," you say slowly. "I have a morning routine before exams."

"Part of which includes coffee, right? I'll bring it to you. No study talk. Just caffeine and moral support."

You should say no. This whole "friendship" with Jake has already cut into your study time more than you'd like to admit. But there's something in his expression that makes you pause.

"Fine. But if you're late with my coffee, all bets are off."

His smile returns full force. "I wouldn't dream of it."

As you head into your building, you realize with a start that you've actually enjoyed spending time with Jake. Not that you'd ever admit it to him.

What you don't see is the way Jake's smile transforms into a triumphant grin as soon as you're gone. He actually pumps his fist in the air like he's just scored the winning touchdown.

"Phase two: complete," he whispers to himself, pulling out his phone to text Ethan. THIS IS TOO EASY, he types, adding three crying-laughing emojis. She's actually letting me walk her to her dorm. Tomorrow I'll sabotage her entire morning routine.

He strolls back toward his apartment, checking items off his mental Distraction Campaign list. Yet somewhere between his self-congratulation and plotting tomorrow's coffee delivery (he plans to be precisely seven minutes late—just enough to throw off her exam prep but not enough for her to give up waiting), he realizes he's humming.

Jake Sim doesn't hum. But here he is, practically skipping down the sidewalk, because he's seeing you again in less than twelve hours. For the plan, he tells himself firmly. Obviously just for the plan.

-

The Statistical Methods final comes and goes. Despite Jake's best attempts at sabotage, you still manage to edge him out by two points. His frown when Professor Rivera announces the scores is brief but noticeable before he slips back into his golden boy persona, all easy smiles and gracious congratulations.

"This calls for a celebration," he says afterward, falling into step beside you as you exit the classroom.

"Me beating you again?" you ask with a smirk.

"Our combined brilliance," he counters smoothly. "Dinner tonight? I know a place off campus that makes incredible pasta."

You hesitate. The study sessions were one thing—you could justify them as academic. But dinner? That sounds suspiciously like a date.

"I have to start my research paper for Political Economics," you say, which is true. The paper isn't due for two weeks, but your color-coded semester planner has tonight blocked off for outline development.

Jake's smile doesn't falter. "Perfect. I'll bring takeout to the library. Which section will you be in? The third-floor carrels or your usual table by the east windows?"

It's unnerving how well he knows your study habits.

"Fine. East windows. 7 PM." You shake your head, wondering when exactly you started agreeing to Jake Sim's proposals so easily.

Jake arrives at 6:58 PM with two bags of food that smell so divine you immediately realize how hungry you are. He pulls up a chair beside you—not across the table where a study partner would sit, but close enough that your elbows occasionally brush.

"I got you the mushroom ravioli," he says, unpacking containers. "And garlic bread. And tiramisu."

"How did you know I like mushroom ravioli?"

Jake grins. "You mentioned it during our pineapple-on-pizza debate. I pay attention."

The food is incredible, and despite your intentions to eat quickly and get back to work, you find yourself lingering over dinner, drawn into Jake's animated story about his disastrous first college party.

"So there I am, completely soaked, holding this stranger's pet iguana, while the campus police are knocking on the front door," he concludes, and you're laughing so hard you have to cover your mouth to avoid disturbing other students.

Jake reaches out and gently moves a strand of hair from your face. The gesture is so unexpected that you freeze.

"Sorry," he says, not looking sorry at all. "It was bothering me."

Perfect, Jake thinks, noting how you momentarily freeze at his touch. One small touch, ah-ah-ah! Another step in my master plan. He mentally checks off another item on his distraction checklist, feeling rather pleased with himself for how easily you've been thrown off your focus.

You clear your throat and turn back to your laptop, suddenly very interested in your research paper outline. "I should really get back to work."

"Of course," Jake says, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he pulls out his own laptop. "I've got some reading to do anyway."

Every few minutes, he shifts in his seat or sighs or taps his fingers on the table, each movement pulling your attention away from your work. You're about to snap at him when he leans over to look at your screen.

"Your outline structure is impressive," he says, genuinely. "I never thought to organize political theories that way."

The compliment catches you off guard, and you find yourself explaining your approach. Before you know it, an hour has passed discussing political philosophy instead of writing your outline.

"You're doing this on purpose," you accuse, suddenly realizing his game.

"Doing what?" He widens his eyes in mock innocence.

"Distracting me."

Jake places a hand over his heart. "I'm wounded. Can't I just enjoy intellectual conversation with the smartest person on campus?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Seems to be working so far," he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes and turn back to your laptop, determined to ignore him. It works for approximately five minutes before he slides a folded piece of paper in front of you.

Curious despite yourself, you open it to find a surprisingly good sketch of you concentrating on your work, complete with the small furrow between your eyebrows that he'd mentioned before.

"When did you do this?" you ask, startled.

"Just now. I dabble in drawing."

"Is there anything you're not good at?" The question comes out more sincere than you intended.

Jake's cocky smile falters for a moment. "Beating you, apparently."

There's a hint of genuine frustration in his voice that makes you look at him more closely. For a brief moment, the golden boy facade slips, and you catch a glimpse of something more complex beneath—ambition, insecurity, determination all mixed together.

Before you can respond, he stands up. "I should let you work. But first..." He hesitates, then plunges ahead. "Would you go out with me? Like, on an actual date. Not studying. Not takeout at the library. A real date."

You stare at him, speechless. This isn't part of your carefully planned semester. Dating Jake Sim doesn't fit anywhere in your color-coded schedule or your academic goals.

"Why?" you finally ask.

His smile returns, but it's different somehow—less practiced, more nervous. "Because I like you. Because you're the only person on campus who doesn't buy into my whole..." he gestures vaguely at himself,"...thing."

You stare at him blankly for a moment, then raise an eyebrow. "What 'thing'? Your dick?"

Jake's eyes widen in shock before he bursts out laughing, a genuine, unpolished laugh that's nothing like his carefully cultivated campus-celebrity chuckle.

"No! I meant—" he gestures vaguely again, still laughing, "—the whole golden boy persona. The Jake Sim Experience™."

"Oh," you say, fighting a smile. "I thought you were just being weird."

You should say no. Every logical part of your brain is screaming to reject this distraction from your goals.

"When?" you hear yourself asking instead.

Jake's face lights up with genuine surprise, as if he expected rejection. "Friday? 7 PM?"

"I have to work on my—"

"Political Economics paper, I know," he interrupts. "But even you need to take breaks sometimes. I promise to have you home at a reasonable hour, and I'll even help you with research on Saturday."

You find yourself nodding. "Okay. Friday."

"Okay," he echoes, looking so genuinely pleased that you momentarily forget this is Jake Sim, campus golden boy and your academic rival.

He gathers his things, still smiling. "I'll text you details."

As he walks away, you try to refocus on your outline, but your mind keeps drifting to Friday night. It's just one date, you tell yourself. What harm could it do?

-

Back at his apartment, Jake crosses off "Step 7: Secure actual date" from his Distraction Campaign list with a flourish.

"She actually said yes?" Ethan asks, looking up from his video game.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Jake tosses his backpack on the couch and collapses next to it.

"Because she's smart enough to know better?"

Jake throws a pillow at his roommate. "The plan is working perfectly. I've already cost her at least ten hours of study time this week. By the time the Harrison Fellowship application is due, she'll be so off her game I'll finally beat her."

"And you're still convinced this is just about winning?" Ethan asks, pausing his game to give Jake a knowing look.

"What else would it be about?"

Ethan snorts. "You sketched her, man. You never sketch anyone."

"It was part of the distraction," Jake insists, but he finds himself pulling out the second drawing he made—the one he didn't give her, the one that captures her mid-laugh, eyes bright with intelligence and humor.

"Right," Ethan says, noticing the drawing. "Just make sure you know which one of you is actually getting distracted here."

Jake rolls his eyes. "Please. I'm totally focused. You should hear my internal monologues when I'm with her. I literally count every successful distraction tactic like I'm Count Dracula or something. 'One missed study hour, ah-ah-ah! Two coffee dates, ah-ah-ah!'"

Ethan stares at him for a beat. "Yeah, right. Because that's not what love sounds like at all."

"Right?!" Jake agrees enthusiastically. "It's pure strategy. Nothing else."

Ethan face-palms. "That was sarcasm, you idiot."

"Whatever." Jake waves him off, completely missing the point. "You'll see when I win the fellowship and she's wondering what happened to her perfect GPA."

-

Friday arrives faster than you anticipated. You spend an embarrassing amount of time choosing an outfit—something casual enough to maintain your dignity but nice enough to acknowledge this is, in fact, a date.

When Jake knocks on your door at precisely 7 PM, he's brought his A-game. Designer jeans, a button-down with the sleeves rolled up to showcase his forearms, and that calculated smile that's gotten him through every social situation since puberty.

"You look nice," he says, his eyes doing an appreciative sweep that makes you momentarily self-conscious.

"So do you," you reply, because it's true, even if you wish it weren't.

The restaurant he's chosen is a small Italian place tucked away on a side street downtown, far enough from campus that you're unlikely to run into other students. It's intimate without being overtly romantic, with exposed brick walls and soft lighting.

The conversation flows surprisingly well. Jake is charming when he wants to be, asking questions about your hometown, your family, your childhood dreams. You find yourself laughing at his stories, drawn in by the way his face lights up when he talks about his first debate tournament victory.

This is going perfectly, Jake thinks, watching you smile at something he's said. Phase three proceeding exactly as planned. Every minute she spends with me is a minute not spent on the Harrison application. By this time next month, that fellowship will have my name on it.

His internal victory lap continues through dessert, especially when he catches you staring at his mouth while he tells a story about his freshman year roommate.

After dinner, Jake suggests a walk along the riverfront. The night is cool but not cold, and the path is lit by old-fashioned lampposts that cast a golden glow on the water.

"So," Jake says, walking close enough that your hands occasionally brush, "this was nice."

"It was," you admit, surprising yourself with how much you mean it.

"We should do it again sometime," he suggests, stopping by the railing overlooking the river.

"Maybe," you say, unwilling to concede too easily. "I do have a lot of work to do on my fellowship application."

Jake takes a step closer, exactly as he'd planned during his pre-date strategy session with Ethan. "The fellowship isn't for another month," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Plenty of time for both work and... other things."

Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you.

It's meant to be calculated—the perfect mix of confidence and restraint, designed to leave you wanting more, to occupy your thoughts when you should be focusing on academics. But something unexpected happens when his lips meet yours.

For a brief, disconcerting moment, Jake forgets the plan entirely.

Your response, the soft sound you make as your hands find his shoulders, the way you taste like the tiramisu you shared for dessert—it short-circuits his strategic thinking. When you pull back slightly, he follows, chasing your lips without conscious thought.

"That was..." you begin, sounding slightly breathless.

Jake quickly regains his composure, mentally adjusting his strategy. This is even better than I planned. She's completely flustered.

"Just the beginning," he finishes with a confident smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "If you want it to be."

You narrow your eyes slightly, as if trying to figure him out. "What's your angle, Sim?"

"No angle," he lies smoothly. "Just enjoying the moment."

You don't look entirely convinced, but when he leans in again, you meet him halfway.

-

Over the next week, Jake implements what he privately calls "Operation Kiss Distraction." The strategy is brilliant in its simplicity—physical contact prevents academic focus. And it works every time.

On Monday afternoon, you're reviewing notes for Professor Wright's Macroeconomics seminar when Jake slides into the chair beside you, coffee in hand.

"How's it going?" he asks, leaning close enough that his shoulder brushes yours.

"I need to finish these notes before—"

He silences you mid-sentence with a kiss, soft and deliberate. Your protest dissolves as his hand cups your cheek, tilting your face toward his. By the time he pulls away, you've forgotten what chapter you were reviewing.

"Before what?" he asks innocently, his thumb tracing your lower lip.

"I... don't remember," you admit, and Jake's smile is nothing short of triumphant.

On Wednesday, you're in the library's reference section, surrounded by economics journals for your fellowship research. Jake finds you there, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before you even realize he's arrived.

"How did you find me?" you ask, trying to maintain your focus on the article you've been highlighting.

"I always know where to find you," he murmurs, his lips moving to the sensitive spot below your ear. The highlighter slips from your fingers as he works his way along your neck, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

"Jake," you protest weakly, "I have to finish this research."

"In a minute," he promises, turning your chair to face him. His kiss is deeper this time, more insistent. Your hands find their way into his hair as he pulls you to your feet, backing you against the shelves. The solid weight of the books behind you contrasts with the warmth of his body against yours, his mouth hot and demanding.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both breathing hard. Jake's usual perfectly styled hair is mussed from your fingers, his eyes dark with something that looks like genuine desire.

"See? Just a minute," he says with a grin, though it's been at least fifteen.

You try to remember what journal article you were reading, but your mind is blank, filled instead with the lingering sensation of Jake's mouth on yours.

-

By Friday, you've developed a Pavlovian response to his presence—one look from Jake across a room and your pulse quickens in anticipation. He knows it too, using it to his advantage.

During a study group at his apartment, he waits until the others are engrossed in problem sets before leaning close, his breath warm against your ear.

“Meet me in the kitchen.”

You shouldn’t go. You have work to do. But two minutes later, your book is forgotten, and you’re following him anyway.

The moment you step inside, Jake is on you. He shoves you against the counter, his mouth crashing into yours, hungry and insistent. His hands are already under your sweater, fingers skimming up your sides, making you shiver at the contrast of his heat against your skin.

“We shouldn’t,” you pant as his teeth scrape against your collarbone, his grip tightening on your waist. “Everyone’s right there.”

“Then be quiet,” he murmurs, lips dragging lower.

A moan slips out before you can stop it as he sucks a deep mark onto your throat, his tongue teasing the bruised skin before moving lower. His hands wander, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers brushing over your soaked underwear.

“Fuck,” he exhales against your neck, pressing the pads of his fingers firmly over the thin fabric. “Already wet for me?”

Your breath hitches as he rubs slow, teasing circles, the pressure making your thighs shake. He chuckles, dark and low, before slipping his hand beneath the fabric, his fingers sliding against your slick folds.

You grip his shoulders as he works you open, curling his fingers just right, his pace unrelenting. Your body arches against him, desperate for more, but he doesn’t let up—doesn’t stop marking you, doesn’t stop driving you closer to the edge with expert precision.

“Cum for me,” he whispers against your skin, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Be a good girl and make a mess for me.”

And you do—your climax crashes over you, your body shuddering as his fingers continue their slow, torturous strokes, dragging it out until you’re barely holding yourself up.

He finally pulls back, admiring the deep red bruises blooming across your neck and chest, the way your body still trembles in the aftermath. He smooths a hand over your thigh, smirking as you struggle to catch your breath.

Twenty minutes later, you return to the study group, cheeks flushed, legs weak, lips swollen from his kisses. You pretend to focus, but you can still feel the ghost of his fingers between your thighs, the bruises throbbing like a silent confession.

Jake follows a minute after, looking impossibly composed, except for the self-satisfied smirk he can’t quite suppress.

Another productive session, he thinks, eyes flickering to the marks on your skin. She’s falling further behind every day.

-

The next Tuesday, after an especially intense makeout session that leaves you both disheveled and breathless, Jake captures your hands in his, expression suddenly serious.

"I've been thinking."

Your stomach tightens. Is this where he admits the whole thing has been a calculated distraction? That none of it meant anything?

"We've been doing... whatever this is... for a couple weeks now," he continues, his thumb tracing circles on your palm in a way that makes it hard to focus. "And I think we should make it official."

You blink, surprised. "Official?"

"Be my girlfriend," he says, flashing that perfect Jake Sim smile that's graced countless campus publications. "Properly."

It's the logical next step for his plan, he tells himself. Girlfriend status means more of her time, more distraction, more control over her schedule. It's strategic brilliance, not genuine desire. The flutter in his chest when she smiles up at him? Merely satisfaction with his own cunning.

"Okay," you agree, and he kisses you again, mentally checking off another item on his master plan.

Phase Four complete, Jake thinks triumphantly. This fellowship is as good as mine.

What Jake doesn't acknowledge, even to himself, is how often he finds himself thinking about you when you're not around. How he's started skipping his own study sessions to meet you. How his friends have noticed his GPA slipping while yours somehow remains steady.

"Dude, you missed the entire Econ study group yesterday," his friend Matt points out after class. "We're two weeks out from finals."

"I had something more important to do," Jake says, thinking of how you'd smiled against his mouth when he surprised you outside your afternoon lecture.

Matt looks skeptical. "More important than maintaining your GPA for the Harrison Fellowship? You've been working toward that since freshman year."

Jake shrugs it off, but the comment nags at him. Has he possibly overcommitted to his distraction strategy? Is he risking his own academic standing in the process?

He resolves to recalibrate, to find a better balance between distracting you and focusing on his own work. But that resolution lasts exactly as long as it takes for you to text him asking if he wants to meet at the library.

Just an hour, he promises himself. I'll kiss her senseless for an hour, then go back to my apartment and work on my application.

The hour turns into three, and he doesn't get any work done that night.

The pattern continues. Each time Jake thinks he's the one in control, each time he mentally tallies another successful distraction, he fails to notice how his own academic focus is slipping. How his perfectly organized planner is suddenly full of your name instead of study reminders. How he's started dreaming about you instead of his acceptance letter to Stanford.

-

"The plan is still on track," he insists when Ethan questions him. "She's completely distracted."

"And you're not?" Ethan asks pointedly, gesturing to Jake's phone that he's checking for the fifth time in ten minutes.

"Of course not," Jake scoffs, hastily putting his phone face-down. "I'm laser-focused on victory."

"Right," Ethan drawls. "That's why you've written her name in your planner instead of 'study for Econ final'?"

Jake slams the planner shut. "That's... strategic. So I remember when we're meeting to... implement distraction tactics."

"And the fact that you've started wearing cologne to the library?"

"Psychological warfare."

"You missed basketball with the guys to help her carry books."

"Building trust to maximize future distractions."

"You turned down Jessica Miller—who you've had a crush on since freshman orientation—because she asked you out on the same night you were supposed to see the protagonist."

"Commitment to the mission."

Ethan picks up a crumpled paper from Jake's desk and unfolds it. "And this poem?"

Jake snatches it away, cheeks reddening. "Research! I'm researching what kind of sappy stuff might further distract her."

"Uh-huh. And you've set her text tone to a special sound because...?"

"So I know exactly when my target is messaging me," Jake explains with the confidence of someone completely deluding himself.

"You literally have a framed photo of her on your nightstand."

"That's just to... remind me of the enemy."

Ethan throws his hands up in exasperation. "You planned your entire class schedule around hers for next semester!"

"Advanced strategic planning," Jake insists, even as he absently doodles her initials on his notebook margin. "The long game."

The truth—which Jake is nowhere near ready to admit—is that somewhere between calculated kisses and genuine laughter, between strategic touches and real conversations, his perfect plan has developed a fatal flaw:

He's falling for you. And he doesn't even realize it.

-

Jake wakes up in a cold sweat, staring at the calendar on his wall. Three weeks until the Harrison Fellowship deadline, and his plan is working too well—on himself.

"I need to recalibrate," he mutters, grabbing his planner. "Time for phase five: Total Disruption."

After a hurried breakfast, he texts Ethan his new strategy while walking to class.

"You're digging yourself deeper," Ethan replies immediately.

"Watch and learn," Jake types back with the unfounded confidence of a man about to step on a rake.

He implements the new tactics that very afternoon. When you mention needing to study at your apartment that night, Jake suggests studying together, kisses you until you agree, then "accidentally" falls asleep on your couch. By the time you wake him at 2 AM, neither of you has done any work, but he counts it as a win.

"Sorry, princess," he murmurs sleepily, using one of his new strategic pet names. "Guess I was more tired than I thought."

You raise an eyebrow at the nickname but let it slide. "You should go home and get some actual sleep."

"Or I could stay," he counters, pulling you down for another kiss. "Save myself the walk across campus."

It works. You let him stay, and Jake falls asleep feeling smug about another night of study time successfully sabotaged.

What he doesn't anticipate is waking to find you already up, quietly typing at your desk, wearing his sweatshirt from the night before.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you say without looking up. "Hope you don't mind I borrowed this. It's comfortable."

Jake stares, momentarily forgetting his master plan because something about seeing you in his clothes makes his chest feel tight. "I... no, that's... it looks good on you."

"Thanks," you reply, still focused on your laptop. "I made coffee. I've been up since six working on this fellowship essay. Having you here actually helped me focus—I didn't want to wake you by going out to the library."

Jake's smug feeling evaporates. "You've been working for three hours already?"

"Mmhmm. You're cute when you sleep, by the way. Very peaceful. Not at all like when you're awake and plotting world domination."

He's not sure which is more disconcerting—that his sleepover tactic completely backfired or that you called him cute.

The next day, he tries a new approach. While you're in the bathroom during a study session, he quickly closes all fifteen tabs on your laptop, thinking it will set your research back significantly.

You return, notice immediately, and sigh. "Did you close my browser?"

"Oh, did I?" Jake feigns innocence. "Sorry, I was just checking something and must have hit the wrong button."

"It's fine," you say, pulling out your phone. "I was using the cloud sync feature. See?" You tap a few buttons, and all fifteen tabs reappear on your laptop screen. "Everything's backed up automatically. Handy, right?"

Jake's smile feels brittle. "Super handy."

His attempt to hide your textbooks the following week is thwarted when you casually mention that you primarily use the e-book versions anyway. "They're searchable," you explain, showing him how quickly you can find specific information. "Much more efficient."

The emergency ice cream date he arranges the night before your Political Economics paper is due—which should have derailed your writing schedule—somehow turns into a productive discussion about Keynesian theory that actually helps you refine your thesis.

"This is exactly what I needed to tie my argument together," you tell him excitedly between bites of rocky road. "You're a genius, baby."

The casual endearment catches Jake so off guard that he chokes on his ice cream.

"You okay there, Jakey?" you ask, patting his back as he coughs.

"Fine," he wheezes, face red. "Just... went down the wrong way."

You continue using the nickname throughout the evening, each "Jakey" hitting him like a physical blow. It shouldn't affect him—it's just a name—but something about the affection in your voice when you say it makes his stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with ice cream.

By the time he walks you home, Jake is thoroughly confused by his own reactions. This isn't part of the plan. None of it is.

The clothing swap attempt is perhaps his most spectacular failure. After a particularly heated make-out session at his apartment, Jake deliberately puts his t-shirt in your bag and hides the one you wore over.

"Can't find my shirt," you say, rummaging through your things the next morning.

"That's weird," Jake replies, feigning confusion. "Maybe it got mixed in with the laundry?"

"Probably," you agree easily, grabbing one of his shirts from his drawer. "I'll borrow this one, okay? I'm already running late for Richardson's lecture."

Jake watches in disbelief as you pull his shirt on, gather your books, and kiss him goodbye. The shirt is too big, sliding off one shoulder, but instead of looking disheveled, you somehow make it look deliberate and stylish. When you walk into lecture twenty minutes later, he overhears two girls complimenting your outfit.

