#or to further explain how i arrive at the conclusions i arrive at

[shalom-iamcominghome]

Hey, same anon, the 'if you do believe in the religion' wasn't meant to be a dig, and I apologise sincerely that it came across as such.

I use with both converts, nonconverts, and non-jews as a sort of.... implicit cover? I guess, for semi in-depth theological or practical statements.

Because often online people positing questions or statements don't necessarly actually *believe* in Judaism, so I clarify that my answer is within the framework of one who does believe, but if they don't then the logic won't apply.

But I see that it would come off as dismissive to one in the process of converting, so I will be mindful of that in the future.

(I am also sorry for misinterpreting the initial post, I really need to stop pissing on the poor)

I'm definitely not angry, to be clear, and I want to make sure you know that. There aren't any ill feelings, I sometimes just talk about an issue without really directing it anywhere in particular, and I wanted to mention it just to expand on what exactly it is that I believe in the framework of conversion.

There are many, many interpretations of the ideas of permanent body modification, and even without having tattoos, I'm transitioning which is seen as body modification to others even if I don't agree fully with that categorization. It's a pretty sticky situation when things like permanent body modifications have genuinely saved my life, and that is the reason I generally think that body modification done out of respect for the body you're given is a much more reasonable position for myself personally. In that way, I might have to cut my losses and fulfill different obligations (because there are already many obligations in judaism I cannot fulfill, even if I want to, and I feel the best way to combat that reality is to accept as many obligations as I can and ones that I can do). I feel like explaining this might be helpful, and I didn't beforehand just because I didn't really know how to exactly address the issue.

[loungemermaid]

Katniss is Carly Rae Jepson, Peeta is Taylor Swift and also Hozier, Haymitch is Taylor and Rainbow Kitten Surprise

[coffee-and-tea-time]

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Out of the menu, still the choice ๋࣭ ⭑

Yandere! Shopkeeper x Willing! Reader

We finally got a winner! *Clap clap* if you want context, you can go here but it's not that necessary we think - the twins

This mf was really more hard to write that I expected but nevertheless we tried to match the energy of the seller pickers so at least it was really fun ngl - Coffee

It took us both a while to draft what we wanted to write for him since he's not a very expressive character and we wanted to try a more subtle approach. If you have any ideas or suggestions for any of them, let us know!! -Tea

Count word: 3.1k (new longest post for now)

Tw: yandere behavior, kind of flirty reader, stalking, kidnaping?, written in you/yours, overall soft yandere, gaslighting, drugging (this really still counts as soft yandere??? believe me, yes), light paranoia, clueless reader

Your eyes scan the papers in your hand, your mind still focused rather on the man that handed you them, sitting right across from him, more specifically, the comment he just murmured. None of the people he mentioned called your attention as much as himself did, perhaps he was more that he presented himself as? He seemed to know much more about you than he’s supposed to, so, was he a yandere as well? And if so, Why miss the chance to tease a potential yandere? 

"Huh, so you think I should go out more often?"

"Well, I'm just concerned about your vitamin D intake, that's all. You need more sun Dear, for the sake of your health"

He smugly smirks at you like he's saying obvious facts that you should already know about yourself… though his smirk falters, his lips pressing into a tight line as he rethinks his words, though it was too late to retract them, it was your time to shine.

"Oh? Then why not help me with that yourself? You seem to keep a good track of my time outside for some reason, care to explain yourself, Honey?"

You steal his previous smirk, it now decorating your lips, curving them upwards smugly as he seems to sink into himself, his pen flipping between his fingers as a nervous fidget, scanning your expression, seemingly trying to understand what you were attempting to do with these witty remarks.

“Dear, allow me to remind you, you came all the way here to have an obsessive partner after you walk out this door, I'm sure anyone in the list will love to fulfill the job, sadly, I'm not one of them, I'm deeply sorry if my previous comments left any space for this misunderstanding"

He seems to lifts up a wall between you and him with his formality as if attempting to keep things formal and cordial though his eyes tell a different story, his eyes, akin to a snake’s narrow slightly, scanning your features as if daring you to continue this charade; a sweet chill runs down your spine, which only widens your smile further.

"Ow, come on, there's no need to lie so blatantly to my face, you know exactly why I'm here, and for that I can also tell exactly what is happening here”

He huffs, his fingers running through his black hair, messing up his slick back hairstyle into something much more fitting to match with his semi-formal attire.

"As I just said, I'm not a yandere, let's stop this little game, Dear, I’m not sure how you arrived at this conclusion, little detective…"

Those gray eyes glare at you without even missing a beat, narrowing further to make a subtle warning: quit fooling around. Do you care? No, honestly, him staring down at you only serves to fuel your burning curiosity about the man.

"Fine then, at least answer me this, how did you know i don't go out much?"

The man scoffs as if the answer was as obvious as looking in a mirror.

"Come on now, you are chronically online, I just made a lucky guess"

… Gotcha

"My screen time is something even weirder for you to know for certain though, don't you think?"

A silence ensues, tension and realization thick in the air as his posture changes completely, from relaxed and smug to tense and anxious, he leans forward, eyes avoiding you suddenly, like he wasn't piercing you with his stare just a few seconds ago.

You let your question linger, knowing you won, knowing he had no way to protest your question seamlessly 

"... don't tell management"

It was now your turn to sigh. Perhaps he was being truthful and this was just a big misunderstanding. Maybe his “background check” on you wasn't something he was supposed to do ethically speaking, but something he felt compelled to do. Then again, they did have this incident with a fool attempting to illegitimately make a yandere harem. Perhaps it was time to let this go, you tried at least, but being overly pushy could get you kicked out and leaving empty handed wasn't something you were willing to do after finally finding the courage to enter the shop.

 "Well, I don't know, I choose Oliver"

You said, the smirk in your lips faltering into a soft defeated smile, shrugging as you chose someone at random, pointing blindly at the papers.

"He's already purchased" 

He counters your response abruptly, his tone still formal yet with an air of defensiveness. You wondered, if he was already purchased, then why show it to you at all?

"Damn, okay, then Lio…"

You quickly point again at a random profile, barely even reading the name then scanning his expression, his head shaking even before you managed to pronounce the name fully.

"Sorry"

He responded with a shrug, his shoulders relaxing as if the tension he felt before was gone.

You smile at him once again, well, thankfully you weren't just flirting with the wrong target.

"You’re doing this on purpose"

You announce, amused by the realization, a smile widening in your lips as one seems to simultaneously tug at the corners of his, a mischievous grin adorning his sly stare, those eyes bearing into yours like a wicked fox.

"You choose me, be loyal to your own decisions… though, really, don't tell management. I do maintain I'm not some sort of obsessed maniac, Dear"

That's the most suspicious thing a person can say in a yandere shop but you take it.

"I care next to nothing about management… so, it's a date?".

(...)

You leave the store, hands empty, but not really. You walk with an extra cheer in your step, you managed to get yourself a date with the seller of the damn shop, not one of the many names in those papers, but the shopkeeper, talk about a plot twist. 

And so you make your way back home, waiting for the time to arrive, the time in which you'd meet up with the man outside of work in a sweet little restaurant down the same street where the shop is located. As you get yourself ready, checking your outfit, double checking…triple checking, your mind drifts to your conversation with the seller and the way everything he said seemed to avoid each and every one of your questions skillfully. You managed to get his number with the excuse of arranging the meeting time and place, yet… that was all, you didn't even get his name, did you?. 

You are brought back to reality with the buzzing of your phone, a notification from an unknown number… though it was the sellers, how did he get your number? Sure, he gave you his, but he shouldn't have a way to contact you yet, that information wasn't even in the paperwork either since you never filled any forms out, you didn't purchase any of the yanderes. 

» “Hey, it's the shopkeeper”

You raised a brow at your screen, watching as the little dots bobbed up and down, indicating he was still typing another message

» “just checking if you're still up for this date you so boldly proposed. My shift is over” 

His texts are a little dry, yet you can feel the awkwardness from them already, he wasn't fooling anybody, he was nervous as hell. 

You quickly type up a response, resuming your teasing over text like you never left the shop and so you text back and forth until the time arrives and you leave your home, walking down the street to the restaurant he sent you the location to. Once you got there, amusement tugged your lips up into a smile. This man, acting so unapproachable, so closed off, was eagerly waiting outside the restaurant with that classic “I'm just looking at my phone” stance, but damn he looked good. 

He wasn't wearing that semi-formal suit from before, but rather a tight black shirt, jeans and a jacket. His hair was down and you had to admit, it looked way better that way. You check the time on your phone, you arrive just in time, you look relieved but can’t help but wonder how the seller managed to close up shop, go back home, change and arrive before you when his last text was just a few minutes ago telling you his shift was over.

“aw, you arrived early to meet me? It’s so cute how eager you are for someone who didn't even tell me his name”

You meet his gaze as you approach him with a playful demeanor, his smile still decorating his face as always.

He huffs, glancing up from his phone, his eyes crinkling in a mischievous grin. He pockets his phone and adjusts his jacket, leaning a little closer as he speaks

“Oh, Dear, you got it all wrong, i just got here, but, i must say…waiting would have been worth it, you look stunning” 

He said with a soft chuckle and you nudged his shoulder in response to his compliment, though as you nudge him you feel how cold his jacket is, of course he didn't wait for you

“Right, anyways, you know, it's only fair that I get your name. I know you so desperately want to seem all mysterious and shit, but i need to know who I'm flirting with”

You tease bluntly with a chuckle, he tenses up a little, looking away for a second, trying to disguise his blush by rolling his eyes at you.

“I suppose you could call me Jade…”

“Well, jade, pleasure to meet you”

You said trying to imitate his tone of voice as he guides the way inside the restaurant.

“Since I answered your question, it's only fair you answer mine, don't you agree?"

His gaze seems like he's taking notes of your every expression as he gently pulls a chair for you to sit on before he sits across from you.

"Are we doing a little bit of banter here? Huh, that's quite the contrary of what you been doing all day, but please, go on, I'm thrilled to know what you wish to know of me"

His eyes move to the menu, although you can say his entire focus was still on you… because of the fact he can't possibly read the menu when it's upside down.

"So, if I may ask… why did you choose to flirt with me when you came to the shop to get yourself a yandere?"

"Why not? You could say I went there to find someone that catches my eye, and jokes on you, my eyes were set on you the moment you opened that door to guide me into the store"

You restrain yourself not to giggle like a fool when the top of his ears turns red while he's attempting to keep his perpetually smiling facade, oblivious to his own reaction to your words.

"Then, do yo-"

His words quickly die on his throat as a waiter gets to your table, you didn't have the time to catch the small twitch of his eyebrows that lasted a second.

"Good evening, I will be your server for the night, what can I get started for you two?"

As you two order normally, you can't help but feel a sense of discomfort as the waiter always speaks focusing his eyes on you, but Jade doesn't seem to react so you dismissed it, you're only feeling weird because of the awkwardness of being on a first date, although you can't help but sigh faintly with relief after the server walks away.

"Well… anyways, since I replied to one of your questions, guess it's my turn!"

You said smiling, trying to brush off the weird feeling you just had, focusing on your task in hand: the date.

“so, why don’t you tell me a little about your hobbies?”

You gaze at him while his head tilts slightly, as if doubting if to reply or just dodge the question like the past ones.

“Well, they differ depending on the time, I’m the type of person that get a new one every once in a while but one that has stuck since high school is embroidery”

Honestly, you can picture it, he does seem like the type of person who enjoys calm classy hobbies, old lady hobbies if you will. The image is sort of endearing. 

"Since high school? Wow, what was your first piece?"

You feel relieved that he seems more open to conversation now that you both are formally on this date. Sadly for you and lucky for him, you focused so much on listening to his answers that you didn't catch the small blush dusting his cheeks.

"...It was a skull, edgy, I know. I really like how it turned out back then though”

“A skull? Very edgy indeed, why-”

Your question was left hanging in the air as an arm interfered with your vision of Jade, the waiter placing your plates on the table with a polite smile. The interjection was a little awkward, but there's not much you can do about it, the waiter is just doing his job.

Though as you lower your voice to a stop, interrupted by the waiter, you see the slight hint of annoyance in Jade’s face flick for a second just to disappear like it never happened, it makes you wonder if that was a hint of jealousy? It probably wasn't… your yandere rotten brain must be seeing things, right?

As you two indulge in conversation, enjoying your little date, you almost lose track of time. It feels like in the blink of an eye, the date was already at its final point, the only thing that popped your bubble was his phone ringing.

"...sorry, it's my boss, allow me to step out real quick, it won't take long I'm sure"

You nod to him before he makes his way to the restroom to pick up the call. Honestly you feel kind of sad that the dinner was reaching its end but well, you can't be that clingy on the first date.

As you ponder between when and where the perfect second date will be or if it's best to wait for him to ask for another, the waiter interrupts your thoughts, placing a glass of what looks like raspberry juice on the table.

"Excuse me sir, I didn't order this"

The waiter gives you a puzzled expression as if it were a competition who is more confused by the situation but is quick to giggle as if it was an inside joke of his before reassuring you.

"Oh, don't worry, it's already been paid”

You didn't have time to ask further questions when the busy server was already on another table that needed him, well, it looks tasty anyways, why reject something when it's free?

You honestly feel like luck is on your side today; you got the confidence to try and flirt with Jade and successfully get yourself a really good date! And you also get a free drink as a way to celebrate your little achievement, so you take a big gulp. 

Huh? Weird, you know the taste of raspberry by heart, why does it taste more bitter? Ugh, the fruit is probably not that fresh , even the consistency feels a little thicker too. Well, raspberry juice is supposed to be like that, perhaps you got too used to store bought and got yourself confused.

"Well, is not like a restaurant would sell 'expired juice' as their main drink, surely I'm just overthinking it" 

You reason with yourself in a whisper as you set the drink aside, ugh, maybe you drank too big of a sip, you start to feel like you got brain freeze or something.

(…)

“Dear, are you feeling well? Do you need to go to the restroom?”

The sound of his relaxed voice quickly fills your ears, your mind feels hazy but you nevertheless try focusing on him as he sits back down to the table, catching his expression changing from the usual laid back grin to a worried frown. You didn't even notice when he came back from his work call, not until he was right in front of you, it's like time passed while your brain was stopped, something wasn't good…

"Did something happen? Do you need a pain-killer? Did the food upset your stomach?"

The rapid fire questions overfill your already overwhelmed mind as his hands hold your shoulders before he places his forehead against yours to check your temperature and although you tried, your currently unstable self only managed to hardly mumble some words.

"I… don't know, I just drank that"

You focus your gaze on the glass of juice and he follows your gaze with a frown as if his laid back mask is cracked.

"the color is slightly off and ice is only floating up to the middle of the glass…"

Was there really something wrong with your drink? What was in there? How bad is it? What's going to happen to you? Was it the waiter? Was there someone in the restaurant you didn't see? Why is this happening today?

"Dear, focus on me, okay? Don't worry, you're fine, just dizzy, I will make sure you are okay, alright? Take a deep breath for me darling" 

Through your dizziness you watch as he moves skillfully and quickly, paying the bill as fast as he could to take you out of there, his arms tightly wrapped around you to steady your wobbly stance, guiding you out of the busy restaurant. It's almost as if you were drunk, which didn't make sense, you felt yourself slipping further out of your senses, sounds muffled and your vision blurry, your legs and hands feeling tingly with each step you took with his assistance. 

"Jade, I-"

"Don't worry Dear, I will take care of you, just trust me, alright?"

You can help but feel grateful that even in this awful situation, you managed to have someone so gentle and caring with you, but before you can try to babble a thank you, you feel your mind shut off like an old tv… don't worry, you are being taken care of, Dear.

He just wants to look after you, it would be so creepy if he left you unconscious at your place since he's not supposed to know your address yet, so, guess the only choice is him letting you crash at his apartment, it's fine, you will find yourself at home there, it's really cozy! 

. . .

Wait, did you really believe him? That's kind of hilarious, try guessing again.

sorry for any misspellings or weird sentence structure ❣

images from pinterest and divider by Tea ⚘

[grandisknight]

zayne: a doctor's companion

summary: A certain healthcare companion finds its way into Linkon City, and a particular doctor is about to discover what it means to say ba-la-la-la-lah.

tags: established relationship, baymax (big hero 6), fluff, canon-complaint, one-shot, medical terms, phone call, gender neutral reader mentioned, mostly zayne's POV, first meetings

word count: 1.8k | (ao3)

notes: inspired by this tweet! also i just love baymax a lot and i think him and zayne would be a cute duo thank you ; including the stanford article i read for the surgery mentioned here! (not necessary for understanding though) (also if i get any med stuff wrong apologies i did my best! i was a girl in stem but not Stem yk)

+ update: the cutest zayne baymax art just dropped everyone say thank you mimi (zaynefied) (i cried)

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

Zayne was sure he had slept well the night before. Had his full eight hours, breakfast accomplished and a handful of kisses from his partner before heading out in his pristine, white coat. The drive to work was the same scenery of Linkon City rushing past, soon parked in his designated lot and tracing a familiar path towards Akso Hospital’s entrance.

So, even with such a practiced routine, how did he end up here? 

“I will scan you now. Please remain in place, Dr. Zayne.”

Zayne raises a hand in an effort to dissuade his unforeseen guest. “That won't be necessary.” But his rejection, in turn, was rejected itself—his brows narrowed at the losing notion.

“But it is. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.” The robot calmly states, reflecting a similar monotone diction to the doctor. “I was alerted to the need of medical attention,” he continues, plush footsteps along the hardwood floor squeaking as he approaches the seated doctor. "When you said 'Oof.' So, I am here."

That singular oof traced back to the faint murmur under Zayne's breath just minutes ago when pushing through the growing crowd of peering eyes at Baymax's unprecedented presence. An unusual sight for everyday work life, the mysterious yet kind robot drew in the attention of incoming patients and passersby who happened to catch a glimpse. Zayne’s opportune timing and arrival to work hurriedly whisked away the looming inflatable as crowds huddled in growing excitement, geeking and gossiping alike. Most of his efforts thus far were put into escorting the curiously soft giant through the pristine halls and past the doorway of his office without garnering further unwarranted attention.

And currently, Zayne found himself subjected to a consultation by said robot.

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?” Baymax inquires. A chart of faces ranging in emotion and color flash over his chest in display. At the highest end stood a red expression painted in anguish, and to the lowest was a green facade of serenity.

Quickly, Zayne plainly states his number to mirror his current state. “Zero.”

Baymax stares him down with the abyss of his rather blank eyes wordlessly after receiving the response. In mere seconds, a pixelated, monotone hum with a hint of warmth made its way to Zayne’s ears. “Scan complete. You have sustained no recent injuries. However, your cortisol and neurotransmitter levels indicate that you are experiencing stress.”

No, really? Zayne’s brows and posture straightened then, removing his glasses and setting them aside. He echoes the conclusion, pushing down the unspoken remark with a bite of his tongue. “Stress? Is that so?”

Baymax nods, holding up a singular finger as he continues to reveal his findings. “This can be attributed to, for example, overconsumption of sugary foods or work overload. Have you had any of these two things recently?”

Zayne’s lips purse in thought, remembering the new maple syrup you had doused his pancakes in over an hour ago. ‘I picked this up during an overseas mission and thought you might like it,’ you explained to him, drawing an intricately sticky pattern of hearts atop his breakfast. It was still just syrup—not so much a difference in flavor to a regular one you could find at the nearby supermarket—but he was grateful for the gift nonetheless as he indulged in the sweet treat with you.

“Sugar, yes. Nothing wrong with it when done in moderation.”

Sure, he had a sweet tooth. But had been doing well to maintain a healthy intake of sugary pieces, lest he wanted another round of your ‘scoldings’ and an appointment to the neighboring orthodontist again.

With a slight sigh, he clasps his hands together over the expanse of his desk and continues. As for workload? He was almost always caught up in it, whether it were hands-on procedures or consultations. Today was no exception to the rule.

“And I do have work, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“I see. May I make a suggestion?” Baymax asks.

Zayne gives him a curt signal of acknowledgement. “You may.”

“I can assist you with said workload. I am equipped with several modules and sensors that will be of use.”

Zayne contemplates for a moment, curious to the veracity of such a claim. Well, when one forms a hypothesis, the best way to test out the theory was through a designed experiment; and he was ready to do just that. “Alright. Give me just a moment.”

With a couple of speedy taps, Zayne pulls up a recent patient file and gestures for Baymax to approach. As the airy robot bounces into place beside him, Zayne points towards a diagram, a series of numbers and waves indicating observational data. “Here. Based on what you see, can you tell me what surgery this patient underwent?”

Baymax follows the trail of red lines, analyzing quickly in succession. “Their ECG fluctuations are affected by the noraderaline administrations over time. This line,” Baymax points to a blue parallel. “Indicates the oxygen levels throughout the surgery duration.” Calmly, he turns to blink at Zayne. “Diagnosis? The patient underwent a coronary artery bypass grafting procedure.”

Zayne nodded. Each detail was right on par, much to his surprise. “I’m impressed. Your creator must have put a lot of great effort into you.”

“He did. He was wonderful.” Baymax gives a thumbs up in return. “Am I to take it that I have passed your test?”

So he knew, even without having to say anything. “You have,” Zayne confirms with a small smile.

“Here.” Baymax raises his fingers and curls them into a fist, waiting for Zayne to meet him halfway. Slowly, Zayne does just that, meeting the soft plush before it was pulled away and sealed with a robotic tune.

“Ba-la-la-la-lah.”

“Bah… What now?”

“We have completed our first task together. This warrants a celebratory fist bump.” Baymax returns his enclosed fist towards the confused doctor once more. “You must also say it while our fists connect.”

Not finding it in himself to disagree, Zayne repeats the actions from before and adds on with an unsure, “Ba-la-lah.” Slightly strange, though it held a tinge of endearment that reminded him of a certain someone; he suddenly didn’t mind it as much then, shaking his head to himself.

It satisfied Baymax all the same, hand wiggling away before a sound disrupts the next file to be displayed. Zayne’s phone rings then, a custom set of notes indicating there was only one special caller. Your name flashed on his screen, buzzing in patience as his gaze flicked between that and Baymax.

“Do you mind if I take this?”

Baymax blinks. “I do not mind.”

“Thank you.”

With a swipe, Zayne presses his phone to the cup of his ear, voice softening to answer your call. “Good morning. Are you heading out now?”

“Morning! How did you know?” 

Zayne could make out the rustling of keys with the pattern of your footsteps, a light yet amused scoff from him trickling into the receiver. Even if it weren’t for the traces of noise, you usually left around this time and always texted him a new emoji without missing a day. So, of course he knew. You followed up almost immediately with another answer to support your stance. 

“New mission just came in, and it happens to be near Akso. Guess we’ll be seeing each other again pretty soon.”

“Oh?” His brow quirks at the idea. “What requires you to be in the area, exactly?” Zayne’s hazel hues instinctively settle on the black pools of Baymax’s blink, already knowing the answer that you proceeded to relay.

“There was a… Wanderer sighted?” Even over the phone, your voice relayed doubt amidst a warm crackling sound. “Well it’s not exactly one…allegedly. But rather something big, round and white? Tara said it looked like a walking marshmallow,” you chuckled. Well, it’s not like you were wrong, Zayne confirms with another glance.

