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taranida · 12 days ago

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

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

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

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

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

I'm not sorry.

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

Alan Wake before and during 2010.

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

Alan considers Alice to be his muse.

Alan has a Number One Fan—Rose Marigold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alan had anger issues.

Alan was a sceptic.

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

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

Alan can manipulate time.

Alan ate the Dark Presence and enslaved the Bright Presence.

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

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

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

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

Thomas Zane

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

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

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

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

Tom was a passionate diver.

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

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

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

Tom had a Number One Fan—Cynthia Weaver.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom was memorialised at Cauldron Lake Lodge by Emil Hartman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom is elevated enough to influence the Dark Place.

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

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

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

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

Tom’s number is 667.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thomas Seine

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

Seine was born in Finland.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seine did finish the film. The film was lost.

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

Seine mysteriously disappeared in 1970.

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

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

Seine is elevated enough to remember some of the loops.

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

Seine is elevated enough to shape the Dark Place.

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

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

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

Seine owns a cinema in the Writer’s City.

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

Seine is scared of the police and FBC.

Seine claimed he worked with Scratch.

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

Seine’s number is 665.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scratch

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

Scratch is a Dark Presence.

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

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

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

Scratch might have the memory problems Alan has.

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

Scratch can use anyone as a host in our world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scratch’s number might be 666.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving on.

Alan Wake

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

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

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

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

Wake gave up. Multiple times actually.

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

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

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

Wake somehow managed to strike a friendship with Ahti.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wake is the Master of Many Worlds.

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

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

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

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

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

The Drowning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#rcu theory #alan wake #alan wake 2 #alan wake game #alan wake ii #remedy connected universe #alan wake's american nightmare #awan #remedy entertainment #remedy games #thomas seine #thomas zane #tom seine #tom zane #scratch #alex casey

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tyrantisterror · 1 year ago

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A couple months ago, one of the kids at the daycare brought in a D&D starter set and asked me to DM a game for him and some of the other kids in my class. Now, I had considered doing this in the past, but written it off for a variety of reasons, mainly asusming it'd be a couple days of chaos before the kids get sick of all the math involved and lose interest. But if a kid broaches an idea and others seem on board, I feel it's kind of my duty to at least try it.

So far my assumptions have been... mostly correct? Like, 70% of my predictions have come true, it is chaos, ten-years olds are the most murder-happy murder hobo PCs you could possibly imagine, and they've really been pushing my improv skills to their absolute limits with the choices they've made (and the constrictions I have on me as a daycare teacher). But they haven't gotten bored with the math, and they absolutely love playing the game still, which is nice. I like it when my students are passionate about something.

Anyway, I bring this up because seeing how children play with D&D canon has made me realize one critical fact:

D&D needs a Mons Game spinoff.

Kids love monsters. This is not my bias, it is something that has been categorically proven to me in my four years of working at a daycare. Every kid loves the idea of weird, impossible creatures, and they love the idea of befriending a whole horde of those creatures even more so. One of my kids in the daycare D&D campaign is making it his goal to find and tame every monster he can find in the kid-friendly monster manuals I bought for the class. He wants a Tarasque and a Bullete and an Owlbear and on and on and on, and keeps proposing tactics for capturing them based on his time playing Ark: Survival Evolved, a game where you can tame dinosaurs and mythic beasts while trying to survive a wild world full of danger and obstacles.

And it turns out that, while the mechanics of D&D don't support this, the philosophy of how its settings are structured according to those mechanics does. D&D is filled with hundreds of wild and imaginative monsters, all with distinct appearances, habits, adaptations, and environmental needs. The need to make the "dungeons" part of D&D interesting has required it to build really interesting monster ecosystems, and, much like mons games, the need to keep players buying new content has resulted in them building a vast library of creatures, because selling $50 books containing a slew of new monsters is a pretty guaranteed way to get money. D&D may not be a mons game, but it's accidentally made its setting perfectly suited to be one.

And what a money-maker that would be! Skew it more towards a child audience in tone, use simpler mechanics so kids can hop into it without spending, say, three solid weeks of afterschool daycare time crafting character sheets more or less one on one, and you'd have a game that would easily hook a younger audience while planting seeds of interest into the bigger game.

Of course, there are already indie TTRPG mons games, and I imagine some of them are actually good, but unfortunately they're not exactly easily obtainable on a daycare teacher's budget. And, you know, they wouldn't let you make a team of a bulette, an otyugh, a gray render, and an owlbear.

But then again, Wizards of the Coast continues to be absolute bastards, so maybe this idea is too good for them. Which makes it a good thing they're never going to read this blog post.

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whiskeynwriting · 1 year ago

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The Babymoon

Agent Daddy Whiskey x Female Reader

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Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Brief mention of reader’s hair (Jack just brushing it aside), established relationship/marriage, pregnant reader, dirty talk, aggressively passionate Jack (I’m W E T), degradation/teasing, breeding kink, daddy kink (ofc), spit kink, rough sex, choking, biting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, and some fluffies

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A/N: I apologize for the late post but ya girl has the stomach flu y’all

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Daddycember ‘23 Masterlist

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Every small grunt forces a ping of guilt through your husband’s gut, both hands working tirelessly to relieve your pain. Truly, he didn’t know the walk would be so rigorous for you, but he should’ve known, should’ve researched more before coming out. But he does his best to make the situation better; he carried all of the bags, both yours and his, set them down in their appropriate rooms and then rushed back to tend to you. Jack led you over to the couch, letting you lay out while he removed your socks and shoes.

“I’m sorry, sugar.” He mumbled, removing his hat while kneeling down. “Didn’t realize it was such a long hike.”

“It’s okay.” Came your sigh of reassurance, head tilted back. “It was worth it.”

And that made him incredibly happy, forcing that handsome smile right across his face. What you said was true, too, coming here was definitely worth it. With Jack’s busy work schedule, and you constantly prepping for the baby, the two of you needed a break, especially before your newborn gets here. And that’s exactly what this trip was intended for. Some time away to relax, reset, and enjoy each other’s presence.

Jack’s lips find their way to your ankles and calves, fingers massaging your sore feet. He didn’t mind doing this for you, did it almost every night, in fact. It became routine for him quite quickly; he could never not care for you. But thankfully, most of the more aggressive symptoms have subsided alongside the beginning of your third trimester. No more intense nausea or bloating, no more awful heartburn. The worst of your troubles have been general muscle aches and pelvic pain, but you’d take that over vomit any day.

“I can feel him kicking.” A sudden laugh comes from your throat, both hands falling to your belly.

Jack grins, reaching up with one of his own hands. “He’s a wild one, in there.”

“You… you think it’ll really change?” All Jack does is look up with confused concern. “Our lives, the way we are, when he comes.”

His casual shrug serves as minimal reassurance. Glancing back down at your feet, Jack clears his throat. “Sure it will, babycakes. But not in a bad way.”

“How do you know it won’t be in a bad way?”

“Because I won't let it be that way.” Chocolate eyes meet yours once again, full of warmth and kindness. “Don’t worry so much, honey. We’re on vacation.” And with that, he’s standing, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “Let me go make you a drink.”

And in this brief lull, you let out a relaxed breath, feeling at ease in Jack’s care. He’d always been such an attentive man, an attentive partner, able to identify and tend to your wants and needs before you even knew what they were. Being observant was in his nature, and branched into every area of his life, even now.

“Here you go, sugar.” Handing you the drink with a smile on his face, Jack turns toward the fireplace, taking it upon himself to light it.

It’s easy to admire him, not only for his incredibly handsome features, but for his wonderfully doting personality. He takes care of you, in every sense of the word. You’ve never felt safe before, like you do with him.

Although the walk up to the cabin was laborious, he’s still glad he chose it. Perfectly secluded and quiet, up in the Kentucky mountains. The entire estate is surrounded by woodland brush and gentle creatures, deers and rabbits and birds. The surrounding peace is everything the two of you have been craving, a place to relax and reconnect. Your travels happened later in the evening, though, the night sky already beginning to grow. And with the stars peeking out from behind the clouds, and Jack lighting the fireplace, the entire situation seemed all too familiar.

“You know…” Looking over at Jack, he stands, briefly clapping the dust from his hands. “This kind of reminds me of our honeymoon.”

“Yeah?” He asks, flashing you that dazzling grin. And then he shrugs, walking over to you. “That was kinda the point.”

Romantic, warm, and beautiful, qualities that mirror both your relationship and post-wedding vacation. It still makes you grin, still makes butterflies erupt inside your belly that Jack is willing to do all of this for you.

“Wanna spoil you, angel.” Jack then hums, brushing aside some hair so he can get to your neck. And then he’s placing a single, sweet kiss, smiling. “How’re you feelin’, hm? Sore? Anything I can do?”

The mention of your honeymoon has his insides stirring, his mischievous nature growing. Alongside these playful emotions comes the presence of Jack’s hand on your thigh, warm even through the material of your pants. He rubs you firmly, giving the plush fat of your legs a slow squeeze.

Spoiling you is genuinely Jack’s pleasure, and he does it because he loves you; and this trait grew tenfold when you decided to carry his baby. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use these situations for his own satisfaction, too. Watching your body grow makes his entire body run hot, your soft and squishy thighs, your round belly and perfectly plump backside. And Jesus Christ, your tits, he never thought they could get any more enticing before you got pregnant. But now? So swollen with your nipples all sensitive and red… he can’t keep himself away. He just can’t, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to on your private getaway.

The slightest, most timid smirk forms on your face, eyes choosing to look away. “Well… you already took care of my feet.” Something in you says that Jack is looking for an excuse, for any simple reason to touch your body, massage it and just feel every inch of it that he can.

“Yeah?” He responds, chestnut orbs traveling down your figure. “What about your legs?”

“They’re fine, not too sore.” Shrugging, you do your best to suppress your laugh. Sometimes, teasing Jack was fun.

Raising a brow, he then asks, “Your hips? Stomach?” Now, he’s running his palm over your swollen belly, chest inhaling a deep breath. Nothing about pregnancy turned him on before, not until he saw you carrying his child. Who knew Jack Daniels had a breeding kink?

“Nope.” Finally turning to face him, you smile innocently. “I’m okay, baby.”

The look on your face is kind and calm, but the twinkle in your eye tells him you’re only playing. And his own expression is growing stern, contemplating his next move.

“You don’t seem to get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

And in one quick motion, Jack’s hand rises to grab harshly at your chest, squeezing one breast in hand. It makes you gasp, makes your body jump with surprise.

“Daddy wants to touch you, sugar.” In an instant, he’s closer, breathing heavier against you. “Daddy wants to touch your sweet body and watch you fall apart in his arms.”

With an exasperated sigh, he’s then falling to your neck, sucking on it with wet lips. His sudden advance has your jaw dropping, lips curling up at the ends. Keeping his hand on your chest, his fingers press into your skin, massaging your tit before collecting his fingers so he can toy with your nipple.

“Jack,” Comes your simple sigh, head falling back.