"Isn't that Jake Sim's shirt?" one whispers. "They must be serious."

The comment shouldn't please him. It's supposed to be about making you late, not about public confirmation of your relationship. Yet he finds himself smiling anyway.

-

The text message barrage during your Advanced Economic Theory seminar is Jake's next carefully plotted distraction. He sets alarms for precise intervals, determined to make your phone buzz continuously throughout Hammond's lecture.

8:05 AM: Morning. Left a coffee on your desk. Hope Hammond doesn't bore you to death today.

8:13 AM: Still thinking about last night. The way you gasped when I touched you there...hard to focus in class right now.

8:19 AM: Prof Wilson just used your elasticity argument from last week. Didn't credit you though, the bastard.

8:24 AM: thinking abt you in that tiny red dress of yours, suddenly my dicks stood up like a perfectly inelastic supply curve

8:31 AM: Found that article you needed for your paper. I'll trade it for dinner tonight. Thai place just opened downtown.

8:36 AM: You look so good in that blue sweater. Even better when I was taking it off you yesterday.

8:42 AM: Remember what we did in the library stacks last week? I keep picturing you pressed against those books, trying not to make a sound.

8:47 AM: Study at my place tonight? Ethan's gone till morning. We can actually be loud for once. I love it when you're loud.

8:52 AM: The hickey I left on your inner thigh still there? Maybe I should check personally after class.

8:55 AM: Just realized I still have your underwear from Tuesday. You can have them back... or not. Your call.

The messages continue, alternating between casual conversation starters, blatant attempts to tempt you away from academics, strategic pet names (Jake has privately ranked their effectiveness, with "princess" at the top), and the memes he's carefully selected as backup distractions.

But when class ends, you emerge looking perfectly composed. "Phone on silent," you explain when he casually asks if you got his texts. "I always silence it during Hammond's lectures. He's strict about interruptions."

"Right," Jake says, deflated. "Smart."

"But I did see them after class," you continue, linking your arm through his as you walk across the quad. "The memes were funny. Nice distraction technique."

Jake glances at you, trying to gauge whether you're annoyed about the explicit messages.

"So..." he ventures, "the other texts didn't bother you?"

"Bother me? No." You give him a sly smile. "Though I'm pretty sure Hammond would've had a stroke if he'd seen what you wrote about perfectly inelastic supply curves."

Jake feels his face warm slightly, which is ridiculous because he's not the type to blush. "I meant every word."

"I know you did." You lean closer. "And yes to dinner tonight. Though I already found that article myself."

"I meant what I said about my place too," Jake says, his voice dropping lower as a group of freshmen pass by. "Ethan really is gone all evening."

You pretend to consider it. "I do have that study block scheduled..."

"I'll make it worth rescheduling," he promises, mouth close to your ear.

"You always think you're so irresistible, don't you, Jakey?" you whisper back.

There it is again—that fluttering in his stomach at the nickname. It's getting harder to ignore, especially the way it sounds so natural coming from your lips. Jake doesn't understand why his calculated pet names feel like strategic maneuvers while yours feel like treasured endearments.

"We'll see," he says, already thinking of ways to make you forget all about your study schedule tonight. Maybe he'll wear that shirt you like, the one that brings out his eyes. Maybe he'll suggest dessert after dinner. Maybe he'll use that cologne you always seem to lean in for.

Jake's so busy plotting his next move that he doesn't notice the knowing smile on your face—or the flash drive in your bag containing a nearly completed fellowship draft that you've been working on during the hours he thinks you're distracted.

-

Three days later, Jake implements what he considers his most strategic move yet: the extended weekend getaway. Under the guise of a romantic surprise, he books a cabin at a lakeside resort two hours from campus for the weekend before a major economics presentation you both need to prepare for.

"No internet," he tells you with what he hopes is a charming smile. "Just you, me, and nature for two days."

To his surprise, you seem genuinely excited. "That sounds perfect! I've been so stressed with all these deadlines. A break will help clear my head."

"Exactly," Jake agrees, already imagining how far behind you'll fall without internet access or your usual study materials. "It'll be... relaxing."

They arrive Friday evening, and Jake is pleased to discover the cabin is as rustic as advertised. No WiFi, spotty cell service, and blissfully isolated from neighboring cabins.

"It's beautiful," you say, walking onto the small deck that overlooks the lake. The setting sun casts everything in a golden glow, including your profile as you lean against the railing.

Jake finds himself staring, momentarily forgetting his ulterior motives. "Yeah," he agrees softly. "Beautiful."

You turn and catch him looking, and something in his expression makes you smile in a way that creates a strange tightness in his chest.

"So," you say, walking back to him slowly. "What should we do first in our internet-free paradise?"

Jake has a detailed plan for keeping you thoroughly distracted all weekend. It involves hiking, canoeing, cooking together, board games, and strategic makeout sessions whenever you mention anything remotely academic.

What he doesn’t plan for is how the isolation amplifies everything between you. Without the constant interruptions of campus life, without the pressure of appearing a certain way for classmates or professors, something shifts.

-

Friday night, you build a fire in the small stone fireplace, and Jake uncorks a bottle of wine he brought specifically to lower your academic defenses. One glass turns into two, which turns into lazy kisses on the couch that grow increasingly desperate, increasingly needy.

Your hands slip under his sweater, dragging over warm, taut skin, feeling the way his muscles flex under your touch. When you tug it over his head, he helps you, throwing it aside like it’s useless, like all he needs right now is you. Then he does the same with your shirt, his hands immediately returning to your skin, sliding up your sides, his rings cold and teasing against your heat.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring at you, pupils blown. His hands roam, fingers grazing over your bare stomach, thumbs brushing up to your tits, teasing your nipples until they pebble under his touch. He groans, head tipping back for a second as if he’s trying to compose himself, but it’s useless. He’s already too far gone.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice gravelly, unfiltered. It’s not calculated—just a raw, messy confession that makes your breath hitch.

You don’t answer. You just pull him back down, kissing him deeper, harder, tongue sliding against his as you push up against him. He moans into your mouth, low and needy, gripping your hips as you press closer.

“Bedroom,” you whisper between kisses, and he barely nods before hauling you up, hands firm under your thighs as he carries you there.

The cabin’s lone bedroom is small, but he barely notices it, too focused on the way firelight spills across your skin, making you look almost unreal. Almost untouchable.

But he does touch you.

He lowers you onto the bed, spreading you out beneath him, then he’s kissing his way down, taking his time, dragging his lips over your collarbone, your stomach, leaving a path of heat in his wake.

And then he’s between your thighs, spreading you open, eyes dark, his rings a sharp, cool contrast against your burning skin.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, voice already wrecked. “Look at you, baby. So fucking wet.”

You whimper as he trails his fingers through your slick folds, the sensation heightened by the hard, unrelenting press of his rings against your sensitive skin.

“Jake,” you whisper, thighs twitching as he spreads your folds with his fingers, watching the way you glisten in the dim light.

“Shit,” he breathes. “You’re dripping. You want me that bad?”

You nod, gasping when he drags his thumb over your clit, pressing down, rubbing slow, torturous circles. The metal of his rings makes it colder, sharper, and the sensation sends a full-body shiver through you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Need to taste you.”

Then he dives in, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, hard.

You cry out, hands immediately burying in his hair, gripping tight, and Jake—Jake fucking moans so loud into you it vibrates through your whole body.

“Oh my god—Jake,” you whine, head falling back as he keeps going, licking, sucking, absolutely devouring you like he’s starving.

He groans again, his hips grinding into the mattress like he’s getting off just from tasting you, and the desperate, wrecked sounds coming from him make you even wetter.

Then he slides two fingers inside, and you swear you see stars.

“Holy fuck,” he pants against your thigh, thrusting his fingers in and out, his rings catching against your slick heat with every movement. “You’re so fucking tight. Jesus, baby.”

His fingers curl, finding that spot that makes your whole body jolt, and he moans again, practically whimpering against you as he watches you come undone beneath him.

“Listen to her,” he groans, voice shaking, fingers plunging deeper, faster, wetter. “Fucking talking to me, baby—your pussy’s talking to me—”

You sob his name, hips grinding against his mouth, and he loses it, sucking harder, fingers working even faster. The sounds are obscene—wet, messy, loud—but he loves it, loves how ruined you are, how ruined he is.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips slick with you. “Gonna make a mess all over my fingers, yeah?”

Your whole body tightens. The heat in your stomach snaps, and you cry out, thighs shaking as you come, clenching hard around his fingers.

Jake moans so loud it’s almost embarrassing, almost filthy the way he reacts to your pleasure like it’s his own.

He keeps moving, working you through it, voice a wrecked, desperate mess of praise. “That’s it, that’s my good fucking girl—holy shit, you feel so good—”

You whimper, body twitching from oversensitivity, and he finally slows down, pulling his fingers out, bringing them to his lips. He groans as he licks them clean, eyes dark and half-lidded as he stares at you.

Then he’s crawling up your body, kissing you breathless, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He’s lining himself up, pressing in, and the moment he pushes inside, his head drops back and he lets out the most wrecked, filthy moan you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” He sounds like he’s falling apart, like this is undoing him completely. His forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged. “Oh my god, baby, you feel—” He exhales sharply, shaking. “I can’t—I need to move—”

“Do it,” you whimper, nails digging into his back.

He groans as he starts thrusting, deep and slow at first, like he’s savoring the way you feel wrapped around him. But then you moan, rolling your hips up to meet him, and he breaks.

He picks up the pace, fucking into you hard, deep, the bed creaking with every movement.

And he’s so loud.

Every thrust rips another filthy moan from his throat, another wrecked gasp, another desperate curse as he loses himself completely.

“God, you’re so loud,” you tease, voice breathless but smug, knowing full well how completely undone he is.

His response is immediate—he gets louder. A shameless, broken groan rips from his chest, his head tipping back, fingers digging into your hips.

“You—fuck—” His voice cracks, his thrusts turning erratic. “You’re gonna—gonna make me—”

“Cum inside me,” you whisper, staring right into his dark, blown-out eyes.

Jake fucking breaks.

He lets out the filthiest, most desperate moan you’ve ever heard, his whole body shaking, his hips snapping against yours one last time as he spills inside you, burying himself deep, filling you up with everything he has.

After, he collapses against you, still shuddering, breath uneven, lips brushing over your skin as he whispers something you can’t quite hear, something too soft, too raw.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be a distraction. But as you drift off to sleep against his chest, Jake stays awake, staring at the ceiling, completely, utterly fucked in a way that has nothing to do with sex.

-

Saturday morning, Jake wakes to find you gone from the bed. Panic spikes through him momentarily before he hears movement in the kitchen. He pulls on sweatpants and pads out to find you at the small stove, wearing nothing but his button-down shirt from the night before, making pancakes.

"Morning, angel," he says, the endearment falling from his lips without conscious thought. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and is rewarded with a smile that does strange things to his heart rate.

"Morning, Jakey," you reply, turning to kiss him properly. "Sleep well?"

That nickname again. He should hate it—it's childish, diminutive—but when you say it, it feels like some private treasure between you.

"Very," he says, and means it. "Those look good."

"Blueberry pancakes. I found some berries in the fridge."

Jake blinks. Cooking breakfast together was on his distraction agenda, but you've already taken the initiative. He'd planned to get up early, hide your phone to prevent you from checking emails, and control the day's activities. Instead, he slept later than intended, and you seem perfectly content in this tech-free environment he designed to frustrate you.

After breakfast, you suggest a hike, another item from his distraction checklist that you've somehow adopted as your own idea. The fall morning is crisp and clear, perfect for exploring the trails around the lake.

"I needed this," you say as you walk hand in hand along a pine-scented path. "I've been so focused on the fellowship and finals that I forgot what it's like to just... breathe."

Jake feels a twinge of guilt. "You have been working really hard."

You squeeze his hand. "We both have. That's why this weekend is so perfect. A chance to reset before the final push."

The guilt intensifies. He's been working hard, yes, but not as hard as he should be. Not as hard as you. His grades have slipped over the past few weeks, his focus increasingly fragmented between his academic goals and his fixation on sabotaging yours.

The hike leads to a small clearing overlooking the lake. Without discussion, you both stop to admire the view. You lean back against Jake's chest, and he wraps his arms around you instinctively, resting his chin on top of your head.

It's peaceful. Simple. For a few minutes, Jake forgets about fellowships and competition and distraction strategies. He just exists in this moment with you, and it feels bizarrely right.

"Thank you for planning this," you say softly.

"You're welcome, princess," he replies, the pet name now coming naturally.

You turn in his arms, looking up at him with an expression he can't quite decipher. "I like when you call me that," you admit.

"Yeah?" Jake tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I like when you call me Jakey."

The admission surprises him as much as it seems to please you. You rise on your tiptoes to kiss him, soft and sweet, and something in Jake's chest aches.

The moment is interrupted by a distant roll of thunder. You both look up to see dark clouds gathering on the horizon.

"We should head back," Jake says, taking your hand. "Looks like rain."

You make it halfway to the cabin before the skies open. By the time you reach the porch, you're both soaked through and laughing. Jake pulls you inside, where the remains of the previous night's fire have left the cabin pleasantly warm.

“We should get out of these wet clothes,” Jake suggests, voice thick with heat, his smirk widening when he sees your eyes darken.

You don’t hesitate. Your soaked jacket hits the floor with a heavy plop, followed by your drenched shirt, clinging to your skin before you peel it off.

“Race you to the shower,” you tease, already backing toward the bathroom.

Jake growls low in his throat, tearing off his own clothes as he follows, jeans hitting the floor as he stalks after you.

The moment you step under the spray, hot water cascading down, he’s on you—pressing you against the cold tiles, kissing you deep, messy, hungry.

His hands roam your slick skin, fingers trailing up your waist, over your tits, down your stomach—gripping, groping, claiming. The sharp chill of his rings against your heated body sends a shudder through you.

Then you reach for his hand, dragging it to your mouth. Holding eye contact, you wrap your lips around his middle and pointer finger, sucking slow, obscene.

Jake chokes.

“Ngh— oh my fucking god—”

His hips jerk forward, cock twitching against your stomach, eyes blown wide as he watches you drag your tongue up the length of his fingers before pulling off with a wet pop.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, voice wrecked, and suddenly his mouth is at your ear, his breath hot, desperate. “Turn the fuck around.”

You obey without hesitation, pressing your hands flat against the tiles, arching your back just enough to tempt him.

Jake grips your hips, dragging his cock through your slick folds, teasing—

And then he slams inside.

“Fuck!” His moan is loud, raw, unfiltered, tearing from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt.

You gasp, gripping at the tiles as he stretches you open, splitting you apart. He barely gives you time to adjust before pulling out and slamming back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace that has you wailing.

“Louder,” he growls, voice shaking as he bites down hard on your shoulder, his hips snapping against you. “Fucking scream for me, baby.”

Your moans rise in pitch, gasping and broken, but it’s not enough for him.

“Fucking louder,” he snarls, gripping your chin and turning your head slightly. “Let everyone fucking hear what I’m doing to you.”

And fuck, that does it. You wail his name, voice cracking, high-pitched and desperate, and Jake fucking snaps.

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans, loud, no shame, no restraint. “That’s it, that’s my good girl—fuck, you’re so loud for me, fuck, fuck—”

His fingers slide between your legs, rubbing your clit in harsh, fast circles. “Come on, baby—come for me—fucking scream for me while I ruin this little pussy—”

Your body locks up, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your moans turning into sharp cries as you come hard, clenching down so tight around him.

Jake fucking loses it.

“Fuuuuck, oh my god, fuck, fuck, fuck—ngh—”

His voice shatters, his thrusts turning wild, his hands gripping your hips hard as he slams into you one last time and spills inside you, hips twitching, letting out the most wrecked groan you’ve ever heard.

“Ohhh fuuuuck—” His head tips back, mouth hanging open, the filthiest, most obscene moan tearing from his throat as his cock pulses inside you, filling you up.

He keeps thrusting, whimpering, riding it out, his forehead pressing to your shoulder, panting so hard he’s practically breathless.

Silence. Just the heavy, ragged sound of your breathing, the water pounding down over you both.

Then—Jake laughs, breathless, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder.

“Well.” His voice is wrecked, rough. “Guess I should’ve made you scream my fucking name sooner.”

-

Afterward, wrapped in the cabin's fluffy towels, you curl up together on the couch to watch the storm through the large windows. Jake pulls a blanket over you both, and you nestle against his side, fitting perfectly.

"This is nice," you murmur, already sounding half-asleep. "Just being here with you. No competition, no pressure."

Jake feels a fresh wave of guilt. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "It is."

Eventually, you doze off, your head on his chest, one hand curled possessively on his stomach. Jake strokes your hair absently, listening to the rain and your steady breathing, trying to ignore the growing realization that he's no longer sure what game he's playing—or if he's playing one at all.

That evening, Jake cooks dinner as planned, but the romantic meal meant to keep you from studying now feels like something he wants to do for you rather than to you. He finds himself putting extra effort into the pasta sauce, adding spices he knows you like, opening the better bottle of wine he'd brought as a backup.

You set the small table by candlelight, and when you sit down to eat, the conversation flows easily—not about classes or the fellowship, but about childhoods and dreams and favorite books. Jake learns more about you in one dinner than he has in three years of competitive observation.

"I want to make a difference," you tell him when he asks about your post-graduation plans. "Economics isn't just about markets and money to me. It's about understanding systems that affect real people's lives."

"That's... actually really cool," Jake says, surprised by his own sincerity.

"What about you?" you ask. "Why economics?"

Jake opens his mouth to give his standard answer—the one about prestigious job opportunities and his father's expectations—but what comes out is something closer to the truth.

"I'm good at it," he admits. "And being good at things has always been important to me. Maybe too important."

You reach across the table to take his hand. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to excel."

"There is when it's the only thing that matters," Jake says quietly, the words emerging from some honest place he usually keeps carefully locked away. "When you'll do anything to win."

You study him for a moment, head tilted thoughtfully. "So when exactly were you planning to tell me that this whole relationship was just an elaborate scheme to distract me from winning the fellowship?"

The question hits like a physical blow. Jake stares at you, mouth actually dropping open. "What—how did you—"

"Please." You roll your eyes. "The timing was painfully obvious. You suddenly wanted to 'study together' right when applications opened? The constant texts during lectures? Accidentally closing my browser tabs? Hiding my books? The weekend getaway with 'no internet'?" You make air quotes with your fingers. "I've been onto you since day one, Jake Sim."

Jake runs a hand through his hair, completely thrown off script. "I—well—shit."

"Did you actually have a written plan? Like an actual document called 'How to Sabotage Her Academic Career'?"

Jake winces. "It wasn't called that exactly, but..."

"Oh my god, you did!" You start laughing, which confuses him even more. "Let me guess, you had phases? Codenames? Did you rank your distraction techniques by effectiveness?"

His silence confirms it all.

"You stupid dumb fuck," you say, shaking your head in disbelief. "I knew everything from the very beginning. Every single move. And you thought you were being so clever."

Jake stares at you for a moment, then his expression shifts from embarrassment to something closer to amusement. His lips quirk up at the corners.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," he says, though his tone makes it abundantly clear he's not sorry at all. He leans forward, lowering his voice. "But I'm also not at all because honestly? Fucking you, being with you is so fucking enjoyable that I don't care what I did to get here."

"Are you serious right now?" You're caught between outrage and reluctant admiration at his audacity.

Jake shrugs, completely unrepentant. "The plan was stupid, sure. But it got us here. And here..." he reaches for your hand across the table, "...is pretty damn good."

"You're unbelievable," you tell him, though you don't pull your hand away.

"I know," he grins, completely missing the criticism. "So, do I need to grovel, or can we skip to the part where you forgive me because you've been playing me just as much as I've been playing you?"

After dinner, you curl up together in front of the fireplace with the second bottle of wine. The storm continues outside, rain pattering against the windows, making the cabin feel even more isolated from the rest of the world.

"Tell me something you've never told anyone," you challenge, your head in Jake's lap as he plays with your hair.

He considers for a moment. "I almost transferred after freshman year."

You sit up, surprised. "Really? Why?"

"Because of you, actually," Jake admits. "You beaten me in every class we shared, and I'd never... I wasn't used to being second best. I thought maybe I wasn't cut out for this university after all."

"What changed your mind?"

Jake meets your eyes. "Pride. Stubbornness. I couldn't let you win like that."

"So you stayed just to beat me?" You sound more amused than offended.

"I stayed to prove I could," Jake corrects. "And then it became about more than that. About actually learning, actually growing. Having you as competition made me better."

You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. "You make me better too, you know. You push me to work harder, think differently."

The kiss deepens, wine and confessions making you both bolder. Before long, you're straddling his lap, the blanket fallen to the floor as his hands grip your thighs.

“Take me to bed, Jakey,” you murmur against his ear, voice dripping with heat, but your body is soft, pliant against him.

Jake groans, gripping your thighs tighter before standing, lifting you with ease, your legs locked around his waist. His arms wrap securely under you as he walks the short distance to the bed, his lips dragging over your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—like he can’t stop touching you.

The bed creaks as he lowers you onto it, but instead of diving in like usual, he hesitates. Hovering over you, eyes dark, his fingers trailing over your ribs, your stomach, up to your collarbones.

For once, he’s not rushing.

This time is slower, more deliberate.

Jake peels your clothes off piece by piece, kissing each newly exposed patch of skin, his mouth reverent, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. He lingers at your stomach, your hips, your inner thighs—leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

And you do the same, taking your time dragging your hands down his torso, feeling the muscles tense under your fingertips. You push down his briefs, freeing him completely, and the way his cock twitches in anticipation makes your thighs press together.

Then—finally—he sinks into you.

And it’s so fucking much.

The stretch, the heat, the way his hips press flush against yours, leaving no space between you. His forehead drops to your shoulder, a wrecked, trembling breath escaping him as he fully seats himself inside you.

He doesn’t move. He just stays there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard, his body shaking like he’s about to fall apart.

You feel everything—every pulse, every twitch, every inch of him pressing so deep inside you it makes your breath hitch.

“Jake,” you whisper, voice soft, fingers threading through his hair. “Look at me.”

Nothing.

He’s still hiding—head tucked against your neck, panting against your skin, avoiding your eyes like he’s afraid of what he’ll see.

“Jakey,” you murmur again, voice lilting, teasing. “Baby, look at me.”

Still nothing.

So you smack him.

“Ow—what the fuck?” he sputters, head snapping up.

And you take advantage of his shock—grabbing his face, cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at you.

The moment his eyes finally meet yours, something shifts.

His pupils are blown, his lips parted, his breathing erratic. You watch his throat work as he swallows hard, his body stiffening above you.

And then—his gaze drops.

Straight to your tits.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he groans, completely mesmerized, and instead of thrusting, instead of moving at all—he just stares. “Holy shit.”

