#I know this isn’t a unique notion but also walk with me about it. Talk with me about it.

[findingtheperfectcharacter]

Okay, okay, Classpecting mode entered-

So I fucking love how they’re Archetypes- like it’s arguable that if your character plays their version of Sburb as written, they’ll go through a very barebones heroes journey and walk out different but in a very… Cookie Cutter Arc. Anyway, new way of describing Classes dropped into my brain.

Page Arc: I chose Page first because theirs is almost bluntly stated. They’re the underdogs that need to rise up to the challenges the world throws at them.

Heirs: Okay so if Page’s are the Zero To Hero archetype, Heirs are the closer to Superheroes- specifically like… A Peter Parker type. They have all the powers they need from book one, they can use them subconsciously but need to figure out how to actually wield it. (Outside of the direct quest… That’s kinda just John anyway. She’s kinda just walks ass backwards into doing what needs to happen half the time- that’s not a bag on them I just noticed it when they got retcon powers.)

Seer: … Seers are interesting. They’re not active wielders of their aspect, they use what’s already there to their advantage. Like, Terezi doesn’t control others thoughts, she just takes what she does know and uses it to make plans and decisions. Arguably that combined with ‘play the rain’ as Rose’s quest suggests a Seer’s arc is… Learning that what you have is enough and working with it.

Which is hilarious when it comes to my personal Blorbo- Kankri is ignoring the shit out of the arc Sgrub 2 tries to put on him Godbless… I think the most solid versions of this arc are ‘be careful what you wish for’ stories and ‘it’s a wonderful life’ type deals…

Theif: My biggest take is that a thief’s arc is a classic want vs need arc. Like okay, Vriska is a treasure hunter, her planet? Full of treasure to steal all the time forever… I also don’t think the treasure’s worth anything. I don’t think it’s even mentioned. A thief’s planet is abundant yet dull, reminding them that all the stuff seems cool at first but they really need personal connections. Weirdly I think Meenah and Vriska found that out mostly but their personal connections were… Engaging in harassment and bullying.

Anyway we barely know Jack about shit about the other arcs- shit Thief was me making a leap just based on lack of info. But also also I don’t have the current stamina to look at the others rn… Part 2 possible but feel free to make notes

[dem0nguy]

PART 2.2 THE ELECTRIC BOOGALOO‼️‼️

Previous part :D

9/23/19 - Part 2

Despite the… unique, events that took place this morning. I was still hopeful that this would be a great first day of middle school! Though for once, my brother did not.

Conner had been as ecstatic as I was about entering 6th grade. But now I watch him practically shaking with anxiety. Sat beside me in the back seat of our dad’s car, he fidgets with the bracelet on his wrist.

I look down at my bracelet. I didn’t really observe it too much before, but I notice a sort of indent on the side. A small divot in the cold black rock. It almost looked like a switch or button, but I wasn’t going to mess with it. At least, not right now… Good plan past me, very good plan.

Me and Conner got out of the car and waved our dad goodbye, then turned to stare at the giant concrete building before us. We’d been here once, for a sort of “walk your schedule” night. But it was still intimidating to think that right in front of me was so much potential. (In turn, it gave me so much anxiety.) Jeez, I was this anxious when I was twelve?? Makes me wonder how I made it to seventeen.

The two of us entered through the large reinforced doors of the school, into a crowded hall filled with one too many students. I share a look with my brother, before I take my schedule out.

We didn’t have first period together, the both of us knew that. But we do have math and history together later in the day.

I glance back at Conner, who took a deep breath, regaining his composure. “Adam, we better find answers to this.” He whispers, “Because I don’t think I can live every day normally knowing that one potential slip up could actually just ruin me forever.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at him, he’s always had this notion that he’d be super popular in middle school. I wouldn’t doubt it if he did become popular, he’s very talkative. But the goal was just a little silly to me. We have a small group of good friends, what more do we really need? Water, kielbasa pasta, steak, chicken—I’m just hungry again…

“Adam this is serious!” Conner exclaims, going back to fidgeting with the bracelet. “What if someone finds out? We’d be the school freaks!”

“Conner as long as we keep the bracelets on we’ll be fine.”

“I don’t trust these things, I don’t know what they are or what we even are.” He stops to think for a moment, “We need to find Mr. G as soon as possible.”

I nod in agreement, “Yes, but first we need to get to class and stuff.”

“Class isn’t important Adam. We are literal supernatural entities! And we need ANSWERS.” Conner whisper-yells. I’m surprised Conner didn’t just tell the whole school himself, with how loud he is all the time.

“We’ll be fine Conner.” I pat him on the shoulder, “We both have him fourth period right before lunch, we can stay after class and ask questions then.”

Conner huffs, as though he still wanted to disagree with me. “Fine.” He says, “But if someone finds out I’m a supernatural creature they’re gonna figure out you are too.” He starts off down the hall ahead of me, I shake my head.

Conner was always one for dramatizing things. Though, this is a pretty dramatic situation… Well, it isn’t immediately endangering. It’s just weird, really weird. Honestly I’m getting a headache just thinking about it. But it could also be cool, in an odd-dramatically-weird kinda way. I mean, supernatural means superpowers right? So what if we have superpow—

An obnoxiously loud bell goes off. Right, class, first day of school. I look down at my schedule again, science. Room 1703. I hope that’s close by… It was not close by.

My first three classes were boring as hell, I expected at least science to be interesting! But the teacher sounded like he was half asleep the whole time. At the very least I shared that class with Brice, one of me and Conner’s friends.

English I shared with Lily, my best friend. But it wasn’t the most interesting either. Math was especially boring, I don’t like math. I got to see Conner, but we were sat on opposite sides of the room. I still don’t like math.

Now, history is where things get interesting. Mr. G, our teacher, seems like a nice guy overall. He has graying light-brown hair, sea-green eyes, pale skin, and a kind smile. He wears a forest green jacket over a burgundy sweater-vest, and that over a white button up. (Part of me wonders how he doesn’t overheat) He also wears dark blue pants, with very professional looking black shoes. Well, I know how he doesn’t overheat now…

Despite any notions I had about him, he ended up teaching us some super interesting stuff! He said most of this year, we’d be learning about ancient cultures. Including what beings they worshiped, which intrigued me. If I’m a demon of sorts, that means demons and angels and stuff are real. So is there a god to accompany those creatures?

This would probably be the first of many questions I would ask him… Spoiler, there is no god. (If there is, he left to get the milk.)

After class ended, me and Conner hesitantly approached him. “Hey, uh, Mr. G?” Conner says, getting his attention.

He turns to face us, a welcoming grin on his face. “Hey you two! What do you need?”

Hell, are we actually doing this? What if Uncle Sam is wrong? What if Mr. G can’t help us? What if we do become frea— “We were wondering if you could help us with something.” Conner continues.

Mr. G nods slowly, “Alright, what is it?”

I share a nervous look with my twin. It seems neither of us have full confidence that Mr. G can help us.

“It’s uhm,” Conner hesitates, “A little complicated I guess…” He didn’t exaggerate for once! +5 points to you Conner.

“I’m sure I can understand.” Mr. G shrugs.

“We—uh, well we’re….” Conner struggles to find the words to explain our predicament.

“You’re nephalem.” Mr. G says.

“What?” I raise an eyebrow. I’ve never heard of whatever that is in my life. “And how did you—“

“Your Uncle sent you to me, right?”

Me and my brother nod.

“That’s how.” He chuckles kindly. “I can help you out, no worries.” Mr. G moves to a nearby bookshelf, shifting through it. Holy shit this makes so much sense now, I need to write this in my jour— oh wait I threw that one out. Fuck.

“Well uh, we had some questions first.” Conner asks. Mr. G hums in response, pulling down a book from the shelf, which he places on a nearby desk. “Ask away,” He says, flipping through pages of the book.

“Wh—“ “What’s a nephalem?” I interrupt Conner, he elbows me. I elbow him back.

“A nephalem is a creature made of both angelic and demonic energy. In turn, it shares traits of both angels and demons.” Mr. G frowns, closing the book and putting it back on the shelf.

“Demonic, energy?” Conner questions.

“Oh,” Mr. G turns to us. “You guys really don’t know anything do you?”

We shake our heads.

Mr. G sighs, rubbing his brow before readjusting his glasses. “I would’ve expected Sampson to at least tell you something… Well, no worries.” He clears his throat. “I can teach you everything you need to know.”

“Ok, but, how do you know all of this stuff?” Conner glares. He was rightfully suspicious y’know.

Mr. G shrugs. “I’m a cambion, a lesser cambion. But a cambion nonetheless.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. (I love that stupid rhyme.)

“What is a cambion??” Conner shouts, becoming visibly annoyed. He had every right to be, but perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to yell at the one person willing to help us… I beg to differ, you get em Conner.

Luckily, Mr. G was unbothered. “A cambion is a being that is half human, half demon. They have a lot less demonic energy than a demon does, and in place of it they have neutral energy.”

“So long story short,” I begin slowly, “You’re a demon?”

Mr. G nods, “As is your Uncle.”

Conner scoffs, “Our Uncle is a demon?”

“Cambion,” Mr. G corrects, “but as Adam stated. It’s essentially the same thing.”

And now I’m confused. In retrospect, it all made sense. The whole, demon-human logic or whatever. That’s not what confused me. What did, was how we could’ve gone our entire lives not knowing our Uncle was a demon?? I have so many questions, too many questions. I don’t even know where to start or what to do or, hell, maybe this is some sort of elaborate dream. I hope this is a dream because this is just too much and it’s way too weird—

Conner taps me on the shoulder. “You alright Adam?”

I nod quickly. I guess my anxiety was getting ahead of me. Ya think?

“I know this is a lot to take in.” Mr. G starts, as if he were reading my mind. Can he read my mind? Maybe it’s best not to think about that, wait, if he’s reading my mind he would say something about it right? Hey, Mr. G! You reading my mind? I’m thankful that there are few demons with telepathy.

“So I have a little gift to help you out.” Oh no not more gifts, this is worse than mind reading, what if it does something more crazy than those stupid necklaces?? Pftttt, those stupid necklaces? There’s so much more worse shit than those things.

Mr. G pulls a dusty book off his bookshelf, holding it out to us. The cover reads, “The Legend of Demons and Angels.” I take the book from him—surprisingly, it’s not heavy at all. Yk how past me was talking about superpowers earlier? Yeah. Super strength comes in handy.

“That book has most of the information you need to know,” Mr. G continues, “But if you have any other questions, I’m always available.” He smiles, it seems genuine. Again, really? Here we go: LIAR, LIAR PANTS ON FIRE.

I think I’m gonna like this teacher. No, no we are not. (Ok maybe for a little bit but I don’t wanna think about that.)

“Great! Thanks Mr. G.” Conner grabs my arm, pulling me towards the door. “Goodbye!” He drags us both into the hall, I jerk my arm from his grasp.

“Conner what was that for!?”

Conner scoffs, “I don’t trust him Adam. We go to get answers and we just get homework.” +3 points to Conner for trying to talk sense into past me.

I roll my eyes in turn, “You just don’t want to read.” Conner did just not want to read though… +3 points to me?

“I never said that—“

“It’s implied.” I interrupt him. “Besides, he’s giving us some answers. That’s better than what Uncle Sam did.”

Conner sighs dramatically. “Fine, let’s just get to lunch.” He turns, walking down the hall. I hesitate, there’s a lot to this. Probably way too much for me to fully comprehend, but there’s one thing I can do.

“Wait, Conner!”

Conner stops, turning around, “What?”

“Well,” I pause, “Are we going to tell Lily and Brice?”

“No!” Conner exclaims, “We aren’t telling anyone Adam. We can’t risk it.”

I sigh, “Alright.” Before following after him.

Hopefully Conner will warm up to telling them at some point. I can’t go very long without at least telling Lily about this, she’s my best friend. I tell her everything. Oh I remember this, oh yeah, that was a fun conversation…

Next Part >:D

[chicknparm]

There’s a degree of anxiety-induced delusion that most of us suffer from which is really important to unpack, and under broad strokes for most people it is best to assume good faith, and that everyone you’re interacting with isn’t Out To Getcha. broadly speaking a lot of peoples’ anxiety tends to bubble out into paranoia and misanthropy that is really maladaptive and needs to be actively fought and corrected in order to be able to interact with the world in a healthy way on a day to day basis.

But reinforcing that idea that, as Mogatrat the Wise once put it, “you’re a normal-ass person” does run into roadblocks sometimes when it just does not align with your material experience.

I was just thinking about my most recent session with my therapist, where (even in an attempt to give myself credit for being funny and charming!) I said “I know I’m not the type of person that people find interesting and desirable enough to approach and start a conversation.” She was like “what makes you say that?” Which was obviously an open door to get me talking about my assumptions about myself, which is a fair tactic, but all I could say was “because I’m almost 30 years old and literally nobody has ever approached me to get to know me, I have had to initiate literally every IRL non-familial relationship I’ve ever had.”

Like yeah, it isn’t healthy to assume that every time someone laughs in public they’re laughing at me. Or that someone looking in my direction is a sign of Danger, rather than just somebody’s gaze wandering as they walk down the street. But what do you do when you try to move past that, and then the only thing that’s left is just…absence? Invisibility?

How do you reconcile the notion that you’re not uniquely repulsive with the reality that you are almost always forgotten in social situation, and frequently *the only one* being forgotten in that way? How many people times can I be the only person in the theater club not invited to the party? The only person in my college suite left out of the next year’s apartment? The only woman in my department at work (including other trans women) not invited to “girls’ night out?”

Like yeah, I’ve logically come to terms with the idea that everyone I see isn’t actively disgusted by me, and I have enough evidence to know that once I’ve spent time with people they generally find me charming and interesting. But nobody wants me around more. An occasional sideshow is the best I can hope to be. People don’t miss me, don’t seek me out, don’t see me and think “I want to get to know her” (and let’s be honest, most people don’t think “her” when they see me anyway). There’s a reason that almost all of my long-lasting friendships are online, with people who don’t often have to visually look at me.

Idk I lost the plot and lost track of what my point even is. I’m just bitter that once again these women I work with are going around inviting literally everyone in the general vicinity to their burlesque show, organizing car pools and afterparty plans and whatnot. And I am literally the only person that nobody is talking to. I don’t even want to go, is the thing, but the context just makes it so obvious that I’m to be kept at an arm’s length at all times lest I get The Wrong Idea, right? Like if I see a hint of cleavage my Male Socialization will take over and I’ll become a sex criminal. At least, that’s where my mind goes, until I remember that they’re also buddy-buddy with a larger, louder trans woman who is frequently vulgar in ways that are indistinguishable from the men I knew in high school and college. So she can get an invite to the Nerd Strip Show, but I can’t even get a “Hi, how are you?”

Idk. Whatever. Hope people have fun screenshotting this and laughing at how pathetic I am. Talked myself back into self-loathing. Awesome, lol.

[deviliciousdev]

appreciation post for the types✨

from your local intp🖤

------------------------

✨The Sensors✨

estj (the executive)

Oh the executive, the most organized and loud boss bitch to ever exist. You cut through the bullshit and do not let anything stand in your way. And yet, like you're intuitive counter part (entj) you are quite sensitive if and when something hurts your feelings. Even though you're an expert at being all business during business hours, you still know how to have fun. and omg you have such a dorky sense of humor and love random facts, we love that. you are/can/will be a great leader/parent. All in all you are THEE boss and everyone knows it. keeping leading and kicking ass. 👏🏼

estp (the entrepreneur)

i absolutely adore estp's. you are the epitome of one of my fav character arcs. which is the charismatic rogue, who possibly drinks a lil more than they should, but can handle their liquor like a sailor (amazingly). you never back down from a challenge. you are so fun and wild in a han solo type of way, that just makes everyone want to be around you. but the best thing about you, is the way (deep down & to those you let close know) you are actually such a sweetheart. you would get hit by a bus trying to rush to make sure a friend is ok. you would take a bullet for any of your loved ones and let them cry on your shoulder. you're secretly the white knight but you're happy to let everyone think you're just the brash rogue. you're one of my best friends and someone i will adore with all my heart till the end of time.💕

p.s if you don't have an estp in your life, get one ASAP. they are a necessity for a complete friend group.

istj (the logistician)

oof, yes istj's. so sublet in their charm, and ready to die for what they believe in. i love the istj because you have two of an intp's fav qualities at your core. badassery & humility. you're like this pillar of certainty. even if you are uncertain about something, no one would ever be able to tell. you have a way of decision making that's not loud or overwhelming. which is why intp's love when you plan things.  you're also quiet at first, but if you're challenged, you would never let someone walk all over you or something/someone that matters to you. i also love that you're one of the types (alongside infp & entj) that is sooo funny and goofy when you're drunk. like a lil toddler. #adorable

istp (the engineer)

ahhhh, the intp's sensing counter part. istp's fucking rule. truly. you believe in many of the same principles intps do. the main one being, keeping an open mind without fore fitting you're own beliefs. your exterior calm and collected nature makes you cool af. AND you also have such a FANTASTIC sense of sarcastic humor. like yes bitch. i love the way intps are the idealists and istps are the doers. if an istp and intp got together, ooof the world better beware the chaos that would ensue. also you guys have thee COOLEST fictional characters. the first one that always comes to mind is Arya Stark from Game of Thrones. like suchhhhhhh a badass who also roasts literally EVERY single person in that show no matter if it's the fucking leader of the house you're at war with. out of all the types i think you would be the best assassin. to sum up i think the word i always relate to you is... cool. 😎 like plain and simple. 💀🤘🏼

p.s let's be partners in crime. 😁🚨🚓

esfj (the consul)

ok, ok, so first things first, because you are so opposite of the intp, i know we can butt heads sometimes. the main reason this happens is because nt's will see you're want to make others happy as a negative. HOWEVER, as i have gotten to know and respect an esfj as they are a part of my family (irl). i can say that the perceived notion of esfj's wanting to please everyone to get them to like them is a bit misguided. while esfjs DO want everyone to be happy, it's not always about being the popular kid. it's actually because they care about others. AND not just others but like situations. they really care if a party or a dinner is going smoothly. because they want events and people to have an enjoyable time and be happy. so esfj's I SEE YOU. and i genuinely appreciate how much you care about even the smmmmallest things. you are very dependable and high key you've taught me a lot. like how/why it's important to always say please and thank you. and you showed me that having emotions (like being nervous) isn't a weakness and it actually shows us what's important. esfj's are HIGHLY underrated, and much more wise than anyone gives you credit for.

p.s you are so much fun to prank and you always give as good as you get. 🤘🏼

esfp (the entertainer)

holy shit. that's all i can think when i think of the memories we share. we somehow bring out the worst/best in one another. you and infp are the ones i tell first when i get good news because i know you'll hype me the fuck up. we have sooooooooooo much fun together. you are so absolutely awesome and one of my best friends in the whole wide world. if i have a passing random idea, YOU WILL DO IT. i can be like "wouldn't it be funny if someone got on the hood of the car and twerked" and you're hilarious crazy ass will literally jump out of the car and do it. just because it's funny. you can party soooo hard, like rockstar level. you 100% need you're own reality show. your presence makes my introverted self feel more confident even when i'm at my lowest. with all that chaotic-ness said, you are actually a REALLY good parent/s.o?? such a crazy bitch, but also wife material?? like are you real?? anywayyyyy, just wanna say esfp's are the bad bitches of the types (no gender intended, bitches is gender neutral). and i can't wait for our next adventure. 🤩💜

isfj (the defender)

ok so even though you're a feeling type, i would have to say you're the most logical out of ALL the feeling types. i think it comes from you're mama bear (no specific gender intended) core. you don't put up with anyone's shit when it comes to those you care about. and dayummm will you fuck someone up (metaphorically and literally) if they come for your loved ones. you are VERY intelligent and people often underestimate you. the word that comes to mind when i think about isfjs is... resolve. your resolve in the face of hardship is so inspiring and something to be feared. i really love the way you seem so chill and even sweet and gracious and then it's like... oh fuck mamas here... but you don't even have to raise your voice to get your point across. like the istj, you've got a certainty and loyalty that intp's lovvveee. we never have to guess where you're loyalties are, because you don't just say, you show, through real actions. and we love that. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼🐻

isfp (the adventurer)

oh the isfp, no one and i mean no one can match the intp's weird out of the box thinking like you. can. you view the world in SUCH a unique way. you not only see things in deep meaningful aesthetics, but you make them a reality. you love to push the envelope of what are perceived social normals. and we lovvvvvvve that shit. you're life can be so out there, but you still respect and can make friends with just about anyone. you're so sweet and creative. and you always show me something sooooo interesting. a hidden gem, a beautiful view spot, a hole in the wall place to eat. you've got that thing that xntp's sort of fall head over heels for, but in a subtle way to where we don't even realize it. and you can make time the illusion it actually is, not even noticing that we've been hanging out for like 12 hours, because it felt like 30 minutes. and omg talk about talented! anything that requires creativity you are always so good at, like wtf?? 😂👏🏼 i will end this by saying; you're simultaneously the most tranquil yet exciting person i've ever met. and truly one of a kind. keep doing exactly what you're doing and i can't wait to see what you come up with next.

p.s you are my top choice, to go to Bali & Tulum with✨🤍☯️

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself. 

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that. 

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys. 

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present. 

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!” 

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed. 

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel. 

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing. 

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?” 

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.” 

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance. 

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch. 

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were. 

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?” 

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars). 

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside. 

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.” 

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking. 

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person. 

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien, 

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!” 

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her? 

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

[yandere-society]

Love L(eyes)

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Synopsis: He was a bit odd, quiet, mysterious and studious, but you liked him. Found him more agreeable than some of your other coworkers. Besides, you were never the one to judge, no matter how strange the rumors around him were. This is why you happily accepted his slightly childish, secret Santa-exchange Christmas gift. And being so incautious is what caused your own undoing

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Attempt at Black Comedy, Yandere themes, Stalking, Obsession, Mentions of Smut, Riding, Orgasms, Voyeurism, Blackmail, Y/N Stupidity, Unedited 

Admin: @roses-ruby​

Request:

“Looks like someone’s had one too many Hawaiian-flavored shots again.”

Your coworker remarks at the girl in the distance hogging the karaoke machine and tearing her lungs out to Wham’s Last Christmas. You huff humorously at her and at your other colleagues who became shitfaced to overly spiked punch as an excuse to get loose in their normally constrained work environment. Some other time you would have joined them, but this week had been especially exhausting for you.

The supervisor, after zealously creating the holiday season itself, had sprained her ankle 2 days ago – leaving you in charge. As if it wasn’t chaotic enough thanks to her dedication for winter festivities, it was now all in your hands and the both of you couldn’t have been more different. Whereas she was Mrs. Claus wrapped in jubilant, giddy and imaginative red wrapping, you were a nonchalant grey piece of paper. Which is exactly what you decided to do with everything she had planned out for the office’s Christmas party:

Caroling? Those who want to sing can go ahead.

Gingerbread house competition? Literally not happening.

Secret Santa? Just give the presents when you can.

It may have been uninteresting but as long as adults had their alcohol – you eye the elated faces of your coworkers – it wouldn’t matter.

“___?” You jump slightly, spinning around when you heard your name being spoken in a low, almost intimate timbre.

Namjoon stood a few inches away from you, holding what looked like a present in both hands. Your coworker, Jin, raises an eyebrow at him.

“…Mm…this is for you.”

“Oh!” You were starting to think you had been left out of the drawing hat, “Thank you so much, Joon!”

Gently grabbing it from his arms, you hold it out and give it a little shake.

“Can I open it?” You ask, trying to follow ‘gift etiquette.’ He stares at you for a moment with an unreadable expression and makes you wonder if you had said something wrong.

“I would prefer if you wait until you got home.”

“Oh-uh, alright. Thank you.”

With that, he turns to leave.

“…Happy holidays, Joon!”

He shifts his head to give you one last look, a small smile on his plump lips.

“Thank you. Happy holidays.”

When he’s out of hearing range, you hear Seokjin sigh loudly.

“I mean…he’s hot but isn’t he kind of weird? It’s such a waste.”

“He’s not weird…”

“Girl, listen to this- you know the office slut?” He kindly refers to Lisa, one of the female secretaries, “She was all over him last summer until she finally got herself into his room. Turns out he lives in a fucking warehouse in the middle of nowhere! I don’t know exactly what she saw, but she’s been spooked out ever since and avoids him as much as possible. Like just last week, I was lurking around and thought I saw the both of them make eye contact while passing each other in the hallway and that poor girl! She looked as if she almost soiled herself.”

“Those are just rumors, Jin.” You roll your eyes at his exaggerated tone, “Maybe she got rejected? And as for Joon…I think he’s just a little shy.”

“Whatever. All I’m saying is don’t be too shocked if you find a woman’s head in that box.”

You snort at his ridiculousness, placing Namjoon’s gift on your work desk. The drinks you had before the party start catching up to you and you excuse yourself from Jin to head to the restroom. Once you’re in the stall, you sigh, placing your palm against the wall of the stall and leaning towards it. Perhaps you were slightly more tipsy than you had originally imagined.

Just then you heard what sounded like two pairs of kitten heels walk into the foyer.

“Fuck.” You mutter as you hear them talk about whatever the fuck. Social gatherings really weren’t your thing and you wanted to go home since privacy was nonapparent in this office. When you just about became mentally prepared to empty your bladder and scramble out of the building, you heard your name being called, pulling your attention away from the matter at hand.

“___ scrapped the Gingerbread house idea, isn’t it crazy. The supervisor lets her get away with so much even though they are worlds apart.”

Ah yes, gossip. How easy it was to spread misinformation. What they glossed over was the part where the supervisor hated your guts, however, you just happen to be two grown, working women who were able to reach compromises for mutual benefit. The gingerbread project was scrapped because you managed to convince your jolly boss lady that it was an impossible occurrence to accurately judge without her gingerbread expertise. And it was nothing but the truth.

“Well, whatever, I didn’t want to participate in that dumb event anyway. But you know what really irks me? It’s when she thinks she’s so special and unique.”

Special? When have you ever-

“She honestly thinks she’s so different.” The girl continues, “Plastered on the wall each time we throw an office party- whispering and giggling with men. Did you see her with Namjoon and Jin today?”

“Isn’t Jin gay?”

“That’s besides the point.” She sounded exasperated, “What I’m saying is that her lack of interest in everything makes her uninteresting! She may think she’s above us when she pulls all these stunts but she’s so boring, it’s almost painful to watch.”

“Pfft, you’re a bitch.” You hear laughter and the clack of compact powder before their footsteps retreat from the foyer.

For a minute you just stand there, thinking about nothing. Sure, you didn’t expect everyone to like you, but you were on friendly terms with everyone in your office. Even as a number 2, you’ve never raised your voice or demanded anything unreasonable. The saddest part was that you knew exactly who those two girls were and had conversed with them on multiple occasions.

You were definitely sober now as you felt a small prick of annoyance stab at your heart.

A girl who tries her hardest to not be like ‘other girls.’ A boring girl. Is this truly what people thought of you?

_

It’s not too late when you get home – but it feels like you’ve been away for ages.

You groan as you remove your heels, tossing them somewhere near the entrance area as you trudge further into your studio apartment. With weary arms, you throw the gift onto the bed and fling yourself besides it, listening to the mattress creak for a second before silence surrounds you once more. Although you decided to sleep as soon as you got through your door, you knew you would just overthink and confuse yourself by remembering what those girls said.

It shouldn’t matter…it was just casual conversation…not like they wanted to kill you or something, you rationalize. Also, if you were someone who cared so much for what others said, then you couldn’t have continued bearing such a laidback personality for this long, could you? Still, something about the confidence they had in their malicious words bothered you.

“Ugh,” You grumble, sitting up and placing the gift on your lap to distract yourself from all the negativity. Trying to clear your head, you tear open the bright colored wrapping as swiftly as you could. A smile crosses your face when you think about cold, silent Namjoon carefully handling vibrant Christmas paper over this box. Didn’t seem like him.

He always had a peculiar reputation around the office, but he was never anything but duly courteous towards you. Though you never thought much of anyone from your workplace, you did think well of him and his kindness. They denied it like crazy, but everyone had a crush on the smart and mysterious Namjoon, even Jin. You tear off the tape connecting the flaps together and carefully pull out whatever was inside. And that’s when you come face to face with a…stuffed teddy bear.