“Either way, it’s caused an uproar and the Association is sending me to check it out. I’m assuming you already know what it is?”

“I do.” Baymax tilts his head, pointing a finger to himself in quiet curiosity. Zayne raises his own to his mouth, indicating for a secret to be kept as he muses into the call. “And no, not a Wanderer. Stop by my office when you get here and you’ll see.”

“I’ll be there in 15 if traffic is kind to me,” you chirped in reply. He could make out the humming of your motorcycle come to life, indicating the start of your journey. “See you then! Love you.”

“Alright. Love you too. Be safe.”

As the call came to an end, Zayne shifted his gaze to the even shiftier companion before him. Though Baymax couldn’t necessarily smile, the doctor could feel it radiating off of its plush form as he lifted a familiar finger.

“Your pulse and heart rate have quickened greatly. The rate went from 87 beats per minute to 102 in about ten seconds.” Baymax pauses, and a screen with infographics begins to luminate across his chest once more. “Symptoms may include, but are not limited to, your pituitary glands—“

“I’m aware of how hearts work.” Zayne gestures around to their environment, the glimmer of his name tag reflecting the morning sun filtering through the tall windows. “And… everything else.”

He was a cardiac surgeon, first and foremost. His efforts and contributions have earned him plenty of accolades in the field, a testament to his brilliance and especially at a younger age in comparison to his medical peers. But second to none was he also your partner—naturally, his heart would’ve soared regardless. He was aware of the source to his increased palpitations.

“You are also smiling,” Baymax comments. “Does this person make you happy?”

Zayne freezes then, unbeknownst of how the edges of his lips were curled into a gentle grin. His mouth almost straightens, fingertips brushing over them in thought. He lets out a resounding hum in confirmation, looking away bashfully for a brief moment. “Very much so.”

“That is good. Having someone who makes you ‘happy’ will improve your quality of life.” As if sending him his seal of approval, Baymax gives an affirmative fist of encouragement. No sooner did a wrapped lollipop appear between said fist, and he held it towards Zayne in offering. “Here, have a lollipop.”

“Thank you.” Zayne takes the candy in acceptance, wrapper crinkling in removal before a taste of winterberry spreads across his tongue. “Shall we go through another file until a certain someone comes barging in?”

He could already imagine how your grand entrance would play out, and this time, knowingly smiles to himself at the thought.

With an enthusiastic nod, Baymax takes a nearby chair and places it beside Zayne’s own. Deflating slightly to fit the mold, he puffs up once more in preparation.

“I am ready. Let’s work together, Dr. Zayne.”

[maizylx]

Kafka x f!reader NSFW- minors dni

"I can 'lead' you"

Sub f!reader, fingering, strap riding, lingerie, tying and controlling you with her ability,

Words: 2000+

You were having an absolute blast at the mall with your friends, thanks to Kafka generously providing some spending money. With the guilt of splurging your own funds lifted, you indulged in shopping for clothes and snacks without a care in the world. As you and your friends lounged on a bench in the middle of the mall, surrounded by a mountain of shopping bags and each clutching a refreshing bubble tea, your phone suddenly buzzed in your pocket, jolting you from your peaceful moment.

Curiosity piqued, you retrieved your phone and checked the notification.

It was a message from Kafka. Asking you to meet her in her apartment at 6 pm. How could you possibly refuse? You eagerly accepted the invitation, though a hint of nervousness fluttered in your stomach for no valid reason. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for Kafka to invite you over to her room almost every week for various activities behind closed doors. When Kafka mentioned she had a surprise in store for you, your curiosity was piqued even further.

Your friends couldn’t help but notice the flush creeping up your cheeks and seized the opportunity to tease you. “Is your boyfriend texting you?” they chimed in with amusement. You shook your head vehemently, hastily tucking your phone away. “I don’t even have a boyfriend!” you muttered, sitting up from the bench with an annoyed huff, taking a sip from your nearly empty bubble tea. As you made your way towards the trash can to discard the cup, your attention was suddenly captivated by an intriguing store-a lingerie shop to be exact.

With the idea of surprising Kafka with a thoughtful gift in mind, you made your way into the store, determined to find the perfect seductive undergarments that would surely bring a smile to her face. You knew she would appreciate the gesture, and the idea of showing up with something so alluring made you feel a rush of excitement.

Aware that your sudden disappearance might worry your friends, you quickly informed them of your intentions. “Guys, I’m just going to check out that store real quick,” you gestured towards a harmless-looking shop, ensuring they wouldn’t jump to any false conclusions. They nodded in understanding, allowing you the freedom to explore the store without their watchful eyes.

Browsing through the racks, you eventually stumbled upon a cute set of undergarments in a shade that perfectly matched Kafka’s hair color. It was both pretty and seductive, just as you had hoped. Securing the set in your grasp, you made sure no one could snatch it away from you before indulging your curiosity and exploring the rest of the store.

The store offered an array of enticing items, including stockings and elegant nightgowns, but you quickly dismissed the idea of adding anything else to your purchase. That would be pushing it a bit too far. Making your way to the cash register, you finalized your selection and discreetly tucked the purchase into one of your shopping bags for safekeeping. With the surprise safely hidden away, you couldn’t wait to see Kafka’s reaction.

Returning to your friends’ spot with the same number of bags raised a few eyebrows, prompting one of them to inquire if you’d found anything. You shook your head with a faux disappointed sigh. “Sadly no, but I’ve already spent enough for today, so it’s fine. Plus, it’s getting late, so I think I’ll head home,” you explained.

Your friends nodded in understanding, agreeing that it was indeed getting late and they too should probably call it a day. With a round of goodbyes, you parted ways, each heading in your own direction.

Checking the time as you walked, you realized it was nearly time for your 'meeting' with Kafka. Speeding up your pace, you knew you needed to change into your new outfit before meeting her. Arriving home, you swiftly set your shopping bags down, grabbed the undergarments, and changed into them in a hurry.

Glancing at the clock, panic surged within you. It was already five to six, and you knew how much Kafka despised being kept waiting. Your plain outfit would have to suffice for now. After all, you doubted it would stay on for long once you were with her.

Arriving at Kafka’s apartment door at 18:02, you hoped she wouldn’t be too upset about your slight tardiness. The doorbell rang, and Kafka soon appeared, greeting you with her usual smug smile. “Hm, you left me waiting,” she remarked, her voice dripping with sultry allure, though a hint of irritation lingered beneath the surface. Quick to apologize, you explained about having to take your shopping bags home. She simply smiled and tugged you inside by the arm. “I don’t need your apologies in words,” she teased, her tone laden with implications that left you feeling both excited and apprehensive.

Without much time to react, Kafka swiftly pinned you to her bed, leaving you feeling momentarily dizzy from the sudden movement. Your wrists were captured beside your head, held firmly in place as your back sank into the plush cushion of the mattress. Before you could utter a word, she silenced you with a deep, passionate kiss that stole your breath away, leaving your words trapped in your throat. The intensity of her kiss sent a jolt of excitement coursing through you, igniting a fire of desire within.

Breaking away from your lips, Kafka trailed her lips down to your neck sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin, eliciting a soft gasp from you. Her free hand slipped beneath your top, gliding over the smooth expanse of your stomach, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. Your sweet reaction drew a chuckle from her lips and after a short while she had removed your top entirely, exposing your skin to the cool air of the room, the contrast with your heated body temperature sending tingles dancing across your skin.

Kafka’s fingers traced the delicate lace of your bra, her touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “How gorgeous,” she purred, her voice dripping with sultry admiration. “I don’t recall you owning such a pretty bra.” With a mischievous grin, she tugged your bra further down so your nipples were visible, her intentions clear as desire smoldered in her eyes.

Her bruised lips trailed even further down to your breasts, and in a swift movement she captured your nipples between her plump lips. A moan escaped your lips, and your hand tangled itself in her wine red hair to pull her lips closer to your body. While her mouth was busy suckling your nipple, her free hand clawed your other breast and squeezed it roughly. Your sweet moans were music in her ears, and she wanted to make you scream even more for her, so she pulled away from your body to take off your bottom. A chuckle rang through her throat as she admired the way the lingerie looked on you.

"I see, someone wants to be fucked like a slut, hm?" Her words made you twitch slightly and you couldn't help but agree with her words. Your expression said everything she needed to know, so the tip of her finger was slowly entering your panties. Due her movements you expected her to take of your panties, but you thought wrong, Instead, she lifted the fabric of your lingerie and let it flick back against your skin playfully, causing a slight redness to bloom on the spot where it made contact.

Her actions were teasing and playful, adding an unexpected element of sensuality to the moment as she continued to watch your reactions with a mischievous glint in her eyes. You couldn't help but whine slightly at the unexpected pain, and she chuckled slightly "I'm sorry, my dear. I was just joking~"

her teasing antics caused your eyes to roll in annoyance and exactly in this moment she suddenly snapped your panties off your body "I don't like it when you roll your eyes in annoyance, I prefer when you roll your eyes in pleasure~" before you could say anything else she silenced you with her fingers brushing against the slit of your. The sensation caused you to shake, and let out a breathy moan. "Already wet, are we?" Kafka mumbled as she felt the dampness between your thighs while spreading your thighs apart.

The tip of her fingers teased your hole, and lightly stretched your tight walls with one finger for now, before adding a second one. Your body reacted on it's own as it started to shiver and clutching her fingers with your walls as if your hole was about to devour her fingers. Her fingers curled up at a sensitive spot of yours which instantly made you moan her name in desperation. You didn't want her to stop but she suddenly pulled her fingers out of you which left you feel empty.

"W-Why did you stop?" You murmured desperately, when she abruptly reached for your squishy little cheeks, cupping your face "Do you remember the 'surprise' i promised you?" You nodded, trying to recall the memories referenced in her messages, but confusion still lingered on your face as to what they had to do with the current situation.

The curious expression you wore prompted Kafka to chuckle softly as she pulled away from you completely. With purposeful strides, she made her way to a drawer, opening a shelf from which she pulled out something. Your eyes widen as she revealed a silicone dick with a strap. "Do you understand now?"

You gulped and now everything made a little more sense; the fingers were just there to stretch you for the following act. Kafka sauntered back to you with a sultry grin, while you sat up, slightly bemused by her antics. “Oh, please, I expected more enthusiasm,” she teased, her expression feigning disappointment, prompting a sigh from you at her playful demeanor. “What exactly do you want to do with it?” you inquired, unsure of her intentions.

Her face adopted a thoughtful expression as she tapped her chin in contemplation. "You could ride me" The suggestion she eventually proposed left you stunned, though a small hint of excitement flickered within you. “But I don’t know how that exactly works,” you admitted hesitantly, feeling a twinge of unease at the prospect of doing something wrong.

However, Kafka simply laughed, dismissing your concerns with a wave of her hand. “It seriously can’t be that hard. But if you’re really that nervous, I could ‘lead’ you,” she suggested with a playful tilt of her head, her implication not lost on you.

"Okay, fine, let’s try it out,” you agreed reluctantly, giving in to her enthusiasm. Kafka’s satisfied grin only served to heighten your curiosity as she sat down on the bed and clasped the strap around her waist, anticipation building between you as you came closer to her, when suddenly you had difficulties to move.

“Why are you looking like that? I thought you wanted me to lead you,” Kafka purred with a smug smile, her confidence palpable as she guided your body onto her body. With a swift movement, she manipulated the strange pink strings connected to her fingers, wrapping them around your body until you were completely enveloped by them. With another flick of her wrist, she effortlessly lifted your thighs into the air, making your clit kiss the tip of the silicone cock, and she was lowering you even further and further down on her strap.

You could feel the strap entering you and you let out a loud gasp at the sensation. As Kafka’s hand began to move, the strings followed suit, controlling your body’s movements in perfect synchronization. The sensation of being moved without exerting any effort yourself was both strange and exhilarating, and you found yourself enjoying the pleasure despite the initial surprise. With the strings doing all the work, you were able to relax and simply go along for the ride.

Kafka grinned in satisfaction as you moaned and threw your head back in pleasure. She sped the movement a little up and made your tight hole take all of her. Your walls clenched around the strap and your moans turned breathless and strained. Her gaze shifted between your flushed face and your jiggling breasts, and she just had to squeeze one of your pretty breast with her hand. The double stimulation made you whimper her name desperately And you felt yourself coming closer to the point. Kafka noticed that you were close so she tilted her head in curiosity

"Oh that soon already?" she cooed in amusement and made you move even faster up and down. The only thing you could do is nod as you were so full of pleasure to do anything else at this point and then suddenly you let yourself go. Your eyes rolled back, your whole body was trembling, you curled your nails in your palm. Your pussy was dripping with cum and the silicone cock was covered in your juices.

The hand on your breast was loosing up and after a time, the strings were finally removed, allowing you to move freely once again. You collapsed onto the bed next to Kafka with a soft thud, breathing heavily, your lips parted in exhilaration. “Did you have fun, my dear?” Kafka asked, her hand tenderly caressing your cheek as you could only nod in response, still reeling from the excitement of the experience.

"Maybe we should do this again some time~"

[dreamyyesenia]

Always Keep Simming Legacy - Visiting the Specter Household and a visit from the Grim Reaper…

Aileen drove the long way to Ravenwood, as the Specter’s had invited her over. She had a day off, while the kids and Colin were at school/work. Olive Specter seemed to be very interested in Aileen’s scientific research. She’d heard about her success cloning sims and objects and there were rumors she could even revive a sim. Olive, being the black widow that she was, was, of course, more interested in unaliving sims… but the concept of bringing someone back to life brought up a new question for her: If someone knew how to revive someone, they could possibly also make someone immortal? (Yes, again the immortality conflict but I believe it’s a topic human and sim beings are most interested in. Who doesn’t want to be invincible?…). Aileen and Colin hadn’t talked about her going even further in her research, as immortality was a sensitive subject for Colin, understandably so. His grandmother had ordered him to make an immortality potion for her and kept him hostage in the Realm of Magic for that... Colin hadn’t tried working on his alchemy skills since her demise, so Aileen wasn’t eager to delve deeper into Life and Death issues either.

“Can you at least give me the recipe for Ambrosia?”, Olive demanded. Aileen was unsure whether she could trust her. So, she declined. It was clear Olive was trying to form some kind of relationship with her, which made Aileen slightly uncomfortable. They got to talk about their children next, Olive had a son named Nyon. He wasn’t going to a normal high school, not even an occult school, as Aileen and Colin were planning to send their twins to. He was attending exclusive classes at the Grim Reaper’s Academy for Young Reaper’s, in Ravenwood. The teens going to that school were mostly spellcasters or vampires but humans were allowed in as well. As Gemma was very interested in all things “Death”, Aileen considered applying for her. Her head full of thoughts and possibilities, Aileen arrived home that evening and was surprised to find Grim already present…

He accepted Gemma into his Reaper’s Academy and invited Gavin as well! Regarding the topic of ambrosia… It was a complicated matter. “For centuries, sims have tried to find ways to trick death. I’m not the Lord of the Underworld, in fact, I have to report to them about the Reaping Business. At the end of the day, I don’t care who makes it to the Underworlds. As long as I fulfill each week’s quota, I’m good”, he explained. Gemma listened to every word with fascination. “The Underworld”, she asked, “Are there other creatures? Demons? Angels?”. The Grim Reaper chuckled. “There’s all kinds of creatures there, miss, but you won’t live to tell anyone about it. If you’ve made it to the Underworld, you can’t come back, ever.” Gemma eyes were big as saucers and Gavin was complaining to his dad about his overly curious twin… All the while, Aileen was lost in her thoughts. She came to the conclusion, to keep her recipe for ambrosia to herself, as well as her cloning business. And she would definitely not concern herself about immortality matters - that just sounded like a recipe for disaster.

And so, the twins would attend the Grim Reaper’s Academy for Young Reaper’s starting fall. First, they’d get to enjoy one last week of childhood and the summer ☀️.

~

Tbc next season!

~

Note:

Switching to the postcard legacy next, we’ll continue this legacy with the twins birthday (and a quick recap of their summer vacation in Tomarang) ❤️

This absolutely breathtaking build for the Specters is by @sosimsy (YT and Gallery ID). Their builds for ravenwood are perfect imo and I used almost all of them for my renovations!!

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 16: Teatime

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content, drug use Word count: 4.4k

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The next day Aubrey Hall continued to teem with activity under the watchful eyes of the Duke and Duchess. Benedict notified Mr. Dewitt that Sophie would be retained as a member of the housekeeping staff during the country visit. If the steward had any thoughts about the whiplash instructions he was receiving in regards to the newly arrived maid, he was wise enough not to betray them. 

Benedict’s mind hadn’t stopped whirring since his encounter with Sophie in the drawing room the previous day. After returning from the lake, his sister gave no indication that she suspected anything untoward. It seemed their secret was safe. But how much longer could they carry on like this, sneaking through hallways in the dead of night, scurrying into unoccupied rooms? The risk of their discovery would increase tenfold when the family and guests started to arrive. Sophie was correct that they would need to actively avoid one another. He hadn’t even contemplated what would happen at the conclusion of his family’s hosting duties when he would be expected to return to London. 

In the midst of his colliding thoughts, all he could think of was his need for Sophie; his yearning to watch her lips part as he made her gasp, his hunger to make her come apart, his ache to hold her in his arms. He set up an easel in his bedchamber and tried to unleash his feelings on a canvas, but found himself lost in daydreams of her. Rash as it may have been, he sent word to the kitchen specifically requesting that Sophie bring him his tea.

His heart bounded when she opened the door, tray balanced on her hip as he had seen her so many times before while convalescing. Her smile was brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows. 

She set the tea tray on a table and curtsied. “Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Sophie.” Her name left his lips with a sigh of relief. “Are we not done with formalities when we are alone together?”

She returned a coy smile. “Very well, Ben. I assume you summoned me for a reason. Would you like me to sit for my portrait?”

He stepped toward her, feeling a stab of guilt that he could never seem to concentrate long enough in her presence to complete his work. “I certainly intend to finish your portrait. That is a gift I promised you. But I’m afraid my thoughts are too preoccupied to give it the attention it deserves at the moment.

“Preoccupied?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as he closed the distance between them and ran his knuckles across her cheek.

“Anticipation of my family’s arrival. And thoughts of you. Knowing we must keep our distance once they arrive.” 

“Yes, we must.” Sophie swallowed, feeling the familiar bloom of heat just from his proximity. 

“But we have today.” Benedict nuzzled against her cheek, delighting in her scent, the faintest hint of amber and vanilla. 

Sophie’s eyes rolled closed and she grew pliant in his arms, but her mind still registered the risk of their encounters. “The Duke and Duchess…”

“Are calling at Romney Hall nearby,” he explained. “My sister is a friend of Lady Crane. She is ill and won’t be able to attend the visit.”

“The children?”

Benedict snickered. “Are with their army of nurses. The time is ours.” He pressed his lips to hers, soft and plush, and she was bereft of any further protest. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to…join me in calming my thoughts?”

“How do you mean?” Sophie asked, noting the mischievous flicker across his features, his crooked grin triggering a spark of excitement.

“An elixir procured by my younger brother in his travels. Whatever it may be, I find it both soothes the nerves and opens my mind to artistic inspiration. When paired with a canvas it helps me produce some of my most…experimental work.” He ran a hand gently through her hair, gazing at her as if she were his greatest muse. “It’s an experience unlike any other, and one that I’d like to share with you, if you are willing.”

Sophie was surprised by his offer, that he was inviting her to join him in more than just carnal pleasures. She had never tried any such substances, but assumed the effects must be different than strong drink. On a few occasions she had indulged enough to experience drunkenness with her fellow servants, usually on holidays. She found the sensation not unpleasant, a numbing carefree haze, but it did have a way of stealing joy from the following day when she would wake with a headache and bitter mouth. But she trusted Benedict implicitly. He would ensure her enjoyment as he introduced her to something new.

“How does one take this elixir?” She asked.

“A powder added to tea.” He wiggled his eyebrows and moved about the room, producing a small pouch from a drawer in his writing desk and shaking it playfully before resting it beside the teapot. “Medicinal in a way not unlike your tinctures, but entirely unique.”

Nodding her consent, Sophie sat across from Benedict at the small table and watched as he poured them each a cup of tea and added small spoonfuls of the pouch’s vibrant purple powder. He stirred and handed her the mixture, insisting she take the first sip. Tentatively, she brought it to her lips.

“You may wish to hold your nose,” Benedict coached. “The smell and taste can be a bit foul.”

Sophie did detect a whiff of something pungent, vegetal but charred somehow. Holding her breath, she took a full sip and scrunched up her face as the aftertaste withered her tongue.

“Ugh,” she grimaced as Benedict giggled. “You claim this makes you feel better?”

“Give it a moment,” he grinned. “You will see.”

___

In what felt like no time at all, Sophie became aware of her altered state. A single cup of Benedict’s mystery tea and she found herself able to count the motes of dust that floated in the shafts of sunlight. As opposed to the numbing effect of alcohol, she found her mind and body heightened in awareness. She was fascinated by the friction of her dress against her skin, the tactile surface of the table and the fine china, and the colors of the fabrics throughout the room. Having drunk his own cup, Benedict seemed to be fixated on color too. After ensuring she was feeling well, he had gone to his easel and was blending oil paints directly with his fingers on both palette and canvas, making sweeping motions with his arms, entirely lost to inspiration. 

Sophie didn’t know how long she lazed in her chair watching him. The tea made time seem untrackable and irrelevant. She certainly did feel her nerves calmed and mind opened. She was content to simply gaze at Benedict, the man she secretly loved, drinking in the sight of him and every feature she adored. His tousled dark hair, his animated brow, pale blue eyes locked on his work, lopsided smirk appraising what he was crafting. Her focus narrowed to the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, the tendons flexing in his muscular neck, and the veins surging in his paint-streaked forearms. He had rolled his sleeves to the elbows but was otherwise fully dressed in a floral patterned waistcoat and pinned cravat, and for some reason this struck her as aggravating. With every inch of her skin sensitized in a way she had never known before, she wanted to touch and be touched, to taste and be tasted, to learn what it felt like to ascend to the plane of bliss when she already felt herself high above any clouds.

With a boldness that surprised even herself she rose, marched to Benedict’s side, took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Light danced behind her eyelids as the sweet flavor of his lips cascaded over her own. Benedict froze, holding his hands to either side so as not to cover her in paint.

Sophie pulled back and they both chuckled, heady with the closeness of each other as much as with the tea. Kissing him again, she found herself entirely absent of inhibition. With his hands unavailable she was in control and the realization was undeniably thrilling. There was something she had been longing to try and now was the perfect moment.

Continuing to savor him, her hands went to work unwinding his cravat. Benedict stood still, humming in amusement as they kissed. Once the fabric was in her hands, cool and slippery, she moved to stand behind him. On tiptoe she wrapped the dark blue silk around his eyes and knotted it in the back.

“Blind man’s bluff?” Benedict quipped, sounding befuddled.

