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here together

[aliteralsemicolon]

I'll wait for your love - 18+

See part 1 | See Part 2 | Part 3 of We can't be friends (wait for your love)

The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want things to go back to the way they were and Spencer agrees that change may be for the best.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions + detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

WARNINGS: Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, case details (barely) mentioned, alcohol mentioned like once. Smut (not the focus at all): making out, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, praise, use of pet names (angel, pretty girl, etc). Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.4K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Avoiding Spencer wasn’t overly difficult on the flight back to D.C. You weren’t entirely sure how to face him after he risked his life for you, so you just pretended to be asleep the whole time. You even took a separate jeep from the tarmac to avoid a car ride back with him, and almost made a clean getaway to your car in the parking lot when Hotch stopped you. 

“I’m sorry to hold you back, but I do need the Anchorage report on my desk before tomorrow morning. It can’t be put off any longer.”

He looked extremely apologetic and you understood. You’re grateful he gave you as much time as he has. That’s how you ended up stuck at work til the later hours of the evening. Besides the few workaholics, security guards and janitors roaming around the corridors, the only other person there with you is Spencer, oddly. Even Hotch has gone home. You’ve spent more time stalking the doctor work through the pile of case files on his desk than you have writing in the one on yours. Only when you're caught do you look away. 

“Everything okay?” The innocent curiosity in his big eyes further reddens the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Fine.” You mutter, dipping your head back down to the open page.

You’re never going to get this damn file done if you can’t get him out of your head, and him being barely three feet away from you doesn’t help. It’s very difficult for you to get your words from pen to paper. Anchorage wasn’t haunting you like it did at first. It was a traumatic event, yes, but alone isn’t the cause of this…block. Obviously the reality that you’re leaving is starting to dawn on you. Somehow your mind has linked this case with your departure and finishing this report makes it more official than your actual resignation. 

Plus, as much as you definitely hate Spencer, you do did care for him. The shock of him almost getting himself killed in front of you is another thing occupying your mind. It’s barely been twenty four hours since then, it’s still fresh. You can see him stand and grab his satchel in your peripheral vision, he’s preparing to leave. There are a lot of memories attached to that brown leather bag. 

Things he would carry in there for you when you forgot your own bag. 

You don’t make it obvious that you’re watching him gather his things in small glances. 

He bought extra hair clips for you to keep in there because you would often forget those too. 

It’s over now. No point in dwelling on it. You shake your head once he’s out of sight, trying to force him out of your thoughts. Now that he’s gone you’re hoping to actually be able to get some work done.

He taught you chess with the mini chess set he keeps in there. You discovered that you actually quite liked chess and would ask to play with him all the time. It was also his ‘secret’ weapon to help you calm down. 

You roll your eyes to push back the tears from the memories that refuse to stop playing. This can wait until you get home, it’s not important. 

It wasn’t the chess set that helped you feel calm. Spencer could win chess against you in just a few moves, but he would deliberately stretch out the game so you could have room to breathe. The longer the game, the more time you had to spend focused on the moves and slow down your thoughts. You could open up at your own pace. He would let you feel in control.

It doesn’t matter if he’s near you or not, Spencer has a way of invading your headspace wherever he is. Your train of thoughts is interrupted with a light thud on your right. You covertly roll the tears away again and turn to examine the source of the noise. A mug of coffee placed on your desk by

“Spencer?” You sputter breathlessly. 

“Sorry. I know you told me to stop. This is the last time I promise.” 

You don’t fully comprehend what he’s going on about, not expecting him to be here at all. 

“I thought you left.”

“I did– was. I was leaving, but I thought I’d make you some coffee before I go. Since you’ve been here a while.” He awkwardly explains. 

You steadily direct your attention back to the mug, reeling in what was happening. 

“Before you get mad, this really is just a cup of coffee from a colleague who thought it might help keep you energised if you’re planning to stay late. There’s no ulterior motive…”

He continues rambling but you’re not mentally present to hear any of it. 

He made you coffee. 

Even though you’ve been nothing short of an absolute bitch. Granted he was a bitch first, but the point is that he’s still thinking of your well being regardless. You can’t hide your tears from him this time. It’s the soft buzz of your name that draws you back to him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ll take the coffee–”

His panicked sentiment is cut short when you jump out of your seat and shove past him. The breakdown you’ve been avoiding hits you like a ton of bricks. You run into the nearest empty office and he runs after you, making it past the door before you can lock him out. 

“Spencer p–please get out! I’m fine.” You’re pacing in the same spot, fanning away the stream falling down your cheeks, hyperventilating.

He doesn’t respond to you, instead cautiously taking your hand in his. You’re in too frenzied a state to care. He guides you to sit on the couch against the wall and you blindly go along with it, still trying to get yourself together. 

You want to stop the tears, but you can’t do that until you get your breathing under control. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you slump into him, head buried in his chest. You should try to fight it, you should push him away, but you can’t. Right now, surrounded by his scent, held in his arms, you don’t want to move. It’s not something you can properly explain, but the feeling is so comforting that nothing else matters. All you know is that you’re safe and that’s enough for you to allow yourself to finally break down. 

The first few sobs are loud, like there’s not enough air in the world to stabilise your lungs. They fizzle out into silent whimpers and you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater, balling it in your fist, just letting yourself feel. Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His right hand is rubbing circles on your back and his left hand is gently scratching just above the nape of your neck. 

You stay like that for a while, even after you’ve stopped crying. It’s been so long since you’ve been in this little bubble with him and you don’t want it to end. You pull away when you feel the strap of his satchel across his stomach as your hand drops to his lap. He visually follows every move you make. 

“You’re still wearing your bag.” You sniffle, leaning back. 

“I am.” He whispers, understanding that you no longer want to be touched. 

He stays in his original position; facing you, but now with one arm resting on top of the backrest and the other idly in his lap. You’ve moved so that now you're facing ahead with your back leaning against the cushions, pulling your knees into your chest. You had never found comfort in silence until the first time you experienced it with Spencer. Staying huddled, you divert your eyes towards him. There’s a distinct wet patch on his shirt. It’s less visible on his sweater-vest, but it’s there. 

“Your shirt’s wet now.” It’s almost impossible to make out what you’re saying with your mouth muffled against your arm, but of course, Spencer manages anyway. 

“It’ll dry.” He smiles, tone delicate. 

“But– germs.” You choke a little due to your previous crying. 

“It can be washed.” He’s using his comforting voice again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

The silence resumes. Neither of you dares to move, trying to freeze this moment. It’s obvious that you didn’t grasp how badly you craved each other’s presence. 

“D–do…” The initial sound grabs Spencer’s full attention again. You take a deep breath, hoping he wants to stay here as much as you do. “Do you still carry that little chess set with you?”

A small, airy chuckle comes out from him. 

“Would you like to play?”

“Please.” 

He creates some more space between you and begins to set up the board once he’s pulled it out of his satchel. You move to accommodate the set up, now facing him with your legs crossed on the couch and shoes abandoned on the floor. You wait for him to make the first move. After the opening moves the game doesn’t seem to get any harder and you know he’s throwing the game. You’re okay at chess, but he’s obviously a lot better. 

“You’re going easy on me.” You mumble.

“Because you’re not even trying.” He replies blithely.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, you’re making it too easy.” He gently teases.

“Not that. Helping me. You hate me, remember?” You say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“You literally told me that you hate me.” You chuckle, numb to the hurt that sentence once brought you. 

“So did you.” He counters in defence, trailing your hand as it carelessly moves your queen to her demise. 

“I was angry.” 

“So was I.” He spared your queen, in turn leaving his king vulnerable. 

“It doesn’t matter now…” You don’t finish the rest of your sentence but Spencer still hears it.

You’re leaving soon anyway.

“It matters to me.” If he left something unsaid you choose to ignore it. 

“You’re letting me win.” You whisper, feeling the urge to cry some more, but there’s no tears left. 

He doesn’t make a move, bringing the game to a halt. He’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. You know what he’s going to say. 

“Spencer, don't.” You beseech.

“Why?” If you looked at him instead of the board you’d see the way his eyes are pleading at you. 

“There’s no point.” This time it’s your voice that cracks. 

You're looking everywhere else and it makes you too aware of your surroundings. Like how the couch is lined up directly under a window that anyone could peek into. 

“Leaving is not the only option.” He solicits. 

He regards your discomfort and closes the blinds from where he’s sitting, pulling you back into the privacy of your bubble. 

“There’s nothing that you can say to make things go back to how they were.” You bite the inside of your cheek, fiddling with a random pawn. 

It’s not a proper two way conversation. You’re talking to yourself just as much as Spencer’s talking to you. You’re both trying to convince you of what you’re saying. 

“Things don’t have to go back to how they were.” The squeaks in his soothing tone are starting to melt any resolve you have left. 

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” You oppose, trying to make any argument stick.

“I can think of more reasons for you to stay than for you to go.” 

There’s an underlying tension bubbling. Neither of you notice it over your desperate tug of war. 

“I don’t think there’s anything that you can say to get me to stay.” Another baseless sentence meant more for you than for him. 

“Give me one chance. One chance to convince you.” He can see your internal struggle at his request and he throws out one final plea to sway you. “For nothing more than closure.” 

Closure.

You’ve spent months in turmoil over the hows and the what ifs, trying to conjure answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering you. You couldn’t turn him down even if you wanted to. 

“Closure?” You repeat, eyes finally latching onto his.

“Closure.” He whispers back in reassurance. 

“Even if you can’t convince me?” You caution, not wanting to give him false hope.

He doesn’t say anything, thinking over the scenario in his head. He simply nods and you mimic the action, blinking away the blur in your vision and dragging around chess pieces. It takes Spencer a second to figure out that you were moving them back to their default places.

“Okay new game.” You announce. 

Spencer blinks in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I can ask you any question I want and you have to answer honestly. If by the end of the game I’m not convinced to stay, you back off for the remainder of my time here.” You pause for him to interject, but he doesn’t. “That means we stay away from each other, only talking when needed for work. Even then as cordially and professionally as possible. No more trying to make casual conversation or bringing me coffee or anything like that.”

“Till the end of the game?” He studies you. 

“Yup.” You smack your lips together. “Til one of us checkmates the other.”

“This means you’ll actually give me a fair shot?” 

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one known for cheating at games.” You jab, trying to ease the tension you could definitely feel now. 

“I meant a fair shot at convincing you. As in you’ll seriously take what I have to say into account.” He discards your attempt.

“No, I know. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.”

He can tell you’re trying to hold back a laugh from the small smile on your lips. It’s as adorable to him now as it was the first time he saw it. 

“Any rules before we start?” He asks, unable to hide his own smile.

“Only that we have to be honest.” You answer, immediately dropping your smile.

“Okay.” He agrees, smiling slightly wider.

“Okay.” You nod again.

When he finally makes the first move it hits you that you don’t actually know where to start. Theoretically, you know what you want to ask, but don’t know how to ask. You don’t know if you should jump straight into the questions or start with some ice breakers. Nothing is said for about four to five moves when Spencer pauses the game. 