Really, just a regular brown bear with soft, fuzzy fabric – nothing fancy. Now you were even more confused. Did you ever give him the vibe of being a stuffed-animal lover? Actually, aren’t there some guys who give this kind of stuff to girls, like on Valentines? Joon probably didn’t know what to get you and went with something generic, you deduce.

You stare into its eyes. Plastic black orbs lifelessly leer back at you. When you began to feel oddly uneasy, Jin’s story suddenly flashed through your mind. There wasn’t a head in the box like he said, but it didn’t mean this bear couldn’t be an ominous gift.

What if…it had a small camera stuffed inside the layers of cotton like in those horror movies?

As soon as you conjure the question, you shake your head, cringing at your own thoughts. Just because some people found him disagreeable didn’t mean he was an actual creep who would do that. You, of all people, knew how quickly false notions spread throughout that office. If they were wrong about you, then they were definitely wrong when regarding the quiet Namjoon. He was a simple, introverted man your insufferable coworkers picked on and this was just an innocent teddy and nothing more. Exhaling through your nose, you were about to throw it back in the box and forget about it when a memory abruptly froze you.

“-she’s so boring, it’s almost painful to watch.”

Ok…as a rational individual, you know there’s no camera in this toy, you know that. But if there was a camera – it would mean Joon wants you in some fashion. Would you want to ~secretly~ watch a person you didn’t have a crush on? Exactly. If there was a camera, it would also mean… that when those bitches from the restroom see you, someone plain and inconsiderable in their eyes, be the object of ‘office hottie’ Kim Namjoon’s desire…

Wouldn’t they eat their own words?

The thought instantly sends endorphins throughout your brain. How satisfying. Little old, boring you being stalked by the sexiest, most capable man in the office.

“Hmph.” You smirk at the bear before looking around your room. There was a shelf on the wall facing your bed, stacked with some novels you read back in college. Pushing yourself off the mattress, you walk up to the shelf and lightly thrust away some of the books before placing the teddy bear on an empty spot.

This was silly, you think, gazing at the bear in amusement. Although you were certain there was no camera, the mere thought about spiting those women made you ignore all the red flags which were present in your head since you grew up as a woman in a male-dominated reality. Honestly, you were too caught up in your silly revenge dream to even care.

This was silly, but…strangely fun.

_

Since then you did everything which requires adequate privacy in front of the bear.

Sleeping, getting dressed for work, masturbating, changing underwear and even when you just had to get out of tight jeans and into sweats – you did it all in the once place you knew you had the potential of being ‘watched.’ For some reason, you couldn’t take these actions seriously. Everything was just a game to you and you were actually starting to have fun with the conception of someone observing you round the clock. You started to feel ridiculous sometimes, especially when you tried to act sexy each time you stood in front of your bed.

This was definitely something you had no idea you’d be so into. It was as if you were really beginning to believe there was a camera in the fucking bear. Well if there is – you hope Namjoon likes black underwear as much as you do.

“Nnh- ahh-” You moan as you slam down on your boyfriend’s stomach. He grunts in pleasure, tightening his hold on your flexing hips as you arched your spine out further. With your head thrown back, you slightly open an eyelid to peek over at the “spycam” teddy bear on the wall shelf.

A camera’s lens should be wide enough to catch this angle, right?

“___,” You look back at your boyfriend when he groans your name, suddenly remembering he was under you, “You’re so into it today.”

“Um, y-yeah…”

What else could you say? Tell him the truth about how you’re some pervert who’s currently getting off on the idea that there might be some creepy hot dude watching you bare-naked, fucking another man right this minute? ‘Yeah’ was the only logical choice of words you could invoke. Your boyfriend was a nice guy – someone you met on a dating app. You weren’t exactly looking for anything long-term, but you did want to get off without the hassles and dangers of a one-night stand. It’s been going on for two months now and although you don’t think ‘he’s the one’ or anything, he was calming to be around.

“Oh-oh cumming!”

You stare as his mouth becomes unhinged and his eyebrows knot in frustration. As you said, he’s a nice guy but you wish he wouldn’t look so strange each time he reached his high. If someone was watching you both, this kind of thing is embarrassing.

Wait, what? You stop moving on his dick as soon as the thought crosses your mind. Why are you even thinking about something like that? After a few seconds, the pressure on his chest releases and you mindlessly move off of him, joining him on the mattress. He glances at you in confusion as you stare at the ceiling.

“But you didn’t cum.”

“It’s fine, I’m not really in the mood.”

He sits up, head still turned towards you as he removes his condom, “Uhhhh…You sure?”

Instead of looking at him, you turn your head in the direction of the wall where the bear was placed. Dark orbs gazed back at you.

“Yeah.”

It was just a game to you, but it was starting to get strange.

_

You stretch your dormant muscles as you sit up in your chair.

It was your first day back from the three-day holiday break and you were already in a state of mental detriment. Existing in the same room as people who probably hated you was awkward. Not being able to accurately work through your sudden Christmas impulse of voyeurism also weighed you down. You passed out last night, but the first thing you would do once you got home is throw that stuffed bear away. The game had gone long enough, three days to be exact, and it wasn’t fun anymore. Not when you were involving others.

A part of you felt bad for Namjoon, but you’re sure he wouldn’t actually care.

His obsession with you was just your own delusion after all.

With a groan you get up, gathering the coffee mug from your desk. Maybe some caffeine would help you get it together. You slog into the breakroom, walking up to the freshly brewed coffee pot and pouring a large dose into your cup.

As you’re about to take your first sip, you hear the breakroom door creak open. You’re surprised to see Lisa, but she seems even more surprised – astonished even – when she meets your eyes. For a moment she just stands there by the door, not moving her hand off the handle as she leers at you as if you were a ghoul.

Any other time you would have been confused and creeped out, but right now you could only mentally sigh. Did she perhaps think badly of you as well? It would explain why she always avoided you.

“You should…stay away from Kim Namjoon.”

What?

“Uh…what?”

“I…you should stay away from him. He’s…to you he….”

You squint as the girl stares at the floor, struggling to form words. Why was she suddenly talking about Namjoon and you in the same sentence? In that moment, a look of assurance built up on her face and she looked back up at you, parting her mouth.

But then you see her eyes widen in horror and her shoulders stiffen as she takes a step back.

“Lisa?”

“I- uh- I have to go-” She says, sprinting out of the room before she even finishes her sentence. What the hell was that?

“Good morning, ___.”

Fuck, you recognized that low timbre. You spin around, almost spilling the hot brown liquid as you do, to meet with the one face you were dreading all day. Namjoon stood by you, holding onto his own mug and smiling at you quietly. After every stupid thing you’ve just done in the past couple of days, you really didn’t want to meet him. But you couldn’t abruptly run away either.

“H-hi…Joon…G-good morning.” You mutter, side stepping so he has better access to the coffee pot.

“Cold out, isn’t it.” He makes conversation and you hum along, taking a sip of caffeine as you dwell on how to run back to your desk without seeming too crazy. Namjoon continues to talk about the weather while your anxiety grows. Why were you suddenly so nervous? Were you maybe still delusional; convincing yourself about how he is madly in love with you?

He stops talking for a moment then, and looks over at you who is not present in reality at all. You don’t notice his dark gaze rake over your body nor his grin at your worry.

“You know,” He mutters, almost inaudible, “I do love black underwear as much as you.”

“Yeah.” You sigh in fake amusement, not really processing what he just said. Until you do.

It takes you a minute or two of staring at your coffee to finally register his words into your brain. You slowly look up at him, no traces of amusement or even the previous pointless uneasiness apparent on your current expression.

“What?”

“I said,” He turns his whole body towards you, “I do love black underwear on you.”

“I…” You take a step back, suddenly feeling very small next the man glaring at you, “I’m sorry?”

He raises his hand and fear instantly paralyzes you. When he touches the hair on your head with his fingers, you wanted nothing more than to shove him off and run away. Instead you were caught – irreversibly immobilized by the way he captured you in his gaze.

“Don’t look so surprised, didn’t you want me to see?”

A million and one curses just flash through your mind. This wasn’t real, this was not happening. He was not saying all this. You were probably lying dead next to your boyfriend and still dreaming. That had to be it, because there was no way. No way Namjoon was saying what he is currently in the middle of saying. It was a game; it was just a game.

“Honestly, I thought you would have thrown away such a silly thing as soon as you found it. Did you know it costed me a total of $30? I can’t believe such a cheap investment worked.”

Your breath hitches as you listen to him speak. Mom always called you a fucking idiot, but wow you were a fucking idiot. You were warned, you heard the rumors about him and you should have known. There was a difference between the gossip of drunk girls in the spur of the moment and the account of a very sober and concerned homosexual friend. Still, not wanting to face the present moment, you continue to deny it in your head.

“Nn- uh-” You move back, getting ready to make a run for it. Wishing Jin’s loud ass would somehow interrupt you both.

“I would stay still if I were you.” Namjoon smiles with a warning tone, making you halt, “You see I happen to have a lot of…information. Information which can end up in places it’s not supposed to. I’m sure both of us don’t want that.”

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. You knew exactly what he meant. He recorded you, he has footage of everything you did and he was threatening you. Every time you got undressed, slept, pleasured yourself and – fuck – you and your boyfriend. He’s seen everything. If those recordings end up online, you’d be finished. Forget about your boring girl reputation, if anyone saw those recordings, you wouldn’t even maintain a reputation to defend. And haven’t some women gotten fired over something similar?

“W-why?” You sob to him, not wanting to lose everything.

“Sshh, it’s okay.” He takes you in his arms, hugging you in a soft but firm manner. What else could you do but let him touch whatever he wanted. Although you couldn’t lie and say you were 100% certain the bear didn’t have a camera, you still passed it off as a joke. You messed up, bad. And around you stood the consequence.

“Aren’t holidays great?” He mumbles into your hair in a low, intimate timbre.

____

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Have a wonderful day -- 🍑

[bullworthdrabbles]

Women of Bullworth: Part 4 Lola Lombardi

The woman who through her infidelity drives the plot of chapter 3, she didn’t do that intentionally, Rockstar didn’t give her enough agency or character to do so. So once again she was just another Helen of Troy plotline, but hey at least she’s aware of it this time. I have a lot of complex feelings about Lola and they’re incredibly difficult for me to unpack because of the sheer amount of sexist oversight with her.

Jimmy, the player character, canonically also dates around, and no one really cares that he broke up established relationships or was seemingly dating all of these people without the other’s knowledge, consent, or ending the prior relationship. Yet, Lola does much of the same and suddenly she gets slut-shamed by the story in a way Jimmy is not. Hell, even many in the fandom give her hate for doing the same shit Jimmy does with no criticism. That’s a double standard if I ever saw one.

“But Cas,” I can hear you say, “Lola was in a committed relationship with Johnny”

Yeah, and Jimmy was in a committed relationship with Pinky (I assume at some point their relationship dissolved but Rockstar didn’t show or tell us it happened) before suddenly going around dating other girls. I also have to question Johnny here, this isn’t to blame Johnny. I definitely feel bad and have been in his shoes before, but after several times of being cheated on and lashing out at the wrong people, you would think he’d get sick enough to leave. Oh wait I know exactly why he didn’t, Johnny’s actions have the most sway over the plot in this chapter and the writers couldn’t be fucked to make their actual antagonist whip up any drama. So they once again used their free conflict device, a woman, to make some slapped together bargain bin Outsiders Prep vs. Greaser's plotline. Although the Greasers and the Preps hated each other already and literally anything could have caused a clique war between the two factions, but okay I guess.

Despite her being the catalyst for a lot of Chapter 3, she doesn’t really move the plot forward. We also have no idea as to why she cheats on Johnny other than “it’s exciting”. Take a shot every time she says “excited” or “exciting” in a double entendre and yet never explains why the things she is talking about are exciting to her. What does she even get out of dating around? Rockstar sure won’t tell you. What pisses me off here is that they could have tied her actions into the main plot easily by just saying she was doing it purposely to help Gary in the plan of taking over the school. They could have explained that she wanted to be the queen of the school and given her good motivation for wanting to be better than all the other girls in the school. But that involves seeing your female characters as people with their own goals, thoughts, and feelings. Rockstar, a company mostly made up of men during 2006, clearly didn’t view their character that way and that is deeply saddening.

What makes me the saddest is the fact that a lot of the fandom has a unique hatred of Lola despite her not being unique at all in the story. She’s just a “maneater” stereotype with no character beyond that. The hatred and narratives spun about her in the fandom very much feel misogynistic, I understand not liking people who cheat, but many folks have a unique disdain for her that makes no sense considering how flimsy the writing is. I hear the argument that what Lola was doing was somehow worse than all the other characters and frankly I have to laugh. She’s nothing more than a free conflict device, walking health pack, collectible item, and minor quest giver. Johnny has more of an effect on the plot and character development and that is why we care more about him and justify his actions more than Lola’s despite Lola not being as overly possessive, and getting as irrationally violent to others as Johnny.

Rockstar could have very easily tied Lola into the plot, given her some sort of motivation, and given her agency within her own story. But to do that, you have to view women as just as valid and valuable characters and men. That would have meant introducing nuance and they didn’t want that. They just wanted Lola to be a plot device, decoration, a reward for the player, and a glorified health pack. The fandom’s hatred of her clearly comes from a lot of misogyny and a bunch of double standards.

And what makes this worse is that I really like her and I could see the potential for a story. Little kernels of good ideas and concepts, going to waste because Rockstar can’t write a woman beyond a cliche stereotype. She’s honestly a favorite girl character of mine despite her lack of development because I see all the ways she could have been more interesting and developed. I see all the ways she could have made a commentary on sexism, poverty, and cis-hetero relationships in high school. I see a morally gray character that could have challenged many stereotypes and notions about what teenage girls go through and do, but will never fully be realized because the writers couldn’t be bothered to care about their own characters. So instead we got a weird amalgamation of several other teen girl fantasy characters and man-eater stereotypes to get this cardboard character with no agency or motivations outside of wanting to be “excited”. Queue me giving the biggest eye roll known to man.

Anyway, I think I’ve ranted long enough. In the next post, I will be talking about Mandy, and that will also be a pretty long post so strap yourself in this will be a long one.

[bangtanblurbs]

autumn leaves

song: autumn leaves by BTS

first experience: my first listen of autumn leaves was when HYYH pt. 2 released. thanksgiving had just ended -- it was 2015. i was well into my fourth year of undergraduate studies and going through both a rough patch in some respects but also in others -- hitting my stride. i remember my first listen through of HYYH pt. 2 was in my tiny dorm room, perched on my bed, avoiding the responsibility of studying for my final exams. autumn leaves followed skit in the tracklisting, and before skit came baepsae. talk about whiplash... my emotions were all over the place. immediately i was taken by the unique backbeat and the beautiful blend of devastating vocals with emotional raps. for me, autumn leaves was immediately a favorite of mine from the album -- following closely behind butterfly. i can confidently say today though that the song is one of my top ten bangtan songs of all time. something about the sound, the lyrics, and the emotions i can hear in their voices makes it one of the most powerful rap ballads in the bangtan repertoire. i can remember distinctly i came to this revelation around christmas of 2015 as i continued to loop HYYH pt. 2 and really feel each beat and sound within the individual tracks. 

at this time i was going through a period of great change in my life - and autumn leaves is the perfect song for change. it’s a song about losing a love but also about feeling as if you are losing a piece of yourself. there are many ways to interpret the song outside of just being another sad love song -- that is something that struck me. the lyrics speak to several facets of what happens when you give pieces of yourself to others, or when you reach crossroads in your life. finding this song at this particular moment in my life was like finding energy and light at a time of extreme darkness. it was healing. soothing. 

feelings: i have too many. as always. autumn leaves is special to me because when i listen to it i’m reminded of both the place i was in when the sound found me, but also more recent development in my life that continue to relate to the song. when i first heard autumn leaves, i’d recently ended a relationship i’d been far too invested in despite knowing it was going to be a dead end - for about three years. i felt like i was at a point in my life where i needed to figure out who the hell i was without the one i’d loved. it’s funny though - i was happy to be free of that relationship, to be free of him, the pressures he’d put upon me. what do dead leaves mean if not a new spring right around the corner? perhaps i was feeling lost, but in my mind it was only temporary -- the dead must fall away to bring forward the spring. 

that being said, i did mourn. not in the way you might think, but in the way that one mourns for lost time, lost identity. so often we, as women, give up our identities when we are in relationships. we allow others to define us in terms of those that we are in relationships with. i’ve realized this now that i’m older -- now that i’m more at peace with my bisexuality -- the notion that our patriarchal society defines us in terms of the men within our lives rather than our own talents and identities. this particular blog isn’t a space for my feelings on that topic though -- what i will say is that autumn leaves comforted me. perhaps i felt that i was at a point where my leaves were dying -- but does that mean the tree is dead? absolutely not. spring would come. my life would be reborn with a new focus taking over. 

this being said -- i’ve always been one of those people that holds onto the past. i always wanted to be solid, non-changing, someone with convictions that they carried along from life. i think this stems from experiencing the death of a close friend while i was very young. i cherished the memories associated with her to the point where i didn’t want to lose the person i was when i knew her. so that’s always complicated change for me -- made the moments where the last leaves fell from the autumn trees that much harder. sure, spring was on its way, but what did that mean? would i lose the memories and the moments when my leaves where at their brilliance the previous season? or would i still carry those with me? what if i needed to correct course and completely rewrite who i was over the past -- would that mean losing who i was when i was loved by those i valued in the past? of course not -- but for some reason the more emotional sides of me didn’t see things in such a fluid way. lost was more profound when i was younger because it was also accompanied with these fears over the loss of my identity. 

as i’ve gotten older i’ve realized that identity can have staying power whilst also being something that is fluid. transmuting something doesn’t mean destroying or overwriting it. it means building upon the base and modifying it so that things are more brilliant. the me that existed before and during my long-term relationship was the same me i’d carry into the future, but with many more improvements for my own wellbeing and ability to express myself. for me, autumn leaves is just that. whilst on the surface it may convey the emotions of a breakup -- it also simply conveys the feelings that we get when we progress from one period of life to another. we leave parts of ourselves behind in order to improve. does that mean we are fundamentally changed? absolutely not. it means that we have learned from the past -- that we have made progress. in the same way that trees grow and change over the years. perhaps they look differently (taller, greener in hue? more branches?) but they still provide us with lushness and shade. 

personal connection: perhaps i’ve jumped ahead... i’ve already delved into this in the feelings section. that being said... i hope that my story can bring comfort to someone else. or perhaps help you all think about the ways in which bangtan songs can promote healing in your own lives. 

since my initial experience with the song i’ve had many other moments where i’ve turned to autumn leaves for comfort. i didn’t just leave it in the past -- it’s come with me as i’ve gotten older and moved into new spaces in my life. particularly i quite literally moved and started a huge new chapter in my life. and on this, autumn leaves has been a song i frequently find myself searching for. there’s a line in the song that resonates with me -- it’s in the bridge: “i hold on to these faded memories / is this greed? / i try to look back on these lost seasons / i try to turn back” 

initially i’d been excited for my big move from atlanta to washington dc. i thought it’d be the moment where i finally showed people back home that i wasn’t a failure, that all the pride i’d held in myself and my intellectual accomplishments was valid... but partnered with that came the intensive homesickness, the feeling of being an alien. i wasn’t really welcome here in dc. i still don’t feel welcome, but that’s a story for another day - another song. the reality is though, i moved just as the seasons turned to fall. it felt like my old life was falling away, i was bidding adieu my old life -- the community that had raised me since i was eighteen -- it was all gone. i was scared, terrified my friends wouldn’t keep in touch, afraid i’d have to change who i was to experience success (mask my accent, dye my hair, use the language of the elites)... while it’s not a breakup in the way the autumn leaves reads, i felt like i was having to plead with myself not to let go of who i was just for the sake of being accepted here, or for the sake of making my day to day life easier. the beat of the song brought me comfort as i walked to school, where i received the fake smiles of professors and classmates... i pleaded with myself -- to never let the parts of me that had gotten me to where i was fall away... to always let those dead leaves be the fertilizer for who i was becoming, for the me that would deliver myself closer to my dreams. 

even now -- i listen to autumn leaves and think about what i’m going to carry forward as the seasons change and we begin to work our way into a new normal in this pandemic. what parts of me will remain? what relationships will i keep? what *should* fall away, and what will i beg to keep around rather it’s healthy or not? i’m not sure. but closing my eyes and listening to the steady sound of autumn leaves brings me nothing but comfort. 

song breakdown

musically: autumn leaves is one of the most iconic songs from the HYYH era. the beat is iconic, the mix of vocal line and rap line from verse to chorus is completely seamless, it’s almost like a ballad rap (so iconic of the HYYH era, with songs like love is not over). the asian style beats, and synth... the sounds of the song are flawless from start to finish. the underlying beat of the song is so smooth, it feels almost like constant crashing waves, the ebb and flow of the beat with a few accents to highlight the emotional pick-ups of the verses. 

now -- it was controversial at the time -- many claim that autumn leaves samples beats from deadroses by blackbear. rather that’s true or not, i don’t know. but i find that listening to both songs back to back, they’re speaking to a lot of similar themes but with their own distinct sound and messages. there’s something about the genius of the back beat mixed with the emotionally charged rapping that sets autumn leaves apart -- also the use of vocal line is completely distinct and adds to the emotion in the sound. 

vocally: i don’t have as much to say about the vocals in this song. they’re beautiful, with vocal providing honey belts throughout the choruses, which sound more like a repeated bridge. we also see the slower, more emotionally accented rap style from each of rapline. the integration of the vocals and rap are iconically HYYH and BTS. we see the raps pick up, and slow down providing for pre-choruses to build into the beautiful vocal ballad ranges. 

autumn leaves performed live -- it’s something incredible. something i’m thankful i was able to experience. bangtan obviously never disappoint, but you can really hear the emotions in their voice with autumn leaves. the perfect adlibs, the changing rap paces, the roughness of rapline’s lower registers... it delivers the sadder themes of the song perfectly. 

lyrically: time for a DEEP dive yet again. autumn leaves is about change, the loss of a love. of course meanings can be layered, it can be about change, but on the very surface its a song about loss of love because of changes over time. 

jin and jungkook start out the song beautifully. the lyrics lead in directly addressing the theme: “fall like those dry leaves / just falling without strength, my love.” indicating that the song is like a letter - it’s a message to a love. the speaker is comparing their situation to a dead leaf, useless... time has run out... time to leave and fade away... something new to come a replace. falling without strength, it seems as if the speaker is saying they’ve got no more fight in them anymore, they’ve given up and realized continuing the fight is futile. it’s time to just let everything fall away, fade into black. “your heart just goes far away / i can’t catch you / i can’t catch you anymore, anymore / i can’t hold onto you, yeah” as much as the speaker would like to hold onto the moment they are in, hold onto the person they’re with... they can’t anymore. the other person is too far away. time has led to them drifting further apart, their relationship falling away like a dead leaf.

yoongi starts off the first rap, leading in with heavy emotions and continuing the story, and theme of a tree moving into fall. “those fallen leaves that look so insecure / seem like they’re looking at us.” the leaves have already fallen off the tree now, they’re dead on the ground -- peering back up at the speaker and their partner. i interpret this as the leaves are looking back at something they used to be a part of, something familiar to them, just as leaves are a part of our lives, trees spectating our lives as we live. these leaves were a part of their lives -- and now they’re gone, a piece is dead now. “if i touch your hand, even if it’s all at once / it seems like it’ll all become crumbs” -- this line illustrates again the analogy that the leaves are like the speaker’s significant other, someone that might just crumble away like it was never even there before, like a dream, it’s that distant. “i only looked / with the autumn wind” the seasons have changed, it’s that time, it’s been that time, and now the wind is a force that finally pushing the leaf off the tree, finally pushing the relationship or moment of life to end. “your words and expressions that become cold at some point / i can see that our relationship is fading / an empty relationship like the autumn sky” this line directly refers to the relationship like the seasons -- there was a spring, beautiful and blooming, love blossomed. and in summer it burned. but as time went on, the clouds went away and the rain stopped (the autumn sky doesn’t bring the spring showers to nurture the relationship anymore) and the fire consumed everything, burning it out and leaving nothing. “an ambiguous difference compared to before / today of all days, the much quieter night” there’s nothing left -- there no more crackle of the fire burning, no more love. it’s empty, and gone. but nobody knew when it became this way or why, it just did. “one lead left clinging to a branch / it’s shattering, i see the end.” there’s something hanging on -- perhaps it’s just the memory -- perhaps it’s just the part of them that is afraid of change, that wishes they could stay in the warmth. but even so, it’s beginning to crumble, it’s beginning the process to fall away. “dead leaves becoming dried / the silence inside your aloof heart / please don’t leave me / please don’t leave me, crumbling dead leaves” from dead to dried, the emphasis is made that at some point things have moved past ending or that they have been done for quite some time and for them to now also be dried. that being said they’re dried, not gone, the memories exist the emotions have left their place. someday the marks of this relationship will impact and provide the basis for another with someone else -- for better or worse.

then, we reach the bridge-like chorus. it’s simple in lyrics despite emotion packed in tone. “i want the you that meets my eyes / i want the you that wants me again” this line indicates that the partner in this situation has walked away and had decided not to even acknowledge the speaker. to pretend they don’t exist, to remove them from their life -- perhaps to not even keep them as a memory. “please don’t leave me / please don’t fall / never never fall / don’t go far away” the speaker begins to beg, holding onto the last few minutes of whatever they believe is left of the relationship. the begging of “don’t fall” is at odds with the previous verse about a leaf already fallen -- perhaps the chorus is coming from a more desperate state, or a moment before the inevitable happened (the season changed, the leaves fell). 

the post chorus brings in jin and continues with the same lament - the same desperate begging. “baby you, girl i can’t let you go / baby you, girl i can’t give up on you” the speaker is determined to hold onto the moment before the final fall. they are unwilling to let it all go -- hanging on to the last moments but also to the memories it seems. “like those falling dry leaves / this love, like dry leaves / never never fall / it’s fading.” at this point the chorus has progressed to where the leaves are fading and falling -- morphing into something that is no longer a leaf anymore. what is the speaker holding onto any more? just as memories too fade -- is there anything even left?

the next verse brings in namjoon, it plays off of the themes and tones in yoongi’s verse. it begins with the leaves already having fallen. there’s no more grasping onto what was, it’s much more about moving on and the ways the memory frames our ability to go forward. “like all the dry leaves fall / like all the things i thought would last forever are leaving / you are my fifth season” the speaker couldn’t imagine this happening -- a fifth season, there is no such thing. the leaves have fallen, despite him never imagining that it would occur, he’s dumbstruck. there’s a level of naivety here -- speaking to the things they thought would last forever -- which harkens back to the entire HYYH era theme. youth. learning growth. namjoon is speaking to new steps in life happening after finding out that what was familiar and comfortable is gone, and will not return as he is stepping into a fifth season and uncharted territory. “even if i try to see you, i can’t look / you’re still green to me / even if the heart doesn’t move, it moves by itself / lingering feelings hung out piece by piece like laundry” namjoon is charging here that he’s placing more emphasis on the past and the memories he holds rather than wanting to confront the reality that the other person has changed. they’re still green - young, fresh, healthy... he can’t help but still be in love because he cannot confront the fact that the other person has in fact changed. and at the same time all of this change and loss has made him raw, he cannot conceal his feelings even when doing mundane day to day things... his emotions hung out for all to see. “only crimson memories fall / from above me / even if my branch doesn’t shake / they constantly fall” the colors have changed from green to crimson, he is forgetting the hard times -- the memories that are rotten. the other memories, even if he keeps trying to hang onto them, they’re also going - being tainted by the dark and unhappy reality of things begin done. “right, my love must fall / in order to rise” he realizes, he need to cut the baggage, cut his false belief that things are still good, so that he can start a new season and try again. embrace his youth once again and heal. “even when you’re near, my two eyes / are far away, it’s happening / i’m being thrown away like this / inside my memories, i become young again” he emphasizes again that he cannot confront the reality of loss of this other person but realizes that it’s completely out of his control - he is the one being thrown. but he knows he can retreat to whatever space he needs to in order to cope or heal, he can hide inside his youth in his mind. he can stay there until he heals and can emerge once again. 

the chorus the repeats again, but this time it moves into the beautifully delivered bridge by taehyung. he begins with his low and smooth range “why can’t i give up on you yet / i hold on to these faded memories” which calls directly to namjoon’s verse. the seasons are changing, but he cannot let go of the past. things are fading but they remain his refuge. “is this greed? / i try to look back on these lost seasons / i try to turn back” he begins to realize that there’s an element to these emotions that might be toxic, that he wants but he knows he cannot have what he wants, or that he wants too much. he wishes he could retreat back to the summer, or the spring. turn back time and hide in those brighter moments. 

the final verse is beautifully delivered with hoseok’s unique style. he offers an unexpected conclusion to the hopelessness of yoongi’s verse and the denial and dismissal in namjoon’s. “burn them brightly, woosh / it was all beautiful, right, our path / but they’ve all faded” hoseok remembers fondly the memories, reflects positively on the way that things had been going... but he recognizes that that path exists no more -- those leaves are dead and gone. he uses the word “burn” which is often what happens with dead leaves, they’re burning brightly those memories -- like they’re seared into his mind and heart. they’ll never leave his essence. “dry leaves come down like tears / the wind blows and everything grows apart all day” this line beautifully captures the mourning process and the confusion that follows -- the learning to unlearn and untangle your life from another person’s. to move away from something that was so permanent in your life and mind. “the rain is falling and you’re shattering / until the very last leaf, you you you” the weather references in this verse are fitting for the theme of seasons but they also take control away from the speaker - make reference to the fact that even as they speaker would like to, he cannot control his emotions just like he cannot control the situation and relationship coming to an end. the very last leaf -- he tried to hold on, he waited till the end, but finally the hope is gone. 

the chorus repeats with some additional lines bracketing it by taehyung. ultimately the song leaves us with a feeling of being unsettled as things came to an ended. time passed by and things changed -- and end was inevitable. memories are what is left to hold onto. seasons change, just like we grow up or change. things in our lives will run their course, especially relationships. we learn from them, and even if we don’t want them to -- they leave scars... no matter how much we plead. but the reality is, we can retreat to whatever place in our mind or memory that we need to in order to repair ourselves to try again.

performance: the main video that is available online for autumn leaves is a performance from HYYH on tour. i cannot pinpoint the location of the filming, but it is the same as it was when i saw BTS live in 2016 in macau for HYYH the epilogue on tour. you can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrM53Y9hHV0&ab_channel=lestwins1524 

the performance is very much understated but beautiful. vocals and raps are delivered with more emotion than was captured in the recorded version. members do not perform any choreographed dances, but lights and graphics highlight each member as they come into focus to deliver their portion of the song. it’s beautiful and it’s just what was needed to portray the emotion and depth of the themes in autumn leaves. 

in my own personal experience, seeing this song performed live was incredibly profound. the entire arena was silent. all eyes on bangtan and listening for each of the incredibly raw verses to be peformed. the crisp emotion laden in the vocal line choruses. the song is beautiful. it’s somber and mature. it exemplifies the drama of the HYYH era -- with lyrical and performance genius that is unparalleled. i’ve uploaded to this post my horrible video but i hope you enjoy ~~

tl;dr: autumn leaves might seem like another breakup song, but there’s more to it. it beautifully emphasizes the power of memory, time passage, and the desire to hold onto past versions of themselves. which for many listeners is far more profound than just a breakup -- there’s so many times when we need to leave behind moments in our lives, friends, family members... and while we want to hold onto something that is familiar, we can’t. they’re leaving, we are moving on... seasons come and go no matter how much we wish they’d just stay constant. dead leaves fall away, even when we’d wish the summer and spring would stay, they can’t. life is cyclical in nature. which harkens us back to the themes in spring day as well. the sun will always come out, the seasons will change... but we have to confront the fact that sometimes we will experience pain, loss, and change. 