“Shh.” Sophie giggled as she moved back to face him and contemplated her next move. The buttons on his waistcoat were slowly unfastened and the garment slipped carefully over his technicolor arms and onto the floor. Biting her lip, she snapped his braces against his chest causing him to gasp before she pulled them down from his shoulders. Next was his shirt. Sophie could hear him breathing harder as she pulled the hem from his waistband. She leaned to his ear and whispered, “Raise your arms.”

Giving himself over to her direction, Benedict grinned uncontrollably as she undressed him. He did as he was told, lifting his arms in front of himself to accommodate her height and she pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it across the room. He stood before her blindfolded and shirtless, chest heaving, trousers jutting out unnaturally with his stiffness. Feeling more seductive than ever before, she traced a finger from his jaw down his neck, chest and abdomen, admiring. He was muscled, athletic, and his pale skin was so soft, smelling of soap and his oil paints. Sophie knelt down to pull off his boots, running her hand lightly down the front of his trousers on her way, causing him to hiss from the sensation.

“Lift your feet.” He obeyed and she pulled off his boots and stockings. Sophie remembered the night at the inn where she had awkwardly relieved him of his clothing out of necessity. This was a decidedly more pleasurable echo of that encounter. They were both breathing quite hard now, knowing there was only one more garment left to remove. Sophie remained on her knees and reached up, slowly unbuttoning his trousers. His hands clenched into fists and she could see him gritting his jaw. She smiled as she slid the last of his clothes down and bid him to step out of them. Now he was nude and erect with anticipation. She delayed a moment, waiting to strike. She would surprise him. She knew he was expecting her hands; how she usually touched him. She would skip that step.

Benedict gasped as her hot, wet mouth encircled him. It was a shock to his system, standing naked and blind in excruciating silence, broken suddenly by his cock being devoured. He reached out to hold her head but she swatted his hand away, reminding him of how soiled they were. Groaning through clenched teeth he fought to stand still and just let her have her way with him. It was agony and paradise combined, a flood of feelings as his swirling senses honed in on her attentions. The minx inside sweet Sophie had been unleashed by the tea and he was both proud and humbled that she was offering her own form of experimentation to match his. 

At long last Sophie was fulfilling her wish to take Benedict in her mouth, to show him just how fervently she longed to please him, to worship his body as he had worshipped hers. She found the act surprisingly enjoyable, knowing the power she wielded from her knees. Hearing the needy sounds he made and looking up to see his mouth hung open with awe gave her her own satisfaction in turn. After a few pulls along his manhood she leaned back. “How is this, Ben? Inspirational?” She flicked her tongue across his tip.

He groaned, legs buckling. “Yes, Sophie. It’s…you’re wonderful. Just…just like this. Your lips are like the kiss of heaven.” She chuckled, knowing he would likely spout something poetic even if they were not under the influence. Motivated to push him even higher into the firmament, she leaned forward to consume him again. She tried different motions, licking and sucking, back and forth, her tongue dancing around his veins, her hand rising to join her mouth in stroking. Whenever Benedict moaned above her, she persisted with that action. 

Then she tested herself, seeing how deeply she could take him. Slowly, she pushed further and further toward his body, pulling him into her mouth, relaxing every muscle she knew how. She knew he was in her throat once she could no longer breathe. An odd, somewhat alarming sensation but she felt in control. Staying relaxed she began to move gently, sucking him as before, letting him penetrate an entirely new area of her body. Having the most intimate part of him warm and heavy in her mouth was a comfort and sin she could never have imagined.

Benedict positively shouted with surprise as he breached Sophie’s throat. He instinctively tore the cravat from his eyes, looked down and saw her face practically flush with his pelvis, eyes closed in concentration as she rocked back and forth. He was buried so deep that when she finally gagged, he felt as if he were swallowed, squeezed with a pressure and heat that threatened to topple him. He shuddered, mind gone completely blank. Sophie pulled back and came up for air, gasping after his entire length slid out of her beautiful mouth. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand and smiled up at him, looking proud of herself.

“Sophie Beckett, you marvelous creature,” he beamed down at her. With a smug gleam in her eyes she set herself on him again and Benedict rocketed skyward. He murmured praise and suggestions, hips beginning to thrust as she sucked him eagerly. She had a natural talent with her tongue that he knew was liable to destroy him. The warmth of her mouth, the suction of her lips, the challenge in her dewy eyes gazing up at him, it grew too much to bear. As he felt himself nearing the peak he pulled back.

“Sophie, I’m…I am nearly there.”

“Good,” she smiled, tearing away the collar of her uniform and beginning to loosen her frock. Benedict watched, agog as she undressed, stripping down to the waist. Then she wrapped a warm hand around his length and began to pump, her breasts bare and bobbing hypnotically as she stroked him. Whatever fire had been lit within her, he vowed to keep it tended. Gazing at each other open mouthed, she commanded him softly but intently. “Come on me.”

Seeing and hearing how hungry she was for his release brought it to fruition in a moment. Knowing nothing but the wave of ecstasy beginning to spasm through his body, Benedict needed to stabilize himself before he jettisoned off of the earth. His hands fell to Sophie’s shoulders and gripped tight, smearing her in a rainbow of fingerprints as he dropped his head with a cry. Painting her in two ways at once, his breath escaped in halting gasps as she milked him onto her chest. 

Sophie never stopped her movements, coaxing him through the aftershocks. When Benedict fell to his knees before her panting, she grinned with devilish victory. She was just as capable of reducing him to a breathless mess as he could her. It made her feel closer to him, more trusted, and more desirable.

“Sophie,” Benedict marveled at her, barely able to muster words. “I’m sorry. Your shoulders…”

He pointed at the streaks that ran across her skin. She looked down and saw the epaulets she had earned. Bright ornaments of sinful endeavors. The fingerprints of her lover seared into her for all to see. The whole room was twinkling in a dazzling spectrum before her eyes and she felt honored to be made a part of it. With a twist of her lips she collected the palette he had dropped nearby and dipped her fingers into a sky blue shade, then swiped it gently across his abdomen, coloring him as well.

Benedict looked at her quizzically, then she ran a purple thumb across his jaw. Catching on, he wet his fingers in forest green and brushed them across her cheeks. Giggling, Sophie next took a daub of orange and swirled it in circles across her chest, blending it with his seed, painting herself with his essence. Benedict swallowed hard, dumbfounded, and then found himself moving like a man possessed, stripping her of her remaining clothing, hauling her up onto the settee and burying his face between her legs. 

The day progressed as a gauzy fantasy, the two of them wrapped in intoxicated wonder and all the sensations they could gift each other. They lost count of their climaxes, Sophie returning time and time again to swallow Benedict and bob her head until he gasped her name, and Benedict on his knees in equal measure, sucking her furiously as she bounced against his tongue. After the poetry they penned with their moans, they broke to make art with their flesh, painting arcs, swirls and handprints across skin, gradients of desire and whimsy, blending with their own juices, traces of themselves ending up on the canvas which had clattered to the floor.

Hours later as the sun began to set, they found themselves looking like madmen, wrapped in sheets, disheveled and covered in streaks of paint from head to toe. Benedict had the presence of mind to wrap Sophie in one of his shirts and hide her in the bedroom next door while he donned a robe and called for a bath. He didn’t much care what the maids thought of seeing him smeared with paint with his hair standing on end. It wouldn’t be the first time he had ended up like this after a dose of the powder.

Working together and casting him sideways glances, Finian and Lizzie brought a large copper tub to his room and filled it with steaming water. Lizzie scented it with oil and a sudsy soap that left bubbles floating on the surface. When they finally exited, Benedict collected Sophie again and locked the door behind them. She giggled helplessly while he stripped her of what little she was wearing and helped her step into the steaming water. She shivered and sank down, allowing the water to rise above her shoulders and neck, even right up to her nose, and then closed her eyes. It felt like heaven.

“Lean forward,” Benedict murmured, kneeling on the floor beside her. She did, and sighed with pleasure as he began to wash her back, making clouds of red and yellow paint swirl into the water. 

“We’ll make you all shiny and new again,” he grinned, kissing her shoulder as he scrubbed her arms. Sophie leaned forward and rested her forehead on her bent knees, blushing.

“Dunk your head so I can wash your hair,” he ordered.

She slid under the water, a magical, enveloping sensation while she still felt the fuzzy influence of the tea, and then quickly came back up. 

The green streaks of paint on her cheeks started to run down the length of her face. But rather than make her look wretched, Benedict thought it gave her a phantasmal beauty. It made her eyes glow as he had never seen them - glittering emeralds refracting all the light in the room. He rubbed the paint from her face with his thumb as she held his gaze. He suddenly found that it was hard to breathe. Probably a side effect of the tea. 

He busied himself by rubbing the bar of soap in his hands and then began to work the lather through her hair. “Do you prefer your hair short?” he asked.

“I had to cut it,” she said. “I sold it to a wigmaker.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have heard him growl.

“It used to be much shorter,” she added.

“Back under.” 

She dunked back in the tub, swirling her head this way and that under the water before coming back up for air. 

Benedict cupped his hands and filled them with water. “You’ve still got some in the back,” he said, letting the water pour over her hair.

Sophie let him repeat the process a few times, until all the paint was removed as far as she could tell and the water had turned a milky purple. “Aren’t you coming in?” She raised an eyebrow and was met with that cheeky lopsided grin.

Benedict let his robe fall to the floor and stepped in across from her. He groaned with pleasure as he lowered himself, immediately dunking under the water and smoothing back his hair. Sophie took the cloth and went to work scrubbing his fingers, his arms, every inch of him. Their incessant giggling was fading into pleasurable hums and sighs as they caressed each other in the water, gently, curiously. They kissed each other’s necks, arms, foreheads. There was a chastity to it despite that they were fully nude together after an outrageously lascivious afternoon.

Sophie was drained. It had been without a doubt the wildest and most exploratory day of her life thus far. She knew she was still under the giddy haze of the tea but her senses were growing sharper. Time slowly seemed to be returning to its normal rate and her mind was quieting. The last of its effects, the joy of being with Benedict, and the warmth of the lapping water made her euphoric. Benedict had leaned back against his end of the tub, eyes closed. Sophie couldn't stretch out her legs underwater without awkwardly laying on top of him, so she planted her feet to frame his head which made him look up and chuckle. She grinned and bent an elbow over the side, resting her head on her arms. Benedict ran his hands lazily over her knees and the two of them sat in contented silence, descending from their high and soaking up all the heat the water could offer.

Benedict stared at Sophie, resting serenely as glinting water droplets ran across her collarbone. She was dazzling. Never a word that he had thought to associate with a housemaid but it was truly how he felt. Where in the world had she come from? This beautiful, daring and exciting woman whose wit, moods, pleasures and interests so perfectly aligned with his own? He genuinely wondered if she had worked in the Cavender house at all and wasn’t some faerie that had wandered out of the woods to enchant him. These days alone with her in the country had been some of the happiest he had experienced with a woman. He was ready to find her an apartment in London, to send her there with an allowance to buy anything she fancied, and to have all of her servant’s clothes burned. He could do it tomorrow. She shouldn’t spend another day working for his family.

“Why do you want to keep working at this ball?” He asked her.

Sophie lifted her head, brow furrowed. “So I can earn some money.”

Benedict sat up and leaned toward her. “You don’t need to earn money. I’ll take care of you.” He pressed his torso against hers and murmured, “I can give you whatever you want.”

Whether it was her pride or some courage gifted to her by the tea, Sophie felt no fear in being honest with him. “I don’t want you to.” Her voice was more stern than she had intended and he scowled. 

“Why can’t we just stay like this? Have this time together?” She nuzzled against his neck and planted a soft kiss on his lips. This was everything she wanted, or at least everything that she could reasonably have with Benedict. She would never experience her dreams of marrying him, or walking on his arm in public, or being with him forever. But she could have these days, weeks or even months if she were lucky, where they enjoyed each other’s company and bodies, and she was grateful for it. Incredibly grateful. It wasn’t perfect, but it was closer to her dreams than she could have ever imagined over the past two years. She would cherish these days forever, but she refused to hinge her hopes or her future on them, when they would never lead to anything.

“I don’t want to be kept somewhere,” she confessed. “Locked in a pretty box for you to play with.”

Benedict pulled back, looking insulted. “Why?”

Sophie sighed, overcome with the weight of her emotions and a wave of approaching sleep. “Because it can’t last forever and I will need work to fall back on.” She rested her head back on her arms and closed her eyes. “You must tell me once you find her,” she sighed.

Benedict looked at her, startled. Find who? Surely she didn’t know about…

As if reading his mind Sophie continued, mumbling. “The woman you will marry. So that I will know to leave. Promise me, Ben.” Her head lolled as she drifted off, her last words barely above a whisper. “I cannot share you.”

Something in Benedict’s chest clenched and again he found himself struggling to breathe. Suddenly the thought of not having Sophie around was unsettling. More unsettling than it should have been for having known her such a short time. She didn’t want to share him with his wife. Did she mean to reveal that to him or did it slip out? He couldn’t tell how it made him feel. Once again he knew she was right. He doubted he could sustain a life as a bachelor chasing after a maid who refused to be kept as a mistress. He would need to marry. Hell, a part of him wanted to marry. It was who that was the problem. He couldn’t find the lady in silver but knew that if he ever did and if she would have him, he would marry her and then there would be no room for Sophie. It made him sad and it made him confused and he was so damned tired. So he resigned himself to following Sophie’s lead and just enjoying the time they had together, for however long it lasted.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

A Tale That Wasn't Right

Belated entry for @silmarillionepistolary

2406 words, M, Maedhros/Fingon

Warnings: violence but not very graphic

On Ao3

NOLDÓRAN ARCHIVES PROJECT

MANUSCRIPT 26328-lambe

Records of the Hearing Convened by Finwë Noldóran Concerning the Incident Occurred Between Two Highborn Eldar

Editor’s note: Perhaps one of the most fascinating manuscripts among the royal records, 26328-lambe has been classified for Ages. Only now, well into the Fifth Age, it has finally been released to the public. 

Certainly, the reluctance to publicize these records must be due to the scandalous subject matter and the involvement of highly recognizable figures of the Years of the Trees. We shall refrain from speculations as to the identity of the involved parties and redact or change several identifying details as per the request of King Arafinwë.

The manuscript is also distinguished because of the considerably biased notes of the unnamed scribe, possibly one who did not continue their service for long. Despite their unconventional approach to their role, we have this scribe to thank for the preservation of the very first draft of the records.

Without further ado, we invite the reader to peruse the records and draw their own conclusions.  

At the second hour of the Mingling of [precise date omitted], the Noldóran convened a private hearing, concerning an altercation between two highborn Eldar that has been brought to the Noldóran’s attention. 

Present at the meeting

Finwë Noldóran

[redacted], tavernkeeper of the tavern [redacted] in Tirion

Finwë Noldóran’s humble scribe

Noldóran: Let us begin. Tavernkeeper, I would hear all that occurred between [title omitted] N and [title omitted] F.

Tavernkeeper: Where should I begin, lord?

Noldóran: When did you first notice their presence at your tavern?

Tavernkeeper: Immediately, lord. It was the first time such highborn lords visited my establishment. [Title omitted] F was the first to arrive. He sat in a corner and ordered [drink name omitted to avoid identification]. I did not know how to make it. He kindly explained it to me. He was three cups in when [title omitted] N joined him.

Editor’s note: Henceforth, the omission of the titles will not be mentioned. Let it be noted that the involved parties were addressed appropriately throughout the hearing.

Noldóran: Did you notice any enmity between them when N arrived?

Tavernkeeper: Not at all! F did look ill-pleased at seeing N, but I assumed it was due to N’s tardiness. N whispered something into F’s ear, which seemed to appease him.

Noldóran: How so?

Tavernkeeper: After, well, the whispering, F smiled and ordered more drinks. [Drink name omitted] for himself again and simple mead for N.

Scribe’s note: Only a son of [redacted] would drink such an abomination. 

Noldóran: Could you perhaps hear parts of their conversation?

Tavernkeeper: I would not presume to eavesdrop on a conversation between such highborn lords.

Noldóran: Not even if it was to the benefit of your king?

Tavernkeeper: Alas, the tavern was busy, lord, and they spoke in very low voices, so I missed the beginning of their discussion.

Noldóran: So you mean to say you heard the ending, the part before the incident.

Scribe’s note: If this tavernkeeper does not hurry up and tell the interesting  parts, I may die of boredom in front of the King and embarrass myself and my entire family.

Tavernkeeper: They stayed long after the tavern emptied. I must say, lord, they had drunk quite a lot, so their voices were raised. I did not eavesdrop on purpose.

Noldóran: I do not fault you, tavernkeeper. Do recount the argument arising between N and F.

Editor’s note: To make for easier reading, the argument is relayed here directly. Readers must trust that they shall miss only a great amount of hesitation by the tavernkeeper to report to the King the exact details of the conversation and the number of drinks N and F consumed meanwhile, which is high.

F: It has always been your greatest fault! N: Loyalty? F: Loyalty to the wrong person. N: Who would the right person be then? [long silence] N: It is not in your nature to avoid a question. F: Why speak if you know the answer well? N: You cannot fathom what you demand of me. F: Only to do the right thing. Is it too much to ask for? N: Ever you have shown nothing but contempt to my father. You do not know him as I do. F: You are blind to his faults. N: I am not. But, unlike you, I am familiar with his virtues, too. F: Any virtue he possesses pales before his vices. N: Is it not unfair to speak so when you have made no attempt to understand him? F: He deserves none. N: Do I? Do it for my sake. I would do it for you. I have done it for you. F: It was not for me. You had taken a liking to my father long before I was born. He is easy to love. N: How naive for someone who claims to know others with no effort. You say I am blind to my father’s faults, yet you see none in yours. F: He has none. N: I can name one. Just now, he made you lie to me and to yourself. F: My father is blameless in this! N: Of course, only mine is to blame for everything. F: What is the use of seeing his faults if you do nothing about them? N: What do you expect me to do? F: I told you. The right thing. N: Why did you summon me here? We are only repeating ourselves again and again. We shall never agree. F: If only you were less stubborn. N: I am no more stubborn than you. Why should I be the one to relent? What will you sacrifice? F: Have I not sacrificed enough? Have I not endured your father’s scorn without protest? Have I not stayed by your side through all of it? N: What a great sacrifice it must be for you to stay by my side! Have you overlooked that I did the same? Or perhaps you believe it is easier for me? F: If it is not, then we both know who to blame. I suppose I must be grateful you have gathered enough courage to even agree to speak with me. Have you told your father where you will be? N: Have you told yours? F: You give me no answer as expected, but I shall answer you. I have not only because my father has no perverse need to keep watch over his children’s every move. He is not cowardly enough to look for betrayal where there is none. N: You will not call my father a coward! Have I ever treated your father with such disdain? F: Why would you? He does not deserve it. N: But mine does? F: Doesn’t someone who belittles others to hide his own weakness, who is craven enough to forge weapons in secret, deserve to be treated with contempt? N: Do not speak so, I warn you. F: What will you do? Leave and shun me as always? Disregard my letters and flee when I try to visit? Run to your father to assure him of your loyalty, so you can stave off his bitterness and suspicion for a while longer? 

Noldóran: Do go on! What happened then?

Tavernkeeper: I hesitate, lord, for even now, I can scarcely believe it.

Noldóran: Nevertheless, I would hear it.

Tavernkeeper: After those words, N, well, he struck F.

Noldóran: Struck him?

Tavernkeeper: He did. A mighty fist against F’s jaw.

Noldóran: Are you certain that it was N who struck first?

Tavernkeeper: Quite certain, lord. I must say I had lost count of the cups they had both drunk by that point.

Scribe’s note: Liar! It does not sound like N. Although, the son of [redacted] would have deserved it.

Noldóran: Please continue. Spare no detail.

Tavernkeeper: The blow was strong enough that F fell from his chair. They both looked as astounded as I was. I thought N wished to offer a hand to F, but instead, he turned back and moved to the door. That was when F pounced on him and brought him down. They tumbled together, grappled, and shoved each other against the walls. They damaged five chairs and two tables during their brawl as well as all the cups and plates that were on them. F twisted N’s wrist in an attempt to restrain him, but N wrapped F’s braids around his other hand and wrenched him away. They were on the floor once again by then. N tried to rise, but F took a broken chair leg and hurled it towards N. It hit the mark rather painfully. In response, N threw a half-empty goblet at F, which missed his head but drenched his hair in ale.

Editor’s note: The sketch of King Finwë with his head in his hands is presumably drawn by the scribe.

Noldóran: What then?

Tavernkeeper: They must have exhausted themselves because they remained lying on the floor for a while. I was afraid to approach them, but I also hesitated to leave in case they resumed their fight.

Noldóran: Did they?

Tavernkeeper: No… They did something else.

Noldóran: …what was it?

Tavernkeeper: F sat and helped N up. N said something to F in a very low voice. F answered. I could not hear the words. And then they… They kissed, lord.

Noldóran: A kiss between friends?

Tavernkeeper: I would not say so.

Scribe’s note: This does sound like N.

Noldóran: Did you see what happened after the so-called kiss?

Tavernkeeper: No, lord. I hurried to leave. That was all I saw, I swear.

Noldóran: Thank you, tavernkeeper. I believe it goes without saying that what we have spoken about must remain within the walls of this hall. Of course, you shall be compensated generously for your losses. Scribe, there is no need to record this part.

Scribe: As you command, Noldóran.

Tavernkeeper: No word shall leave my lips, lord.

Noldóran: You have my gratitude.

Scribe’s note: Future generations of the Noldor, I shall have your gratitude for making and preserving these records. Glory to the House of [redacted]!

***

Fingers run between disheveled braids, smoothing them with gentleness in stark contrast with the violence they had yanked at them. Inhale. The faint perfume of almond oil wafts through the heavy scent of ale. They do not mix well. Maitimo says so.

“Who could have guessed?” Findekáno says dryly.

Maitimo’s fingers continue their tender way through Findekáno’s braids. Findekáno closes his eyes, his head turning where Maitimo guides him, willingly this time.

Languidly, he raises a hand and runs it – feather-light – across Maitimo’s face, across his left cheekbone where a hideous bruise is already forming.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Findekáno leans forward and retraces the path of his fingers with his lips, leaving a faint trail of red across Maitimo’s cheekbone. Maitimo’s eyes fall shut, his breath stutters. Findekáno takes Maitimo’s hand – the same one that split his lip open – and kisses the bloodied knuckles. Maitimo’s fingers entwine with Findekáno’s – a movement so familiar and practiced that it is almost an instinct.

Findekáno raises his head and presses his lips to Maitimo’s, but the moment Maitimo deepens the kiss, Findekáno pulls back with a hiss.

“It is bleeding again,” Maitimo says with dismay.

He takes a dampened rag and taps it tenderly against Findekáno’s lip, careful to avoid touching his bruised jaw. But Findekáno leans into his hand, his eyelids fluttering in something between pain and relief.

Maitimo undresses him, runs his fingers along his shoulders, caresses his chest, strokes his hips. Bruises are late to bloom and hard to find on Findekáno’s skin, unlike Maitimo, who is already painted red and purple. But Maitimo knows exactly where he had hurt Findekáno – an elbow to the sternum, a closed fist beneath the ribs, shoulders slammed against the edge of a table too many times.