“I know,” He says, mouthing at your neck. “It feels so good for you, honey.”

His mouth moves to your jawline, licking it, nipping at it, while brushing his thumb across the point of your breast. Even the slightest bit of friction made them hard, whether it be a small breeze or the soft fabric of your shirt. They’d never been more sensitive, and Jack had never been more interested.

“You know I wanna touch you,” Jack mumbles over your skin, hand dropping to your legs. “Fuckin’ tease.”

Cupping you between your thighs pulls a full moan from your throat, head lifting just in time to see him lean into your chest. Jack buries his face into you, right between your smooth mounds while his tongue dips into your cleavage.

“Oh, god, I want this, sugar.” Though, you can barely hear him with his face stuffed between your tits. Lifting both hands, you encourage him, holding him there by the back of his head.

“Daddy,” Two fingers rub firm circles over your covered center, your husband groaning quietly when you grab onto his hair.

“Let me do this, baby doll.”

Nodding rapidly, you gulp. “Okay, daddy. Okay…”

Moving away from you with a swift inhale, Jack lifts himself from your body. Already, his pupils are blown, his pants tented firmly against your thigh. And for a brief second, you laugh. The two of you haven’t even been here for more than thirty minutes and he’s already trying to get into your pants.

“Gorgeous fuckin’ thing.” The praise makes you flush and he knows it, making his way down so he can kneel between your legs. “Get these off, sugar.” And even though he says it like a command, he does it for you, undoing your jeans and yanking them down your legs. The help you offer is brief, a simple lift of your hips. But then you’re falling back down and watching him spread your legs.

“Yeah… this is what I wanna see.” With his gaze focused on your center, Jack groans, tongue poking out to lick his lower lip. “Already leakin’ through your panties…”

In an experimental act, he reaches out, finger swiping over the very center of the delicate cloth. It’s damp, the middle darkened from your wetness. And that makes him grin, makes him fucking throb in his pants.

“You know it, don’t you?” He asks before leaning forward and stuffing his face between your thighs. Again, it takes you by surprise, forcing your legs wider while that curved nose of his nuzzles its way into your crotch. And then, he’s inhaling, hot mouth opening to taste you through your panties.

“D-Daddy,” This time, it comes out as a whine, one hand fisting his hair while the other grabs hold of the couch.

“Ugh,” Lifting himself just enough for you to hear, he says, “Know just how fuckin’ good you taste.” Reaching forward, Jack hooks two fingers around your panties before pulling them aside. And then his tongue is laying out, flattening it to give your cunt one firm, wet swipe.

“Fuck,” Puffing out a harsh breath, your eyes are fluttering shut, feeling the firm shove of his tongue.

“Get so goddamn wet like this, babycakes.” He notes, mouthing at your clit. Lifting a hand, he grabs onto your hip, urging you to sit back and lift your pelvis up a bit. It gives him better access, after all. “Been a goddamn fountain since I got you pregnant.”

And that makes you laugh, hands lowering to brush kindly through his hair. Both of those broad palms then move beneath your thighs, holding them with a secure grip while sucking on your core. It’s already on his face, on his lips and chin and cheeks. And lord, does he love that. He’d willingly drown in this if he could. Getting his face wet with your slick made him the happiest man on earth, made him harder than he ever thought he could be.

“Pretty little whore, aren’t you?” Jack chuckles, leaning back to spit on your folds. “Sittin’ here with my baby inside you, and your body’s still beggin’ for more.” The devil truly came out when he was like this, nothing but offensive praise and aggressive passion.

Running his tongue up and down through your lips, he groans, wrapping his mouth around your sensitive bud. And when he gives the tiniest succession of sucks, pulsing his lips around that tiny pearl, you feel like you’re going to come undone. Every part of you feels light and airy, like you could float away at any second. It’s like you’re buzzing with it, with euphoria and happiness. And he just keeps going, just keeps his head between your legs and his mouth on your throbbing cunt.

Jack knows when to hold you down, he’s done this too many times to not be aware. The grip he gives your hips is bruising, digging in with ferocity while shoving you onto his mouth. Your hips grind against him, head forcing itself back while you cry out for him. It’s a sweet whine, a gasping moan, fingers tightening on those dark brown strands while he fucks his tongue into you over and over again. He did that every time he ate you out, sucked on your clit until he made you unravel and then dove down to collect what he’d worked so hard for.

“I’m so fucking in love with you.” He’s out of breath, reaching for your jaw before smashing his mouth to your own. Instantly, the combination of his spit and your slick is running down your chin, legs shaking gently while Jack consumes you from above.

“I’m, I - baby.”

“Get up,” Jack grunts, hauling you up by your arms. “Gonna get you in bed so I can see the mess you made for me.”

Keeping his grip on your bicep, he pulls you alongside him, hurrying down the hall. The master bedroom isn’t far, which your shaky legs are thankful for. His demanding words and actions make everything seem so quick, like you don’t have a choice in anything that’s going on. And truthfully, you want it that way. You want Jack to make the decisions, you want to lie down and do whatever he wants you to.

Shoving you forward, he watches you stumble onto the bed, a bright grin on your beautiful face. Taking a beat, he pauses, standing above you before beginning to remove his shirt. And while keeping that deadly gaze, you move backward on the covers, shimmying out of your panties.

Eyes dipping down, he nods toward your chest. “Take off your bra.”

While unbuttoning his shirt, he watches you complete his task, tossing the last bit of your clothing onto the floor beside your bed. And just in time for him to shove his pants down, too.

“Mine,” He suddenly says, crawling over you on the bed. “Mine - all mine.”

Again, he’s obsessing over your breasts, shoving his face between them while his hands work the rest. His body rubs against you, cock wet and leaking on your thigh. It makes your insides burn bright, seeing his overt attraction for you. He gets so passionate when he’s like this, so vulnerable yet assertive, confident.

“Let me get my fingers inside you.” That breathy voice says, licking two of them before dragging them down your chest.

While his tongue lays out, toying with your nipples, Jack’s fingers dip inside your entrance, already loose from your orgasm. So sweet and welcoming, velvety and warm. And all you can do is writhe beneath the weight of his body, turning your head to kiss his cheek and neck. The curl of his fingers practically makes you shriek, feeling your body react on its own accord.

“So sensitive like this, baby.” It’s lazy, the way he licks your nipples, teeth dragging over the red and puffy peaks. And then he’s sucking on them, sucking on the swollen swell of your tits and groaning like he’d just cum in his goddamn pants.

“Tell me you want more.”

“I want it,” Nodding, you gasp, swallowing dryly. “I want more.”

Your hips cant upwards in time with his fingers’ movement, hands grasping for his bicep and back. But it’s not enough, not for him.

“Tell daddy you need him, c’mon.”

“Daddy, please.”

“Nuh-uh,” Breathily, he chuckles. “Use your big girl words, sweet pea.”

“I need you, I need you, daddy. Please, please.” In an attempt to convince him, you lower your hand, finding him laying heavy over your thigh. The firm grip you give his cock makes everything slow down for him, his eyes shutting alongside a small hiss. Even his fingers fall slack, chest dropping against your own.

“Touch me, baby.” It’s a quiet command, one said while he nods. “Touch daddy.”

Knowing that he’s happy with this, you grin, running your fist up and down his length. Glancing down between your bodies, Jack watches, eyeing the way your thumb swipes over his tip.

“Oh, fuck.” Shaking his head, Jack sighs, hips rocking into your grip. “Always need you like this, sugar, always…”

You can’t deny that it’s been hard these past few weeks, hell, these past few months. Being intimate hasn’t been a priority for the two of you, unfortunately; stress just took control of your lives. Jack’s career was becoming incredibly demanding, leaving you to care for the house and your unborn baby all on your own. Setting up the nursery, going to doctor’s appointments by yourself, feeling the baby kick without your husband there to experience it, somedays, it was just heartbreaking for you. But you’re here now, you’re together, without a single distraction in sight. You’re his, and he’s mine. That fact is always in your mind.

Taking himself from your hand, he settles between your legs with a relieved breath. Jack’s love for you consumes him, his entire body and mind. He just wants to wrap himself around you, looping his arms around your back while burying his face in your hair.

“Jack,” It’s said quietly while you hold him, stroking his hair.

Lifting one hand, it rests on your left breast, Jack’s hips moving to push into you slowly. The way you open up for him is an absolute dream, a breathless laugh spilling from his mouth as it happens. And when he pinches your nipple, you whine, forcing a jump from his cock as it rests inside.

“You just need a lil’ extra somethin’, don’t you, sweetheart?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice, but you’re not sure what he means.

Pressing his face into the curve of your neck, Jack smiles brightly, lips dragging over the skin as he begins to move. So he doesn’t hurt you, the hand on your chest moves to the bed, placing all of his weight onto it.

“Puttin’ my dick inside you just ain’t enough anymore. Was it ever?”

“Daddy, what…” The steady pump of his cock between your legs is making you feel delirious, flooding your body with a sense of euphoria you’ve never felt before your pregnancy. “What do you mean?”

“Remember what we used to do, sugar? You remember?” Heat creeps onto your cheeks as he says it, legs lifting to his waist as the arousal in your body heightens. “You remember what you did in my office?”

“B-Baby,” He knows this gets to you, knows it hits right to your core.

“I remember,” Jack continues, licking at your neck. “Bendin’ you over my desk, fuckin’ you dumb over my paperwork. Or how ‘bout the times you sucked me off while I talked to Champ, huh? What about that?”

Every firm shove forces the tip of his cock against your most sensitive spot, the thin tissue that just begs for his presence. And that, alongside those devilish words, is making you drip around him.

“Crawling on your knees for me in my jet,” He’s throbbing inside you, words becoming airy as he reconnects with your body. “Shit,” Hissing harshly, his eyes pinch shut. “Fuck me, honey. You remember rubbing yourself over me? Over my new goddamn boots because you were so horny?”

“Fuck, yes.” Exposing your neck even more, you toss your head back, feeling Jack’s teeth make their own special imprint.

The memory is all too erotic, something you honestly can’t believe you did. Jack made you stupid; he was so goddamn attractive, so goddamn charming, that you’d do anything just to please him. Even if it meant humiliating yourself, you’d do it just to get off.

“Hm…” You sigh out, placing your chin on his knee and closing your eyes in contentment.

“How’s that feel, honey?” He asks, reaching down to tilt your chin up to him.

Your eyes open, lids already heavy with adoration and lust. Jack’s smiling down at you, his expression soft and caring.

“So good,” Comes your contented hum, more than happy to finally have contact with your lover.

“Yeah?” He whispers, “Then keep goin’. Make ‘em all wet and shiny for me, honey.”

You whimper quietly at his words, moaning lightly as you lean forward to begin moving your hips. The movement of your soft skin, your folds brushing over the smoothness of the material, only furthers the waves of heat that begin flowing through your core.

“Go on,” He urges, “entertain me, sweet pea.”

“God, do I miss that. Havin’ my own little slut on tap.”