[pleaseshutupaboutsatou]

Before and After Ajin Volume 1

Part Three

[Part One] [Part Two]

This was supposed to be the last part but I had a lot to say on this one particular subject.

Ajin: Human or Demi-Human

Spoilers ahead and I will refer to Tsuina Miura as TM.

Before V2 - Ajin: Human or Demi-Human

Okay, so it’s always kind of perplexed me that Ajin are so objectified. They look like any other person but in the world of Ajin, they’re referred to as ‘another species’, a ‘life-form’, and sometimes even ‘it’. When someone finds out they’re Ajin, it’s not readily apparent and can easily be hidden. Probably the most conspicuous aspect of an Ajin is their IBM if anything -- especially if they can’t control it. 

Anyway, the way I’ve really looked at it, I’ve always kinda assumed that the objectification of Ajin was a purposeful and systemic way of othering people with immortal abilities so that they can be more easily taken advantage of. 

I forget that this thought is just pure speculation and not actually explicitly said in canon. (TBH, I would really like to know the origins of why people see Ajin as non-human.)

This aspect is just part of the unique takes Ajin has on immortality. Immortals can age. To be an Ajin is not seen as a cool or fun but something terrifying and unknown. You don’t want to be an Ajin. In fact, in the first chapter of the manga, when the teacher suggests the possibility that someone in the class might be one, it immediately makes everyone uneasy.

In TM’s part of the manga, there’s a strong emphasis on the idea of Ajin not being seen as human. It’s repeated a lot in Kei’s dialogue with Kai and in the pilot chapter with Shinya. In fact, the opening line in the pilot chapter is ‘Those life forms do not die... They are know as demi-humans’.

The language in the Wikipedia article about Ajin that Shinya reads uses dry language when discussing the relationship between Ajin and human experimentation. It seems like there’s no hint of controversy! 

If you’ve read Tenkuu Shinpan, this cynical worldview will probably be very familiar. Miura’s writing has this sort of color.

Anyway, in volume one, the humanity of Ajin is constantly questioned and touched upon in the dialogue.

What a bizarre question for Izumi to ask, of all people... Izumi could be playing detective a detective role here, but knowing that she’s an Ajin, this almost comes across as self-loathing. Perhaps Izumi might have gone down that path if Miura stayed on?

This bit of dialogue from Tanaka, shortly after the former scene, feels more consistent with the story thus far. Satou made being a demi-human a point of pride for Tanaka and for Izumi to pretend to be one definitely made her less in his eyes. Actually, he was pretty cruel to everyone in that room in this scene, but if you take into consideration Izumi’s anti-Ajin-like dialogue and her explicitly saying she’s from the Demi-Human Control Commission (the ones responsible for his imprisonment), I can see where it comes from.

Anyway, much of the compelling dialogue on an Ajin’s humanity is between Kei and Kai. On the run after being outed as an Ajin, Kei is constantly questioning his own humanity.

And, as long as Kai is around Kei, he constantly reassures Kei that he is indeed human and even if he isn’t, he can be human if he wants to be.

Now that I think about it, perhaps the idea of demi-humans not being human comes from the human fear of death and the loss of its universal certainty. Death is scary, unpredictable, unavoidable and not really something a lot of people like to dwell on. However, despite those feelings, it’s ubiquitous and maybe some comfort comes from that - that it will happen to everyone. Not to Ajin though (as far as the public knows, they don’t really know about aging or natural-death Ajin). In fact Ajin can tiptoe between death and life. Perhaps that comes across as grotesque and maybe that’s a reason why they’re feared? A scene that exemplifies this is Kei’s first suicide - or reset, as it’s later called. 

Kai’s expression is of sadness, worry, and terror because he just witnessed Kei, someone he’s trying to protect, harm himself. He obviously knows that Kei will likely be fine but you can’t really logic away the visceral reaction to seeing such a thing. Meanwhile Kei, is excited, almost ecstatic, because he sees he’s able to walk on his own two legs again and not be such a burden to Kai. His relationship to death has totally changed. Does the lack of ability to die correlate with a loss of humanity?

Perhaps, TM wanted that to be constant question in their story. Are Ajin really human? Or maybe TM wanted Ajin to actually not really be human and for us to mistakenly think they are? TBH though, it doesn’t really seem like TM’s fast-paced action writing style... but maybe those kinds of questions piqued Sakurai’s interest.

After V2 - Ajin: Human or Demi-Human

I think Sakurai is interested in exploring the theme of humanity and human experience in general through these immortal characters. 

As the story progresses, he seems to go with the notion that Ajin are just people who can’t die. I think this is emphasized with Tanaka’s increasing mundaneness. His very first appearance is incredibly striking. He looks diabolical.

And he doesn’t seem that way to just the audience but to Kei as well, who sees Tanaka with a mean face and a knife in their first encounter and is instantly scared. In Kei’s dreams, Tanaka becomes a symbol of aggressive masculinity.

It’s all a front though, and through Tanaka’s flashback a handful of chapters later, it becomes clear that, like Kei, he’s an ordinary person put through extraordinary circumstances.

Satou, however, comes across as a force of nature and inhuman. Physical obliteration and philosophical ideas of death do not phase him at all. His flesh body is a tool that he takes apart and puts back together with casual indifference. In the end, though, he is a human being, though, damn, does he make it difficult for other people, ourselves included, to believe that.

Last, but not least, Sakurai spends a great deal of care on Kei’s transition from teen to young adult throughout the story with all the self-doubt, risk-taking and awkwardness that comes with it. What kind of person will he become? What does he really want? 

He puts on a front as a disinterested, self-serving person whose no-nonsense, but, actually he does care and maybe he likes a little of nonsense (but not too much). As for the person he might become, it’s interesting that Kei has two older, contrasting figures in his life who serve as influences: Hirasawa and Satou. Hirasawa says he’s fine the way he is and that it’s okay to run away; he kind of indulges Kei and tells him what he wants to hear - maybe he sees himself in Kei and tells him what he wish he could have heard.  Meanwhile, Satou wants to challenge Kei, though, for entirely selfish reasons and maybe, he too, saw some of himself in Kei. Though, lmao, he got bored with that towards the end.

A big part of Kei’s journey is self-acceptance. Self-acceptance as a person coming-of-age and as a person whose an Ajin. To a person like Kou, he probably seems like he has a concrete idea of who he is, but that’s not the case at all.

Kei starts out as an incredibly reluctant hero. In fact, he only came into the role out of necessity as Satou grew to be a bigger and bigger problem that could no longer be ignored. In the period between the attack on Grant Pharmaceuticals and the attack on Forge Security, his lack of enthusiasm is very explicit; he even dreams of being whisked away. Nevertheless, he begrudgingly concocts a plan for defending Forge Security. 

It’s in the aftermath of Forge Security that he starts to change and aggressively pursue Satou. However, this change of heart will be repeatedly tested as Satou continues to evade him.

Sakurai has also had some things to say about the question of a demi-human’s humanity on a grander scale, particularly, through a character like Ogura. When you first meet him, he’s very blunt and sarcastic and seems to have little value in his own life. To Ogura, life has lost its meaning. It’s heavily implied that this is in large part due to the death of his 8-year-old son.

The only thing that he really talks about with any kind of enthusiasm are Ajin and his FK cigarettes. 

His fascination with Ajin could be, in part, a way to cope with his grief. Ajin defy death and the human spirit seems to play a large role in how they function. IBMs are invisible but can be seen if a strong emotion is present. Floods of IBMs are triggered by death along with an accompanying strong emotion. He states outright that life is meaningless, but his obsession with Ajin seems to come from a part of himself that doesn’t want to believe that.

Whether or not what Ogura says is true or not, it’s undoubtedly true that Ajin are inextricably linked with their own humanity. This is where Sakurai arrives at with the question of a demi-human’s humanity.

This ended up being wayyyy longer then intended but thoughts kept coming and coming. Hope I didn’t go off on too much of a tangent here. I will make another part with Kai, Tanaka and talk briefly about gore before and after volume 2. 

I think Miura is really good with coming up with concepts, but I think, personally, I’m glad that Sakurai was able to take those ideas and make them into what we have today.

[harlot-of-oblivion]

A Lotus In Full Bloom (Part 9)

Vergil finally confronts his feelings for his lovely rose while you untangle the thorns from around your darling devil’s heart.

It’s finally here! Hope ya’ll are ready for some angst, comforting fluff, and all the romance! 🌹😍🌹

Here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part 🌺😊🌺

If someone had told Vergil over two decades ago that he would not only be a father but also be in his son’s wedding, he would’ve laughed in their face before calling them a fool. But now, here he is checking over his suit for the big day that is only two days away. And he isn’t just part of the wedding party…he’s all set to surprise the happy couple with a violin performance during their first dance with a little help from his lovely rose.

The thought of you summons that warm feeling in his chest as he zips the garment bag up before putting it back in his closet. Both of you have met every single day since the beach party, tirelessly practicing together in your music room until late at night. You still think that your piano skills are woefully inadequate, but he has the utmost confidence in your abilities. He knows that you can perform this unique gift for his son and future daughter-in-law with him.

There’s only enough time for one more practice session before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, Vergil thought as he finished getting ready in his room. He glances over to the hidden box underneath his bed, reminding himself to pick some fresh flowers for you before heading over to your place. The pit of his stomach drops a little at the thought, knowing deep down that he will no doubt give you the blooms without a verbal confession despite his best efforts to do so this entire week.

Ever since he shared that intimate moment with you among the waves, he has felt this sickening swirl building up inside him; it grows stronger and stronger the more time he spends with you. And every time he intends to finally confess, it crawls up his throat and stifles his words to a mere quiet gasp of frustration. He honestly does not know what’s come over him; what could possibly be stopping a Son of Sparda from admitting his intentions aloud? The very notion of hesitating at all is maddening…and today is his last chance to tell you how he truly feels before both of you get swept up in the final preparations for the wedding.

Vergil looks over at the wall mirror by his bedroom door, giving himself a nod of approval in the reflection before grabbing the Yamato. I won’t hesitate this time, my lovely rose, he vows with a determined huff while exiting his room. It only takes him a few long strides down the hall to turn around the corner by the staircase. And it is there where he comes upon a strange sight: an oafish buffoon that bears a striking resemblance to his little brother is lying across the couch in the shop’s office, groaning loudly while covering his eyes with one arm.

How…curious, he thought with a quirked brow as he descended the stairs. Dante doesn’t even acknowledge the sound of his soft footfalls nor the occasional creaks of the wood on some of the steps. Vergil rolls his eyes at his brother’s overly dramatic display, but he cannot resist asking about his little farce. “And what, pray tell, has you groaning like a stricken cow?” he snidely inquires, pausing by the foot of the stairs as he waits for his brother’s answer.

Dante turns his head and peeks up from behind his arm. “Have you kissed Buttercup yet?”

Vergil’s jaw hardens into a harsh scowl. “What I do while in the company of Y/N is none of your concern.”

“Unbelievable,” Dante mutters under his breath with a shake of his head. “She’s totally in love with you and you’re blowing it!” he exclaims, waving both arms in the air before letting them flop back down on the couch with a frustrated sigh.

Vergil scoffs at his brother’s attempt to pry into his personal life as he walks behind the desk. “I don’t see how our relationship is any of your business.”

Dante grunts as he sits up on the couch. “Just listen to your brother for once, Verg,” he requests sincerely, voice dropping down into a serious tone. “You gotta make your move soon before she gets the wrong idea.”

The familiar sickening swirl starts to coalesce deep within his belly. “The wrong idea about what?” Vergil asks stubbornly, trying his best to ignore the thick lump forming in his throat as he stares down his brother from across the room.

“Do I really need to spell it out for ya?” Dante asks incredulously as he leans back against his seat. “Man, Buttercup’s really got her work cut out for her,” he sighs with a disappointed frown, crossing one ankle atop his knee while stretching his arms out on the back of the couch as he continues talking. “Being strung along by my dumbass brother, who can’t even admit his own feelings and JUST KISS HER ALREADY!”

Vergil’s brow twitches irritably at his brother’s rowdy voice as it bellows through the shop. He can feel a surly retort forming on the tip of his tongue but just before he can spit it out, the subtle movement of something shifting out of place catches his eye. His head tilts inquisitively as he leans over and peers down behind the radiator, spotting a very gaudy piece of poster board that depicts what looks to be some sort of seaside scenery. But what really grabs his attention is the huge bold letters that make up the header of this poster:

OPERATION: GET DUMBASS BROTHER AND BUTTERCUP TOGETHER

“Dante…” he growls, feeling every last ounce of his composure turning to dust as he reaches for the poster. He pulls it out from its poor hiding place, silently seething as he reads the intricate instructions detailing some of the events that played out during the beach party. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demands, turning the poster around and pointing at the childish drawing of two stick figures holding hands with a deathly glower.

His brother has the audacity to shrug his shoulders defensively. “Whaaaaat? You needed a little push in the right direction and I just-”

“You insufferable wretch!”

Dante grunts as a couple of summoned swords pierce his chest, effectively cutting him off as the offending poster gets shredded by the blue ripple of a small Judgement Cut. “I know you’ve always loved meddling with my private affairs, but you better tread carefully, little brother…” Vergil stalks over to the couch and looms over his brother as he finishes his venomous warning. “I’m in no mood for your foolishness!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so helpless when it comes to romance, you wouldn’t need my help putting your tulips together!” Dante remarks bluntly through gritted teeth, clutching his chest as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Look, I know that you somehow managed to nail at least one other lady back in the day, but that doesn’t mean-”

Vergil’s entire body becomes rigid as he draws back from the couch, averting his fierce gaze towards a messy corner of the shop. Dante stops short at the sudden yet subtle shift in his overall demeanor. The air becomes still and eerily quiet since the shop is absent of the jukebox’s abhorrent music for once…until one of them breaks the silence.

“Wait a minute,” Dante murmurs, resting both hands on his knees while looking up at him suspiciously. “Are you afraid of telling her?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Vergil scoffs, barely giving his brother a passing glance as the sickening swirl starts churning in the pit of his stomach.

“Holy shit,” Dante whispers, eyes widening in shock as he keeps goading him into talking more. “You really are afraid, aren’t ya?”

Vergil glares down at his little brother. “I’m no such thing!” he snarls, lips twisting into a bitter grimace while his fists ball up impatiently, one clenching around the Yamato tightly while the other pulls his leather glove taut over his knuckles.

Dante snorts with a nod of his head. “Really? Then why haven’t you swept her off her feet yet, huh?” he inquires with a knowing smirk that only grows wider at the stoic silence that answers his question. “Something’s holding you back…I can tell,” he sighs wearily, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch again. “So, what’s scaring you off from a total babe like Buttercup?” he wonders aloud, scratching his scruffy chin while staring up at the grody ceiling in thought.

“I will eviscerate you on the spot if you don’t cease this infuriating conversation immediately!” Vergil commands with a vicious growl, lifting the Yamato to show his thumb at the ready below the hilt.

“If it’s really about making the first move, then you can’t say I didn’t try to help!” Dante points out with a wave of his hand, completely ignoring his final warning as he persists with his nosy musings. “C’mon, Verg…talk to me. Are ya afraid of commitment? Or maybe you’re scared she’ll reject-”

Vergil feels the last shred of his self-control snap as he pops the handle up with a loud metallic click. Then, he teleports in front of his brother before sinking the Yamato deep within his gut. Dante grunts from the inflicted pain as he struggles to move, but the sword’s razor-sharp edge has him pinned to the back of the couch. “I’ve had enough of your mindless chatter!” he fumes, giving his blade a grinding twist before withdrawing it with a furious growl.

Dante hisses and doubles over on the couch, clutching his belly while groaning in agony. Vergil pays his brother no mind as he flicks the Yamato clean before sheathing the blade, not caring about making an even bigger mess of the shop as he turns away from his brother. “I’m going for a walk,” he barks while marching over towards the entryway, “and if you know what’s good for you…” He pauses with his hand on the door handle.

“You will not follow me.”

And with those final cautionary words, he jerks the door open and stomps out of the shop in an awfully foul mood. He quickly steps down the stairs before unsheathing the Yamato once more. The faint rumble of thunder booms across the sky as he opens a portal to anywhere but here. His keen ears hear the shop door swing open just as he walks through the portal and some gruff cursing as it seals shut behind him.  

Vergil finds himself standing in some sparse woodlands. He has no idea where he is exactly, and he does not care to find out. The only thing occupying his thoughts now is the pure unbridled rage running through his body like a wildfire in the dead of a blistering cold night. And with no one around to witness the crack in his carefully constructed façade of cool composure…the devil inside him roars and claws beneath his skin as this white hot anger fully consumes him, triggering the transformation of his other demonic form with a loud snarl.

The leaves of the surrounding trees tremble at the force of his demonic power as it rushes through the woods. His scorching hot breath comes out in aggravated puffs as he waits for the anger to subside, but his brother’s false assumptions keep ringing through his mind…making his blood boil even hotter as he takes to the air. How dare he make such foolish claims…fear doesn’t suit a Son of Sparda! he seethes while zooming over the scattered canopy of trees.

Then why haven’t you swept her off her feet yet, huh?

Dante’s astute observation strikes at the heart of the matter just as a streak of lightning flashes through the sky. The sickening swirl is back and stronger than ever as it coils into a nauseous knot deep within his gut, forcing him to halt his furious flight as thunder crashes down all around him with a loud crack. He hovers amid the charged air, hoping that the rumbling roll of the oncoming storm would drown out the maddening thoughts of his mind…but the persistent voice of his brother keeps chipping away at his resolve.    

Holy shit…You really are afraid, aren’t ya?

Something’s holding you back…I can tell.

Are ya afraid of commitment? Or maybe you’re scared she’ll reject-

Vergil lets out a tormented roar, no longer able to stand the torrent of thoughts whirling in his head. The distorted tone of his suffering melds with the deafening boom of thunder as the sky finally breaks open. He stares up at the dark clouds and as the heavy drops of summer rain douse his armored face, he cannot help but think of the day he first spoke to you…how he found you standing in the rain moments after you brazenly bloomed before his very eyes. You were the image of pure tranquility…staring up at the sky while your lovely face glistened in the sprinkling rain.

The very thought of you drains every bit of his bitter anger out of him…leaving only misery and regret in its wake. He slowly descends towards an open area of the woodlands, no longer feeling up to flying away from the truth. His demonic form fades away with a quick flash as soon as he lands, kneeling upon the wet and grassy ground with a dull thud. The heavy rainfall immediately soaks through his slicked back hair and signature coat now that the thick armor plating is gone. But he hardly notices his drenched state while the thunderstorm raging on above, dejectedly hanging his head as he finally faces the truth buried deep within his tangled briars.

I’m afraid of getting hurt...again.

The hurtful memory of his mother leading Dante by the hand away from danger flashes before his eyes. He remembers seeing them enter the manor together from the playground…leaving him behind with the demons running amok. It was on that fateful day that he first felt the sting of rejection…being abandoned by his mother and watching her save his brother shaped his ruthless outlook on life for years to come. And even though he now knows that she not only turned back but died trying to save him…it still does not erase the pain he went through while enduring his past trauma and all the trials and tribulations thereafter.

I’m afraid of being rejected…again.

Vergil clenches his fists as another unwelcome memory comes to taunt him. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to bury the image of a woman clad in red back into the deeper recesses of his mind. What a strange twist of misfortune…he can recall the day she spurned his offer to stay with her, and yet he cannot even remember her face nor any other details about the mother of his only son! And with that little tryst, he learned a harsh yet necessary truth: rejection is inevitable when you’re a Son of Sparda.

But knowing a truth does not mean you have to accept it, my darling devil.

The sweet lilt of your voice shakes him out of his brooding thoughts, bringing him back down to the present. Even when you are not there with him…you know exactly what to say to pull him back from the darkest part of his crumbling soul. He blinks and wipes away droplets of rain from his eyes, but the relentless downpour of the storm blows against his gloomy face as he picks himself up from the grassy ground. The painful memories of his past slowly recede as he wanders aimlessly through the marshy woodlands, completely despondent while a litany of self-loathing spins uncontrollably around in his head.

How can a prickly devil such as myself ever be worthy of her love and affection?

I have nothing to offer her except torment and despair…

There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable.

After all, I’d only be a burden to her if I kept denying what I’ve always known since the beginning of our unlikely relationship...

I’m unworthy of the lovely rose that has bloomed within my heart.

His sulking spell comes to a screeching halt when the faint glimmer of a pink flower catches his eye. He suddenly becomes aware of surroundings; the thunderstorm has dwindled down to a light shower and the sky has grown dark with the approaching night. But the total loss of time doesn’t fully sink in as he moves in closer towards a peaceful pond, feeling drawn to the exquisite blossom upon its serene surface.  

Whenever you find yourself consumed by despair…remember the spirit of the lotus.

The soothing tone of your voice drowns out his dreadful contemplation. He recalls the day he heard those wise words pass from your lips…he shared a meal with you for the very first time among the beautiful blooms of your garden. A lotus begins its existence in the dark and murky depths, your charming voice continues to ring through his head as he wades through the pond towards the lone lotus. For it to fully bloom it must endure those harsh conditions, pushing through the mud and the muck as it rises towards clearer waters. He reaches down and cups the elegant bloom with both of his hands while your flowery anecdote ends on a happy and hopeful note.

Eventually, its resilience pays off when the lotus breaks through the surface and its petals slowly unfurl to soak up the rays of the sun for the very first time.

Vergil summons a sword and carefully cuts the lone lotus from the pond. I may have missed the practice session…but perhaps this will make up for my tardiness, he surmises while storing the lotus inside his soaking wet coat before calling for the Yamato. He finds himself facing one last truth as he opens a portal just outside the gate behind your house:

You may be better off without him…but he simply can’t let go of the lovely rose that has miraculously bloomed within his briars.

                    -----------------------------------------------------

You’ve had a pretty hectic week since the beach party: between putting together all the floral arrangements and many musical interludes with Vergil, you’ve been busier than a bee in the spring. And you’re only going to be buzzing around even harder now that the big day is only two days away! All of your time today was spent doing last minute preparations before the wedding rehearsal, making sure all the flowers are accounted for before being delivered, and squeezing in one last practice session before the imminent chaos of a wedding frenzy.

Well, that was the plan anyway, but then Vergil didn’t show up on the agreed time, which struck you as very odd…he’s always been so punctual and has even been cross with you on a couple occasions whenever he had to wait for you to join him! You tried calling his cellphone after waiting for a while, thinking that maybe he just got delayed or something…but there was no answer. And there must not be anyone at the shop either since nobody picked up the phone there either.

Your gut tells you that something is wrong, but you’re at a loss of what to do about it. You thought about contacting either Kyrie or Nero, but the soon-to-be wedded couple already have enough on her mind. Plus, you do not want to add any unnecessary stress if it turns out to be nothing at all. So, you decide to just keep an eye on your phone while putting the finishing touches on the dress you’ve made especially for the happy occasion.

I hope he’s okay, you thought, worrying your lower lip while reinforcing the floral embroidery with a needle and some thread. You try to stay focused on the task at hand, but your mind keeps going back to your darling devil. Vergil has become such a huge part of your everyday life ever since that fateful rainy day in the book café. It feels so empty without his familiar presence near you now…always watching from the corner of his eye with a soft smile or sharing a favorite passage from a beloved book. And even though your romantic feelings haven’t technically been reciprocated aloud, you know that your affection has taken root and with a little more patience…just a little more…

Another roll of distant thunder echoes through the room as the storm finally lets up, but now it has gotten dark outside. Your eyes flicker over to check the time on a nearby clock and see that you have missed dinner…by six hours! Sweet basil, I should really pay more attention! you berate yourself while cutting the thread with your teeth. You stick your sewing needle into a stuffed rose bud that serves as your pin cushion and gather up all the spare scrapes of tulle, lace, and satin. As you hang up the dress, you note that it’s so close to being complete; all it needs is some minor fixes and a good steaming before it’s ready for the wedding.

You sigh and head downstairs for a belated dinner, wondering if you should heat up some leftovers or just make a sandwich with some veggie chips. By the time you get to the kitchen, you’ve made up your mind and open the fridge to take out your homemade chicken salad with grapes and pecans. Your stomach growls impatiently as you grab a couple slices of ciabatta bread and put this simple meal together on a plate. You add some salt and vinegar zucchini chips to the plate before pouring yourself a tall glass of iced hibiscus tea.

“There…now it’s time to eat, drink, and be rosemary!” you cheer, softly giggling to yourself while taking your meal to the small dining table across from the kitchen.