Maitimo explores Findekáno’s body with hesitant touches, soothes his aches, brushes his fingers against the bruises. Does not apologize. The sound of Findekáno’s harsh breathing grows louder and louder until he grabs Maitimo’s hands and turns in his arms.

He bares Maitimo from the waist up in pained, hurried movements as if there is no time left. Maitimo winces when he raises his arms to allow Findekáno to disrobe him.

“Oh!” Findekáno exclaims, staring at the fresh bruise that covers most of Maitimo’s lower rib cage.

“Even inebriated, your aim is true,” Maitimo says.

Findekáno sinks down. Raises a hand to the bruise, then lets it fall. Leans forward and traces the uneven edges of the bruise with his lips, warms it up with his breath, soothes it with his tongue. Does not apologize.

Findekáno begins the work of relieving Maitimo of the rest of his clothing. Maitimo’s hands shake, then his knees, then his shoulders. Findekáno’s lips slide lower, ghost over Maitimo’s groin.

“You did not hurt me there,” Maitimo says, his voice coming out as bruised as his body is.

“How fortunate I still had some sense left,” Findekáno says.

Maitimo laughs, and for the briefest of moments, all pieces fall into their places – Findekáno before him, teasing him gently, making him laugh – so familiar and so right. But the tremors of laughter reach every aching place, reminding him sharply of what they did.

“Wait,” he says.

“Hush,” Findekáno says, holding Maitimo by his unhurt hip.

Maitimo looks down at Findekáno, kneeling on his bruised knees, looks at Findekáno’s swollen lip and beaten face.

“Who would do this?” he asks.

Findekáno draws back.

“Who hurts someone he loves and cherishes in such a cruel way?” Maitimo asks.

“You do,” Findekáno says. His gaze slowly passes over all the angry red marks he has left on Maitimo’s body. “And I.”

Maitimo sits before him.

“Will you swear it will never happen again?” he asks. “Can you give me your word that you will not do it again?”

Findekáno is silent for a moment.

“You cannot either,” he says then.

“No.”

“It is not right.”

“No.”

Findekáno leans his forehead against Maitimo’s. There is a small but painful bump on it from hitting it against a chair. It aches.

“You should leave,” Findekáno says.

“I should.”

“So should I.”

“Yes.”

They sit before each other, bare and bruised, hand in hand, skin to skin, amid the broken cups and chairs, amid the destruction they caused. None moves. 

[inhuman-obey-me]

Collab pair piece for Barbatos’s birthday 2023!

Art by Mod Cosmos

Writing by Mod Chaos

Arrhythmia

Can also be read on AO3 here Word count: 10.7k Description: Time, with all its endless possibilities and unknowable branches, is infinite. Yet, certain patterns exist. Some things are fated. And for Barbatos, master of time and space, the heartbeat of fate underlying each strand of time is the constant. This is what time is. This is what time means. Infinite timelines, branching and collapsing, splitting and merging, to the end of time. Until you. You were not part of fate -- not that familiar pulse of passing time he knew so well. You weren't, until suddenly, you were.

Prologue

"I desperately needed to obtain your power to control time, Barbatos..." "I was surprised you'd come to me with such a foolish request, considering you are known as 'Solomon the Wise.'" "But that was before I had my over-the-top nickname, wasn't it? No one called me that yet..." "Indeed. But I knew that people would start calling you that in the near future, you see. Just like I knew that the two of us would eventually forge a pact."

Barbatos has never felt uncertain before.

A demon who has existed since the dawn of time, who controls the very fabric of time, he has seen all of the universe that there was to see.

You see, time, with all its endless possibilities and unknowable branches, is infinite. It is, truly. Yet, certain patterns exist. Some things are fated -- Lucifer's rebellion, the brothers' fall, King Solomon the Wise. These are destiny; these are inevitable.

And for Barbatos, master of time and space, the heartbeat of fate underlying each strand of time is the constant. This is what time is. This is what time means. Infinite timelines, branching and collapsing, splitting and merging, to the end of the universe. A heartbeat, steady and reliable, ever marching on, constant as his own.

Until you.

You were not part of fate -- not that familiar pulse of passing time he knew so well. He knew there were timelines where you would meet, yes. "Your" timeline, of course -- the one you know so well. Others as well. In some, "you" were a witch already; you weren't quite so powerless upon your arrival in the Devildom. In others, you came later, not in the first year of RAD's exchange program but further along, when relations between the realms had progressed more already. In others still, it was never you at all, but some other descendant of Lilith who had landed at Lucifer's feet that fateful day, when the second human exchange student was chosen.

These were the universes he knew existed. Infinite, innumerable -- and, ultimately, irrelevant. The future would march on, with or without you, and he would continue going about his life with Lord Diavolo. Fate would be fate, and those were the things that mattered.

Until you.

Knowing you would meet was different from actually meeting you. And meeting you, changed everything.

Meeting You

The first time he sees you, it barely even registers. He is present, of course, as his liege welcomes you and explains the exchange program to you. He oversees the brothers' introductions, notes the alarm on your face as you come to understand what your life is going to be for the next year. It's rather delicious actually, for the more primal of his demonic instincts, seeing the confusion and mild fear in your expression.

But a certain sorcerer has also just arrived in the Devildom, and Barbatos is a bit preoccupied with trying to determine just how much of a problem Solomon is going to be in this timeline.

The Witty Sorcerer is a constant. The immortal human king with whom Barbatos shares a pact is always a thread woven into his fate. He always decides to become a protector of humanity, and always comes to the conclusion that he must forge pacts with as many demons as he can, in order to gain enough power to hold his ground against the greater powers of the Devildom and the Celestial Realm. The exact demons and particulars of the pacts vary; some always fall for his tricks, while others cross his path by happenstance. Barbatos, for one, is never tricked into a pact but always simply accepts that he is meant to have one, for he has foreseen it countless times. Solomon almost always lands at 72 by this point, however -- that part is not quite exact from timeline to timeline, but also too close to be coincidence.

You catch the butler's attention just once that day, as Lucifer explains the struggle of humans' souls and demons' temptations -- it is then that Barbatos notices how your soul, hardly polished at all yet, nonetheless has a sparkle unlike any he's seen in a very long time. One he hasn't encountered, in fact, since he first met Solomon.

How fascinating.

That same sorcerer in question, however, leaves him little time to ponder the matter further, as his attention is quickly forced to the first of many troublesome texts he will receive from the inhabitants of Purgatory Hall this year.

"Hello, Barbatos. apppologies for the mail, buT I'M NOT VEry familiaR wit h Dev ldom cuisine  yet.. Is the kitcHEn meant To Flood with pu ripple bubbles when 1 cooks here? SIGNED, SIMEON"

At that, he makes a motion towards Lord Diavolo to be excused and quickly takes his leave to handle the situation.

And he takes no further notice of you for a while, nor you of him.

--

The next time Barbatos sees you, it's only a few short weeks later, and yet already, you've been quickly gaining quite the reputation.

He can soon see why, too.

You just had to cause chaos in the Demon Lord's Castle, didn't you? You couldn't just quietly complete your field trip with everyone, no. You just had to get yourself dragged into the depths of the castle's underground labyrinth -- and not just once, but twice.

Some version of you, cleverer, more cautious, never falls down there the second time. Other versions never make it out. Sometimes, the others notice your absence quickly enough for Barbatos to open a portal and retrieve you in time. Not always. And Asmodeus is fickle with his attentions -- as is Solomon, even if he pretends not to be. It's by lucky chance in this time that you see how to wield Asmodeus's powers that day, and luckier still that Solomon happens to lend you his magic that night.

"Just interested to see what they'll do with it," the sorcerer smiles, with that annoyingly blithe false innocuousness, when his pact-mate comes to inquire. "Aren't you interested, Barbatos?"

"No, I am not," he answers flatly. "My interest is only for all members chosen for Lord Diavolo's exchange program to have a successful and productive year here in the Devildom."

Solomon's pleasant expression drops just slightly; he gives the demon a very directed look. "Chosen by whom, Barbatos? I don't believe they were given a choice to come here like I was. I'm just...evening the playing field a little for the night. Surely it shouldn't hurt any chances of cooperation between the realms for a defenseless, magicless human to have a little bit of power for one evening?"

A tense smile, oh so familiar to the sorcerer, settles upon the demon's lips. "Of course not."

Barbatos leaves it at that, satisfied in any case that he sees you alive the next morning. A mild curiosity is piqued when he hears Asmodeus gushing about the fascinating, incredible power he felt from you the night before -- greater even than that of the famed sorcerer in their midst? That's odd, normally such strength would be more significant across timelines.

But he dismisses it quickly. Odd as it may be, in the vast breadth of the possibilities of time, if it's not significant, then that's that. It won't ultimately matter. In the endlessness of time, very little ultimately matters. The things that do pulse on as familiarly to him as his own heartbeat.

So he moves on.

"...Okay then, look into that for me, Barbatos."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Depending on how things turn out, it's possible we'll have the answers to all of our questions soon enough."

"Well, it would seem they've arrived."

"Yes, and even earlier than we thought."

The group of brothers, along with the human staying in their home, crowds into the room, Lucifer at their helm. "Diavolo, I want to talk to you."

The prince is unfazed; he and Barbatos had of course expected this when they'd taken Belphegor away. "Well hello, Lucifer. And yes, I assumed as much when I saw you at the door."

"What do we have here? Has the entire family come along today? So, you've all come along as a moving show of support and brotherly love, then?" the butler quips, before his gaze lands harshly on you. "Hmm...but it would appear that one among your number neither qualifies as a relative nor a demon."

Beelzebub stands protectively beside you. "That's right, they aren't a demon, nor are we related...but that doesn't mean we can't be on the same side. Isn't that right?"

You nod determinedly beside him. "You bet it is!"

Lord Diavolo examines you for a moment as the Avatar of Gluttony beams at your answer. "I see. Well, you may be a human, but it would seem you've found a home for yourself here in the Devildom. I have to say, I find that comforting."

The demon prince turns his attention back to the eldest of the brothers. "Now then, Lucifer, how about we hear what you have to say."

Barbatos's gaze lingers on you, however, remaining silent through the back and forth unfolding between the others. You aren't paying attention to him, of course, focused on the discussion over getting the family their seventh back. But he's spoken already with Lord Diavolo about this whole matter, and knows already what his master's decision is going to be. What you are going to do, on the other hand...

"Okay. I'll go alone."

There's that sparkle again. Just like Solomon's soul used to have.

Fated or not, there is something fascinating about you.

Even if this is just one thread of time, just one way for this all to play out, it is unusual. There's no such thing as an aberration in time, only variations that ultimately end up in the same inevitable places. The butterfly effect only flutters so far. Always.

And yet, something about you throws him off, just a bit.

You follow him out of the room, oblivious. It's your first conversation with him alone, even if it's not his first time seeing a conversation with you. "Did you know all of this was going to happen?"

He chuckles at the question. "Imagine for a moment what it would be like to know everything that will happen from now until the end of time."

Yes, imagine knowing everything -- as he does. Barbatos, demon with power over time. Barbatos, who can see anything, any timeline, past, present, and future.

"Why, nothing could possibly be more boring, wouldn't you agree?"

Barbatos, who has seen everything.

Barbatos, who has stopped looking. Barbatos, who uses his powers only for Lord Diavolo now.

"Which is precisely why I find it so very interesting and refreshing to have the chance to take a human like you into my room."

His pulse ticks just a little bit faster as he turns around to face you, opening the door behind him to usher you inside.

Why?

"All right, we've arrived. Please, come in."

He doesn't understand it yet, but there's just...something. Something about you. Something that makes the steady expectation of what comes next feel just a bit off-kilter around you.

Like you're inevitable. Even though he knows you aren't.

He knows this. He knows everything. He has seen everything.

Hasn't he?

He explains the rules and workings of time travel to you, emphasizing to you the consequences of breaking these rules -- "You run the risk of warping history."

You nod back to him, and he wishes you safe travels as he escorts you through the correct door.

And as you walk through, he feels it again. It's not just the sparkle of your soul. It's something more. Something else.

Something uncertain.

--

Something strange is happening in his room, Barbatos notes as he works, pulling various threads of time to his will.

He bends the timelines together, wrapping them into a single line.

You exist there, and there. This he knew. And yet, without his even touching them yet, there too does he find you. And there, and there.

He opens door after door, searching for each time you inhabit -- and in all doors, there you are.

Where have the others gone?

They existed once. There were other strands, other doors, other yous which were not you at all.

And yet, despite knowing this, despite knowing they should exist -- door after door, there you are.

You are only a human. You have no powers of your own. He has confirmed this -- you may have the blood of Lilith in you, but the power was never yours. And even Lilith could not exert her will over time.

That is his domain, and his alone.

So this shouldn't be. There's no reason for it. You shouldn't be everywhere.

And yet, there you are.

Everywhere. Always.

--

The brothers are all crowded over you, fighting over who gets to sit next to you. But there's a worry on your face, an insistent concern resting unsteadily on your lower lip.

"Is something the matter?" Barbatos inquires, though he has a sense already of what's on your mind. It has, after all, been on his too.

"Do you think I've warped history?"

Though all eyes are on you, yours are focused solely back upon the butler.

A nagging alarm tugs at the back of his mind with the same question -- have you warped history? Or more to the point, have you warped time?

But he knows that isn't what you're asking about. Not the same way.

"Ah...I take it you're worried about the other 'you' disappearing earlier?" He smiles lightly, explanation readied. "I know I told you that I have the power to see both the past and the future, but the truth is that there's one more secret -- something I still haven't mentioned."

Everyone's gaze shifts to him, their worlds decidedly rocked enough for a single day. None of the brothers are sure what new revelation he's about to unveil, and they're all on edge for it.

Still, his attention remains locked on you as he explains.

"You see, I have the power to select from any number of different potential realities and make any of them into the sole reality. With the various potential realities, there are an infinite number of 'you'..." He pauses, scanning your face for a reaction, but your expression is just as clouded and blank as it had been. He continues, "In the sole reality I chose, the one and only 'you' is the one right here. That's why the previous one disappeared while you remained."

Infinite realities. A "sole" reality.

It's a power he hasn't used in a very, very long time. One he doesn't especially care for, at his disposal though it may be -- what use is it to select these events that don't ultimately matter?

Fate is fate. Time is time. The inevitable is inevitable, and infinity continues moving. Some things simply are fated.

And now, so are you.

He searches your face for recognition. Do you even understand what he's just said?

But there is none. Of course not. No one here does, except him. He is the only one who knows what was fated. Naturally, then, he is the only one who understands what was not. And, with that, the only one who realizes the consequences of what this implies.

Still, the rest of the room stares on in silence, stunned at his nonchalant explanation.

Asmodeus is the first to pipe up. "You know, I notice how you sort of smiled as you said all that, but...um..."

"As far as abilities go, that's a pretty powerful one to have, don't you think?" Satan finishes.

"The Legend of Barbatos: Most Powerful of All Beings..." Levi chimes in, staring with awe.

Though Barbatos's smile remains steady on his face, something murmuring in his chest disagrees. He doesn't feel like the most powerful.

He feels off-balance. And now he knows why.

"Did you know all of this was going to happen?"

No. No, he did not.

An Ambiguous Fate

A great rumbling shakes the ground, the very earth moving erratically beneath them.

Barbatos leaps to attention, ready in an instant and immediately at Lord Diavolo's side. The prince nods at him, worry written all over his face in the form of a single, solemn acknowledgement. There is no time to lose.

It takes a short while to locate the epicenter of the quake, but once they do, they are at the mausoleum within moments, with the aid of a quick portal.

The damage is apparent immediately. Stone shards of fallen statues and broken coffins litter the ground, while gravestones and placards all across the cemetery floor have been flung askew from the force. And worst of all, the Demon Kings' Tomb rests deep at the bottom of a great crater, collapsed.

Barbatos inhales sharply, as the prince resolutely inspects the scene.

Between the two of them, easily two of the most powerful demons in the realm, they are of course capable of repairing the damage. But the greater issue here is the cause -- or more to the point, their lack of information thereof.

Earthquakes like this may simply occur in the human realm due to nature, but they're quite a bit different in the Devildom. They don't just happen, not to this scale. And they generally tend to be a bit more magical in nature.

But magic alone isn't enough to explain something this big. Magic is steeped into all the land of the Devildom, of course, but not to this extent. Even amongst demons, very few have this kind of raw power. And no such demon in existence would dare inflict such force upon the resting place of the realm's former kings.

"Let us record as much of the damage as we can, Barbatos," Lord Diavolo instructs seriously, and his butler nods, getting straight to work.

They comb across the space together, noting down every bit of destruction they encounter. It's soon apparent that most of it is aftereffects and collateral damage; the real impact was to the Demon Kings' Tomb, right at the center. And that too shows certain strange signs of what exactly had happened.

Though they initially treated it as a strangely powerful earthquake, it becomes quickly clear that's not the case at all. No, the ground did not simply shake, nor did it rend apart beneath the tomb -- it's as though the earth below had disappeared altogether. There are no signs of the ground shifting around the tomb at all, in fact, only the smattering of dirt laying atop its crumbled ceiling, loosed from the walls of the surrounding pit by the structure's fall. Nor were the walls toppled as one might have expected from shaking of the ground; instead, they appeared cracked from the bottoms upward, as though they had dropped straight down so that the impact had spiderwebbed up from their bases.

It's unlike anything Barbatos has ever seen -- in the past or future. And he has a suspicion as to why. A very unsettling suspicion.

His chest tightens, disquiet at the thought. He'd expected some changes to the future, yes; that was a given, after what he'd encountered in his room those few months ago. But something this powerful? This destructive?

"Well. That's rather troubling, wouldn't you agree, Barbatos?" Lord Diavolo murmurs, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. "I suppose there's nothing more we can do for now but repair it, however. Shall we?"

"I suppose we shall," Barbatos nods at him, face set in a grimace.

Together, they combine their magic to restore the monument to its former condition, along with the rest of the graveyard -- the butler rewinding the state of things to a prior time, the prince lending his power to solidify that state back into the present.

They make sure to jot down any final observations before they leave, then return to the castle.

Lord Diavolo is about to leave when Barbatos stops him, "Young Master, before you return to your office, may I have a word?"

There's an uncharacteristic reticence in his voice, a hesitation the prince doesn't typically hear from his butler. He's always encouraged the other to voice his thoughts and opinions freely, regardless of their roles as master and servant. "Of course, Barbatos. What is it?"

"I believe I have an idea as to what was behind this. Though I can't quite yet explain why."

The crown prince's brows knit as the butler explains his theory, as well as the earlier abnormality. "And you're certain about that, Barbatos?"

"I am not. But I had never seen anything like it before. And what happened today was...unexpected. I can only assume that they may be connected."

"I see. Then, let me know if you determine anything more, please."

But without proof or explanation, there's nothing to do about it. For now, at least.

--

It's a bleak omen indeed when even the most powerful sorcerer ever to exist looks troubled by the problem he's been presented with.

"This is bad...really bad. It took something major to make the entire side of the cliff collapse like this," Solomon frowns, eyebrows knit as he appraises the damage. "I can't see the bottom from here..."

"This is the primeval forest," Barbatos explains. "As the name suggests, it's said that this forest has been here since the time of the Devildom's birth."

"It's hard to believe that such an enormous landslide could happen here in this forest. It truly is unheard of," Lord Diavolo agrees.

"First there was the incident at the Demon King's tomb a few days ago, and now this landslide...it would seem the effect is getting worse," Barbatos murmurs.

"Yes...which is worrisome."

Barbatos doesn't need to be told to worry.

Another unexpected blast of magic, another rippling burst of destruction in its wake. Another key Devildom location, suddenly in ruins. His chest feels tight more often than not lately, seeing your cheerful grin at play rehearsals juxtaposed with these grim, shocking scenes.

It's almost definitely because of you. And all the while, you have no idea. You're just going about your life, the same as ever.

"I hate to say it, but this isn't something I can handle on my own. Actually it's not just that I can't handle it. I doubt the Devildom itself can handle this on its own," Solomon says.

The Witty Sorcerer, living up to his name, had pieced it together almost as quickly as Barbatos himself had. But unlike the butler, his primary concern was not fate, or time, or what destined events had now been thrown asunder.

The immortal sorcerer was, almost touchingly, most concerned about you.

Well, that's not exactly correct. Of course, he's concerned first and foremost about humanity. But as a human, well, humanity includes you, and as the likely cause behind these recent events, he has been threateningly insistent that neither side make any moves to harm you.

Not that the Devildom's prince would, anyway; though his top priority is naturally on keeping the Devildom safe and stable, harming the human he'd brought for his exchange program would be very much against his ideals.

But still, this destruction is, as Solomon said, worrisome. They cannot simply ignore it.

The demon prince and former human king discuss, going back and forth about involving Simeon and the Celestial Realm. There seems little choice, begrudging and frustrated as Lord Diavolo may feel about it -- and for good reason, considering how their last interaction went.

"Young Master, what do you suggest we do about Lucifer and his brothers?" Barbatos inquires, piping up once the matter has been settled.

The prince grimaces. "That's the big question, yes...I'd like to avoid straining my relationship with Lucifer any more than I already have."

The other two nod seriously. Lucifer had been infamously loyal to him after the fall, and they'd become very close friends over the centuries as well, but the events of the previous year, between his fallout with Belphegor and the resulting months of lying right to Lord Diavolo's face, had been stressful for them both. And although the matter had since been resolved, they hadn't yet quite found their way back to that old amicability.

Lucifer had never kept secrets from him before. And now, Lord Diavolo was finding himself doing the same. He didn't like it.

"But even so..." He takes a long pause, eyes looking almost pleadingly towards Barbatos, as if begging him for answers. But the butler can only return his gaze, equally unsure of the right thing to do now. "...I think we should keep this from him just a little longer."

Solomon inhales sharply, then releases it in a deep breath, considering. "Are you sure that's the right thing to do?"

"No, it's a very bad thing to do...and I'm well aware of that," the prince sighs. "But...until we have proof that they are the original source of all this...I don't want him knowing about it."

Proof, yes -- something solid, something beyond the gnawing, restless noise of Barbatos's heart. Evidence to confirm his worst anxieties, beyond simply knowing that what he once knew to be true no longer is. He needs to calm down. It isn't the end of the world not to know what's coming next.

Is it?

Barbatos nods obediently, forcing his own reservations away. He will put his trust in Lord Diavolo. He wouldn't have chosen to serve him if his judgments weren't sound. He has faith in his prince -- he must.

"As you wish, Young Master."

Solomon looks wordlessly between them, letting his troubled silence hang in the air.

This is a mistake, and he knows it. And he knows Barbatos knows it too. But the butler avoids meeting his gaze.

Lord Diavolo, kind and judicious ruler as he is, is the one Barbatos has chosen to devote his life to, is the closest friend Barbatos has ever had. But it is the eyes of King Solomon the Wise who can see through him.

And he does not wish to be seen through. Not now, with all these anxieties weighing so heavily on him. The weight of all that he knows -- and all that he doesn't, for once.

--

"You said you would always be on his side. I'm asking whether you're really prepared to keep that promise."

"Of course," comes the answer, unquestioningly firm and so unperturbed that he doesn't even glance up from his work.