“Daddy, I’m, I’m still here.” It sounds pathetic, like you’re begging, trying your damnedest to prove to him that that part of you hasn’t left.

“Oh, I know you are.” Lifting himself from your body, Jack glares down at you, one hand lifting to grab your jaw. “I know you’re there, babycakes. Comes out every time I’m inside you, every time I give you a demand. Why don’t you show me?”

At this, your brows raise innocently, unable to speak from the grip he has on your jaw and chin. And amidst your silence, he says, “Show me how well you still listen to me… and open that mouth.”

As soon as his grip allows you to, your lips are parting. That strong hand drops to your throat then, Jack’s face coming down to drip a cool trail of spit onto your tongue. But he’s not done then, not until spitting forcefully onto your mouth. And the moan you exude is nothing short of whorish and erotic, the liquid sliding over your tongue.

“Yeah…” The word is said with a cocky sense of power, that gorgeous half-smirk crawling onto his face. “You just can’t get off to that vanilla shit anymore, can you, babycakes? You need it rough, don’t you?”

That hand is still on your throat, and only tightens as he speaks. With every thrust, his pelvis slaps against you, forcing your legs wider, and forcing himself deeper.

“Need daddy to manhandle you? Choke you? Hold you down and bruise you?”

Burying himself inside your cunt, you can’t help but feel so perfectly full, the veins along his shaft rubbing delightfully against your inner skin. It feels so natural, this connection, so natural and sensual. But nothing about it is sweet; everything about this encounter screams salacious and indecent.

“Yes,” Comes your little plea, nodding. “Yes.”

Each shove rocks your body against the mattress, the strength of Jack’s body surrounding your entire presence. He feels so warm and strong, soft when he needs to be and mean when he wants to be.

“I love this,” Jack admits, “Love nothing more than this; connecting with you. Look at you, just look at you.”

Lowering himself with a flurry of rapid breaths, he presses his mouth to your cheek, expressing his adoration for you. “You’re so good for me, my pretty baby. So pretty like this, sugar. Fuckin’ gorgeous when you take me.”

“I need you, can’t, can’t live without you.”

“Never, sugar.” Gasping against the side of your head, Jack’s chest stutters, a deep groan slipping from his lips. “Always here for you, with you.”

When he gets like this, you can’t help but wrap your legs around him, tightening every muscle and pulling him in. And he lets you, falling into your embrace with a deep moan of gratification. It consumes him, the pleasure of it all, of releasing inside your wonderfully welcoming body. Jolting slightly above your beautiful and giving form, Jack moans helplessly, feeling his release wash over your walls. Every spurt is accompanied with a sharp shudder, arms moving to encircle you fully. Humid grunts pass over your ear, his mouth hanging open as he experiences the sensation of it.

“My sweet girl.” Your husband finally says, his body tingling with every ounce of happiness that he has. His hold is full of pure, unwavering love, full of absolute worship and adoration. And beneath him, you relax, wanting nothing more than to rest with him in this peace.

Kissing your head, Jack whispers sweetly, “Perfect little thing.”

It’s in this moment that you feel every single worry melt away, every anxious thought about Statesman and the baby. Those negative notions serve absolutely no purpose to you, not when Jack is here, not when he cares for you so consistently and so openly. With Jack, you’re safe, you’ve never known otherwise. And nothing could ever take him away from you.

#daddyyy YESSSSS #YES #Daddy Whiskey #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey x you #Agent Whiskey x reader #Agent Whiskey x female reader #Agent Whiskey smut #Daddycember #Daddycember 2023 #Daddycember '23

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theblueprincess590 · 11 days ago

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What Does it Mean to have a Heart-An analysis of KH2

Kingdom Hearts 1 was a game that asked the question, what is the true nature of the heart. The game concluded with the answer that the heart's true nature was light. Kingdom Hearts 2 on the other hand focuses on a different question, What does it mean to have a heart?

In Kingdom Hearts 2 we are introduced to the Nobodies named so for their lack of self and purpose. They are the body that is left behind after a heart gives into darkness and becomes heartless. Without the heart the body becomes nothing more than an emotionless empty shell longing for its missing halve, a true creature of nothingness. Everything else the game tells about the nobodies is to push this idea from Yen Sid’s warning that the nobodies only pretend to be humans, to The members of Organization XIII dismissing the idea of even having emotions, to even Xemnas’s indoctrination speech where tells the new members that they are feel nothing and are NOTHING! Not to mention there are the designs and animations of the Lesser Nobodies. With mouths made of zippers and Skin of rubber these lesser nobodies do not resemble human beings but rather sentient pieces of monstrous clothing. Their bodies move and stretch in ways only possible for something that is completely hollow on the inside. Everything about the Nobodies is designed in such a way to show the player that they are truly creatures without a heart, except for one glaring contradiction, Roxas.

Roxas is Sora’s Nobody created as a result of Sora’s sacrifice near the end of KH1. Because of the unnatural circumstances of his birth Roxas bears neither the face nor memories of his somebody. Which should theoretically make him the most hollow nobody of them all since Nobodies rely on memories of their past life to create the persona of humanity. Yet it’s the exact opposite Roxas is in fact the one character who shows the most humanity in all of KH2. Roxas is first introduced to the player as just your ordinary teenager living out his summer vacation. Unlike Sora he’s a far more grounded character who only wished to spend his last days of summer vacation goofing off with his friends. A far cry from the grand ambitions of traveling to different worlds. With even the World Roxas resides in reflecting his down to earth nature. Despite fitting Kingdom Hearts’s usual cartoony art style Twilight Town is at its core just your average suburban town where the most exciting things to do are go to the beach, play the local games, or investigate urban myths. It’s a world that feels not only like it could fit in the real world but like home. Which is perfect since Roxas more than any other Character in KH is meant to feel like a real kid, not just someone you would know but someone you were. After all everyone has at one point felt the melancholy of Summer’s end.

And Yet Roxas is still a nobody, still an empty white shell, right? Everything else the game has told the player should mean that Roxas’s emotions were all fake, nothing more than a facade or the result of the false life given to him by DiZ. But then Why does he act so defiantly? Why does he fight so hard for his own personhood? Why unless such guttural rage when discovering his life is a lie? Why betray the Organization to find answers? Why oppose returning to Sora when that's everything a Nobody should want? Why shed tears when not a single soul is watching? And why WHY does he claim with such ever brilliant passion to have hearts? And it’s not just Roxas who does this. Every one of the human Nobodies has at least one moment of genuine emotion. From Xemnas’s hatred as he is struck down to Axel’s longing, they all show that despite everything else the game says Nobodies are capable of having real genuine feelings. Leading Axle to ask the big question, Do they really not have hearts?

If Kingdom Hearts is a series built on the premise that everything is capable of having a heart then why are Nobodies the one exception? What does it really mean to have a heart? To Answer the Question we must look towards the Fool of The Heart’s Journey, Sora. In KH1 Sora came to a greater understanding of the heart by staying true to himself and being open to all those he met. However in KH2 Sora makes a fatal contradiction. Whether it be out of anger or juvenile rashness he keeps his heart closed off to the nobodies, believing what he is told about them without doubt and simply accepting whatever simplistic answer suits him best. He fails to see the heart within the Nobodies and thus becomes a Heartless hero himself, making the Members of Organization XIII respond in kind. Throughout KH2 Demyx ironically enough puts the most effort in acting like a human never releasing his mask of a lazy dude bro and retaining a passion for music despite it surviving no real benefits outside of combat. Yet it is during his final fight with Sora that the mask slips off. Before the two come to blows Demyx declares to have a heart only for Sora to dismiss it with venomous words that make the spoony bard crack. Demyx’s goofy face is discarded for one that is blank and stern, his voice now devoid of even the faintest hint of emotion, and his action straightforward and robotic like a machine built only for efficiency. Sora sees the heart in everything yet refuses to do the same for Demyx and So Demyx saw no reason to act like he had a heart anymore. If he is only to be seen as an empty shell then he might well play the part.

Sora could have been friends with Demyx and maybe even the rest of Organization XIII but because he refused to see the heart within them he only invited further conflict. But of course Sora is the Hero of this story for a reason and he does not keep this mindset forever. Sora’s preconceptions are finally broken upon witnessing the Tears of Flames. Axel gives his life to save Sora, sacrificing himself out of sentimentality for his lost friend, a noble act that mirrors the actions of Sora’s own friends. Forced to see those he loves within the Flurry of Dancing Flames Sora’s heart begins to question the nature of the Nobodies. If Nobodies have no heart then why did Demyx cry out in terror when he fell in battle, why would Luxord care so much about his games, and why would Axel shed tears for a friend lost. All these questions flood Sora’s mind as he comes face to face with his Other.

For the first time in KH2 Sora questions his conflict with the nobodies. He asks who he is fighting, wants to know more about them, and why they have to fight in the first place. Throughout the fight Sora is the one on the defense accepting every blow from Roxas as if to understand his pain. Even the act of Taking His Keyblades shows that Sora is attempting to understand his Nobody for every Keyblde reflects the nature of its wielder's heart. Wait Hearts? Yes YES THAT'S THE ANSWER! THAT IS WHAT IT MEANS TO HAVE A HEART!

By using the reaction command “The End” Sora is finally seeing The Heart within Roxas and thus answers the great Question of the Heart. That inorder to have a heart one must see the heart in others. It is far more than simply feeling emotions or having a sense of purpose or even shedding tears. To have a heart is something far more beautiful, it is the ability to see the heart in all things from people to animals, to toys to even worlds. By simply seeing the heart it becomes real. Even Kingdom Hearts 1 knows this truth. Pinocchio was just a simple puppet yet it too possessed a heart not because he was given one through the magic of the Blue Fairy but Geppetto Gave him one. Geppetto made Pinocchio out of love and cherished him as a son even before he could move without strings. Pinocchio had a heart from the minute Geppetto laid his eyes upon him and loved him. All the blue fairy did was bring that love to life. There is also of course The Hundred Acre Woods. By all accounts it looks to be nothing more than a simple book yet it is not only possessing a heart like a world but real people who live within the book with hearts of their own. And while an in universe explanation has never been given for this the thematic explanation is clear as day. The Hundred Acre Woods has a heart because people gave it their love and joy. They read the book and not only fell in love with its stories and characters but saw them as friends, as people with hearts of their own. Through the hearts of the readers The Hundred Acre Woods came to life.

Even the nobodies show they are capable of seeing the heart in others. Demyx may be a lazy bum but even he can see the heart that exists within all music allowing him to play with real passion despite his lack of motivation for all other actions. There is Luxord who possesses a deep respect for games and their rules. He may be a bit of a trickster but he is also a man of honor who will never cheat his opponents and always follows the rules of a game to a T even if doing otherwise would benefit him. And most importantly of all we have Roxas and Axel who see a heart within each other through their friendship with one another. They are told by everyone around them that their friendship is a lie, even turned against each other by their higher ups, and yet they still hold on to the bond despite it all. Even when they are the most separated from each other they still see the heart within each other, making their friendship as real as Sora and Riku’s. Ultimately Sora himself comes to recognize this truth, that to have a heart is to see the hearts in others, shown near the end of the game where he and Roxas have their true union.