You set your plate down before pulling a chair out, but the sudden ringing of your doorbell stops you from taking your seat. Huh…that’s strange, you muse with a curious tilt of your head, it’s a bit late for receiving visitors. You bite your lower lip and twirl a stray lock of your hair around your fingers while considering your options: it would be rude to not answer the door…after all, it could be someone in need of help! But then you remember the worried face of your darling devil that day in your garden when the demons attacked, recalling the promise you made to not put yourself into any possible danger ever again…

The doorbell rings once more and you finally decide to see who it could possibly be since it seems they have no intention of leaving. And besides, it could be Vergil, you reason while making your way down the hall. And he could even be hurt! you add in panic, picking up the pace until coming to a halt just on the other side of the front door. You take a quick peek through the tiny peephole and your starving stomach drops at the sight of a familiar stoic face on the other side of the door.

“What in carnation!” you gasp in shock before ripping the front door open. “Vergil? What are you doing out so late in this rain?”

The devil in question just silently stands there looking sullen and soaking wet as he glances down at you. His icy blue eyes are filled to the brim with melancholy and unspoken regret. And his perfectly styled white hair is now disheveled and framing his sodden face. He shows no sign of hearing your inquiry and continues to stare down at you quietly. You do not know what may have happened, but whatever it is…it’s shaken him to the core, and you will not idly stand by while your darling devil suffers alone.

��Here,” you whisper while offering your hand, “come inside.”

Vergil seems to ponder for a moment while his eyes dart down towards your hands. Then, he raises one gloved hand and places it upon your own warm and welcoming palm. You gently guide him inside your home, noting how cold and damp his skin is as you close the front door. “Alright,” you sigh in relief now that he is safe within the comforting walls of your home. “Now, you need some dry clothes to change into since you’re absolutely drenched!” you explain with a sweet and cheery grin.

You start to walk towards the stairs, but the slight tugging on your hands stops you in your tracks. “Don’t worry,” you murmur, looking back over your shoulder at the man who not only stole your heart, but also needs your help right now. “Let me take care of you, Vergil,” you plead quietly, reassuring him with a soft squeeze of your hand. The spark of concern within his eyes recedes as he nods his head in consent.

Your lips curl into a gracious smile as you lead him up the stairs and straight towards your bedroom. You hope that he doesn’t notice the mess in his distressed state as you usher him into your adjoining bathroom. “I’m gonna scrounge up some spare clothes while you dry off,” you explain with a gentle nod of your head. “And feel free to the shower if you want,” you suggest while pointing to one corner of your bathroom. “There should be some soap and shampoo already in there.”

Vergil looks at the glass doors of your shower and back at you before rubbing the back of your hand in understanding with his thumb. You squeeze his hand one last time before backing away towards the door. “Just uh…put your wet clothes right outside the door and I’ll take care of them,” you inform while stepping out of the bathroom, trying hard to not let your mind wander into more steamy territory. “And I’ll uh…leave those spare clothes just outside the door for you, okay?”

You give one last encouraging smile before closing the bathroom door. Your mind starts to race as you rush over to the closet and start frantically searching for anything that comes close to being his size. But all you can find is an oversized T-shirt and some baggy cotton pants that you sometimes wear to bed. Hmm…they might fit, you ponder before tossing them onto your bed along with a floral satin bathrobe you spot hanging on your vanity mirror. Then, you scurry down the upstairs hall and open the door to your childhood room, remembering that you had a large quantity of flowery fabric that you once used to make some curtains.

This will do nicely if all else fails! you reckon with a crafty grin while cutting a huge section of the fabric off the spool. You fold it up nicely and head back to your bedroom to put it with the assortment of clothing by the bathroom door. A pile of soggy blue clothes is waiting right outside the door just as you requested, so you quickly drop off the dry clothes and carefully gather up his signature coat, vest, leather pants, boots, gloves…

Your eyes widen when you realize that there isn’t any underwear to be found. You look towards the bathroom door just as the shower turns on and you find yourself thinking about all the times you spent together, wondering if he had always…you can’t even finish the thought without blushing. There’s no time for dilly-dallying! you reprimanded yourself with a shake of your head before marching out of your bedroom and back downstairs to take care of Vergil’s wet clothes.

You zoom by the belated dinner that is still waiting for you on the small dining table, but you ignore it for now and open the door to the laundry room. As you place the pile of clothes on top of the dryer, you catch a whiff of what smells like the lake in your hometown: murky and a little bit musty with a hint of fresh rain. Did he go swimming in the middle of that thunderstorm? you wonder while sorting through the wet clothes. You decide to at least wash his signature coat and hang the rest up to dry since they need special treatment to get clean.

It only takes you a couple seconds to check the pockets before putting his coat into the washer with a scoop of laundry detergent. Then, you dig up a few hangers lying around before hanging up the rest of his clothes except for his boots, which go underneath your ironing board to prevent any tripping. You walk out of the laundry room and your stomach growls impatiently as you pass by your neglected dinner again…but the sudden thought of preparing a place for Vergil to sleep delays your meal for just a bit longer as you rush back upstairs.

The only other bedroom you have is your old childhood room, but it’s more of a supply closet now for various things. And your mother’s small and quaint library would work if it weren’t for all the dust plus the lack of furniture. So, that only leaves your room or the couch in your living room…you can already feel your cheeks heating up at the thought of inviting Vergil to share your bed. But your heart tells you that despite the tempting opportunity, now is not the time to pull such a risky move since it’s obvious that something is troubling him…and you’re going to help soothe his sorrowful soul.

You enter your room and notice that the shower is no longer running as you head towards the closet again. And as you walk back out with an arm full of pillows and blankets, you note that the assortment of dry clothes you left out is now gone. You hurry down the stairs and dump the pillows onto a nearby chair so that you can lay a couple of blankets out on the couch. Then, you replace all the decorative pillows with comfier ones while looking over your handy work. But when you take in the overall size of your couch, you start to wonder if his long legs will even be able to rest on the couch comfortably.

Well, it’ll have to do, you thought with a resigned sigh while turning around to check up on your devilish guest.

“Friggin’ figs!”

The sudden appearance of Vergil quietly lurking behind you makes your heart skip a beat as you jump back a little. You clutch your chest while taking a couple of deep breaths as your eyes linger up and down his form. The floral satin robe stretches taut around his shoulders, and you guess that it must’ve been too short since the flowery fabric is wrapped around his waist and hanging down below his knees. His eyes still have a gloomy spark within their icy blue depths as they stare back at you through his damp hair. And even with that pouty frown on his handsome face, he looks a lot better than when he first walked into your home a little while ago. So, you let your usual quip about wrapping a bell around his neck die of your tongue and give him a relieved smile.

“I brought out some extra pillows and blankets just in case you needed them,” you explain, gesturing behind you towards the now ready-for-bed couch. “But it might be a bit too small for you,” you tack on sheepishly, biting your lower lip in thought while Vergil takes a couple steps closer to you. “Maybe I should just sleep here while you…take…” you gradually trail off as he brings one hand around from behind his back to reveal an extraordinarily beautiful pink lotus flower. Your heart thrums like a buzzing dragonfly as you reach out to caress one of its many elegant petals.

“Is this why you were completely soaked from head to toe?” you inquire, realizing that he must have waded out into a deep pond to pick this flower of pure devotion. He remains silent as you look up at him, but the way his eyes soften for the barest of moments before slowly blinking tells you it’s part of the reason why he’s so drenched. Your lips quirk into a fond smile at the thought of your prim and proper devil trudging through mucky water for a most wondrous bloom just so he could give it to you.

“It’s getting late,” you murmur while lowering your affectionate gaze to the offered flower, taking it from his hand and holding it close to your heart. “We need to get some rest since the wedding rehearsal is tomorrow and-”

“Stay with me.”

Your eyes widen and snap back up to meet his solemn gaze. Vergil takes another step closer to you, reaching up with one hand to cup your face. You find that you cannot deny his earnest request as you lean into his touch and shiver at his warm touch as he caresses your rosy cheek. “Okay…but let me just-”

The very loud and hungry growl of your stomach abruptly ends the tender moment. Vergil furrows his brow in confusion while you softly giggle and pat your belly. “I was about to eat dinner when you arrived,” you reveal with a bashful smirk. He frowns sadly at your words and begins to move away, but you place your hand on top of his before it can leave your cheek and press a soft kiss against his wrist.

“Let me just grab my plate and bring it in here,” you continue while rubbing the back of his hand. “I can also make you something to eat too if you haven’t had dinner yet,” you kindly insist with a small smirk.

Vergil declines your offer of dinner with a shake of his head. Your lips press one last kiss against his wrist before excusing yourself with a light pat on the back of his hand. You place the precious lotus flower on the coffee table before dashing to your neglected sandwich, which is still patiently waiting along with your now lukewarm drink. But you don’t seem to notice as you pick it all up and hurry back to the living room.

You take a seat on the couch and invite Vergil to join you by patting the empty cushion beside you with a pleasant smile. The corners of his mouth twitch into a soft smile as he sits down close to you. The only sound filling the comfortable silence between you two is the light tapping of rain against the roof of your house. His stiff posture gradually unwinds as he watches you from the corner of his eye while you finally eat your dinner. You give him a veggie chip after every other bite of your sandwich, which he always accepts despite turning down your earlier offer of food.

You ask if he still needs some company before going to bed as soon as you are finished eating your dinner. He responds with the same soft request while squeezing your hand within his firm grip. His eyes track your every move as you collect the dirty dishes before standing up, never letting your hand go until you let him know that you will only be gone for a moment. “I can’t very well sleep in this dress now, can I?” you ask with a soft giggle, slightly swinging your clasped hands while gesturing towards your pink and white floral skirt.

Vergil nods his head in understanding and kisses the back of your hand before letting it go. You walk back to the kitchen to put the dirty dishes in the sink, and then you quickly make your way upstairs to get ready for bed. Some of your daydreams about giving your darling devil a place to stay after a rigorous battle with demons start running through your mind while picking out a nightgown. You also recall one particular daydream about patching up his wounds after saving you from mortal peril…which somehow leads to you writhing in pleasure beneath him…

Your cheeks feel like they are on fire by the time you finally settle on wearing a long nightgown with a white floral pattern. You get undressed and slip on the gown before letting down your hair, pushing all the salacious thoughts out of your mind with a flustered shake of your head. After taking a few more minutes to use the bathroom and brush your teeth, you head downstairs and hurry back towards the laundry room to put his signature coat into the dryer before rejoining your darling devil in the living room.

Vergil hasn’t moved an inch since you left, still sitting motionless on the couch until he hears your dainty footsteps. He raises his head up at your soft approach, and you swear his eyes seem to dimly glow as they roam up and down your shapely form. Your body shivers at his blatant gaze as you adjust some of the pillows on one end of the couch before grabbing one of the numerous blankets you brought for him. You know…it would’ve made more sense to give him one of these instead of that huge piece of fabric, you silently admit, hiding the embarrassment of making such a silly decision with a coy smile.

You sit back down on the couch and lie back against the pillows, beckoning Vergil to come join you while holding both your arms out towards him. He only hesitates for a moment before crawling over and laying his head just below your chin while you cover both of your bodies with the blanket. His arms wrap around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You nuzzle the top of his head while your arms encircle his broad shoulders, sheathing his weary soul with the love and affection you have for him.

Both of you lie there on the couch swathed in each other’s comforting presence while the rest of the world passes by in silence. Vergil has only spoken three words since arriving at your doorstep, never revealing what exactly is wrong. But now that he’s safe within your arms, you can feel the faint trickling of tears dripping against your neck, hidden away from your view as you snuggle him closer. You do not ask why he’s crying…you know that will only thicken the prickly briars around his heart. Instead, you just let him express the inner turmoil currently raging inside him while providing a safe place for him to release all these pent-up emotions churning inside him.

The harsh downpour from earlier has now lessened to a light rainfall, barely occupying the empty air with its pitter pattering of the dissipating storm. You can still feel Vergil trying to put up a strong front despite the tears pooling in the groove between your neck and chest. Your fingers brush through his soft hair while you press a comforting kiss upon his forehead, wondering how you can possibly bring peace to his troubled mind. The only solution that pops into your head is what your grandma used to do whenever you were sad and upset: sing you to sleep with a lullaby. So, you begin to softly sing one of your favorite lullabies from your childhood, hoping that the serene lilt of your song will help soothe your darling devil’s soul:

Count to one, count to two, where do flowers grow?

Underneath the window where children softly doze

The moon shining brightly makes every petal glow

Count to three, count to four, where do flowers bloom?

Resting upon the mirror frame in mama's room,

A sweet little bud of a beautiful flower of blue

 Let us count them all, let us count them all,

All the lovely flowers blooming, let us count them all!

 Count to seven, count to eight, as we fall asleep

Every child is dreaming of fragrant flowers sweet

And momma makes a bouquet for you to keep

The soft cadence of your voice fills the room, banishing the gloomy air surrounding you with every refrain of your sweet lullaby. You feel all the tension slowly leave Vergil’s body until all that you’re left with is a totally relaxed devil sinking into your loving embrace. One of your hands rubs up and down his back while the other continues to rake your fingers through his hair, hoping that you lulled him to sleep while your eyes droop from your own drowsiness. You try to fight it off, wanting to be there for him just in case he needs you, but you feel yourself drifting off…clutching onto him while trying to stay grounded in the waking world…

                   -----------------------------------------------------

You’re not aware of finally succumbing to sleep until the first ray of dawn shines through the window. You slowly open your eyes and start to wonder why you are sleeping on the couch instead of your very comfy bed…but then you feel the soft touch of familiar lips kissing your neck. The memory of Vergil showing up at your doorstep in the middle of a storm swiftly dispels your confusion. You hug the man that makes your heart sing like a songbird in the morning while his lips leave your neck to bestow a light peck on your cheek.

Vergil props himself up with one arm and brushes a few locks of your hair away from your weary face. “Good morning, my lovely rose,” he murmurs with a fond smirk.

“Mmm…good morning,” you hum, sweetly smiling back at him while looking down with a demure tilt of your head. “Feeling any better now that you’ve had some rest?” you inquire, fighting the urge to yawn while rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Yes,” he replies with a firm nod. “But sleep isn’t what lifted my spirits,” he admits, softly caressing your cheek as his silver blue eyes shine with admiration.

You happily beam up at him and quietly bask in this intimate moment while leaning into his touch before asking if he would like some morning tea. He gladly accepts your offer with a slight nod of his head and sits up so that you can get up from the couch. You catch a glimpse of his bare legs in all their glory before he covers them up with the blanket. The flowery fabric must’ve come loose during his sleep, you surmise, spotting the piece of fabric in question down on the floor by the couch. Warm tingles flutter around in your stomach like a swarm of butterflies as you hop off the couch and rush towards the kitchen before you make a blushing fool of yourself so early in the morning.

It takes you a few minutes to brew a couple cups of blackberry and mint tea while pushing away all the elaborate daydreams that try to occupy your thoughts. You make your way back to the living room and hand Vergil his cuppa with a kind smile before taking a seat next to him. Both of you drink your tea in comfortable silence, enjoying the sweet tartness of blackberries while the refreshing undertone of mint banishes the remnants of sleep from your mind. You peek up at him between every other sip of your tea, wondering if you should even bring up what happened to him yesterday.

You wait until he’s about done with his tea before finally broaching the subject. “Do you want to talk about what made you so upset?”

Vergil pauses at your question while setting his cup down on the coffee table. You give him a moment to recover before continuing. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” you softly reassure with a comforting pat on his arm. “And if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to-”

“You’ve already done so much for me,” he interjects, staring down at you with dejected eyes. “And it is I that should return the favor and explain myself.” He takes your partly finished tea and sets it next to his empty cup before turning his body towards you on the couch while holding both of your hands. His thumb sweeps across your knuckles as he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. You cannot help but to admire his handsome face while waiting for him to speak, wondering if his unkempt hair always frames those beautifully blue eyes of his every morning.

Vergil takes a deep breath through his nose before pinning you down with his pensive gaze. “For a long time, I genuinely believed that my mother abandoned me during the attack on our childhood home. I’ve endured for years with that burdensome truth hanging over my head until…” he trails off, squeezing your hands while closing his eyes for a moment before going on. “It turns out that she did try to save me…she just didn’t make it before…” he pauses again as the trauma of his childhood breaks through his voice.

Your eyes begin welling up with unshed tears as he takes a shuddering breath, wanting to wrap your darling devil within your protective embrace. But he quickly composes himself with another calm and more even breath, and you resist the urge to pull him into a hug for now as he continues to speak. “And then there was this woman who I thought…” he bows his head and rubs the back of your hands with his thumbs as he tells you the sad ending of that romance. “She spurned me even after I confessed my desire to stay by her side.”

You hear the sharp pang of heartache in his words, which dredges up your own personal experiences with the painful sting of rejection. A single tear starts trickling down your cheek as you lean over and nuzzle up against his chest, squeezing his hands in understanding while he finishes his explanation. “I finally just resigned myself to living a life spent alone, vowing to never let anyone get too close again since all they ever bring is pain and suffering...until now.”

Vergil grasps your shoulder and gently pushes you back from his chest. “I find myself wanting to spend my every waking moment with you,” he earnestly confesses, bringing his hand below your chin and lifting your face up so that he can stare into your teary eyes. “The lovely rose who has captivated the heart and soul of this crumbling devil before you,” he adds with a sincere smile, cupping your lovely face and wiping away your warm tears with his thumb.

Your heart thrums within your chest like a hummingbird as his heartfelt confession graces your ears. You gaze up at the man who has cleared a path through his prickly briars to the heart and soul of his very being. You’ve longed to hear those words ever since that day in the book café where you finally found the courage to speak to him. It ended with you making the promise of only taking a small step among the briars and yet, here you are now…just one last step away from the alluring devil that has captured your heart and soul as well.

Vergil leans down and rests his head against your brow, still rubbing your cheek fondly while staring deeply into your hopeful eyes. You’re drawn to the flicker of conviction within the depth of his icy blue eyes, and you feel yourself being pulled in closer and closer…but the sudden flash of uncertainty gives you pause. You silently ask if this is truly what he wants with a tilt of your head. He sighs and takes both of your hands once more, closing his eyes before lifting his head to press a soft kiss between your brow.  

“I have nothing to offer to you in return,” he murmurs sadly against your skin. “And I’m not worthy of your love and affection.”

Your eyes widen in astonishment as you rear your head back. “But you’ve already given me the best gift, my darling devil,” you reveal, shaking your head at his silly assumption with an amused smirk.  

“Truly?” he whispers while the little crinkle between his brow that you’ve always found so endearing furrows in confusion.

“Of course!” you giggle softly, nodding your head as you lean in closer. “I’ve seen your requited love with every flower you’ve ever given me.” Your eyes glance over at the exquisite lotus flower still sitting on the coffee table near your forgotten cup of tea. “And with every soft caress upon my cheek…” You lift your arm and trace up along his elegant jaw with the back of your hand. “And with every gentle kiss pressing so sweetly…”

You lean up as far as you can without leaving your seat and press your lips just above the corner of his mouth, mimicking his previous kisses at the beach and by the camellias. All signs of lingering doubt vanish from his eyes, which only leaves a fierce flicker that sparks into unbridled desire. He leans down and wraps his arms around you while lowering his head towards your chest, pulling you closer to him until you are practically sitting in his lap. You feel his mouth moving just below your neck as he softly recites what sounds like a poem, but the intimate touch of his lips muddles your mind while his sensuous voice makes your body tremble with anticipation:

Innocent breasts, when I have looked upon them,

Would that my hands were there,

How have I craved, and dreaming thus upon them,

Love wakened from despair.

Vergil pauses and nuzzles your neck for a moment before drawing back to pull you even closer to him. You clutch the floral satin robe around his shoulders and let out a shuddering sigh as he cups your flushed cheek once more, meeting your ardent gaze while gently nestling his face closer to your own. His thumb slowly traces your gaping mouth as he continues his riveting recitation:  

Beauty on lips flaming,

Roses red with her shaming,

And I with passion burning

And with my whole heart yearning

For her mouth, her mouth, her mouth,

That on her beauty I might slake my drouth.  

A soft whimper creeps up your throat when the amorous poem comes to an end, but the feel of his soft lips crashing against your mouth turns the whimper into an enraptured moan. You tilt your head slightly while your arms slide up around his neck, letting him have more access to your lips as you kiss him back with wild abandon. All the pent-up tension of the last few months is finally released as both of your lips smack against each with feverous hunger. One of your hands slithers down his chest and slips beneath the satin robe before resting right over his heart. You let the rhythm of his passionate heartbeat lull you into a rapturous stupor, relishing the sight, the smell, the feel, the taste…just everything about the devil sets your heart aflame.  

Vergil squeezes your hip with one hand while the other rakes through your hair, cradling your head as he swipes his tongue out against your lower lip. You part your lips and softly moan as he plunges in, showing no mercy as he explores the cavern of your mouth with his devilish tongue. His movements are a bit clumsy from lack of practice, but his enthusiasm makes up for it as he guides you to lie back on the couch, never breaking away from your lips while enclosing you beneath his body. You surge forth and entangle your tongue with his own while pulling him tighter against you, greedy for more of your darling devil’s kiss after waiting for so long. The outside world fades away and time becomes meaningless as both of your lips silently beg for more, more, more…

The unexpected chime of your doorbell rings through the room, but neither of you cease your heady kissing as it rings again…and again…until a series of very loud knocking cracks against your front door. Vergil finally breaks away from your gasping mouth with a growl, glaring towards your front door with spite in his eyes. You are about to wonder who could be visiting this early in the morning aloud when a familiar voice booms through the door:

“Hey, Buttercup! Anyone home?”

Dante gives another ring of the doorbell along with some more knocking, which only deepens the vicious scowl on his brother’s face. You sigh softly and cup his cheek before turning his harsh gaze back towards you with a tender caress of your thumb. His silvery blue eyes instantly soften as soon as they peer down at your flushed face, and he smirks with pride while bending down to kiss your reddened lips. He tries to pry your lips open once more, but you gently push him back before his tempting tongue can sweep away.

“We both know that he’s not going anywhere until we answer,” you point out while the knocking gets even louder. “Plus, it sounds like he’s about to break down my door!”

Vergil remains still as he stares down you, mulling over your reasoning as his brother’s persistence makes his brow twitch with annoyance. “Foolishness,” he growls softly before sitting up on the couch so that you can go get the door. The floral satin robe loosened up a little during your heated kiss, so you do your best to not openly stare at his chest as he wraps a blanket around his waist. You pick up the flowery fabric from the floor and cloak it over your shoulders as you scamper off towards the entryway.

You open the door just as Dante is about to bang on it again. “Well, look who’s up earlier than a morning glory!��� you exclaim with a radiant smile while placing a hand on your hip.

Dante nods his head in greeting before rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry for waking you up so early,” he apologizes with a sheepish grin, but you can see a glint of worry within his eyes before it quickly disappears. “But my cranky brother ran away from home and I was wonderin’ if you’ve seen him recently?” he asks while taking out a piece of paper from his coat pocket. He opens it up and shows you a poor rendition of his brother’s likeness drawn in what looks to be crayon.

“I am not some stray dog, Dante!”

You look over your shoulder at the sound of Vergil’s angry voice. He stomps across the living room towards the entryway while Dante lets out a bark of laughter at his brother’s furious remark. “Well, ya could’ve fooled…me…” he stammers, eyes growing wide with shock as Vergil appears behind you. Your head turns back and forth between them as they just stare at each other in silence, comparing Dante’s astonished grin to Vergil’s severe frown.

Your eyes glance up at Vergil as you step away from the door. “I’m gonna check to see if your clothes are dry,” you inform, gesturing towards the laundry with your head. “Just please don’t damage my front porch, okay?” you implore with a charming grin.

Vergil chortles at your humorous plea. “You have my word,” he vows with a small stoic bow before stepping out onto your porch, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Your ears pick up the distinct sound of summon swords materializing as you rush towards the laundry room. You wince at Dante’s grunts of pain echoing through the hall as you enter the kitchen. But instead of checking on his clothes, you sneak out the back door and run through your garden, not caring about the morning dew chilling your bare feet as you quickly pick the perfect flowers. Then, you hurry back inside to really check on his clothes this time; his shoes and leather pants are fairly dry while his vest remains very damp. You open the dryer and pull out his signature coat, nodding your head in approval at its crisp and clean appearance before laying it out on your ironing board.

I can’t tie flowers around the Yamato this time, but I can still surprise him in other ways! you contend while going back to the kitchen. You bind the little bouquet of flowers with some twine you cut from a spare spool before heading back to the laundry room. All the lovely memories of Vergil pulling flowers from the inside pocket of his coat plays in your mind as you hide the pretty blooms in the very same place. The front door slams shut just as you are gathering his clothes into your arms. You walk out the laundry room and meet Vergil in the hallway, exchanging a few hurried words as you lead him down the hall towards the guest bathroom.

You tidy up the living room while he changes clothes, but your thoughts are buzzing with all that has happened since late last night. The couch is still slightly warm from both of you sleeping there…and kissing there. Your lips tingle at the thought, already aching for another kiss from your darling devil. The familiar warmth of a blush dusts your cheeks as you fold the blankets and stack the pillows. As soon as the couch is all straightened out, you turn to the coffee table and reach for the teacups, but an almost fully dressed Vergil entering the living room halts your hand.

The vest must’ve been too damp for his liking, you observe with subtle gulp while your eyes appreciate the pleasant view of a disheveled devil walking towards you. The lapels of his signature coat sway with every step, revealing just enough of his bare chest for your hungry eyes. And you cannot help but to admire the alluring sway of his white hair around his gorgeous face as he pins you down with his fierce gaze. The knowing smirk curling on his lips makes you shiver with delight as he stands in front of you.

“I guess you’ve got to go now, huh?” you inquire with a doleful pout.

Vergil gives you a confirming nod. “I promised Nero that I would help him memorize his vows before rehearsal later this afternoon,” he informs while taking your hand within his gentle grasp. “Thank you for receiving me with such warm generosity despite my tardiness.” He bows his head and lifts your hand up to give the top of your knuckles a tender kiss. His adoring gaze never strays from your enamored stare as his lips linger up the back of your hand. “And thank you for the lovely flowers in my coat pocket,” he murmurs, pressing one last kiss against your hand with a smug grin.

You let out a small huff as his lips draw back from your hand. “You’re supposed to find them while walking back to the shop!” you exclaim as he reaches into his coat to reveal what you thought was a well-hidden tiny bouquet of snowdrops with a single red dahlia. “They would’ve looked prettier on the Yamato anyway,” you mutter, rolling your eyes while staring down at your feet in defeat.

“I tend to agree.”

Vergil extends his arm to the side and a sudden flash of bright blue energy surrounds his hand. Your eyes widen in surprise as the Yamato materializes out of thin air within his grasp. He hands the flowers over to you before holding the impressive sword out for you to tie the tiny bouquet to its sheath. Your face lights up and an excited giggle escapes your lips as you loosen the twine around the flowers and carefully wrap them around the Yamato. The white snowdrops add a touch of hopefulness while the single red dahlia compliments the sword’s power and strength, perfectly conveying the message you wish to send:

Never doubt my love for I’ve always been forever yours.

“There!” you exclaim as soon as you are done tying the flowers with a secure bow. “They really are quite beautiful, aren’t they?”

You feel your heart bloom as you glance up to behold his besotted gaze. “Yes,” he replies while wrapping an arm around your waist. “But it’s not their beauty that captivates me, my beloved rose,” he declares before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

Your mouth instantly gives into his unyielding mouth with a soft whimper, clutching the lapels of his coat while craning your neck to meet every ravenous stroke of his tongue. This kiss is more desperate, as if he’s begging you to accept every scar upon his soul, pleading that you’ll stay beside him despite the dangers of treading through his prickly briars. And you give yourself to him openly, accepting his battered and bruised soul, vowing to love every part of him despite all the thorns that may cut you along the way. Neither of you want the kiss to end, constantly taking turns drawing back only to be drawn in again for just a little bit longer…but both of you have a busy day ahead. So, your fervid kiss eventually slows down until both of you exchange a few sweet pecks on each other’s lips.

You walk with Vergil to the entryway but stop him from opening the door, claiming that he needs to give you a farewell kiss with a cheery grin. He raises an amused brow and bends down to fulfill your request, giving you the perfect opening to rake your fingers through his hair. He hums against your lips as the soft white locks stay up in his usual slicked back style, and you happily announce that he’s now ready to face the chaos of a wedding rehearsal. He chuckles softly at your cute gesture and promises to speak more about your newfound relationship after the wedding before taking his leave.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you look through the peephole and see Dante waiting at the bottom of your driveway. Vergil walks past him and down the street, which earns an amused shrug from his brother before he chases after him. You continue to watch until both of them disappear from your view before turning around and leaning back against the door. You lift your hand and lightly touch your lips, which still tingle from your darling devil’s kiss as the significance of what just happened sinks in…and then, you let out a joyous squeal while bouncing around like a bumbling bee.