“Are you going to ask any questions or have you decided that you just want to play one last game for your closure?”

“Huh?” You snap your vision away from the board. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Do you want to return to the game after thinking of a few questions to ask?” He raises his brow and relaxes his jaw.

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Let’s keep playing, the questions will come to me.” You brush off his suggestion and motion for him to continue with his turn. He doesn’t.

“What?” Your voice raises and you scrunch your nose from perplexity.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve put us on a time limit and this is how you’re using our time?” He airs, failing to conceal his amusement.

“Well excuse me if I don’t exactly have a list of questions ready to go for you.” You narrow your eyes in annoyance. 

“Why would you suggest this if you don’t have any questions?” He tries to hold back his laugh and ends up snorting as a result. 

“I have questions!” You jabber, unable to maintain your annoyance. “I don’t know what– where do I even start?”

“Start with whichever one comes to you first.” He shrugs, finally making his move. 

A lot of things come to mind when you think about it. The thing that screams the loudest twitches a nerve and you become instantly irate. 

“Okay.” You nod, tone harsh and flat. “Let’s start with whatever the fuck possessed you on the last case. What was your thought process when you put your life in danger like that?”

He almost gets whiplash from the change in mood, his face literally reads ‘are you serious?’. 

“He was going to shoot you.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I was wearing a vest, I would’ve been fine.” You contend. 

“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.” 

“Risk?! You literally put yourself in danger for no reason!” 

“I think it was a pretty good reason actually!” 

“Spencer that was–” You stop yourself with a grumble, inhaling deeply. 

“It was instinctual, okay?” He softly explains. “I saw him aim the gun at you and I just reacted.” 

“Well it was a stupid reaction!” You whine. 

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

The glare you give is piercing, you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your tongue before you say something you can’t take back. Spencer throws his head back and sighs. 

“But I will promise not to do it again.” He adds, not fully intending to keep it. 

This was slowly turning into another argument, both of you shooting back too fast with your responses. You aren’t in the mood for another argument. So you redirect your attention to the game. 

“Check.” You mumble, buying yourself time to think of another question. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I wanted to finish some work before tomorrow morning.” He replies, moving his king to safety. 

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You could’ve done those tomorrow as well.” Your voice softens out of curiosity. 

“I wanted to get them finished in case there were more tomorrow.” It’s not his best excuse. You don’t know what he means by that. He doesn’t know what he means by that. He’s lying to you. 

You scoff, poking your tongue against your cheek. “Wow. You really can’t not cheat during a game, can you?” 

“Right, sorry.” Spencer clears his throat after the initial confusion clears. Complete honesty, it was your only rule. “I wanted to be here.”

“For…” You egg on, purposely rolling your ‘r’s to prompt him. 

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He admits, looking away from you. 

“Why?” You’re genuinely puzzled at the admission. “You’re the one who almost died. I mean, it was stupid and your fault, but still. If anything I should be checking up on you.”

“Check.” That’s the only response he gives you. He hopes that you don’t push further, but he knows that you will. 

His lack of response only forces you to think about the possible reasons by yourself, using context clues to figure it out. You are a profiler, after all. 

“Is this because of the panic attack?” You note how his jaw twitches when he swallows at the mention. “It is! You seriously chose to spend your night stuck at the office because of that?” 

“What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like you would talk to me, you literally refused to even look at me!” He gripes. 

“Spencer I think anyone would panic if they got tackled to the ground by a six foot man without warning. I’m fine.” You giggle.

“What happened to complete honesty?” It’s his turn to glare at you.

“I am being honest!” You protest.

“Lying by omission is not being honest.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay Mr. know-it-all, what am I lying about?” You challenge.

“Seriously? You don’t remember?” His approach is doubtful and he just stares at your dazed expression.

“Fucking spit it out already, Spence!” 

Any sarcasm he had geared up for a response dissipates at your use of his nickname. He’s heard it plenty in the last few months, but not from you. For a moment things feel like they never changed. It stings in a bittersweet kind of way. 

“You sc–screamed– uh–” He clears his throat and rapidly blinks, his nose twitches in the process. “During that panic attack, you repeatedly asked me to stay with you. Y–you, uh– you said you didn’t think you could li–”

“Stop. Stop. Stop talking.” Your voice quavers and you hold your hand up, ears burning up. “I don’t wanna know.”

You don’t know why it makes your heart race the way it does, you don’t even remember it. He waits a while before speaking up again, wanting to be careful about how he goes about the topic without you shutting down.

“May I ask you a question?” He voices professionally, trying to make the conversation less personal so you don’t feel cornered. 

You nod, moving your king out of check.

“Is there anybody you will talk to about Anchorage? Without pushing them away?” He keeps the game going as he speaks to provide you with a distraction. 

“Woah– Anchorage? Where is that coming from?” You titter.

“I want you to remember that we promised to be honest and I won’t push if you ask me to stop, but I know for a fact that you aren’t okay.” He waits for you to stop him but you don’t, even though you know roughly what he’s going to say. “Panic attacks aside, your avoidant behaviour around the topic, inability to focus, being easily startled, you’re showing signs of PTSD.” 

“Spence, c’mon. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I already passed the psych evals.” You attempt to make light of the situation with carefully chosen words so you’re not lying. It was a futile attempt, you know he’s not willing to budge when he doesn’t give you anything more than a blank stare. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” You sigh in defeat. “Whatever happened…that’s a part of the job, you know that.”

“I also know, first hand, that it takes over your life. You can’t run from it, no matter how much you try to.” His tone is soft as he speaks, yet you feel like he’s accusing you. 

“I am not running! Why would you say I’m running?” You object with a high voice, shrugging your shoulders. “And it’s not taking over my life. Also, check.”

“Because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with something.” He states point blank.

“Woah– so– that was entirely unnecessary.” You stammer, unable to deny it. 

“I’m not criticising you. I just happen to know you and I know that you have a tendency to run from your problems. And it is taking over your life.” 

“You’re profiling!” You gasp.

“You know that it’s not something we can just turn off! No matter how much we pretend like we can.” He waves his hands defensively. 

You can’t argue with that, your lips twisting to the side. 

“You want me to be honest?” You murmur sheepishly. 

“Always. Please.” He responds gently, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I spend a good chunk of my day actively avoiding thinking about it, but somehow I always end up thinking about it anyway. At times it’s like I can almost feel…” You breathe in instinctively. “This is the first time in months I’ve been able to do anything without it lingering in the back of my mind. Can we please talk about it another time? I would rather talk about other things…”

Another time. 

“...right now.” 

You’ve implied that there will be another time to talk and he definitely caught it, even if he pretends that he hasn’t. You don’t even know if what you said is true, you got too comfortable with the familiarity of his friendship. It was something you said out of habit from back when you two actually were friends. Not even a full hour's worth of conversation with him and he’s already worming his way back in.

“Um–” You drag yourself further back on the couch, creating more physical distance. 

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it at all.” Spencer senses your urgency to leave the situation and jumps into damage control. “It’s your turn.”

“No, um, I should– I should go. Thanks for doing thi– helping me.” You turn away from him, aiming for your shoes and ready to bolt.

“The game’s not over.” He points out.

“Yes it is.” You declare, still in the process of putting on your shoes.

“You said til checkmate.” He huffs, shifting out of his seated position. 

“I forfeit!” You throw your arms out in a shrugging manner, standing up after him.

“I can’t believe this. You’re going back on your word!” He doesn’t even raise his voice. He’s just hurt. 

“What’s the point, Spencer? Closure doesn’t mean anything, I’m still leaving! You can’t magically change my mind!” You yell, getting louder with each sentence. 

“I disagree. I think that you’re running again!” He blocks your way and yells back, maintaining his volume throughout. 

“Maybe you should think less!” You suggest, still yelling. Sarcasm is your defence mechanism when you have no actual defence. 

“You know what else I think?” He continues, emphasising the word ‘think’ every time he says it out of spite. “I think that you agreed to this thinking I won’t be able to convince you, but I am!”

“I don’t care what you–”

“I think you don’t want to finish the game that you started, because you’re afraid to ask the harder questions!”

“Stop.” You command, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I think that you’re scared to hear my answers because then it all becomes too real for you–” 

“Stop!” The words almost get stuck in your throat, but you choke them out. “You’re wrong.” 

“If I’m wrong then prove it. To both of us.” He sits back down and motions to the board. “Ask the real questions.” 

“I don’t need to prove anything, you’re wrong.” You uphold.

“So leave.” He challenges, knowing that you won’t be able to. 

If you truly believed that he’s wrong you wouldn’t feel the need to prove it, but you do and he knows that. You walk back over to the couch, head nodding from irritation, tongue poking your cheek. You kick your shoes off with a bit of force and return to your earlier position across from him. 

“Your move.” He reminds you as you settle in.

You don’t reply yet, but move your rook to set him up for the next move.  

“Check.” He smugly states.

“Who was she?” 

You don’t move, examining him close for any change in his behaviour. He obviously didn't anticipate that question first, snapping his sights back on you. 

“Sorry?” 

“The woman who greeted me at your door. That night at your apartment.” 

“Charlotte.” He replies, holding your gaze to show you he’s got nothing to hide. “We met at the library a week before.”

“Are you guys together?” You break away first, diverting your eyes to the chess board and trying to seem unfazed when moving your knight. 

“No, God, no.” He denies immediately. 

“I don’t know, she seemed pretty cosy for someone you met a week prior.” You don’t mean to sound as snide as you come across.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shakes his head. 

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure I saw her mark you up with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing.” You don’t look at him, examining a captured pawn as you wait for him to make his move. 

“Mark me up?” He cognizes it instantly. “Are you…jealous?”

“What? No!” You vehemently deny, your voice rising in several pitches. 

“You are!” His eyes widen. 

“I am not jealous.” 

His jaw slacks and he lets out an amused scoff. He doesn’t say anything, making you feel the need to fill the silence. 

“I only bring it up because…I know you have a thing with…germs.” Your words falter because of your own uncertainty and you want to dissolve into the fucking floor. 

Spencer tries to suppress a smile by poking his tongue out slightly. If the atmosphere was lighter he’d tease you about it, but he doesn’t want to make you take off again. Still, he feels the need to clarify the events of the night. 

“I don’t know why she kissed my cheek, it was completely random.” He takes his time saying it, still fighting a smile.

You swallow nervously and purse your lips to the side in response. One question answered and you only have new ones in its place. Did she stay the night? Did she sleep on the couch or on his bed? Did he see her again? 

“I drove her home right after you left.” He can almost hear your thoughts. 

“Was it a date?” You softly gulp again, unsure if you even have a right to know.

“Yes.” He hesitates. 

“Oh.” 

“I wanted to try out casual dating for once.” He chagrins. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, it’s not even fun.” 

“No it’s not.” You chuckle dryly. “So no second date, I presume?”

“Definitely not. I was just stressed the whole time.” He chuckles with you. 

“Take a shot of tequila before you go next time, it helps settle the nerves.” You joke, jumping to give him advice you hope he doesn’t take. You can’t help it, it’s what you’ve always done. Even if it goes against what you desire. 