Of course though there will always be those who fail to see the hearts in others. Saix, Xigbar, and Xaldin all show a failing to see the heart having no true ideals or bonds of their own. Xaldin targets Beast, wishing to strip him of all love both for others and for himself so that he may become heartless, a tool for the organization. He shows no respect for the concept of love seeing it as a flaw that must be removed from humanity so that they may become like himself. Xalidin does not see people for what they truly are, he only sees them as shallow copies of himself, copies he is free to use for his own ends. Xigbar shows a flippant disregard for all others, teasing both his enemies and allies not out of a sense of playful affection but rather as an explicit act of disrespect. He goes out of his way to upset everyone around him so that he may receive their attention, so all their eyes are laid upon him. Shown by how much importance he places on the angry look Roxas and Sora gave him. Worst of all is that despite demanding the attention of others Xigbar refuses to show them his true self, he never takes off the smug mask of a joker because he has no interest in connecting with others, no interest in seeing others as anything more than his audience. No to Xigbar the world is nothing more than a stage for him and him alone. Everyone else is just another faceless spectator. Lastly we have Saix. Besides The Superior of the In-Between Saix is the best example of what people believe the nobodies to be. He is a sorry excuse of a man whose face and words lack even a facade of emotion. All with one furious exception, Rage. Saix is defined by his anger, a true berserker that draws upon the power of the moon itself to become a beast that destroys all there is in a hatful blue flame. But where does this rage come from? Why would such a stoic and empty man harbor such a passionate rage? Simple because he is a nobody, Saix’s rage was born from the tragedy of losing his heart. When his heart was taken from him Saix lost everything dear to him and was left with only an unbearable emptiness, turning him into the wretch he is now. Saix is defined not by his rage but rather by his loss, symbolized by the X shaped scar on his face, which only grows greater when going into his berserk state. Saix out everyone in organization XIII longs for a heart the most yet can never see it before him because he is blinded by his own tragedy. They all strove to take back the hearts they’ve lost yet without any understanding of what having a heart meant. They could not see the hearts in others and thus could not have a heart themselves becoming true nobodies. In order to understand why these 3 are the way they are one must be willing to look upon the horrid one who shaped them, Xemnas.

Xemnas is the First Nobody ever seen in Kingdom Hearts and as Such he embodies everything a Nobody is supposed to be. He is not a man but rather a void, a hollow force of nature that destroys everything it touches. Without remorse or guilt he spurred further conflict between light and darkness all just to meet his own selfish ends. Even going as far as to puppeteer Sora’s battles against the heartless to collect more hearts. Every world in Kingdom Hearts 2 is on the brink of destruction all because of the violence sowed by the empty words of a man who cares nothing for the innocents that have suffered by his hand. His treatment of his fellow nobodies is no better. He stands above all them on his marble throne like a sham of a king ordering them to their deaths never once treating them as people but rather as weapons, even going as far as to threaten them with further dehumanization if they step out of line. And Despite the wicked grin he wears on his face he does not do anything out of malice. No it is far far worse than that. Every horrific act of evil committed by Xemnas is done out of pure apathy for all of existence, because he feels absolutely nothing. Even his cruel laughter is completely and utterly fake. Every single vile emotion he has ever put on display was nothing more than an act, an attempt to replicate the few emotions he does remember. The only thing that was ever real was the guttural scream of hatred he let out upon his defeat. Worst off all though are his claims to understand the heart. Xemnas believed that he alone understood the heart yet just like his heartless counterpart he was nothing but ignorant on the subject. Xemnas claims that the heart is the source of all power, of all pain believing it to be a burden of hate, rage, and envy. This reveals the tragic truth behind Xemnas, he rejects the Heart in its entirety. This is why Xemnas never truly used Kingdom Hearts to restore his or any Nobody’s heart because deep down he never wanted one. To have a heart is to suffer in Xemnas’s eyes. And it’s plain to see why when looking back on Xemnas’s somebody. Apprentice Xehanort was from the very beginning a pale imitation of a human being. Without any memories of his past Xehanort had his name and nothing else. He was one without identity and purpose just like a Nobody, yet he always had the chance to find them on his own. Xehanort was taken in by Ansem the Wise to be one of his apprentices, given both a home and family by the kind King as well as the opportunity to become a great man in his own right. But Apprentice Xehanort was a man without strength who lacked both the will and resolve to discover himself. Instead he grew jealous of his beloved king, attempting to mimic the wise man. He continued the Heartless research Ansem had long since abandoned, hoping to earn his Foster Father’s praise by continuing his forgotten work without ever thinking that there might be a good reason for why the work was forgotten in the first place. In the end all Xehanort did was earn his master’s scolding, turning his jealousy to hatred. Ultimately Xehanort would become Ansem’s Shadow Stealing his name and status out of spite and envy. Xehanort did not want to be himself, instead he wished to become his father leading him to his final act of self rejection. Xehanort become a heartless and nobody, literally tearing himself in two and destroying everything the young man could have become just because he was too weak to be himself, too weak to bear suffering, too weak to accept rejection, too weak to grow, too weak to strive for greatness, and too weak to shoulder the weight of a heart. In the one act of true cowardness Apprentice Xehanort gave up on himself leaving behind one who could only see Darkness in the form of his Heartless and one who could only reject the heart out of ignorance in the Form of his Nobody.

This ignorance is why Xemnas loses to Sora. Throughout Kingdom Hearts 2 Sora’s preconceptions and childish worldview are challenged. Through his conflict with Organization XIII Sora is made to reexamine his beliefs on what it means to have heart. To Question what truly separates him from the nobodies and whether or not he should blindly follow the words of his elders. Thanks to the sacrifice of Axel and his duel with Roxas, Sora comes to see the heart within the Nobodies and recognizes that all it takes to have a heart is to see the heart in others. The experience was painful and riddled with tragedies but Sora never regretted it, for the pain only made him human. Whereas Xemnas wanted nothing more than to escape pain. He rejected the heart, rejected his humanity all so that he may never experience pain again. So Xemnas simply remained stagnant in his own shallow beliefs of the heart, never once leaving his pale throne of lies. In the end the Ignorant King of Nothing was struck down by one who was willing to accept pain in order to understand the hearts of others.

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thehollowwriter · 5 months ago

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The Official Bio Ezra Citlalli

Basic Info:

Name: Ezra Citlalli (see-la-lee)

Homeland: The Afterglow Savanna

Species: Jaguar beastman

Birthday: 24th March

Age: 68

Height/length: 189cm

Dominant hand: Right

Occupation: Fashion designer, ex model

Family:

Several ex husbands who all died mysteriously

Unnamed parents (deceased)

Unnamed cousins

Godson: Finn

Preferences:

Hobbies: Wine tasting, travelling

Likes: Fashion, wine, singing, performing

Dislikes: Shallow people, people who don't listen to him, quite a few of the younger celebrities, his exes (that's not true, he swears, he's mourning them all deeply to this day 😢)

Favourite food: Caviar

Least favourite food: Asparagus

Appearance:

Ezra is tall, lanky, and black (as in VERY dark skin). His hair is short and curly, wine red and orange with silvery grey streaks starting to run through, and his eyes are dark red. He has Jaguar spots/marking on his wrists, neck, lower back, and ankles.

He just radiates elegance in a similar way to Vil and carries himself in a way that makes you feel he might be royalty made from glass, even though he is ridiculously strong.

Ezra has retractable claws he often paints with gold nail polish, and he has large sharp teeth similar to that of a jaguar's. He also has Jaguar ears and a tail.

Personality:

If elegant was a personality trait, Ezra seems to have it. He's very calm and collected but can spit fire if he feels like it. He can be uptight, strict, and serious and is viewed by some as stuck up, but he considers that to be more of a stage persona.

Ezra is very passionate, creative, imaginative, and kind to those he's close to. He's a firm believer in his own unique brand of tough love, where he won't be needlessly cruel or mean, but he's not going to tiptoe around your feelings, especially if he feels the person he's close to is struggling and needs help.

He has a sense of humour and drips sarcasm at times. He's got wine aunt energy, to be honest. He DOES love wine.

Some Fun Facts/Extra Info

•Ezra is loosely twisted from Tanya from Mamma Mia

•Ezra was one of Morrigan's best friends at NRC and remained his friend until he died

•He comes from a strict, wealthy family and gravitated towards Morrigan due to their similar desires to just rebel and give them the middle finger

•Ezra was the housewarden of Pomefiore during his time at NRC

•He used to be a famous singer but decided to switch careers in his early 30s

•While he was terrified of ageing and was jealous people like the fae, his time with Silas had him reconsider his views on age and find the beauty in it

•He keeps offering to help Silas pay for stuff, but Silas keeps turning him down

•Jaguar beastmen are extremely rare, and part of Ezra's "allure," so to speak, is being this exotic, beautiful, and rare creature (he hates it so much)

•Ezra is one of Finn's two godfathers

...........................................

A/N: I hope you like my new skrunkle! It's really fun expanding Morrigan's life and Finn's family:) Big thanks to one of my friends for helping me work on him

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

#ezra citlalli #morrigan clearcove #silas clearcove #finn clearcove #twisted wonderland #twst oc

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fickleminder · 5 months ago

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rumor has it

DWBD AU. The demon brothers' reaction to Kirana's pact.

DWBD AU masterlist here. Follow-up to first time for everything.

Asmo wanted all the details yesterday.

Who was it? How did they do it? Were there gifts involved? Was it a flashy proposal in front of a captive audience? An intimate exchange of vows during a private moment? A spontaneous decision in the throes of passion—

"Someone's been fantasizing," Solomon drawled over the phone. "But no, sorry. I have no idea."

"Stop teasing me!" Asmo whined. "You must know something; I thought the two of you were friends!"

"We are, but that doesn't mean she tells me everything."

And it was true; Kirana did approach Solomon to ask about the intricacies of summoning a demon, but that was it. She never showed him the pact mark or revealed whose it was, though it wasn't hard to narrow the possible candidates down to seven.

"Ugh, you're no help at all!" Asmo huffed before ending the call. It didn't matter, he’d find other ways to get the information he wanted. Kirana’s pact was the latest gossip around RAD; surely someone would be able to give him the deets!

Solomon could only confirm that the pact was real, but Asmo was more interested in the How. Surely if he adopted a similar method, it would boost his own chances of entering a pact with her too!

(Strangely enough, the usual assumption that Kirana would be falling over herself to have a pact with a beautiful creature like him was absent from Asmo’s mind.)

Mammon was fuming.

Lucifer had assigned him as Kirana’s guardian when she arrived in the Devildom, so shouldn’t he have the right to be her first pact?! How dare those lowly lesser demons steal what was his!