He called me his beloved rose!

This subtle change to his endearment for you may be small, but it’s enough to send your heart soaring high like a skylark. Never have you felt such sweet bliss as this…but there’s no time dawdle with an impending wedding around the corner! So, you fly up the stairs to get ready for the day busy ahead while thinking about Vergil. And as your mind wanders through many rapturous daydreams, you reflect upon a certain truth within your heart: you will gladly bear the prick of your darling devil’s pain for there will always be thorns amidst the roses.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Read on Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

The lullaby is Hanakazoe (Chise’s Lullaby). The steamy poem is from Carmina Burana (trans. by Helen Waddell). And I’d like to thank @furyeclipse and @twinkstimulator for beta reading my first attempt at angst 🌹😘🌹

Tagging: @drusoona @bettybattaglia @exsultry @thedyingmoon @veenus-ow @meowykittenn @fandomhell97 @vergilsangel @thenightgazer @cherryvane @yesno18 @diabeticsugarush @queenmuzz @mary-v-o-n @tinamalee @a-midsummer-nights-odyssey @ancientwhitefire @agentdedf1sh @divinity-deos @shiranyaaww @skarlet-red-rose @lucinalu219 @superluckystar

[shirorinyuaaru]

A Soldier’s Countenance

Chapter 3 - Of Fear and Resolution

Words unspoken often leave little room for resolution.

A Week Later; Levi’s Office 0900 Hours

Captain Levi hadn’t seen you in a week - he wasn’t sure if that frustrated him or brought him relief. Eren had been helping him around the office in your stead. This meant shitty tea, disorganized paperwork, and more work rather than more help. When Levi asked about your absence, Eren had mumbled something about Hange needing help with some of her experiments - another set of eyes. To the Captain’s surprise, Hange had corroborated the story, detailing the ongoing studies (much to Levi’s dismay).

The space you offered him allowed Levi time to process the events of that evening a week ago. Why had he done it? Why had he wanted to do it? More importantly, why had you let him?

You were both soldiers in a war with seemingly no end - A war that continued to rip away the people you were each close to. One day, that very same war would most likely kill both of you. Titans were dangerous and had become more unpredictable with each new revelation about them. Questions of sentience, unique skills, and titan shifters came to the forefront of the Survey Corps’ minds. Succumbing to carnal desires, feelings of passion, and especially love were absolutely out of the question. These feelings would prove deadly - they cloud the mind, prevent focusing on a mission, and leave soldiers vulnerable beyond the walls.

Levi saw firsthand how deep bonds could be a detriment with the losses of Isabel and Farlan. Even the seemingly distant bonds he had made with his original special-ops squad caused him immeasurable pain following their loss. Pursuing something like love meant breaking down his walls and leaving him open to harm, despair, and grief. Already the thought of losing you was like a knife to the gut.

What would it feel like if he let you in any more than he already had?

Thus, he resolved, next time he saw you he would make it clear that you were merely a member of his squad; nothing more, nothing less. What happened was a mistake that would not and could not be repeated. You each had a duty to your cause - You had to devote yourselves to saving humanity.

Three swift knocks on Captain Levi’s door broke him from his introspection.

“Eren if you’re here with that fucking disgusting tea again I suggest you leave before my boot makes contact with your face.”

“Luckily it isn’t Eren.” You responded, voice tight.

Levi cursed you quietly for your impeccable timing before approving your entry. He stood from his chair, expression resolute.

“Cadet.”

“Captain.”

The first thing Levi noticed was the guarded expression you wore. Instead of letting down your walls like you had both become accustomed to, he was met with almost indifference. He knew he should find that comforting considering his goal, but instead, it made his stomach clench unpleasantly. The second thing his slate-grey gaze found was the deep, dark circles under your eyes. Clearly you hadn’t been sleeping either.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened last time we spoke.” Levi’s voice sounded foreign on his tongue. He wasn’t even sure he was speaking the right language.

“What a coincidence,” came your measured reply. You stood resolutely in the door, trying desperately to hide your rapid heartbeat. “I came to have the same conversation.”

“Cadet, what happened after our sparring match-”

“What happened to dropping honorifics in private?”

“That might have been my first mistake.” Something inside of Levi screamed at him to stop, but he did his best to silence it. “My second was letting my emotions get the best of me. I’m your Captain. You’re my subordinate. There’s nothing more to it - nothing less.”

You swallowed thickly, clasping your hands tightly behind your back in an attempt to gain control of the tension you felt building with each breath you took. Frankly, you weren’t entirely sure what you had planned to do by coming to Levi’s office. Did you want a clean, albeit painful break? Did you want to pursue something further? Were you supposed to listen to your head or to your heart? Your mind was racing so fast you weren’t sure you could keep up.

“Cadet?” He snapped you out of your thoughts quickly, noticing the conflict blooming in your e/c eyes.

Knowing better than to keep him waiting, you took a deep breath. What came to the forefront was his words to Eren on the expedition that had led to the demise of the entirety of Squad Levi. “I don’t think it was a mistake.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t remember asking your opin-”

“Let me finish.” You stated loudly, with more force than you probably meant to. Well aware of the possibility of punishment due to insubordination, you pressed on. “You’re the one who told us to make decisions that we wouldn’t regret. That’s what I’m doing.”

Levi met you with silence, eyeing you as you carefully formed your thoughts into words.

“You’re right. Having a relationship past that of Captain and Subordinate isn’t smart in the slightest, nor is it an appropriate course of action.”

“So you agree with me.”

“Let. Me. Finish.” You practically growled, finding it more difficult to contain the fire in your phrases with each passing moment. You made your way towards Levi, each step more confident and calculated than the last.

“You know what, you’re right - it was a mistake. Every step of the way, what we’ve built has been a mistake. It’s a mistake I’m willing to continue making at whatever the cost.”

Each step you made towards Levi forced him to clench his jaw tighter. Back again was the part of him screaming for him to give in and it was getting hard to ignore as the distance between you two became less and less. It felt as though you were both being pulled together by a taught rope and he could not bring himself to wrench away.

“Every time we venture outside of these walls, we give ourselves to humanity’s survival. We risk life and limb, coming back with new wounds only made worse by the snide remarks and sneers of the very people we are trying to save. We lose our friends, our colleagues, and the people we’ve come to love the most.” You stood toe-to-toe with your raven-haired captain, eyes blazing with the weight and force of your words.

“Maybe it’s safer to become battle-hardened, emotionless soldiers. Maybe it’s better to avoid fostering deeper connections with the people fighting alongside us. Maybe it’s better, but it’s not what I want. I refuse to swallow down what I feel for the sake of pride or comfort. Frankly, I’d rather swallow my blades.”

Levi swallowed thickly, his blank but firm expression becoming harder to maintain. “Your point, Cadet?”

“I’d rather make the mistake I’ve been making with you over and over than die not knowing where this could have gone. Where we could have gone. You’re a hard-ass, you’re hard to read, you have a particular fondness for shit jokes, and dealing with you on a bad day is a pain. However, you’re also the most hardworking person I’ve ever met, the most compassionate, and the most sacrificing. I’m not going to apologize for my feelings for you. I’m not going to apologize for what we did or what we planned to do before being interrupted.”

“Y/N, stop.” His reply was weak, breathy, and lacked the resolve he had started the conversation with.

He was damned if he thought any protest on his part would stop you now that the floodgates were wide open. Your eyes flicked down to his lips, your own breath heavy from your monologue. Taking a deep breath, you leaned in and went to capture them, thinking better of it only when you were both a hair’s width away from what you both desperately wanted.

“The ball’s in your court, Captain.” You breathed, pulling away. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” With a quick salute, you strode from the room, careful to maintain your composure until you were in the safety of your own room.

—

1000 Hours. Levi’s Office.

Levi sat in his chair, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. Your words rang through his ears almost as loudly as a titan’s roar and he found it difficult to focus on anything other than the lecture you gave him.

He should punish you for arguing with a superior - he should give you a month of stable duty and make you run extra laps for a week, but he couldn’t. Once again he found himself at a loss, stunned by your confident declarations. Despite all of the logical reasons he could come up with about why this was a bad idea, the weight of your words hung heavy in the air and on his mind.

“I’d rather make the mistake I’ve been making with you over and over than die not knowing where this could have gone.”

“I’m not going to apologize for my feelings for you.”

“The ball’s in your court, Captain.”

Levi huffed in annoyance, covering his face with his hands. “Make a decision you aren’t going to regret, huh?” He murmured, tasting the words on his tongue.

—

1000 Hours. Soldier’s Barracks.

You buried your head in your pillow, cursing yourself for your boldness and stupidity in the presence of Captain Levi. You’d let your emotions bubble over and now it was probably going to be even more awkward than it had already been between you both.

Note to self, never take advice from Hange again.

Hange had listened sympathetically to you with each rant and rave you made about the situation. She felt she owed it to you after walking into an obviously tense moment between you and Captain Levi. Not being one for beating around the bush, Hange spent the week encouraging you to “get some balls and tell him how you feel!” Her words felt empowering, meaningful - It sounded like good advice.

You were starting to reconsider that notion.

Any semblance of friendship, any connection you may have had with the stormy-eyed man you called Captain - no - Levi, was up in smoke. The days, weeks, months you had worked to build that bond were pointless now.

You would have regretted going down without a fight.

A sigh escaped your lips and you further buried yourself in the sanctuary that was your bed.

And now I’m going to regret what I’ve ruined anyway.

—

2100 Hours - Squad Leaders’ Lounge

The ice in the whiskey glass between his fingers clinked carelessly as it melted. The liquid glowed a tempting auburn in the light of the fire before Levi as he sat in the leather chair he had grown fond of over the years.

“So this is where you’ve been, Shorty!” came Hange’s voice, sounding like nails on a chalkboard in Levi’s current state.

He let out a defeated sigh, glancing over at her as she made her way to the seat next to him, “What is it, Shitty-Glasses? I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Ooooh! Did Y/N come to see you today?” Hange wagged her eyebrows suggestively, noting the whiskey in his hand. “You never drink - it must have been quite an experience.”

Levi froze, his gaze hardening. “Hange, how much do you know?”

“Considering I’m the one who walked in on you both - despite your desperate attempts to look normal - it wasn’t exactly hard to figure most of it out myself. Y/N filled in the rest for me after I brought it up in an attempt to get an outside perspective.”

He huffed, running his free hand through his hair. “So you’re the one who told her to come see me, guns blazing.”

“What, it didn’t work?” The brunette guffawed, looking at Levi like he’d grown an extra head.

“What do you mean ‘What, it didn’t work,’ Hange?” Levi growled, clenching the whiskey glass tighter. “We’re in the middle of a war that isn’t going to end anytime soon. We could get eaten by those damn titans at any one of these expeditions.”

“And?”

“And? And what good is getting into a relationship just to have it torn away from you?”

Hange groaned, shaking her head. “You don’t get it, Shorty.”

“What, pray tell, don’t I get?”

“What good is hiding from what you want when this is the only chance you might ever get?”

A pregnant silence filled the room as Levi was reminded of your words.

“I’d rather make the mistake I’ve been making with you over and over than die not knowing where this could have gone.”

“How do you know I feel the same way she does?” He countered, returning his gaze to the fire.

“Because you’re taking the time to listen to what I have to say,” Hange replied, a knowing smirk on her face. “And you wouldn’t be drinking a straight whiskey if you were so sure of yourself.”

“Shut it, Four-Eyes.”

“Aha! So I am right!”

“Regardless of if you are, say one more word and my foot is going to find a new home in your ass.”

Hange puffed out her cheeks, standing up and marching her way to the liquor cabinet before pouring herself a whiskey as well. “One more thing.”

“My foot is getting ever-closer to its new home, Hange,” Levi warned, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“If you don’t go to her, you’ll lose her regardless.” Hange shot back her whiskey quickly, setting the glass on the table next to Levi before walking to the door. “You’re the one always lecturing about regret. See you, Shorty.”

Levi sighed and knocked back his whiskey, hoping for the liquid courage he needed.

He hated when Hange was right.

—

2130 Hours, Soldier’s Barracks.

You snuck out of your room quietly, making your way to the mess hall to get yourself a cup of tea. Sleep had escaped you and it didn’t seem like it would return to you any time soon.

“Maybe I’ll train with Mikasa after drills. That should tire me out for tomorrow night.” You hummed, lost in your thoughts. You had calmed down measurably from this morning’s conversation, but still preferred to keep it buried in your subconscious.

The mess hall wasn’t a long walk from your room, and you found the dark, empty halls to be comforting. No wandering eyes, no loud conversations, no bustling soldiers to knock you out of your reverie. When you were alone you could let your guard down and just be y/n. No need for honorifics, no need for posturing. It came as a relief.

You opened the door to the hall quietly, slipping in and making your way to the kitchen. Lavender chamomile tea sounded exactly like what you needed, so you moved with purpose as you set the kettle on the stove and got a teabag from the cabinet nearby. While you waited for the water to boil, you set out a mug and went to light a candle on one of the dining tables.

Seems lonely to sit in the dark and drink tea, you mused, striking a match and carefully setting the wick of the candle aflame. A gentle light filtered through the hall, its glow a welcome comfort in the cold night. Satisfied with the new luminance the room provided, you padded back to the kitchen to wait on the kettle.

—

Levi made his way down the hall to your room, wondering if he should wait until the morning to talk to you. The chance of waking your bedmates left a sour taste in his mouth, but he also knew that waiting meant he would lose the nerve the whiskey had warmed his insides with.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed the door to the mess hall was open and a gentle light painted the walls nearby. Fully prepared to scold a cadet -namely Sasha- for stealing rations in the middle of the night, he moved past the threshold silently. The dining room was empty save the lone candle burning on one of the dining tables. Glancing at the door to the kitchen, he figured he’d be able to trap his culprit with relative ease.

The closer he got to the door, however, he realized the cadet out of bed was no thief. It was the one person he had planned to go find in the first place. Her h/c h/l hair was shining in the gentle light of the room and her back was facing the door. Levi faintly smelled the soothing scent of lavender and chamomile, noting the lack of tension in your shoulders - a welcome change from this morning’s argument.

You looked beautiful.

Knowing this was the chance he was looking for, he took a deep breath and quietly came behind you, putting a gentle hand on your arm.

“Y/N.”

—

The gentle touch of someone’s hand made you freeze, dropping the tea bag you had just removed from your mug right back into it with a gentle “plop”.

“Y/N.” The one voice you weren’t nearly prepared to hear resounded from behind you, sounding almost fragile.

“Captain.” You murmured, not turning around. Your only hope was that you sounded somewhat calm.

“Levi.” He responded, “Please look at me, Y/N.”

A shaky breath left your lips before you could stop it and you nodded, slowly turning to face Levi. You focused your gaze on the floor, not willing to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry for being out of bed. I was just going to have some tea and head back.”

“That’s not why I’m here, Y/N. Look at me please.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Levi carefully lifted your head until your e/c eyes met his slate-gray ones.

You were unable to control the trembling of your breath as you met Levi’s gaze. Instead of the hardened expression you were used to, instead of the wall that he so carefully hid behind, his eyes laid bare his feelings of vulnerability.

“Why are you here, Levi?”

“To apologize.”

“For what? I was the one out of line today.”

“Maybe. That doesn’t change the fact that you were right.”

Your eyes widened at his declaration, surprise filling your features. “I’m not…sure I follow you.”

“Look - I…” He shut his eyes tightly, letting out a frustrated huff, “I’m really fucking bad with words, Y/N.”

“I won’t know what you’re here for unless you tell me.”

For a few moments, the only sound that could be heard was the gentle breaths being shared between you both.

“I don’t want to regret anything either,” Levi responded quietly, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“I still don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” You murmured, careful not to agitate him in his already vulnerable state.

“I’d rather just show you.”

“I’m sorry —?”

Your words were cut off by the feeling of a gentle, but firm arm around your waist. Levi’s other hand came to cup the side of your face and with a shuddering breath, he leaned in, giving you a feather-light kiss.

Time seemed to stop for a moment. Your eyes remained wide open, while his were squeezed shut. Levi desperately hoped this would give you the answer that you sought.

After a moment, Levi began to pull away. “I’m sorry, was that too forward of me? Shit, I’m really not good at this - I know you said the ball’s in my court and I’m probably fucking this up. I-”

”Stop.” You whispered, your hands coming to either side of his face.

“Y/N?”

“Stop talking.”

You pulled Levi to you, returning the kiss you had failed to before with fervor. You poured your heart into the kiss, hoping to communicate to Levi in a language he felt more comfortable with.

Levi responded with equal passion, pulling you flush against him. He held you as if letting go meant losing you forever. With each kiss you shared, the next was more desperate, filled with an even greater longing. It was almost as if you needed each other to breathe.

It wasn’t enough.

You let out a surprised squeal as Levi grabbed your ass and lifted you, setting you on the counter behind him and slipping between your legs.

“Y/N,” he breathed, the scent of whiskey present on his breath, “I love you.”

The light in the dining room glowed well into the night as you both shared the feelings Levi had tried so desperately to contain.

Before you knew it, the tea beside you had grown cold.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Friends To Lovers

Summary: You were so grateful that Brian helped you in your time of need that you exclaimed you could kiss him. Instead of rolling it off as a joke, Brian did just that.

Pairing: Brian Kang x reader (ft. Wonpil)

Genre: university au / friends to lovers

Warnings: typically cliché fluff

A/N: Back when I wasn’t dreaming of Park Jinyoung daily, I had this as a dream. I didn’t think much of it but was convinced by a few friends to write it so here you go! Oh, Y/N is typically dramatic. After all, she’s based off dream me so… haha!

Word count: 2452

“No!” you cried, your eyes wide with distraught. “No, no, no, no, no!”

“Instead of saying no, you could tell me what’s wrong so I can with panic with you or calm you down,” your friend Wonpil offered and as you started to bounce around in your chair in distress, he grew concerned. “Y/N, talk to me.”

Looking away from your phone and blinking back your tears, you stared at him desperately. “They changed the date.”

“The date?” he repeated and then let out a hiss, jumping to your side. “To when?!”

“Five pm today!” you answered, collapsing onto the top of the lecture hall’s desktop, letting out a muffled wail. “I can’t! I need more time!”

“What’s this about?”

“Y/N’s having a meltdown,” Wonpil explained sombrely to Brian as he sat down beside you, Wonpil now petting your back gently.

“About?”

You shot your head up, pouting at Brian as he pulled out his things for class. “They’ve brought the date ahead on the writing competition.”

“You wrote the story though,” he commented, shrugging off your tearful disposition as he slung his bag over the back of his chair. “So submit it and stop making a big deal about it.”

“The date was meant to be two weeks from here, Brian,” you told him, shaking with your emotions. “I wrote the story but I wanted to check over it again before submitting it. How can I do that when they’ve changed the submission date to today to suit one of the judges?!”

“Do it now,” he prompted and you nodded, reaching down for your laptop bag. Pulling it out, you were still nodding away as you pressed the power button.

Except the device didn’t turn on.

“Wait, why isn’t it working?!” you exclaimed, growing distressed again. “This cannot be happening!”

“Looks like the battery is dead,” Wonpil pointed out, his index finger outstretched to the indicator on the side. “Did you store your piece on a cloud service or something?”

“I … not the final product,” you murmured, all hope draining from you. “I had it on my computer at home, this, and my external. But I left that at home too!”

“You sent it to me to read the other day on your phone, it should still be retrievable in our chat,” Brian piped up, and giving him a grateful smile, you pulled out your phone from your pocket.

You did have the document, but making any final changes to it on your phone would be kind of dangerous. You knew it wasn’t a reliable place to try and edit from and standing up, you collected your bag in the process. “I’m going to the library.”

“Or not,” Wonpil breathed as your lecturer entered the room, her stern expression halting your plans entirely.

It seemed foolish to be this worked up over a writing competition. After all, there was no guarantee you would win just by entering. But there was still a chance and as an aspiring writer, you knew you had to give it a shot, especially with what it could potentially offer you. The prize was to be taken under a publishing house to have your manuscript produced into a novella. That would give you the first step you needed towards your dreams.

And you had lost too many nights perfecting this part of your story to share in the competition to miss out on the chance all because of a sudden date change.

Still, with the way the lecturer’s hawk-eyed gaze pierced through your out of place position, you couldn’t quite take the risk to dart out now in front of her. Sitting down jarringly, you tried your best not to break down or hyperventilate.

And then Brian swiftly started shifting things around in front of you. He took your laptop you had placed back down and put his in front of you with the document all ready to go, opening yours and pretending he was using that instead.

Glancing in his direction, he merely arched an eyebrow at you to silently ask why you were stalling and to get on with it.

Taking a deep breath, you thanked him quietly and then began your thorough final edit, unaware of anything that was happening around you. You scrolled through, corrected minor structures of some things you had since sending Brian this copy, and then you finally submitted it to the competition, your heart thudding in your chest. You had sent your precious words off and now it would be up to the universe – and a panel of judges – to decide of their worth.

You were exhausted and exhilarated in the same moment, the emotions of this afternoon being all too overwhelming to deal with.

And then you blinked slowly, realising the lecture hall was empty for all but you and Brian.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, as you looked around yourself. “How long ago did class end?”

“Twenty minutes, I think. Wonpil had another class to get to so he told me he’d message you later. Get it all submitted?”

Nodding, you slid the borrowed device over to its owner and smiled. “Thank you. Honestly, you are a lifesaver.”

“You worked too hard for it to be a missed opportunity, Y/N.”

“Exactly! I worked so hard and even with this sudden change, I’ve managed to get it done. Oh my God, I hope they love it! And if they don’t, then someone will hopefully.”

“Take the hopefully out, you’ll get there. It’s good. Real good.”

You grinned at him. “And all thanks to you, I got to submit it! Ah, I’m so excited! If I could, I would kiss you right now!”

You were buzzing from the hype of achieving a goal of yours that the words slipped out without even meaning them to. You were good friends with Brian and normally he was used to your dramatics statements. But this one stilled his movement, his dark eyes flicking back to your face.

Which turned pink under his stare. “Oh uh, well-”

“What’s stopping you then?” he murmured and you blinked rapidly. “You could.”

“Don’t be silly, it was a slip of-”

He regained the ability to move then, shifting over into your space and cupped the side of your face in his hand, kissing you softly. It stunned you for only a moment, your eyes snapping shut as your mouth moved against his. What started out gentle gained some traction and by the time he pulled away, you were both breathless.

And for once in your life, you were lost for words.

“Payment for using the laptop,” Brian announced hurriedly and you nodded just as fast, getting up and gathering your things blindly. Brian went down one side of the room and you took the other, your mind reeling from the kiss.

You had kissed Wonpil once, as a friend, and that was entirely different from this one with Brian. You were certain, for one, Brian’s tongue had found yours at some part of that kiss. Your lips had also been pressed into his for easily five times longer than your appreciative peck with Wonpil.

Still, you didn’t want to challenge the reason; rather, you were too weak to even construct the words needed to. When you got to the bottom of the stairs along the wall, you looked up at Brian waiting at the door and tripped, missing the final step and reached out for the stray chair beside them in hopes you wouldn’t fall flat on the ground.

Trust you to become just like one of your characters when they realised something about a friend.

Because you just had realised how much you liked Brian.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he came over to your side, holding out his hand for you to take so you could get up from the chair. You merely stared back at him.

You had always laughed at those stories when someone in the protagonist’s world stood out in a different way suddenly. You had many a time rolled around on your bed reading stories with Wonpil and ridiculed the notion of not being able to define someone as handsome from the get-go.

But you got it now. The dependable friend you had come to appreciate in Brian had changed with that kiss. You admired the strong shape of his nose and the unique slant to his almond eyes. Were his cheekbones always set that high and had his jaw been that handsomely shaped? Your eyes fell to his lips, those that had just been pressed against yours. Your mouth fell ajar, a short huff expelling from you and Brian smiled.

If you weren’t winded before, you were now.

“Stop being dramatic,” he told you and pulled on your hand, the force springing you up. You weren’t prepared for it and stumbled again, his other hand moving to balance you. Every place he touched you now felt on fire. And you were concerned for the remaining part of your sanity.

You weren’t meant to be thinking of Brian as ridiculously handsome now, right?

“Do you need to sit? Or drink something? Maybe I need to just leave you to it?” he offered and on the last option you shook your head, though you felt faint soon after. Gripping on more tightly, you attempted to smile.

“Why did you kiss me?” you mumbled, unable to keep quiet after all. “We’re friends.”

“Friends can kiss,” he answered slowly as you both began to walk to the exit. “Plus you said-”

“So it meant nothing? That kiss? That went for so long?”

“It meant something,” Brian confirmed and you stopped, looking up at him again. His eyes shifted to yours and he smiled that handsome smile of his. “You mean something. I didn’t just give up an entire hour of one of our hardest classes where the notes aren’t put up on the student portal because of pure friendship, Y/N. You matter.”

“Matter how?”

“Must you know everything?” he murmured and you nodded in answer, causing him to chuckle.

Your knees lost their strength.

“Of course, you need to know everything.”

“Occupational hazard, I know,” you quipped and Brian sighed. “How do I frame this in my mind, Brian? You’re telling me I matter, but I want to know if it’s okay that I’m now thinking of you in a way that a friend shouldn’t.”

“Thinking of me how?” he questioned curiously, his eyes lighting up.

You weren’t sure how much more you could take from this epiphany of finding your friend to be the type of man who could make your heart flutter this much with one look.

“I asked you first,” you responded pointedly.

“It took you so long to like me back; surely I get rights to find out more first.”

“So long?” Brian nodded and you gasped noisily. “Wait, you’ve liked me all this time?!”

“Not from the start, no,” he corrected, looking around you both at how loud your voice had risen. Thankfully classes were still in session and the hallway was mostly empty.

Still, you winced apologetically. The last thing you wanted was to bring more attention to the unfolding situation.

“But one day, I woke up and I realised I liked you. So since then.”

“You just woke up feeling that way? Had I done anything the day before to spark it?”

“No, you were just how you usually are.”

“And you simply accepted it?” you wondered and Brian chuckled again.

“It helped me understand some things about myself actually.”

“Like?”

He nudged you playfully. “I’d get annoyed with Wonpil quite often. I realised it was because I was jealous.”

“Of me and Wonpil?!” you squeaked out and then shook your head and hands repeatedly. “There’s nothing there between me and Pil. I couldn’t imagine liking him like that.”

Brian snorted. “Seems like you didn’t imagine me like that until I kissed you either.”

You fell silent, trying to decipher more of the situation. With Wonpil, you had no hesitations to be who you were. And the same could be said about Brian, but it was different. You just hadn’t put it together as well as you were now. You had always hoped Brian would see you differently than Wonpil did. Now knowing that he did, well, you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face.

“I’ve kissed Wonpil.”

Brian’s teasing expression drained away. “Y-you have?”

“Mm, like I would a friend, just a little peck. Should I peck you too? Maybe you’re right; I should try and imagine him actually kissing me.”

“Or you could not,” Brian offered, causing you to laugh at him.

“You could kiss me again too,” you added and Brian didn’t hesitate to lean in and do just that.

It was brief, given you had just stepped outside and people were milling around. It was one thing to kiss on campus without a care in the world, but it was dinner time, and most people didn’t need such a display of affection before hitting up the cafeteria.

Still, you almost complained when he pulled away. Brian pushed your hair away from your face affectionately and then smiled. “How’s that?”

“Hm, I think I might need to-”

“Can you stop with the teasing and just answer me straight?” he pleaded with a laugh and you looked down to see your linked hands. You hadn’t even realised you were still holding onto him this whole time. It made you swoon, especially when he picked up on where your focus was, his thumb gently running circles into your skin.

“I like kissing you,” you admitted and Brian’s lips curled up with satisfaction. You blushed, yet you couldn’t stop smiling back. “I like you.”

“Good because it’s been hard being the only one with feelings between us. Especially when you sent me a manuscript about a couple falling in love.”

You gasped, looking at him suddenly. “You’re right, I forgot all about the competition. It feels weird to think I was so wound up over that before.”