“While moderate consumption of tequila can help relax the nervous system, I will not be turning to alcohol for stress relief.” 

“Then blast classical music while you get ready and give yourself a pep talk out loud, it’s actually really efficient–”

“There won’t be a next time. For a really long time, if ever.” He interjects, miffed at your insistence. 

“You willingly plan on committing to lifelong celibacy?” You exclaim with a puzzled look. “Why?!”

Spencer laughs at how raw your reaction is. He didn’t plan on giving out any more details but, with that prompt he decides that it’s now or never. 

“I don’t think any future dates will appreciate me picturing someone else in their place the whole time.” 

Oh. 

Both of you lock eyes at the same time. This is not a road you’re prepared to go back down, even if that’s literally the whole point of this conversation. You’re too stunned to reply and Spencer uses this as an opportunity to be elaborate. He doesn’t want any misunderstandings this time. 

“I couldn’t stop pictur–”

“Shut up.” You blurt out the sentence in almost one word. 

Your heart’s racing like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re flustered, every part of your body is heated from how terrified you are.

“Y–you don’t have t–t…you don’t owe m–me an explanation.” You try to elaborate, contradicting yourself and stumbling on your words.

“I want to.” He reads that you’re apprehensive but pushes regardless. 

“Please don’t.” The tears that you thought had dried out were building again.

“Why ask if you won’t let me answer?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Did you want answers? Yes. Still, you didn’t expect how hard they’d be to hear. He whispers your name and you scramble to think of your next move, and not in chess. You’re unable to even think about the game right now. You want to bolt, but you can’t even get yourself to move. So you deflect. 

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Although his tone is subdued, the pace of his wording is faster. “I think it does matter and that’s why you’re afraid to hear it.”

He’s right but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is only going to over-complicate an already complicated situation.

“It’s not enough.” Your voice cracks.

“How can it be if you won’t even give it a fair shot?” 

“Fair?” 

It comes out louder than you intended. His words trigger resentment within you and you snap. 

“Nothing about any of this is fair! I mean, fucking hell, Spencer, four years. That’s how long we’ve been friends. I mean I’ve shared shit that I thought I would be taking to the fucking grave with you! You were my best friend for four fucking years and all it took was like, five seconds?”

You sob, softer than when you were first crying, but the frustration is clear. He reaches out to touch your hand, but you push his hand away. 

“No!” You choke, sobbing harder when you try to compile your thoughts. “Five seconds to destroy all of it! It makes me wonder if everything we shared, our friendship, was it ever even that strong?”

Your anger simmers to sadness, as evident with how your yelling fades into whispering in the last sentence. 

“I can’t even tell you when exactly those five seconds were. I mean, I know…but…I don’t. Where did it go wrong, Spence?” 

“I don’t know.” Is all he can say after a beat of silence.

He knows exactly where it went wrong. 

“Yeah, me neither!” You sniffle, immediately wiping a single tear that manages to escape. “So again, it doesn’t matter.” 

“When you took it back.”

“What?” 

“That’s where everything changed for me. You showed up at my apartment drunk, after your date with Nathan. Your exact words were ‘I mean as an amazing friend’.” His voice strains like he’s forcing himself to speak. 

Your gaze falls, eyes darting everywhere as you try to jog your memory beyond the one sentence you remember. 

“I don’t understand.” You croak.

“You know, if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.” He chuckles bitterly, fighting back tears of his own. “That was– that was, uh, what you said before you took it back.”

“Spence, please…” You whine without sound, tilting your head back and chewing on your lip as a final attempt to stay composed. 

“No, you wanted to know where it went wrong.” He laughs falsely to downplay his tears. “You can say it doesn’t matter all you want, but the fact is, it does matter. It matters to me and I won’t let you run from it anymore.” 

You can’t look at him. Not with tears free falling down your face. You cup your hands together in your lap, pressing your fingers and nails together. 

“You told me that I couldn’t love you.” You struggle to sound your words. 

“I’m an idiot.” Another chuckle, but he sounds defeated. “When you said that, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to say that I do love you.” 

You tearfully laugh at this admission. 

“I only took it back because of what you said. I panicked. I thought I’d ruined things…which I guess, I still did.” Another laugh from you.

Spencer responds with the same regretful sound. 

The irony spurs another fit of giggles amongst you, this one slightly longer and infinitely more rueful than the last. You look anywhere but at each other until it grows quieter. 

“If you loved me, why the fuck would you tell me that I couldn’t love you?” You sound just as, if not more, defeated than him. 

“Love.” Spencer corrects without missing a beat. 

Your brows twitch up and your heart jumps. 

“I was so hung up on every single part of your sentence that I didn’t know what to say first.” He proceeds to answer you without leaving much room to process what he said. “I wanted to tell you that I do love you. I love you as you are. Not as somebody else.”

“But you didn’t say any of that.” You ignore all his admissions, not fully comprehending. 

“Like I said, I’m an idiot. I was in so much disbelief and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” He sullenly huffs.

You don’t reply, sniffling with your head down. 

“For like a second, I had everything I wanted. Then you took it back and it was like my whole world had been ripped out from under me. In those five seconds, you’d given me a taste of what I’d spent four years convincing myself I couldn’t have and I just– I couldn’t go back after that.” He adds after a stillness. 

After a short while, your focus shifts from your hands to the board in front of you. The game’s been long forgotten. You’re immersed in the conversation, in spite of how strenuous it is. 

“I understand why you were distant, even mean, at first.” You snivel. “But after a while you just became downright cruel.” 

Spencer doesn’t shy away from your gaze when you do look at him. His skin is as drenched from crying as yours is. 

“I mean ‘I don’t want to see your face’? I know that I don’t really have a leg to stand on anymore, but, what the fuck Spencer?” 

He doesn’t cringe any less with every reminder. He’s truly regretted the words since they left his mouth. 

“I wanted to hurt you.” He reveals. “I thought you were being deliberately cruel and I wanted you to feel exactly how I was feeling.”

“Deliberately?” 

He nods, hanging his head.

“I thought that you knew how I felt and were just trying to be funny or something.” 

“Well I didn’t. I wasn’t.” You cut him off with a constricted voice.

“Even if you did, it’s not an excuse.” His eyes are glistening from the outpour of tears, but he still lifts his sights back to you. “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t know how to acknowledge his apology at all. You’re not even angry anymore, all you feel is sorrow and regret for the way everything happened. An entire friendship down the drain due to an unfortunate set of circumstances. 

“This is so fucked up.” You say with another mordant laugh. “All of this could have been avoided if we just talked about it.”

It stung less when you had somebody to blame for it. Your vision blurs and you make no effort to clear it, letting yourself cry openly. 

“We’re talking about it now?” It’s almost a squeak, the way it’s spoken.

“Yeah, but,” your shoulders slump, defeatedly, and you have to pause to control your sob, “what good does it do now? I’ve already lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me in the most pathetic way possible.”

“I’m right here.” He counters in such a small voice that it gives your goosebumps. 

“Spencer, too many things have been said…”

“When you first joined the team, I instantly knew I liked you.” 

He chews on his lip and darts his eyes around while he contemplates if he wants to continue. 

“I thought it was because of your kind nature. You were so sweet to everybody.” He decides he does, but his voice shakes throughout. “You have this gift…you make people feel so good about themselves. Whenever you spoke to me, I felt like the most important person in the world. It was impossible not to like you.”

You want to pretend like you don’t know where he’s going with this. You want to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It wasn’t until you bought me coffee for the first time that I realised just how much I liked you.” He chuckles again, as he reminisces in the memory. “You didn’t even get my order right until the fourth time, but it was still my favourite cup of the day.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” You finally choke out, attempting to play down the confession so it doesn’t crush your heart. “The only reason I even started bringing you coffee is because you learned how I like my coffee first.” 

“Not a saint, an angel. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you that there are times where it genuinely feels like I’m in the presence of an angel.” 

It’s stated with such sincerity that it knocks the wind out of your pipes. Your eyes are widened and you’re biting your tongue with your mouth closed, staring at him with your chin tucked. He seems so confident, even with the glistening from previous tears in his eyes.

“I wanted to be in your life in any way you would have me. Even when it meant that I had to accept you with other people. And it was bearable, until…” His reminiscence only ends at the memory of the night that changed everything. “Like I said, I couldn’t go back.”

The last part fades into another whisper, only then do you find the courage to speak up. 

“Exactly.” You stick to your denial. “It can’t go back to how it was before.”

Your heart is so sure of what it wants, but your head is blinded by fear. You’re at a crossroads, except one path, the path that leads to everything you long for, is clouded with a fog of uncertainty. The other path is so painfully clear, you can practically see what’s on the other side. A fresh start, where the risk of fucking up further doesn’t exist. What you don’t see is Spencer.

“Good. I don’t want it to go back to how it was.” 

Spencer’s waiting for you to enter the fog. He’s going to be there holding your hand every step of the way. 

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

“That matters less than everything you’ve claimed doesn’t matter.” He leans in, intensifying his eye contact. 

“I’m pretty sure Hotch is really close to confirming my replacement.” You comment half-heartedly. 

You’re trying anything to dissuade both him and yourself from acknowledging the obvious, but he doesn’t plan on letting you avoid it. 

“I love you.” He whispers softly.

“Spencer…” You begin when he takes hold of your hands and whatever you had to say disappears from your tongue. 

“I love you. With every atom that makes up my body.” He repeats himself with further elaboration to instil it in your mind.

“I’m scared.” You whisper back with a sob, finally accepting it. 

“Why?” His voice can’t be any softer, but it still cracks a little.

“Because, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to end well.” You allow your vulnerability to peek through. “And that’s going to hurt more. I’d rather leave now than fall deeper.”

Although you didn’t say it back, it’s an indirect admission that you love him too. And it’s enough for him to fight harder.

“I know that my credibility isn’t the greatest,” he coaxes a small, sad scoff out of you, “but I truly believe that this, us, we’ll work. Because I know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this work.”

He feels bolder when you don’t pull away from his touch, folding your fingers into your palms and cupping over them. You observe the sight as it unfolds in lieu of a verbal response. 

“I’ve spent four years judging any man that comes into your life, wishing I was in their place, swearing I would treat you better than all of them.” 

Spencer feels the need to fill in the silence and he lets honesty guide his confession. He leans in further as if he’s indulging his deepest secret. 

“Four years wasted wondering what could be, cursing out those idiots, but taking no action to make it happen. And that makes me the biggest idiot out of all of them.”

When he speaks like this, with his big, imploring eyes and prayerful tone, it melts your heart to a point where it almost hurts. The more he talks, the more you begin to lean in, opening yourself up to him.

“It took losing you to realise how badly I fucked up and for that I will never forgive myself. I know that I have no right to ask you to waste any more time on me…”

There’s no more resistance against the pull you both physically feel to each other. 

“...but I’m begging you for a chance to do today what I should have done way before yesterday.” 

Your faces grow closer by the second, you can feel each other's breaths against skin.

“And I’m going to spend every tomorrow proving what I said today.” 