You smack him again.

“Jake!”

“SORRY!” He grins, voice breathless, but his eyes don’t leave your chest. “It’s just—you look so fucking good—”

“You dumbass, I said look at me,” you growl, yanking his chin up—forcing his eyes back on yours.

He exhales sharply. And this time, he listens.

Eyes locked on yours, he lowers himself, lips grazing over your collarbone, trailing lower—lower—until his mouth finallycloses over your nipple.

“Ohhh, fuck,” you moan, your back arching into him as his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud.

Jake groans, low and deep, sucking hard, his lips wrapping around the soft flesh, but his eyes never leave your face.

“That’s it, baby—” His voice is thick, raspy, hot against your skin. “Wanted my fucking eyes? You got ’em.”

Fuck, it’s so much worse.

The way he’s sucking on your tits, so focused, so intent, his hips starting to rock against you in slow, deep thrusts—never breaking eye contact.

“You’re gonna watch me, baby,” he breathes, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses over your skin between every filthy suck. “Gonna watch me fucking ruin you.”

You whimper, clenching hard around him, and his groan vibrates against your breast.

“Oh my fucking god,” he chokes, voice breaking. “*You’re squeezing me so fucking tight—ngh—fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

You’re a mess now, panting, gasping, fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him closer.

“Jake— ohhh my god—”

“Louder,” he demands, voice rough, biting just hard enough to make you cry out. “Scream for me, baby—let me fucking hear you.”

And you do.

You moan his name so loud, your body shaking beneath him, and Jake fucking loses it.

“Fuuuuck— baby—fuck, you’re gonna make me—ngh—”

His hips snap forward, pace turning desperate, his breath coming in wrecked, gasping moans as he buries himself inside you, his cock hitting so deep it makes your vision blur.

“Come with me,” he pleads, voice wrecked, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles. “Fuck, please,”

The coil snaps.

Your orgasm rips through you, your walls squeezing around him so hard it has Jake shouting.

“Ohhh fuuuuck—”

His whole body trembles as he spills inside you, his hips twitching, his moans so loud, so filthy, his eyes still locked on yours even as he completely falls apart.

His thrusts stutter, erratic, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until he’s completely drained, panting, shaking, forehead pressed against yours.

A few moments pass, the air thick with heat and heavy breathing.

Then—Jake huffs a breathless laugh.

“Did you really fucking smack me?” he murmurs against your skin.

You smirk, breathless, fingers still buried in his hair. “Wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t a goddamn tit guy.”

Jake grins. “Guilty.” He kisses your collarbone, then your throat, then your jaw. “But can you blame me?”

You roll your eyes, legs still locked around his waist. “Just shut up and hold me, Jakey.”

And this time—he does.

"I think I'm falling for you," he says quietly, the words slipping out in the darkness before he can consider their implications.

You're silent for a moment, and Jake holds his breath, suddenly terrified. Then you prop yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him in the moonlight.

"I know," you say with a small smile. "Your distraction campaign has been pretty obvious."

Jake's eyes widen. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. I've been competing with you for three years. I know how your mind works." You trace his jawline with one finger. "What I couldn't figure out was when it stopped being a strategy and started being real."

"I'm not sure I know either," Jake admits. "Maybe it was real from the beginning, and I just didn't want to admit it."

You lean down to kiss him, soft and sweet. "For what it's worth, I'm falling for you too. Even though you're still a competitive jerk sometimes."

"And you're still an academic show-off," he retorts, but he's smiling as he pulls you back down against his chest.

As you drift to sleep in his arms, Jake realizes with a start that he hasn't thought about the Harrison Fellowship once all evening. More surprisingly, he doesn't care.

-

Sunday morning brings clear skies and the reluctant awareness that their weekend escape is coming to an end. Jake wakes to find you already up, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed with your laptop open.

"I thought there was no internet here," he says, sitting up groggily.

"There isn't," you confirm. "But I downloaded all my research documents before we left. I've been working on my fellowship application."

Jake blinks, his brain still foggy with sleep. "You... what?"

You glance at him over your shoulder. "I've been up since six. Thought I'd get some work done before you woke up."

"But this was supposed to be..." Jake trails off, realizing too late what he's about to admit.

"A way to keep me from working on my application?" you finish, arching an eyebrow. "Yeah, I figured that out about five minutes after you invited me."

Jake groans, falling back against the pillows. "Am I that transparent?"

"Only to me," you assure him, closing your laptop and crawling up the bed to kiss him. "And I came anyway, because I wanted to spend the weekend with you. But I'm still going to win that fellowship."

"You're terrifying," Jake informs you, pulling you down for a proper kiss. "And impressive."

"I know," you reply with a smirk that reminds him exactly why he's been obsessed with you for three years.

They spend their final morning at the cabin making love once more before reluctantly packing up to return to campus. The drive back is comfortable, your hand resting on Jake's thigh as he drives, the radio playing softly in the background.

As the campus comes into view, Jake feels a strange reluctance to return to reality—to classes and competition and the looming fellowship decision. The weekend has changed something fundamental between you, but he's not sure how it will translate back to real life.

"What now?" he asks as he pulls into a parking space outside your dorm.

You turn to face him, expression serious. "Now we both work our asses off on our applications, ace our finals, and see what happens. No sabotage, no distractions."

"And us?" Jake asks, surprised by how much your answer matters to him.

"Us is separate from the competition," you say firmly. "I want to be with you, Jake. But I'm still going to try to beat you in every class."

Jake laughs, relief washing over him. "I wouldn't have it any other way, princess."

You lean across the console to kiss him goodbye, lingering longer than necessary. "See you tomorrow, Jakey. I've got a fellowship application to finish."

As he watches you walk away, Jake is struck by the realization that for the first time since freshman year, he doesn't care if you beat him. He just wants you both to succeed.

-

Back at his apartment, Ethan takes one look at his face and bursts out laughing.

"Oh man, you've got it bad," he says, shaking his head. "What happened to 'Total Disruption'?"

Jake collapses onto the couch with a groan. "It all backfired. Spectacularly. She knew what I was doing the whole time."

"No shit," Ethan says, not even looking up from his game. "Everyone knew. You weren't exactly subtle."

"What do you mean everyone knew? I was totally subtle!"

Ethan pauses his game and turns to face Jake, exasperation written all over his face. "Dude. You literally canceled a meeting with your fellowship advisor because she texted asking if you wanted coffee. You've been walking around campus with this dopey smile for weeks. You drew her. Multiple times."

"That was part of the plan!" Jake protests.

"The plan you spent more time talking about than actually studying for the fellowship you supposedly care so much about?"

Jake opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. "Okay, but here's the thing—"

"No," Ethan holds up a hand. "Here's the thing. You're in love with her. You have been for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years, who knows?"

"I just realized it today," Jake admits quietly.

"TODAY?" Ethan throws his hands up. "Oh my god. I literally told you this would happen the day you made your stupid plan! Day one, I said, 'You're going to fall for her,' and you said, 'No way, it's purely strategic.'"

"I didn't think—"

"Obviously!" Ethan's practically shouting now. "You've been so busy convincing yourself this was all some master scheme that you completely missed what everyone else could see from a mile away."

"It wasn't that obvious," Jake mutters defensively.

"You FRAMED a PHOTO of her! It's on your NIGHTSTAND!"

"That was to remind me of my enemy—"

"Oh my GOD, will you STOP?" Ethan throws a pillow that hits Jake square in the face. "Just admit it. The great Jake Sim, master strategist, completely played himself."

Jake is silent for a long moment, then sighs heavily. "Fine. You were right. I played myself. I fell for her. Hard. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Ethan deadpans. "So what's the plan now, Romeo?"

Jake stares at the ceiling, thinking about your parting words. About competition and companionship, about winning and wanting.

"The plan," he says slowly, "is to stop planning so much and just... see what happens."

"Revolutionary," Ethan rolls his eyes. "What about the fellowship?"

Jake sits up, a new determination settling over him. "I'm still going to try to win it. But not by sabotaging her—by actually earning it. And if she wins instead..." He pauses, surprised to find he means what he's about to say. "Then she deserves it."

"Who are you and what have you done with Jake Sim?" Ethan asks, though his sarcasm has softened slightly.

Jake's phone buzzes with a text from you. He checks it immediately, a smile spreading across his face at the message: Missing my Jakey already. Study date tomorrow? I'll bring the coffee if you bring those amazing notes from Richardson's lecture.

"Case in point," Ethan says, watching Jake's expression change. "Completely whipped."

"I am not—"

"Just answer your girlfriend and spare me the denial," Ethan cuts him off, turning back to his game.

Jake ignores him, typing back: It's a date, princess. I'll even let you borrow my sweatshirt again.

Your reply comes seconds later: Bold of you to assume I was planning to give the first one back.

The warmth that spreads through Jake's chest at your message is undeniable, as is the realization that his perfect plan has completely, utterly, wonderfully failed.

Because the truth—which he's finally ready to admit—is that somewhere between calculated kisses and genuine laughter, between strategic touches and real connections, Jake Sim has done the one thing he never planned on:

He's fallen in love with his greatest rival. And he couldn't be happier about it.

fin.

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @kkamismom12 @princesstiti14

[shatcey]

Victor theories. Contradictions and links

This is probably the last part of my theories about Vivi before his route came out. Most likely, they have nothing to do with reality, which we will see pretty soon. I will kill someone if Cybird release someone from Vogel first. Do you hear that, Cybird? I'll buy tamagotchi and kill it!!!!! You don't want that, do you? Poor defenseless little creature…

When I read other theories and events about Vivi, I had some thoughts, but I haven't finished them, haven't put them together, and… I think it's finally time to do it properly.

I should probably add warnings. I'm mentioning the details of Alfons and Harrison's routes. And also provide fragments of events that had not yet been in the EN game (only in JP). And… a bit about Azel's route (but I'm warning you about this, and you can easily skip to the next part without reading).

There were many events with Vivi. I made a list when started preparing for this post… Not all of them contain anything that I can use within the described boundaries, but they all provide few or many hints. So… it took some time to check. I hope I didn't miss anything.

If so… remind me, and I'll make one more "last post"… it becomes an endless story.

His personality

@maladaptivedaydreamsx assumed that Victor isn't his real name, but was given to him because of Queen. I thought about that as well. As I mentioned here, Victor thinks of himself in quotation marks, as if it's not his real name, but a role he's playing. And that actually sounds pretty fitting. On the surface, he's a cheerful and positive, with a sweet, mama-type vibe. But when we read the stories from his perspective, he feels completely different. Very dark and even scary. His thoughts show how much he notices and thinks before making any decisions, how much of a calculating bastard he really is (lovingly). But is his cheerful side a role he's playing? Or is it just part of his personality? From the Bond story "The Other Side"

and kiss event...

Victor insists that this is just a part of him. And I'm inclined to believe.

There is a theory that Victor is actually immortal. @.reccyls mentioned this here last time. And this theory is possible. Not only because Victor is so determined to treat all the members of Crown and Kate like children. But also because of this Willy's remark from the 1st Victor's birthday

There are two possibilities that Willy could be hinting at.

The first… Vivi is a god. The God of death.

But… this may have a different meaning. Vivi is very closed to God or any other immortal being. Vivi often talks about death as a living creature. Perhaps the fact that he is a "constant companion of death" makes him a kind of expert in this matter.

And that's why I tend to think that the second option is closer to the truth. It's from the very beginning of the same 1st birthday.

Yes, Harry often says that Victor lies a lot, but I don't think that applies to this situation. The wording is very strange. He doesn't seem happy about this fact. Like… "I wish I had more time". Maybe it's just me.

Oh, I forgot about another option. Vivi could have been a god, but now he's a human. This explains why he's so annoyed by the fact that he needs to sleep. Hmmm… I like that option.

If assumed he's a very old and powerful being… who, despite this, has not lost interest in life as such and can still find joy in it (reminds of someone, right?). How did the Queen manage to get him as her aid? A contract? We have another Black butler?

And if everyone thinks of him as a very strong person, then no one will ever assume that he needs anything. No one ever considers him human. This thought crossed my mind when I talked about the Mirror event, but I decided not to voice it. But… what the hell… this is the last post, where else should I talk about it?

It was the same with Azel (if you haven't read his route and don't want spoilers, skip right to the next point). People didn't see him as a human being, they only asked for help, advice, and so on… In their eyes, he was only giving, after all, he is God. But… this is a rather selfish way of thinking. Even if a person seems completely independent and strong, and… perfect… this doesn't mean that he has nothing to wish. I can easily imagine Vivi in this concept. And that explains why he was so surprised when Kate said she liked helping him or taking care of him. This has never happened before.

But he doesn't have to be an immortal being for people to consider him inhuman. He succeeds in everything he does, and people may think that he doesn't need anyone's help.

His contradictions

Kate described him very accurately at a Drunk event, translated by @.reccyls.

I would also add that he takes care of the garden and himself (see how his hair is… it's a lot of work, you know) and it looks like he's sleeping normally. My baby Ally has dark circles under her eyes due to lack of sleep. But Vivi… there is no such thing. So… Yes, he really seems like the perfect person.

But behind every great accomplishment is a lot of hard work. We don't know what it is… he just has a habit of using every second of his life to the fullest, or… a kind of magic. But he really does a lot, and… I can understand why he wants to… relax sometimes. He can't admit it for some reason (pride or some restrictions) but he wants to anyway. And at the same Drunken event, he tricked Kate into putting his head in her lap and hugging her. As if he needed a reason for that. It feels like he's constantly preventing himself from doing what he wants to do. At the very end of Butler's event ("Your Hand, My Lady" translated by @.reccyls) Willy hints at this...

He's happy because Victor is FINALLY doing what he wants to do.

I got the impression that curse of the boys is a sick joke of fate. It is contrary to their true nature. Like a absolutely honest and straightforward Harrison have to lie because his curse forces him to do so. Or Ally, who wanted only one thing in life... to be remembered, and the curse did not allow him to got this. So I see the same contradiction in Victor's behavior… is his curse. He is literally obsessed with the idea of freedom. And the way he lives makes it seem like he's not free at all. And his desire to get something for himself sometimes is like getting some fresh air before he finds himself back in the dusty tunnels… He literally doesn't do ANYTHING for himself, he doesn't even ask others for anything. This is from the 2nd Cristmas event, translated by @.reccyls.

And this is from bond's story "About Freedom"

Despite the fact, he joked afterwards that he is as free as the wind. In this phrase, he said "I", not "you" or "people" in general. I'm sorry, Vivi, but I don't believe you're free. In fact, you've probably never been. That's why you dream about it. And it's a little sad.

Connections with the Queen

The bond between Vivi and the Queen is very strong and mysterious. He is absolutely devoted to her and literally does everything she says. But how long has he been doing this? Why does he feel like he belongs to her? As he told William at the very end of Butler event ("Your Hand, My Lady" translated by @.reccyls.

The first thing that comes to mind is the Black Butler. Sebas demonstrates absolute dedication without asking questions. And he is a demon who is devoted to man. Actually Vivi said at the first Christmas event (Wreck the halls) that he had made a deal with death…

Perhaps it has something to do with the Queen. I'm not saying that the Queen is the Death (we never know for sure), but the way he's devoted to her, and the way he convinced that the connection with death is not so easy to break, seems somehow similar. Indestructible.

@.velisle has posted a really huge post with facts and theories about Vivi… I added my thoughts here. There was a theory… That's the kid Victor talked about at the Secrets event…

...In fact, he is.

But there are two things that prevent me from thinking that way. The first… he doesn't know if the Queen could make them smiles. If he was that kid, he would know that.

And the second. If we assume that he is not a vampire or another magical creature that lives exceptionally long (or endless), then it is quite difficult to imagine. The calculation is simple. The game takes place around 1890. And the queen begins to rule in 1837. More than 50 years have passed since. And Victor looks like he's 40 at the most. So… He's NOT that kid, but… it could have been his parent or… an older sibling. Or… even someone related to Kate. I wouldn't be surprised if the developers link them so tightly.

@rou-luxe assumed that Victor made a promise to the Queen many years ago and continue fulfill it. It seems very correct, but at the same time not quite. No matter how much you like sticking to your promise, at some point you will feel tired or pressured to keep it. But here… he does it willingly, even with joy. So my idea… he is very grateful to the Queen. As if she had saved his life or given him a new life that he wouldn't have been able to get otherwise. This brings me back to my previous thought. That the Queen is not really human. But she is… at least the real Queen Victoria, who lived and died (which makes her a normal person). If it's just gratitude, then what exactly did she do for him to get him for a lifetime? This is… THE question!

Connections with Crown boys

We know that Vivi and Willy immediately clicked on the common desire to free people. The way we were shown Vivi's cursed ability (as I mentioned in a previous theory post) is somewhat similar to Willy's. I'll just add this part from the 1st birthday story.

We will not talk about that this is technically impossible to strangle yourself. Don't try to prove me wrong, check on Google.

The fact remains… Vivi orders the man to die or Death to take him away. But for some reason, his victim feels happy to follow this order.

It doesn't matter how, but the cursed ability of both of them (Victor and William) deprive a person of freedom. So… no wonder they understand each other so well, they literally went through the same struggles.

I don't think Vivi is particularly kind to Harry just because of his reaction (which is always so good). But also because he feels a little guilty about the death of Harry's father. He did not predict, did not find out, did not fix the problem in time. Yes, Vivi claims that he is not a kind, but rather an evil person, but he is a good teammate, he respects and helps all his partners. And he and Marco had a good team… From a distance, completely ignoring each other… but in the end, they really help each other a lot. So Vivi may feel guilty for missing something.

I didn't notice any special treatment for anyone else at the Crown. Well… Kate is an exception. But I would like to talk about her separately.

Connections with Kate

First the facts. Victor dragged Kate to the Crown because he thought it would help the boys. From his 1st birthday.

He said (will say) the same thing in the 1st anniversary (my summary). He thought she would change something. What does he think needs to be changed? He used a rather interesting phrase in 1st birthday...

Usually, when he said something like that, it's "succumb to your wickedness". Vivi often say that when he sends the boys to work. Did he assume that Kate would help them become better at their work? Is it related to work at all? Maybe about their course? Maybe it's about understanding themselves better? Or… about something completely different? But I tend to think he was looking for a way to combine them together.

They're all pretty strong and independent, they don't have much in common, they literally split into several groups, and he wanted to find a reason to unite them into one team. It's a very noble cause. He would probably reject such an idea as not fitting his wicked nature. Why do my favorite boys try to argue with me when I say good things about them? They're so weird.

But there's something he doesn't want her to know. Again from the 1st birthday...

It feels like he's afraid. It feels like he's been through something and doesn't want to make the same mistake again. Or he's constantly fighting… probably with his own curse… which forces him to do something to her (remember that his curse contradicts his essence). Vivi says something about it at the 1st Christmas event. This darkness demands that he stains her and whisks her away (I wrote about it here).

But his expectations of Kate really came true. She really brought change. And she even changed him. This is from his 2nd birthday story translated by @.reccyls.

It already looks like we're in the middle of his route. He feels that he is becoming less like an observer, he feels that he wants more for himself.

And now my assumptions, which, in fact, are based on nothing at all

The only thing we can be sure about is a kiss on the forehead. It was mentioned twice (I talked about it at the kiss event). The fact that Kate mentioned it twice means that developers are most likely to use it on one of the main routes. It could be Darius or someone we don't know about yet, but I think… that it's Victor. And it's not just his reaction to that kiss that makes me think so. But the DARK IF event.

I know it's an alternate world, but… the essence of the characters is the same, and it's quite interesting to imagine his main route through the prism of this event. Vivi's story hasn't been released yet, but in the second part of the event, there was a story for 95k points, and it's gorgeous. Translated by @.reccyls.

And this part is from a letter from this event. Not quite, but let's put it this way. Translated by @.reccyls.

The one and only. The soulmates. Actually, this theme is very strong at this event, and maybe I shouldn't even focus on it. But… for some reason, this concept seems very fitting for Vivi. The Vivi we know from Victorian London. And I really like to see this theme on at least one route in this game. Why not on Victor's, right?

So… my theory… Victor and Kate met when Kate was still a child. We haven't determined whether Victor is human or not, so I won't talk about him, but Kate was a child and witnessed something very bad. Something that could easily break the psyche for life. Victor solved the problem and kissed her on the forehead… and that's literally the only thing she remembers. It was probably just a short meeting, but for some reason they both remembered it. And now… after all these years, they meet again because they are destined to be together… I got goosebumps.

I think we should expect a second Tamamo route. With the "I want to be your friend so you won't be alone". They will work together, but this time she will help him with his work, and someone from his past will appear. Don't tell me he was a king as well… Thatever. And… so the hot scene will only be after the last avatar challenge (or even only in the epilogues).

Dark times are ahead... Patience to all of us.

@ethereal-blossom, Michelle, dear, I haven't found how to use your theories… my brain is burning up a bit after two days of thinking. But I'd like you to look at it. Maybe you could point out my mistakes or would like to add something. You know I'm always happy to read your thoughts.

The design of the spikelet on the dividers I took from Designed by Freepik

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🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[dark-frosted-heart]

He Doesn’t Know That I Turned into an Animal - Roger Barel (Premium End)

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. None of my translations are proofread until a day after posting

Roger: Can you follow this scent too?

Roger held out a white handkerchief to me.

(This is the handkerchief I lent to Roger on a mission…!)

(Could it be that the one he’s looking for is me…?)

Roger: I have sharp ears, so I was listening for the voice of this handkerchief’s owner, as well as her heartbeat and footsteps. But I haven't been able to hear anything. So…please. Help me find her.

(Last night you were listening for me…)

(Why did I assume that he wouldn’t?)

(I want to tell him that I’m right here since he’s so worried about me!)

I led Roger to my room.

Roger: The scent led you to this room?

Kate: Arf! (Yes!)

Roger: …Any clue where she went after?

I made laps around my room. I wanted to convey to Roger that the scent couldn’t be traced out of this room.

Roger: You’re telling me that Kate never left her room…? No…that’s not right. She left without anyone noticing?

(Yes! You’re doing great, Roger!)

I’ve been wondering about how I ended up like this, but…

I think the cause was me touching some kind of chemical while cleaning up the infirmary.

The things Roger researches range from useful to questionable.

The fact that he had a drug that could turn a person to an animal shouldn’t be a surprise.

(Since Roger’s the one that manages the drugs, he should be aware of the possibility of me turning into a corgi…!)

Roger: …Like if she could disappear like Liam, or transform, then no one would notice her.

(You’re pretty sharp, Roger…!)

Roger: As an animal, the lil’ lady wouldn’t be able to say anything or call for help…

(You’re getting there, Roger!!)

Roger: And then a cute female corgi just so happens to show up… Meaning you’re— 

Kate: Arf! (I’m Kate!)

I met Roger’s eyes and barked to make it sink in. However…

Roger: … No, that’s impossible…

Roger looked away from me, throwing the answer he worked toward out.