 "I wonder..."

Barbatos fixes a sharp stare upon the eldest of the demon brothers, who finally sets his pen down and narrows his eyes. "What is it you're getting at?"

Barbatos's expression remains unchanged as he thinks on how to formulate his words. If Lucifer could only convince him of his conviction of loyalty to the prince, perhaps these worries in his mind could be laid to rest. But whether the former angel realizes it himself or not, he has been changing. If Barbatos's suspicions are correct, Lord Diavolo will need the Lucifer's aid very soon. And unfortunately, he's no longer certain that such aid will be so easily given.

Unfortunately, he's no longer certain of a lot of things recently.

"If taking the Young Master's side meant hurting those closest to you, would you still do it?" the butler asks more pointedly. When Lucifer doesn't respond immediately, he continues, "If it really came down to that, I wonder if you could bring yourself to take his side...I imagine the old you really would be on his side always, just as you said. But is the new you capable of something like that? You're more gentle now than you used to be. You even exude a certain kindness...and love."

Lucifer only glares back suspiciously, anxious but unsure what exactly Barbatos is trying to say. Even after all these centuries working together, Diavolo's exceedingly loyal steward has never been an easy one to read.

"There was a time when you were known as 'the morning star,' and admired by all. People claimed that just a glimpse of your bright white wings and ruby red eyes could take one's breath away...now you've begun to slowly revert back to the way you were then. You've changed," Barbatos continues, a hint of something almost like an accusation in his voice. "And it started when the human first arrived."

He sees Lucifer's breath catch for a second at the mention of you, just a tiny pause, imperceptible to anyone else. The Devildom prince's right-hand man isn't known for giving away his weaknesses so easily. But then, Barbatos would not be the same prince's ever-present steward if he were not also sharp enough to notice.

He's seen how the former angel looks at you, and how he rushes home from their often late-running work more frequently these days, muttering excuses of needing to get back for dinner with his family. He's always loved his family, of course; Barbatos knows that. But this new affection, how he's been with you, it's...different. More unpredictable. More volatile.

His pulse quickens, voice steady despite his anxiety as he reaches his point. "But for the Young Master, and for the Devildom...is that really for the better?"

If Lucifer would only deny it. If he would only argue that any changes in this past year have been minor, that he's as loyal to Lord Diavolo as ever. For Barbatos, ever smiling, ever calm, full of steady reassurances that they are on the right path -- well, the demon with control over time itself could really use some reassurance himself right now. He would really like for Lucifer to tell him that he's wrong. For him to say that Barbatos is overreacting, or has misread things, or that everything is fine.

But he doesn't. He doesn't even try to. Instead, he's quiet, struggling with what the butler has just suggested. "Are you saying that there will come a day when I have to choose between them and my brothers on one side, and Diavolo on the other?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that's definitely going to happen, but..." Barbatos trails off, his chest feeling tight. It's not quite fear, or so he tells himself.

But if the strength of your sway has been powerful enough to throw the future into this degree of disarray...if your presence, your influence, has been so strong even to pull Lucifer from fate...

Barbatos forces the rising dread away, out of his voice, out of his mind. "The possibility exists that you really will be forced to make a choice like that someday. I thought perhaps it was in your best interest to be prepared for such an event...that's all I'm trying to say."

Now that he's said this much, however, Lucifer begins to rise from his chair with alarm. "So, does that mean that--"

"I'm afraid I've said a bit more than I should," Barbatos interrupts, before the other demon can finish the question. "I apologize for disturbing you...I know you're busy. Have a pleasant evening, Lucifer."

With that, he hurries out of the room without a single glance back to the former morning star, who is left to settle uneasily back into his seat.

Future, Anew

"They will need to sever the pacts. It's that, or the Ring of Light may be able to contain it...but it's been lost to history, as you know, so it's not really an option," Solomon explains. "It's going to be tough on the brothers, and...I'm sure they'll be upset as well. But it's the only way."

The sorcerer's expression is solemn, but there's a relief in his face. He has never liked showing weakness around his demonic companions, but for the past few weeks, his stress has been clear to everyone. Now it's finally been lifted.

There is a way. A way to fix things. A way that won't involve you getting hurt.

In an odd sense, Barbatos is relieved too. Severing the pacts -- as Solomon said, it's going to be hard on you and the brothers. But it's a way to end this. A way to stop the power you have, a way to undo all of the damage.

If that's the case, perhaps this has all been something like a bad dream. All of these recent events, twisting time into new shapes and leaving the future unknown to him -- perhaps they would simply stop. The power you have over it could simply be released. You would leave the Devildom, your connections broken, and he'll never have to worry about you again.

Then, fate could be set right again. Fate could be fate again. Familiar, comforting, consistent.

That's what he wants...he thinks.

He thinks so.

And yet...

There's something about the way you smiled so cheerfully after your exams. How brightly your face lifted after the stress, the relief and delight reaching to the very corners of your eyes as you heard the results. Something so honest and innocent -- while he can hardly remember ever being either of those things. It sticks to him, burbling its way to the front of his mind just once in a while, a couple times a day.

He'll never see that on you again after this. He'll never see you again after this.

But it's for the best. Everything can be set right again. Fate can resume its course at last.

Yes, that's what matters -- fate. The security of it, the preservation of it. Everything else...doesn't matter. It's all inconsequential, in the end. You weren't meant to matter, and after this, you wouldn't again. And that is fine. It is how it is meant to be.

Barbatos tells himself this, as a deep sorrow presses heavily upon his chest.

--

He feels it before he hears about it -- balances shifting, the future in flux.

You'd had the dagger in hand. Things had almost turned out tragically. But Barbatos can tell the instant it all comes crashing to a stop.

It's a good thing, the ideal outcome -- Lucifer alive, his memories restored, you unharmed, your pacts intact, and your power under control so that the realms are now safe. And in some way, without even looking, Barbatos can feel that things have settled. A change in fate -- but it is stable again.

So why does his heart still speed up every time he looks at you?

The question plagues him as he moves about the party, irresistibly drawn towards watching you drift from demon to demon, all of them clamoring for your attention. Even Lord Diavolo seems thoroughly enamored with you recently.

Is that what he is, too? Enamored? Is that why?

You catch him watching you once, mid-spin as you're dancing with Leviathan -- deep orbs of chartreuse that seem to drink in the light around them without reflecting any back. For that split second, you feel like there's something almost hypnotic about them, like you could slip right into that darkness and never find your way out. You're not even sure you'd want to.

For that one tiny moment, he can feel it in his chest -- he wouldn't want you to either.

But then, before you know it, the third brother whirls you back around, and you're laughing, and dancing, and having a good time in the present again. Not only the brothers in fact, but even Solomon and the angels too, are passing you back and forth amongst themselves, asking for dance after dance, and it's as though the bright candle lights all over the room wash the darkness right out as you twirl in their warm glow.

As he resumes his hosting duties, Barbatos considers trying to step in too, perhaps get a longer moment together. Might it be worth trying? Would he even know what to say, if he got his chance?

He's not sure. You've been only a crisis, an unpredictable catastrophe, until now. Amidst all the swirling of time around you, your mysterious power to pull everyone's fates into your own, you nearly brought about a collapse of all three worlds -- in every timeline.

So he's never really had a chance to just...talk to you.

Maybe it's time he did.

The next time your eyes meet, he finds himself making his way over before he has a chance to decide. His heart is ringing in his head as he taps you on the shoulder and extends a hand.

"Excuse me...might I have this next dance?"

A Dream of You

Your first date with Barbatos is sweet, if simple -- and if you even call it a date. He does, at least.

He dithers about asking you for longer than he'd like to admit. His duties keep him busy, and after all, you have enough suitors around you without him stepping in. Knowing that, it may actually be more considerate to you not to ask, he thinks.

He owes it to Lord Diavolo that it happens at all.

The prince, for his part, is more observant than most give him credit for. He has had Barbatos at his side for most of his life now -- and though it's still only a relatively short life so far, by demonic standards, it's certainly been more than long enough to notice how his butler changes just a little bit whenever you're around.

He rather likes that shift in Barbatos. His steward is too serious, and he works too hard. It's a perfect excuse to push him into a little break.

So, he invites you to the castle to join him for tea, to chat about how things are going with your exchange program experience. It's been almost two full years already -- have you gotten to travel much? He's delighted to see how hard you've been working on your studies at RAD, but the Devildom is so much more vast than just this city, you know. He'd love for you to see more of the realm, if you ever get the chance. There's this one wonderful little town in particular, a ways out of the city. There are such beautiful roses that bloom there at just this exact time of year, dotting the whole place with red and pink, and blanketing the whole town with the gentlest sweet aroma. And they make the most wonderful tea out of those flowers! One of his favorites, in fact. Why, speaking of it, would Barbatos mind putting on a pot of it now? -- knowing, of course, that they had run out just days ago for a recent garden party for the nobles.

"I'm terribly sorry, My Lord. I'll need to purchase fresh supplies soon. I know of one shop where it can be purchased, but it's a little far..." Barbatos notes the mischievous triumph in his master's face when your own lights up with envy at the mention. Of course he knew the butler wouldn't be able to ignore it when you're looking at him so imploringly. "If you're interested, would you like to accompany me?"

"Yes, please!" you answer immediately, eyes glittering almost as much as your soul.

"That sounds lovely," the prince agrees, and that settles it.

You meet Barbatos at the train station three days later, early if not so bright in this ever dark realm, and he leads you to your seats with a chuckle. Despite having been in the Devildom so long already, you're pretty clearly excited about the trip, looking this way and that as you board.

"Ah, I imagine you haven't had many opportunities to ride the Devildom railway before? It will take a few hours to reach our destination, so let's enjoy the scenery in the meantime," he says.

You nod eagerly and settle into a quiet peace together, looking outwards. Actually, it's almost a wonder your human eyes can see much through the dark sky beyond the windows at all, though the blazing lights shining off the train certainly help. Barbatos glances at you every once in a while as you ride, smiling softly to himself each time you gasp at a new sight passing by. But he can't blame you -- Lord Diavolo was correct, it's beautiful the whole way there.

The view of the city gives way soon enough to fields of tall red grass, crimson as blood, yet glistening gently with dew. Once in a while, trees dot the horizon, tight clusters of red and orange against the deep darkness of the sky, broken up from time to time by stops at progressively smaller towns. Then, after several hours, the scarlet plains surrender instead to wide swaths of flower fields, full of blushing red and pink dots as far as the eye can see. Another short while after that, a tiny hamlet comes into view, just as speckled in roses.

You practically bolt off the train when it arrives at your stop, before realizing that you don't actually know where you're going. Still, the scent of hellfire roses reaches you from the moment you step out, and you follow your nose out to find some of the flowers themselves. Barbatos chuckles quietly again, catching up with you soon enough. He'd normally be more bothered about someone rushing off and not thinking things through -- but from you, somehow, he finds it sort of charming.

For someone who has caused so much turmoil to the universe, it's...sweet, in a way. Unaware of your own pull, blissfully oblivious to the extent of your own power. Solomon may have told you that your powers are on par with his own now, but watching you, Barbatos gets the feeling that nothing has changed at all. Maybe it almost hasn't. Or at least, he'd have liked to believe that, if he didn't absolutely know otherwise.

"Shall we?" he says, holding out a gracious hand, and his pulse speeds up so fast when you take it that it's almost dizzying -- though he doesn't show it, of course.

He leads you through the streets and into a small but impressive shop, packed with interesting things inside -- not the least of which is a whole wall of rare teas at the far end of the place, all loose-leaf in massive canisters with a slender clear window to offer a peek of their contents. In front of it, employees carefully weigh and hand-pack each order for the handful of other customers inside.

On the opposite side of the store, colorful boxes line the shelves, each brightly announcing various local specialties in perfect souvenir packaging. Pink and red ribbons decorate each one, with a few even folded into delicate rosettes.

Meanwhile, glass cases fill the center with rows and rows of sweets in all shapes and sizes, each with a shiny placard detailing the name of the chef who created them, their ingredient sources, and their recommended tea pairings.

It's no wonder Barbatos likes this place, far from the city though it may be.

Amused at your wide-eyed excitement at everything, he leaves you to wander the store as he heads straight for the tea wall. It ends up taking two employees and the owner to gather and weigh everything he requests, and when you join back up with him, he makes sure to order a bit extra of that Hellfire Rose blend so you can have some too.

"Won't that be a little pricey?" you ask curiously, nervously catching a glance at the posted price.

"The value far outweighs the price," he simply smiles back. "You can share it with the other members of the House of Lamentation. I'm sure Lucifer and Satan would appreciate this wonderful blend with you."

Just as he's about to finish up with his order, another blend catches his eye, one he's never seen here before -- Vortex Paradox.

"Ah, is this a new blend?" he inquires, pointing it out.

The owner perks up upon seeing the blend in question. "Yes! You truly do have a fine eye, sir. Oh, it's a lovely blend. We fused different white and green teas, you see, which turned out with quite the surprisingly deep flavor, like a black tea, and yet it's also still light and sweet. It can be confusing for tea connoisseurs, but it kept drawing me back in -- just like tea leaves swirling to the center of a cup. Hence the name, you see."

Barbatos glances surreptitiously at you -- just as disorienting, yet you too seem to always draw him back in. He keeps catching himself thinking about you lately, even now that all the crises have been resolved. "Perhaps I'll buy this for my own enjoyment," he muses with a wry smile, heart skipping a beat as he takes the bag.

Thanking the staff, he pays for the collection of teas, and surprises you by paying for the things you picked up as well: two boxes of souvenir snacks for Beel, beautiful rosette cakes for Asmo, a baggie of cat-shaped cookies for Satan, and a box of rose-flavored chocolates for yourself. Then, you go to dinner together afterwards, and after that, it's back towards home -- with one quick stop for a photo, at the demon's request.

"I don't have many opportunities to spend time with you. After all, you're usually surrounded by those lively brothers. In other words, today has been a rather special day for me," he explains. "It's a pity that such an enjoyable time must come to an end, but we have people waiting for us back home..."

He's a bit surprised himself, to find that for the first time, he's not quite wanting to return to the castle and its prince just yet, despite what he'd just said. Just like that day at the party, there's an odd impulse in him to wrap you up in his arms and not let go.

But you do indeed have people waiting for you, and he as well.

So he doesn't. He settles for a photo, then leads you back to the train station, watching over you as you fall asleep on the way back, exhausted from the excitement of the day. With the various souvenir gifts you'd gotten the brothers, your pile of purchases is almost as tall as his own stack of supplies for the castle, he notes to his amusement, and he carries both collections off the train when it pulls back into the city, regardless of any protests from you.

"Thank you for today," you smile brightly at him when he hands your things back at last, before you split off from each other to head home. "Even if uh, heh, I guess I was only accompanying you for an errand, huh? But I really enjoyed myself, so thanks for letting me come along!"

"Not at all. The pleasure was mine for your company."

As you wave goodbye and turn to leave, there's that strange tightness in his chest again.

--

"Asmo, wait--"

You reach for his arm to try to stop the Avatar of Lust from running off, but he's zipped away in search of moisturizer already, leaving you with Barbatos, who is presently dressed as a teal bat.

Honestly, he can't understand Asmodeus at times like this -- it will take longer for him to go and come back than it would to simply check for the others and return inside.

But then, he's also not complaining about a little alone time with you...

Though you had taken that trip together to buy tea, a few months have already passed, and between magic training under Solomon and now these sorcerer trials, you've been so busy that the butler hasn't really had much chance to even see you. And even when he has, it's not as though he could easily ask you on another date when the brothers are so often hanging around.

Sighing after Asmodeus's turned back, you direct your attention back to the remaining demon and give him a slightly awkward smile, trying to make conversation. "So...nice weather, huh?"

Ah. Of course. He supposes you haven't actually really talked with each other much still, despite his growing infatuation with you. And although he's had his eye on you for a while now -- how could he not have, after all that's happened? -- as a butler often stepping away into the background, it's to be expected that he might not have caught yours in return. Without the excitement of new sights all around to keep your attention, perhaps it's natural you wouldn't know what to say to him.

He gives you a small, reassuring smile. "Do you find it awkward being alone with me? You shouldn't feel obligated to come up with something to talk about. Nor is there any need to feel uneasy around me." After all, he's happy just to be beside you here.

You don't look convinced, though, or perhaps you just aren't able to enjoy the silence with him. In any case, you peer at him, looking like you'd still like to say something.

Or, if he dares hope -- maybe you'd also like to get to know him better?

"What do you think of Lucifer and his brothers?" you blurt out finally.

Not a question he'd been expecting. Still, he obliges without missing a beat. "As long as you're just watching them, they're an enjoyable group, and never boring. But they can sometimes cause trouble, and can be a nuisance. I suppose that's a fair way of putting it. To be completely honest, I wish they would refrain from involving the Young Master every time they get into some sort of trouble."

You give him an understanding nod in the silence that ensues, though you look like you aren't exactly sure how to respond. You're much closer with the brothers than he is -- probably why you'd asked the question. So, maybe you just aren't comfortable expressing that affection for them around him?

Trying to lighten your mood a little, he adds, "For his part, the Young Master seems to like being involved, which is the source of many headaches for me."

That earns him a small smile from you, just short of a laugh, and to his relief, you seem to relax a little bit. "Then...what do you think of Diavolo?"

"He is my master, and I devote myself fully to his service, as is my duty. The Young Master is the very reason for my existence now. Does that answer your question?"

You can't help but giggle this time, thrown off by his unexpectedly serious answer. "Yeah, I guess it does."

Both of you fall silent again after that. It's clear on your face that you have another question on your mind, as your gaze focuses intensely on him, and his pulse quickens at what it might be. But despite your earlier attempts at conversation, for some reason, you don't ask this one. You look almost too nervous to ask.

He's curious what's on your mind. But Asmodeus will be returning any moment now, and if you aren't comfortable saying it, then he supposes he ought to leave it alone. Carefully, he suggests, "Perhaps I could ask you some questions this time?"

"Oh! Of course," you agree immediately, the apprehension dropping from your face in an instant. How strange, to relax more when handing the reins to a demon. "What do you want to know?"

How you, a random human with no magical powers of their own, pulled fate to you.

How you pull everyone around you into your orbit, like gravity pulling planets to the sun.

How you seem to pull him to you, too.

How you're so oblivious to that pull you have over him.

But, of course, he doesn't ask any of those things.

Instead, he opts for simpler questions, more along the lines of what you'd asked him -- how do you feel about the brothers, about the angels? You answer simply, and he nods along as you speak. You're fond of them; you're fond of everyone. Of course you are. He did ask, but it wasn't as though he didn't know that already.

Unsure what else to say from there, he begins to turn his gaze back towards the manor to check for Asmodeus's return, when you blurt out, "You're not going to ask me how I feel about you?"

That catches him off-guard.

"Well, outside of the Young Master, I've never been interested in others' opinions of me, you see," he responds, then pauses. That might have been true before, and it might have been the truth for millenia. But as you stand directly before him, looking him in the eyes, can he honestly say that he doesn't care what you think of him? "But as long as we're on the subject, would you mind if I inquire? What do you think of me?"

You don't hesitate. "I like you."

His heart skips another beat.

"...My goodness. I must say, I'm honored."

Your eyes are locked on each other as you both let that blunt confession hang in the air for another moment, before he opens his mouth to speak.

"Guys, heeeeeelp!" comes the cry from Asmodeus instead.

--

"Hey Barbatos, I just passed this really interesting antique store while I was in town, full of skulls, and taxidermy, and all kinds of stuff. And, I was wondering...would you maybe like to check it out with me tomorrow? As a date?"

It is, perhaps, a bit ironic to suggest visiting an antiques and oddities shop to a demon almost as old as the universe itself -- and even more so, one in the human realm, where the wares are generally only a couple centuries at most, or assorted "demonic" paraphernalia with no actual connections to the Devildom at all. But when he receives the call from you, he doesn't question it at all.

Three weeks have passed already since you told him, point-blank, that you like him, yet neither of you has had a chance to speak about it again since. So if you're inviting him on a date now?

Well, he's certainly not going to say no.

He waits for you at a nearby cafe the next day -- his choice of meeting spot -- and he's there with two paper to-go cups of freshly brewed tea when you arrive.

"The owner here is a recent friend of mine," he explains, holding one of the cups out to you, "and we thought it'd be interesting to exchange blends sometime. As it happens, I realized it was quite close to the shop you mentioned, so I thought I'd come by today. Now, you've arrived just in time for this one to have cooled to the perfect temperature, so please enjoy it."

"Wow, thank you!" you exclaim, taking a sip. He's right -- it's just cool enough not to scald your tongue, with the perfect amount of lingering heat to lift the fragrant notes of persimmon and pomegranate to your nostrils. The warm sweetness lingers on your palate, echoing the gentle warmth of his fingers as he takes your hand to walk.

As the two of you approach the antiques store, he can see right away why you thought to invite him in particular. The entire shopfront, from the trim of the windows and door to the severe brick exterior, is pure black, standing at a stark contrast from the rest of the street. A soft, eerie teal light glows entrancingly from a crystal ball in the window, resting upon a backdrop of carefully draped black velvet, beckoning passersby to come stare into its depths.

Above the door, the deep toll of a bell rings out in welcome as you walk in, accompanied by the distant echoing of children laughing further inside. He chuckles; it's clearly meant to be creepy, but as a demon, he finds it so terribly curious what humans consider to be unsettling. He might have expected the joy of the young to be more enjoyable to human ears.

The interior of the shop, it turns out, is fairly massive, consisting of several additional rooms with more varied theming beyond the all-black furniture and all-black walls at the entrance. One room mimics the feeling of an old laboratory littered with skeletons and various scientific implements, while another has dried flowers and taxidermy butterflies scattered all around a garden-like space. Another still is laden with colorful crystals and rocks gleaming alongside elaborate displays of antique jewelry.

He looks around with mild curiosity as you browse. Most of the occult merchandise is kitschy if not outright fake, but he keeps an eye out nevertheless for things he thinks you might like. As you wander the rooms, you call his attention over to a few things as well -- old timepieces, vintage cooking utensils, the occasional demonic-looking cryptid skull which he invariably assures you is certainly not from any actual creature of the Devildom.

"Ah, but this one here..." A small block of amber catches his eye, containing what appears to be a preserved moth with an extra pair of wings. "I believe this little one may actually be a moirae moth. How interesting to see one that's made its way to the human world...old Devildom mythology suggests that these creatures once produced the threads of silk that three fairy sisters weaved into the kismet tapestry. Moirae moths can be identified by their six wings, as you can see here -- one for each hand of fate."

Barbatos passes the fossil over to you, and you tilt your head at it slightly as if puzzling over something, then look back up at him. "Shouldn't you of all demons know if that myth is true or not?"

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"Well...you can see the past, present, and future, right, Barbatos? And you said there are infinite timelines...so wouldn't that mean there's no such thing as fate?"

He blinks in surprise.

"Yes, there are indeed infinite timelines. But...perhaps it may be more apt to compare fate to a braid, rather than a tapestry. There are places, certain events, where the timelines converge and meet before splitting off again. For example, I knew even before I met him that I would make a pact with Solomon, as it is true in every timeline. Though, to a human such as yourself, those events would normally be so far apart that they may never touch your life at all."