The likelihood of him changing your mind with one conversation wasn’t very high, both you and Spencer knew this when you got into it. You’re not entirely surprised when he somehow manages to overcome those odds too. You take the step to close the gap and lightly press your lips to his. 

It starts off soft, there’s no lust, no ulterior motive behind it. It’s a simple confirmation that you’re both present and this is real. Spencer doesn’t shy away from the kiss, not that you’d call this a kiss. It feels more intimate, more unguarded.

Spencer pulls you onto his lap as he shifts and leans back against the backrest to allow more room for you. You wrap your arms around him and the kiss deepens. In the midst of you straddling him, he slides the entire chess board off the couch and the pieces scatter on the floor. It’s only when you feel that the kiss can’t bring you any closer to him does the lust emerge. It fuels a desire to prove that you both whole-heartedly belong to each other. 

There’s no pinpointing when the switch happens. All you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours is no longer enough. You cup his jaw in your hands, swiping your tongue on his lower lip and it causes his grip on your waist to tighten. He parts his lips for you and it starts what you can only call a dance with your tongues. 

Your breathing grows hotter, your hips subconsciously grind against him. There’s a prominent bulge that brushes against your heat and you whine into his mouth. Spencer grunts your name in response and then abruptly pulls away.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down.” He breathlessly whispers against your lips. 

“What?” You whisper back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gazes into your eyes, afraid that you might regret this later.

“I’ve never been more sure, actually.” You’re confident at first but the look in his eyes makes you pull back further. “Unless…you’re not sure?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me. I want you.” His tone rises just above the previous whisper with his clarification. “It’s just that the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you when our emotions are running high.”

“Four years, Spencer.” You lean in again, just brushing your lips against his. “The only reason you should be making me wait is if you’re not sure.”

He shuts that idea down by crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is so hungry, so desperate, it’s everything both of you have longed for and denied yourselves everytime you’ve been in each other's presence. It doesn’t take long for hands to start to roam. He traces the curve from your waist to your hips, stopping just at the hem of your shirt, tugging it like he’s asking for permission. 

You rush to undo your buttons and he meets you halfway, starting at the bottom. His fingers brush against yours as you two reach the final button and you pull the fabric off yourself. You do the same with his shirt, lips remaining locked, except for the small gasps of air you take in between. It requires a bit more manoeuvring with him, but you’re both soon shirtless. 

His mouth travels to your jaw and you shut your eyes from pleasure as he continues down to your neck. The stubble on his chin tickles your skin. You cup it, gently pushing him away with a giggle. 

“Forget to pack a razor in your bag, Dr. Reid?” Your voice is teasing, more playful than seductive.

He chuckles, airily, hiding his groan. He knows you’re being sarcastic, but the use of his title, with your voice in this context, catches him off guard. You moan as you feel his growing bulge against your heat when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you into his kiss. You swiftly undo the clasp of your bra, but before you can take it off, Spencer grabs you from just below the hips and lifts you up off him, gently laying you down on the seat of the couch. 

There’s no room for hesitation as his lips find your neck again and he nips at the skin. Every suckle earns him short gasps and the grip in his hair tightens as he travels lower. He stops just above your breast, pulling himself up to sit on his knees. You stare up at him with a heated gaze, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth with your lips parted to make up for the loss of his lips. 

He reaches for your bra strap and begins pulling slowly, searching your eyes for any signs of you withdrawing consent. All he sees is how beautifully they sparkle when you give him a light nod. It’s been too long since he’s seen the stars that you hold in your eyes, stars he accustomed himself to before he even got to properly know you. 

Gazing into his eyes, you’ve never felt more sure, more safe. You trust him implicitly and you’ve never wanted anything more. His constant need to make sure you're comfortable sends shivers down to your core. He slides the garment off you and Spencer’s beyond grateful that he’s already on his knees, knowing that if he was standing he’d fall to them because of the sight below him. 

His eyes don’t falter once, he’s trying to permanently etch this moment into his brain. He hovers his fingers above your body, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and you softly whine. He looks awestruck, almost like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks your boobs look weird. 

“Beautiful.” The words fall out of his mouth in a whisper, as if on cue. He’s really just thinking out loud.

Before you can respond he lowers down and plants a small peck to your sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. You gasp again, head lolling back in pleasure. One of your hands goes for his hair, while the other clings to his hand that’s already holding yours. He switches between sucking, pulling and squeezing; rolling it between his tongue and uses his teeth to squeeze ever so slightly.

“S–spencer.” A strangled moan falls from your lips. 

You tug his hair, whining and moaning as your hips roll against the strain in his pants. When your motions become continuous, he lets out his own strained groan and is forced to release your nipple with a small ‘pop’. 

“Angel, I really need you to stop doing that.” He murmurs in your ear with a gentle, gravelly tone.

As soon as the nickname reaches your ears your hips involuntarily buck up again, making his hips automatically push down against yours. His cock presses against your core and you both moan, his head falling against your shoulder.

“Spence, more.” You quietly whine in against his ear. “I need more.” 

“More?” He echoes back, turning his head so that your lips brush past each other when speaking. 

“Mhm.” You nod weakly as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and weakly connects his lips with yours.

Even when he’s got you vulnerable and at your most compromised, he’s still as gentle as ever. You don’t feel him undo your pants or sneak his hand in them, but you definitely feel him press the pads of his fingers against your clothed clit. Air escapes through your nose in a huff of surprise and you hum in his mouth, hips jolting at his touch. He can feel your slickness through your underwear. 

“Oh, my pretty girl.” He sighs, breaking the kiss and directing his whispers in your ear again. “All wet for me?”

“Please..” Even with your broken whimper you beg him for more. 

“Like this?” His deft fingers swipe your panties to the side, fingers landing directly on the clit this time. 

They feel cold at first. The contrast against your heated body makes you squirm and you groan in a soft, high pitch. 

“What are you feeling right now?” He pries a verbal response from you, circling your bud lightly. “Tell me.”

“Good.” You sigh, eyes shut as you try to savour the pleasure. 

“Good?” His voice is still soft against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nod, one arm draping against his shoulder and the other hand running along his scruffy jaw. “So good.” 

“And this?” He adds pressure to his movements. “Does this feel good?”

Your hips buck again and he feels rewarded when you moan. There’s no doubt that the sound of your voice is his favourite. He especially loves it when it’s directed at him. Whether that be in the form of a laugh or your sweet moans. It makes him somewhat dizzy. His lips attach to the skin just under your jaw in an attempt to coax more. 

It’s very effective. Fingers working your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking while changing the pressure, and mouth kissing and sucking near your pulse. It makes your back arch, hand gripping his shoulder so you don’t float away. He’s careful not to leave any purple traces of him on your neck, mindful of you being bombarded with questions from your colleagues.  

“I love how reactive you are, Angel. You sound divine– fuck.” He can’t help the grunt that escapes him. “You are divine.”

His touch alone is enough to make you feel electric, but the sweet nothings he’s whispering in your ear will be what send you over the edge. It’s a foreign feeling, being reminded that he values you for more than just your body. Just under an hour ago you had incredibly high walls built around you and none of them are left standing as you exposed under him.

Spencer’s not the first man to touch you, but he is the first that loves you. It’s something you’re not at all used to and it feels as overwhelming as it does good. It transcends the want, no, the need for the man on top of you beyond lust or love. You plan to show him just how strong that need is tonight. 

The carpeted floor is littered with your clothes, carelessly thrown around and tiny chess pieces scattered around the abandoned chess board. Spencer’s comfortably lying on the couch, facing the ceiling and you’re lying directly on top of him with your face buried in his neck. 

You run your fingers back and forth along his jaw, scratching his beard in slow streaks. He’s enveloped you in his arms, one around your lower back and the other playing with your hair. It doesn’t feel as peaceful as it seems, both of you are afraid of being the first to speak. You know you can’t stay like this forever and you decide to bite the bullet. 

“Spencer?” 

You only get silence from his end. You know he’s awake because his motions in your hair don’t stop. You push yourself up to face him, trying to study his face. The sudden movement brings him back from wherever he was zoned out to. 

“Hm?” His features jump.

Does he regret it?

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes from worry. “You have this look on your face.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.” 

“About…?” 

“How bad we are at communicating.” He chuckles. “It’s concerning when you think about how all we ever do is talk.” 

Hearing this makes you snort and you fall into him again. It sends both of you into a short fit of laughter. 

“Oh that’s promising for the success of this relationship.” You giggle, sarcasm evident. 

Hearing relationship makes Spencer inhale sharply. 

“So you’re staying?” 

“Well obviously, Dingbat.” You scoff playfully at the question and shift upright, straddling him. “But we really do need to get better at the communication thing for this to work.”

Spencer mounts his weight on his hands by either side of him and pushes himself up to you, stealing a deep kiss. 

“Yes, we absolutely do.” He whispers, breaking away for only a second. 

The kisses fizzle in you a plethora of smaller kisses. 

“Spencer, I’m– serious.” You voice in between, loosely draping your arms on his shoulders. 

“I am too.” He says in a hushed tone as he pulls away. 

“I want to take it– this,” you motion between the two of you with your finger, “us, slow. Not four years slow, but, like, by a couple of months at the very least.”

“Okay.” He agrees, his eyes scouring your face with complete adoration. It’s not ideal, but he understands where you’re coming from. 

“That means that we start again. Romantically. We have to talk about a lot of things first.” 

He shifts his body out from under you, resting his back properly against the couch and pulls you back into his lap in one swift motion. Both of his hands graze from your shoulder to your wrist.

“How about…you come over this weekend,” He suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug, “we’ll do snacks, a movie, maybe an actual game of chess.” 

“That sounds like a date.” You wrap your arms around his neck to return the gesture and lean your forehead against his. 

“It’s not a date. Not yet, anyways.” He whispers. “I’m asking you to come over this weekend so we can talk about things properly, because frankly, I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace for it right now.” 

“Should I be offended at that?” You giggle, not entirely sure what he’s alluding to. 

“No!” He snorts with a high tone. “Dopamine aside, our Norepinephrine and Serotonin levels are too high right now for us to have a proper conversation about this.” 

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because you’re not, but I also think you’re just using science to try and confuse me, so that I agree to wherever this speech is heading.” 

“It’s times like this where your attentiveness puts me at a disadvantage, because this tactic has a hundred percent success rate on everybody else.” He grins and you chuckle, both leaning in for another kiss. 

“Can we hold off on starting over? Just for tonight.” He reluctantly voices, not wanting to push any boundaries. 

You draw back and raise your eyebrows with your eyes widened. 

“Spence, I have waited for years for this. You’re insane if you think I’m giving that up without relishing in it for at least a night. We’re not starting over until we’re both officially back on the clock.” 

“Okay.” He heaves from relief, leaning in for another kiss, but quickly withdraws with a new question. “Don’t you think the team’s going to be suspicious when we’re not fighting tomorrow?”

“Forget them, what am I gonna say to Hotch when I ask to withdraw my resignation?” You huff out a tiny groan. “He’s gonna hate me for all this paperwork.”

Paperwork reminds you why you’re here to begin with. You audibly gasp, jumping off Spencer and scrambling to put your clothes back on. 