Roger: This is bad. I don’t have a clue.

(You’re kidding me…All that work and you’re not putting it together?!)

From experience, I knew Roger was knowledgeable and open-minded.

Normally it’s impossible to turn into an animal, but I thought he’d consider it.

(How do I tell you…?)

Roger: Hmm… I should write down what I know so that I can find Kate…

Roger took out a notepad from his pocket and started writing things down.

Maybe he was writing down things he noticed while looking for me.

(...It felt like Roger was analyzing things just then, but maybe I was imagining things?)

(In any case…I can’t give up! I’ll keep trying until I get through to Roger!)

And so I used all of my corgi brain power…

I tried to tell Roger that this corgi was Kate.

I tried to use the typewriter… (My dog paws were too big)

I tried to use the piano to show that I was human inside… (William praised me for being a genius, though as a dog)

I tried to show the mystery novel where people and animals swapped places… (Harrison tossed me out his room)

After numerous failed attempts, the sun set— 

By the time I returned to the infirmary, I was completely exhausted.

(What can I do…)

Ale: Arf? (What’re you trying so hard for?)

Kate: Awoo…(I want to tell Roger that I’m Kate…)

Ale: Woof woof? (That guy can’t understand us though?) …Woof, woof (...Sometimes Roger gives me a sad smile)

(Huh…?)

Ale: Awoo…(Maybe he still thinks about how he couldn’t wake my previous owner up) Woof, woof? (I enjoy being with Roger, but I can’t tell him that you know?)

Kate: Woof… (Ale…)

(Until now, I’ve always thought that it was important to deliver people’s thoughts and feelings. But as a fairytale keeper…)

(...I’m now in a position where I can’t no matter what I try, so I understand the pain better now) 

Ale: Woof! (There’s no point in moping. Let’s eat some snacks!)

(Snacks…?)

Ale: Arf? (Hey Roger, what do you have there? In your pocket!) Woof… (It’s been rustling for a while now…)

What Roger’s been repeatedly taking out of his pocket was just a notepad.

Every time I did something, Roger would take it out and jot something down.

Ale: Woof?! Woof! (Do you have tasty treats in your pocket?! Give it here!)

It seemed that Ale mistook Roger’s notepad for a treat or something.

Suddenly, Ale jumped high and the notepad fell out of Roger’s pocket.

Roger: Ah, Ale!

Ale: Woof… (What the…This isn’t a treat…)

The notepad fell open on a page…and I happened to catch what was written on it.

“Animal transformation curse observation record…Subject: Kate”

And then the page turned thanks to Ale’s paw touching the notepad.

(...Hm?! This…)

“She understands human speech, but can’t speak due to having a dog’s vocal chords.”

“To reveal her identity, she played the piano and tried to show me a novel. She’s kept her memories from when she was human.”

His notes were filled with information related to me as an animal.

Kate: Arf…? (Roger…?)

I stared hard at Roger and quickly put his notepad away.

Kate: Arf! Arf?! (This! This is my record, isn’t it?!)

Roger: Ah…You saw, lil’ lady?

Kate: Arf! Arf?! (Just now! Did you say “lil’ lady”?!) Grrr…(You noticed that I’m Kate, didn’t you…!)

Roger: Can’t understand what you’re saying, but I know you’re angry.

Kate: Arf! (Explain!)

Roger: You probably want an explanation now?

Roger sat down on a chair in the infirmary and began his explanation.

Roger: I didn’t notice that you turned into a dog until this morning. When you led me to your room after smelling the handkerchief… That’s when I finally realized that you might be a dog.

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: As an animal, the lil’ lady wouldn’t be able to say anything or call for help…

(You’re getting there, Roger!!)

Roger: And then a cute female corgi just so happens to show up… Meaning you’re— 

Kate: Arf! (I’m Kate!)

Roger: No, that’s impossible…

~~ Flashback end ~~

(You did notice at that time…?!)

Roger: …This is probably why you became a dog)

Roger fetched a green bottle from a shelf.

Roger: This bottle has a “become whatever animal you want to be” drug. But…it was leaking because of a crack on the bottom, so you probably touched that while cleaning.

Kate: Woof…(Yeah…)

Roger: Also, I have a guess on how to turn you back. With a kiss…

(K-kiss…?)

Roger: Like in the fairy tales you know? A curse is broken with a kiss.

(If you knew that, then why…)

Roger: Why didn’t I turn you back immediately? So that I could study you, of course.

Those words reminded me of how Roger acted this morning.

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: This is bad. I lue. Hmm…I should write down what I know so that I can find Kate…

~~ End flashback ~~

(At the time, I thought Roger’s tone was analytical…)

(I can’t believe you were pretending to take notes to find me when you were really just writing down your observations…!)

If Ale hadn’t jumped and Roger hadn’t dropped his notepad…

I would never have known.

Kate: Grr…Yip! Yip! (You…mad scientist! Egoist!)

Roger: What’d you expect me to do? It would've been such a waste to turn a valuable research subject back so soon. But I’ve done enough research for now, and I miss your human form. Shall we turn you back?

Kate: Grrrr…! (You’re the worst…!)

It’s true that Roger looked hard for me before realizing who I was.

Last night, he looked so serious while listening for me.

(But…that’s besides the point!)

(I worked so hard to make you realize who I was so it’s right for me to be angry that he decided to use me as a research subject!)

Ale: Woof…? (I don’t know what’s happening, but is it Roger’s fault?) Arf! (In that case, go all out!)

(Go all out…Yeah, let’s do that!)

Following what Ale said, I jumped onto Roger’s lap—

Roger: !

I kissed Roger on the lips.

I didn’t do this for Roger, but because I wanted things to go back to normal, but…

Maybe because I wasn’t used to having a corgi body, I only touched the corner of his lips.

I doubt this could be called a kiss.

(Will this really turn me back…? …Ah)

At that moment, my body grew hot…The corgi body started to shift.

Kate: Finally! I’m back…!

Roger: Ah…Lil’ lady, I don’t wanna say this, but…

Roger’s gaze on my body made me realize that I was naked.

Kate: D-don’t look!

I quickly wrapped myself in a blanket and huddled a corner of the infirmary.

Kate: Will you take responsibility for making me your research subject and bring me some clothes?

Roger: Yeah, no problem. But… Is that what all?

Roger pointed at my head and my body that was hidden by the blanket.

Kate: …? What do you mean— 

I casually touched the spot on my head that he was pointing to…And froze.

There was something coming out of my head that shouldn’t have been there.

Kate: W-what is this?!

I borrowed a mirror to check…

I still had corgi ears on my head and a short corgi tail on my butt.

Roger: Maybe because it wasn't a full kiss so it wasn’t a complete transformation. This really is interesting.

Kate: No way…! How do I turn back completely?!

Roger: Why not kiss me again?

Kate: It doesn’t have to be you, does it? All I need is a kiss.

Roger: If that person loves you, then it’s no problem.

Kate: Love…

Roger: Actually it has to do with the area of contact, the duration, and saliva composition… A loving, passionate kiss should do just the trick. A loving kiss is what breaks the curse in a fairytale after all.

(If that’s the case, then the half-hearted kiss only undid part of the transformation…)

Kate: Roger…do you…l-love me?

I felt oddly embarrassed asking that, and my voice was shaky.

Roger: Of course I do. You were so cute as a corgi.

Roger’s answer wasn’t really what I wanted to hear.

He probably knew what I was really asking and dodged the question on purpose.

Roger: Is that all you wanted to ask? Then go ahead and kiss someone else?

Kate: …

I was angry with Roger for knowing who I was but not saying anything about it because of research.

That’s why I wanted to kiss someone besides him…

(...Why can’t I move my legs?)

Roger: Just so you know… If you leave this room with those cute corgi ears and tail, you’re gonna run into some troublesome men. Not everyone in this castle’s a gentleman. Since research’s my priority, it’d be safer to kiss me.

Kate: Why are you saying stuff to make me stay?

Roger: It doesn’t feel good watching someone you’re fond of wagging their tail for someone else. It’s only natural.

(I can’t take this anymore…)

(I should be angry with Roger, but more than that…)

(I really want to kiss him)

Surely this was just an after-effect of Roger doting on me when I was a dog…

That’s what I told myself.

Kate: Okay… Since you took care of me while I was a dog, I’ll take care of you.

Roger: That so? Thanks.

The moment I saw Roger’s satisfied smile, my tail started wagging under the sheet.

(What am I so happy for!?)

Roger: But before a kiss to turn you back— —Let me do a thorough examination of your body.

[ethereal-blossom]

Deep dive on Victor's possible past + curse

This man is as attractive as he is mysterious and the curiosity is killing me, so I need to let out some thoughts🙏🏻

** I'm going to be referencing some translations and posts so I'll link them and their OP's (I'm too afraid to tag hehe but they deserve all the love and appreciation🤍)

Be aware of JP and EN spoilers

First, what are some things we know and are safe to assume when it comes to Victor? He's the co-founder of Crown and the Queen's Aide. I think it's safe to assume Victor is the oldest in Crown; Harrison calls him an old goat, he acts like a mom, and I believe in the Valentine event the dynamic between Harry and Victor was labeled child-parent. Through this detailed post that @/kurishiri made we can guess that Victor is 30/32+ years old, which I have to subjectively note is very hot. William was 14 when he was invited to the castle where he met Victor, meaning that Victor has been associated with the castle for at least 14 years. Was he already the Queen's Aide back then? High-likely, yes.

But how long exactly has Victor been the Queen's Aide? And how did he become one in the first place? One thing that stands out to me is this dialogue in Victor's Wicked Little Secret event:

For context, Victor is sharing why he started doing magic tricks. He explains it's traced back to the queen and how she does them as a reminder of how difficult but precious it is to get someone to smile.

Of course, it can be that Victor simply didn't go with the queen to the slums that day or that she told him about it, but I like to think about the possibility he didn't know the queen at this point but knew about it anyways because he was a kid in the slums. It might explain why he doesn't necessarily pay attention to status and why he treats people such as the villagers and Kate as his equals despite being the most powerful man in the country. Does he stay humble due to perhaps having experienced the lack of power, money, and status to a severe degree? And is the Victorian slums the reason why he suffered enough pain for a lifetime?

@/Reccyls translated an event in which the suitors are meant to win over Kate's heart by having her give the suitor a heart-shaped necklace. Jude, Roger, and Alfons are being very proactive while Elbert, William, and Victor are drinking tea. The nobles team points out there's no rush because it's the end of the day that matters. Victor agrees but then suggests they're also probably laid back because they are rich. It might be nothing but if you ask me, that's pretty self-aware and honest for a rich person. Not every rich person will realize having money does influence you, and not everybody loves to point out the frowned upon behavior that comes along with money, especially when it applies to yourself. So, it's a very small thing to say and I might be reading too much into it, but I think the people who know the affect of money better than anyone else are the people who weren't born in first class.

Victor continues to point out what makes William and Elbert rich, but right when he wants to talk about himself he cuts himself off (🖕🏻/affectionately) . It confuses me because sir, you are the Queen's Aide. Why is it a mystery that you're rich? Elbert asks if Victor comes from nobility but we never get a yes or no answer to that. So is there still a chance he might have been born in a rich family? Yeah, but I'm not a strong believer of it. Victor is known to cook and sew, and I don't remember where or when but I believe he said somewhere that if he can do it himself he won't let the maids do it. Does this sound like the skills and the mindset of a man born in nobility during the Victorian age? Not to me, so here comes my next thought: what if queen Victoria has taken young Victor under her wing? One other thing that I noticed is that we know Victor likes to dance and that he plays the piano, which are both activities I'd connect to the education of a child of nobility.

I don't know how it would necessarily end up like this, though. But I was thinking: it didn't go unnoticed by us that Victor and Victoria's names are scarily similar to each other (it's like yeah whatever we're a bit like Sherlock ourselves yknow💅🏻). What if his name was quite literally inspired by the Queen's name in the story itself? Maybe Victor chose it or Victoria gave it to him.

Because @/shatcey recently made a post pointing out that William said "the man who calls himself Victor." I heavily agree with her that the phrasing is suspicious, mostly because of Victor as a character.

If he is from the slums then perhaps he's an orphan who doesn't know his actual name, or maybe he took up another one? If Victor is not his actual name, it might explain why we don't have a last name in the first place. Also, @/otomefiend translated the Black Wedding event when it came out in JP. While the official English translation uses "business smile" to describe Victor wearing a smile to bury his dark comment, I like her translation saying "Victor, the Queen's Aide' expression" much better. I genuinely could go into depth about this but I sadly digress. This reminds me of the Wrecked The Halls event wherein Victor wonders if he should give a "Victor-like" reaction but decides not to as he wants to react earnesty to Kate's earnesty.

Naturally, it can also mean he just has different persona's connected to his masks as this is a reoccurring theme and topic in his content. Victor said in the Between Villains' epilogue (translated by otomefiend) that he wants to be seen as the gentle Queen's Aide by Kate, so after showing a bit of his darker side it's natural he goes back to his gentle side that still implies distance to ease Kate. However, that doesn't make any of his masks a lie or someone he is not. Important disclaimer to put out there because this doesn't have to be proof that Victor isn't who he says he is. The phrasing just reminded me of this.

So, it wouldn't be a deep dive if I didn't talk about the theory that Victor might be the queen. Harrison has pointed out multiple times that Victor lies a lot. I think it'd be so funny if Harry is going to be like "stay away from Kate you old goat >:(" in Victor's route and then William is going to be the complete opposite like "listen to your desires and get a room already :)"

I think we have seen the queen a few times, but it's canon in events that people have cosplayed her so who says it doesn't happen all the time? Victor only has to say the Queen's safety is in danger and then someone will fill in. I think it's safe to assume Cybird is making us doubt whether the queen is alive on purpose and what does that say about the mystery? You don't create mystery when there's nothing to reveal.

In Wrapped in Wicked Romance, something broke from the Queen's tea set only for Victor to reveal that, surprise, it's his own set! During the first anniversary epilogue (talked about by shatcey here) Kate gets told the queen is waiting for her in Victor's office and surprise, it's Victor! Or how in Between Two Villains it's mentioned how Victoria doesn't seem human because of the dedication she has as queen but then the doubt of humanity is a theme in Victor's events as well. Or how in Harrison's route Jude is reading the morning's newspaper and it mentions a criminal situation and surprise, Victor shows up from behind and says the queen ordered a mission related to it... almost like he overheard the news and decided on the spot it had to be dealt with.

To be honest, I don't know what to think when it comes to the queen. If she's actually dead, I think she might have died from an illness and then the veil + private persona might have been crafted to make it easier to look like she's alive (a bit like this one thing in Ikemen Prince). Or, perhaps it's related to the topic of curses. Because, why should she give the impression of being alive if she isn't? What does England risks if she's dead? Do we know how many members the royal family has in ikevil's universe to potentially take Victoria's place after her death? Because there's never been a mention of a husband and children. Did she perhaps only trust Victor? I don't know, there's a high chance I am reaching. Maybe the queen is very healthy and happily living her introverted life but again, I don't see why Cybird would tease us like this if that was the case.

Going back to another translation by reccyls, here Victor ends on the note that even if he has feelings for Kate he can't offer anything as "I belong to her majesty/ Victor belongs to Victoria." Ignore that you can call me the wicked witch of the west with how green of envy I turned, but this stood out to me a lot.

I think it shows an incredible amount of dedication and loyalty, and I read it in two ways. If Victor was saved by Victoria, it might be that he feels like he owes her himself, or perhaps a deal/promise was made? But, in a way, I also read it as Victor belonging to England. His loyalty towards queen Victoria is loyalty towards the safety and well-being of England, a land he's passionate about keeping safe.

The relationship between Victor and Victoria is lowkey fascinating to me because if she's still alive, they have been together for so many years. Victor always talks so positively about her so even though we barely interact with her, I became to really like and admire ikevil!Victoria. Victor is also the only one who we know speaks with the queen directly. For the tea set mentioned earlier, Victor said he replaced them with his own because he is known to break them when he and the queen are drinking tea. Victor braids the queen's hair and helps her with fashion. William even said in this event translated by @/judesmoonbeauty that the queen knows everything about Victor.

I'm going to lose my mind if the queen only used him, though, and put so much burden on a fairly young Victor at some point.

We've almost reached the end but the last thing I want to talk about is Victor's birthday event translated by @/chesireliam. Victor murders a bunch of criminals with what I assume is his curse or something in that direction. He commands them to succumb to his wickedness and the people essentially kill themselves with a peaceful expression. William makes a comment about it, saying these men look as if almost possessed by a God. Victor thinks to himself it's like saying Her Majesty The Queen was no God, and then he says humans can never be God. To be honest, I'm slightly confused because I feel like this can mean different things. When Will makes his comment he's speaking about the peaceful faces, so I don't think he's talking about how the criminals were unhealthily worshipping the queen but about Victor's ability. Also, this is once more a moment wherein someone's humanity is questioned, and it seems to apply to both Victor and Victoria.

One of the reasons why I think it's a curse is because of this post Shatcey made. One of the screenshots translates to Victor saying he doesn't want Kate to end up lying at his feet with a happy face. It sounds an awful lot like what happened to the criminals in the event. Victor worrying about Kate's fate like that makes me believe it might has something to do with the fate of his possible curse. Think about it: Kate essentially gets dragged in every cursed fate of the suitor and if Victor is another cursed individual, it's high-likely his curse is related to death.

After revisiting this post after a while, we got another sign of Victor being cursed. In this event, everybody's curse got stronger due to our lovely doctor. Reccyles translated the event here and as we can see, Victor was effected by it as well. His appearance changed, now wearing gloves and a mask, which is fitting for his theme that involves wearing different "masks" in front of different people; masks that seems to be motivated by the mystery around his curse). Anything Victor touches will instantly die and even without touching the flowers around him, they seem to whither simply by being in his presence. No wonder loneliness is also a theme of his :')

There must be something special going on, though. Is Victor's curse like any other but kept a mystery because something about Victor's identity should stay a mystery? Or is there actually something special about his curse or whatever ability he has? Because his first birthday & the chaotic night event convinced me he's not an ordinary human. However, something special must be going on for this to be a mystery.

Funny story but for a while I thought that if Victor is cursed it might be Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Sometimes you can see easter eggs of the suitor's curses back in the outfit designs so when I looked at Victor's outfit, I saw he has fish scrubs on his jacket and something that looks like knots/ropes (reminding me of sailboats), plus the deep blue and black aesthetic still reminds me of the dark sea. But, his bonus story of the Dark If event (translated by reccyls) ruined that oops. It's one fairytale that was actively mentioned to not be it. Shatcey made a really interesting post about Victor's possible curse after this event and I think it'd be really cool if this was it!

Another reason why I used to think The Little Mermaid could be it was because in the christmas event, Victor thinks to himself he has sacrificed his human soul to death in order to get what he has now, and who has a song about doing business with poor unfortunate souls? But once more I got proven wrong so anywaysss, this is what he thinks:

"Yes, I remember the battering rain and roaring thunder... A storm that threatened to destroy the night itself had been raging. Two paths had lain before me. One path meant immediate death, disintegrating to dust and being forgotten by history. And the other path... The other path would mean giving up my chance at a normal life forever. When faced with those two paths, I had reached out for the latter. And so, I became Death's prisoner, Death's beloved, and Death's constant companion."

Here, we are witnessing the moment he's sacrificing his soul. He has a choice that'll impact him as a person greatly and I feel like it's very safe to assume he's close to dying, so it'd make sense if this part of his life triggered a curse related to death. Also, his flashback says "disintegrating to dust and being forgotten by history" which is another reason why I think Victor might have come from the slums, or at least not nobility. It sounds like Victor himself thought he had left no footprint on the world, which actually aligns with his character if you read the translation of Will saying Victoria knows Victor better than anyone till the end. Because in it, he got upset there hadn't been a report made of him in a while and he looked so happy as Kate made one of him. Also, in the Countdown event he thanks Kate for writing about the boys so they won't be forgotten. Seems like wanting to be remembered is very valuable to Victor.

But I got sidetracked a lot. I think the comment Victor made about the queen in his birthday event is another micro-hint. I sometimes feel like I'm reaching like a clown trying to figure out if Victor isn't keeping up the idea the queen is still alive. It almost feels like having a gaslighting lover; am I picking up clues or am I picking up clowns makeup? Wouldn't it actually be a possibility for Harry to help Kate unravel the mystery that is Victor? Because while they're not the most interactive dynamic, I feel like Harrison will at least have a little role in Victor's route. As I mentioned before, Harrison pointed out multiple times that Victor lies a lot. He goes a step further in the christmas event one, saying that if Kate takes the first step towards Victor's darkness, he'll snap her out of it. Plus, Harrison already had his "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth" moment in his route so I think it makes sense for the Sherlock lover who is a walking lie detector to play a role in the most mysterious suitor who is a walking liar's route.

The actual last thing I want to talk about (guess I'm a liar like Victor) is that I notice that in events wherein Victor and Kate are together, they declare their love in an interesting way. Since death seems to be a huge part of Victor that possibly is connected to a curse, the two put focus on loving each other even after death. I'm curious if this is part of Victor's possible fate or if this is just a romantic way of thinking that fits Victor's theme. Either way, I think it's perfect to end on this note.

So, I think this is mostly what I wanted to get out. Thank you for having read all the way through and please share any theories you have! And spread love for the people mentioned in this post because I'm eternally grateful for everything they translate and post🤍

[mirrorball-leclerc]

the blue - part four

masterlist previous next

i think i like him...

congratulations, you're officially the last person to know

HOW COULD ANY OF YOU KNOW WHEN I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW MYSELF??

the way you look at him but don't worry he likes you too

HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?

easy, the way he looks at you

WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN THOMAS??

well, you look at him like he hung the moon and he looks at you like you're the only person in the room who matters to him.

ASK HIM OUT!!!

no! and risk our friendship? no fucking way

it worked out for me didn't it?

yeah, but it's different.

how is it different amelia?

i don't know it just is.

god you're a fucking idiot. no wonder we're related.

okay rude

i'm being an idiot.

do you want to go on a date?

fuck i like you do you like me?

am i fucking 5?

OH SHIT!

FUCK!

I'M SORRY THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I DIDN'T MEAN TO SEND IT TO YOU!

so you meant to send it to someone else?

NO! FUCK!

amelia, it's okay. i get it if you meant to send it to someone else. it's fine.

jesus fuck how can i write songs but not get through this one fucking thing?

okay, fuck it. i can do this.

do you want to get lunch with me?

i mean we already have plans for tomorrow, so yes amelia, i do.

NO YOU IDIOT!

okay, that was uncalled for.

ME. YOU. DATE?

oh.

forget i said anything. it's okay. i get it. i hope we can still be friends.

read 13:28

14:04

amelia screamed into the nearest pillow scaring her little brother. she had hoped that oscar had gotten busy and wasn't just ignoring her, she didn't want to ruin her friendship with him, not over some stupid feelings.