(Never mind the fact that he had abandoned her the first chance he got, or repeatedly stole from her, or bullied her into silence by hanging her off the roof—)

So Mammon decided to do what he did best: scheme. Despite their change of heart towards Kirana, neither he nor his brothers had made much progress in mending bridges with her after the whole clone debacle. Hell, he'd even refrained from taking anything from her room for a whole week, and still she didn't notice! Talk about ungrateful...

Then he recalled how the other Kirana had managed to get a pact with the other him. She was definitely on to something; if the other him had traded a pact for his precious Goldie, then maybe he could reverse this trick on her!

The second the idea popped into his head, Mammon's heart was set on it. Playing nice clearly didn't work, so he had no other choice but to get his hands dirty. If he held something valuable to her hostage, then she had to agree to it. Plus, she could then order him never to steal from her again! It was a deal she couldn't refuse.

Sometimes Mammon impressed even himself.

Levi investigated the rumors.

Surely the lucky demon must have bragged about their pact with Kirana, and he wouldn't rest until he found out whodunnit! He started with her circle of lesser demon friends, combing through their socials. Only Rache and Vorgo had strong online presences, but there wasn't anything related to pacts in their recent activity.

So Levi expanded his search to Kirana's classmates, going through her list of classes and following treads of conversation until finally, he found a demoness who had posted about overhearing something interesting in the locker rooms.

Apparently, someone had caught a glimpse of an unknown pact mark on Kirana's right arm while she was changing between classes. She was quick about it so they didn't have time to take a closer look or snap a photo, but there was no doubt about it: the human exchange student had forged a pact with a demon.

Other related posts were mostly speculation on whose pact it was and what Kirana had to give up in exchange, but Levi didn't care about any of that. No, his mind was fixated on the fact that the pact was real. And that someone had walked in on her changing.

It was something he never knew he wanted until now. But pacts worked both ways; would Kirana even want one with a yucky otaku like him?

This was one ultra rare achievement he had no idea how to unlock.

Lucifer went about his day as per normal.

There was paperwork to be done, meetings to attend, grievances to be heard—

"—blatant show of utter disrespect, threatening violence to boot! As such, I demand you punish that lesser demon under your Circle's jurisdiction, Lord Lucifer."

"Threatening violence, you say?" Lucifer's cold smile didn't falter. "Why, if memory serves, you were the one who threatened violence against my exchange student to begin with. 'Flay you and use your skin as a carpet', I believe were your exact words."

The professor went white.

Kirana's grades had been steadily improving over the course of the year, which made her recent string of F's all the more suspicious. Lucifer had intended to speak to her after class one afternoon, only to witness the most interesting turn of events: Kirana confronting the professor about deliberately failing her, the professor advancing towards her menacingly while screaming profanities, and Dracius appearing out of nowhere with horns and wings pointed forward, startling the professor into backing away. Before Lucifer could intervene, the lesser demon had swiftly whisked Kirana away from the scene.

With her out of the danger zone, Lucifer decided to do the next best thing and deal with the pathetic demon before him. After all, if he removed the source of the problem and cleaned up the mess, then Kirana would have no need to use her pact any further.

All in a day's work.

Beel and Belphie sulked.

On one hand, they remembered how much pain could be inflicted through a pact. When the other Kirana had put her foot down during a particularly rowdy squabble between the brothers, her STAY practically forced them to the ground and gave them full-body aches for days. Just thinking about it made the twins shiver with trepidation.

On the other hand, the pacts weren’t a power play to Kirana, but a symbol of friendship and respect. Having a pact with her would mean she trusted them and vice versa. It was a special connection they knew she wouldn't abuse even though they had all gotten off on the wrong foot. Once the veil had been lifted from their eyes, they could see just how kind she was, how well she treated her friends, and why others were drawn to her.

Did they want in on that? Hell yeah.

Did they deserve it? ...Probably not.

It didn't matter who had made a pact with Kirana or that they weren't the first. What really unsettled them was the proof that she didn't need them at all. Despite how they had treated her at first, she still found a way to stand on her own two feet.

Beel thought there was no harm in just being upfront and asking her. Belphie didn't want to risk her rejecting them.

In the end, they were paralyzed by indecision. All talk, no action.

Satan refused to give up without a fight.

The pact couldn't be undone, but Dracius and Kirana's relationship could still fall apart. It was only in its infancy, so if he played his cards right, he still had a chance to come out on top.

First things first, he had to throw his hat into the ring. Cornering Dracius wasn't difficult; he'd been to the royal library often enough to know when the lesser demon would be working and when Kirana wouldn't. Satan picked a day and made his move. He didn't bother being discreet, marching straight towards Dracius as the other demon was leaving.

With his arms full and an angry Avatar headed for him, Dracius knew there was no point trying to flee. He forced himself to straighten and pretended not to see his life flashing before his eyes. "Can I help you, Lord Satan?"

"Yes—" Satan lifted his chin with a glare. Keep your hands off Kirana, stay away from her, he was about to demand, until the items Dracius was holding registered in his brain.

Takeout cups of tea from the library's café, a paperback novel tucked under one arm... Satan recognized them both. The blend of tea was from the human world; it had a distinct fragrance that once lingered in the House's kitchen until Beel ate all the leaves during a snack run. The novel was one he had read before, a romance with an intricate mystery subplot.

No doubt Dracius had been on his way to meet with Kirana. Just the thought of them going out on a date made Satan's blood boil, but seeing the novel made him reconsider cursing Dracius every day for the rest of his miserable life.

"...Lord Satan?"

"—Take care of Kirana," he said instead with clenched fists. "Treat her well and keep her safe, or else."

Dracius looked taken aback, but nodded solemnly. He bowed his head in respect before hurrying away.

Satan watched him go. The shovel talk was a nice save, but he wasn't throwing in the towel just yet. No, the fight for Kirana's heart was only beginning, and he was determined to win it fair and square. He might be a demon, but that was how all his romance novels went; any foul play was sure to come back and bite him in the ass.

Besides, didn't Kirana used to have a crush on him? Satan was determined to rekindle that flame and prove that he was deserving of her.

(Bonus: the lesser demons)

"About damn time!" Talon slapped Dracius on the back with a wide grin, nearly sending him sprawling onto the ground. "Any longer and I would have owed Rache fifty Grimm!"

Kirana’s jaw dropped. "Wait, you betted on—"

"It was soooo obvious!" Rache rolled her eyes at her. "How did you not see it?"

"Congrats! I’m so happy for you two!" Erkid glomped Kirana and squeezed her tightly, while Vorgo and Igfuur gave her thumbs up.

"Alright, down to business." Belyth grabbed Dracius by the front of his shirt and looked him dead in the eye. "You’re our friend, but if you so much as make Kirana cry, or force her into anything, I’m going to cut off your—"

"What are you threatening me for? I’m the one who gave her my pact!" Dracius nearly yelled in frustration, overwhelmed by the commotion.

Everyone fell silent. And then…

"You did what?!"

"No fair, I want one too!"

"Dracius, you smooth motherfucker—"

"Oohhhh…"

"Congrats on that too, I guess."

*screaming intensifies*

"What did you think we were talking about?!" Kirana shook her head in disbelief.

"Dracius asking you out, duh!" Rache threw her hands up. "He’s had the hots for you since—"

No one had ever seen Dracius move so fast, practically pouncing on Rache to slap a hand over her mouth.

#writing #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me oc #dwbd au

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fortune-fool02 · 1 year ago

Text

Connection

Leon Kennedy x female reader

Summary: A connection is more than a word.

Warning: Angst. Mentions of struggling to connect, mentions of isolation and loneliness. Comfort at the end.

I wrote this at a bit of a point in my head where it was not the best. Thank you for reading though I'm sorry if it's not the best. I just needed to write this.

I might delete it later on or something.

Please enjoy.

Humans are social creatures. That fact alone was a common one that many understood easily. People had friends, others to share an experience with. Able to form and create bonds over simple conversations and events such as going to a party or even just hanging out somewhere.

From such activities, that person would become fond of their presence. Seek them out subconsciously, a stray text here and there throughout the day or few days. A way to speak even when they weren't together.

It was these things that allowed bonds to form. For connections to strengthen between individuals. How friendships and relationships of all shapes were forged.

Though, for some, such things were dreams. Fantasies equal to distant lands riddled with fairy-tales and promises of something greater. A brighter world. [Name] was one of those who struggled to connect. Ever since she could remember, those around her always seemed to not notice her, despite her best attempts to have them see her. To have them remember her, and feel some form of authentic connection in return. And yet, every attempt failed.

She would watch as the people around her would plan out events with such passion and enthusiasm but never once would turn their head to her, "Hey, do you want to come?" Words she longed to hear leave their lips. Instead, in their place, [Name] was always given a "Sorry, there's not enough room.", "Oh, it's more of our thing.", "Don't worry, we'll invite you next time."

Next time never came around. It was never her turn for anything. Was she doing something wrong?The reflection that would stare back at her would develop flaws, each one carving itself into her flesh, staining her vision until this make-believe thought was as real as stone for her.

At times, it would infuriate her. Other people would form connections and bonds so easily, thick and strong, and yet, she struggled for someone to even remember her name. To have someone send her a text message, asking how she was, rather than her always being the one asking was something that she craved.

For someone to look at her and see her. To wish to get to know her, to care enough. [Name] wanted that. She wanted to be cared for, to be wanted and craved. To be someone's 'special someone'. In truth, no, in her eyes, there was more chance of getting blood from a stone or proving true Divinity exists than such a possibility happening to her.

It would be easier to count rapid passing cars in a motorway than to recall just how many times she had shed tears over this reality. A crater in place of where her heart would be. A hollow point of the soul. Why try to chase after the Sun and blind yourself?

Then there was a shift in this endless, vast existence that she called her own, like a tiny wave in the ocean. A man had relocated to her town. A man of dark hair with thin strands of blonde occasionally peer through, and blue eyes that would put the morning sky to shame.

A man who noticed her. Who took note of her existence and wished to explore her further than just that. Leon almost seemed too good that [Name] was certain there was a motive behind his kindness. She didn't want to get attached. She didn't want to get her hopes up again.

And yet, he didn't let her down. If he said he was going to be there at seven, he would arrive at five minutes to. He would call her. He would text her. Hell, he even remembered her birthday. Something that almost brought her to tears when she awoke that morning to see a 'Happy Birthday' message from him.

For the first time, [Name] felt as if she could be seen by someone. That she was not just some background character in her own life. Leon stood at her front door, a warm smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes that would light up the second he saw her. To know that this sparkle and smile was only for her...

It didn't just stop there. Leon would find ways to make her smile. Little gifts that he tailored to her liking, remembering things spoken in past conversations. He would remember important days for her. He would recall events and her preferences.

Leon would remember things that [Name] didn't even recall telling him. For once in her life, she was not the one chasing after those to connect to. Those that she tried so hard to keep around only to be left alone and cold.

Now, he was here beside her. His arms wrapped around her body to chase away that bitter coldness. To reignite that flame in her body that had long since died out.

Leon was here for her. And now, she finally had that distant dream of hers. [Name] finally meant something to someone.