“Fuck! Spencer, get dressed!” 

Spencer doesn’t share your panic, but adheres to your demand. You mutter a continuous line of obscenities as you throw on your clothes and when you don’t seem to be getting calmer, he intervenes. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” He coos as he steps towards you, still undressed on the upper-half. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we’ve been here for hours!” You shriek, now fully dressed. 

You push past Spencer and grab his shirt, deciding that he was too slow on his own. He lets you dress him as he probes further. 

“That’s okay. No one’s going to notice this late.” 

“No– Spence–” You sigh, throwing your head back. “In less than four hours, Hotch is going to walk into his office expecting the Anchorage report on his desk. I’ve barely been able to get half of it done in weeks, how am I going to finish it in four hours?”

You shake your head and begin working on his buttons. He grabs your wrists, urging you to look at him. 

“You’ll have it done in less than one. I’ll help you!” His voice is light, airy, soft and accompanied with a chuckle.

“Spencer, you’ve already been here later than you need to be. It’s okay–”

“Let me help you.” He resorts to pleading, releasing your wrists and cupping your face.

You don’t have it in you to argue, his eyes staring back at you with sincerity. He wants to help. There’s no point in pushing him away, because as scared as you are about being too vulnerable with your trauma from that case, you trust him wholeheartedly. You know he won’t push for more than what you choose to share right now.

“Okay.” You nod and smile into the kiss he leans in for after the confirmation. 

“Okay. Now, you go and start some coffee.” he instructs softly with a wide grin, waving to the scattered chess ensemble. “ I’m going to clean up here and join you.”

“I love you!” You lean for another kiss and hushedly exclaim as you break away, receding towards the door. 

It’s Spencer’s turn to lose his breath. He’s affirmed his love for you countless times tonight and this is the first time you’ve verbally reciprocated it. He knows that it won’t be the last time either. That, to him, makes him the luckiest man in the world. He stops you from going any further by your arm and gently yanks you in his direction, crashing his lips with yours. 

“I love you too.” He whispers after the kiss, letting you go. 

Heat rises in your face again and you struggle to hide a huge dopey smile, one that Spencer has too. You’re floating on cloud nine, finally out of the blurry hurricane you’ve endured for months. There’s still a lot of things that you need to work out, but the thought of them doesn’t make you feel dread like it once did. 

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." - Socrates

Spoilers: Yapperoni (so much dialog in this chapter), BAU! Reader, enemies (kinda) to lovers, hurt, comfort, love confessions (they might be a little too sappy, idk, I was sleep deprived), the praise made me giddy at some point, smut but I edge you by not writing out everything, happy ending.

AN - I have a little tiny fear that people (me) will nawt (I don’t) fuck with this monstrosity, but out of all my drafts, this felt like the most natural course of action. I thought it would be really fun to go from friends to enemies to lovers. Now, literally nobody talk to me about writing fics after this. Uni’s started, so I’ll be very inconsistent for a bit. Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

A comment today keeps semicolon away (from showing up to your house and eating all your snacks).

Thank you for reading!

[uno-san]

Bill Cipher Vs. Self-Hatred

Howdy y'all! Today I just wanted to go over some thoughts I had over everybody's favorite triangle that may or may not have occurred to some of you already. Naturally this will contain Book of Bill Spoilers.

To start off our little essay I thought it would be important to first sum up my thoughts on one of Bill's more complicated relationships: Stanford

Now we've all seen his dynamic with Stanford plenty of times in the show but with recent information coming from both the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com more light has been shed on the subject from both Bill's perspective and Ford's.

There's more than meets the eye when it comes to dissecting Bill's interactions and thoughts on Stanford, with the ever enlightening "EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES" making theorists scratch their heads. Within the Book of Bill are these codes and their meanings: hbh grfwru ri d gliihuhqw nlqg/ zkr zdqw wr pdnh klv sdwlhqw eolqg

eye doctor of a different kind/ who wants to make his patient blind

Qeb alzqlo pxvp/ qeobb pfmp x axv/ tfii jxhb qeb sfpflkp/ dl xtxv

The doctor says/ three sips a day/ will make the visions/ go away

Ixvvb hdwhu/ edeb eloob/ zrxogq'w gulqn/ xqohvv lwv vloob

Fussy eater/ baby billy/ wouldn't drink/ unless its silly

As well as:

Finding out that both Stanford and Bill have a genetic mutation that made them Black Sheep suggests the possibility that Bill saw a kinship within Stanford. After all, he did make the offer for Stanford to join him. No doubt being able to sympathize with Stanford's situation yet misreading his motivations, causing the rift in their once savable relationship once Bill's lies were uncovered.

Now I'll admit it was others who came up with this theory in particular, especially when drawing comparisons of how Stanford was treated and how Bill allegedly was for having a strange eye. Stanford, in some form of other, might represent how Bill was before he saw the destruction of his world by his hands. A mere outcast looking for his place in the world. To be believed rather than ridiculed or "fixed".

Self-Hatred

And now we get to the Bill we all know today:

The chaos loving and nightmare inducing three-sided maniac, who may be hiding more insecurities than he ever let on in the show, thanks to the Theraprism.

Someone far more traumatized

Who's had to convince himself to fully be the bastard he is today

But if the theory that Bill had a type of kinship with Stanford thanks to their mutations was true, then wouldn't it be possible that his relationship with someone else might represent the inner struggle with himself?

For you see, the original title of this post was...

Bill Cipher Vs. Stanley Pines

As my own theory is that Stanley Pines is what Bill decided to project his self-hatred on. Nobody can doubt that the two have similar qualities, yet as I read the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom I couldn't help but notice the absolute malice that Bill has for Stanley whenever he's mentioned.

There have been many opponents before that have strived to take Bill down. Whether that was the Shaman, the Anti-Cipher Society, or Time Baby, none of his interactions with them have appeared as vitriol as compared to Stanley.

Not even Stanford has this same reaction, who, by really no contest, was the closest to ever defeating Cipher by himself. Both with the gun that he near successfully killed Bill with and the secret of the barrier of Gravity Falls he refused to give up. Bill didn't even have a real interaction with Stanley until the last episode.

Yet it isn't Stanford that causes Bill to break while he's in the Theraprism. It's Stanley.

"-A resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past-denying overgrown child protected from failure only by a force field of DENIAL AND shamelessness!"

"Self-pitying"

"Stupid"

"Smug"

"Hack Jokes"

"UNWORTHY"

Now it could be just me, but those are a lot of specific insults to fling somebody's way that you've barely interacted with. Especially if Bill credits the Twin Swap to Stanford entirely as opposed to allowing Stanley the credit.

"STEP RIGHT UP, it's time to play my FAVORITE GAME!! BOOTLEG SIXER over HERE spent a LIFETIME trying to hide his humiliations, BUT I'VE BEEN INSIDE HIS MIND, so NOW they’re ALL YOURS for the low low price of BEING MY NEW PAL! ITS SHOWTIME FOLKS, AND THE ONLY WAY TO LOSE IS TO BE NAMED STANLEY PINES!"

“SHAME:TM - IT'S THE ONE FRIEND WHO NEVER LEAVES!”

This out-of-character hatred doesn't come from the fact that Bill thought Stanley wasn't worthy, it comes from the fact that Bill sees himself in Stan. Who by all means is a lying and conniving screw up. Somebody who let his family down.

This could possibly be proven by the poem Bill had wrote about Stanley:

The whole poem suits my point but I decided to highlight the sections that caught my eye specifically. That when you put into consideration Bill's clear trauma and regret about the Euclidian Massacre, his own words can clearly be flipped back on him.

That he sees himself as a curse and a mistake. A self-made monster. Someone who's left the past behind when the loss of his home is still on his mind.

And what truly gets under Bill's skin about Stanley Pines?

"He got his life and family back.

His big break, it finally came,

Redemption from a life of shame"

Stanley got back what Bill can't.

[akutasoda]

hold my hand, lean on me

synopsis - jiaoqiu adjusting to domestic life with you

includes - jiaoqiu

warnings - gn!reader, spoilers for 2.5, angst w/ some comfort, fluff, maybe ooc, wc - 1.3k

a/n: i actually cannot get this darn foxian out my mind :( shouts to @thelightofmylife for some vv helpful pointers and information ^^ tbh i feel like this is just 1.3k words of word vomit HAHA

the healers finished informing you of the situation, thanking them you then closed the door to the shared abode. a sigh you didn't know you were holding back escaped alongside a glance down to the papers the healer's handed over. you could read them later, the news followed by the details of it wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, if anything it might be a final push for the tears to start falling.

your thoughts were distracted by the sound of hesitant, shuffling footsteps. turning around, you were met with the sight of jiaoqiu standing idly not too far from you - almost as if he was taking in the surroundings, although now it was more him trying to piece together the memories of what it looked like.

jiaoqiu had arrived back at the yaoqing not too long ago, admittedly rather late, but the luofu's alchemy commission had kept him for a while. he'd been forced immediately to the yaoqing’s alchemy commission as they were now the ones responsible for his treatment plan for the future. a short talk with them had then led to him being escorted back home. to you.

upon arrival, some of the alchemy commission healers explained to you about the entire situation. they kept it short but soon handed you a full document containing everything from “patient’s injuries” to “doctor’s post-charge advice” - each and every sentence pained you more and more, you refused to acknowledge what would've happened if moze hadn't found him, you would have to thank him later.

the healers had asked you to take upon the responsibility of looking after him at home, and in most day to day life scenarios - at least until he adjusted properly. they asked you to keep strict to the “post-charge advice” as otherwise it probably would cause more harm to him, making his healing process longer and maybe even worsening it beyond healing.

“jiao-ge” you called out, to let him know that you were still near. it pained to see the somber look on his face. the last thing jiaoqiu saw wasn't anyone, anywhere or anything he loved. no. it was something he hated, someone he loathed in unfamiliar territory surrounded by no-one he knew.

now he stood in familiar territory, with the person he loved the most. but he couldn't bask in the sights or even see you. all he had was memories to cast images in his mind, to help pretend that nothing was wrong and that he could see what he remembered.

you knew that he wouldn't want you doting on him. jiaoqiu needed to adjust, to learn how to go about his life as usual and you overly fussing over him would only probably annoy him and prolong that.

it had been a long day, any proper conversations could be held tomorrow. to no surprise, jiaoqiu insisted he could get ready and do everything by himself. you granted him that independence. eventually, admittedly with some help, you two were ready for sleep. and even though you were right there beside him, jiaoqiu never felt further from you.