"mum! she's doing it again!" paddy shouted. nikki holland walked into the room watching as her daughter continued to scream into a pillow. nikki shooed her youngest son out of the room, which he did without protesting. he did not want to watch his sister cry knowing there was nothing he could do. last time she had sobbed for 45 minutes when they were alone without telling anyone what it was about. to this day paddy suspects it was harrison’s fault, it always seemed to be these days.

nikki sat next to her daughter waiting for her to stop her screaming. when amelia's head popped out from inside the pillow, she smiled at her mom. nikki knew her, she knew it wasn't a genuine smile, something was upsetting her.

"what's wrong?" nikki questioned her daughter. amelia smiled, "i’m fine mum."

"no, you aren't. talk to me, is this about harrison?"

amelia groaned, "did everyone know about that?"

nikki nodded, "we did honey. now what's wrong?"

"am i unlovable? is there something about me that people don't love?"

"what?" nikki questioned, "no, you aren't. you're the most loveable person i know, and i'm not just saying that because i'm your mother. what makes you think that?"

"i asked oscar out on a date. he only said oh. i thought he liked me, tom said he did."

nikki pulled her daughter in for a hug, the girl placing her head on her mum's chest listening to her heartbeat, "i'm sure you caught him off-guard. let him get back to you, don't assume the worst."

amelia opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a knock at the door. she exchanged looks with her mum before standing up and going towards the front door. she gasped in surprise when she noticed who was at her front door.

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

i need a favor

what happened to hello tom? how are you tom? how's your day going tom?

hi tom, how's your day? how are you? i need a favor.

i'm great oscar, thanks for asking. what favor do you need?

i need your address

excuse me?

well amelia's address

can i ask why?

i fucked up. amelia asked me out on a date and all i said oh. i have to fix this.

and you plan on fixing this how?

by taking her out on a date? and apologizing profusely for fucking up.

at least you're apologizing. i'm still waiting for harrison to apologize to amelia.

don't fuck this up piastri and my sister is staying with my parents right now. she didn't want go home to her empty apartment yet.

i won't, now what's her favorite flower?

tulips, she loves tulips

take care of her oscar

i promise

NOW

amelia gasped in surprise at who was at her front door. oscar smiled at her, holding a bouquet of tulips in his hand. he looked a bit relieved that she had been the one to answer the door. oscar has silently prayed her parents or brother hadn’t been the one to open the door, that would’ve been awkward.

"hi," he greeted, "i was busy so i didn't answer your text. does the offer still stand?"

"of course," she whispered. oscar held the flowers out to her, "these are for you."

amelia grabbed them, "tulips are my favorite, who told you?"

"a little spider," oscar joked. amelia laughed, and oscar felt his heart skip a beat, "so about that date?"

"now?" amelia questioned, "i'm not dressed properly."

oscar took in her appearance, she was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. a simple outfit and yet she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, "i think you look beautiful."

amelia blushed, "i have to go put these in water," she told him. oscar nodded, "i'll wait here."

paddy appeared behind his sister, "i'll do it. go. get out of the house for once."

amelia jumped, "when did you get here?"

"i saw a cool car in our driveway, i had to know who it was," paddy explained, "hi oscar. what kind of car is that?”

"hello," oscar greeted, “it’s a mclaren.”

"of course it is,” paddy joked, “i want her back home before midnight," paddy threatened, switching his demeanor from the kind boy he had been moments ago.

"paddy!" amelia scolded. paddy and oscar laughed, "this isn't funny."

"it kind of is," oscar said, "she'll be back before midnight mr. holland."

paddy sweetly smiled, "she comes back in tears or anything less than happy and we will hunt you down. understood?"

"yes sir."

"good," paddy said, handing her a jacket and pushing his sister out of their home, "have fun but not too much fun!"

"paddy!"

the boy giggled maniacally before oscar held a hand out for amelia to take. she took his hand, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach at the cause of that simple action. paddy closed the front door as the two began walking towards his car. he shared a knowing look with his mother and he made his back to his room, she fondly rolled her eyes at her youngest.

amelia quickly realized oscar piastri was nothing if not a gentleman. he had opened the car door for her, shutting it behind her before rounding the car and sitting in the driver's seat. he gave her a bright smile before leaving her family’s driveway. the two talked for what felt like hours but was only a few minutes as oscar parked his car in front of a coffee shop. amelia gasped, it was her favorite shop in her hometown, she turned to look at oscar and he just gave her a bright smile.

"you're brother helped out more than i would like to admit," oscar softly said, "but this was the best i could do on such a short notice, you kinda caught me off guard."

amelia smiled at him, before leaning over the console of his car and hugging him, "it was better than my idea."

oscar pulled away from her, ignoring the closeness of their faces, "what was your idea?"

"attempt to cook lunch for us, fail, and order food," she joked.

oscar laughed at her joke and amelia smiled again, at least someone in her life liked her jokes. her brothers didn't understand her jokes half the time, except for paddy, he always got them. her parents didn't understand them at all and her friends always told her not to underestimate her skills. the truth was amelia was a shite cook, there was no denying that, she was a great baker but cooking was a no go.

oscar gave her a final look before getting out of the car, rushed to her side and opened her door, holding a hand out to her, "shall we?"

amelia laughed, "we shall," she said as she intertwined their hands, oscar gave her another smile before leading her inside the coffee shop.

ameliaholland 'in a world of boys, he's a gentleman'

view all comments

landonorris AMELIA? WHAT IS THIS?

↳ ameliaholland it's an instagram post lando. duh.

↳ landonorris I FUCKING KNOW THAT! WHO IS THAT??

↳ ameliaholland that's a secret i'll never tell.

samholland1996 AMELIA? WHAT THE HELL?

↳ ameliaholland isn't it such a cute post?

↳ samholland1996 NO! WHO IS THAT??

↳ ameliaholland please refer to my earlier comment.

harryholland64 AMELIA GRACE HOLLAND!!!

↳ ameliaholland yes??

↳ harryholland64 ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE!!

↳ ameliaholland can't i'm on a date 🤭

username AMELIA GRACE HOLLAND SOFT LAUNCHING WAS NOT ON MY 2023 BINGO CARD!

oscarpiastri oh?

↳ ameliaholland oh?

↳ username WHAT DOES THIS MEAN???? WHAT DOES PASTRY BOY KNOW??

hazosterfield oh.

↳ username the difference between their comments is hilarious to me

username where are the overbearing and overprotective comments from paddy and tom?

↳ username those two probably knew.

danielricciardo AMELIA?? HUH?

↳ ameliaholland cute post right?

↳ danielricciardo i've joined the list of your brothers, i don't know who he is but i'll break his face if he hurts you like you-know-who

zendaya i'm sorry? why wasn't i told about this??

↳ ameliaholland i'm sorry z! it just happened! i'll text you the details later!

↳ zendaya i'm holding you accountable to that!

oscarpiastri posted a new story

seen by logansargeant, landonorris, ameliaholland and others

¡leclerc-s speaks! they're my babies who just had their first date. they are not dating, not yet. the hard launch is when they start officially dating, i'm working up to that. i also clearly don't know how time works so ignore that plot hole, i'll probably fix that later.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[kurishiri]

04 . . . the past records ˗ˏˋ🍎🪞´ˎ˗

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties for characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— cw: talking about one's death lightly, mentions of murder.

Alfons: The day we first met, when I suddenly appeared before you, what made you want to take me into the manor?

Elbert: ......

E: Because, at that time, I needed you in my life.

Alfons: Because you can’t discern that which is ‘beautiful’?

A: If so, you could simply ask anyone, and they will give you the straight answer you need.

Elbert: ...But, I want to hear the answer from you.

E: Even now... I feel the same way.

E: The day we met, you had given me——‘the answer that I wanted to hear.’

E: Even though... I had just killed the person who took you under your wing before when we met, you still gave me that answer.

Alfons: ......

Elbert: That, is the reason why I wanted you to stay with me at the manor.

Alfons: ...To think that one answer was enough for you to acknowledge us as friends...

A: My amazement for you knows no bounds.

Elbert: There is another reason too... but that is a secret.

Alfons: ...?

Harrison: God, there are cats left and right... just how did you two get yourselves like this?

Upon hearing another voice that was neither Elbert’s nor Alfon’s interject into the conversation, the two looked over toward the entrance of the warehouse.

All around, the cats’ purrs and meows flew past each other as they frolicked about.

Within that, William and Harrison approached the two.

Alfons: It pains us to say there was an eyewitness we couldn’t take care of...

William: If you’re referring to the man who ran from the warehouse, I took care of him without issue.

Elbert: Sorry... and thank you.

Harrison: All’s well and good. You found the proof, didn’t you?

Alfons: Yes, most certainly. Those who have been hiding said proof have been taken care of by you two...

A: ...which only leaves calling the police over so they can confirm the site.

When they were pulled out of the mountain of cat powder, Alfons patted his clothes.

Alfons: Would it be safe to assume we can consider this mission completed?

William: Indeed.

Alfons: Well then, I will excuse myself to play around in the night streets of London. Everyone, I bid you all a pleasant night now.

Elbert: ...Take care.

Seeing off the back that had left as unexpectedly as it came about, Harrison let out an exasperated sigh.

Harrison: ...You sure you shouldn’t stop him?

H: That’s the kind of thing that’ll put a stain on his reputation as a noble, Elbie.

Elbert: Yes... I get told that a lot.

E: But... Al will be fine.

—— Time skip to the dining room ——

Alfons: I have a pudding in my right hand, and another one in my left. So? Which one do you want?

Elbert: ......

Liam: Ohh, could this be that Dead or Alive game?

Alfons: Good morning to you, Liam. And yes, you could say it’s something akin to it.

Liam: So it’s a choice between which pudding to eat? Seems pretty tame this time to me.

Elbert: ......The right one.

Alfons: …Are you sure?

Elbert: ...I’m sure.

Alfons revealed the puddings in both of his hands, which he had just been hiding behind his back.

The pudding in his left hand was a normal amber color.

And on the other hand, the pudding in his right hand was an abnormal, vibrant green color.

Liam: Oh, geez—

Elbert: ...That’s... a very interesting color, I feel like.

Alfons: Ahh, truly, what a tragedy. To think we have played so many of these games together, and yet I have never once won.

Alfons made a dramatic show of crying before he gave Elbert the normal-looking pudding.

Elbert: What are you going to do with the other pudding?

Alfons: ...Under normal circumstances, I would dispose of it, but...

A: I don’t think I will die from eating this... and I know from experience.

Turning toward his own hand that held the green pudding, he turned it upside down, eating the entire pudding in one bite.

Liam: Ueghh!?

Alfons: ...Let’s just say, the taste leaves much to be desired.

Liam: A-are you okay!?

Alfons: Well, wouldn’t you love to know? How about you take your bets on whether I will die from food poisoning or not?

Alfons shrugged his shoulders and laughed before leaving the dining room, as though he had no more business,

leaving only Elbert, who was eating the normal pudding elegantly with the spoon,

and a very flabbergasted Liam.

Liam: Hey hey, Lord Elbie.

Elbert: Hm...? What is it?

Liam: Don’t you think if Al keeps this up, he might someday actually die from this?

L: And you go along with those games, too, but don’t you ever feel uncertain or something, about all this?

Elbert: ......Not really, I think.

E: Al will be fine.

E: Because, as long as he is living... I won’t let him die.

Taking a bite into the normal pudding, Elbert gave a small smile.

—— Outside the dining room ——

Liam: ...I didn’t think this before, but could it be Lord Elbie actually has the upper hand...?

Roger: What’re you talking about?

Liam: Hey, Roger. It’s about Lord Elbie and Al’s relationship.

Roger: You were still caught up in that?

Liam: Ahah, maybe it’s the Cheshire Cat’s curiosity at play?

Roger: So, did you find your answer, in the end? About ‘why those two are together.’

Liam: Hmm... I think the reason is...

L: ...because they want to be together, maybe?

Roger: ... [surprised]

R: Haha! So that’s how it is?

R: I gotta say, I like the sound of that.

Fin.

← prev fin.

full masterlist 🍎🪞

END NOTES: thank you to everyone who read til the end! how did you guys like this story? personally I thought it was interesting how there’s no “concrete answer” even in the end. they really only present you with these little vignettes or snippets about them, before encouraging you to come up with your own answer, like Liam had. but, I think that’s also the beauty in their relationship.

both of them seemed to have been going through a lot when they first met, and so it was natural that they had stayed together. maybe Alfons had “used” Elbert at one point for convenience, but he is human like the rest of us, and so I think over time he naturally grew attached to Elbie. and I think that does show in this story, in a very unconventional, but very Alfons way.

that is to say, even if they may have severe trauma that follows the both of them and in turn makes their friendship a bit unorthodox, I don’t think their meeting was a mere coincidence.

I think, in a way, they were meant for each other.

[thebrutaliste]

After watching the film, I got the idea/hc that László is someone who is very sensual, in that he expresses a lot of his feelings with physicality. I wanted to explore how he does this in the few dance scenes we see in the movie, and how that must have compounded his sadness when he learns about Erzsébet's condition. I will definitely be writing that meta/hc soon, but I got distracted because I happened to find a screenplay for the movie. From the get go I saw that there were minor differences between what was written and what we saw. While I think the final cut follows or better fulfills the story and spirit of the film, there were some small nuggets that kind of answered some questions/observations I had while watching. The first one involves the forced dancing with Audrey, and why that whole vibe felt so weird (in a good way, not that it was a weak point in the film).

Analysis+spoilers under the cut:

When I initially saw this scene, I (and the person I watched with) felt an immediate 'oh no' when Attila began to insist László dance with Audrey. From what we see of László and Audrey's expressions, they are clearly uncomfortable with the idea! Finally, László gives in to his cousin's insistence and sheepishly begins to dance with Audrey, who comments on his thinness. It's a bit awkward, but soon László seems more at ease, and the air seems to change palpably between László and Audrey, until Attila enters the frame and inserts himself.

My first impression was that, compared to the Overture scene where he's literally impotent, here he is getting reacquainted with sensuality. Since we see him dance quite exuberantly in later scenes (like with Attila in the library, at the party in Carrara), I think it's fair to believe that we are seeing László finally have a chance to indulge in an expression of joy that he has been denied for a very long time. As Attila says, it's like riding a bicycle. The scene seems to end on a lighter note though, with the three of them collapsing over in laughter. CUT to the next scene with Audrey:

As soon as I saw Audrey like this, I assumed something bad had happened with Attila, like he expressed (unwarranted) distrust or jealousy of whatever happened between her and László. Remember that Attila is quick to boast his accomplishments yet still seems to want to impress László (when he asks László's opinion of the store, furniture, and is clearly put off at László's honesty), so this sort of insecure behavior is IMO within the realm of possibility with Attila.

The scene plays out with Audrey suggesting László could do better, and insinuating that the storeroom would be inappropriate for more than one person to live in. I read this as a genuine 'you can do better' encouragement, but my friend read it as hostile 'gtfo.' I think the intent was the latter, but we both agreed that the hostility seemed like a really sudden turn. (I get it, pissing in the tub is very ???? but you just need to establish house rules.)

HOWEVER! The script I found casts this whole scene in a slightly different light! This is one of the two moments I think it does actually change the spirit of the moment. I don't think the movie is worse for not sticking with it, but this is definitely a treat for anyone who wants to do a deep dive into these characters and this interaction.

(Quick note: I don't have any strong feelings of whether the script or the final cut of the film is 'better.' As Harrison would say, I find it all intellectually stimulating.)

This version of the scene includes a line where Attila mentioned to Audrey that László's wife converted to Judaism for him. Based on the long pause we get after Attila explains he converted to Catholicism, I think the guy has a lot of complicated feelings about it. It sounds like it's a potential thorn in the relationship, possibly moreso Attila's internal conflict with assimilating.

This casts Audrey's reticence to dance in a slightly different light - to me, it reads as she is put off by Attila's mention of converting rather than (maybe in addition to) the prospect of having to dance with László. Either would be plausible, BUT THEN the next portion of the script reveals:

WHOA THERE. 'Palpable erotic tension'! Audrey longs for László!! I think that was successfully communicated. Although it felt more one sided from László, there is a brief moment where Audrey's hands come up and rest on László's chest (same girl same), and that's about when Attila reminds them who she's married to. (See last gif in the top set)

With that said, the scene plays out pretty much as scripted, which sets the gears moving for Attila to kick László out. László is the last connection to a heritage Attila has worked very hard to bury, and it's easier to cut László off than examine the whims of the WASP upper class that he caters to (and likely strives to be a part of).

(thanks for coming to my TED Talk; feel free to share your thoughts in RB or notes as I am curious what others think!)spi

[nemonoonesuch]

Ergo Proxy References and Parallelisms Vol. III

This post was supposed to be longer, but for "reasons" I guess it will be shorter than expected. My apologies for the rush.

On this Volume:

DARKMAN

WW2

Train Stations

FOLLOW THE WHITE RABBIT

Navigation Map

City of the Sun

Douglas Coupland

Bilbul

DARKMAN

Darkman (the 1990 superhero-horror film directed by Sam Raimi) belong to different genre, and dwells into different tropes, it was an atmospheric influence for Manglobe and the creators of Ergo Proxy. The idea of the erosion of a main character with an eroded identity lies in the DNA of both stories since Darkman's protagonist, Dr. Peyton Westlake, loses his physical identity after a brutal attack leaves him disfigured. He uses synthetic skin to assume different identities, but his transformation also leads to a psychological struggle with his sense of self.

Proxies as shapeshifters themselves are no strangers to the habit of taking a human appearance to coexists among their creations. Vincent Law is the very well crafted human suit of a meek personality, antipodal to his more insightful but aggressive true nature as Ergo Proxy. Yet, even as a human, Vincent struggles to get to be accepted in Romdeau's Society.

On Meditatio XIV, the Proxy regent of Ophelia used his ability to shapeshift to create multiple identities for himself, and so, blend into society by taken multiple identities.

WW2

Not only the uniforms and vehicles, but the weapons of the survivor soldiers at Xharos Dome on Meditatio VIII remind us to the latest installment of Word War in our history.

At a point, a soldier has what is very reminiscent of a Walter P38, a 9 mm semi-automatic pistol that was developed by Carl Walther GmbH as the service pistol of the Wehrmacht at the beginning of World War II.

Meditatio VIII

C&S Detective Special 2()19

One of the Weapons that Re-L Mayer uses is a C&S Detective Special 209.

This Weapon also dubbed as the "Proxy Killer" can be loaded with the FP bullets that have the lethal dosis of Amrita Disablers.

The design and name of this weapon is in homage to Rick Deckard's pistol (the LAPD 2019 Blaster) that was used by Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) in the original Blade Runner movie, to hunt down Replicants. Note: Several other characters are seen handling Deckard's gun at times, notably Rachel.

Train Stations

Romdeau Train Station System Map can be seen on Meditatio III, while Re-L Mayer tries to pinpoint the exact location of Vincent Law.

On the left page of her journal, a page with a time table can be seen. This kind of document is surely a copy of the ones published by the New York Transit Authority establishing the timetable of the trains of a given station. The one that's on the journal mentions "Stillwell Avenue" on "Brooklyn"

This is a 1955 exemplar

Also, on Meditatio I, on one of Romdeaus Train Station, a list of British location names can be seen on the board

DEPARTURE EXPRESS I Bromsgrove EXPRESS II Leamington SPA EXPRESS III Gatwick? LOCAL TRAIN IV Chepstow LOCAL TRAIN V Swansea EXPRESS III Leamington SPA LOCAL TRAIN VII Chippenham LOCAL TRAIN VIII Bromsgrove

Note: According to an apocryphal interview with Jonathan Klein, co-founder of production company New Generation Pictures, Romdeau was named Romdo to be reminiscent of London:

(JK) We were told to spell it "Romdo" by the Japanese producers. What isn't really explained in the show (although hinted at) is where these domed cities' names come from. What we were told is that they're re-interpretations of names of long-gone old Earth cities. So Mosk was supposed to be Moscow and Romdo was supposed to be London. I can't say why it was spelled "Romdeau" in the animation other than guess whoever animated the text went with the most logical spelling of the city, not realizing where the source of the name was supposed to come from.

The subtle similitude in Japanese allows space to that speculation.

ロムド Romudo/RomDeau/Rondo

ロンドン London

Navigation Map

The Map that Vincent uses on Meditatio VIII to get to Mosk dome is a collage of distinct maps, including a Chart of the Mountains nearby the Lake Geneva made on the XVIII century.

Some of the geografical features on the original map are renamed on the series:

Lake Geneva it's replaced by the Sea of Sleep, Geneva by Romdeau, and Mosq is placed on an iterated Aiguille d'Argentiere a few thousand miles southeast (contradicting the fact that the were traveling north).

So, the coastline it's safe to asume it was created for the show, and it's merely an artistic illustration of the journey. I have serious doubts that the creators intended to place the event of the series in meticulously placed cities, and I believe that the closer they tried was to play with names and cultural references to give the vibe of being in the European continent.

CITY OF THE SUN

Among the most peculia

La città del Sole o The City of the Sun is philosophical utopianist work by the Italian Dominican philosopher Tommaso Campanella, written in 1602. The City of the Sun described an ideal city inspired by Plato's Republic and the description of Atlantis in his Timaeus.

Structurally the city is protected by seven concentric ring walls, in reference to the seven astrological bodies known at the moment. Major emplacements of the city ass the walls celebrate major figures and achievements of mankind, similarly to Romdeau that names avenues, parks and streets as major political figures and philosophers of Western culture.

Inside the city everything is controlled for the collective good, with a high degree of surveillance and regulation. Similarly, Romdeau in Ergo Proxy is a highly monitored city where citizens' lives are managed by the government and the central computer system known as the "Collective", that rule the "Administrative Bureau.". Matters such as privacy are virtually obsolete, under these regimes.

Romdeau is a more dystopic realization of the toll of such an ostracism and over-regulated system, where even the reproduction is carried by an artificial Womb System.

The Design of the Domed City is also reminiscent to the old engravings of the Sun City.

SHAMPOO PLANET & LIFE AFTER GOD

The title of Meditatio XVIII and Meditatio XXI seem to be referencing two novels by Douglas Coupland: Life After God and Shampoo Planet.

Life After God, published in 1994, is a collection of short stories and reflections that wrestle with the idea of living in a secular, post-religious world. Coupland dives into the emotional and existential drift of a generation raised without traditional spiritual frameworks, blending nostalgia, alienation, and a quiet yearning for something bigger. It’s raw and introspective, often feeling like a personal confession wrapped in fiction.

Shampoo Planet, from 1992, takes a different tone. It’s a novel about Tyler Johnson, a young, ambitious guy navigating the materialistic, consumer-driven early '90s. It’s sharper and more satirical, poking at the absurdity of corporate culture, globalization, and the obsession with branding—shampoo being a recurring symbol of superficial perfection. Yet, beneath the wit, there’s a tension between youthful optimism and the creeping cynicism of adulthood.