"Oh. Hmm...like what? What was the last one?"

Another blink, and he can't help but chuckle a bit in response this time. You really never cease to surprise him. With how much that very fate had changed since you'd first arrived in the Devildom, the question is a startling reminder that you don't in fact have any idea how much impact you've really had on time and the universe.

"You."

"Me?" You're the surprised one this time, mouth agape with disbelief. "How -- I -- wasn't I just some human you guys dragged into the exchange program?"

"You were," he agrees. "And then you weren't."

You look even more confused now, for good reason. "Because you picked the 'true' timeline?"

"No, it was not my doing. I merely combined the timelines where you existed in the Devildom. However, something shifted such that you started appearing even in timelines that were originally not your own, and thus, you created a new event of fate. Though, even I do not know exactly how," he admits.

You place the fossil back onto the table, looking deep in thought, and Barbatos immediately regrets telling you all that.

"Ah, I'm afraid I must apologize. This was supposed to be a pleasant, casual day out together, and I've given you such a heavy topic to dwell on. Shall we look in that room next?" he asks, trying to direct your attention back to lighter matters.

From there, you resume your browsing together, looking at the various oddities and each picking up a couple small trinkets, but he can tell you're distinctly distracted now.

Just as the two of you are about to leave, suddenly you stop and turn around. "Wait here, actually. There's one more thing I want to run back and get."

You dash back inside before he can respond, leaving him flustered at the entrance, and return back after a moment, your spirits looking higher again.

"Were you able to find what you went back for?" he inquires, looking at you curiously, but you're already stuffing whatever it was into your pocket, out of sight.

"Yep! Sorry about that!" you answer brightly, seemingly happy to keep it a secret. Instead, you grab his hand and almost drag him along with you, heading back down the way you'd first come. "You said you're friends with the owner of that cafe earlier, right? Come on, I'm feeling kind of hungry, so let's get a snack or something."

Surrendering, he decides not to pry any further, settling for sipping on another cup of tea and sharing a slice of chocolate pear cake at your behest. Once in a while, he notices you fidgeting with it again in your jacket pocket. Still, it remains just out of his view.

Perhaps it's a gift for one of the others, something that you thought that one of the brothers might like. There were several items inside that seemed right up Satan's alley. In any case, he supposes that as long as you're no longer looking weighed down by the earlier conversation, it's for the better -- even if there's an unmistakable twinge of jealousy in his chest at the thought.

So, it's to Barbatos's surprise when, as you say your goodbyes for the day afterwards, you pull the object back out of your pocket and slip it into his hand. The moirae moth from earlier stares emptily up at him from inside of its amber encasing, its translucent wings gleaming in the sunshine now that you're out of the shop's dim lighting.

"Actually," you smile sheepishly, "I went back to get this for you. I, um, was thinking about what you said. About me creating a new fate. I thought you should have something that creates fates too. Well, I guess you're almost like the most powerful demon ever though, so you don't really need some moth to--"

In that moment, you're sparkling again, and he's tempted for so much more than just your soul.

He pulls you into a kiss. No pause to question it, no holding back out of politeness -- though he is relieved when you kiss him back.

You taste like chocolate cake and persimmon tea, and you send his heart racing.

And this time, that's a good thing.

(A/N: This is the "happy ending" point. If you want this story to end sweetly and happily, just leave here!! This is a perfectly good place to stop! Because the next chapter is the final chapter and it is not a happy, neat, fluffy, sweet kind of ending. You've been warned!)

Certainty

Barbatos had thought that things were fine now. That, full of surprises as you were, things were stable now. You hadn't been fated, and then you were -- and then you were, together.

And that was the end of it, he thought.

It wasn't. And now, here he stands, opening a portal for his pact-mate to follow you to who-knows-when in time.

There's a dread pounding in his chest, an odd powerlessness he's rarely ever felt.

Solomon nods at him before stepping through, and then he's gone.

Barbatos can't follow.

Control over time, all this immense power -- hadn't Leviathan called him the Most Powerful of All Beings? Hadn't you, too? And yet, he can't follow. It's too close to another, past version of him. He is powerful. That's exactly what makes it too dangerous for two of him to exist in the same time and space.

So he can't follow. But that doesn't make him want to any less.

He sits down, feeling as though the air has been squeezed out of his chest, drowning in anxieties of possibilities and impossibilities.

Someone who has the power to change fate, suddenly flung far into the past -- and here he is, left behind, unable to do anything about it.

This is what you've always been -- unpredictable, uncontainable.

He shakes his head, trying to clear the helpless thoughts from his mind. If there is one thing he knows now, one unshakeable, undeniable fact, it's that you are even more powerful than fate.

Your connection transcends time.

You will find your way back to each other.

[lightandfellowship]

KHDR Re:Write - Giving Hermod A More Prominent Character Arc

Urd's rewrite can be found here.

The tl;dr:

Hermod’s initial motivation: To uphold the "greater order" and follow the rules no matter what.

Hermod’s struggle: He doesn’t always agree with the rules, and following them often results in both him and his friends getting harmed. His commitment to following the rules even at the cost of himself partially stems from him feeling like he has no control over his life, and he copes by assuming that (most) authority figures are trustworthy, competent, and have his best interests in mind.

Hermod’s conclusion: He needs to be willing to break the rules and think for himself in order to do what’s right and protect his friends.

Below the read more is a rough outline of how I would implement this character arc into the story. Be forewarned that it's a fairly long and text-heavy post.

Four notes before we begin (feel free to skip):

Rather than this being a full-fledged rewrite where I get to go ham and do whatever I want, instead my goal is to try and demonstrate how the game in its PRE-EXISTING state could have given Hermod a more clear and satisfying character arc via fairly minor changes to the dialog, characters, and story. I want to see if this could have been possible without having to expend too much extra time and resources, since it seems like a lack of time/resources/budget is why his story got cut in the first place. So I won’t be doing anything drastic like creating entirely new episodes or anything like that. Same worlds. Same number of episodes. Same sequence of events. Same overarching plot.

Ideally, I would have liked to convey certain details about these characters and their story via secret reports/diary entries. Specifically, the sorts of details that would slow the pace down or feel a little too direct/clunky if addressed within the story itself. However, because of the self-imposed restriction I talked about in point 1 (i.e. no drastic alterations to the game or additions that would require extensive effort to implement), I won't be utilizing such a format, and so I will sometimes have the characters speak a bit more openly/directly about their feelings/thoughts than I otherwise would've liked.

Because I have a lot to say, I won't be providing summaries of the episodes I'm discussing as I explain my story changes. A fairly solid recollection of the game's events is...perhaps not required, but certainly helpful for understanding what I'm talking about and how I arrived at my choices.

I don't claim to know better than the writers or even be an experienced writer myself, this is just how I personally would approach giving Hermod a more prominent character arc, because I think we can all at least agree that Hermod didn't get enough focus in this game. If Hermod's story hadn't been cut (presumably), I have no doubt that Tomoco Kanemaki would have come up with something better than what I'm proposing here.

But anyway, without further ado:

Hermod's Motivation and Personality

"Simple as that."

During the flashback where the underclassmen are asked why they want to become Keyblade Masters, Hermod is initially flustered at the question, as if he either didn't have a good answer prepared or was reluctant to say what it was. He averts his gaze and noncommittally agrees with everyone else’s reasons, avoiding the question somewhat, but then he clarifies that he’s doing it so that he can “uphold the greater order." This phrasing is a little vague, but I assume he basically just means that he wants to uphold the law of Scala, Keyblade wielders, and Light.

Based on his behavior and dialog here, it almost seems like Hermod became a Keyblade wielder for much the same reason as Eraqus: it was just expected of him. It was what he was told to do, and he always does as he’s told. But he nonetheless is content with the path chosen for him because he knows that it’s the best way to uphold order and protect his loved ones. As his official bio states, “he plays the role of big brother as he looks out for and takes care of everyone.”

Honestly, I think even in the base game Hermod’s “arc” is fairly obvious: he goes from strictly following the rules to being willing to break them for his friends. However, the problem is that the game doesn’t really focus on Hermod enough to make this arc feel sufficiently developed and explored. As in, the end of his arc just kinda happens abruptly with very little build up. So, in my rewrite, I’m going to have Hermod more frequently demonstrate his commitment to upholding order, and have him do it in a way that impacts the events of the story more, while also having the narrative address the consequences of that mindset more directly.

Also, as an aside, Hermod's official bio makes special mention of his anger, but I don’t think the game showcases that aspect of his character enough? So I'll try to incorporate his anger into the story just a tiny bit more. To be clear, I don't really want his anger to be framed as, like, this major character flaw of his (for the purposes of this rewrite, his major character flaw is going to be his aforementioned strict rule-following), I just want it to crop up more often in the story to add more Flavor to his character. It seems like the original intent was for Hermod to be the fire to Urd's ice, but the game doesn't really convey that all too well, if you ask me.

Before we move on, I want to quickly summarize some canon aspects of Hermod's character that are going to be important to this arc, things that are consistently established about him throughout the game, to the point where it would be silly of me to list every single example of these character traits as I walk you through my rewrite (I will be mentioning some of them in more detail later, though).

He's a model student. Hermod tends to be the one who takes charge in class; he's the one who approaches Odin with the underclassmen's issues, speaks on behalf of the underclassmen, and volunteers for tasks. He also tends to prioritize Odin's wishes and judgment.

There's some implied friction between him and Eraqus that eases up as time goes on. He tends to give Eraqus annoyed and disapproving looks whenever Eraqus talks back to Odin or says something ignorant. That being said, he also seems fond of Eraqus, smiling and laughing at jokes about his antics.

With that, let's get into the rewrite.

Episodes 1-2: Establishing Hermod's Character, and "The Problem"

To start off with, I want to point out a small detail at the very beginning of the game that leads me to believe that Hermod isn’t actually satisfied with being such a well-behaved rule-follower.

When the underclassmen talk about the potential existence of newborn worlds that don’t have rules or laws set in place yet, Hermod, after some quiet contemplation, remarks with “Then the rules can be changed...” (this is even the quote chosen for Hermod’s official bio, no less!) The fact that this thought crossed Hermod’s mind at all, and the fact that the narrative chose him specifically to be the one to deliver this line, makes me think that he has some unspoken desire to see the rules be changed despite his best efforts to be a model student. This is great, because it provides a decent foundation for his character arc and hidden depths.

TANGENT: I want to highlight a moment in Episode 1 that will be relevant to this rewrite later. Namely, Hermod getting annoyed at Eraqus talking back to Odin. (As I said before, there are several other moments throughout the game where Hermod looks at Eraqus with an annoyed/disapproving look, but I'm only going to mention this one.)

Anyway, on to the actual changes. First off, much like the Urd rewrite, I’m removing the mechanic from Episodes 1-3 that lets you choose your third party member for the cutscenes. Why? It just doesn't make for good writing in this particular case; the dialog has to be at least semi-generic across all the characters in order to make swapping them out easier, and that's simply not conducive to giving the characters unique character traits and individual focus.

Episode 1 is mostly uneventful and focuses more on Urd in my rewrite for her, so let's move on to Episode 2.

Urd is your party member for this episode (for reasons I explained in Urd’s rewrite), and Hermod, Vor, and Bragi are the three party members that get put on trial. And rather than all three of them yielding to the Card Soldiers because they unanimously agreed to not mess with the world order, instead it was HERMOD’S idea specifically. Bragi suggested that they fight back, and since Vor’s bio mentions that she “shies away from battle”, she suggested that they try to run away and evade capture. Hermod points out, however, that the best way to avoid disturbing the order would be to follow the laws of this world and not cause trouble.

Vor and Bragi are hesitant but ultimately decide to trust Hermod’s judgment on the matter, as they tend to rely on him as a big brother figure anyway. This serves to highlight how Hermod will follow the rules and obey authority even when he doesn’t necessarily agree with what’s happening to him or is put in serious danger because of it. Now, none of this happens on-screen of course, because we also didn't see what happened in the base game either, but we'll find out about it after the trial.

Speaking of the trial. When Xehanort, Eraqus, and Urd find the other underclassmen at the court on trial, it is Hermod who is leading the defense. In the base game, either Bragi or Hermod will lead the defense depending on who you picked as your third party member, but since I want the trial plotline to focus more on Hermod, in this rewrite it is only ever Hermod who stands in front and speaks to the Queen of Hearts. (A quick note, if you compare the two different versions of this scene, the one where Hermod leads and the one where Bragi does, Hermod comes across as a bit more apologetic, whereas Bragi puts his foot down more about what he's willing to take responsibility for. Hermod: "Okay, I apologize for trespassing." vs Bragi: "Wait, I'll own up to tresspassing, but that's it.")

Anyway, back to Hermod and the rewrite. At first, he's a bit of a bootlicker, being very polite and trying his best to placate the Queen while also calmly defending himself and his friends. After a while of trying and failing to reason with the Queen however, Hermod loses his patience and explodes at her. He pretty much immediately regrets it and tries to backpedal in a panic, stammering the entire time, but it's too late—that was the last straw for the Queen. Just like in the base game, Xehanort, Eraqus, and Urd recognize the danger and intervene to try and talk the Queen down from executing their friends. The cutscenes then proceed just like they do in the base game, with the Queen demonstrating that her rule is based on her subjects living in fear of her.

After the trial, the discussion the underclassmen have about the darkness in people's hearts being more dangerous than the Heartless still happens, but either before or after it there is a separate (but still interconnected) discussion where Hermod apologies to the others and takes responsibility for his idea to surrender themselves to the Card Soldiers, explaining his reasoning for why he did that. Namely, that as Keyblade wielders, it was their duty to not disrupt the order in any way, and their hands were tied.

Xehanort and the party exchange Knowing glances to indicate that this isn’t uncommon behavior for Hermod (and also that they’re not exactly pleased about how quickly and easily he relented to the Card Soldiers, not putting up much of an argument or fight) but they silently agree to not confront Hermod about it since he had no way of knowing what a farce the trial was going to be. Perhaps letting themselves get captured would have been the correct decision if Wonderland’s court system was actually fair. Instead they assure him that they understand why he thought that not fighting back or running away was the best decision in the moment, but nonetheless he needs to be more careful in the future. Hermod agrees and is genuinely apologetic for putting his friends in danger, but there’s still a hint of irritation in his expression. He still thinks that adamantly refusing to disrupt the order was the inarguably right decision to make; after all, it’s what they were specifically instructed to do by Master Odin. And if there's one thing that Hermod refuses to do, it's break the rules.

Episode 3: Minor Details of Note

Episode 3 isn't a Hermod focused episode in my rewrite, but there are two details from this episode that I find worth mentioning.

Detail 1: Unique dialog from Hermod that won't exist in my rewrite (because I have Vor slotted for Episode 3) but I think says a lot about Hermod: "But the Tweedles didn't seem to be cowering under [The Queen's] rule. They looked happy enough to me." Does Hermod perhaps consider himself "happy enough" with his life, and thus makes no attempts to change or improve his circumstances?

Detail 2: When Eraqus starts getting angry and upset at Xehanort because Xehanort said that the upperclassmen might have been felled by darkness (presumably, a painful reminder of the fate that befell Eraqus' grandfather), Hermod looks sympathetic, puts his hand on Eraqus' shoulder, and tries to calm Eraqus down. Though Hermod is sometimes at odds with Eraqus, he seems to know about what happened to Eraqus' grandfather, and tries to be understanding about it. At the end of the day, they are good friends even if they don't agree on everything.

Episode 5: Further Emphasizing Hermod's Personality and His Dilemma

Canonically, Episode 3 (if you choose Vor to be your party member like the game prompts you to) and Episode 4 are more Vor focused, and in my rewrites Episode 5 is Urd focused, but we can squeeze a couple of minor Hermod moments in Episode 5 to keep things balanced.

Specifically through Cogsworth and the Beast, as people of authority in the castle that Hermod can show respect to.

With Cogsworth, I just imagine Hermod being very polite with him and being more than willing to help him get the rose back, giving him respect as the head of the household.

Same goes for the Beast (in fact, in the base game it is Hermod who speaks/approaches the Beast first, not Urd like you'd expect), but when the Beast tries to viciously attack Hermod despite the underclassmen being very polite and reasonable with him, afterwards Hermod makes a comment about how surprised he is that someone in such a respectable position as lord of the castle would act like that and yet still garner such love and loyalty from his servants. Genuine loyalty, not the fake, fear-based loyalty that the Queen of Hearts commanded back in Episode 2.

"There's still much we don't know about this world and its residents. Perhaps we're missing something important. Or perhaps this world is like Wonderland; it's just the order of things." says Xehanort. "Maybe he's not so bad once you get to know him?" offers Urd.

And like, that's the thing, right. The Beast definitely needs to learn how to treat his servants better, but he lashes out because he's hurting, not out of genuine disdain for them like the Queen of Hearts, and deep down he really does care about his family at the castle even if he doesn't always show it. If Hermod can somehow recognize that that is what's going on, if he can recognize what exactly makes the Queen of Hearts and the Beast different despite their similar temperaments, then he can also realize that "Hey, people who genuinely care about you and your wellbeing probably deserve your loyalty more, and those who don't, don't." (Not that the Beast is a terribly great example of this given his nonetheless inexcusable behavior, but you get the idea.)

I can imagine Hermod starting to realize what conditions are required to birth true loyalty in people's hearts after they return the rose to the Beast, and the party finally sees him in a more calm, grateful state. This could be a discussion that Xehanort, Hermod, and Urd have as they leave the castle, capping off their adventure there.

BUT regardless of whether or not Hermod ends up seeing the hidden humanity of the Beast, once again Hermod is being presented with a wrathful, flawed authority figure wielding power against their subjects in unfair ways, and not yet recognizing how his alarmed and frustrated emotional responses to these scenarios could be applied to his own life and circumstances.

(And, honestly, maybe seeing such extreme examples of anger being wielded carelessly and spitefully against people who don't deserve it would make Hermod re-examine his own anger issues too and learn how to wield/direct his anger more responsibly? I know I said I didn't want his anger to be the focus of this rewrite (especially since anger isn't inherently bad) but the connection that can be drawn here is still a little too juicy to pass up, don't you think. Also, in addition to the Queen of Hearts and the Beast being examples of extreme anger wielded carelessly, there's also Hades to consider, who is known for his own unique brand of fiery, explosive anger as well. Keep him in mind for later.)

Episode 6: Confrontation and Introspection

The next set of major events relevant to Hermod’s development occur in Episode 6. In fact, Episode 6 is like, THE Hermod episode.

Episode 6 starts off with Jafar trying to trick Xehanort, Urd, and Hermod into going to the Cave of Wonders and fetching the lamp for him, lying about how the lamp is crucial to saving the kingdom. In the base game, Hermod is the first one in the group to show sympathy for Jafar and start falling for Jafar’s ruse, to the point that Urd worriedly grabs his hand to stop him when he starts to approach Jafar after overhearing Jafar's "woes".

In this rewrite, I’m taking inspiration from that little interaction and having Hermod be way more trusting of Jafar than Xehanort and Urd are, implicitly respecting Jafar’s authority as the royal vizier. So rather than Xehanort being the one who agrees to help Jafar (because he has suspicions about the lamp and wants access to the Cave of Wonders) with Hermod acting surprised/displeased at Xehanort’s willingness, instead it's Hermod who enthusiastically agrees to help, with Xehanort and Urd acting a little surprised and displeased but nonetheless going along with it (due to the aforementioned "the lamp might be important to our mission actually.")

There's also a moment during this scene where Xehanort and Urd start poking holes in Jafar's sob story and Hermod seems surprised/displeased that they're so rudely questioning Jafar like that, and obviously I'm keeping that in since it exemplifies Hermod's hesitation to question authority.

Afterwards, as the party makes their way down into the Cave of Wonders, Xehanort voices his doubts about Jafar’s intentions. In my rewrite, rather than Hermod instantly trusting Xehanort’s judgment of Jafar’s character, instead I want Hermod to argue with Xehanort about it. Hermod doesn't understand why Xehanort is accusing Jafar of nefarious intentions without any evidence to back it up, especially since Jafar seemed so...NORMAL and COMPASSIONATE compared to the other authority figures they've encountered so far. He's just trying to save his city, is that really so bad? says Hermod.

Xehanort, realizing that "I can feel his greed/darkness tho" doesn't really qualify as hard evidence, but ALSO being kinda fed up with Hermod's inflexibility and compliance up until this point, calls him out on not thinking for himself and just blindly following authority even when they're so CLEARLY suspect. Must I remind you about what happened with the Queen of Hearts, Hermod?

Hermod, shocked and offended at being criticized like that, and also getting defensive at having his Major Character Flaw thrown into his face, scoffs but doesn’t argue the point further. However, he’s still very visibly angry, and short with Xehanort whenever they do happen to exchange words. "Whatever. Let's go find this lamp already and get back to our mission." Or something like that.

It’s only when the party runs into Bragi and Eraqus who reveal that Jafar tasked them with the exact same dangerous mission too without ever mentioning them to Xehanort and company that Hermod is finally convinced that Xehanort had been right all along. Jafar was treating them like disposable pawns and knowingly sending them into a death trap.

He also realizes that he was naive to trust Jafar so easily just because he was a charismatic authority figure. Before, Hermod was presented with the unfortunate reality of some authority figures just being plain cruel and incompetent and careless, but here he learns that they can also be deceitfully charismatic on top of that, and that it's not always going to be obvious when you're being taken advantage of.

He apologizes to Xehanort for (yet again) dragging his friends into danger due to his own personal hang-ups and choosing to trust Jafar, a stranger, over Xehanort, his close friend. Feeling the need to explain himself, he confesses that lately, he has felt like he has had no control over his life (perhaps with the implication that his family is really strict and expect way too much from him?), and the only way he knew how to cope with that was to assume that the authority figures controlling every aspect of his life were trustworthy, knew what they were doing, and had his best interests in mind. If he believed that with all his heart, then he could accept his lack of freedom to make his own choices, and be content with it. Xehanort, realizing that he was overly harsh on Hermod earlier, apologies as well.

TANGENT: Once again, I wish to highlight a moment from the base game that will be relevant later. Namely, Hermod and Eraqus starting to act more and more like each other.

Moving on: In addition to Vidar trying to recruit Eraqus in the lamp room, I want Vidar to try to recruit Hermod as well, because there's an awfully convenient similarity between the two of them that's relevant here. In that very scene, Vidar talks about how he and his friends heeding what they were taught (i.e. “don’t mess with the order no matter what”) is what resulted in four of them dying in the first place. Vidar had to learn the hard way what happens when you blindly follow the rules without considering your own opinions on what the right thing to do is. This lesson is absolutely what Hermod needs to learn, too. Perhaps Vidar’s entreaty isn’t enough to convince Hermod to join him, but in conjunction with the Wonderland fiasco and Jafar’s deceit from earlier, it’s certainly enough to make Hermod start re-evaluating himself. 