---✩

the process was slow. nobody would've said that it was going to be anything other than that. jiaoqiu very clearly wanted independence. he didn't want to seen as a burden, he chose to do this, and knowing that people were constantly doting on him instead of continuing with their lives made him feel awful.

one of the first things you did was help make your shared abode more compatible with his needs. an easy step was making sure that everywhere was clean and free of obstruction, normally moze always

showed up and helped with cleaning as well. another step was helping jiaoqiu become able to navigate the home on his own, mainly he acted on memory but you needed to make sure that where he frequented was always obstruction free.

occasionally you could hear a bump or hurried shuffling from the room over, each and every time you dropped what you were doing and checked up on him. it was never anything major and if anything it always resulted in jiaoqiu silently cursing at the piece of furniture he walked into.

you two always adopted a verbal calling system at home. should you need to leave the room he was in, you would tell him exactly where you were going and what you were doing - that way he knew where you were. jiaoqiu would also inform you of where he planned on going just in case something happened or he got lost.

although, admittedly, for the first couple of weeks jiaoqiu stuck to you like glue. to him, it was a way to quickly adjust and therefore he wouldn't have to be a burden for long. however jiaoqiu subsequently had developed a rather interesting habit, one neither of you addressed - you because you thought it was sweet and didn't want to embarrass him, him because he didn't want to admit it.

and that was him using his tail as a guidance. at home, it was either curled around your waist, wrist or leg. in public, it lingered around your wrist, so much so that it constantly tickled you. it was a way of him making sure you were there with him, you hadn't left him and he was okay.

although most admittedly it was worse at night. he would hold you close, an ironclad grip that usually you would ask for him to let up but you knew he needed this. tail curled around your waist, preventing you from escaping. in his opinion, you helped him sleep easier, much easier than any fragrances he was prescribed.

however, this always came with a risk. due to residual lupitoxin still in his body, jiaoqiu became frequently prone to nightmares which plagued him constantly. everytime his mind was tricked into believing that the borisin were waiting, patiently looking for an opening to get revenge.

he wakes up because of them, drenched in fear and swear, and because he's so fearful the lupitoxin can take hold easier. suddenly he's tricked into believing that the borisin have found him. unbeknownst to the fact that it's you. so you sometimes take the liberty of sleeping away from him, but then he wakes up to an empty bead but he can hear someone in the room over and when he finds out it was you, sleeping away from him, he becomes consumed with guilt.

a major change for him was his inability to cook anymore. jiaoqiu was determined to do so with his impairment but he needed to learn. nowadays you cook with him. instead of being hushed out of the kitchen, you stood closely beside him, handing him the tools he needed, telling him where you put them so he could find them again on his own.

gently reminding him to lay off the spices when he requested more, he was to avoid spicy foods at all costs for the time being. a hard change, one that he absolutely despised but he knew better than to go against a doctor's order. helping him go out and buy ingredients, listening to what he told you and carrying out the tasks diligently.

---✩

and that was a shortlist of changes. you were very happy to accommodate anything for him, so long as he felt comfortable and loved. it wasn't uncommon for jiaoqiu to experience major lows, it was only natural and you needed to be there for him.

to listen to him, to show him that the support he needed was always a simple ask away - you didn't want to push to dote on him for many reasons. but that was different to showing genuine care and love to him when he started seeing himself as a useless, dependent person.

life would be different. for a while or maybe even forever, perhaps feixiao would strike lucky in her search for a healer that knew how to help. but for now, you two would have to learn how to adjust. to be there for eachother.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[luvjunie]

— broken promises

pairing: earth 42 miles x fem!reader

summary: while earth 42 miles comes off a lot tougher than 1610’s based off his cold demeanor and his trauma induced apathy, somewhere under that hard shell, he’s still the sweet boy he used to be and wants love just like anyone else. miles is aged up to 17 in this, simply for the plot! wc: 2,640

contains: spoilers!!! angst to fluff

word bank: “mi vida” - my life, “mi amor” - my love

playing now: Wasted Love Freestyle by Jhene Aiko

You and Miles have been dating for 7 months now, and lately he hasn’t been around as much as he’d like to, for obvious reasons. Well, not obvious to you. You still don’t know that Miles is the Prowler, and he’s intent on keeping it that way.

It’s the third time he’s flaked on plans he arranged himself this month, and he can tell you’re beyond tired of it with the way you just blew his phone up.

— Miles POV —

Miles’ phone buzzes in his pocket but he decides against checking it, marking it off as something unimportant. He’s already accepted a job from his Uncle and a distraction wouldn’t do him any good right now.

8:03 PM

Mi Vida: please don’t tell me you’re doing this again bro.

Mi Vida: this is a joke, right?

Mi Vida: hello?? you were supposed to be outside thirty minutes ago.

Mi Vida: Miles Gonzalo Morales I swear to GOD if I don’t hear your motorcycle revving outside in the next five minutes so help me.

*buzz buzz*

Ignored.

*buzz buzz*

*buzz buzz*

He kissed his teeth, lashes fluttering in aggravation and air puffing through his nostrils at the continuous buzzing against his leg. His shoulder fell to the side a bit as he reached down into his pocket to grab his phone while he climbed up the stairwell, following his uncle. Seeing your contact name on his lock screen, his brow raised as he read over the message, then they bunched together in the middle of his forehead incredulously, the tone of your texts causing his strides to falter.

Miles was genuinely confused for a moment, trying to think back on if he’d done anything to upset you, until the memory of him assuring you he wouldn’t do this again slapped him across the face harder than his mom did that one time he’d cursed at her on accident. The two of you had a date planned for tonight, and he swore to you he’d be there this time, fifteen minutes early at that, even though he knew there was a big chance he wouldn’t be able to make it all. It was selfish of him to promise something he couldn’t guarantee, knowing how demanding the other factors in his life were, but he was so tired of disappointing you, and how happy you looked when he told you you guys would finally get to spend some time together really had him thinking he could make it work this time.

Eyes falling shut for a beat, a heavy sigh leaves his lips, tongue darting out to dampen them as he quickly tries to think of something to respond with that won’t piss you off more than you already are.

He texts you back: sorry Mami, something came up yk how it is. i got you tomorrow tho fasho

Yeah. Real smooth.

*buzz buzz*

Mi Vida: yk what, just forget it, Miles.

Damn, she called me by my first name? I definitely fucked up this time. He thinks to himself.

Mi Vida: whoever you’re with is clearly more important to you than what we got goin on, so it’s cool. stay where you at, i’m done

Shit.

His heart beats a little faster in his chest, the sensation a semblance of something he hadn’t felt in years. Fear. He texts back as fast he can, head snapping up to see he’s fallen behind his Uncle, and he hurriedly jumps a few stairs before he comes to a stop again.

Miles: done??? the fuck you mean you done?

You don’t respond fast enough for his liking, so he double texts.

Miles: baby stop playin. you trippin it ain’t even like that at all

Mi Vida: i’m deadass. don’t call my phone.

He utters a string of curses under his breath, alerting his Uncle who had already noticed he was falling behind when he heard the inconsistency of his nephew’s footsteps. He’s ample steps above Miles, turning his head only slightly over his shoulder to address the distracted teenager.

“C’mon man, get off the phone. We got business to tend to. You in or you out?” Aaron asks. “You know I can’t have nobody holdin’ me back.” There’s a hint of something deeper playing within his words, and Miles knows he doesn’t have a choice.

He swallows hard as he looks up at the older man. Taking one last look down at his phone, his jaw clenches in contemplation before he’s shaking his head with a quiet sigh and shoving it back into his pocket. He’ll have to deal with this later.

“My fault. Yeah, I’m in.” He mumbles, doing a quick jog to catch up to the man.

His uncle’s lips quirk into a smirk, a heavy hand coming down to clap Miles’ back and squeeze his shoulder.

“My man. Aight, let’s roll.”

— Your POV —

8:05 PM

You: i’m deadass. don’t call my phone.

You watch closely as the three dots bubble at the bottom left corner of your screen, an indicator that he was typing. But instead, a quiet scoff slips from your mouth when they disappear, your shoulders slumping in disappointment at the word that appears below your last message.

Seen

You angrily toss your phone onto your bed, bottom lip quivering when you catch a glance at yourself in the mirror when you walk by. You’d gotten dressed up all nice just for him, because you knew the chance of him being free for a night to take you out was rare. You’d started your makeup early just to make sure he wouldn’t have to wait outside for you while you finished, and you’d even styled your hair the way you knew he liked. All for nothing.

You kicked your shoes off and dropped your purse to the ground, heading to your bathroom to undo all your work. You washed all the makeup off your face, the act feeling more humiliating than ever when you remembered why you’d even put it on in the first place. To feel pretty for someone who barely even showed up.

You closed your eyes and tried to calm down, hastily reaching back over to check your phone just one more time. Maybe he was thinking of what to say, and that’s why he’d left you on seen.

Seen 25 minutes ago

Maybe not.

You hated crying. And more than anything you were tired of doing it, especially when broken promises were the cause of your wasted tears. Your evening was basically wasted, and you weren’t in the mood to do anything else anyway, so you decided that you’d call it a night and head to bed early. You slipped on some comfy sleep shorts, tying your hair up for the night before grudgingly tugging a large t-shirt over your head. Your brow perked up at the scent that wafted past your nostrils, and pinching the shirt with your forefinger and thumb, you brought the fabric to your nose and immediately caught a whiff of Miles’ cologne. You then realized you’d put on a shirt you stole from him a while back, and the way your heart fluttered made you even more upset than you already were. You brushed it off to the best of your ability and crawled into bed, trying your hardest to keep your sniffling to a minimum as you pulled your blankets over your shoulder.

____

As soon as he’d gotten the job done and his Uncle gave him the okay to dip, Miles’ feet were moving at the speed of light down the stairwell. And while he had sort of rushed the plays he made with some of the city’s goons, he just had to pray that all his Uncle’s money was in the banded wad of cash he returned with, or it would be his ass.

Skipping a few steps he hopped down onto the platform before the next set, checking his phone for the time simultaneously.

10:15 PM

“Damn.” He groaned, pushing through the doors, cool wind hitting his face. Once he reached his motorcycle he shoved his helmet over his head, hopped on, and sped off with a “skrrrt”.

He sped through the streets carelessly, something you definitely would’ve scolded him for had you been riding on the back of his bike with him, with your arms tight around his waist to hold on like you always did. He bobbed and weaved through cars, lane splitting between a few of them and he may have even ran a red, but he wasn’t paying enough attention to remember. All he could focus on was that you said you were “done”, whatever the hell that meant, and he was adamant on making sure you weren’t.

____

You didn’t know when you’d dozed off, three steady knocks, a fourth one after a pause hitting against your window, resulting in your eyes snapping open at the disruption. You sat up on your mattress, the ball of your hand rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you peered across the room. Once they adjusted in the darkness and you recognized the familiar, lanky body of your boyfriend standing outside on the fire escape, the events of just two hours ago played over in your mind like a record.

With a roll of your eyes, you huffed and swung your legs over the side of your bed, pushing yourself onto your feet. Miles watched as you sleepily trudged over to the window, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, head slightly lowered and tilted to the side, as if he were already apologizing before you’d even made it to him.

Hooking your fingers underneath the edge of your window, with a quiet grunt you pulled it up, effectively lifting the barrier between your bodies. You instantly felt your yearning for him come back full force, and wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms, but you restrained. Your eyes met his, the cool night air breezing into your room, and his heart clenched. Somehow he was able to feel the coolness in your demeanor, yet the cold weather hadn’t bothered him at all.

He was the first to speak.

“Hola, Mami.” He sized you up once, taking notice of your eyes that were slightly puffy from crying.