MEDITATIO XXII: פלפול

Meditatio XXII "Bind (Bilbul)," is the penultimate episode of Ergo Proxy, a 2006 cyberpunk anime directed by Shūkō Murase and written by Dai Sato. The title "Bilbul" comes from the Hebrew word בִּלְבּוּל, meaning "confusion" or "bewilderment. And considering the revelations and dramatic turn of the plot in this episode, is perhaps the most appropriate name for the episode.

Bilbul in the hebrew context is a method of studying the Talmud through intense textual analysis in attempts to either explain conceptual differences between various halakhic rulings or to reconcile any apparent contradictions presented from various readings of different texts.

[juliwuzhere]

Tbh I really want to hear more of the Nerris hypnotizing Max episode idea you had like dialogue know if you have that because it’s really interesting!

Sorry it took me so long answer but I decided to write a snippet of chapter one of this fic. I know it’s not quite what you asked for but I felt very motivated at the time. Take in mind, it’s obviously going to be tweaked. But still, I’m planning to post the final, polished chapters on Ao3. If it’s any good anyways. If not, well at least it was a great practice piece to get back into writing :)

Realistic Magic

Chapter one:

Ever since they're dad had taught them about Dungeons & Dragons, Nerris has wished that magic was real. They wished they didn't have to roleplay to be able to cast a healing spell or any spell for that matter. But it seemed that Nerris would forever be bound to the mortal plane. Or at least before their mom introduced her to the concept of hypnosis.

Nerriss had never really liked their moms job. She worked as a psychologist, which is the opposite of what Nerris likes. While phycology was more logical and scientific, Nerris liked fantasy things that were much illogical and artistic. Nerris never thought she'd like hearing about psychology until her mom started talking about hypnotherapy during dinner.

Nerris had asked her what it was and their mother had explained that Hypnotherapy was the use of hypnosis in psychotherapy. Which then led to the question of what hypnosis even was? Because it couldn't possibly be what Nerris had seen used in cartoons and movies, but turns out, it was. Her textbook definition of it was “the induction of a state of consciousness in which a person apparently loses the power of voluntary action and is highly responsive to suggestion or direction.” The moment Nerris heard that, the first thing that came to mind was the hypnotic pattern in D&D. Was it the same per say, no. But did it sound pretty damn similar, absolutely.

From that point forward, Nerris developed a deep fascination with the concept of hypnosis. It was the closest Nerris could get to learning Magic in real life, and so they set a few goals for themselves.

1. Learn how to hypnotize someone before summer starts

2. Showcase their talent in front of everyone,

3. Make Harrison look stupid.

Those were the three goals that Nerris used to motivate themselves to continue to study and learn about hypnosis. Nerris didn't know how good of a motivator it was until they realized that they had the entire process memorized and at the time they still had a couple days before camp. Nerris not only felt proud of themselves but also confident in their abilities. Sure, it had sucked to study over the summer but it was all going to pay off at her sleepover.

It had become a tradition to hold sleepovers at different people's tents. Nobody quite knows how it started but they are always having a great time. It's like having a very small party with no balloons, music, and a couple stolen snacks from the mess hall pantry. It's better than it sounds. The moment Nerris had settled in on the first day of camp, they had made it clear that they were going to hold the first sleepover. Nerris was not going to let anyone get in the way of them beating their goals. The day of the sleepover had arrived and Nerris was ecstatic. Tonight was going to be the night that Nerris proved themselves.

Every time they had a sleepover, everyone always agreed to be quiet, but nobody actually believed they would be. Sounds of laughter and hushed whispers, probably some gossip Nerris assumed, resounded throughout the tent. The only thing that illuminated the tent being a lantern they had stolen from QuarterMasters shed. Everyone was wearing their vibrant pajamas, even Ered. And Nerris looked around the tent, they felt a smile start to grow on their face when they caught a glimpse at the Garfield pajama shorts Nurf was wearing. Seated right next to him was Ered, who wore much more trendier pajamas. But in Nerriss' opinion, Garfield is way cooler than Forever 21.

Due to the tents in Camp Campbell not being very large, everyone was practically inches away from each other. At every sleepover, the campers looked like a singular group of people, not a bunch of trios and duos huddled in different corners like how it was everyday at camp. Going to the sleepover always made Nerris feel a sense of euphoria start to blossom in their chest. They liked it when the camp felt united, it made them feel less alone. Nerris stood up, ready to show off her talent.

“Alright everyone! Listen up.” The tent grew quieter and quieter until Nerris had everyone's attention. “Who wants to be the first to try and be hypnotized?” Nerris asked, adding a dramatic and suspenseful hint to their voice, courtesy of Prestons advice.

“Oh, oh, me!” Spacekid yelled, raising his hand with a toothy smile.

“Alright! Come on up to the front.” Nerris responded, gesturing to the spot right next to them. Since everyone was huddled away from the entrance of the tent that gave Nerris and Spacekid the closest thing they had to a stage. A spot where everyone in the tent could see the spectacle. Nerris was starting to understand why Harrison was so fascinated with being a magician, having people's attention felt nice.

Spacekid sat down right in front of Nerris, waiting expectantly. Nerris pulled out their pocket watch from the pocket of her pajama pants and let it hang right in front of the space kids face.

“Alright Spacekid. I'm gonna need you to stare at this pocket watch. Do not break eye contact with it. You have to stare at it the whole time. Got it?” Nerris asked. Spacekid nodded his head, his eyes filled with excitement and determination. Nerris and Spacekid didn't have much in common, but today they seemed to be on the same page emotionally speaking.

Nerris was ready to prove Harrison wrong. They were capable of performing magic and being a mage. It's just that Nerris can perform a different and much more logical kind of magic.

Nerris took a deep breath in and out, then finally, started moving the stopwatch from left to right. Letting it sway and move in a constant rhythm.

“Okay. As you watch this pocket watch you are going to start entering a deep state of relaxation. The longer you stare at the pocket watch, the further into this state you will start to be enthralled in.” Nerris explained, letting the pocket watch sway for a couple seconds. She looked at Space Kids eyes, expecting the signs of exhaustion to become more and more apparent but nothing changed. A spark of doubt started to light inside Nerris but it was quickly put out. They still had one last part of the process to go through.

“On the count of three, I will snap my fingers. The moment I snap them you will feel yourself fall into a deep sleep” Nerris drawled, glancing at the crowd before starting to count. Their excitement made Nerris feel excited.

“One…” Nerris starts. “Two…” Nerris starts to raise their hand. “Three!” Nerris snapped their fingers. Nothing happens. Nerris’s smile falls, why didn't it work?

“Did it work?” Spacekid giddy asked, expecting an answer from Nerris.

“If it had worked you would have been asleep right now, dumbass.” Nurf retorted, earning a few giggles from some of the campers.

“Oh.” Spacekid said, clearly disappointed.

“Well, maybe I just have to try it on somebody else. You know, it said in my book that some people can't be hypnotized so I guess you're just one of them, Spacekid.” Nerris replied, not letting this bring her down. It was a rough start but at least she still had many more people to try and hypnotize.

Nerris moved on to the next camper, Ered, and followed the same process as before. But once again, it didn't work. Nerris is glad they had asked Ered to be the second try when hypnosis sounded cool. Because after their fourth attempt, Nerris had not only made themselves look stupid and made hypnosis look uncool. By the time Nerris had reached their last camper, they had lost all hope. A feeling of embarrassment started to replace their previous euphoria.

“C’mon Nerris, just admit it. The only person who can perform magic is me.” Harrison conceited. Nerris had just snapped her fingers and, as expected, nothing had happened. They had followed every rule, trick, and even shortcut to try and make their attempts successful but all had failed. The confidence in Harrison's voice made Nerris feel even more embarrassed than they already did. They let the chain of the pocket watch slip out of their hands, too exasperated to care if it breaks from the fall.

Nerris had gone through everyone in the tent and Harrison had been the last to agree to be hypnotized; And from the looks of it he appeared to be the only one enjoying himself anymore. Everyone else in the tent looked bored, their attention now elsewhere. Nerris knew Harrison hadn’t meant to me too hurtful with his comment. Afterall, it was how they spoke on a daily basis. But today Nerris was just too upset to not feel even a little butthurt.

“Fine. Maybe you were right. I guess I'm just a loser who will only ever be able to act like they can do cool stuff rather than actually be able to do it.” Nerris admitted. It seemed that roleplaying and strategizing in a board game would continue to be the only skills they had.

“Well, acting is a very powerful tool too, Nerris.” Preston stated in his usual dramatic voice. “It is one that only true professionals, like myself, can master.”

Nerris felt a smile tug on their lips. In Prestons own way, he was trying to cheer them up. Even if he built himself up to be a professional actor along the way. But although they appreciated the help, Nerris still felt like they’d taken a critical hit. Nerris picked up the pocket watch and cupped it in their hands. They look at the reflection of themselves in the pocket watch, not surprised to see their disappointment evident in their face. Nerris failed, and in front of everyone for that matter. Nerris didn't even know if their face felt hot with anger or embarrassment anymore, probably both.

Suddenly, the loud ruffling sound of the tent being opened made Nerriss' thoughts quiet for a moment. They really hoped it wasn't David. This was the first time the camp sleepover was being held in their tent, it would be horrible if the night ended with Nerris failing at the thing they had been hyping up ever since they got to camp and a punishment. They would never let Nerris live it down.

But just as quickly as the fear had started to build up in her chest, it evaporated. Instead of the tall and cheery counselor they had all grown to tolerate, stood the short and moody Max holding a party size bag of chips while three Capri Moons peaked out of the front pocket of his hoodie. He was still wearing his signature hoodie that nobody could seem to rip off of him, but replacing his jeans were a pair of dark blue plaid pajama shorts. Nerris never thought that Max would be a sight for sore eyes. For a brief moment his eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting for everyone to be staring at him. But in an instant calm confusion seemed to wash over him.

“Damn, did someone die or some shit?” Max asked, opening the party size chip bag and taking a bite.

“Oh Max, you have got to hear this!” Harrison exclaimed, clearly excited at getting to embarrass Nerris some more. Nerris really shouldn't have insulted his outfit last week. Actually, no, nevermind. They don't regret it, it was horrific.

“What?” Max grunted, his brows furrowed with suspicion; the distrust in his tone was evident. Nerris is reminded that Max has never been quite fond of Harrison. Harrison stands up with a large grin mocking on his face. Nerris glares at him when he glances at them on the way towards Max.

“Nerris apparently thought she was a wizard or whatever, because they learned how to hypnotize people. Well, they tried to learn at least.” Harrison joked. Nerris scoffs, they were starting to get very pissed. Harrison started to summarize what Max had missed in the sleepover, which is the entirety of the sleepover. This was the first time through the whole night that he had come to Nerriss' sleepover, and it wasn't even expected he would come.

He had told everyone that he probably wasn't going to attend because he was too tired and would prefer to just go to sleep. However, it is very clear he didn't even get to have a nap. As Harrison continued to giddily summarize everything , Max looked at him with tired half closed eyes, every so often reaching into the bag to get some more chips to munch on. He radiated disinterest and exhaustion, his eye bags were more noticeable than everbefore, and Nerris can tell that whatever Harrison is saying is entering one ear and coming out the other. Surprisingly, the rant wasn't very long. However, it was still very annoying to hear. Nerris hopes they don't sound like that when they make fun of Harrison.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it Harrison.” Nerris groaned. “I suck, you suck a little less. Listen Max, it's probably not going to work but would you be fine with me trying to hypnotize you?” Nerris pulls out the pocket watch and holds it up from the chain to let Max see it. Max considers the question but Nerris already knows the answer. Max doesn't usually do something just because you asked him to. In fact, he'll probably go out of his way to not do what you asked him to do.

“You know what, it's fine.” Nerris starts. “You don't have to-”

“No, I'll do it.” Max responds. Nerris looks up and stares at Max, their brows knitted together.

“Wait…really?” Nerris asked, their eyes wide with shock. He wants to do it? Nerris wondered why he would even say yes, until they came to the conclusion that he's probably just doing it to make fun of Nerris. Yeah, that makes more sense. Nerris glances towards the huddled campers to find their equally surprised expressions.

“Sure. I've got nothing better to do anyway.” Max yawned, making his way towards Nerris. He handed the bag of chips and Capri Moons to Neil and Nikki and promptly sat down with his legs crossed. Neil and Nikki scooted over to be closer to Max and to get a better view.

“Just make this quick.” Max mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Don't worry, it will be.” Nerris avowed with a resigned sigh. This wasn't going to work, but Max was already here so, whatever.

“Okay. Just look at the pocket watch and don't break eye contact the whole time. Got it?” Nerris asked, much less excited than in her first attempt.

“Sure.” Max replied. Nerris took a deep breath in and out, this time more out of exhaustion rather than anticipation. For one last time, Nerris started swaying the stopwatch.

“Okay. As you watch this pocket watch you are going to start entering a deep state of relaxation. The longer you stare at the pocket watch, the further into this state you will start to be enthralled in.” Nerris said, repeating what they had told every camper. The words now tasted sour in their mouth. Nerris glanced at Max and felt conflicted.

Either Nerris was imagining things or Max looked more tired than before. They noticed how Max’s shoulders started to slump and his eyes started to droop down. Still, they just brushed it off, remembering that he was already tired to begin with. As Nerris let the stopwatch swing from left to right, they were ready to say the final words and just go to sleep. Nerris wanted this to be over as soon as possible, the embarrassment was becoming too much to handle.

“On the count of three, I will snap my fingers. The moment I snap them you will feel yourself fall into a deep sleep” Nerris drawled once more.

“One…” God, Harrison is going to make fun of Nerris for this until they're dead. “Two…” Well, at least it's almost over. “Three.” Nerris snapped their fingers. And unexpectedly, Max slumped over.

Instinctively, Neil leaped and grabbed Max's head, effectively cushioning a hard fall. A couple people in the tent had gasped as they saw Max collapse into Neil. Nikki stands up from her spot in the tent and tries to help Neil lift Max up, concern evident in both their faces. Neil and Nikki start saying his name, trying to get a reaction out of him, and Nikki starts shaking his shoulder. Max was completely limp, made clear by how much Neil was struggling to lift Max back up, but Nerris didn't buy it.

“Just stop faking it Max, I'm not in the mood today.” Nerris scowled, their eyes narrowed. They looked away, waiting for Max to stop pretending. But the longer Nerris waited, the more curious they got. Nerris glanced back at the trio, now very confused.

“Wait. Is he not joking?”

“No!? He wont wake up!” Neil shouted, his voice cracking. Nikki shakes Max violently to emphasize the statement. Max was now being cradled from his upper half by Neil, with Nikki right beside him concerned but also curious. All the campers leaned and scooted closer to get a better view of the issue. Eyes staring unblinkingly at Max. Everyone started murmuring amongst each other, but Nerris couldn't care. Nerris had just had the greatest realization.

“It worked…” Nerris gasped, a smile tugging at their lips.

“What?” Harrison blurted, his eyes wider than everyone else's and his jaw on the floor.

“It worked! I did it!” Nerris beamed, standing up and pumping their fists in the air victoriously.

“In your face Harrison!” Nerris laughed, pointing at Harrison; whose face was the epitome of shock. Oh man, Nerris was never going to forget his face. Everyone started talking, the tent sounding just as loud as it had been at the start of the sleepover. Campers started to blurt out requests.

“You should make him do something embarrassing.” Ered grinned.

“Or make him not be able to lie. Do you know how many dirty secrets I could blackmail him with?” Nurf smirked, him and Ered smiling at each other in agreement.

“Could you make him like art? It would be great to have a new art partner!” Dolph said eagerly.

“No! That's stupid. Make him unwilling to not act in my next play!” Preston protested. “He never puts in the effort that is needed to create the perfect theater viewing experience.”

“Oh, can you make him want to talk about space?” Spacekid asked nervously. All the requests started to blur with each other, the volume in the tent being deafening. By the time Nerris had realized they should probably quiet down, it was too late.

“What is going on here?” David shouted. Everyone immediately went quiet. “You kids are lucky I was the only counselor who woke up. You should all be asleep, it is way past all of your bedtimes.”

“Oh geez Louise, sorry David!” Preston replied, trying to make himself sound innocent, but in the end, only making himself sound like a mini david. “We were just so excited after hearing your lesson today that we decided to get together to talk about…um, trees!” Preston excused. Nerris was glad Preston had done an improv class. Everyone started to agree with Preston, following the “yes and” rule he had driven into their heads when he had taught an improv class lesson they were forced to attend.

“No we weren't.” Spacekid innocently denied. “We were talking about what to make Max do now that he's hypnotized.” Apparently, he had forgotten all about the rule.

“Spacekid!” Preston shouted angrily, with a chorus of “shut up”s and “be quiet”s being thrown Spacekids' way. Well, looks like playing dumb was no longer an option.

“Listen, I need one of you to tell me the truth right this instant or you are all cleaning the mess hall tomorrow.” David warned, crossing his arms to appear more threatening.

“Fine.” Harrison murmured. Nerris snapped their head to stare at him with angry eyes. Quietly communicating that she wanted him to shut the fuck up.

“Nerris wanted to show off how they had learned how to use hypnosis on other people so they invited us to their tent.” Harrison explained, excluding the fact that they have sleepovers very often, and instead making it sound like they've only had one sleepover. Although Nerris currently hated his guts, they are glad that he didn't snitch about all the other prior sleepovers. It would have been worse if Nerris caused everyone to get in trouble.

“So,” Harrison continued, “they tried to hypnotize everyone until they got to Max and it actually worked. In my opinion, Nerris is still a pretty shitty wizard.”

“A mage…” Nerris corrected, looking down. God, they were in so much trouble.

“Okay…” David said exasperated, clearly trying to make sense of things. “First off, language. Second of all, what do you mean Nerris “hypnotized” Max.”

“It means that he's asleep for as long as Nerris wants him to be and we can make him do whatever we want.” Ered elucidated.

“Yeah, I shook him and everything and he didn't even get mad at me! He's completely knocked out.” Nikki grinned, patting Max on the cheek.

“Are you sure?” David started walking towards the clueless Max. “Listen I know you kids are very talented but learning that sort of stuff takes a lot of professional lessons. I don't think that you can just learn that kind of stuff from youtools.”

“Youtube.” Neil corrected.

“Right, yes, youtooth.” David said, getting down on one knee and putting his hand softly on Max’s shoulder.

“Max, c’mon bud. It's time to wake up.” David gently said. No response. “Max, time to wake up. You actually followed the bedtime rule but you got to be in your own tent to get the full credit buddy.” David smiled. When Max didn't wake up, his smile faltered.

“Max?” David asked much louder. Concern started to become evident in his facial expression and body language. You could see the exact moment David started to consider the reality of the situation.

“See. Told you.” Nikki said. David looked at her then back to Max, he still seemed in denial.

“Well um, maybe he's deeply asleep! He is a very heavy sleeper afterall.” David argued.

“Yeah, but can he sleep through this?” Nikki raised her hand and smacked Max so roughly she turned his head the other way. Nerris grimaced as the sound of the slap echoed through, other campers exclaimed and cursed in alarm. That sounded like it hurt a lot.

“Nikki!” David shrieked. He reached for Max, seemingly expecting him to be outraged, only to discover he was still asleep. Not even a little rattled by the very harsh slap Nikki had given him.

“See! Nothing! No reaction whatsoever.” Nikki insisted, gesturing towards Max.

“I mean, if that didn't attest our claim I don't know what else will.” Neils adds. Although he seemed pleased with finally having a obvious piece of evidence, he clearly had not expected such a move from Nikki.

“Gosh darnit. How did you even do this?” David asked, looking at Nerris.

“I don't know, I just sort of…did it?” Nerris began explaining. “I read a book about hypnosis and studied how to actually do it but it only worked on Max. Maybe because he was really tired or something. Anyway, it only worked on him and I have full control right now. He’s not dead or in a coma…Well actually I guess it could technically count as a comma.” Nerris looked back at David. David stared at her with huge eyes and an agape mouth.

“No, wait! What I mean is that as long as I dont tell him to wake up he will stay asleep.” Nerris corrected themselves.

“But I can tell him at any time to snap out of this state and he will be back to normal.” Nerris assured

“Well that is exactly what you are going to do right now.” David scolded. Nerris knew that even if they did as they were told, they would still get in trouble. Which means this sleepover would not only end in a very anticlimactic way, but they would also be stuck cleaning the sticky mess hall floors and whatever other punishments CJ added on. Nerris needed an alternative.

“But-” Nerris started.

“No but’s!” David interrupted. “You will make him wake up and you will do it now.” Nerris could tell Gwens lessons on how to be authoritative were working.

“I can make Max do anything you want him to do! I can tell him to be nice, clean the campgrounds, or participate in activities.” At the mention of the last possibility, David glanced up at Nerris.

“Wait, you can make him actually want to do the activities?” David asked. Bingo. Nerris had just found their way out of trouble.

“Yeah. I can tell him that whatever activity you tell him to participate in he will want to do, no questions asked. No arguments needed.” Nerris reasoned

“All you have to do is let us get away with this sleepover and in return you don't have to deal with an angry Max anymore.” Nerris offered, making the deal sound extremely beneficial, which for a very tired counselor, it probably was.

“And I mean, making Max do activities isn't really a bad thing.” Nerris added. “Because…well you know, it's great health wise to be active. So really, you're doing him a favor.”

Nerris didnt know what the fuck they were saying, but they had heard David go on enough rants to remeber some of the phrases he had used when he tried to make them do an especially boring activity. And by the look on his face, Davids seemed to be considering the deal.

“Well you're not wrong but…” David responded, his brows furrowed. Nerris was losing him. They had to come up with something quick.

“How about this? I only make Max do it for…let's say a day or two. And at any point in time or if anything goes wrong, I can make him snap out of it.” Nerris explained.

“We don't get in trouble and you don't have to beg Max to participate in an activity for 15 minutes. I think that's a fair deal, no?” Nerris concluded. If playing D&D had taught them anything, it was to be able to strategize on the spot. David stood there for a couple seconds, clearly thinking his answer through. Swiftly, his shoulders slump and his eyebrows unknit.

“Mhm… fine.” David drawled. Everyone cheered, glad to have avoided cleaning the mess hall floor with toothbrushes.

“But I will stay while you do it.” David affirmed. “Don't want you to make him do something I didn't agree with.”

“Of course.” Nerris replied.

“And he's really alright? Like, this isn't going to hurt him or anything” David questioned.

“Obviously not David. C’mon just sit down!” Nerris quickly answered, too excited about their successful attempt to want to waste anytime. They had done it. Sure, apparently Nerris could only hypnotize people who were extremely exhausted, but they still had the ability to do it! Nerris sat down quickly, not caring if they fell a little too hard on the ground. Unlike Nerris, David gently sat down on the floor, crossing his legs just like Max. As they got ready to tell Max the commands, the smile on Nerris’s face grew wider. Nerris was finally a true mage.