She meant the world and more to Leon.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon resident evil #resident evil leon #infinite darkness leon #leon kennedy re6 #leon kennedy re2 #leon kennedy vendetta #leon kennedy x reader #rookie leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader

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merbear25 · 8 months ago

Note

Hi, can I also request reader that's some type of immortal supernatural being with German brothers and Italy please? Thanks!✨️

Hello! These types of requests are turning out to be really fun for me. I love researching topics 😍 Plus, I get to refresh my knowledge on some folklore, so thank you for sending this in! I hope you like what I've written for you 💜💜

pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

CW: headcanons, fluff, can be read as platonic or romantic, some of these creatures are typically depicted as women in folklore but no pronouns are used for the reader.

Meeting an immortal (Germany, Prussia, Italy)

Germany: Nachzehrer Reader

Although your curse kept you from experiencing any real connection, you yearned for it nonetheless.

Watching others from the shadows, admiring them, envying them, the raindrops fell on your unphased form. While most found discomfort standing out in the rain, it was one of the parts of life that connected you to the rest of the world.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice a man walking up to you. He held an umbrella over you to shield you from the cold drops, warning you that you may catch a cold if you sit outside in it.

Turning your head to get a better look at him, you weren't sure why but you told him there wasn't anywhere for you to go. His stern demeanor softened just a tad and he offered to help you find somewhere to stay.

While searching for a room to book, your exchange of questions led to genuine curiosity in each other's lives. You held a sense of mystery to the other, piquing your interest to find out more.

Taking the time to get to know each other, he was the first to tell you that he was a personification. The rigidness in his delivery, brought out a twinge of sympathy, for you could relate to some extent.

However, you were a bit more nervous about sharing your true identity with him; being a ghoul-like vampire wasn't something most would take lightly. That being said, you placed your trust in him, waiting for the recoil - none came.

In fact, his interest in you grew, wanting to learn more about you. He wasn't afraid of you. With an unfamiliar sense of security, you couldn't help but have a growing need to be closer to him. Luckily for you, he mirrored your want. The once lonesome nights were now warm so long as the other was around.

Prussia: Weiße Frau Reader

Trailing through the halls of the abandoned castle, your favorite times of the day were when the sun rose and set amongst the Black Forest.

One crisp morning, you spotted white robed figures marching through the trees, heading for the castle. Having the responsibility of guarding it, as well as the treasures it held, you went out to confront them.

Being met with a rowdy teenager and the rest of the so-called knights, you successfully turned them away. Despite that boy's abrasive behavior, he made a surprisingly good impression on you - the passion and confidence wasn't something you could easily forget.

As the decades passed, you enjoyed the same sunrises and sunsets that graced the horizon. But one day, your attention was drawn to a visitor, one who was dressed in a military uniform. Suspecting that he was a threat to this humble abode you were guarding, you went out to confront him.

You were both taken aback though. Inspite of the many years distancing your first encounter, there was no mistaking it: you were exactly as the other remembered.

He was a bit older, but not nearly as old as he should have been, and you hadn't aged a day. Such a mind-boggling reunion was deserving of answers. You both had a heightened interest in the other and were eager to find out who - or what - they were.

The annoying teen that you remembered had turned into a uniquely charming man. You enjoyed his rambunctious attitude and you seemed to have placed an endearing spell on him as well.

After sweet moments of sharing stories and learning about the other, he made an effort to visit you as often as he could. You always looked forward to seeing him. It quickly became one of your favorite times of the day.

Italy: Masca Reader

With the family gift - which in your opinion was more of a curse - being passed down to you recently, you wondered how you would spend the rest of your days. There was so much you wanted to do and see, but you felt as if you wouldn't be able to share the wonders in the world with anyone.

Still in the prime of your youth, you came across a rather peculiar man: he was fawning over all of the women in the park, showering them with attention.

The more you observed him, the more his silly behavior grew on you. Giggling at his sweet nature from afar, you accidentally called attention to yourself, immediately enticing him to drop everything to come talk to you.

You couldn't deny liking the compliments he threw at you. When he mentioned that he'd seen you around before, you felt a bit shy all of the sudden.

Not wanting to make you feel weird or uncomfortable, he gracefully changed the subject, helping you regain your confidence. Despite the slightly rocky start, you two enjoyed a pleasant conversation. Admittedly, it was nice to talk to someone and meeting up in the early evening became a common occurrence.

With each night spent sharing stories and dreams, you felt a deep connection forming. Not wanting to hide anything, he chose to share that he was a personification.

Knowing he was in the same boat as you and recognizing how brave it was to tell you that, you chose to open up as well. Even though you were immortal, you were still vulnerable to illness and aging, which brought on a clear sense of disappointment to the mood.

Even though there would come a time when you would pass this to another family member, you were happy knowing that you'd have someone as reliable and caring as him by your side. Your appreciation for sharing a very long life with him was reciprocated, giving each of you peace of mind that the other wasn't going anywhere for a very long time. For the first time you truly felt like you had a gift, not a curse.

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wolven91 · 1 year ago

Text

A Heated Bed - Chapter 3

Matt was perched on the end of his bed sitting mostly still. It was an odd fact that he'd yet to actually use the furniture for a full night's rest and he was already starting his second day on board the felinoid craft. He was currently resting his chin against one his fists whilst leaning his elbow on his knee and biting his nails on the other hand absently. All the while he maintained an impressive thousand-yard stare at the far wall.

The human was considering the situation he had put himself into, contemplating it properly and turning it over in his mind. Matt had come to the conclusion that he could no longer allow himself to simply wash down the river in the currents that he was being subjected to. He had to enforce his own will, or he'd be drowned by the creatures he was sharing a craft with.

As Ruby, the felinoid who had started all this off, put it; he was experiencing 'True Freedom' for the first time. The way she said it though. The emphasis she used sounded differently than the words he knew them as and the implications he had learned for them didn't seem to fit properly. He suspected that something was being lost in the translation between her language and his own. The way she had described it, 'True Freedom' was intimidating to those who hadn't actually experienced it before.

And the more that Matt now considered it, the more he realised it was true. Back home; 'home', home, he was told what was right, not in just not being a general dick, but what was 'normal' or expected.

Then everything went wrong, the human suppressed a flinch as the fearful memories that he had no intention of confronting any time soon bubbled back up. He unconsciously licked at the scar that marred the side of his mouth, a 'gift' from those times. After Earth wasn't his or anyone else's problem anymore, he was thrown into the hands of a government that apparently barely knew anything about humans. This government then told him what they had decided was 'right' and 'correct'. In their opinion, his objective was now to work, but he 'didn't have to'. All the while they flaunted the hellish grey world that awaited him if Matt didn't earn his way. Oh sure, you won't starve, they said, you won't be homeless either, but you will only have a bare minimum with nowhere to call your own.

So if you want a home; get on the treadmill and start running.

Was it the choice that was freedom? The choice; work or don't. Conform or don't. If he aligned himself to the power's desire, then he could make a life for himself in the free time he scraped together between working. Was it the reward for working that was freedom? He wasn't so sure now that he'd been dumped into the deep end of a society that toted 'True Freedom'.

The felinoids showed up and exposed Matt to something. different. The hand he had been biting the nails of stopped and gently touched at his bottom lip. It still tingled at the fresh memory; it was barely a handful of hours past since he had been kissed by Onyx. More passionately than anything he'd had experienced before, albeit his personal experience list on the matter was short to say the least. He hadn't hated it either, quite the contrary, but now, on his own; the heavily ingrained guilt was creeping out from the depth of his skull.

He was human, they weren't. This was the first aspect which his mind taunted him with. His mind played that concept over and over, happily reminding the man that humanity was a dying, critically endangered race and had been for a quarter of a year with no change. But it was the fact that the creature wasn't the opposite sex to him that seemed to play on his mind more. Matt's upbringing had more to say on that matter than the former concept any way. If or when he encountered another human, messing around with another species was excusable, but if they were the opposite... god this felt like the wrong mental track to take! It felt morally wrong to the man, like he was becoming someone he'd hate just by thinking like this. But... all his conditioning from his upbringing was struggling to fit in this new world and this? This was the thing his mind was sticking on because it was something that Earth had or did have. Matt's subconscious mind understood this concept of 'correct' genders so clung to it like a lifeline despite its horrid nature.

The man stood and breathed in to swear, but stopped himself as his mind flashed to the past. Like a burst balloon he exhaled and instead tried to shake himself from the thought. Onyx was lovely, he, no, 'they' were lovely. They had taken him by surprise, sure, but he wasn't into... Matt didn't... If he wanted Onyx to kiss him again, was it gay? What about those twins, would that be...? The punk? Ruby?

Matt suppressed the urge to shout in frustration. He had no clue what was right, or wrong or... or... what was he supposed to be worrying about!? His mind told him to feel shame without an explanation, but his maddening loneliness was screeching at him to grab onto at least one of them and never let go. Whilst his brain couldn't explain why he should feel shame, it knew exactly why he should avoid being alone. Three damned months he'd been alone. Three months day in, day out, with an utter absence of another. He had wanted to die towards the end of that hell.

Even when Matt had not just stepped out of, but truly left his comfort zone, and tried to engage in conversation with others; it hadn't gone well. The man had researched what they were talking about the day before with a plan to offer an opinion or agree with someone else. In answer to him joining in, they'd dispersed almost immediately. Back in the present, Matt clapped his hands over his face at the memory of the embarrassment, his body physically tightening in shame, his toes curling into the plush carpet. The shame of social suicide as he cemented his place as an outcast on the station replayed in his head. He didn't want to think about this!

'But these creatures haven't shunned you...' His mind offered him, like a pusher offering an addict what they desired despite them barely keeping it together. 'They've accepted you unlike anyone before...' His body stopped tensing in response to the lifeline. 'You could take and take and take.'

No, he wouldn't... abuse their kindness. He wasn't a bastard, he didn't want to hurt anyone. He had to take control. He had to control himself and school his thoughts too.

Ruby and Onyx, they took him by surprise. He... he enjoyed everything that happened, but it was a heat of the moment thing. Yeah... yeah! That was it! He had gone from utter loneliness to being doted on. Of course! Of course, he would go along with that. Like being drunk and going along with the group, one could end up doing stuff one wouldn't do normally. His body relaxed more and more as this train of thought gathered speed and solidified as a reasonable excuse and mental out.

Matt nodded into the empty room as his mind latched onto this conceptualisation of what he'd experienced. Everything that had happened last night, and this morning was a one off. He was still who he was a few days ago and all that had changed was that he had made new friends. They weren't what he was used to, true, but he'd accept them regardless, and the rest of them for who they were as well.

Matt decided that he'd pass no judgments, he would hold himself to his standards, not them. To ensure he did this right, he spoke to himself, verbally making an agreement and setting ground rules for himself.

"Okay, first goal; no snogging anyone else. Simple. I've been doing that the majority of my life so far; this will be the easiest one. Second, tonight, I will sleep in my own bed. Whether I fall asleep or not, I will not climb into someone else's bed."