“You were close to your ugly sobbing face for sure,” Brian pointed out and you groaned, letting go of his hand and stalking across the grass atrium.

He caught you then, pulling you back and smiled another of those handsome smiles that you were certain you wouldn’t get enough of now. “It’s a good thing I saved you from having to let it out.”

“Saved me?”

“If it wasn’t for my computer, you would have most definitely had a meltdown.”

“Would you have kissed me if I did my ugly crying face?” you asked and Brian nodded.

“I would kiss you with any chance I get.”

_________________

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[aloysiavirgata]

Henry Compilation

@perplexistan is an outstanding human who compiled all my little Henry ficlets into one document for me. So here it is, for your perusal. It all began with this:

Anonymous asked: Would scully consider remarrying if she wouldn't work it out with mulder in season 11? ;)

@kateyes224

As long as Mulder is around, I don’t know that she’d be willing to start from scratch. But that makes me very sad for Scully. If she and Mulder did decide that they couldn’t be together, I would want for her to find someone who loved and appreciated her and made her feel completed, even if that person wasn’t Mulder. I just think the ways that she and Mulder have been rent apart by this life mean that their torn edges fit together in a way that makes them as whole as they can possibly be.

AV: 

She gets the younger two out the door in time for the bus, backpacks bouncing as they run down the block. Their sister had left well over an hour ago, driving herself to school for early lacrosse practice. Scully shuts the door once Alice and Simon join the cluster of children trooping along the sidewalk. Everyone knows there is safety in numbers.

The dog, a half-grown keeshond, trots over in response to the breakfast noises. “Here, Wicket,” Scully says. “It’ll make your coat shiny.” She scrapes leftover eggs into his dish before fitting the greasy plates into the dishwasher.

Footsteps on the stairs, and Scully smooths her hair back.

“Morning,” Henry says, grabbing a nectarine from the bowl. He wears only striped pajama pants. “Thanks for getting them out the door.”

“Mmm, not a problem. You almost never get to sleep in.” She smiles, tips her face up to his.

He kisses her, and Scully tastes toothpaste and Listerine. “You’re an angel,” Henry claims.

Not me, she thinks. But Joan is. Henry’s first wife, the mother of his children, the lover of keeshonds, the gardener of exotic bulbs, is dead and beyond reproach. Scully finds her harmless, though occasionally irritating. The children find her flawless.

Henry pours them each a cup of coffee, fixes hers exactly how she likes. Scully settles onto a bar stool to savor it.

“Good?” he asks.

“Perfect.”

Henry beams.

She watches her husband as he putters around the kitchen, dumping coffee grounds into the composter, putting frozen fruit into the Vitamix. His back is broad and muscular in the buttery morning light, his silver-flecked hair gleaming.

“You eat?” he asks, after his smoothie has been whirred to perfection.

“Eggs with the kids.”

“They love you,” he says happily, if not accurately. “Can you believe we’re coming up on a year, Dana?”

She cannot. The wedding had been small. Quiet. Family attended, some of their friends from work. Joan’s parents, uncomfortably.

Mulder had sent flowers for her, gifts for the children.

Scully takes another swallow of coffee. “Paper anniversary, Henry. Hot date at Barnes and Noble?”

He walks over, wraps his arms around her from behind. Scully leans into the heat of his chest, her head on his bicep. She sighs with contentment as he noses her hair.

“I was thinking plane tickets,” Henry murmurs, nuzzling her neck. “Paris. Rome. Somewhere decadent. Between work and the kids you’re running yourself absolutely ragged, Dana. Joan’s parents can take the younger two, and Vivian can stay home by herself if she wants.”

Paris. All she has seen of Paris is the airport, eating overpriced pain au chocolat while Mulder argued with the ticket agent in his lousy French. They barely made their flight.

“Paris,” Scully muses. “I could do Paris.”

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” Henry asks, purring in her ear.

She rolls her eyes. “So predictable.”

“I’m a tax attorney, Dana. I’m supposed to be predictable.”

She laughs a little. Predictable. Solid, predictable Henry with his beautiful children and his beautiful house and his beautiful wives. She has never heard him say a truly unkind thing about anyone. He is a charter Rotarian and a sucker for the wounded animals Simon brings home. He’s been unfailingly gracious to Mulder on the few occasions they’ve met. He’s a wonderful dancer.

“Predictable is good,” she assures him. Henry would never ditch her in strange motels or mix her up in a global conspiracy. Henry calls when he’s running late.

“You have time for a run before work?” he asks.

“I wish I did. I’ve got a consult with a family in about an hour.” Scully turns the bar stool, looking up at Henry’s green eyes. She takes his face in her hands, thumbing his jaw. “Paris sounds lovely. I’ll talk to Gwen about my schedule today.”

He kisses her palm. “You deserve Paris.”

Scully holds him close and doesn’t tell him how rarely anyone gets what they deserve.

***

From @mangokiwitropicalswirl

[I could NOT stop thinking about your short brilliant painful take on Scully’s marriage to Henry, and I woke up needing to write this. If you think it fits your vision of things in that universe, feel free to share!]

***

Note from AV: There are not WORDS to describe what a compliment this is, my goodness.  <3 Thank you, @mangokiwitropicalswirl

***

On the morning Scully marries him, she takes a long look in the mirror as she smooths her hair and touches up her makeup. It goes without saying, without thinking, that she wishes her mother were here. Maggie would have cried to see her in the ivory dress, would have coddled the step-grandchildren, would have joined her elbows-deep in topsoil in his garden.

Everyone believes the day that you get married you’ll feel uniquely whole, blissfully free from uncertainties. Happy.

And she is. She catches her own gaze in the mirror and knows that she’s the only one who’d see the wistful mote of resignation in her eyes. But not a resignation of defeat, it’s one of understanding. She better understands at fifty now than she did at thirty that there are choices. Always choices.

Someone told her once that love flows through us like water, softening our edges the way water wears down sandstone, or even granite. It carves out space for itself inside of us, making us larger, widening the heart.

Mulder’s love had been a tumult, a raging river, a flood. It had opened her like a canyon, revealed a grandscape of dizzying heights and crevices inside her. It had split over into corners she herself had not explored. Together, their love had flowed and thrashed and roiled, until she was hollowed out like a deepend cavern, like a riverbank destroyed by sudden flood.

And then it had receded, slowly, like the bitter end of a geologic age.

The thin ribbon that still trickles through her even now was not enough to fill the newly-barren spaces. As years went on, the heart crumbled like loose rock, eroding like a monument to a long forgotten era.

Contrary to popular belief, love is not all you need. Sometimes you need therapy. And meds. And sometimes you need to let it go.

On the little card that came along with flowers there was just one word, “Always.– M”.

There were years she would have bristled at the word, hearing in it all the codependency and desperate possession that were the hallmarks of their bond. But she hears it now the way she knows he means it, with the openness of someone who will always be her friend. Before all of it, at the very heart of it, he had been her dearest friend.

When Henry came into her life, it crept up on her like the warm waters of a bending river. His love curled and soothed and nourished until she felt green and young.

In the mirror, she smiles the half-smile of a woman blessed to find there’s more of her to give. And more to know. She dabs perfume on each wrist and behind her ears, between the shadowed valley of her breasts. Beneath them in the hollow of her chest, she’s wider now and knowing, surprised and grateful she is able to bloom again.

***

Anonymous asked: So even though Scully and Henry have this perfect life, which I love, what kind of things do they fight about? Is Scully relieved it's not about conspiracy or monsters in the dark? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? Also, I love Mulder dearly but Henry is kind of perfect....which is a little scary but awesome at the same time.

They really don’t fight much. They disagree (Henry’s a bit more liberal than Scully)  they annoy each other on occasion (he constantly fails to put his laundry in the hamper and she moves all the papers he leaves on the kitchen island) but fights? No, no fights.

N.B. Before anyone messages me to say how boring that sounds, let me explain that I have been with my husband for upwards of 17 years. In that time, we have had 2 fights. Like, ugly unpleasant ones. Lots of arguments and disagreements, but two fights. Our relationship isn’t boring, and I refuse to even entertain the validity of the notion that relationships need drama to be exciting.

One of the things I love best about Iolokus is that Rivka and Sally show Mulder and Scully figuring that out, that conflict isn’t necessary for intellectual stimulation.

***

Anonymous asked: So I know Mulder and Henry aren't hanging out playing poker together every Thursday night, but are there any occasions where they do find themselves in the same room? What was that first size-up like from either guy's perspective?

Scully has scheduled the dinner at a restaurant so it isn’t on anyone’s turf. Besides, Mulder’s house would be torture and she finds Henry’s elaborate kitchen somewhat daunting. She agonizes over reviews and menus, trying to eliminate as many variables as possible. Henry had tried to help, but her snippiness drove him off in short order. She is nauseous for a week beforehand, asking Henry if she had lost her mind and should cancel, asking Mulder the same.

“I want to meet him,” Henry says, passing her a glass of wine. “He’s part of you, so he’s important to me.”

“If this is to get my blessing, Scully,” Mulder says over the phone, “you already have it. But yeah, I’d like to meet the guy wonderful enough for you to ignore the fact that his job title contains the words tax and attorney.”

***

She puts on a black sheath dress, then decides it looks too much like the one from their movie premiere. My god, the movie…has Henry seen it? Or Viv? She is afraid to ask, and afraid not to know. She pushes the thought from her mind for now, pushes her and Mulder and that limo away. Scully rummages through her closet with increasing anxiety, finally settling on a burgundy pencil skirt and fitted navy sweater. Her hair is being impossible, and after half an hour with the curling iron, she opts for a French twist. She keeps her makeup light and tosses back a handful of Tums to quell the acid tide in her stomach.

Henry’s in jeans and a blazer, drinking coffee with Viv and her girlfriend. There’s a heated argument about Iron Man taking place. “You look great,” Henry says. “Ready?”

“No. But let’s do it anyway.” She plucks at invisible fuzz on her skirt.

He takes her arm and they head to the garage.

“Have fun at the circus, kids!” Viv calls after them.

***

They are seated at a table for four, Henry and Mulder facing one another, herself between. She holds a multigrain roll from the breadbasket in her lap, using her nails to pull out every tiny piece of millet, extract every last pumpkin seed. She drops them to the floor like daisy petals.

“I read your book,” Henry says. “Really impressive research. I recommended it to some colleagues.”

Mulder stirs his drink. “Thanks. Spend a lot of time on the dark web between billable hours, Henry?”

Scully kicks him lightly under the table, nostrils flared.

Henry chuckles. “No, I’m just a dilettante.”

The silence is thick and heavy as they peruse their menus, and Scully curses herself for this egregious decision. The back of her neck prickles, her face is hot and itchy. Moments stretch like saltwater taffy on a summer day.

“So, uh, Henry,” Mulder says at last, rubbing the side of his face.

Henry looks up. “Yep?”

“My, uh, my finances are pretty complicated due to some trusts and inheritances, plus my pension. The accountant I’ve been using is retiring. You think you could recommend anybody trustworthy?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve got a great guy in Alexandria,” Henry says. “He’ll save you a fortune.”

Mulder nods thoughtfully. “”I’ll put it towards my post-apocalyptic underground bunker. To which, of course, you’re all invited when the end times come upon us.”

Henry’s eyes crinkle at the corners, Scully sees, and her chest loosens. “We’ll bring a pie,” Henry says.

Mulder smiles. “Don’t let Scully make it. Great cook, lousy baker.”

The waitress comes for their orders, and they are chatting easily by the time the food arrives.

***

Henry sits outside on the porch, staring up at the sky. He names the constellations to himself as he sips a tumbler of Macallan. Dana perches on the arm of his Adirondack chair, knees drawn up to her chest.

“I like him,” Henry says at length. “Very funny guy.”

Dana nods slowly. “He is.”

Henry crunches an ice cube. “He’s still in love with you.”

“Does it bother you?’

He looks at her, ethereal in the moonlight. He is afraid at times that he will awake to find she has disappeared, burned off like the mist. “I want everyone to love you.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Henry.”                                                             

“You love him too,” Henry says.

She hunches her shoulders, glances down. “Does that bother you?”

It might, he’s not sure. He felt the ineffable thing between them, but he understands the weight of history. “Love doesn’t have to be a zero sum game. Is there space in you for both of us?”

“It is impossible for more than one object to occupy the same space at the same time,” she says. “There are different spaces for each of you.”

Henry considers this. “Why’d you leave, Dana?”

She cants her face to the sky, eyes wide. “There’s a…a recklessness in me, Henry. A self destructiveness you haven’t seen.”

Is this where his gentle doctor ends and Mulder’s sure-shot partner begins? “Scully,” he says, trying it out.

Her eyes slide closed. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…please keep going.”

“That part of me blooms with him. It thrives. And I knew, I know, I couldn’t live like that. I couldn’t survive it another year. And I…I ripped it away and left it behind. That’s the place in me for you, Henry. That wound. You and Viv and Alice and Simon; you heal me there.”

He hears the thickness in her voice, feels it rising in his own. “Dana,” he says roughly. He knows about wounds and empty spaces. A piece of him went into the dark earth with Joan.

She turns her head to look at him, a slice of her lovely profile. “If that’s too much, I understand. I do. It’s a lot to ask.”

He shakes his head. “I’d rather share you than lose you,” he breathes. “If I….if I can make you feel whole, that’s a privilege.”

She makes a small noise, a hiccup or a sob, and crawls into his lap.

“It’s okay,” he says, arms wrapping around her. He kisses her temples, her eyelids.

She curls tight against his beating heart.

***

They don’t bother with the superfluity of hellos. She calls, he answers, they talk.

“I liked him,” Mulder says, bouncing a basketball. “I didn’t particularly want to, but he seems like the kind of person people just like.” Mulder finds this a kind of character flaw of its own, but does not mention as much.

“Yes,” Scully says, her voice soft. “He is.”

“A tax attorney though, Scully. Ouch.”

“Mulder, please.” The note of actual pleading in her voice startles him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sincere. “I know this isn’t easy.”

“It’s okay.”

He shoots the ball into the hoop at the end of the driveway. “Three-pointer,” he tells Scully.

“The crowd goes wild.”

There’s a long silence, just one another’s breathing.

“Listen, I don’t know if you know this, but I have a bit of a background in psychology and behavioral science.” He makes a foul shot.

“You don’t say.” There’s a smile in her voice.

“Truth. So I want you to know that my impression of Henry is that he, um, he knows the value of what he has. With you.” It hurts to admit this to her. To himself.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Mulder, I didn’t exp-“

“No, I just, let me finish. And he, um. He’s really a good guy. His life is, you know, well. Your life, really, I guess. It’s good. It’s what I wanted for you and I’m just, you know. I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you.” His eyes sting.

Silence.

“Scully?”

“I’m here.”

He hears tears in her voice. “Okay. Okay, good. This is hard, but we, um. We’re always friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course. Always.” She sniffles.

“I feel like Henry, he understands that. He seems like he really wants you to be happy, that he’s not the jealous type.” Shit, shit why did he say that? “Not that he should be jealous, I don’t mean to imp-“

“It’s okay. And you’re right. He knows that I’m…that we…he knows how we are.”

Mulder swallows hard. “How we are,” he repeats.

They never say goodbye, either. The silence grows and drifts, then she finally disconnects the call.

***

Anonymous asked: What would you do if Henry rocked up in season 11 (other than sue)?

Wait for him to die, I guess. That’s Chris’s MO.

***

Anonymous asked: I love Henry. I know it's sad that in this fictional world she's not with Mulder, but as much as they deeply loved each other, I must admit it's lovely to read a world where Scully is appreciated in the day to day. I'm sure that perhaps Mulder did, but we didn't see too much of that. It felt like it was only when she was kidnapped or in hospital with cancer that he realised how much she meant to him. Henry is what she deserves, and it seems to make Mulder step up too. I'm on board for this.

I feel this way too. Listen, I am diehard MSR and was a shipper before fandom had even settled on the term! I am here for Mulder and Scully hobbling across that bridge like everybody else. 94% of what I write is MSR, either set within canon, or trying to give them a happier AU. Even in this story, their love is still palpable. I don’t think it works otherwise.

But the challenge of trying to create this unconventional AU in a way that is relatable to people is really enjoyable to me as a writer. MSR is inherently easy. It exists. It’s fun and satisfying as a fan, but it’s not a hard sell. This is really pushing me to approach the characters in a new way. I’m just immensely surprised it has gone over so well, and endlessly grateful to everyone who has been willing to engage in the narrative. Especially to @kateyes224 for the idea and @mangokiwitropicalswirl and my 10/13 anon for fleshing it out. 

(10/13 anon, got your message. Just developing an answer in my head.)

—

Anonymous asked: How would Henry cope if Scully's cancer returned? And how would Mulder? OR... how would Scully cope if something happened to Mulder, but she isn't free to drop everything and go to him? Would she want to, or would she have closed the door on that reaction? How would Henry deal with that? #TeamHenlly

Henry paces the hallway outside her room, one hand to his forehead, the other holding his phone. “Pick up, pick up,” he mutters.

Mulder does, finally. “Henry?”

“Yes. Yeah. Listen, this isn’t easy, but I’m at the hospital with Dana and I’ve got some, uh, some bad news.” He is proud of his steady voice, his steady hands.

“Is she hurt? Is she sick?” Mulder sounds almost accusatory, as though Henry has been derelict in a simple task.

“She’s sick. They…” he runs his hand through his hair, circles around the vending machine again. “They found a mass in her sinuses, Mulder.”

The silence on the other end goes on too long. “Mulder, are you there?”

“Do you know her medical history?” The words are clipped.

“She told me, told the doctors this isn’t new. But she said something about a chip, about that scar on her neck. What the hell is going on here, Mulder? I’ve never pushed her about her past, but I’m seriously in the dark here.”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end. “It’s not my story to tell you.”

Henry, his frustration peaking after hours of obfuscation and obliqueness from Dana, slams a fist into the wall. “She’s my wife, goddammit! Whatever you two have, Mulder, whatever it is, I never pried. I trust her and I trust you and I accept it. But you need to tell me, right fucking now, what I don’t know.”

People are staring, but he doesn’t care, he feels righteous and productive.

“Henry, I-”

“You tell me,” he growls, “or I will drive over right now and beat the living shit out of you. I have a lot of impotent rage I’d like to direct somewhere.” He’s not entirely sure he can make good on this, but he thinks adrenaline will give him an advantage.

Nothing.

“Mulder.”

Breathing.

“It’s medicine,” Mulder says slowly. “The chip in her neck is some kind of medicine that stops her cancer.”

Henry is appalled, “That’s it? That’s the secret you couldn’t share? Am I losing my goddamned mind? Call the fucking manufacturer right now and get another one, for Christ’s sake!”

“It’s not that simple,” Mulder says, his voice soft. “It’s, ah, not on the market.”

“You’re telling me you know of a medicine that treats cancer effectively and you can’t get it? Is it foreign? Illegal?”

“It was a sort of custom design,” Mulder says.

“Give me an answer, a real answer. You two and your doublespeak, I swear to god…” He’s gripping his hair by the roots.

“Fine, Henry. Here it is.” There is anger in Mulder’s voice now, and Henry finds it satisfying. “Her cancer was specifically engineered to manifest if she ever took the chip out. The chip is a tracking device. I don’t know why it stopped working, but before you come over and kick my ass, you have a lot of fucking questions to ask your wife.”

Henry’s mind is reeling. He leans against the wall. “A tracking device?” he repeats. “Engineered cancer? How do you engineer cancer? Why do you engineer cancer?” He can’t process this, not this and Dana asleep in the hospital bed with a demon behind her eyes.

“Shit,” Mulder breathes. “Goddammit, Henry. How bad is she?”

“She’s weak, very thin. She kept saying it was the flu, you know how she is. But she had a few nosebleeds and went in. And here we are.”

“Yeah, I know how she is,” Mulder says, and Henry hears the pain in his words.

“There’s a man,” Mulder says. “Who knows about the chip. He might, uh, he might arrange a deal.”

Henry is baffled, but tries to swim with the current. “A deal? Why would an- never mind. Call him. I’ll pay whatever he wants, no questions asked.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can pay what he’ll want,” Mulder says. The words are measured, heavy. “But I can.”

The line goes dead.

***

Anonymous asked: In the Henry universe, how does Scully react when Mulder finds someone else?

She’s sorting lunch components for the twins into plastic bins in the refrigerator; bags of chips and carrot sticks and foil-wrapped triangles of pizza. Her phone rings as she picks up a webbed bag of clementines.

“Hey,” Mulder says, his voice a warm pulse.

Scully lets the oranges slump back onto the counter. “Hey.”

“I’m, uh, I’m headed up to New York to talk to my publisher this afternoon,” he tells her.

She can hear the noisy old dishwasher going in the background, imagines Mulder fidgeting at the kitchen table. There’s a chair with a wobbly leg he likes to rock in. “They still talking about the miniseries?”

“Yep.”

Scully chews her lip, considering. She tucks the phone against her shoulder. “That’s not why you called, though.”

A long pause. “No.”

“Okay.” She shuts the fridge and begins assembling sandwiches on the counter. Teasing information from Mulder can take a quiet, steady patience.

“I met someone,” he says at last.

Scully sets the knife down, knuckling the cool granite. “Did you?”

“I just, you know, I wanted to call you. You were very open about Henry so I thought I should extend you the same courtesy.” In the background, the squeak of the chair leg.

“Mulder, that’s great. I’m happy to hear it.” She is, she is, she doesn’t want him alone.

He coughs. “Thanks. Um, well, I guess that’s it, really. I should go pack.”

“No!” she exclaims. “Mulder, I need some detail.” As a friend. As a concerned friend who is wary of his general taste for women who will betray him.

“Oh, Scully, you don’t have t-“

“Really, I do. Let’s have the 411.” She hopes she sounds casually interested, and begins spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread.

Mulder guffaws. “The 411? Scully, let me tell you about the internet.”

She blushes, waves her hand. “Whatever. Details, something.”

“Ummmm…”

Scully imagines him pacing now, tossing and catching an invisible baseball. “You know, it’s okay, I don’t want to pressure you.”

“No, hey, I’m sorry. Just trying to generate a quick dossier. Uh, well, her name is Elizabeth. She works for the EPA, coastal ecology.”

“Science nerd, huh?” she says, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. She swallows, stabs a spoon into the jam jar.

“Yeah,” Mulder says. “She does something with zebra mussels and ship ballast water that I need to brush up on.”

“Probably invasive species in coastal communities. I’ll give you a crash course if you like.” She picks up the sandwich to tuck into a plastic bag.

‘It’s okay. I’ll Google it; you remember that internet thing I mentioned before. It’s got lots of stuff on it.”

She is stung, and words sticks in her throat like lumpy oatmeal. “Oh,” she manages. “Okay, then.”

Mulder coughs again. “I just figured you’re pretty busy, with work and the kids and everything.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” She toys with the jam jar, rolling it in her hands. It is cool against her palms “Well, you know, enjoy your research. Look up copepods too.”

“I will.”

Seconds tick by on the kitchen clock.

“When’s the second book out?” Scully asks. She picks up the sandwich, zipping and unzipping the plastic bag.

“Around Thanksgiving, I think. You want an advance copy? I’ll sign it for you.”

She laughs. “No, don’t give them away. I want to buy it, boost your sales.”

“In that case, stock up and send them out with the Christmas cards. Even mine.”

“I’ll pre-order on the….what did you call it? The in-ter-net?”

Mulder chuckles. “Have them shipped right to your house, or take your velocipede down to the book-seller to fetch them.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A lengthy pause, but they don’t hang up.

Scully finds that the sandwich in her hand has been wadded into a dense ball, peanut butter and jam squeezed all over the inside of the bag. She hastily shoves it into the trash can. “Mulder, um, when you get back in town, why don’t you give me a call? We’d love to have dinner with you and Elizabeth.” She says it so smoothly she believes it.

“Oh,” he says. “That sounds nice, that sounds really good. Yeah.”

“Okay.” She squeezes her eyes closed, her stomach sour.

Mulder breathes for a long moment. Then he says, “Well, hey. I’ve got to get going, but thanks for listening. I know how busy you are.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Sure.” She holds back this time, doesn’t say she always has time for him.

An empty silence now, the call disconnected.

Scully sits on a bar stool, hands clasped beneath her chin, elbows on the breakfast bar. She sees the absurd expectation she’s held onto, the cruelty of it. Mulder like a sundial in the garden of her life, static and reliable as she moves through the seasons around him. Ticking off her hours as she spends them.

Scully goes to the sink and slaps cold water on her face. She sees Elizabeth in her mind’s eye. Lanky and brunette, of course. Long legs and khaki shorts, probably lots of trips to REI. She assigns her a sporty dog too. Maybe with a bandanna.

She says a prayer for his happiness, and leaves it to God to sort out what exactly she means by the idea.

***

Anonymous asked: 10/13 Henry anon here, dearest Mrs. Virgata and mangokiwimagicswirl, either or both of you please feel free to flesh it out. It delights me my little something could turn into a bigger something. I'm not above begging. *begs*. Look what you all did, my MSR heart really does belong to MSR, but I can carve a little spot out for Henry/Scully/Mulder. Mulder is earth, Henry is the stick, Scully is Archimede's point bc we all know she makes the choices and drives the consequences.

A Saturday in late September, and Henry and Scully sit on the back porch watching the twins lob lacrosse balls at Viv. She catches them expertly, flicking her wrist to send them flying back at her younger siblings. They dodge them, squealing and chasing one another and Wicket, who makes off with one on occasion. He exposes his preposterously fluffy belly in hope of scratches.

Scully pours herself a glass of sangria, pours Henry another two inches of Macallan. She is pleasantly buzzed, work blurring out of her mind’s eye. Henry is somewhat more than buzzed, she suspects. Joan’s parents had been over, which exhausts him.

“There’s, ah, there’s something I want to discuss with you,” Henry says. “And with a bit of liquid courage, there’s no time like the present.”

Anxiety rises in her like a barometer. “That’s quite a lead-in,” she says, keeping her tone light while her stomach churns.

“Sorry,” Henry replies. “It’s not, it’s nothing bad.”

“Let’s have it, then.”

“Mulder’s birthday dinner,” Henry begins. “I know what he…I know that you two are…dammit.“ He trails off in frustration.

The anxiety is now constricting her throat. “Henry?”

He shakes his head, still watching his children. “What I’m mangling here is that if you, um, if you ever felt a need to, you know, take a night off from all this-“ here he nods at the yard, “I’d not hold it against you.”

Comprehension begins to dawn, and Scully is aghast.  “You’re not suggesting that I….no. Henry, no.”

Henry shrugs. “It’s not a moral failing, okay? I asked you once if there was a place for both of us in you and you said there were two places. And I said I’d rather share you than lose you. I know a marriage is a compromise, and I’m, you know, I’m trying to figure out what that looks like here. You took on three kids and a guy with some heavy emotional baggage.”

Scully’s cheeks burn. “So your solution is that I offer myself up to him as a birthday gift? Is this some kind of magnanimous man-to-man gesture, sharing your woman as a show of friendship?”

Henry turns to her now, mouth open. “Oh god, oh….shit. I had no idea it sounded that way. I’m sorry.”

Scully drains half her glass in one gulp. “This is the life I committed myself to, Henry. It’s not a job I need a sick day from, and you and the kids aren’t baggage, for heaven’s sake.”

Henry stares into the yard, watches Wicket play tug of war with Viv’s lacrosse stick. “I’m terrified of losing you,” he says. “Partially because of Joan but partially because…” he shakes his head.

“Because what?”

He swallows the rest of his Scotch. “Because there are these dark places in you I can’t see, places that have been redacted. And I told you I wouldn’t pry, and I won’t, but I have this fear of them. That they’ll swallow you one day, and you’ll just disappear. I guess I hoped that if I offered you a night to visit, so to speak, you might not feel tempted to run away to them.”

Her sinuses burn. “Henry…”

“I wasn’t trying to offer you to Mulder as a birthday gift, Dana, that’s really fucking sick. But I was trying to offer you a night in the parts of yourself you haven’t let me go to yet.”

She reaches for his hand and grips it hard. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“A vacation home,” he says, smiling weakly at his own joke. He squeezes her hand back.

“I don’t need a vacation,” she assures him.  She tugs Henry closer, pulls him down so that his head is resting on her lap. His legs dangle over the armrest of the wicker settee.