[japage3moondog]

post-beatles george harrison hc's

laid back 70's geo for the soul, post-all things as well. if you squint you're a married couple.

george was always quiet and reserved but he's even more of a recluse post-breakup. he doesn't really like attention and keeps to himself as much as possible. there are days where you're the only person he talks to. it's not that he loves his peace and quiet, it's more that loud noises are just a no for him. your record player is permanently set to half volume just to make sure you don't accidentally upset him.

he gets a bit antsy if you're out for too long, especially if he's not with you so you mainly rely on personal assistants for groceries and such. not that either of you mind much. on the rare occasion you have to be out for a prolonged period of time without george, he insists you keep a talisman of his on you, a necklace or a bracelet or once even a small stone from his garden. it puts him at ease knowing a part of him is with you, keeping you safe.

he does his best to provide you with the romantic dates you deserve in the house. whether it means he has to change your dingy dining room into the perfect place for a candlelit dinner or set up an elaborate picnic date in his garden. i mean you definitely have the space for it.

he still writes songs, but he takes a break from recording. he says 'you're the only audience he needs'. sometimes you'll wake up to him on your bedroom floor, gently finger-picking guitar and scribbling down lyrics and chord progressions. especially since one of the best ways to work through something is to put your feelings into a piece of art, like a song. he likes playing a song before he goes to sleep to put an end to his day and because it helps both of you sleep.

you answer the phone for him. the phone's ring is also turned down almost as far as it can go. paul, john and ringo are accustomed to hearing your voice when they call but anyone ringing for business or outside your social circle assumes your his secretary. it's funny but a little demeaning at times.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Ghost House Report - Roger Barel (part 1)

This event came out back in the start of July. This story event happened before Roger’s route, so Kate and Roger aren’t in a relationship.

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this.

Every night, sobs could be heard coming from an abandoned mansion—

There were rumors of this mansion being a ghost house and that it was the base for crimes, so Crown was sent on a mission to investigate.

Since we were only given a day, we split up to investigate the mansion—

Harrison and Jude, Elbert and Alfons, and Roger and I paired up to start our investigation.

--

The old hallway creaked with every step we took.

I kept rambling in an attempt to distract myself from my fears.

Kate: R-roger, rumors say the sobs are heard at night. If this is a criminal hideout, now’s probably a good time to investigate since it’s unlikely that there will be anyone around during the day!

Roger’s reliable back was like a shield as I nervously followed along—

Roger: You’re pretty chatty today. You sure you don’t need me to hold your hand?

Kate: Huh? Ahaha, I-I’m fine!

Roger: Your words and actions don’t match. And your heartbeat’s higher than normal.

Kate: Urgh…

(He can see through me…)

Roger: Or I can hold you—

Roger smiled back at me, but then suddenly became serious when he glanced over my shoulder.

Roger: Lil’ lady, there’s something behind you…

Kate: Eek?! W-w-w-what is iiiiiiiit?!

I instinctively held onto him—

Roger: …Pfft…Heh…

Roger’s strong abs shook.

Kate: ?!?!

Roger: Hahaha, didn’t know you were that scared.

Kate: …Were you teasing me?!

Roger: Heh, sorry. You’re just too cute, I had to. Don’t worry, there’s nothing there.

I was annoyed by Roger laughing through his empty apologies.

Kate: Y-you’re so mean! Don’t laugh—

I tried to push him away, but he kept me trapped in his arms.

Roger: Hmm, sorry.

He patted my back as if to comfort me.

Kate: …I’m not falling for it.

Despite saying that, I didn’t feel like giving up the comfort from his hands.

(So annoying…yet it’s kind of calming)

Roger: Hey, why’re you so scared of ghosts?

Kate: Hmm, well… I guess it’s because I’m not familiar with them. I’m worried about what they’ll do. Aren’t you scared, Roger?

Roger: Well, I don’t even believe in ghosts in the first place. There’s no scientific proof and I’ve never seen one before. But a lot of people talk about them. Let’s assume that they do exist. If a person dies and comes back as a ghost, then we can assume that they had regrets and attachments. If we can discover why their soul’s left in this world, then we’ll have a higher chance at dealing with it. —At least that’s my hypothesis. That’s why I don’t really feel scared. 

(Ghosts were formerly human…)

Roger’s line of thinking was clear and made sense.

Kate: Is that so…I agree with you. I’ll also focus on thinking it over and learning instead of being scared. Let’s do our best on this investigation!

When I flashed him a thumbs up, Roger’s eyes softened.

Roger: Looks like you’re back to normal. But don’t push yourself.

(So he asked that to calm me down)

Kate: Yes! Thank you.

(Alright)

I marched on with Roger beside me.

Kate: Come to think of it, you said you wanted to investigate this area. Did something catch your eye?

Roger: Yeah. Wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but it should be fine.

Kate: ?

Roger: Truth is, I’ve been hearing some weird noises since we entered the mansion. From around here.

Kate: Huh?

Roger: There are no heartbeats or signs of life though. Could just be the draft shaking something, or could be from something “not alive”.

Kate: …

(It might be a ghost…Ugh, I have to stay calm)

Roger stopped in front of a door and listened.

Roger: Ready? I’m opening it.

He turned the old doorknob, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Roger: Hm? It doesn’t seem locked.

Roger put strength into his arms and the door rattled as he pushed and pulled.

Kate: R-roger, if you keep doing it roughly—

Roger: Guess I got no choice…Hmph!

Roger rammed the door with his shoulder.

(!)

A creepy sensation burst out when he broke the door open—

I closed my eyes on reflex.

Kate: …?!

I cautiously opened my eyes—

Kate: An examination room…?

The dusty room had what appeared to be medical equipment and specialized books.\

Roger: So the mansion has a room like this— So maybe it also functioned as a shady clinic.

Kate: R-Roger, didn’t you feel some strong presence when you opened the door earlier?

Roger: Yeah, I felt it. If this was a shady clinic…then no wonder there’s rumors about it being haunted. The noise is gone now, like it scattered. But…I’m getting some sense of deja vu from this room.

Kate: Huh? Have you been here before?

Roger: Nope, it’s my first time. But all clinics have a similar design. So that’s probably why. Anyway, let’s investigate.

(...Aren’t you a little too excited, Roger?)

Roger surveyed the room like an excited boy.

Seems like he’s not just interested in researching curses, but also exposing the unknown.

(Alright, I’ll work hard on looking for clues)

--

Roger was muttering himself as he looked through the equipment, documents, and specialized books.

Roger: There’s handcuffs. I knew this wasn’t a normal clinic. And…there’s some huge bloodstains…must’ve been from losing a lot of blood. There’s some specialized books…the brain and the soul…hm? Cytology? The human body and…research related to it…?

Kate: Hmm, Roger, this drawer’s stuck…

Roger: I’ll help.

Roger easily pulled the drawer out.

Inside was a crumpled sheet of paper that looked like a medical chart.

Rogre: This is—

His brows furrowed as he read through it and then he let out a deep sigh.

Roger: I see…It’s possible that there was research done on the cursed in this mansion.

Kate: Huh?!

Roger: Now I know why this place felt familiar. These documents and equipment…I saw some similar ones when I was a kid.

Kate: When you were a kid?

Roger: Yeah. My old man’s a doctor. I’ve been into medicine since I was a kid so I’d follow him around. One time my old man went on rare trip to a research facility out of the country and I tagged along— What I saw there was similar to the stuff here. Even as a kid…I knew something didn’t feel right. Now that I think about it, That place wasn’t just a simple research facility. They were researching curses.

(Researching curses…Like Roger)

Kate: If that’s true—that foreign facility and this clinic… Why were they researching curses?

Cursed ones are a rarity around the world. There aren’t a lot of people that know they exist.

I couldn’t even think of a reason for or motivation behind putting all your effort into researching something so unconventional.

Roger: There’s a lot of ways you can use “the cursed”. Things someone as kind and earnest as you can’t imagine. 

(Now that I think about it, Roger has said that his research was “for the sake of the cursed”...but what else?)

Roger: Alright, there’s probably some other stuff left here.

When Roger moved a heavy-looking filing cabinet, something looked out of place on the wall that was hidden behind it.

Kate: Roger, over there!

Roger: Yeah, I’m gonna remove this board.

Within the double wall was an old linen sack.

Roger: …Something to hide? What’s inside?

We looked inside and found a bunch of letters, notes—

Elbert’s? voice: Stooooooop!

Kate: ?!

Elbert’s? voice: Uuuu…Don’t…Don’t touch that!

Panicked steps approached.

Kate: What’s going on?

When I turned to the clinic’s entrance—

[adamwatchesmovies]

Black Christmas (1974)

In the realm of holiday horror, it doesn’t get much better than Bob Clark’s Black Christmas. Yes, the man who brought us A Christmas Story also made another must-see yuletide picture, though you won’t find much cheer in this ghastly, bloody ordeal.

As the Christmas holiday approaches, the women at a sorority house deal with personal issues, the usual holiday responsibilities and anonymous obscene phone calls while the police investigate a series of violent crimes in the area. The students have no idea a serial killer is squatting inside their home after sneaking into their attic one night.

Though Black Christmas predates Halloween and the slasher craze, it contains many of the genre's trademarks. The victims are violently murdered, often with a variety of sharp objects found around the house. The killer's targets are primarily young adults who find themselves isolated and their identity is a mystery. You've seen that before/since but key details make this film a little different and much more unsettling than the John Carpenter imitators that came later. We assume the man living in the attic is also making the obscene phone calls to the sorority girls, but the calls started BEFORE he entered. We assume he is also responsible for the rape that happened on campus recently, but it could be a coincidence. The same for the young girl who goes missing early on. It would be more comforting if it was all the work of a single maniac but a general aura of evil can't be ruled out.

You’re not so sure because there’s hardly anyone in the film that could be described as “alright”. The holiday season, combined with the university setting means that when someone's whereabouts are unknown, the police hurriedly say that it’s because they’re off with a boyfriend somewhere, or off partying. It shows how easy it is to get away with something when everyone is as busy as they are during the days leading up to Christmas. The housemother, Mrs. MacHenry (Marian Waldman), has bottles of alcohol hidden all around the house, which is comical but emphasizes that people aren’t as well-collected as they seem. When Mr. Harrison (James Edmond) comes to pick up his daughter and finds her missing, a quick tour of her room shows him there’s a lot more going on in the house than he expected. Your feelings of security are shaken. The most obvious example of normalized wrongness is the relationship between Jess (Olivia Hussey) and Peter (Keir Dullea). The stresses of the university are getting to him when he learns she's pregnant and planning on having an abortion. Despite his increasingly unhinged disposition, we know Peter can’t be the killer because Jess received a phone call while he was in the house… but then again, who’s to say they’re being committed by the killer?

Largely inspired by a well-known urban legend (you’ll know which one once you start watching), the film shows you exactly enough and not an ounce more. What we see of the killer couldn’t be more chilling. The uncertainty of his identity makes the final minutes feel like a ticking time bomb and the final shot is diabolically subtle. The character development makes the people we follow feel like they have lives beyond these events, which makes you care about who will live and who will die. Margot Kidder as a drunken sorority sister has a memorable role and is an example of the sprinkles of humor found here and there. Black Christmas is a little slow to start but the wait is well worth it. This is a memorable, suspenseful slasher film you’ll enjoy returning to. (On Blu-ray, December 23, 2021)

[daydreams-to-passages]

So I found this little snip bit in my docs and figured I share. It's clunky at best and can feel a bit odd since it's an isaki.

Anyways best of reading for yall.

I just about threw my phone again. It was getting on my nerves! Like why is she such a bitch to him! She manipulates and is so toxic.

The concept of this show is great the love interest hate her-hate hate hate her! It's not even meant to be a romance!!

The Flash was apart of the arrowverse list I decided to finally sit down and watch. Green Arrow season 1 passed, building was solid Helena that show’s Iris was dead. Omgosh how happy was i to see her die on screen. Why did the female leads or potential female leads have to be so manipulative. Like give me someone sweet and gentle with their hero partner. Something that while not physically strong is still strong and able to overcome stuff. I don't want her to feel so out of this world, more like if a hero clinged to the idea of normal. And her turn around to “i didn't want to be normal. I wanted to be abnormal like you. But with you I learned that normal is just fine. That normal is peacefully morning with coffee. They're watching kids in yards.” Domestic shit. And the hero? He gets that normal that he so desperately wanted.

Like that'd feel so much more in character for someone sweet and nerdy like Barry. Why the hell would he go for a journalist? Why would he stick with his first love who clearly wasn't interested in him. Like think of the angst of a world crossover where an Iris gets Barry versus not. It'd be much more interesting than whatever the hell Spiderman x Superman fusion they wanted for flash.

“did you throw you phone again?”

Stocking my tongue out at my Roommate, “Your sure one big simp.” They laughed at my agony, “they could do Barry so much better if they gave up the Iris subplot! Let her die and stay dead!”

“What like you?”

“What no! Why does everyone assume that? Like sure I'm not against filling shoes but I don't think I'd be a good match for him.”

“Why? You simp hard enough.”

“Romance and relationship aren't about simping, dude. Plus he needs to slow down and breath. I'm someone who needs to go fast. Sure theorically would could balance each other out but…”

“But?”

“I'm not that much in dululu land. I'm aggressive and visually angry all the time. Defensive at the best. We'd probably grate against each other and ruin the whole friendly sweet personality Barry has.”

“You know? I think it'd be the opposite. Like you want to go fast but he needs to slow down for you. Where he's friendly you could keep a leash on him. Where he's late your already planning and coming up with ways to make him on time. I think it'd be a match made in heaven.”

“Ewww stop feeding my delusions. It doesn't matter anyways.”

“Why?”

“Cause he's a simp for Iris.” I say turning back to my phone with the paused TV show. Grumbling going back to it.

“I wonder….” My roommate trailed off clicking my door shut once again, I got the weirdness uneasy feeling running down my spine. Though shrugged it off for a hunch that something bad was going to happen in the show.

Oh how right I was.

3 days later.

“Your Caitlin Snow. Your Cisco Ramon. Your Harrison Wells.” I slowly spun pointing at the once characters so far away was now within touching distance. “And that means your…” A red blurr skids to a stop, “Flash.”

I let the silence steep in the air as I chewed my thumb, “fucken Void.” I grabbed phone calling them immediately, “YOUR A FUCKEN BITCH! What did we say about dululus! WE DONT NOT ENCOURAGE OR CHANGE WORLDS TO SATISFY CURIOSITIES!”

“Well hello! I wanted to see if sparks would fly.”

“Oh sparks are gonna fly when I kill you and burn your body.” I snapped back before ending the call rubbing my forehead trying to think of a way go fix.

“So how'd you get in?” Cisco asked over his snack of the moment.

“Didn't mean to I opened a door.”

“A door?”

“Ya? Worlds are interconnected. You know the speedforce and realm jumping and all that shit.”

“You know about the Speedforce?”

“Now to find the right door so I can strangle my darling roommate. They said go for it. They said what could happen with an interdimetionable being? Nothing they'd be too scared to ruin the balance of things. NO NO ONE MET THIS Stupid fucker! So long as it's interesting it'll happen.” I wandered through Starlabs I could feel people staring into my back as I open and closed various doors in opens to finding the right one but no luck.

“So this happens often?”

“Yep.” Popping the P with a big sigh of defeat, as another door failed.

“So Void? Just sends you off with nothing?”

“No no. He chaotic neutral bish knows I know my way around this world.

“So its not random?”

“No. Gods do you enjoy interrogating me? World's often have echos of each order. Speedsters can only come I contact with ones that either have speedforce on it or if a doppelganger is there. Void doesn't have those restrictions. He's not a bad guy or even someone who you can fight. He's not a rogue or a metahuman you created. He just like putting theories to a test.”

“Is it alright that your sharing this information?”

“Sure it's not like you'll remember me when this is over.”

“Wait why not?”

“Cause I don't exist here? By allying myself with my roommate I essentially killed off any dopples of myself. I'm the one and only. And two you wouldn't remember me cause it'd break timelines. Everything I do will be edited to fit whatever narrative. With minor exceptions.”

“and those exceptions?”

“I'll will be replaced by someone who fits better.”

[smkkbert]

Time for a story - Genesis

When Oliver arrived in front of City Hall, breathing just a little bit heavier, he smoothed some wrinkles out of his grey three-piece suit and tried to ignore the intent gaze John was looking at him with.

“You are late.”

Although his voice sounded light and casual, Oliver didn’t miss the underlying tone of suspicion. John knew him well, so he would be able to see right through any white lie Oliver could probably tell him. Oliver knew John so well that he knew he didn’t have to tell to a white lie either.

“Felicity really, really loves this suit.”

John snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. The grin on his face told Oliver that he hadn’t been wrong to tell him the truth. After all these years, John had certainly known why Oliver was late even before he had arrived.

Felicity had just been in a really, really good mood this morning. As soon as she had seen him choosing the grey three-piece suit from his limited wardrobe, her eyes had started sparkling. From the bed she had watched him putting on the suit and listened to his endless rambles about the upcoming meeting today. When he had eventually knotted his tie and turned around to her, asking for her judgement, she had crawled to the edge of the bed. She had wrapped the tie around her hand and pulled him close, telling him that he looked so hot in that suit that she just needed to take if off of him.

Oliver still had to smile at how playful Felicity had been this morning. After everything they had been through, they had finally found their footing again. This morning their first conversation hadn’t been about wondering how Mia started her day. It had certainly been their first thought, but it hadn’t been the first thing they had talked about.

“Laurel isn’t here yet, either?”

John shook his head. “She texted me five minutes ago and should be here any minute though. She was at the DA’s office.”

“Is she getting her job back?”

Oliver knew that he shouldn’t feel guilty about it, but Laurel had left her job, so she could defend him in court. The entire team had experienced some losses these past weeks. Blood Rose had really managed to wreak havoc for a while. Luckily, she hadn’t met her ultimate goal.

“They offered it back to her, but she didn’t accept.” John shrugged. “She wants to do her own thing and will rebuild CNRI. Since she had good connections to the DA’s office and judges, she thinks she can serve as a connection between wrongfully accused and the legal entities.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Oliver looked up and down the street, then glanced on his watch. “What about McKenna?”

“McKenna was snatched away from Starling City.”

Oliver perked up an eyebrow, wordlessly asking for more information. John looked rather relaxed, so Oliver assumed that she wasn’t kidnapped against her will. His choice of words didn’t sound like she was on a spontaneous get-away with her boyfriend either though.

“The government decided that, since McKenna did a good job leading the SCPD through Rose Blood’s attack, she was someone worth keeping. President Harrison sent her a jet to take her to Washington DC where she will work from now on. There are half a dozen men at her apartment as we speak to pack up her stuff and take it to DC. That is how good the government’s offer had been.”

There was so much to say about what John had told him that Oliver didn’t even know where to start. All these changes came a little too quickly for him. He wasn’t good with changes.

“How do you know all of this? About Laurel, about McKenna?”

“While you and Felicity have been figuring out whether that suit looks better on you or on the floor” – John pursed his lips and shot Oliver a mockingly strict glance – “I was the second person everyone called to spill the news.”

Oliver felt for his phone in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, but it wasn’t there. It must have fallen out when Felicity had tossed the jacket to the floor and pulled him into bed, so she could ravish him.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Oliver shook his head. His family and the team had gone through a lot these past weeks. So had the city. It seemed like they all needed to accept more changes.

With a frown Oliver looked at John. “Who will take over? We need someone who doesn’t only accept the vigilantism but supports it. It will be difficult to find a joint footing. With McKenna, I was sure it would work out because we know her long enough and-“

“Don’t worry. Your brother-in-law will take her place.”

Oliver perked up his eyebrows. “Dominic?”

John shrugged his shoulders. “He is a good fit, and Lance wanted him to follow in that position anyway. Nick just wasn’t ready. Now he is.”

“At least there is one good thing about this entire thing then.”

“Two good, I’d say,” John reminded him, “because this is going to be good too.”

Oliver wasn’t sure yet. He hoped that the meeting today would help him see everything a little bit more positive, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. They didn’t have to hide anymore which was good, but the team and the police still operated very differently. It would be difficult to actually agree on some key points of their collaboration, and it would be even more difficult to get the government’s blessing on those.

But he shouldn’t be this pessimistic. John was right. There were good things happening here.

“Have you and Felicity already decided on-“

“I’m so sorry,” Laurel hurried to say as soon as she stopped next to them, being quite more out of breath than Oliver had been at his arrival, “I got stuck in traffic and-“

“It’s fine,” Oliver interrupted her, “let’s go.”

They entered the foyer of City Hall and went up the stairs towards the conference room. Some spokesmen of the city and McKenna – or rather Nick, Oliver reminded himself – had gathered there two hours earlier already to gather some ideas that should be discussed with the representatives of the vigilantes. Oliver and John as the team’s half-official leaders and Laurel with her legal knowledge had seemed to be the right people for that.

Felicity had planned to attend to, so technical issues wouldn’t be overlooked, but the kids had whined about the lack of clothes and other stuff they had already – rightfully even. They only had what they had taken when they had left their house and moved to the penthouse. It should have been a couple of days. Not it had been weeks. The penthouse was nice, but it wasn’t a home. It was just a place to stay. It was time to change that because Oliver and Felicity knew it was probably a matter of weeks rather than days until they had found something else.

For now, staying at the penthouse was the safest option, and it meant the kids didn’t have move again and again until he and Felicity had agreed on a solution.

“There you are!”

As soon as they had set foot into the hallway, Becky, his personal assistant that Felicity had chosen for him yeas ago, hurried in their direction.

“They had finished their discussion about fifteen minutes ago. I suggested that they take a little break, offered coffee and donuts, but I think they are a little impatient for the next step to be taken. I mean… this is big.”

Oliver smiled at Becky. “Thank you for taking care of everything.”

“There should be coffee left. If there isn’t, just let me know.”

With that, she went back to her desk, sat down behind it and dived back into work. Oliver watched her for a moment, grateful that she had agreed to work for him years ago and still continued to do so. He guessed she could have easily have an easier job, but apparently she liked challenges.

When Oliver, John and Laurel stepped into the conference room, everyone’s eyes immediately looked at them. The two spokesperson – a man in his sixties and a woman in her late thirties, Oliver estimated and believed he hadn’t met them before – looked them up and down thoroughly. Nick, who was sitting at one of the long sides of the conference table and drank his coffee, seemed to be watching for Oliver’s reaction to his promotion.

“Good morning,” he said to the two spokespeople first, then turned to his brother-in-law, “Captain.”

Nick scrunched up his nose and nodded his head. With a shrug of his shoulders, he leaned back in his chair then, again taking a gulp of his coffee. Eventually, he tore his gaze away, having seen what he had needed to see. Oliver approved of his promotion.

They all sat down around the large table, Nick and the two spokespersons for the city on one side, Oliver, John and Laurel on the other side.