The man nodded with his fists against his hips, these were good, reasonable goals. Left things nice and open for discovering whatever new concepts the felinoids wanted to reveal today.

As for today, maybe he wasn't planning on becoming a teacher when he left, but even if the idea of standing in front of a class petrified him, it was better than staring at a computer typing in people's names from one spreadsheet to another. He'd dedicate himself to educating the felinoids as they had asked him to.

He'd never seen the other races of aliens express themselves in such a manner as the felinoids did. Perhaps the station he'd been on was particularly uptight, and there were other touchy-feely aliens out there? He didn't know, but either way, he'd give the felinoids a fair understanding of what was polite and what wasn't when interacting with humans. He'd avoid the subjects he wasn't sure on; it wasn't his place to speak on matters he knew little about. It should be easy enough to ignore or redirect those questions.

His door chirped, having the man flinch and look round at the still securely locked door. The console light pulsed; someone was asking to see him.

"Come in." He called out, blinking and coming back to the 'real world' and disregarding his almost mad rant to himself.

The door revealed Ruby, who gracefully tiptoed into his quarters. Matt noted that it seemed all the felinoids walked on their toes, giving the impression of a runway model regardless of who it was. It was as if when they walked, if Matt was standing in the way, they'd either walk through him or over him without breaking stride. She stopped a few steps in and waved her hand at the door controls, effortlessly ordering it to close and give them privacy. Matt had yet to work out the intricacies of the device, he'd been too busy trapped in his own head.

The human stood and brushed his worn jeans down and smoothing the wrinkles out of his flannel shirt as best he could. He didn't own an iron and the only other clothes he had were jumpsuits or plain white tops that he had bought at the station for cheap. The clothes he wore were his 'best' despite the singes to the hems. He looked up at the smiling alien and breathed in to recite his practised speech.

"Hey Ruby, listen, last night, I. I wanted to thank you for helping me. I really got some good sleep, and I'm sorry if I imposed or snored or-" A thickly furred paw gently closed over his mouth.

"Are we about to assume what I find offensive?" Asked the towering alien, crooking a single eye ridge. Matt could have sworn he heard the click of a gun's hammer being cocked.

Matt reached up to grasp her paw, but it didn't budge. She did, however, gain a smirk. The human shook his head in answer to her and the hand immediately left him in response. Her crooked finger, however, was placed against the underside of his chin and she forced him to look up and meet her gaze.

"My Matt, you are not a burden. I invited you into my home, just as I did Onyx. I did that with the knowledge that for all I knew, when you slept you would screech at the top of your lungs like a Farfellel beetle. If that was so, I may have retracted my invitation for future nights, but I would not have blamed you even then. Please... for me? Stop saying 'sorry' for things you have not done wrong."

The alien stood there, holding his chin, other hand on her hip and staring the human down. He grimaced and understood he was pushing it now. Still, he had caused her negative emotions and like two plus two equals what one would expect, he couldn't stop himself as his programming demanded the correct response to forcing her into saying that.

"I apologise. Wait! I didn't say sorry- Oof!"

His words were cut off as the felinoid stepped forward, and with one paw, gripped the front of Matt's shirt, lifted him up and launched him backwards onto the bed where he bounced once, rolling head over shoulders, into a collapsed mess. It seemed he had finally found the limits to her patience. Matt was unharmed, but he had a new understanding of just the kind of strength Ruby had, saying that the long fur did little to hide the bodybuilder's physique she controlled.

"Now I forgive you. You are not allowed to reference it again." Ruby declared with a resolute nod before clapping her paws together loudly. "Now! You have a bit of an issue that should hold your attention."

Matt disengaged himself from the bed, and stepped back around to the foot of it, closing the distance with the alien, straightening himself again, but giving her his full attention.

"Okay, right, what's that then?"

"Your... etiquette lessons, if that's what we're calling them? When I explained to the crew before we left the station that humans required a different approach if we wanted to give a good first impression, some interest was raised." The alien grimaced and continued. "Since you joined the ship however, most if not all the crew have made it clear they want to be part of the lessons."

She stalked around him and sat on the bed, becoming just under his eye line in height, it felt odd to be near eye to eye with her.

"I attempted to mitigate this without your input by claiming we were only doing small groups. This has caused its own issues as now many of the crew are calling in favours, or buying and selling their place on the possibility they get a place and... well... you're new, you're cute and everyone wants to meet you. How would you like to handle this?" She asked, finishing up her explanation. Matt blinked as he processed the information, he skimmed past the compliment hidden in there and considered his task. Explaining etiquette is fairly easy, but talking to too many of them would be too much for him personally.

"Maybe... I can do several lessons, but with smaller groups? It might take longer, but that way everyone gets a go. How long is our current trip?" As he spoke the man scratched at his chin, thinking carefully how best to handle them all. Whilst Matt was unsure of how to handle the social norms of aliens, if given a task, his mind could grasp it and work it out as best it could. It was the first time in a long while that the man was able to really utilise his intellect for a task more complicated than data input and he relished it.

"Oh we have at least a week of travel between systems alone. Then we'll swing by the station in the same system, figure out if there's humans on board and go from there." Ruby explained, leaning back on the bed on her outstretched hands.

"Okay, the lessons should be fairly easy. For the most part it's just some core 'rules' and everything else is just your judgement as to whether it's appropriate." The man chuntered to himself as he figured out what he was going to do.

Ruby frowned as he verbalised his work, then her features softened again as she looked up at Matt and caught his eye with a warm smile.

"It sounds complicated, but you will do brilliantly, and I will sit in on the first few so I shall learn as well. You will not be alone."

=== 0 ===

Matt stood outside the room that had been designated his 'classroom'.

He had hoped that there would be more time to prepare. To create some sort of lesson plan or something. He'd heard someone who was a teacher once say something about a 'lesson plan' and it sounded like a good concept now he was about to begin a class without a clue what he was going to say. He took a deep breath and let it out. He did it again and entered the room before his bravery left him.

The human had been unconsciously expecting a classroom. Desks in rows or an auditorium. Maybe a desk or podium at the front for him to sit at or more likely hide behind? He'd later consider the idea and be forced to ask why the hell aliens would have school desks like Earth? But this didn't occur to the man until the early hours of the following morning.

Instead, it was a relatively small, cosy room. The walls were a deep sunset orange and realistically, there wasn't much floor space to walk about in. The centre of the room was dominated by a huge, raised piece of furniture. It was circular with a single 'segment' removed, where one could walk into the centre and sit on the thick looking cushions. Matt gauged that it came up to his chest in height, but the backrests were taller than him. It looked like a fancy sofa or settee suite and it certainly looked comfortable with how the group of aliens were lounging about on it.

The group were chatting amongst themselves and seemed to consist mostly of familiar faces. Ruby was present, she was very much aware of Matt's arrival and was the only one facing the door. She said nothing though, lounging back, sitting cross legged and resting her head against a raised finger. She had a smirk on her muzzle as she watched him and let the group live in ignorance as they continued debating something.

Matt chose the wall closest to the door and facing the missing segment. He went and stood by it before clearing his throat. Like a ripple, the conversation stopped, the various swivelling ears atop of the various alien's heads turned to face him, followed by the faces of all present.

He knew all four present, well... 'knew' was perhaps too strong of a word. Ruby was present and he had known her roughly two days at this point. Onyx was missing, but he recognised the garish colours and stark white mohawk of the punk felinoid hair from this morning. Furthermore, were the two golden pelts of the twin lions, they were draped over one another. Mercifully, they were wearing what looked like oversized towels, connected around their hips that stopped just short of their knees instead of being stark naked.

"Umm, hello, everyone." Matt started, unsure as to what to say. All of a sudden, his mouth was dry and his mind empty of thoughts. The aliens' faces were impassive and watched him carefully.

"Ah, we're... That is Ruby... Well, I've been asked to talk about our... I mean, my, ah, human manners, or-or-or..." Matt stopped himself, sighing through his nose in defeat. He was panicking and tripping over his words. It had gone wrong already so he closed his eyes. He kept them closed as he spoke next.

"I'm sorry, I'm- I'm not great at speaking in front of a group." They'd bet on the wrong horse here and now they were going to realise-

"I have a question." Asked a voice, dropping the bottom out of Matt's stomach. The room reappeared as Matt opened his eyes and the punk gave him a wave. She grinned briefly before speaking again. "Why are you standing there?"

"Yeah, aren't you tired?" Asked one of the lions, laying on his front, taking up the most space on the large round 'sofa'.

"Oh... Should I be...? Where do you want me to stand?" Matt asked, mildly concerned that he'd just picked wrong and there was a correct place to stand.

"You have to stand?" Asked the other lion, whose legs the first lion was draped over, briefly copying the punk by raising a hand. The golden fur and red mane rippled as he glanced at the punk before back to the human.

"Well... I... I thought I did? My teachers always stood at the front, I was just copying them, you know?" Matt extended his hands out to the side, palms exposed. "It's my first day."

"Do they have to? You don't unless that is part of politeness?" Asked the other lion, his voice rumbling. This one seemed to constantly be purring and extended the end of his sentences peculiarly.

"I don't think so? It's just so you all can see and hear me. I think?"

"So, if we can't hear you standing up there, you'd have to sit with us?" Pointed out the prone lion, but before Matt could reply, the twin chipped in.

"I can't actually hear you, I'm really struggling."

"Me too, plus I can't see you." Added the punk, who had admitted being forced to turn herself to see him, now turning back to the centre of the sofa with a flick of her ears.

"I could also do with hearing you better." Confirmed Ruby, briefly raising a clawed paw to have her vote added. Ruby's smirk had developed into a full grin by now. Why did Matt have a feeling that she knew it would go this way?

"That's decided then. Come on, sit down then." The punk commanded, patting the sofa with a toothy grin. Matt blinked, glanced at Ruby who shrugged with an unreadable smile, before Matt straightened his shoulders and attempted to govern his thoughts. 'They were just energetic, give them this and then regain control. You're in control of your destiny.'

The human strode over to the sofa, standing in the missing segment. If Matt was standing at the six o'clock of the sofa, going around the circle from his left, the punk was sitting closest to him at eight, Ruby at eleven o'clock and the twin lions on Matt's immediate right at four or five o'clock.

It was intimidating to be stared at by what had previously been predators in Matt's youth. To be fair though, he'd only seen TV shows for most of them present. Matt perched on the edge of the sofa.

"So." He began before being cut off as two thick arms looped around his middle and dragged him backwards into the sofa until his legs were flat and he found himself being propped up against the raised back of the furniture, placed neatly next to the punk felinoid.

"Look, you were going to be sat there all stiff and that was going to annoy me." The punk explained, waving her hand dismissively as he looked round at her. "This way you can relax and so can we." she tilted her head and smiled with her eyes closed, her various piercings through her ears gleamed and glittered.

Matt wanted to protest, but each of the aliens sitting around him nodded sagely in agreement with her. Matt decided not to push it; it was fine, regain control, it's fine.