Specifically, I can imagine this theoretical Vidar and Hermod interaction slotting somewhere after Hermod's canon line "...upsetting each world's order is the worst thing you could do." (Is it? Perhaps Hermod will change his mind about this very soon...) Maybe it goes something like this (my added dialog in italics):

"I don't have a clue about true darkness and how much of a threat it is, but upsetting each world's order is the worst thing you could do." says Hermod, angrily. "'Don't upset the order,' huh? That's what we were taught, too." [Upperclassmen classroom flashback, followed by Vidar explaining that the other upperclassmen are dead, just like in the base game.] "And what about you, Hermod?" "Huh?" Hermod's anger gives way to confusion. "How has 'upholding the order' treated you and your friends so far? In Wonderland, and here in Agrabah?" (<-knowledge he got from spying on them.) "..." "If there's one thing I've learned from all of this, it's that you can't let darkness have its way. Not ever. Otherwise, it'll take away everything you care about the moment you give it the chance. If you wish to protect your friends...then you must fight it. So why not join me, and fight it?"

Hermod, much like Eraqus, refuses Vidar's offer, being worried about what might happen to the worlds if Vidar continues to steal the items of world order. But now he has something to mull over.

Episode 7: Realization and Resolve

Episode 7 is where Hermod's arc concludes (naturally, since he dies here.)

A couple of canon moments from this episode I want to highlight before we get to my changes, since I think they're important to Hermod's arc:

In the scene where Odin and the underclassmen discuss Vidar's plans to purge true darkness, Odin says to Hermod and the underclassmen "However, it has not yet been determined that what we face now is true darkness. And if it is indeed so, will you risk the lives of countless others to save your friends?" A question that we will actually get an answer to quite soon.

After Odin relieves the underclassmen from their duty, Hermod despairs over this fact and acts like there's nothing they can do about it since Odin's word is absolute. We see his anger and frustration spill out due to his conflicting feelings on the matter. He seems to be at a crossroads, unsure of what the best thing to do is. You get the impression that he is on the cusp of doing something uncharacteristic of him.

Anyway, Episode 7 remains mostly the same up until the Hades boss fight that occurs due to Hades claiming to have imprisoned Bragi or Baldr. Hermod, after much internal conflict, finally decides to break the rules and agrees to fight the literal GOD of the Underworld (you could not have asked for a more fitting ending to Hermod's arc than that) in order to save his friends, wielding his anger compassionately and strategically to protect what's most important to him. This acts as a bookend to the Wonderland episode; there, Hermod’s refusal to fight an authority figure nearly got him and his friends executed, but here he’s finally realized that he needs to follow his heart and do what he thinks is right, even if that means disregarding his orders or disobeying those in power. He nearly got his friends killed last time; he won’t let that happen again.

However, instead of Hermod showing up after the Hades boss fight, I want him to show up before it and actually be involved in the battle. And since Eraqus and Hermod are usually at odds with each other due to Eraqus’s flippant and disrespectful attitude towards authority, I think it would be very emblematic of Hermod’s change of heart for him to protect Eraqus in the battle. (Remember those canon Eraqus and Hermod moments I highlighted? This is where they finally pay off. This moment of Hermod putting himself in danger to save Eraqus works without me having to add any extra details to lead up to it. Nice.) So at one point Hades gets very close to offing Eraqus. but Hermod jumps in front of him just in time to fend Hades off, getting seriously injured in the process. 

So later in the dark corridor when Hermod starts passing out way before Urd does, it’s specifically because of the extra wounds he sustained in the fight, adding another layer of tragedy to his death. He stood up for his friends and what he believed was right, discarding his strict adherence to the rules and disrupting the order in the process, but the ironic cost of that choice was that he was too hurt/exhausted to properly protect Urd and himself from Baldr. He did his best, and realized his error in time, but unfortunately that just wasn’t enough. This game is a tragedy where nothing goes right despite how hard the characters try to change for the better, after all.

And that's my pitch. As before, if you have any ideas, feedback, or criticisms, feel free to add on. Thanks for reading to the end.

[thelittleliars]

Darkness

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts

Words: 902

A/N: I wrote this for my OWN comfort. Depression sucks and I know no matter what I'll always have to live with my it for the rest of my life. This all is just wishful thinking, the way I'd want it to go away even tho it never will. Pls don't see this as me romanticizing depression or any other mental health issues/disorder.

The dark days always hit you hard. The darkness crept upon you as if you hadn't seen the signs but you had seen them. You just couldn't do anything to stop it so you stopped wasting your energy on that and let it happen. Though during the days you always hoped for the next day to be better. It never was. At night all the Demons & Monsters were lying next to you in bed wide awake thinking about all the things you couldn't change. 

Mornings were incredibly hard for you as you could never seem to get up and often question if you still got the guts to keep waking up. When you did get up and were among people in public you hid every part of yourself so no one would see how close to the ledge you were about to jump off from.

A bunch of times followed where you were close to simply get hit by a bus or leaning too far over the railing of a skyscraper. It never happened, it made you even more miserable and at some point it seemed as if even death didn't want you. 

You sat once again on a bench at the Central Park consumed by thinking shallow thoughts that kept you somehow still afloat. Friends were long abandoned, you hadn't reached out in days if not weeks. You couldn't bring yourself to care them, not if this darkness robbed you of ever little strength you had left, you also had no mental capacity for yet another living creature.

Someone had sat down next to you as you were digging yourself your mental grave, you did not notice them, at least not until you felt the first snow flakes falling against your skin. It was Natasha Romanoff, your supposed 'home'. Only supposed home since you didn't feel the feeling of home for a long time now. You had once pushed her away from you. It was something you regretted but never made an attempt to make up for.

"Sharon called me." She started which not explaining further since she knew that you'd know exactly the reason why. "Shit sounded bad so I tracked you down. Was surprised at how good you became at disappearing." You did not utter a single word. Natasha knew you wouldn't answer, most times when it all got too much you turned semi verbal or even nonverbal. "Let's get you to your apartment?" She stood up and held her hand out for your to take. You didn't want to go, sitting there in the cold gave you a sense of comfort that you longed for. "We can watch a movie or simply lie in bed while staring at the stars we hung up on your ceiling." You were hesitant with putting your hand in hers since the lump in your chest felt only heavier. You dreaded to go 'home'. The single reminder of your bedroom reminded you that those four walls had seen too much already and that added more suffocation to your existing pile. 

At your apartment you seemed to crumble even more into yourself. How much more falling into the deep was possible? You didn't know, still hoping that the bottom would come soon enough. The deep bottom you thought would come and wished it came, didn't come, instead a steadiness of the dark arrived, you believed this was your bottom of this awful 'phase'. 

One night of staying with you turned into fully two weeks. Natasha basically moved back in with you. At first she wasn't so sure if it would be worth it but then she really thought about it and came to the conclusion that it was worth it, you were always worth it. As hard as it were for her, she knew how much harder it must had been for you. She single handly saw how at the end you were. You didn't even had the energy to push her away anymore. 

Night after night she laid quietly in bed with you. Day after day she helped you cooking, doing the dishes, changing clothes and if it was an extremely bad day she helped washing your body and hair. On a day you felt better yet still awful, you bought her flowers and her favorite alcohol. You were grateful for her and everything she did for you. She soon became a reason for you to start fighting the dark again. This time you were hopeful that things could get better. And they did, extremely slow for your liking but you couldn't complain, not after surviving your demons and monsters. 

Natasha stood by your side of every step you took. She even went to therapy with you when you told her you wanted to try it. She made sessions lighter until you were comfortable enough to go alone. Looking back you wanted to cry over how much she sacrificed to help you. You felt guilty about that but she reassured you that she'd do it all over again if she had the chance because it was worth it. You were worth it all. To seeing you smile, to seeing you being you, to gazing into each others eyes, to getting to touch you, to being held by you, to loving you and getting loved by you. 

Sometimes all you need is someone who understands you deeply and helps you simply with their presence. 

[scarlet--wiccan]

Were the original William & Thomas real/alive?

It depends on what you're reading. This is a storyline that's made up almost entirely of retcons, so you have to be discerning and recognize which treatments are incongruous with the larger picture. For example, a lot of people get the idea that the babies weren't real from Disassembled or House of M, but in my opinion, that's not a valid reading because those books heavily contradict Wanda's history and lore in ways that have, mostly, been walked back-- including the baby stuff.

So, what actually happened? The babies are often described, in the text, as illusions or not real, but the situation is more complicated than that.

In Avengers West Coast, the twins begin to mysteriously flicker in and out of existence when Wanda's attention is diverted. Agatha arrives to investigate the situation, and the compound is attacked by Pandemonium, who kidnaps the children. As the situation unfolds, Agatha continues to ponder the babies' origin, and she initially proposes that the they are mere illusions, or manifestations of Wanda's will, but acknowledges that there's something else she's missing. Eventually, the heroes learn that the twins were created from scattered portions of Mephisto's essence. Here's the final conclusion Agatha reaches--

She acknowledges that Wanda used her powers to become actually pregnant, but explains that, since Wanda cannot create true life from nothing, she subconsciously absorbed and transformed the lost pieces of Mephisto in order to give the twins souls. Earlier in the scene, she states that Wanda bound Mephisto's power in the spell she used to create the children. When he absorbed them, they were restored to their original state.

So I think the logical conclusion is that the twins were, in fact real. Agatha acknowledges that Wanda created them-- and gave actual birth-- and that they had souls. The problem is that their souls were made from stolen power, and that their existence itself was bound up in Wanda's magic. I think it's clear, based on this, that the children were more than illusions or even magical constructs-- maybe they weren't real humans, but they had real life. And we know that there was some indelible soul or consciousness left behind when they died-- independent from both Wanda and Mephisto, which is how they were able to be reincarnated.

And just for further context--

In Vision & Scarlet Witch, Wanda becomes pregnant using magic, but, as Doctor Strange confirms, the pregnancy itself was medically, physically real. The conception was also organic, in its own way-- it happened while Wanda was channelling excess magic power, and Vision was there to support and ground her. Wanda later remarks that it was his loving presence that made it possible for her to use that power to conceive, and claims that, "in our own crazy way, we made this child together!" So, originally, the intention was that although her situation was unusual, Wanda's pregnancy was entirely legitimate, and surprisingly normal. And despite the added complexity, I do think Avengers West Coast preserves that fact, even if it kinda undermines the spirit of the story.

[obsessedasusual]

Lonely No More - Nine

Bishop Losa x OC Series

Summary: There was never a dull moment, being the only Reyes sister. But between overbearing brothers, being the family peacekeeper, and countless disaster dates, Amalia finds herself wishing she had someone to unwind with after a hectic day. Funnily enough, Bishop Losa wishes for the same thing.

Warnings: swearing, feels, everything MC related really

Note: it's okay I hate me as well :)))

The knock at the door came as Amalia was mid-sip of her second glass of red wine.

After a day of having a door slammed in her face by her younger brother and awkward prolonged eye contact from the man she couldn’t seem to get out of her head, a glass or two of red was more than welcomed.

She sighed quietly and hoped whoever it was would soon leave.

It wasn’t late, Amalia had only just finished cleaning up after dinner and had begun to settle on the sofa with reruns of ‘Say Yes to the Dress’, keen to erase the events from the past few days.

When the second knock came she threw her head back in frustration before pulling herself to stand and answer the door.

Seeing Bishop standing on her front step should have been expected, he was really the only person she knew in this town that bothered to knock, but it still caught her off guard.

He stared at her for a beat before breaking the silence, “Hey.”

He was still dressed in his kutte, having only just left the club. When Amalia peered over his shoulder to the driveway she noted the lack of motorbike, he must have walked from his place which would explain the silent arrival.

She looked back to him, replying with a soft, “Hi.”

Bishop looked at his feet and cleared his throat before speaking again, “Can I come in?”

“Uh… yeah sure.” She stepped back and opened the door further for him, allowing him into her home.

This wasn’t how she saw her night going. She had just finished compartmentalising everything going on in her life right now and had come to the conclusion that she and Bishop were just an equally lonely pair, whos paths crossed unexpectedly for a short time and they were going to revert back to how their relationship was a couple of months prior - essentially nonexistent. And she was totally okay with that. Absolutely. Cool as a cucumber. 

Lie.

She wasn’t sure when she’d grown so fond of the older man, and it hurt to think that he didn’t feel the same.

Amalia followed to where Bishop stood awkwardly near the dining table, eyes anywhere but her.

“Could I uh, do you want a drink?” She offered helplessly. He shook his head, eyes on the carpet beneath him.

“No, I uh… I came to apologise,” he looked at her then, seeing how his words caught the Reyes sister off guard, “Been busy with the club and ah, time got away from me.”

Amalia nodded silently, not knowing what to say. He was the one turning up on her doorstep, he could do the talking. Admittedly it was a childish response.

Bishop continued at the silence, “I’m sorry for not reaching out sooner.”

“It’s okay.” Amalia mumbled. It’s not like she reached out either.

The President shook his head at her response, “Nah, it’s not, querida. I know the other night when I left… I should’ve reached out.”

It was clear that this conversation was making him uncomfortable, Amalia felt the exact same. This was uncharted territory for them. Hell - just over a month ago they were merely friendly acquaintances. It was crazy, how their friendship grew so fast. And it was about to derail even faster by the sound of this conversation.

She sighed and looked around the room, “Bishop look. It’s okay, I get it.” He looked at her quizzingly as she continued, “It was just a… a thing that happened. While we were messing around. I understand that’s all it was.”

Bishop studied her for a moment, remaining silent as he waited for her to continue speaking.

The red wine had started to infiltrate her system by now, and Amalia could feel herself loosening up and letting words fall more freely.

“I mean, look at us!” she gestured between them with a weak smile, “You’re President of an outlaw MC and I’m the communications lead for a building company. We don’t exactly have a lot in common.” 

Everything Amalia was saying was four days worth of pent up emotion. Did she mean all of it? No. But history had taught her that it was easier to be the rejector than the rejectee, “And then, there’s the whole thing with my brothers. Could you imagine if they found out? What a mess that would be.”

If Bishop disagreed he did a good job at hiding it, choosing to remain silent as Amalia rambled away.

She finally reigned it in, stopping herself from digging a deeper hole, “No hard feelings, Bish. Promise.”

After a moment of silence he repeated, “No hard feelings, querida,” eyes locked on hers, “I’ll uh - I’ll leave you to your night.”

Amalia nodded, “Okay.”

He made his way back to the front door and stared at her for a moment longer, “Okay.” He repeated, giving her a small smile and leaving her house.

Well that wasn’t awkward at all.

—

Bishop sulked the second her front door closed behind him.

We don’t exactly have a lot in common.

Did that really matter? Was having a lot in common with a person the make or break of a relationship?

He turned back toward her house when he reached the letterbox, catching her shadow moving across the living room. 

On each of the past few days Bishop had found himself staring intently at his phone, either waiting for it to alert him of a new message or in the hope he’d finally rip the Band-Aid off and call the subject of his infatuation.

He should’ve reached out. He regretted that now more than ever.

But this was good, he supposed. It’s better he know how she feels before he attempted to pursue anything further with her.

Sighing, he turned and started the short walk home.

[vandalizedheart]

💔 ˚ . ⋆  𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖑𝖊  ↪  eternal blue.

and what's left of me, a cavity at least this space is mine it's where you left me to die i wish my blood would slow down

a conclusion to the fun is ∞ event. content warning: graphic descriptions of a suicide attempt.

Bright. The room Nikki was in was bright.

The white walls, fluorescent lights, and drawn apart curtains did nothing to combat the assault of light in her eyes. Not unlike the surgical lights she had been under previously.

… How long had she been here?

She was in a hospital room, she could tell that much from the white walls and the bed she was lying in.

But what had happened back there? After that variant of herself— Maz, pulled her into the void?

… She couldn’t remember, all she remembered were the surgical lights. They hadn’t been white, like the lights here, instead they were a bright, blinding blue.

Getting out of bed seemed like a terrible idea. Her body was covered in bandages, and felt like it was made of lead. And ripping out the IV tube that was dripping blood and fluids into her arm sounded like an even worse idea. 

Luckily, she didn’t have to wait for long. The clicking of heels down the hallway had grown closer and closer to the door, until a mobian doctor carrying a clipboard had entered her room. He didn’t dress like the typical doctor, wearing a dark burgundy lab coat with black gloves to match his high-heeled black boots. Goth doctor, who knew?

❝ Ms. Nishimura? It’s good to finally see you awake. Are you feeling alright? ❞

Nikki only nodded in response. It wasn’t the truth, she felt like shit. But at the moment, she couldn’t get herself to speak.

❝ My name is Doctor Starline. You’ve been under my care for the past six days, following your suicide attempt. ❞

What...?

Her whole body jolted, and the heart monitor’s beeping increased as her heart rate rose in shock. Nikki stared wide eyed at Starline. What did he mean?

❝ … You don’t remember? ❞

Frantically, she shook her head no.

❝ That’s fairly normal, you went through a lot of trauma both physically and mentally. I can recount what I was told about your situation, if you believe that would help you. ❞

She was hesitant, but inevitably nodded yes. She needed to know what happened, because it already didn’t sound right.

❝ Six days ago, you were rushed here in critical condition. Apparently, you came home that night in a suicidal state, and overdosed on your medication. Around two thousand milligrams of bupropion and quetiapine were found in your system. ❞

Every word out of his mouth sounded fake, like he was telling some fucked up story about another patient in the next room over.

❝ Shortly after, you ran a bath and proceeded to cut your wrists. The blood loss was severe enough for you to require a blood transfusion— ❞

That wasn’t what happened, none of that happened. She didn’t go home that night. She was trying to go home that night, before Maz pulled her through the ring. And then…

… She woke up here, in this hospital bed.

❝ — You managed to call 911, and explained to the dispatcher what happened. Paramedics arrived and brought you here—  ❞

Starline’s words bled together.

❝ — Shortly after arriving, you had a seizure, and your heart had stopped for several minutes. It was a miracle we were able to resuscitate you. Until now, you’ve been asleep while we monitored your status. ❞

And suddenly, she wasn’t so sure of herself anymore.

Because when she thought about it further, she could almost remember the sound of her empty pill bottles clattering against the sink. And the warmth of the bath water as the blood in her veins spilled out. And reaching for her phone at the edge of the tub, words slurring as she spoke to the dispatcher.

Maybe the surgical lights weren’t blue, maybe they had been white all along.

❝ … Ms. Nishimura? ❞

The urge to relapse had clung to her mind like a tick, she recalls.

❝ Ms. Nishimura. ❞

Nikki’s gaze returns to Starline, the sternness in his voice freeing her from her dangerous train of thought.

❝ My apologies for raising my voice, you looked like you were spacing out. ❞

‘It’s fine’, she thinks, but doesn’t speak aloud. Starline takes a moment to jot something down on his clipboard before continuing.

❝ Alright, I’m going to call in a nurse, and we’ll be running a few tests. They shouldn’t take long, we just need to check your vitals and blood count. We’re also going to call your wife and your little sister to tell them you’re awake now, I’m sure they’d like to come see you. ❞

A smile formed on Nikki’s face. A massive weight was taken off her shoulders at the thought of Theia and Maiko being with her, she’d feel safe as long as they were around.

Upon seeing her smile, Dr. Starline responded with a smile of his own, his face softening from the previous harsh-to-concerned expression. Maybe she didn’t have to worry so much about being under his care.

❝ Those two have been visiting you every day since you came here, they left you some things for when you woke up. Your little sister— Maiko, I believe her name was. She insisted on leaving that tablet by your bedside. ❞

Sure enough, when Nikki looked over at her bedside table, her tablet had been placed there, pen and everything included. Maiko must have assumed she wouldn’t be up for talking for a while. It was when her gaze wandered further that she felt her stomach drop.

Right beside her tablet was a black vase, filled with otherworldly, blue roses. A small card was stuck in between the flowers.

Dr. Starline was halfway out the door, before noticing her confusion.

❝ Oh! I believe your… Older? Twin? Sister, brought those in for you. I never managed to get her name, but she looked a lot like you. Perhaps she’ll come to visit again… ❞

Shrugging, Dr. Starline gently shut the door, and walked down the hall. Shakily, Nikki had reached over to grab the card from the flowers, feeling herself grow clammy as she pried open the card and read its contents…

��� THNX FOR ALL THE FUN, BESTIE!! I’LL SEE YOU AGAIN NEXT TIME. — MAZUKI ♡P.S. YOU MIGHT NEED A BLOOD TRANSFUSION WHEN YOU GET BACK HOME, SORRY ABOUT THAT. :( 」

Over and over, her eyes scanned over the words on the card, burning them into her mind. It was only when the tears from her eyes dripped down onto the paper and caused the purple ink to bleed, that she finally crumpled it up in her hand.

Nikki sunk back into the hospital bed, and quietly sobbed.

She wished her father was here.

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #10

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 1, The Arrival, storming out

This post was last updated 08/07/2024.

Due to how this part of the episode is structured, this post requires a different format than usual to start.

I am going to start with a specific sequence but cover several things after that sequence in the rest of the post.

This sequence is very important and very special. It is going to demonstrate several game mechanics to the audience in a tutorial.

I strongly believe in my guesses that there are 2 fake Crowleys in this sequence.

Crowley is going to walk from the threshold of his private meeting room with Aziraphale, into the main bookshop first floor area, through the bookshop's overall threshold, and into the street, stopping specifically at the center of the street.

Let's begin.

When leaving the room, Crowley's sideburns have become longer than being in the room but not as long as when he encountered Gabriel. I strongly suspect this fake is Gabriel.

Then there is a cut.

This fake Crowley—who is probably Aziraphale—stiffly walks his way past a cardboard box with visibly long sideburns that are likely to be the same length as when Presumably Actual Crowley encountered Gabriel as shown earlier in the episode.

Then there is another cut.

Now we have a blurry Crowley. This version does not show us enough to guess the sideburn length. Instead, the sequence focuses on an avoided plate of Eccles cakes while a right hand picks up Crowley's sunglasses. This draft previously noted him as a possible fake, but by this point, I do think it is Crowley. I will explain that in further detail later.

Then there is another cut.

A human walks past Now Presumably Actual Crowley. His sideburns are shorter than the Aziraphale-Crowley but not as short as when he initially entered the bookshop. He has passed the bookshop's threshold.

Then there is another cut.

Now Crowley's left profile view almost looks like it matches his left profile view before he entered the bookshop with the left sideburn. It seems to be a little longer still.

If the sideburns had not fully shortened in the preceding cut, they have here when Crowley is going to tighten his face in anger. I'll go over this part in more detail in the Earthly Objects section, along with the complex window scene that follows it.

...

Sideburns Check

Okay, so this storming out sequence told us the story was blatantly lying to us but not because the sideburns changed in length. It's other things detailed in the Earthly Objects section.

When first trying to figure out the sideburns, I saw this sequence, made a post about it, thought it over, and grew exasperated. How else am I supposed to figure out how the sideburns work if I know the story is so blatantly lying on things that are not the sideburns? That's the trick to it right there. The answer is in the question. There is no other way to know. If I want to keep playing the sideburns game—because I sincerely think someone or something in the story wants me to find their meaning, I have to believe there was a hidden message within the lie that was true. This sequence just told me some important things about how the sideburns work. It was a sideburns tutorial.

Proximity to Gabriel will make the sideburns longer. Proximity to humans, or a private space with Aziraphale, will make the sideburns shorter. There can be a length in between the two types with distance involving the thresholds of the bookshop.