“I just want you to know I meant it,” he says.

She nods. “I do. But you can’t keep me by giving me away.” She traces his face with her fingertip, his eyelashes and tragus and philtrum. She etches him deeper into her heart.

***

Anonymous asked: Original 10/13 anon here, I suppose i'm down for consummation of free pass too. Heck, you can do both versions for all I care!

aloysiavirgata:

Oh @perplexistan and @kateyes224…

A continuation of this

***

It’s sticky outside, a mid-Atlantic fall day not fully committed to the reality of October. A late season hurricane has been stirring up the ghosts of summer off the Carolinas, the air close and heavy. Scully steals hairpins from Viv’s vanity to help tame her bun, and is reasonably pleased with the results.

It’s just Mulder, she tells herself, zipping up her navy dress. It has a boatneck that shows her clavicles to good advantage, cap sleeves that feel feminine but not frilly.

It’s just Mulder, she thinks, choosing beige kitten heels that lengthen her legs, swiping Lancome’s Perfect Fig across her mouth. She skips perfume.

The sky is thick with shaggy clouds, the sun slipping away nearly undetected. Scully slides behind the wheel of her car, and leaves tire tracks on the grass when she swerves backwards down the driveway.

***

The restaurant is new and well reviewed, with nothing served in Mason jars or on slate tiles. She asked when she made the reservation, as these things leave Mulder snarky and cross.

Mulder arrives at the table a few minutes after her, wind-whipped, mud on one of his loafers. They embrace, a quick kiss on each cheek, and she breathes shallowly. It would not be good to inhale the scent of him.

“Happy birthday,” she says, settling into her chair, napkin spread across her silken lap. “I’m sorry the weather’s so ominous.”

“I blame you entirely.”

She smiles. “I should have e-mailed Holman Hart, called in a favor.”

Mulder peruses his menu. “Next time. I’m just glad you got to come out and play for an evening.”

Scully frowns. “This isn’t the fifties, Mulder, and I’m not a kept woman. Don’t make it sound like that.”

He is taken aback, but nods. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Scully sighs. She doesn’t want to begin like this. “It’s fine. I’ve had a long week and I’m a bit snappish. I just don’t want things to be strained between us because of….well. It’s your birthday, Mulder.”

A waitress comes by with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. She sets it on the table, handing them each a flute.

Scully looks at her in confusion. “I didn’t order this,” she says.

The waitress nods her head towards Mulder. “The gentleman called earlier, ma’am.”

The gentleman denies this, and the waitress furrows her brow. “Sir? Someone called earlier and ordered this for Dana Scully’s table. For a birthday celebration.”

Scully blushes, twists her wedding ring around her finger. “It’s fine, thank you,” she tells the waitress. “Just a misunderstanding on my part. Sorry for the confusion.”

“Shall I open it?”

“Please.”

The cork makes a wonderful popping sound, the champagne golden and sparkling as it flows into their glasses. The waitress tucks the bottle back into the ice before she leaves.

Scully stares at the silver bucket, the frost of condensation on it, the mounds of crystal ice. She runs a fingertip along the rim of her flute, making it squeak.

Mulder raises his glass in a toast. “Many thanks to Henry,” he says, without a trace of irony.

***

Mulder is clacking his empty mussel shells like castanets. The champagne is gone and so is half a bottle of Sancerre. The candle on their table has burned low.

Scully is laughing helplessly, her napkin pressed to her mouth.

“I can’t believe you never told me this,” she manages. “The Spanish ambassador, how could you?”

He drops the shells back into the bowl, grinning. “It’s was university and I was an asshole. Plus my girlfriend was semi-psychotic. Phoebe,” he clarifies.

Scully groans. “Oh, God. Phoebe. She was a mess, Mulder.”

He laughs. “Gorgeous though. My main requirement at the time.”

She wipes her eyes. “I’ll grant you that, yes. I was a little intimidated, I won’t lie.”

“You were looking pretty good too.”

Scully wrinkles her nose in reply.

A boom of thunder comes suddenly, making the chandeliers rattle. Seconds later, a jagged fork of lightning splits the sky. Gasps come from the other diners when the lights go out.

Mulder dribbles wine onto the candle,  extinguishing it. “Pouring one out for my homie Zeus.”

***

They make a mad dash to their cars in the rain, Scully nearly diving into her SUV. She slides on the wet leather, blasting the air to dry herself off.

Across the lot she spots Mulder’s car, his battered old two-tone Land Cruiser 70. It has not been started. Worried, Scully drives over, hydroplaning on the slick asphalt. She parks parallel to him, oriented nose to tail.

She sees him through the downpour, scowling at his phone. She waves to get his attention and he frowns at her, shrugs. A round of hurried texting reveals that the car won’t start and he’s got at least a 2 hour wait per the AAA app.

Scully reaches behind her seat for the huge wood-frame golf umbrella she keeps there. Opening the door, she unfurls it into the storm. The wind nearly drags it from her hands. She makes it to her trunk before Mulder sees what she’s doing and leaps from his car.

“Are you out of your fucking MIND?” he yells into the wind.

“JUMPER CABLES,” she shouts back. “YOU CAN’T STAY HERE FOR TWO HOURS!” Scully rummages around, then hoists them victoriously.

Thunder crashes, and the hail begins.

Mulder shoves her into his open driver’s door and she clambers into the passenger seat so he can get in. Hail the size of quail eggs bounces in with him.

He slams the door, panting. “You have a degree. In physics.”

She twines the cables around her hands, shamefaced. “I know.”

Mulder starts to laugh. He rests his head on the steering wheel, shaking with laughter while hail rattles around them.

Scully glares at him. “Let’s agree it wasn’t my finest moment, okay?”

He catches his breath. “No, it’s fine. It’s good. I appreciate the laugh. But we picked the wrong car for this little adventure.” He clicks the useless ignition to demonstrate.

Scully groans. “My phone’s in mine too.”

Mulder peels his jacket off, his shirt mostly dry underneath. “Scully, you’re soaked. I’d offer you my jacket, but…” He holds it up, letting it drip water onto the floor.

“I’m good,” she says. “Just turn on the - oh.”

“Yeah.”

She folds down the visor, inspecting herself in the mirror. She looks like the undead prom queen from a slasher flick, straggling hair coming loose, smudged rings of waterproof mascara.

She snaps the visor back up.

Mulder brightens. “I think there’s a blanket in the foot locker. I’ll climb back and get it.”

She waves him off. “I’ll get it, I’m smaller.”  Scully turns, her silk dress clinging like wet paper as she wriggles. She and Mulder studiously ignore her hip against his shoulder. Her shoes drop beside him to the floor.

She squelches into the back, feeling clammy and uncomfortable. There is loose grit on the floor, which hurts her knees. She tugs a quilted moving blanket from a folded-up seat onto the floor, then opens the foot locker. Inside is his old Navajo blanket. She touches it, smiling.

“You find it?” Mulder asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” she says. Scully unfolds the blanket and wraps it around herself. It smells of dry wood and motor oil, GoJo hand cleanser. “I forgot how much room there is back here with the side seats up.”

He adjusts the rearview mirror to see her, and they hold one another’s eyes for a beat. Scully looks away, watches the storm shred leaves off the trees. She twists her wedding ring.

Mulder climbs through the seats, grunting, then sits next to her on the moving blanket. “I texted Henry,” he says. “Let’s him know you’re safe, just waiting out the storm. Thanked him for the champagne.”

“I appreciate that,” she says, touched

“I’d want him to.”

Scully pulls the blanket tighter.“I’m sorry your birthday is going like this,” she says.

He looks at her, surprised. “Good dinner, great company, spooky storm. You wanna tell ghost stories and creep each other out?” He bumps her shoulder.

Scully smiles. “I’m don’t think we can surprise each other anymore,” she says softly. “We’re like two magicians trying to show each other card tricks.”

“You can always surprise me,” he says.

She holds her left hand out for his inspection. The diamonds reflect scraps of yellow streetlight. “This?” she asks.

Mulder shrugs, looks away.

Scully touches the rings. “He told me to go home with you tonight if I wanted. He said he would understand, like shore leave. That it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mulder swallows, closes his eyes. The air is becoming steamy with evaporate, the windows fogged. The smell of damp silk, damp wool hangs about them.

“I told him I couldn’t, that I didn’t need it anyway. And that I certainly wasn’t going to offer myself to you like a gift from the lord of one manor to another.” She reaches out to touch his face, to turn it towards her.

“Don’t,” he rasps.

“Mulder, look at me.”

He shoves her hand away, stares at her. “I’m getting in your car,” he says. “Before we do something really stupid.”

Scully drops the Navajo blanket to the floor. She unpins her hair, lets it fall down her sticky neck to just past her shoulders. She sits back on her heels, wet dress like seaweed. “Mulder.”

“One of us needs to get the fuck out of this car,” he whispers, his voice ragged. He doesn’t move.

She unzips her dress, but it doesn’t fall away like she’d planned. It clings to the tops of her arms, the tops of her breasts, the back gaping open. Gooseflesh rises.

“I thought I could get out of the car,” she says. “ But maybe a joyride every so often isn’t such a bad idea. Henry says it’s not a moral failing, Mulder. And I’m quoting directly.”

They stare at one another, her face tipped up, her mouth swollen. Mulder gazes down at the shadow between her breasts.

Scully runs her tongue across her top lip.

He reaches forward, slides his hands down her shoulders, scraping the ruined silk away. His breath, his heart, are louder than the thunder.

She is bare to the waist now, her chest heaving, her dress a puddle between her hips and the quilted grey blanket. Her nipples ache.

Hail smashes against the windshield, and the wind howls.

She unbuttons his shirt, her fingers trembling, and his chest is deeper, broader than she remembered it. His scars are just as she left them.

Scully moves closer, her breasts grazing his skin when she kisses his neck, bites at it. He shudders, fingers tangling in her hair.

She cups his erection through his trousers.

“I thought you said…” he gasps, hands sliding down to plane her back.

“I thought I meant it,” she mumbles, unbuckling his belt, unfastening his fly.

“I wish you had,” he groans when she pulls his boxers to his knees.

Scully lays back on the blanket, her dress still rucked around her abdomen like a painting of Venus. She reaches beneath it to pull her underwear down, kicks them away.

Mulder is on top of her then, his hands on either side of her head, his shirt tenting her torso. He moves one hand against the hot skin between her thighs, comes away slick from even so little contact.

She whimpers as the storm roars, and he presses his wet fingers to her mouth.

“Scully,” he says, his eyes searching hers. “We can’t undo this, you know that.”

She knows, she knows, she saw what happened to Daniel’s family, what she had done.

“Please,” she says, raking her manicured nails down his back, her pelvis arched against his.  “Please.”

Mulder is not her conscience, and enters her in one thrust.

He cries out to her god.

***

It’s past one when she stumbles into the kitchen, past one by the little clock above the sink.

Henry jumps up from the ladderback chair. “Dana, thank God,” he says. “Mulder called about 45 minutes ago, said you’d left, but I couldn’t reach you.”

Scully holds up her phone, the screen black. “Ruined in the rain,” she says. She slumps into a chair, drained. “And the hail cracked my windshield.”

Henry watches her, concerned, then takes his robe off. “Look at you, you’re soaked.” He tucks the thick cotton around her, smoothing her hair out of her eyes. “Dana?”

She leans up, kisses him. “I’m sorry, the roads were awful and I’m exhausted. I don’t remember a storm like that since Sandy.”

He runs his thumb over her cheekbone, smiling at her freckles. ”I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Scully nods, pressing his palm to her face, to her lips. She’d stood outside in the rain, after the storm burned itself out, to wash the yeasty scent of sex from her pores. She’s afraid, somehow, that it has lingered. That she is marked, tainted forever.

“Probably too much wine, too,” she admits ruefully. “I drank more than my fair share and my head hurts.”

“I got his text,” Henry tells her. “I’m glad he liked it.”

Scully looks back at him, her heart aching with how much she loves him, how much she despises herself. “Oh, yes,” she replies. “He loved your gift.”

 —

For everyone who asked.

***

He rattles up the driveway, the rattling a function of his automobile rather than the O'Keefes’ smooth asphalt. He parks under the basketball hoop, blocking the garage.

Fallen branches litter the yard. A shutter is down from one of the dormer windows, and the landscaping looks threadbare in places. A Japanese maple is split down the center.

Henry is gathering this debris from the storm, hauling it into a large pile in front of the house. He wears a Princeton sweatshirt and jeans, a Nationals cap pulled over his hair. He pauses in his work to greet Mulder. There are wet leaves on his hands.

“Didn’t expect to see you,” Mulder says, stepping over a rake to shake hands. “I was planning a drop-and-dash.” He holds out Scully’s wooden umbrella, her jumper cables.

“Well, you can just, um, set that stuff on the bench I suppose. Dana’s in surgery all day, but I can put it in her car when she gets home.” Henry jams his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels.

“Okay,” Mulder says. He lays the items on the bench, then surveys the yard with a kind of awe at the destruction. “Hell of a mess.”

Henry sighs. “I know they were calling for it, but I guess I wasn’t prepared for what we got. You know Dana has a big crack in her windshield.”

Mulder’s eyebrows go up, as this is news to him. “She okay?”

“Oh, she’s fine, but she was pretty shaken when she got home last night.” He studies Mulder carefully. “Must have been a rough drive home, huh?”

“Must have been.”

They are silent for a time.

“You need any help cleaning up?” Mulder asks. “It’s the least I could do after you were nice enough to buy me birthday champagne.”

Henry shakes his head. “No, thank you for the offer though. Glad you had a good night despite the weather. You’re hard to shop for, though Dana said you wouldn’t want a gift.”

Mulder looks away. “I don’t need much.“

Henry picks the rake up, leans on the handle as he presses the tines into the soft earth. “I love my wife,” he says. “And so do you. Some people might say that puts us at odds, Mulder.”

Mulder meets Henry’s gaze. “It would be an understandable, if incorrect assumption.”

Henry shifts. “I don’t want to be at odds with you. You….you’re her friend. You represent a part of her life I can never fully understand. When I lost Joan I thought I’d…well. I know we all have our ghosts.”

“Nothing happened last night, Henry.”

Henry stiffens. “Pardon?”

Mulder holds his hands out, open. “I feel like I need to just say it, okay? Nothing inappropriate happened. My battery was dead and we realized we both had too much to drink, so we waited the storm out in my car. Her phone got wet and ruined so she couldn’t call. She adores you and your kids and that Ewok of a dog.”

Henry closes his eyes for a long moment, then opens them. “Thanks for bringing her things back. I’ll tell her you came by.”

Mulder nods. He gets into his car and backs down the driveway, navigating fallen limbs as he does. On the radio, Tom Petty’s singing about his last dance with Mary Jane. Mulder turns the volume up and sings along.

***

Anonymous asked: We can just blame love for the Henry saga. Loved fucked all of them over. In Victorian times, after the free pass, Scully would've killed herself, Henry would remain unmarried for the rest of his life and refuse to talk about Dana, and Mulder would go on some stupid quest as penance and probably get himself killed.

I think I saw this movie and Gillian was very good in it.

***

Anonymous asked: I beginning to feel like eventually Henry is going to realize Scully's connection runs so deep emotionally that he's just not going to want to deal with it anymore. He says he's fine with how things are, how Scully doesn't tell him much about her past, that she is still very close to Mulder and gives her a free pass, but eventually he'll want more for himself in a relationship and leave her. In my mind, Scully want want that life and deserves it, but she unintentinally sabotages it.

I think you’re right. Scully has a deep self-destructive streak that rears its head on occasion. I think there’s a part of her that doesn’t feel like she deserves familial happiness after William, and that she doesn’t deserve Mulder or Henry. She’s almost created a perfect storm for herself where she can lose them both by capitalizing on their feelings for her.

***

Anonymous asked: How did Henry and Scully meet?

She wore navy peau de soie and nude stilettos, a beaded bag on her wrist. Her hair hung in sculpted waves just covering her collarbones.

She chatted, she mingled, and she ducked into the kitchen with unnecessary frequency to check the flow of the food.

“Everything’s fine, Dr. Scully,” the staff assured her each time. She pursed her lips, scanning the bison tartare and vol au vents. She sampled a grilled shrimp, nodding tersely.

Scully calmed herself with a third vodka tonic, a poor decision, she knew, but the bar was open and her nerves jangled.

“It’s perfect, Dana,” her intern said, a glass of white wine in her manicured hand. She was a child, scarcely old enough to legally consume her drink. Her father was Someone.

Scully smiled, thanked her. The crowd was too dense, the room too warm, and the talk too loud. There was drunken laughter, cloying perfume. She longed for home, for the reliability of solitude.

Next to her, a man in a grey suit ordered a 15 year Macallan, neat. Scully appraised him out of habit, saw the fine tailoring and coordinating pocket square. The haircut was good, the shoes excellent. She sensed funds for her pet project.

“Dana Scully,” she said, holding out her free hand.

He took it with his left. There was no ring. “Henry O'Keefe,” he said. “You’re on the committee, aren’t you?”

Scully blinked in surprise. “I am,” she said. “Have we met?”

He shook his head. “My firm’s the title sponsor and I recognized your name.”

She smiled in the way she knew people liked, all her teeth on display. “Impressive. Have you checked out the auction items yet?”

He nodded. “There’re a few things I’d like for my kids, I put in some bids. Quite a variety this year.”

“It’s much appreciated. I hope you win them.” She left a tip for the bartender, turning to go.

Fingers at her back, and she sucked in her breath at the ghost of a memory.

“Dr. Scully?”

She turned back to Henry O'Keefe. “Yes?”

He looked into his drink, then at her. “It’s a very good cause.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps…perhaps you could tell me more about it. About how you got involved. It would be nice to hear from someone with passion rather than just a calculation for client endearment.” He offered her a hopeful smile.

Scully set her empty glass on the bar. “I’d love to,” she said. She rested her hand on his offered forearm, and waded back into the fray.

***

Anonymous asked: Henry story: if Mulder and Scully were asked to consult the FBI on a strange case (and a once only basis), what would happen?

She’s got a stack of patient files next to her, dog-eared, the corners grubby. Scully dutifully logs their contents into her computer, wishing the hospital would spring for software upgrades. Her phone rings, startling her from the mind-numbing task.

“Mulder?”

“There’s a case.”

She pecks at the keyboard. “I’m sorry, but the person you’re trying to reach is no longer available. Please hang up and try your call again.”

“I’m not kidding. You’ve gotta make arrangements, you’ve gotta-”

“Mulder, slow down. What the hell is going on? What case, why are you freaking out like this?”

A pause. “It’s Skinner.”

***

“I realize the government is slow with the red tape, but they are aware that they no longer employ you, correct?” Henry’s fingers tap his forehead as he paces the kitchen.

She traces her nail along the grain of the kitchen table. “Strictly consulting,” she says. “All behind the scenes. Probably no longer than a week.”

“Forgive me, but why you two? Why now?”

She looks down. “It’s classified.”

“Of course. And where will you be going? Can I know that at least?”

“Classified,“ she whispers, still not meeting his eyes.

Henry throws his hands in the air. “Of course. Of. Fucking. Course. Your whole life is classified, why shouldn’t this be too?”

Scully squeezes her eyes shut. Any other case and she would have said no. Anything else and she would have hung up on Mulder, gone back to her filing, eaten Viv’s outstanding lasagna, and gone to bed.

“Are you allowed to say no, even? I mean, you’re a civilian, right? They can’t force you to do anything.”

“I have to,” she says, heartsick. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But I have to.” Her throat is tight.

Henry knuckles the counter, his back to her. “I have never asked you anything, Dana. Not a single goddamned thing. I agreed to leave the past behind and move forward, but it seems to keep popping up. Flying off with your ex husband to your ex job? I’m supposed to be fine with that when I know…” He shakes his head.

“When you know what?” she breathes, nauseous. She is afraid he will say it, even though she knows he knows.

Henry turns, his eyes hard. “Enough, okay? I know enough.” He considers her. “What would you do if I said no?”

She is taken aback, this possibility not having occurred to her. “I didn’t think we forbade each other things, Henry,” she says slowly.

“The requests are getting pretty one-sided. So what would you do?”

She presses her trembling hands flat to the table, palms cool against the lacquered wood. “I’d go anyway,” she says. “Not for anyone else, but for Ski-” she bites off the end of her sentence, furious with herself.

Henry sits across from her at the table. “For whom?”

 She remains silent, shaken.

“Classified,” he says, with faint contempt. “Right.”

Scully chews her lip until the inside of it bleeds. Experience has taught her that there are reckonings, crossroads past which a life can take on an entirely new direction. She does not want this to be one of them.

They look at each other for what seems like a very long time.

“Henry,” she says carefully. “What I’m about to do is completely illegal, all right? I’m putting your life and my life in danger by telling you this. But you’re right; I owe it to you. To us.” She reaches across the table for his hand.

Henry nods. “I understand.”

He doesn’t; he can’t possibly, but she plows ahead before she loses her nerve. “FBI Director Walter Skinner has been taken by a militia group called the New Spartans. We believe he’s being held inside their compound, located near Casper Mountain, Wyoming.”

Henry gapes. “The Director. Of the FBI. Has been kidnapped?”

“So it would seem.”

Henry shakes his head, appalled. He withdraws his hand from hers to run through his hair.“Why isn’t this national news, why isn’t the, uh…who? The SEALS or the Army Rangers all over this? Why are they pulling two agents out of retirement to deal with a huge fucking disaster? Were you hostage negotiators, what?”

“No. But we….um. We, along with Director Skinner, have dealt with this group before. Mulder infiltrated them undercover at one point. August Bremer, their former leader, spared Mulder’s life at one point.” She looks at him sadly, reminding herself of all that he doesn’t know.

“Shouldn’t they be making demands, on TV or something, I don’t know…. Bragging?” Sweat beads on Henry’s brow, and he wipes at it with a paper napkin.

Scully shakes her head. “Maybe in a Bond flick. These are not people who want attention. They see themselves as the last true patriots and this is symbolic for them, for their followers. They don’t want to cut a deal with the federal government. They’re anarchists, and see no difference between the FBI and the KGB, Henry. This is a power move.”

Henry, dazed, shreds the paper napkin into minuscule fragments. “How the hell did they get him, anyway?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, she figures. What’s a little more treason between husband and wife? “A member of the group had been leaking plans to the Director for about eighteen months, all of it credible. The source claimed that the New Spartans had been working with anti-federal groups overseas to plan an attack that would take down power grids in 20 major US cities. Based on our prior dealings with the group, the Director found this consistent with their MO. He agreed to meet with the source to obtain satellite footage of the other groups’ headquarters. But it turned out to be a setup, an ambush. Four agents were killed and the Director was badly injured.”

Her husband looks ill. “My god,” he mumbles. “And you’re wading back into this? And I’m supposed to just nod and wave like it’s fine?”

“Just consulting, Henry, I promise.” She speaks softly, like she does when the twins wake up from nightmares they can’t remember. “I’m past fifty, and hardly in peak form. Intel only.”

“But why, Dana? Can’t someone else do this?” His voice is pleading.

“I owe him my life, Mulder’s life,” she says. “He risked himself to save us. And when I had no one, nothing, he was there.” She shrugs. “It’s a debt I never thought I could repay.”

Henry frowns. “No one and nothing? Dana, what happened to you?”

And now, Scully knows, now is the crossroad. She gulps air, takes her husband’s hands again in her own.

“I have a son,” she says.

***

@perplexistan asked: I need something from the Henry-verse. Something happy, though. Maybe Scully finally divorcing Henry and going back to Mulder. I know that's not the point of this AU, which I truly do love, but I just want it. Sue me.

You are asking a lot of our friendship. Can’t I just send you cookies?

***

Anonymous asked: Who is being eaten up by the repercussions of free pass more Mulder or scully?

Scully for sure. I think that, particularly post IWTB, he’s stopped taking responsibility for her decisions. I have a line in there where I say that Mulder is not her conscience, and I think he really feels that way now. She’s a grown woman capable of making her own choices. I think he knows what they did was wrong, but Scully isn’t some wide-eyed innocent anymore.

***

Anonymous asked: Does Viv know about Emily and William? Has she met/seen Mulder?

Henry doesn’t know about Emily and William. Viv has met Mulder twice. She thinks he’s a compelling, charming weirdo but, given her stepmother’s tendency to organize closets by color and make spreadsheets for every conceivable topic, she’s baffled that they were together as long as she’s heard they were.

***

For all the anons who have so sweetly asked after Henry, here’s a little intersection with Ghouli.

***

Simon and Alice run squealing from the living room, slamming into Scully when she comes around the corner from the kitchen.

She staggers back under their combined weight, bumping into the dog. “What’s wrong?” she asks, steadying herself against the counter.

Viv stalks in behind them, waving her phone. “I told them it was too scary,” she says. “But they hid behind the couch to read over my shoulder, and now they’re all freaked out.” She punches Simon in the arm. “Serves you right.”

“We’re never sleeping again,” Alice asserts, cuddling against Scully.

“Ever,” Simon adds, punching Viv back.

Scully rubs Alice’s small back, running her fingers through her thick hair. The irrational squabbles of children are still hard for her to follow, but she tries. “What was too scary?”

“Ghouli,” Viv says, crunching into an apple.

***

Scully is curled up on the chaise longue in her bedroom, lost in reading, when Henry comes in. He’s shed his suit for pajama pants and a Georgetown sweatshirt. Scully smiles at his mussed hair, an untidy silver haystack from wrestling with the twins. The nails of his left hand are painted with purple glitter polish.

“You get them settled?” she asks.

He rubs his face. “Yeah, finally. Alice is good, but Simon’s still pretty sure this Ghouli thing is coming to eat our family.” He sits at the edge of the chaise, reaching out to massage Scully’s neck. His hands cover her shoulders, thumbs meeting at the base of her cervical spine.

“Mmmmmm,” she says, rolling her head forward. “You’re going to distract me.”

“That’s the plan,” he says, trailing butterfly kisses along her jaw, then stops when he notices what’s on the screen. “What the hell is that?”

“Ghouli, apparently. Viv showed me the site. it’s pretty well done, actually. I can see why they’re freaked out.” The drawing of the monster has the clean, architectural lines of a scientific sketch.

Henry stretches out on the chaise, wrapping himself around her. Scully tucks herself into the solid warmth of his body and adjusts her laptop so that they can both see. Late night cuddling over images of cryptids brings back memories that she shakes off.

As though reading her mind, Henry says, “So whatcha thinking, Agent Scully? This is your former wheelhouse, right?”

She shrugs. “Not exactly It’s fascinating from a cultural standpoint, I suppose. I was talking to Viv about it. There’s an internet phenomenon called ‘creepypasta,’ kind of like urban legends with a paranormal bent. Some of them have taken on a sort of folk-tale quality.”

Henry tucks her head beneath his chin. “Is this that Slenderman thing? Those two girls in Wyoming?”

“Wisconsin,” Scully corrects. “Yes, like Slenderman.” She switches tabs, pulling up a new post. “Ceci n'est ce pas une pipe,” she reads, in her bad French.

“This is not a pipe,” Henry translates, musing. “What the hell does that mean?”

Scully taps her lips. “It’s a reference to a painting by Rene Magritte. He did, um, a painting of a pipe with this phrase below it, as a reminder that the symbol of the thing is not the thing itself. The map is not the territory. It’s a semiotic concept addressed by Alfred Korzybski.”

Henry kisses her temple. “You didn’t even have to Google that, did you?”

She, grins, admits that she did not.

“So hot,” Henry says. “Anyway, so what? Some emo kid who’s read too much Sartre decided to make some of this, uh, creepypasta stuff.”

Scully scrolls around some more. “Probably. It’s just impressively complex. Like, here. Look at this. It’s got a Baconian cypher, it references atomic bomb tests,it’s got sketches of RNA…which. That’s odd, actually.”

“Hmmm?”

“Well, the post with the RNA base is by a user named K/OMouse. I’m guessing it refers to knockout mice. Those are mice whose DNA has been altered, so why include RNA nucleotides instead of DNA? And an RNA nucleotide shouldn’t contain a diphosphate, but there are two phosphate groups here, plus that terminal oxygen should be double bonded to this carbon, or be a hydroxyl, or at least have a negative sign.” She doesn’t notice that her voice has grown agitated.