"Is it true humans don't like other species?" Asked the punk who leaned forwards, quirking an eye ridge, Matt mentally retreated, but quickly recovered to dissuade that idea.

"What? No! I mean, there will be some, sure, but no that's not true as a general rule." He retorted, briefly glancing around the group to ensure they understood that he didn't not like them or anything.

"Is it true you shed?" Asked the prone lion, now propping his head up in his hands supported on his elbows and lazily kicking his legs. Had he gotten closer?

"Not... Like I don't have fur or scales, but..."

Matt felt another wave of questions coming, but just before they started flying.

"Enough!" Ruby interjected, stalling the next question before it began. "I believe if we do not focus, we will not actually take part in what we've intended to do with this lesson."

"But he's new!" Pointed out the dramatic lion. "We have to know stuff!"

"There will be time to ask questions, we are here to learn and are lucky to be doing so." Replied the punk, nodding before making eye contact with the human. Her different coloured eyes were glinted.

The lion huffed, going limp and letting his face hit the sofa.

"Well... what would be the best place to start I suppose?" Matt asked himself.

"What about a good introduction?" Ruby asked, going back to her fully relaxed pose and draping her arms over the back of the round sofa.

"Honestly, it's just introducing yourself and going from there." Matt supplied, smiling at his lifeline.

"I want to try then!" Said the prone lion, only now he pushed himself up right and had a wide and open grin. Matt was glad of the towel, with how he was kneeling the human would have got another good eyeful. The back of Matt's neck tingled with the idea of seeing the lion in all his 'glory' again. He stamped on the idea; It was rude, it was crude, and it was fun. No! Bad thoughts!

"S-sure, let's pretend you've just seen me and you're introducing yourself." The lion's face lit up and with incredible dexterity, pushed his hands into the sofa, lifted himself off the cushions and swung his legs beneath him so he landed his feet against the floor of the missing section and scooted closer. Matt, wanting to be polite and meet him halfway, leant forward and scooted towards him.

"Hello! Hi! I am Yilen!" Announced the friendly creature, beaming from ear to ear.

"Hello Yilen, I'm-Oof!" Matt's reply was cut off as the giant lion launched himself forwards and pancaked the human against the sofa. Thankfully it deformed around the larger creature, preventing Matt from being crushed, that didn't stop the alien from pushing his face into the human's, wiping his cheeks and mane against him as if a cat marking its territory. The only problem was this cat was significantly bigger and capable of holding the man down. All the while a rumble on par with a muscle car's engine was vibrating the pair of them.

His mind also made note that it was most of the alien's front that was pressed against him, his legs were pinned and aside from some limited movement in his arms, there was not much he could do to resist.

"W-wait, hold on! Y-yilen?"

The lion paused, raising up and beamed down at him.

"How'd I do?!"

Matt wasn't sure how to respond, staring up at the creature, he was aware he was meant to be in control here, but couldn't bring himself to admonish the overenthusiastic felinoid.

"Ah, you're... it was a good first try, but you can't... not everyone will appreciate it being pounced on and pinned? I think?"

Yilen's ears lowered flat against his skull.

"I did wrong?" He asked, backing up and off of the human, who grunted as he tried to sit back up. The punk's toes pushed his shoulders from behind helping him. He noted that while they were removed from his shoulders, he could feel the toes touching the base of his spine.

"It was a first try, I'm not expecting you to just magically know how all this goes. But a safe way of saying hello is introducing yourself like you did, but instead of jumping on top of them, offer them your hand. Like this..." Matt extended his hand as if to shake the lion's paw. Only instead Yilen grabbed the hand, lowered himself, whilst pulling Matt forwards and manually ran Matt's hand over and through the fur and mane that was on top of the lion's skull.

It took a few minutes of trying and coaxing before the alien started to get it. Matt taught him slowly on how to shake hands as a greeting, explained that it was a common action as a mark of respect or agreement amongst humans, but not used widely with aliens. This was particularly interesting to the group as they all wanted some sort of advantage over the other races while dealing with humans.

They made no attempt to hide their intentions to Matt, when he asked why they were so interested in humans they explained that they had experimented with sensations and experiences amongst themselves and with the other races too and, realistically, were now bored. There was nothing new to their race for several hundreds of years.

Then humans appeared. A whole race of creatures that had no intention of working beyond what they had to and put value into the new, the unique or experiences of something new and unique. Humans were all those things so naturally the felinoids were being drawn to them like moths to a flame.

The next time Matt honestly took any notice of his surroundings, he surprisingly found himself propped up against the backrest of the sofa, between the lions, Yilen and Kiki, and the punk, who he had discovered was called Esk. Esk had her arm draped over and around his shoulders. He only actually noticed as the conversation had naturally led to a lull and Esk’s claws were gently scratching circles into his shoulder through his shirt.

"Why do you have so many rules?" Asked Kiki, the slightly more reserved of the twins.

Matt leant his head back and looked to the ceiling for answers. He wasn't some social or culture specialist! How was he supposed to know the answer to such a broad question?

"Well..." He began before stopping. It occurred to him that a bunch of rules came up thanks to religion and the many things that had to say about various matters. Was it his place to discuss that? Amongst the topics of gender and choice he didn't know enough about religion either. Oh sure, his childhood was filled with 'be good or burn forever' threats that went away after was old enough to not be involved but there was a whole history behind that subject too, beyond just punishment. Religion wasn't some inherent 'evil' thing, its problem was that it could be used in certain ways for the personal gain of others just like any other belief.

But like anything with belief involved, it was a touchy subject. If he said the wrong thing, would he sour the relationship between humanity and felinoids? He opted for vague.

"...it just developed with our culture. We've... we've had a couple thousand years to develop this stuff and it just sort of... builds up over time."

"Do you enjoy all the rules?" Ruby asked.

"Not especially, but I guess they help me take the path with the least chance of upsetting someone?"

"Because if you don’t follow the rules you’ll upset someone, so you like the rules?"

“I suppose if we didn’t have all the various do’s and don’ts you couldn’t trip over the do’s and don’ts, would you?” Matt admitted with a forced chuckle and a half grin.

“Do you need them?” Probed Yilen, basically laying on Matt’s legs. Matt gave a flat smile, no, it wasn’t needed. To him; it was a choice. Memories rose up from the tar-like depths.

“On Earth, to ‘navigate’ everything? Yeah. My family, my parents felt it was important to be polite. Up here though… I… Well… I suppose now that’s Earth is gone and we’re not allowed to group up… A bunch of things aren’t going to be relevant anymore? Y-you know?” Matt’s voice wobbled and cracked out of nowhere. He blinked in surprise and tried to clear his throat, but a lump had appeared and refused to budge. The man blinked again and the group of aliens became blurry.

His mother taught him grace.

Frowning, Matt put a polite hand over his mouth and tried to clear his throat more forcefully, but the pain there was building and causing his eyes to water. Instead, his cough caused his chest to quake, which caused something to fall from his eye onto his cheek. Matt brought his hand up and wiped his face, his fingers came away wet.

His father taught him humility.

“I’m sorry, I’m…” He started, trying to apologise but unsure as to what was happening, so blind sided by these unneeded reactions as he was. The man moved to shuffle away from the group, to extract himself from the room and get himself under control. What was wrong with him?!

He tried to say something, but his voice was threatening to close up and his damned eyes kept leaking!

His sister taught him patience.

Matt had barely moved before a paw landed on his shoulder, stopping him. A blurred glance; Esk’s hand.

“Why are you sorry?” Asked Yilen, his paw now reaching out and resting on Matt’s shin, not holding him there, but Matt would need to snatch his limb away to be released.

They never made it.

“B-because, I’m-“ Matt had to clear his throat to continue, but he couldn’t. "Ah… I'm…"

His family’s faces became harder to see over time, but the day itself was as clear as day. He was in the city, buying wrapping paper of all things. He'd been lucky enough to have been there when the crafts landed and collected people in huge groups, with or without their consent. They had used weapons, Matt flinched at the memory of his muscles spasming with alien lightning running through them. The scar that marked his lip was from when he had been grabbed; it wasn’t deliberate, they had been rushed.

The aliens in the room that Matt’s body, but not mind occupied sat up and reached out for him.

Matt never had a chance to go home. No heirlooms, no memories of his family had made it. That all was gone now, not even ashes remained.

The felinoids were watching him carefully, but he was frozen in place, merely staring back at them without seeing. Someone pressed a hand to his cheek, a thumb wiped at the steady stream of tears.

There was no proof that they’d live or died. The man had tried everything to locate them. Their names, descriptions, he'd begged and pleaded with any of the aliens who were organising the giant mess for even a crumb of hope. He begged other humans but there was no record of his family or anyone matching their description being rescued. Everyone was looking for someone. They were so few, yet so many. Apparently it was only the bare minimum that still had ‘extended’ families.

Matt screwed up his eyes and pushed his hands into his face. Rage bloomed within his chest, rage and fear and frustration. He furiously wiped the tears from his eyes, but they welled back up within a moment.

To hell with Earth and its rules! Back home, he hadn't really cared much about manners, aside from the basics to get him through life!

But now?

It had been a regular topic of contention for his parents and him. They wanted him to be more like them, to be polite, to know how to navigate social graces. Matt had always found it ridiculous and difficult. He’d been obtuse, deliberately going against the grain because it got a rise out of them. He'd been an awful son, for the sake of just being…

Not wearing a hat at the table would have made her smile…

God why didn't he just…

"Matt?"

Reality slammed back into the young man. He thought of himself as a man, but in moments like this he was reminded that he was barely an adult, but an adult all the same. The human was just trying his best, like they would have wanted. Realising he was having a bit of a meltdown and it wasn’t fair to the aliens surrounding him, Matt came back to his senses.

"I'm fine." He croaked, but his face was pressed into Yilen's furred chest and a large hand gripped the back of his head, holding him there. The chest rumbled.

“Please our Matt, please do not lie to us. You are not ‘fine’ and are harming yourself by pretending otherwise…”

Matt was staring into the golden fur of an alien he had known less than a full day.

“You have lost almost everything… You can be sad… You can cry with us, our Matt…”

A sob tore itself from his mouth, finally given permission. The pair of them fall backward, Yilen pulling the human with him as they collapsed. Matt clung to the stranger as a lifeline.

A second and a third choking sob obliterated the human as he finally began to cry for everything he had lost, no longer able to speak.

Three months had passed since the ‘Sol-3 Incident’, the aliens not even wanting to call his home planet by its real name. Three months where he had suppressed everything just so he could fit in. The other felinoids present crowded the pair as they lay there. Matt felt clawed hands grip him from behind before a warm furred body spooned him. Through the tears, he saw the familiar pelt of Ruby crouch over his head and protect him from above, her paws gently stroking his hair. Finally, Kiki’s golden paw appeared from behind Yilen and rested against Matt’s hip.

Finally given permission and truly embraced by the aliens, a beleaguered floodgate finally broke within the human’s mind.

Matt, for the first time, began to mourn his loss in the arms of his new allies.

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