“Before we start,” Nick said, naturally taking the leading for this discussion, “we should first learn what interest we all have in this project. I think that offers a little more transparency to the discussion.”

He looked at the woman to his right, who smiled and nodded her head. “I am Annelies Weston. I am the daughter of Tom Weston, who was saved twice by the Arrow.”

So she was someone who had personally experienced the good vigilantes could do, Oliver thought with some relief.

“I’m John Diggle,” John introduced himself next, “vice-mayor and the vigilante Spartan.”

“Oliver Queen. Mayor and Green Arrow.”

“Dinah Laurel Lance.” Laurel smiled politely. “I was District Attorney until a couple of weeks ago. Now I am planning on rebuilding the CNRI to its full potential.”

When the spokesman was to introduce himself, Oliver looked at him closely. His eyes showed dismissal. He wasn’t eager to be here or looking forward to a good discussion, Oliver thought. He rather looked like he wanted to make sure that this would be as hard as possible.

“Roger Meltzer. You once saved my son,” he said, his eyes completely focused on Oliver, “and that turned him into a vigilante fanatic. He thought he could prove the city that he could be just as good, but he wasn’t mentally stable. We had to commit him to a psychic ward.”

So Oliver’s feeling about him hadn’t been right. Mr. Meltzer had good reason to hate vigilantism. It had saved his son only to make it lose him in a different way. He certainly would have some things to say during this discussion.

Nick cleared his voice, breaking the awkward silence that had settled. “As you know, we have met here earlier to already discuss what parts of this approved vigilantism are needed. Although I am part of your team, I am here today in my position as Captain of the SCPD and the citizens of Starling City mostly.”

“We are all here for Starling City,” Laurel replied. “This city is why vigilantism was started and why it’s still going.”

Nick nodded his head, but didn’t say anything. Of course he knew what their goal was, but Oliver guessed he wanted to make it transparent to Mr. Meltzer and Ms. Weston too.”

“We think that we need to talk about your obligations as vigilantes, the limits of your work, possible penalties if you cross those limits, finances, communication, the evaluation of your work and the collaboration and your personal safety are what needs to discussed,” Ms. Weston explained, “or do you have other ideas?”

“I think those are the main issues,” John agreed, “so maybe let’s start with the easy topics that can be worked through quickly.”

“Is there anything easy about this?” Ms. Weston asked with a half-hearted chuckle.

“The finances are easy,” Oliver said, “because the team financed itself through years, and it will continue to do so.”

“With your private wealth?” Mr. Meltzer asked.

Oliver nodded his head. “Yes.”

“But isn’t a privately financed institution always in risk of being compromised?” He cocked his head. “Who says that you don’t hide evidence that could incriminate one of your friends or people that you like, while you fake other evidence to people that… bother you?”

If it was anyone else who would offer to finance a project like this, Oliver was sure that he would ask the same question. He knew that he was loyal to his obligations as the Green Arrow, but that wouldn’t be enough to convince people that doubted his sincerity.

He moved to the edge of his chair, folded his hands on the tabletop and looked at Mr. Meltzer. “I investigated my own mother when I learned that she knew about the Gambit. I couldn’t stop Blood Rose earlier because although she challenged me in the mayoral race, I only did shallow research on her, so I knew she wasn’t another person that would ruin this city. I could have figured out something was wrong with her way before I did if I had used the team’s full abilities. I didn’t do so because she didn’t appear linked to criminality until the attack on the city.”

Mr. Meltzer didn’t say anything. He just looked back at Oliver with intent eyes before he released a noise Oliver didn’t know how to interpret and leaned back in his chair. Apparently, his words hadn’t been too bad.

“I think we should offer a leap of faith here,” Ms. Weston said slowly, “and agree to the privately financed project.”

“We could offer insights to the money we spent,” John offered, “thought it wouldn’t surprise anyone what we pay for.”

Fuel for the van and motorcycles, computer equipment, medical equipment, weapons and everything that increased their safety. There wasn’t much more.

“Our personal safety will also be taken care of.” John took a sip of his coffee. “We will take care of it personally and maybe just add some security from a governmental division.”

A.R.G.U.S. had already sent some officers to the house of each and every one of them. They would offer added security to their homes and their families night and day. The team could hold their own, but they did needed some sleep eventually. And the kids should grow up as save as possible. If that meant that there had to be A.R.G.U.S. officers patrolling the house and accompanying them whenever necessary, Oliver would have to live with that.

Nick took some notes and then nodded his head. “Two issues down, five to go.”

It turned out that their obligations and limits were quite less easy to discuss, but Oliver wasn’t surprised by that. John and Laurel explained how the team usually worked and what they did – the patrolling, the investigations, the arrests. Nick and Ms. Weston both agreed that the team should continue with that since it was what had saved the city so many times.

Mr. Meltzer, who had stayed quiet, angled his head though. “How can it be sure that these investigations are fair? There is a reason why there are judicial decisions needed for some steps in an investigation or why not all data in the world is available for the police. In these days, the data gathered on servers are too sensitive.”

“If we can’t access the same data as we did before,” Oliver said quietly, “we cannot work the way we did before. We get a shot of doing something new. That means that we have to go new ways here.”

Leaning back in his chair once more, Mr. Meltzer crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at Oliver with puckered lips. “I am not convinced.”

Of course he wasn’t

“Mr. Meltzer,” Laurel hurried to say before Oliver could say something he’d regret later, “I know that it seems weird that we are asking for your allowance to access data that isn’t legally accessible for the police. Here is the thing though – the police are not us. We all outed ourselves as the vigilantes we are despite the possible penalties we could have faced. President Harrison thanked us for that by pardoning us and offer us this great chance. The city showed its support by voting Mr. Queen back into the mayoral office because they trust him to do what is best for this city in whatever capacity he can.”

Mr. Meltzer turned his head slowly to look at Oliver, then dipped his head down slightly. “That is something that does convince me.”

“Maybe the team could write reports like the police does,” Ms. Weston suggested, “so their investigations are documented too. They only supply those reports to the police though that can indeed been used for an arrest or a trial. Everything else is saved and evaluated by trusted people to make sure that the investigations are really appropriate. Maybe you could ask your wife to write those reports as she seems to be on office duty, right?”

From the corner of his eye, Oliver could see John hiding an amused grin. When John turned his head towards Oliver, he still kept a straight face. “Yes, Oliver. Maybe you could ask your wife to write those reports.”

Oliver bit down on his tongue and lowered his eyes to his hands on the tabletop. He was sure that if he looked at John, Laurel or Nick now, he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face of his own. He could basically feel Laurel’s body shake from a chuckle next to him and Nick, who was sitting right opposite of him, was suddenly very busy reading his notes once more.

Felicity did save important results of their investigations, but he was sure that she would never write those reports. He could already see the way she was laughing if he even suggested that. She would certainly provide reports on her parts in their crime-fighting activities, but everything that happened out in the field would have to be written by someone out in the field.

He guessed it was something they just had to live with. When they worked with a department, they had to, at least in some ways, work like a department.

Some more obligations – passing on of information to the police, discretion towards other people, the registration of all of their weapons and more were discussed.

So were their limits. They weren’t allowed to torture anyone or to ignore orders from the police. They also couldn’t kill someone if it wasn’t for self-defense. Of course there was more, but Oliver’s head was spinning. Discussing all of this still felt incredibly surreal.

He didn’t listen to the possible penalties they would face if they acted in violation of this contract. Oliver didn’t plan on doing so. He had done this job as best as he could in the shadows. He would only give more in the broad daylight.

They also agreed on communications. The police would contact the team if there was a case they needed help with or had important information that the team might need. On the other hand, the team would do the same. That way the two shouldn’t barge into something the other party was doing. Felicity would also log the team into the police radio over the comms for joint operations.

“Last but not least – evaluations.” Nick tapped his pen on the table a couple of times and puckered his lips. “The team should participate in police-intern evaluations after operations if they took part in it.”

John nodded his head. “Sounds good.”

“And we should evaluate the final contract that we will agree on in… half a year?”

Mr. Meltzer, who had been suspiciously quiet, snorted at that. “Six months? Not to start with.”

“I agree with Mr. Meltzer here,” Oliver said, making all eyes turn on him, “because this is too new and too sensitive to wait too long if things aren’t working out for either party. I suggest we will meet back here monthly for the first half a year at least. If we feel like we are on a good way then, we can still decide on a different rhythm.”

Nick, his eyebrows still perked up, nodded his head slowly. He looked at the face of the others. When he didn’t find any protest, he noted it down.

“We should also meet and edit the terms of this collaboration sooner than one month in if one of the parties thinks it’s necessary to make changes quickly,” Oliver added. “I assume that everyone on this table agrees when I say that we need to be very careful to do this right.”

Again, everyone nodded.

“We should also think about how we will communicate our terms of working together to the city,” Laurel said, “because it’s important to let them in on it. The safer they feel, the better the team can work.”

“A friend of mine works for Channel 52.” Ms. Weston smiled. “She told me that the channel prepares a request for an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Queen to talk about the Queen’s family role in shaping Starling City, especially with the new vigilante contract and Mr. Queen’s reelection as mayor. I think the contract could be presented there.”

“If the government has already approved to it already by then.”

“They will,” Nick said firmly. “I will make sure of that.”

Oliver nodded. “I will talk to my wife about this, but I think that we will agree on this.”

With that, the discussion was over. Three hours, six heavy heads and all the key points for a collaboration that had never existed like this before. Despite Oliver’s doubts three hours ago, he did feel cautiously optimistic that maybe this could work.

While everyone was getting up and gathering their stuff to leave, Mr. Meltzer was already on his way towards the door. As soon as the discussion had been finished, he had gotten up and turned to leave without another word. Oliver hurried after him and reached him before he could disappear through the door.

“Mr. Meltzer,” he said and waited until the man turned around and faced him before he continued, “I am very sorry about your son.”

Mr. Meltzer sighed, his stiff posture suddenly turning into something tired. “Kevin was always a good boy, and he always wanted to do something great. When he was saved by you, he just thought it was a sign. He wanted to be just like you, no matter how much we told him that’s not possible.”

Oliver nodded his head slowly, not saying anything yet. He knew what it was like to lose a child although it hadn’t died. Mr. Meltzer couldn’t have helped Kevin, and Oliver wouldn’t be there to help Mia through her struggles.

 “I am sure that Kevin meant no harm to anyone,” Oliver assured him, “and I am sorry that vigilantism had such a bad influence on him.”

“It wasn’t just the vigilantism,” Mr. Meltzer said, “but it was the final push that made him tumble over the edge of sanity completely.”

“I understand.” Oliver nodded his head once more. “I also understand your hesitation to allow vigilantism legally. People could get the wrong idea and just start going on the streets and attacking criminals without special training or anything like that. I know it’s not much, but I can assure you that I know the responsibility that comes with being part of this team and leading this team in particular. I know that we are dancing a dangerously thin line, but I promise we will do our best.”

Mr. Meltzer looked at Oliver for a long moment. When he smiled eventually, an almost grudgingly soft smile, he looked ten years younger. A little part of him, maybe the way he smiled, even reminded Oliver of Moira. There had been times when she hadn’t wanted to smile and still had because she had just loved her children and had, despite her occasionally hard appearance, been a true softie. At least for her family.

“I know you will do your best,” Mr. Meltzer replied eventually, “and what you said and promised is a lot more than you are giving yourself credit for. You proved today that you are willing to do things right and know the chance you were given here with all its difficulties. That’s all I wanted to know.”

He held out his hand for Oliver, who grabbed it and shook it.

Without another word, the man turned back towards the door and opened it then. He had already taken a step out when he looked back over his shoulder once more. The reluctant smile he had shown before turned into an amused grin now.

“By the way, I voted for you, so I guess I had been right about you already.”

With that, he did stroll towards the elevators. Oliver stayed back, looked after him and smiled to himself. It was a good feeling that people trusted him with this. It meant that it could really work.

[naughtygirl286]

I wanted to post this last week but didn't get the chance So yeah we finally went to see Captain America: Brave New World Now before we get into it yes there was plenty of collectable goodies for this you can see what we picked up here.

Now as for the movie itself I know there is alot of complaints and negativity surrounding it but me personally I had no problem with it at all. I would say I did enjoy it and the people I went with seemed to enjoy it too. One of the people who I went with didn't watch the Falcon and the Winter Solider series being they only watch the movies so I quickly tried to explain to them in the drive to the theater how we got from Falcon receiving the shield at the end of Endgame to being Captain America in this.

but other then that there wasn't any really problems but yes this movie is set up in the way were it assumes you have see the Falcon and the Winter Solider series as well as 2008s The Incredible Hulk and possibly 2021's Eternals being this is a some what sequel to all 3 of those things but mostly the Falcon and the Winter Solider series and 2008s The Incredible Hulk. Its a continuing story of those 2 main things were it take place a year or 2 after Falcon and the Winter Solider.

Now I didn't have any problem following the story I felt it was straight forward. I did feel that it was a bit of a political action thriller and I did feel like there was a bit of intrigue to it. I also felt that it did have kinda the same tone and feel that Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

I thought the acting was great and everyone did amazing job. I think Anthony Mackie is giving his all in this role and I think he is having fun doing it going from the Falcon to becoming Captain America and its cool knowing that he is enjoying this. I thought Harrison Ford did a great job in this role taking over for the late William Hurt who I thought did a great Ross. I was also happy that they brought Tim Blake Nelson back to play Samuel Sterns and have him finally be The Leader and I had no problem with how he looked in the movie I wasn't expecting the large green head but I felt how he looked in the movie was realistically how you would expect him to look. I was also happy that Liv Tyler made a appearance as Betty Ross.

The visuals and action were really good too! especially in the third act when you the Red Hulk makes his appearance. That whole thing was very cool

but yeah there was some humor and plenty of references I liked how they brought in the Serpent Society or simply "SERPENT" as they call it in the movie I feel kinda bad for Seth Rollins that he was cut from the movie but hopefully we'll see him in the deleted scenes.

but other then that I personally had no problem with the movie I thought it was great. I don't understand the hate for it I enjoyed it and the people I went with to see it enjoyed it and that is pretty much it.

also there is a end credits scene at the very end so don't forget that.

[theredhavendelegate]

Off The Record No. 1: Carmine Letter

Here's a scoop you won't get anywhere else. They won't print stories like this in the paper, not even in rags like The Broad Street Negotiator.

If you want to know what's really going on in Redhaven, then you have to go off the record.

---

A man in a bowler hat, a vest, and wire-rim glasses walks down a long hallway. The carpet is ornate, patterned with fibers of dark red, blue, and gold. The walls are papered with an equally ostentatious style, and wood trim covers them from the baseboards to a little over waist height. It is dim, lit just by gas lamps. The windows are all shuttered.

There are paintings hung along the way, well dressed figures standing alone, contrasted and framed by rolling landscapes, statues, and bowls of fruit. One portrait depicts a brown-furred foxhound so saggy and wrinkled that it appears to be melting.

The Valet stops in front of a pair of hand-carved wooden doors and knocks with an uneven cadence. The response is a single knock from somewhere on the other side, and The Valet enters.

The room is a study, walls lined with bookshelves and more paintings. There are side tables, a couch, a balcony, and a large, imposing wooden desk at the center, which has been etched on its front with the image of a large feather.

Behind the desk is a woman with long, reddish-brown hair and ice-blue eyes. She wears a small amount of makeup, something to sharpen her brows and, to the keen-eyed, foundation on the cheeks. Her clothing is practical, though flawlessly tailored from shoe to cuff.

She smiles coolly at The Valet and gestures with a hand as she says, “We’re on a wonderful little adventure now, meddling in the affairs of the lay folk so directly. I wonder, will it all play out in our favor? I worry that I’m beginning to lose my edge.”

The Valet closes the doors behind himself with a featherlight touch, and then walks over to the desk. Arms at his back, he replies, “One cannot make statements encapsulating a whole person, but your plans, at the very least, are as keen as those of any Carmine to come before you.”

The mayor leans back in her seat and steeples her fingers. “You would know better, wouldn’t you? I see vanishingly little of the effects of my decisions. The balcony provides a stunning view, but very little insight. Enlighten me.”

The servant nods and removes his cap to reveal a mostly vacant scalp which is interrupted by a neat row of thinning strands. “You’ve chosen wisely. All the laborers you’ve selected have agreed to the meeting, including today’s visit, Mister Dahl. He has more influence than he realizes, and his cool temper should prove a balm to that of The Blue Coalition’s agents. All that said, assuming this first meeting goes well, Redhaven’s laborers should be protected without upsetting General Harrison too badly.”

The mayor scoffs. “Nothing could prevent that man from getting his medals in a tangle.”

“Quite right,” The Valet agrees.

There is a knock at the door and the mayor comments, “Right on time. Let Lord Redhaven in and fetch us refreshments. You know what he likes.”

The serving man goes towards the door, his gait soft and prudent. He pulls open them open to reveal an old man with a white, well kept beard and a broad build. The Valet bows and gestures deeper into the room, and once Lord Redhaven has walked past him, closes the doors again. The valet exits through a side door.

“Oswald,” Mayor Carmine calls brightly. “Please, make yourself comfortable. My man will be back in a moment with tarts and Candamoran coffee, a good, coastal blend.”

The lord’s brow is furrowed and his lips are slightly pursed, but he forces a smile and nods, taking a seat before the desk. He slouches deeply into the maroon upholstery and clears his throat. “Well, Desdemona. It’s good to see you again.”

She beams fawningly. “My lord, the honor is all mine! It’s always a blessing that you’re willing to take time out of your busy day to talk about matters of such import with a lowly public servant.”

He rubs a temple. “Well, my schedule only gets busier with the passing days. Did you know that the Confederates conducted an inquest at my estate? They wanted to imprison half of my scientists and philosophers! Claimed they were operatives of The Covenant! I had to bargain directly with that upstart general just to keep those good people free, and I still had to lay a few of them off for his satisfaction.” Oswald has begun to rake his fingers through his beard and the strong impression that he’d been wearing sloughs off to reveal weariness.

The side door opens silently and The Valet returns. He carries a sterling silver platter, upon which rides a set of fine porcelain serving-ware: saucers, teacups, and a steaming carafe, along with a plate of fresh fruit pastries.

The server fills a cup with coffee so dark it seems to suck the light out of the air around it, and then passes it to Oswald. The lord takes a sip and another layer sloughs off of him, weariness giving way to calm. He mutters to the man, “Thank you good sir, thank you.”

Mayor Carmine serves herself a cup as well and turns to The Valet. “Thank you, that will be all.” He bows low, a hand on his bowler hat, rises, and takes his leave.

“Now,” Carmine begins, “It can’t all be bad news, can it? What have your learned men discovered?”

Oswald turns his chin up slightly and smiles. “Ah, yes. Progress. The fog, which had been making people quite fatally ill, can be filtered. Doctor Bell has already seen success with a round of prototype suits, which also mask his condition to his satisfaction while he searches for a cure. He’s rather a lot more confident with his face covered. Another thing: The complex is finally secure again. The entrances that formed during The Transit are all locked down and it’s no longer threatening to collapse, and we’ll be back at full capacity in another month or two.”

Desdemona nods and stirs her coffee, which must have four sugar cubes in it by now. She says, “That’s wonderful to hear. I’ll have you know that the civil side of things is stabilizing as well. Our friends in orange should have their hands full soon enough, and The Blue Coalition won’t be any bother. I’m working on giving them some…competition.”

Oswald nods with a furrowed brow, “I see,” he says, clearly lying. “This…competition, you said? It should see a little…uh…reduction in the population’s general anger, yes?”

The mayor nods decisively and stirs her coffee.

“Good, good then.” Oswald takes another sip from his cup, closing his eyes and sighing with contentment.

A grandfather clock by the window chimes and his eyes snap open. “Oh, goodness me! Is it that late already?” He rises, mildly aback, and sets his cup on the platter. “I’ve got to see Doctor Bell. He has a demonstration for me, something about these peculiar crystals he’s found in the ‘Void Fields’, as he’s taken to calling them, but it was a fine visit, very fine.”

Desdemona pushes the plate of pastries towards the lord and he takes a strawberry one from the stack as he turns to the door. “I really ought to arrange to swing by more often. I swear, our conversations are the only times that I get any rest. Take care and all that.” She nods and waves, and the lord hurries off without another word, pulling open the office doors with one hand while the other handles his tart.

Carmine stares at the doors as they shut and she keeps her eyes fixed on them as Lord Redhaven’s tread fades down the corridor. Once the sound has fully vanished, she sets her untouched drink back on the platter and claps once.

The Valet reemerges from the side door and strolls over to the desk, placing a notepad on the corner of the desk. A few pages are filled with large, neat handwriting, which mirrors the conversation that had just taken place. Carmine tucks it into a drawer as the serving man carries off the platter, and she sets to work writing her own notes after a moment.

She doesn’t write for long. There is a thunderous knock on the door, a sound that echoes throughout the room, and Carmine’s face rankles with displeased familiarity. “Enter,” she vociferates dispassionately.

A brusque man pushes through the doors and throws them closed again. He has rich, olive skin and black eyes that pierce the gloom. His clothing is robe-like, beige and maroon and tied off at the waist with yet more fabric. He carries himself to one of the chairs in front of they mayor’s desk, seats himself, and crosses his legs. “The seat’s still warm,” he remarks.

“Indeed,” Desdemona sneers, not bothering to look up from her note-taking. “The lord was just here a minute ago, and I doubt he’d be happy to see you out and about.”

The man pouts. “You consider this ‘out and about’? You really out to get more sunshine.”

Carmine sets down her pen and glances up, locking eyes with the man. “You are here under my service, Mister Jazari.”

“Please, call me Hasan,” he interjects.

She relaxes slightly and rolls her eyes. “I can tell that you’re bored, Mister Jazari, but I’ve got a bit of good news for once.”

The mercenary raises a dark brow.

The mayor explains, “We’re expecting some agitation at the northern science post not too long after public hiring begins. You’ll be on over-watch to make sure nothing gets too loud: we want to bring things to a simmer now, not a boil.”

Hasan cocks his head to the side and grins. “Over-watch,” he repeats, gnawing on the word slightly. “Sitting around and gazing about? Holding fire unless absolutely necessary? That means I get out of the kennel and I don’t have to waste ammunition. I like the sound of that.”

Carmine furrows her brow. “Regardless of how much ammunition you expect to waste. Make sure you and your rifle are ready. The Valet will give you more details on a need-to-know basis.”

The mayor goes back to writing, and Hasan stares at her for a moment. without looking up, she says, “There are fruit tarts in the pantry, help yourself, and don’t come back in here until I call for you.”

The mercenary grins and finally rises. He heads off through the side door and disappears, leaving Carmine alone in her office. She sets her pen down and strolls over to the glass balcony doors. The sky outside is a dim grey, and it grows dimmer by the minute.

“We’re on a wonderful little adventure now, aren’t we?” she whispers to no one in particular.

“A wonderful little adventure.”

---

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