His voice was like silk to your ears, alluring and confident, almost hypnotizing, and it aggravated you that you felt yourself gravitating towards him off two simple words.

“Why are you here, Miles?” You sighed, arms slapping at your sides in exasperation.

He looked slightly taken aback, chin lifting a bit as if you’d asked something completely outlandish.

“What you mean why I’m here? You my girl, shit, this my crib too.” He shrugged, so nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. You wondered if it had even been him texting you earlier.

“You left me on seen, remember? Stood me up, too?” Your head cocked to the side to match the attitude in your tone, brows raising at him. What excuse would he use this time?

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling heavily before he spoke up again.

“I was… busy. Look, my bad, okay? You gon’ let me in or what? Ian come all the way over here to stand outside.” He demanded with a gesture towards the opening, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight and thawing the ice that’d been temporarily encased around your heart. There was the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips, because he already knew the answer.

Your lips pursed and you stepped to the side, a laggard arm stretched out beside you, silently granting him access to your room.

He stepped through the window frame and you closed it after him, his hands folding around the collar then the hem of his jacket as he adjusted it and turned towards you.

“I can’t keep doing this with you, Miles. It isn’t fair.” You mumbled, hating the way your voice split your words.

His head dipped to the side a bit as he took in your solemn expression and the way your gaze was cast to the floor, as if you were trying to contain your tears. He wasn’t the best at this, he knew that, and showing affection effectively really wasn’t his strong suit. He usually made it up to you by bringing you a few hundreds he’d made from a deal, paired with some roses he’d picked up on the way to your house at the last second— but you both knew paper and flowers wouldn’t fix it this time.

“I’m sorry, I mean it.” He said, reaching for your hand to bring you close and grateful when your eyes finally lifted to lock onto his, although seeing them tear-filled wrapped him in a deep-seated emotion he didn’t even want to acknowledge.

Miles rarely said he was sorry. If ever. Did he apologize? Yes, but it was usually a ‘my bad’ or a ‘my fault’, or some other term that’d get the point across without him have to use too much emotion. Hearing the words ‘I’m sorry’ from him was an anomaly, it happened once in a blue moon, so this time you knew he really meant it. In your heart you knew he meant it, but that didn’t stop the tear you’d been trying to keep at bay from rolling down your cheek.

His thumb caught the tear almost instantly, swiping it from the soft of your skin. It didn’t belong there, and he hated to be the reason why you were crying in the first place.

“Where do you disappear to, Miles?” You sniffled.

He sighed, glancing back over at the window. He considered telling you the truth, but he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m just tryna keep you safe, ma.”

“You always say that!” You squeaked, making sure to keep your voice down, you had technically snuck him in. You ripped your hand from his grasp, turning your face away from him as another tear fell. “Do you not trust me or something? Is that it?”

“Of course I trust you,” His eyebrows knit together at your question and he stole your hand from your side again.

“So why can’t you tell me?” You pleaded, eyes big and glossy.

“I just-“ He paused. “I can’t let you get hurt. The shit I do…” You watched as he hesitated, like even speaking about the subject pained him. “It ain’t good.” He swallowed, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. “And I’ll be damned if I put you in the middle of my shit. I love you… okay?” He moved closer to you, and when you turned from him once again he brought your face right back to his, this time with both his hands. He wasn’t going to let you go, and while Miles was rough around the edges, and seemingly devoid of any emotion other than anger or resentment for the world—he always handled you with care.

“I love you, Y/n, I put that on everything. I’ll burn this whole world down for you, you hear me? Don’t think I won’t.” He stared into your eyes longingly, intent on making sure you didn’t just hear every word, but that you understood them, too.

You couldn’t help but lean into his hand, your own coming up to hold at his wrist as you inhaled shakily and gave him a bleak nod.

That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to hear you say it.

“Do you understand?” He articulated his words, bringing his head down slightly to match your height a bit more.

“I understand.” You said softly, looking up at him through your lashes before your gaze fell to his lips. He took that as his sign, leaning forward and bringing you into a kiss.

You melted into him immediately, like you always did, eyes fluttering closed as your lips moved against his, and as his hands fell to your hips to pull you in closer, like they always did.

You broke the kiss for air, your hand resting on his bicep and your lips ghosting his as you spoke, as you shared the same breath. “I love you too…” You breathed, standing on your toes.

“Good,” You felt him grin before he pulled away, his hand pinching your chin to make you look at him. “Cause you not leaving me, ever. I can’t let no one else have you, Mami, you know that.” He cooed.

You felt heat flush your cheeks, a smile you couldn’t hide finally spreading on your face.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” You answered, chewing at your bottom lip. “Can you stay?” You whispered, eyes shifting between his hopefully as you awaited his answer.

“Ah…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, piping up again before you could get disappointed. “What about your moms?”

“She sleeps in on the weekends, you just gotta be outta here by nine. Please, pa?” You whined, already reaching for his hands.

He chuckled to himself and shook his head slightly, having to look away from the adorable look on your face. He tried to remain in denial of the fact that he was so deep in love with you he could hardly think sometimes, let alone say no, but he was failing. Miserably.

“Of course I’ll stay, mi amor.”

Your expression lit up, a toothy smile brightening your features as he let you lead him to your bed.

He made sure to remove his shoes before he laid down, settling on his back. He extended his arm out to you as he tucked the other behind his head, motioning for you to join him with his fingers.

You crawled into his open embrace, getting comfortable on top of his chest and nuzzling your head under his chin. You began to feel drowsy the second he wrapped his arm around you, a yawn leading your eyes to water. His hand slowly moved from where it was resting on your back, dipping beneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours comforting to you. His large hand rubbed up and down the expanse of your back, the tips of his fingers drawing lines along your spine— you always fell asleep easier when he did that. You listened to the steady beating of his heart, fingers idly toying with the gold chain he kept around his neck.

“I’m really sorry I ain’t make it tonight. I know you prolly got all pretty for me n’shit… and I wish I got to see it, but that’s on me.” He grumbled. He’d beat himself up over this for a while.

“S’okay.” You say it is, but he knows it’s not. He knows better. “I missed you.” Your quiet voice murmured from below him as you scooted in impossibly closer.

His jaw tensed as he stared up at your ceiling, a deep breath from his diaphragm raising you a little bit with his chest, and lowering you as he released it. “I know.” His response was hushed, and as sleep continued creeping in, you wondered if you’d imagined it.

But when you felt a long, drawn-out kiss press to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades, you knew it was real. The last thing you heard before you dozed off was his voice, mellow and gentle as he assured you.

“Ima do better, mama. I promise, for real this time.”

- do not copy, plagiarize, or post my works onto a different platform.

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated!

[edenesth]

TWTHH Bonus: Star of the Show

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

A/N: In case you haven't already read Honeymoon Avenue (the first bonus chapter), it's probably better to check that out before reading this. Also, please be warned that this contains a slight spoiler to Wooyoung and Hongjoong's spinoffs.

Honeymoon Avenue | Fic Masterlist

"Your wife is with child."

The words echoed in the general's mind long after Yunho had uttered them. You remained unconscious in his room, undergoing a more thorough examination. Seonghwa had been asked to leave while you were attended to. He felt a wave of relief knowing that, according to the physician, your fainting spell was simply your body's way of compensating for the exhaustion caused by the demands of the little one growing inside you.

"Don't worry, everything will be okay."

"I'm counting on you, Yunho," he recalled telling the doctor before exiting his private quarters, his gaze lingering on your still, pale figure nestled under the covers.

"When have I ever let you down, my lord? She'll be fine, the baby will be fine; your family, they'll be just fine."

Realising there was no use lingering outside while the physician and his team of servants were busy examining you—his presence wouldn't change anything—he decided to occupy himself elsewhere while he waited. However, returning to his study seemed impossible; he knew he wouldn't be able to focus on anything else.

As if with a mind of its own, his feet carried him toward the House of Lotus. His heart warmed at the familiar sight of the pavilion facing the lotus pond, your favourite spot, once empty but now furnished with a small table, cosy cushioned seats, and decorative lanterns. It was a testament to the time you two spent together there. He could never tire of being there with you, and the mere thought of spending eternity like that was more than enough to fill his heart with joy.

Soon, it wouldn't just be us two.

Deciding not to sit alone without you, he opted to enter your quarters instead, where every corner held a piece of you. He softened as he opened the door and spotted your embroidery kit at the centre of the room. You had been deeply invested in the craft ever since Hongjoong had taught you a few techniques, dedicating nearly all your time to it when you weren't occupied with anything else. He remembered finding you diligently working on it late into the night and had to gently coax you to bed with him.

Approaching the items, he settled into your usual spot before going through the designs you had created. A chuckle escaped him as he took in some of your earlier, more clumsy works—clearly, these were from when you first began learning from the dressmaker. As he continued, a smile graced his lips at the gradual improvement in quality. It hinted at the possibility that you had discovered a hidden talent; his friend would surely be proud to see your progress.

However, his movements faltered as he reached the bottom of the pile and discovered what appeared to be a... baby shirt. Realisation dawned on him: had this been your secret project all along? Were you aware of your pregnancy all this time?

Questions flooded his mind, each one more pressing than the last. Why hadn't you told him? Why had you lied and pretended everything was fine when you must have been feeling so sick? Did you not trust him enough to confide in him?

His heart ached with the thought that you might have felt the need to hide something so important from him. It left him feeling a mix of confusion, hurt, and a tinge of betrayal. Had he not made it clear that he was there for you, no matter what?

As he sat there, staring at the tiny garment in his hands, he couldn't help but wonder what reasons you could have had for keeping this from him. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more heartbreaking than the last. He thought back to all the times you had been showing symptoms of pregnancy, and it hurt him to know you didn't feel safe enough to tell him the truth. Was it because you didn't think he would be a good father? What if, deep down, there was a part of you that was still afraid of him? What if—

Before his thoughts could further linger, a knock on the door snapped him out of his train of thought. Turning to see who it was, he allowed entry and found Eunsook standing there with a smile on her face, "The mistress is awake, master," she announced. With that, all his previous worries were momentarily swept from his mind. Only you mattered as he quickly rose from his seat and dashed towards his room to see you.

Rushing into the room, Seonghwa's heart raced as he laid eyes on you, sitting up on his bed with Yunho standing beside you. Relief flooded him as he saw you speaking softly with the physician, a gentle hand pressed against your stomach.

Oh thank god, she's alright... they're alright.

Moving closer, he couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for you. Despite the recent scare, you looked calm and serene, your presence soothing his worried mind. He approached quietly, not wanting to interrupt your conversation with Yunho but eager to be by your side.

As soon as your eyes met, he noticed the hint of moisture gathering in your gaze as you uttered his name, "Hwa..." His heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice, and he quickly moved forward, settling beside you on the bed. Gently, he grasped your hand, brushing strands of hair away from your face and stroking your cheek, "What's wrong, my love? Are you feeling alright?"

You nodded, leaning into his touch and motioning for Yunho to speak on your behalf. Taking a deep breath, the physician began, "Her condition is currently stable, my lord."