Henry has. “Uh, Dana? I think maybe you should avoid this site with Simon and Alice. Go play Neko Atsume for a while, hmmm?”

Scully takes a deep breath. He’s right, of course he’s right.

It’s nothing.

She closes her laptop, laughing a little. “I guess I’m Rever’s target audience.”

Henry grins. “I’ll try to distract you again.”

She ignores the little itch in her amygdala, in her entorhinal cortex, and follows him to bed.

***

It’s two AM and Henry is sleeping, bare-chested and peaceful on the other side of the room. Wicket, dense and furry, is sprawled like a wolf pelt over his feet. Their breathing is even and steady, a lulling hum in the back of her head. It steadies her like a heartbeat. Like the sea.

Her eyes flit back and forth between tabs, her face bathed in the blue glow. She looks at the post by K/OMouse again. The alien head, the RNA.

Alien head, RNA

RNA, virus.

Viral replication occurs via mRNA.

Something tickles her brain again, that little itch.

A virus.

An alien virus.

Purity control.

She grabs a notepad to organize her thoughts.

Baltimore classification?

Two phosphate groups = diphosphate nucleoside? Or non-terrestrial?

It is not the pipe - it is not the territory - what does Ghouli represent?

She looks at KO/Mouse’s post again, copies down the code he’s written. She begins working on it before seeing that user Elizabeth has helpfully done this work for her.

weseeyouwilliamvandekampweknowwhoyouare

andifweknowthentheyknowwhichyoushouldknow

crossroadswasonceanatombombandnowitisyou

WilliamWilliamWilliam pounds in her head.

Her vision is black, suddenly. And just as suddenly she sees a farm, idyllic and flat beneath an Ansel Adams sky.

Back to her room in a flash, gasping for air. Back to Henry dreaming in the safe warmth of their bed.

It’s 2:37 by her watch, but time is only a human construct. She pads out to the hall and down the stairs. She dials, and he answers on the third ring.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

[cheryls-blossomed]

so I saw this sb post on IG I really wish I didn't but it did make me think. barry was able to tell caitlin was off when she was dealing with killer frost stuff and immediately get her to turn from kf back to cait, yet couldnt figure out it wasn't iris for 5 weeks. idk how to even be okay with that in my head now. does he even know her at all? like that's such terrible storytelling and im really frustrated. "crisis" is a trash excuse for the show to use after 20 years of being best friends

Okay, I’ve seen these posts from SBs before, and they’re blatantly ignoring context. Could season 6B have been a lot better written? Absolutely. But these are blatantly false comparisons, not least because these posts are very disingenuous about what actually happened during 3x07.

Barry didn’t know Caitlin was dealing with Killer Frost stuff. Cisco was the first person to know something was up, and then Caitlin reveals to him about what’s going on first, and for an episode, it was just Cisco and Caitlin dealing with it, after Caitlin came back from her mother’s. Caitlin told Iris, Joe, and Barry later on that she had cryokinetic powers at the end of 3x06. When she started to go full Killer Frost in 3x07, everybody knew that she wasn’t herself, because she was literally openly icing cameras in the precinct and kidnapping people. If they didn’t know something was up, then that would be really alarming, lol. This was not some personal Eureka moment for Barry. Every one of them knew she wasn’t herself in that episode, and Barry had literally had to be told that she had cryokinetic powers along with Iris and Joe in the previous episode. Cisco had already vibed that he and Killer Frost were going to fight a whole episode ago. Like this is an absolute false comparison. Yes, he talked Caitlin down and got her to turn back to Caitlin. Guess who also did that? Iris, a whole season later, when she talked Killer Frost down from killing Amunet. And Julian talked Caitlin down in 3x12, when all Barry could think about was Iris. So, this isn’t some unique thing to Barry that he was able to do. Cisco is the only person who was able to effectively bring Killer Frost back after she’d gone full-on villain, though. And he didn’t have to say a word to her. His life was threatened; Savitar was about to kill him; Killer Frost saved him and that was the moment she turned against Savitar.

Season 6B is a completely different set of facts. Iris is trapped in the Mirrorverse, and she is switched out with an imposter. Mirror Iris could make great pancakes and could manage to crack a whole wine bottle on a man’s head, all of which as we know do make Barry very suspicious, but other than that, Mirror Iris is very, very careful about what she does and says in order to keep up the charade of being Iris. When he later confronts Mirror Iris, she is able to put up a plausible enough argument to throw him off her trail, and Joe, in the precinct later, while completely well-meaning, ends up accidentally and unintentionally gas-lighting Barry. We are not given many glimpses into Barry’s headspace between 6x12 and the end of 6x16, and I do think this was to build up suspense, but I understand that this was very frustrating. We can see, though, that there’s clear distance between Barry and Mirror Iris and that he feels it very viscerally. I stand by the fact that there was too much filler nonsense and that’s why the Mirror story-line was so slow-moving, with the biggest problem being of course that there was not enough focus on our Iris and her investigations in the mirror. However, what I do think was genuinely poor writing was the fact that Mirror Iris’s speech to Barry at the end of 6x14 was not the so-called Eureka moment for Barry. This speech was so far removed from anything that Iris would say, and quite frankly, it would have been a much more compelling character study for that to have been the moment Barry realized what was going on and not the final scene in 6x16, which was quite frankly just contrived drama so that Barry would realize what was up. Mirror Iris becoming so reckless so fast, after she’d been so meticulous, in 6x16 never made an ounce of sense to me.  

However, Barry did have a personal Eureka moment, when Mirror Iris threw him out of the loft, and as he’s walking down the corridor, his fist clenches, his watch is turning red (and stays at red), and he has an expression of suspicion and anger more than heartbreak. That’s the moment. And he’s clearly been piecing together his suspicions for weeks; we just did not see it onscreen until 6x17. But when he shows his board to Cecile, we see how he’s amassed all of his suspicions and he’s been working in overdrive, formulating different theories, and eventually this leads him to ping the GPS on Iris’s phone on the day she went to McCulloch Tech. Thus, he realizes something happened to her that night. Think about it: that’s a lot of work and lot of pinpointing, and the vast majority of people would not have been able to figure that out. He is right on the dot. He was able to do this, because he knows Iris like she is his soul, like she is his heart. So, while I agree that Crisis is a poor excuse and while I agree that the writing in season 6B could have been a lot better, I disagree with the notion that Barry doesn’t know Iris, based on this arc, because this is absolutely untrue. 6x17 demonstrated that fact very clearly.

[toxicpineapple]

Please give me your amami essay, I'd like to know the TEA! I was also gonna ask for the mastermind essay, but honestly I REALLY wanna hear your thoughts on his characterization (and your thoughts on his shitty fanon characterization)

HOOO BOY OKAY. this is good, it gives me an excuse to procrastinate on reading that new amasai fic on the latest feed. (note that i REALLY WANT TO READ IT, i’m just anticipating commenting and tbh the spoons,,, i lack them. it’s okay though i’ll get over it.)

so!!! let’s start with general attitude, because i think that amami’s is really unique. he’s a subversive character. in general i feel like that was the biggest goal with his character design and personality combination-- he looks like a total playboy, kaede even comments as much moooore than once. but he’s the absolute opposite. i’ll rant about that in a bit. i’ve already gone off on a tangent and i said i was gonna talk about attitude.

amami is laid back, but not to the point of complacency. y’know what i mean? like, he’s relaxed, but he’s on his guard, too. his speaking style is pretty casual (typically he’ll greet people with a “hey,” whenever he’s slightly uncomfortable he’ll probably say “haha”... this isn’t necessarily a canon thing but i like it when people have him talking in sentence fragments. ex. “forgot to grab my jacket” or “wanted to get a snack” sort of thing) and that’s just,,, the type of person he is. he’s casual. it’s remarkable considering how wealthy amami is-- though bear in mind, he still IS wealthy, so there are bound to be things he doesn’t understand about people-- that he can be so normal and like, down to earth, in a way. when people mess around with him he’ll probably just laugh it off.

to cite a fic i read once that had REALLY phenomenal characterisation, imo, ouma ends up dumping a bucket of water on amami’s head (on accident; there are some semantics and i won’t get into it but again the fic is really good and funny and you should totally read it) and amami just squeezes out his shirt and makes a couple cracks before walking away. (sorry this isn’t meant to be a “dumping love on fics” post but GOD that fic is hysterical.) he’s an enabler too, at least i think so-- remember that anthology chapter where kaede, shuichi, and kaito are trying to catch ouma and kaito sets an “amami trap” to stop him? all ouma has to do is flutter his eyelashes and go “pleeeaaase let me go amam~niichan!” and then he just. he does. what a fucking doormat i can’t believe him.

he’s like that though. i feel like big brother stuff is kind of his weakness. (and not in a kinky way alright i will destroy you. he might make a joke about having a sister complex in one of his ftes but he DOESNT that joke was just tasteless COME ON RANTARO WHFKLDSJFK) which brings me to his whole older brother thing, because like,,, YEAH. guy grew up with twelve younger sisters!!! and he remarked in his ftes with shuichi that they’re mostly step sisters, which means he just.... has a nurturing personality. i mean amami is somewhat conservative (if you try to come on to him during salmon mode you will be brutally rebuffed; amami tells u to keep your horny thoughts to yourself, though you shouldn’t be ashamed of having them) so i imagine he’s not the biggest fan of his father’s tendencies-- not that i don’t NECESSARILY interpret his father’s behaviour as him sleeping around.... it’s possible he just likes children and deliberately marries women who already have kids so he can take them... i mean it’s exceedingly decent to keep considering ur step children to be your children after a divorce so i have a hard time reconciling this common image of rantaro’s dad as some kind of player figure with the impression i got of him in my head but that’s just my daddy issues coming into play again so ignore me-- and yet he still considers all his sisters to be his sisters.

not to mention he feels a great deal of like, responsibility, when it comes to taking care of them. i find it impossible to believe that all the losses were his fault. you could ARGUE that the one he tells you about with his younger sister was to be blamed on him? but i mean, amami is a child. he didn’t even know his sister was following him out. sure he blames himself for it but there’s no real good way to blame him just considering that,,, he’s a kid. and he was so young-- he was obviously so young-- when it happened. so like, not to be all Good and Bad on you, but i do feel that amami is fundamentally a good reason. and you SEE that too, in the killing game. i’m certain he was on the fence about trusting that note he woke up with. would you trust it? he had no memory whatsoever of writing it, all he had were the words “ultimate hunt” and a map of the school to guide his way. i imagine he wasn’t even sure if he should do what the note said. but then ryoma started talking about sacrificing himself for everyone else, and rantaro probably thought, “well... if i have a way to get us out of here, even if it doesn’t work, i can’t just let ryoma sacrifice himself without having tried.”

rantaro is self-reliant too, i think. in the talent development plan mukuro remarks that she noticed he was injured a good number of times, but never said anything about it because she felt like he was trying to keep it under wraps. (note: good idea for an amami and mukuro friendship fic. must write. someone remind me.) i think amami kind of feels isolated from his classmates? either because he has these perceived notions of like, independence and whatever, not burdening anybody else with his problems (honestly not to go chabashira on main but wtf men ask for help c’mon i promise if you find a person who’s worth being in ur life they won’t treat you like shit for feeling ur feelings) or just because he’s not around a lot. i think amami is the type of person to invalidate his own problems a lot, or at least downplay them to others. he blames himself for all his sisters going missing, took the responsibility to find them all. you know the blow that’s going to be to his education? traveling around the world looking for twelve different people? and he plans to keep doing that!!! forever!!! ugh ;-; poor babey. but anyway i feel like he doesn’t want to tell anybody about his problems because he feels like it’s his thing to deal with.

i also believe that rantaro is a bit prideful. i mean, anyone can be prideful under the correct circumstances, and in fact there is a great deal of pride that simply isn’t addressed by the fandom in analysing characters and that makes me really sad because pride is such a SEXY character flaw but i’ll leave that alone for now. he hates being told to give up on what he’s doing. i mean everyone in his life has been telling him to stop looking for his sisters. that’s got to suck, but also, DAMN look at what his reaction was. this utter refusal to open up to anybody. shuichi’s ftes with him are spent pretty much just trying to get amami to stop squirreling around and actually TALK to him. amami asks shuichi at one point if he has any siblings and when the response is negative, amami immediately assumes that shuichi wouldn’t understand, would tell him to quit. just like everyone else.

(i mean, even with kiyo and mukuro, whose circumstances mirror his almost painfully at least in willingness to sacrifice stuff for their siblings, he doesn’t tell them what he’s doing, just that he’s doing it for his sister-- singular-- and that he would do anything for her. kiyo and mukuro!! out of ANYBODY, they would understand. in tdp they DO talk about it-- kiyo encourages him to keep searching-- as his friend...... fuck amaguji is such a good ship even if the implications of kiyo saying he wants to meet rantaro’s sister after he finds her bc she must be suuuuch a good person if he’s doing all this for her are uhhh not great-- and mukuro immediately understands when he says it’s to do with his younger sister. like, full stop. she just goes “okay” and goes serious. all at once. damn rantaro, mukuro, and kiyo really do be a power trio huh. i need to write more fic about them i miss them.)

this is more into baseless conjecture so take this as you will, but i also think rantaro is kind of,,, easily distracted lmao. he mentions helping out a village with a disease-- been a while since i’ve seen his ftes, sorry for any inconsistencies-- among other shit and like... bro what are you DOING. you have sisters to find. and he can’t be getting injured all the time, getting wrapped up with gang violence and all that, looking for people who were lost traveling. i mean sure, you could say they went all over the world and got wrapped up in all sorts of mess, but more likely they stayed in roughly the same area, waiting for him to come back. and also? i have a hard time believing his sisters were lost in these remote forest places people always put them. COME ON, who the fuck goes to some village for a vacation? a RICH person no less. i’m on another tangent. sorry. but yeah, i love the people who write rantaro as an absolute airhead. i headcanon that he has no way of judging the passing of time and thus is the absolute worst in the bathroom bc he sits there for twenty minutes thinking about the universe and then walks out like “:) ok ready to go” like wtf are you even doing there stupid akljdf anyway.

i think rantaro is softhearted and thoughtful. in his ftes with kaede he demonstrates an ability to look past what people show at surface level-- you can ask him about miu, kiibo, or kiyo and he’ll give u Good Fucking Insight(tm)-- and analyse their intentions more closely. and i mean this is just from a couple day’s interaction. he’s down to earth for sure, understanding when people are intimidated but also caring and observant. (his “talk about a first impression” line is so fuckaindgf.... good for his characterisation. i love romantic amamatsu but he so clearly takes an older brother role in those ftes, he’s really such a sweetheart,,,, hnadhfkj ;w;) rantaro is just. he’s patient with people. and selfless and kind. idk it’s all the good stuff. warm smiles and indulgence. all the way. probably lets kokichi steal his lunch.

THAT BEING SAID: i think rantaro also has a very serious streak. he doesn’t show it a lot but there are moments. he’s self-sacrificing-- i mean, obviously. he was the ultimate survivor, after all. some people hc that he got there by killing, or maybe everyone else in his game died but one person, but bro that doesn’t make any sense???? no. what happened was there were probably like three people left, and monokuma was like “one has to be sacrificed” and rantaro thought, welp. it’ll be me then. and i wouldn’t say the choice would be immediate because rantaro DOES has self preservation instincts-- he’s only human-- but i don’t think he’d have let anybody else make that decision. i think ultimately he would try to protect other people.

he can be scarily confrontational too. i do believe he’d usually only do it in the defense of others-- like, his base instinct is to protect. i read a fic once (oumami, unfortunately) where ouma was committing crimes and went to hide behind rantaro and rantaro instinctively moved to protect him, and that’s.... that’s good characterisation. point one to the oumami stans, point zero to me. motherfucker. (love u oumami stans, it’s just not my thing.) i really like it in fics when he’s stern, lecturing people for hurting other people, but i also think rantaro is too understanding to be truly unforgiving. like if two people got into an argument and one came out of it more hurt than the other, i don’t believe that amami would be unsympathetic to the less hurt one. i think he’s mature enough to take a look at the situation and go, well, okay.

i think he’d be TERRIFYING when angry. he’s patient, y’know? so it takes a lot to get him to that point. he’s really, ah, accommodating of people. puts up with a lot of bs kind of thing. but i imagine the best way to get him to snap is by hurting someone he cares about. and at that point: ur fucked. i’ve never written it before because i’m terrified of what i’d do with that kind of power but.... imagine the shuichi whump. holy god.

i’m NOT here to talk about shuichi whump (though i’m down to do that any time of day believe me) so i’m gonna like. shhhhiiiiiiffft.

i project on characters a lot so at this point it’s difficult to distinguish if some of my characterisation things are like, actually characterisation things? or just me venting, so like, take nothing i say as canon, but also,,, akdsjf we love a man who bottles up his emotions.

because rantaro just doesn’t have the TIME to be crying all over the place. he was probably a total wreck when he lost his first sister. and his second. and maybe even his third. but then he started to gather his composure, more and more. because if there’s anything that rantaro has in excess, it’s composure. the more losses he suffers the more of a shield he builds up. and the self hatred and the guilt and the blame and the responsibility are piling up and up and up, but god he hates it when other people see him sad, because he needs to be the strong one, he can’t just pile that up on other people. that’s not their weight to carry, and besides, he’s the older brother, he should be able to deal with his own problems. he’d just be burdening the people he cares about by letting them see his demons.

and then he doesn’t have any coping mechanisms because he never lets himself feel enough to cope, and when people get close enough to actually CARE about him, when people notice he’s upset or struggling and offer him help, he doesn’t know how to deal with it-- and god he hates lashing out at people but it’s so much easier to deal with the consequences of being mean than the consequences of breaking down. only conflict is scary when he’s one of the causes so he needs time to recover, and well, what better way to do that than to get on a plane or a boat and go look for his sisters? after all he’s wasting time whenever he’s just sitting around, they’re still out there and he needs to find them, so might as well just keep pushing himself to the limits, because it’s his fault they’re lost anyway...

something mukuro said to rantaro in the talent development plan stuck in my brain. like, initially it’s just a funny and cute interaction (rantaro even blushes and a blushing rantaro is a GOOD FUCKING RANTARO) but when i thought about it more i was like.... huh. hm. angst ideas. mukuro makes a joke about rantaro going over to her stand at the festival to flirt with her-- i think that’s the context, i know it’s play-boy related-- and rantaro assures her (as he always does) that he’s not that kind of guy, and mukuro agrees, saying she was just pulling his leg and that he seems like the kind of person who gets dumped because he doesn’t show his emotions enough. rantaro laughs, blushes, and says “haha, not touching that one,” and akdjfnnnnnn god mukuro you’re so blunt i love you fkdjf but wow. i usually have rantaro as not having dated anyone, just because i feel like he kind of hyperfocuses on finding his sisters? and given that he’s like sixteen (seventeen at the MOST) there’s not much of a timeline for when his sisters got lost. in my fic search i had to cram all the losses into a four-year period and damn that was rough. anyway i just don’t think he’d really prioritise romance. but that reaction implies that that’s EXACTLY his experience with romance, which makes a bit of sense because mukuro is ridiculously sharp, and also it’s,, it’s just sad idk poor rantaro. getting dumped because he’s like the emotional equivalent of a doorknob when it comes to his own feelings.

i do think rantaro is a bit cowardly. not in the sense that he’d shy away from danger-- i think he’d RUSH INTO IT HEAD FIRST because he’s a man or whatever, i know he respects women but he does seem to hold some of those very stereotypically masculine ideals of constantly protecting those around him, which is like.... ok toxic masculinity mcgee can u and kaito stop throwing hands every time u see each other ty-- but more in the sense that he avoids,,, confrontation. emotional confrontation just ain’t his thing. and i think he’d rather run away from it or otherwise find some way of ignoring it than try to address his problems.

he would, with that in mind, probably try to associate with people who don’t push the matter. kiyo and mukuro, for example. they both have a fair amount of baggage themselves so they’d probably be respectful. ryoma is lowkey enough that he just, he wouldn’t bring that shit up, that’s uncool. i also think rantaro would get along REALLY WELL with kaito, and i actually don’t think kaito would pull his sidekick stuff with him? just because in a way they’re kind of kindred spirits, and i think kaito would see an ally in rantaro before seeing someone to try to nurture, so they’d probably have some kind of a truce like, if you don’t force me to be vulnerable, i won’t force you. one of the reasons why i love amamota so much is because it involves the two of them growing to care about each other beyond that sort of unhealthy camaraderie and breaking down each other’s barriers and i just..... hhnnfhhdkfj they could be so good for each other but nobody wants to talk about thatjslfkj

you weren’t asking for my amamota mess lmao sorry anon i get sidetracked SO easily. but yeah, amami gravitates towards people who wouldn’t try to get him to be more honest with himself. and i honestly think the v3 cast would be pretty good about that overall, except for shuichi who is a detective and has a habit of sticking his nose in places it shouldn’t be, but i see no reason to write that out because amami’s ftes already display that beautifully. (well, that’s a lie, i’m absolutely plotting out a slowburn in my head already that involves shuichi stripping down his walls one by one, but forget about all of that rn we don’t need to talk about why amasaimota is my ot3.) also he is softer on childish people like ouma and himiko. ain’t nobody wants to TALK TO ME about how brilliant it would be if rantaro and hiyoko were friends because hiyoko has such problems in that department and he would take one look at her and go hm. i’m adopting her. and he’s so fucking patient and nice and she’d lose the will to make fun of him and i have to do ALL THE GODDAMN WORK AROUND HERE but it’s fine. at least i get to write it.

i’ve described the fundamentals of his characterisation pretty well by now i think. i have some throwaway headcanons, like uhh,,

he’s claustrophobic

plays the guitar and the ukulele

he prefers warm weather and perishes in the cold

high pain tolerance

he’s a Good Cook

doesn’t like sex jokes (they make him uncomfortable)

asexual (i do like a good demisexual hc at all times of day tho)

master of piggyback rides

does his own piercings

impulsive as hell

gets lost easily but can always find his way back

has a lot of scars from travels

hands are rough and calloused (again from travels)

morning person

smells like evergreen (you know i had to, you know i did)

Radiates Heat Like A Fucking Toaster Oven

good hugs

hates tying his shoelaces

likes being the big spoon :)

has a tongue piercing

i said “some throwaway headcanons” but i ended up listing way more than i mean to. i’ll make a separate list of my rantaro headcanons someday and talk about them all in detail but for now, uh, there’s that.

SO AS FOR THE RANTARO CHARACTERISATIONS I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE:

god where to fucking begin. actually i know exactly where to begin. it’s my least favourite one just because, like i said at the very beginning, rantaro is a subversive character. i mean i think he’s kind of a low hanging fruit when it comes to that. there are plenty of other subversive characters in the dr series but rantaro is like that. you expect a flirt and u get,,, a sweetheart. but then some people (usually the ones who ship him with female characters exclusively though i will see it on occasion in an amasai or oumami fic) decide to throw that out the window and make him a total playboy!! and listen, i have no problem with people who are a little flirty. we’re kids!! flirt ur heart out!!! and hey, that’s not what this is about but y’know what? so long as everything is safe, sane, and consensual, then yeah!! exercise your sexual freedom and sleep with whoever you want to!!! i don’t think there’s anything wrong with messing around a little, dating who u wanna and experimenting with ur tastes and preferences. if rantaro WAS a playboy, then there would be nothing wrong with that. i would love him just the same because he’s such a fundamentally GOOD character.

except that.... he’s.......... NOT. you slaughter one of the biggest aspects of his character by throwing away what matters to him and making him some hunky-deep-voice-dreamboat dude meant to sweep kaede/tsumugi/whomsteverthefuck off her feet. rantaro is one of those characters where he’s so blatantly not that kind of person, and it’s like. it’s an affront, almost, to portray him that way? and i do believe you should have the freedom to write what you want, since we’re in that age (aside from romanticised pedophilia and incest; that shit ain’t cute, i say this often but pro-ship DNI) where u should be able to take some liberties, but it’s just. hnnn. it’s so frustrating. rantaro does not know how to smolder! if he DID smolder, he wouldn’t even realise he was doing it. he doesn’t have people lying at his feet, okay? he’s too flaky for that. i wouldn’t say he’s unreliable but he definitely ain’t at school as much as he should be.

another one that i hate: st-stalker? what the fuck? that is not sexy that is creepy and weird?

another another one that i hate: yandere? what the FUCK??? that is not sexy that is glorified ABUSE???? the yandere trope is AWFUL bc you’re taking a controlling relationship and turning it into a fetish. NO. if he limits ur contact with other people, if he follows u everywhere, if he threatens ur loved ones, if he tries to control you, ladies and gents and nonbinaries, he’s not a yandere, he’s an abuser and you need a fucking restraining order. actually, people of ANY gender or sex can perpetuate this behaviour and IT IS NOT CUTE. I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK WHAT BOUNDARIES U SET IN PLACE, IF YOUR FREEDOM IS BEING RESTRICTED THAT IS ABUSE.

hate it when people make rantaro violent. hate it when people make rantaro a murderer. hate it when people make rantaro controlling. hate it when people make rantaro overtly sexual. some kind of sultry deep voice dominant kind of figure. dude, what the fuck? i don’t,, want to make any public comments about sex positions because i think that’s kind of Strange to just talk about on a post, but i do think that the way people portray him for their smuts is,,, idk it’s weird. i’m not gonna kinkshame u but like. :eyes:

i will however accept rantaro as a thrillseeker, or a highstrung rich boy, or a total space cadet, or a himbo, or a cryptid. these are all very good interpretations of the Mans. just, like. be wary of making him two dimensional. a good character is multifaceted. if you can take a trait that clashes with all of these and SELL ME ON IT, i will buy it. if u give me good justifications, or even just good writing?? then i will accept it.

the long and the short of it is, anon, he’s my favourite so i think about him a lot. i love writing rantaro. he’s just, he’s a Guy. y’know? He’s A Good Dude, If You’ll Give Him A Shot. :) we don’t get to see very much of him but i think that there’s plenty of material if you overanalyse everything, which, as you probably all know by now,,,, i absolutely do.

thank you for the ask, this was a delight to spend an hour talking about.

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi, I have some questions and it’d be great if you could help me with the answer. What would my type be? I’m quite sure that I’m Fe but it feels out of place since my social skills are not good and … well, it’s like this. My close friends (All attested TPs) are A LOT more socially graceful than I am. They can just walk in a room and everybody is their friend. They charm everyone so … for having no better word, sleekly that it can be terrifying…

You seem strongly Ni to me but your judging axis isn’t clear. I’d rule out ENFJ if you are less skilled than your ETP friends in getting people to like you than they are, since ENFJs are usually good at reading people and connecting to them on an interpersonal level – so consider also INFJ. (However, if the following paragraph applies, ENFJ is also possible given 6′s tendency to self-doubt. IE, you may be over-thinking your social behaviors and that could be limiting your ease and ability to trust that you can win over people.)

You might be more of a 6 core than a 3 core, if you do that much self-doubt and waffling and considering whether to change your approach if someone else criticizes it. 6s are more inclined to listen to other people, whereas 3 cores tend to be quite arrogant (to cover up their insecurity) and assume they are wonderful at everything. I’m not sure a 3 would ever admit to me that they are socially awkward; they would be “uniquely gifted" and splendid. So, you may want to think about whether you might be operating out of a core place of 6ish self-doubt. The crucial aspect in determining a core between 3 and 6 is how calm you can stay when you get upset – 3s tend to know at all times how blowing their top can make them look to other people, so they moderate their reaction to always seem professional – a 6 is more likely to get emotional and reactive.

BTW, what d'you think is Dumbledore and Voldemort’s enneagram, I haven’t seen anyone talked much about this topic.

Voldemort is a power-seeking, arrogant, callous 3w4 who wants eternal glory.

Dumbeldore is harder, because his younger self seems to conflict with his older self. [erased] ETA: Actually… I’m gonna change my mind about Dumbledore. The detachment could come from being a 5, and he’s clearly able to separate himself from his emotions in how he handles Harry’s destiny – he leaves him with Petuna for “the greater good” even though he must have SOME NOTION of how Harry is being treated, and how ultimately, as Snape accuses him, he is “raising Harry to be the lamb to the slaughter.” Dumbledore knows this is necessary and commits to it. He’s a strategic thinker but also, especially when young and in his flashbacks to the past, was arrogant and conceited in his elitism – so I’m now thinking a 5w4.

- ENFP Mod