Playing the game without that assumption makes the game much, much harder.

Reaching that conclusion took several days of just plain thinking, trying to make more posts, and otherwise living my life. I had to go back and thoroughly update my initial post.

The longer sideburns in the lie are also a clue that Gabriel was there after all, in whatever really happened.

Here is what it takes playing the whole game of season 2 to understand even more. There is an invisible supernatural border between Aziraphale's bookshop and Crowley's car when the car is parked across the street. The bookshop is Aziraphale's home. The car is Crowley's home.

Because this border exists as a human-dominant space, Crowley's sideburns will shorten to the length they usually are around humans once he has reached the proper distance—currently the center of the street—between these two special, supernatural places.

This border will disappear—or expand as a radius—at the end of episode 4 when Crowley visibly crosses the bookshop threshold and walks with Aziraphale all the way to his car while they both hold cardboard boxes of Crowley's plants. As noted in my main sideburns post, I think that's from the shared loan of the homes to form a special connection. After all I have been through with my limited progress in the Rainbow Connection for The Pocket Trick, I am all the more convinced. At my best guesses going over my archive here on Tumblr, I came up with the word "connection" in my main sideburns post a little over a month before I found The Pocket Trick, then took another few weeks to find the Rainbow Connection in The Pocket Trick's Pocket Chain existed.

After the border expands, Crowley has to drive far enough away and give the sideburns enough time to shorten to the desired length for being read as human in the street again.

The story demonstrates such an action with episode 5 showing him arriving back from a drive. A player has to give into the admittedly questionable chronology of the story for that conclusion as well.

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

For Gabriel-Crowley starting off the sequence, I cannot find the brighter red streak of hair.

For Aziraphale-Crowley, there is something lighter in shade compared to the rest of the hair above the center of his left eye, but that's not the same thing as being more saturated in red.

For Crowley exiting the bookshop, it is mostly gone. It is only when he is about to stop in the street that I can finally see something that looks like more saturated red in the same general area I found it before he entered the bookshop. That is the only thing that might be the streak, and it is small. The above image is not brightened. When I tried to brighten an image to check, that part looked even less plausible to be the streak.

After that, I cannot find it.

...

Hairstyle Changes

The hair changes quite a bit during the whole thing.

For Gabriel-Crowley, the middle area of the front goes up and to his right some. There's something like a curl behind it on the top of the head.

For Aziraphale-Crowley, the style is more tidy. The front top swoops up and back.

For Actual Crowley, the style looks similar to before he entered but darker and with the tendrils on top positioned a little differently. I like this one too. It is very distracting in trying to make this post because I like it so much.

When Crowley's face tightens in anger, the cut ensures not being able to see if the brighter red streak is there.

After that, his hair looks to be losing its stronger red saturation before the lightning itself is actually released. It looks more relaxed too.

From what can be seen, the hair is getting darker.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects | Earthly Objects Study - Windows Part 1 | Earthly Objects Study - Crowley's Sunglasses)

Whoa, there is a lot happening with Earthly Objects here.

So, the way I interpret the storming out sequence to right before a human passes by Crowley past the bookshop's threshold is that is basic rule-breaking in Earthly Objects on purpose.

It might not be, but that's how I like to think of it in the way I play the game as an audience member. Plus, I can name a place where I think the rule-breaking ends and the rule-following starts.

Aziraphale—or Crowley as Aziraphale—is in the chair. Gabriel-Crowley touches the door on the push plate, and somebody picks up those sunglasses. So, there are touches.

However, the main earthly objects meant to be noticed are the cardboard box and the plate of Eccles cakes because they were both left untouched with the box also being unquestioned. Dialogue is lacking when the fakes are on screen.

As I said in my main first post about Crowley and Muriel, Actual Crowley is a top tier player in Earthly Objects who is incredibly deliberate in what he touches, especially with his hands. He's also someone who tends to ask questions.

This part is not the Metatron editing the Book of Life. This part is Crowley, Aziraphale, and Gabriel collectively working together for their edit in the story through breaking the rules of the game, Earthly Objects. That rule-breaking then informs the audience of the lie.

When Crowley is leaving the bookshop, two fingers are touching the sunglasses. That is not enough to earn credit for touching them as an accessory yet. That is the end of the rule-breaking.

A human passes by, and then he is touching the sunglasses with at least three fingers. So, rule-following has started. The rule-breaking edit ended, and we have entered the main draft of the story.

By hiding the thumb, that helped put the sunglasses into Accessory Mode too and earning a point for that touch.

Crowley angrily mutters, "Just breathe, that's what humans do...then they count to ten before they do anything stupid!" The number "ten" is a dialogue point. That is Crowley's second point in this solo set.

Now here's where things get even more weird and tricky, but thanks to the annoying, difficult pocket mechanics that are so silly and emphasize a human presence in The Pocket Trick, I have a stronger belief in this ridiculous theory.

Crowley is creating a very specific context to allow him to earn a point by touching the sunglasses with his face.

Once he reaches the center of the street and stopped, the sideburns are shortened to the desired length for human spaces. He is being read as human. Humans use sunglasses as accessories. While pockets are what tend to use lighting as clues, in the cut where he is stopping, there is extra light on his left sunglasses lens that could very well be a clue about the sideburns, this incoming touch, and a couple of pockets of hair shown by toward the end of the cut. There is a lightning imprint visible on the forehead yet again.

Crowley tightens his face in anger. The cut itself focuses on the act, and the subtitles note he grunts. The eyebrows lower for an active touch on the top of the rims of his sunglasses and the cheeks rise for an active touch on the bottom of the rims of his sunglasses.

When Nina sees Crowley, she refers to him as "that bloke," so there is even further confirmation that yes, here is a human looking at Crowley and seeing him as human after he has done that particular touch.

So, a benefit to the short sideburns is that it allows him a face touch on the sunglasses in this special context. That doesn't seem like much, but it's valuable to Crowley because, if this theory is right, he does it two more times during Good Omens 2. That would make 3 face touches in a game with a Rule of Three.

He plays this game like it is a competition. He is likely the top tier player because he makes choices like this one: short sideburns for a slight advantage in earning 3 special accessory points across the game during the entire season.

...

Moving on, it is time for the story's first complex window scene!

These scenes have three steps, and this part is the game's initial tutorial on those steps.

The steps are:

Step 1: The looker looks.

Step 2: The window sees.

Step 3: The looker is seen clearly behind the window pane with at least some of the window frame visible.

When Nina gets Maggie to look, there is a shared blur between the two. That blur is the main one that made me think they mean pass or share in the game. When Maggie looks, she is known to have been attending to her tea, but if she is touching an earthly object, the touch itself is not on screen. She is at the threshold of the window touch with this particular look.

There will be more complex window scenes that will do the same thing to help further confirm this threshold component. For instance, in the next one, Maggie is doing a self-touch with her hand in her mouth and then actually removes the touch during the look. This threshold component is important because of figuring out the steps Crowley is following in The Window Trick without knowing whatever further advanced pocket mechanics might be involved.

For the window seeing, that would be the cut with Maggie and Nina shown from the back while Crowley is seen through the window. Generally, these parts make sure a window frame is somewhere in the cut.

Maggie is seen behind the window pane when the lightning shoots out. While it is a little blurry because of the lightning, that blur is not the same type as what the game uses for the passes and shares, so I think she is still considered to be seen clearly enough to earn the point for looking. The reflection of Crowley's lower body is in the window pane with his lightning.

While Maggie and Nina are looking, Crowley is still busy earning his own solo points, which the game focuses on when not focusing on Maggie and Nina.

I think it goes that one set is the hopping on the ground is point #1 as a touch. Shouting the number "Ten!" is point #2 through dialogue. The lightning actually hitting the coffee shop twice is point #3 as a touch.

The lightning earns its own 3 points with 3 different touches on the door. I eventually took that sequence as a clue about the Rule of Three in Earthly Objects.

For Crowley's next set, his lightning is channeling out of his own neck and striking him. There are actually three specific points on his body where the lightning is channeling out from him, like little nodes. I'm hoping I'm not supposed to count how many are doing what where because I won't do that, and it's mainly communicating the lightning is striking him for a point here.

Maggie will remind the audience in the dialogue that lightning striking someone or something is what lightning does on Earth. Hence, that is how Crowley earns that point.

With Maggie finally forced to see Crowley, the surrounding Soho people react oddly, almost in tune with her. They were moving when she first saw Crowley, but in the next cut, almost everyone is stopped and looking at Crowley. They see him release the lightning. Maggie says she thinks he was struck by lightning—which technically he was because of his own lightning striking him. As if in response, everyone in the street moves on as if nothing happened.

Another theoretical point for Crowley is bringing his teeth together in a chomp. The rules for supernatural beings and self-touches are very confusing because they look like they don't exist for various reasons, but Crowley's play especially suggests there is something like requiring an earthly object touch in several instances for him. This chomp would be one such time. Crowley can do it because of the lightning striking him. The chomp is so fast, I can only ever see it going frame by frame, but I don't think he gets a second point any other way, even with whatever he is doing with pockets.

The third point would then be Crowley letting the smoke hit him as he grunts.

UPDATE START (for this part):

For the Tied Hands, while I have not fully figured out retying mechanics, I have found an assortment of patterns that suggest retying actually happens every time a threshold is crossed. A clasp at a lapel edge is the easiest clue to find that retying is possibly happening, but it's not actually required every time. The clasps can align with other edges, as can actual thumb joints, especially Crowley's already significant left thumb CMC joint for the touches in The Pocket Trick.

Among those patterns were some I noted in a previous draft of this post. This tutorial has a findable word puzzle of "smoke and mirrors" to conclude an instance of retying. Reflections were involved as part of it.

These patterns also suggest that both Gabriel-Crowley and Aziraphale-Crowley still had to manage both the Tied Hands and the Belt Head.

Gabriel-Crowley shows the face of Crowley's watch. As the cut progresses, multiple lights can be found to his right and above his right ear, suiting an angel. I can't see a tassel clearly touching the Belt Head, but I can tell that such a thing is plausible given the position and movement of this character. A clasp actually does strike a lapel edge.

Aziraphale-Crowley also receives right-side Overhead Lights. He aligns his actual right thumb CMC joint along a jacket edge near a lapel. That's another theoretical sign of retying.

UPDATE END (for this part).

Regarding whatever else is going on with pockets, Gabriel-Crowley has pockets existing while visually in the door frame before leaving. After he closes the door and starts walking, the tie strands switch though as they switch, only one of the clasps is visible. As he keeps moving and does another two switches, both clasps are not visible.

Aziraphale-Crowley makes a few pockets with his arms as he walks.

Now onto the blurry Crowley who I finally think is Crowley. Crowley makes a pocket with the left arm, then more pockets with the legs, waist, and dark horse statue holding the sunglasses. The left hand does end up in a pocket between the body and dark horse statue as the sunglasses are grabbed, creating even more pockets within. In this pocket itself, the left thumb CMC joint lines up with an edge of the rug in the background.

The camera work is giving heavy focus to the dark horse statue with the sunglasses on it and to the plate of Eccles cakes. At the start of the cut, the strongest light behind Crowley is to his left and above his left ear. Lights can be found on the sunglasses themselves. Pocket trickery uses lighting as clues. All of these factors combined are why I finally think this blurry Crowley is Crowley.

When Crowley is exiting the bookshop, the tie strands are visibly off his chest before pulling back in as his arm obscures them. They looked about to switch, but he hides confirmation of if that happened with his right hand and blurred movement.

After that, the pocket mechanics finally let up a little bit to give the face touch on the sunglasses and the complex window scene the focus they deserve for what they are. The scene does show at least one human pocket-user glance in his direction during that face touch.

Crowley creates a pocket with his legs after he is done hopping and the lightning is shooting out from him. In his angered grunt of letting the smoke hit him, his right hand aligns with the jacket, so that an actual thumb joint is at an edge before re-tying of the Tied Hands is done.

Usually, when I refer to a thumb joint, I am specifically referring to the carpometacarpal joint (CMC joint)—but in this case, the thumb joint would actually be the metacarpophalangeal joint. The MCP joint is within the thumb itself whereas the CMC joint is what connects the thumb to the rest of the hand. I had to look up this thumb stuff. I don't magically know these things.

Further into the movement, the left thumb is visually over the assumed lapel area and avoiding a visual touch on the actual tie strands.

The pocket made with his legs opens to reveal little bit of reflected red light from the road. The CMC joint of the thumb is visually touching a different reflection of red light.

The Belt Head is partly visible between the smoke and likely has a tassel tip near it.

Yet another pocket is formed in the process with the left arm and torso of the jacket. As Crowley's position changes, that pocket opens. The left thumb tip is carefully managed to visually touch the edge of the jacket torso while a pocket is created using the left thumb, left arm, and torso. This pocket includes a red light that is not a reflection found on the road.

There is another red light by the right arm. So, this one is not reflected from the road, but these two red lights by the arms exist as a visual mirror to the camera. A human helps separate the red lights of the car by the right arm by being pocketed between those red lights and having their foot visually touch behind part of Crowley's arm.

I'm assuming these are all factors that help get the job done for retying: "smoke and mirrors".

So, given how much pocket care is being done, yes, I do believe the Tied Hands needed retying after all and required considerable effort to get it done.

I'll go over Muriel later where the phrase "earthly object" is at last uttered in the story after these tutorials the game is giving.

...

Story Commentary

For the record, I am going to use the phrase "appearance swap" and not "body swap" because I actually do believe Neil Gaiman on saying so here.

Unfortunately, I did not save a lot of valuable posts I skimmed or just read when I was first trying to understand what was happening in Good Omens 2 and not knowing I would eventually be making posts of my own. I'm not the first person to think that Crowley was Gabriel leaving the room, but I have long since lost the link and took a long time to come around to that idea.

Likewise, I didn't have another link where someone speculated Aziraphale is later trying to grab Gabriel's hand as if about to do an appearance swap when about to do the little miracle to hide Gabriel. I found the post in a reblogged form, but its original post has been deleted. Still, I at least had those things in the back of my mind when eventually figuring this sequence must indeed include some fake Crowleys involving appearance swaps.

The main reason I eventually accepted the idea of the fake Aziraphale was comparing the stiff walk he does in this episode compared to the stiff walk he does at the end of season 1:

They were close enough for me because the shoulders don't move as much compared to Crowley's usual walk. Gabriel-Crowley emphasized the shoulder movement for contrast in the preceding cut. This particular Tumblr post and a couple of comments for it helped point out the stiffness in season 1: Crowley's signature swagger walk.

I suspect that cardboard box was touched and questioned. Somebody might have even eaten some Eccles cakes. Crowley was willing to help Gabriel sooner with understanding the situation better through whatever he learned about the box. I don't know if Muriel was literally on Earth, but they seem to have had a big role in whatever happened because I sincerely believe Crowley has a deep trust in Muriel. I assume Muriel earned it. Beelzebub may have a had a role in things as well.

As I have said in another post, I theorize the original draft had a Big Miracle where the Book of Life was put in the matchbox. It might be more elaborate than that because of so many other things that happened after, but I suspect at least that much.

Still, such things are not in this draft of the story. Whatever really happened has been hidden from the audience for now and replaced with this obvious lie.

Recognizing the fake Crowleys—especially Aziraphale—is crucial because it is extremely important to understand that Aziraphale knows about the sideburns even if Aziraphale never explicitly comments on their changing length. Without believing Aziraphale knows, the sideburns game is, again, much harder.

The lightning itself might be a cover for whatever really happened or part of an elaborate set up for what is going to happen.

It shot out multiple times. Generally, it went upward, spread somewhat in the back and to Crowley's left to do its thing to the coffee shop. It most assuredly did not strike toward the bookshop.

Regardless of its intention, this type of thing is what I love to see in fiction with my favorite characters. I love the anger and the release of actual lightning power. I live for that stuff.

When Maggie and Nina are starting to realize they are locked in, there is a figure that looks meant to be Crowley that can be seen as blurry near the car through the window. The figure has reddish hair and dark clothing. A previous draft of this post remarked that this figure could be another fake. I don't think it is.

The red is questionable since Crowley's hair looked darkened through the smoke with the camera in front of him in the street. The hair will be dark in the next scene later, which admittedly takes place at night. A hopeful clue I have is that the darkened hair was most notable on Crowley's right. The hair on his left tends to be lighter and more saturated in general during Good Omens 2, so that might be the same intent here. All other clues, in my opinion, suggest that this Crowley is indeed Crowley.

A past draft of this post remarked more on the color of the car, but I realize the car itself has different parts of it with different colors and shades. It seems more black when the lightning shot out and more blue through the window in this segment. If such colors mean anything in particular, it's beyond me to figure it out.

I used to think it was related to the fake Crowleys shown earlier, such as also being fake, but given everything else, I don't think that anymore.

...

Muriel

(For reference: Bookend Buddies - Crowley and Muriel (Part 2))

Well, now that we've had tutorials, it's time to learn the name of the game—the Big One that is. I don't think the word "sideburns" is ever said in Good Omens 2. I just made up "Sideburns Scheme" after awhile, but given the word play for pocket mechanics, it might be a name I was supposed to find too. Back to the one I initially meant, Uriel will eventually say "earthly object".

After Nina and Maggie realize their phones are dead, the story cuts to Heaven. The scene starts with Michael and Uriel, leading to the arrival of Saraqael and Muriel.

As noted in other posts, thumb tips are relevant to Door Mode. It is my guess that given how the game works—especially with Crowley's sunglasses in The Sunglasses Trick and pockets in The Pocket Trick, a thumb tip could be like a password to activate whatever is in the matchbox.

Saraqael is even giving a clue to an audience member playing Earthly Objects that's possible by actively adjusting their hands to hide their own right thumb before Muriel reveals the matchbox. Thanks Saraqael!

Muriel brings out the matchbox from behind a folder. A thumb tip is visible, but there is a little shadow added to it, I assume to help cast doubt given how the rest of the scene goes. Muriel seems to be a hidden pocket expert and is making a pocket with their legs, among other things happening in the framing, so that likely contributes too.

At first, Uriel uses the phrase "material object" to describe the matchbox Muriel shows to all of them. Well, I assume it's Uriel. The subtitles technically say "Saraqael", but it sounds more like Uriel to me.

Muriel is holding the matchbox with their index, middle, and ring fingers. The touch is avoiding the palm and the pinky. The thumb is nearby and keeping the thumb tip off the matchbox.

Michael had their legs crossed early in the scene, but the legs are uncrossed by the time Muriel steps forward to place the matchbox on the desk.

When the matchbox is set down, Muriel's right thumb is touching a corner, ensuring the thumb tip is not actually touching the matchbox. Meanwhile, the pinky tip is touching the side with the quote from the Book of Job. The subtitles do not inform the audience of the following. In my opinion, the sound that object makes is that of a disguised magical book, possibly a heavy one at that.

Another interesting thing I'm noticing as I type this post is that Muriel avoids having their digits touch their reflections. By this point in the story, Crowley has actually shown his index finger touch its reflection on his phone and a thumb tip touching its reflection during The Perfect Entrance Trick.

Still, the sound effect is part of why I think the Book of Life is in that matchbox. I also suspect Muriel's methodical touch is why that sound is heard with Muriel's touch but not what will happen with Michael's various touches.

Someone or something turns that matchbox around without us seeing it because the Job quote side was facing away from Michael when Muriel set the matchbox down. It is facing toward Michael when Michael touches it. By this point of my play in the game with my latest update on this post, I think the matchbox turned itself around due to how it wanted to be seen by Michael.

Michael touches the matchbox at the top with their index finger. The object does not react.

Michael nervously uses both index fingers, so that the left one holds the object from the top and the right shoves the inner box to Michael's left. Michael's thumb tip is actually visible and even touched by Michael's hand at one point within a pocket formed between the matchbox and Michael's hands. That's still not enough. The object does not react.

Michael nervously does another touch looking similar in reverse but not quite the same. The right index finger holds the matchbox from the top as the left index finger pushes the inner box to Michael's right. The pocket formed between hands and matchbox have the left thumb tip notably away from the touch and the right thumb generally hidden with maybe a right thumb joint visible. The object does not react.

With another last nervous effort, both index fingers work together to shove the inner box back into the outer box. The thumb is shown to be clearly aligned off the matchbox and by the bottom of the index finger in a cut. In the next cut, the right thumb might be visually over the matchbox, but it is understood to be not touching the matchbox because of its previously shown position. The object does not react.

As the whole affair concludes, we at last hear Uriel say, "That's definitely an earthly object." That is our key phrase, merely missing its plural form. The name of the game we've been watching at play in this story is Earthly Objects. All of that touching was a clue that Earthly Objects is a game based on touching. The matchbox was touched properly to remain an "earthly object" and theoretically not touched properly for Door Mode to fully activate and reveal whatever supernatural object it is actually hiding.

The scene in Heaven ends shortly thereafter with Uriel remarking they think "he" went to Earth. One would guess Uriel means Gabriel, but it is Crowley shown on Earth in the next cut.

That transition allows this Muriel scene to act as a front bookend to another Crowley scene. In fact, the next Crowley will scene will have the next touch of The Sunglasses Trick. This incoming touch will be the first of the Triple that eventually becomes a Single. As such, this scene is yet another bookend connection to the Threshold Tricks overall.

...

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

...

Past version of this post:

Post #10 (angry lightning)

[sjofn-lofnsdottr]

Hiiii~ not super sure how to ask this question in any other fashion, so, do you have any other stories/shots/what-have-thee of Dusk being a dork? No stress ‘n no pressure I just enjoy his character 🥰

I feel the need to clarify, even though I suspect it's obvious, that when I call him a dork, I mean it affectionately of course, but I mean it in the sense that he's a bit weird and awkward, in a way people would generally find endearing. I thought of him that way when I made him up for Elsewhere, but FFXIV Dusk has done nothing to shrug off that characterization. If anything, he's solidified it. Most of my 'he is a dork' comes from how he just ... exists, as himself. It's partly because I have difficulty taking elezen too seriously in general.

Like, look at them. Look at ALL of these dorks.

Look. Look at him! Look at that dork.

I will also insist until the day I die that Dusk isn't stupid, but the way he looks when he's mulling something over does nothing to reassure people that's the case. And that just seems dorky to me, I don't know.

Anyway, something I try to get across when I write him is that he is well aware he's kind of a weird goober, but that he is completely comfortable with that. It's probably why stories of the Warrior of Light clash so hard with his perception of himself. Obviously none of those stories add in the little detail that he's a big oaf who sometimes seems like he has trouble keeping control of all his limbs. They don't say he's someone who will start to verbalize a train of thought without having any idea what station it's headed towards and will drag his listeners along with him until they arrive at a conclusion, which may or may not be where he had expected to find himself. They don't mention his reluctance to call the duck that follows him around his pet, because it feels presumptive to him. They definitely don't explain that if left to his own devices, he would subsist on cheese, bread, and the occasional apple.

And they absolutely do not ever mention how wide his eyes get when he's surprised by something.

I am going to stop myself from rambling further, because Dusk is not the only one who will steam of consciousness babble forever if no one stops them. Did this even answer you? Hell if I know!

All the same, thank you for the ask!