Seonghwa furrowed his brow in dread, "I'm sensing a 'but' there."

"But..." the doctor continued, "Due to years of severe malnutrition throughout the lady's childhood, her body lacks many essential nutrients necessary for both her and the baby. This explains her weakness. But fear not, I will do everything in my power to ensure her full recovery. Once we pass the three-month mark safely, the remainder of the pregnancy should proceed smoothly."

"I... I understand. Thank you again, Yunho, for your hard work. It seems we'll need your frequent visits for the next few months," the general acknowledged, offering a grateful nod to his friend.

"No problem, my lord and lady. I'll ensure Eunsook receives all the necessary information for the mistress' care. Please excuse me, I should get started on the preparations immediately."

Once Yunho had left and you were alone together, your husband turned his attention back to you. Squeezing your hand gently, he couldn't shake the image of the baby shirt from his mind. He knew he had to address it. Leaning closer, he pressed a kiss on your forehead before delicately broaching the subject, "I... I have a question."

You responded in a soft voice, returning the squeeze of his hand, "What is it, Hwa?"

"My love, have you been aware that you were pregnant all along?"

As your gaze met his, he rested his forehead against yours, seeking to reassure you, "It's just... I was going through your embroideries earlier and I saw it—the baby shirt."

You let out a soft sigh, nodding, "Yes, I... I had a feeling, and I've been preparing myself to tell you about it, Hwa. But I just didn't know how to say it. I was scared of your reaction." When he attempted to pull away, you reached out, cupping his face to keep him close, "Listen to me, I'm not afraid of you. I... I know you've never had a proper family growing up—both of us, actually—and... I can't help but wonder if you might hate the idea of starting one."

His heart swelled with understanding, realising he had momentarily let his earlier insecurities get the best of him. Of course, you were simply concerned about him. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss against your lips before murmuring tenderly, "With another person, I would hate the idea. But with you, my love, I want it all."

Feeling touched by his words, you realised you had never needed to overthink the situation. You should have known that his love and acceptance were unwavering.

Perhaps you had just been overwhelmed by the idea of a tiny life growing inside you—a product of your love with Seonghwa. The thought of having a baby, your baby, filled you with joy and apprehension. Neither of you had experienced a conventional family upbringing, and you feared whether you could provide the love and care this child deserved. Since the first moment you felt sick and figured you might be pregnant, endless questions floated around your mind.

Were you ready?

Was he ready?

What if he didn't want children?

But now, those fears seemed unfounded. As tears welled in your eyes, you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and buried your face against his shoulder, finding comfort in his embrace. He held you close, peppering kisses all over your head, his love and warmth enveloping you. Through your tears, you whispered, "I love you, Hwa."

You could feel his smile against your skin as he leaned his head against yours, his voice soft and reassuring, "I love you more, my wife, and that'll never change."

In the days that followed, you found yourself hardly ever alone. Your husband seemed determined to stay by your side every moment, as if he hadn't already been doing so since he dismissed all his friends. Now, he was even more attentive and vigilant, always ensuring he was nearby to keep watch over you. And whenever he needed to retreat to his study for brief meetings with Jongho, Eunsook remained faithfully by your side.

Today was another one of those days when he had no choice but to attend to some work. He hadn't been attending the daily assemblies for a while, so the least he could do was go through some reports to stay updated on the latest happenings in court.

Meanwhile, the head maid remained by your side in your room. You sat with a cookbook in your hand, diligently trying to learn new recipes. As the saying goes, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and although you already had a hold on Seonghwa's heart, you were determined to work even harder to keep it safe with you.

"You've been quite busy lately, mistress, with cooking and embroidering. I think the master might be getting a bit jealous that you're not as focused on him as you are on these tasks," she joked, gently brushing your hair as she observed your focused expression.

With a playful giggle, you shot her a glance, "Is he really? Well, everything I do, I do it to be a better wife for him and a better mother to this little one," you said, smiling down at your growing bump.

Eunsook's expression softened, "I'm just kidding. I'm sure the master knows that," she reassured before pausing, "Mistress, have you both thought about baby names yet?"

At that, your eyes widened, and you set down the book in your hands, "Oh dear, we haven't. I've been so invested in everything else, it seems I might have overlooked the most important thing."

She chuckled, rubbing your back soothingly, "Don't worry, you still have plenty of time until the little one is born. Perhaps you and the master could start thinking about it now."

Later that night, as you lay in bed next to your husband, the words of the head maid lingered in your mind like a persistent whisper. Despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on your eyelids, you found yourself unable to sleep as your thoughts drifted towards potential names for the future baby Park. Each name you considered brought with it a flood of emotions and images of what your child might look like, how they would grow, and the kind of person they would become.

Sensing your slight movements, Seonghwa kissed your head softly, his voice gentle, "Are you still awake, my love?"

You grinned sheepishly, patting his chest, "I'm fine, Hwa. You go ahead and sleep. You must be tired."

But he sighed, gently sitting up with you still in his arms, ensuring the comforter covered you, "Not as tired as you. You're carrying a little person. Now, do you want to tell me why you're still not sleeping?"

Smiling shyly, you met his gaze, "I was talking to Eunsook earlier and realised... we haven't thought of any baby names."

His mouth formed an 'O' in realisation, mirroring your surprise. It seemed he, too, had not given it much thought. Nodding slowly, he whispered, "That's right, we haven't," pulling you closer to him, he relished the way your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, "So, what do you have in mind then? Have you managed to come up with anything with all that thinking, hm?"

You replied, nervously nibbling on your lip, "Actually, I have thought of a name. If it's a girl, Yeonjoo feels right."

He hummed, considering deeply, "Yeonjoo... like a lotus princess?"

You beamed, "Exactly. She'd be our little princess, growing up in the House of Lotus."

His heart swelled; your choice held significance. It wasn't just a random pretty name; it carried depth. Planting a kiss on your cheek, he smiled, "It's perfect. So, if it's a girl, Yeonjoo it is."

You cheered, "Okay, any ideas for a boy?"

He hesitated, then brightened, "You know what? I do have one in mind, though it might not be as thoughtful as yours. How about Jiyeong? It means a wise and brave hero, and it could also symbolise a flower petal, like the lotus. It'd be wonderful if he grew up to be intelligent and brave enough to protect his eomma," he murmured, gently placing his hand on your bump and stroking it.

"I think Jiyeong is a wonderful choice, Hwa, if it's a boy," you whispered, a sense of relief washing over you now that you finally had names for your child.

Covering his hand on your stomach with yours, you looked up at him with slightly wet eyes, "Gosh, can you believe we're going to be parents in a few months?"

"It's surreal sometimes, my love. And I'll admit, I am a little scared. But I know we'll manage. It won't be easy, but as long as we face it together, we'll be fine."

Yes, I know we will.

The first three months seemed to pass in a whirlwind, with Yunho's weekly visits becoming a familiar routine. Each time, he checked on your condition and brought herbs to boost your health and stabilise the pregnancy, ensuring everything progressed smoothly. Amidst this, life outside your little family continued to unfold.

You recall a particular evening when Wooyoung rushed in, desperate for your husband's aid to rescue a certain Miss Han. In a matter of weeks, she became a temporary resident in your household while still courting the private investigator. Her presence was delightful as she eagerly assisted you in cooking and embroidering, all while awaiting Wooyoung's eventual proposal that would take her away.

And through him, you learned of Hongjoong's latest job, assisting the youngest miss of the Baek family. It appeared to affect the dressmaker unexpectedly, stirring emotions no one had anticipated, especially him, even requiring a little nudge from both Seonghwa and Wooyoung to realise his feelings.

Before you knew it, you found yourself seated in the dining hall, surrounded by your husband's friends. Giving your hand a squeeze, Seonghwa cleared his throat to grab their attention, "Guys," he began, "we've gathered you all here today because we have an announcement to make."

Hongjoong, arms crossed, chimed in, "Pssh, I had a feeling. I knew you wouldn't be treating us to a meal for no reason."

Yunho's knowing grin widened, excited to see the dressmaker's reaction while Wooyoung leaned forward excitedly in his seat, nudging San beside him, who smiled back but inwardly wished the investigator would leave him alone. Mingi promptly set down his wine glass, eager to hear what was to come.

"I hope you're all excited because you're going to be uncles soon," the general announced, prompting cheers from everyone at the table.

The lovely Miss Han, seated beside you, wasted no time in giving you a side hug, though she had already been privy to your little secret. She had even been considerate enough to keep her man in the dark about it.

Wooyoung joined in the celebration, clapping enthusiastically, oblivious that his other half had been aware the whole time, "I knew it! I could tell she was pregnant from my first visit all those months ago. You've been so oddly careful with her ever since!"

At that, Hongjoong's expression darkened, "What do you mean, all those months ago? How far along are you, my lady?"

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, "Three months."

The dressmaker's jaw dropped in disbelief, "You didn't think to tell us until now? Park Seonghwa, what kind of friend are you?"

Yunho scoffed and rolled his eyes, "See, that's why you're an idiot. What does Miss Baek even see in you, I'll never know. Obviously, they wanted to wait until her condition was stable before telling everyone. Why do you think I've been so busy for the past few months?"

Hongjoong shot him a glare, "Oh, I don't know? Maybe because you've been trying to spend all your time with a certain Miss Ryu?"

The physician sputtered in shock, but before the argument could escalate, Jongho appeared behind them, smacking both on the back, "That's enough, you two. Please continue this another time."

Your husband interjected, shooting the assistant a grateful smile, "That's right. As Yunho mentioned, we just wanted to wait until it was safe before telling you guys."

San and Mingi softened, offering heartfelt congratulations to you and Seonghwa, prompting the rest of the guys to do the same. However, the peace was short-lived. Wooyoung eagerly raised his hand, "Ooh, can I please be the godfather?"

The dressmaker was quick to object, "Excuse me? If anyone here is to be the godfather, it's obviously me! Know your place, you fool."

"Oh, dear god, here we go again," your husband muttered beside you.

You couldn't help but grin at their endless shenanigans, glancing down at your stomach and rubbing it affectionately. You already knew this baby would be spoiled rotten even before entering the world. It seemed this little one was already the star of the show.

I contemplated how much of the pregnancy I should cover, but I think I'll only do this much for now! Because any further than this, and that might spoil some of the other members' spinoffs. I shall focus on finishing up all the rest of the stories after this, and who knows? There could be more bonus chapters in the future, we'll see~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/6): Tumblr is a bitch and won't let me mention more than 5 users in a single sentence, so now my tag list looks like a complete joke🤡

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[ourg0dsal]

Gideon Nav CANNOT Die. Hold on- I know... but give me one second and I'll explain.

So, as I said before Gideon Nav cannot die, or at least her body can't. Cause clearly (spoiler warning) Gideon Nav died at the end of Gideon the Ninth. There is no avoiding that.

But! If you have read all the books GtN, HtN, and NtN including all of the accompanying short stories (tho I will admit I have not read The Mysterious Study of Dr. Sex yet) then there is a better understanding of the timeline of the whole story outside of just what the three main books give you. Specifically and especially with Gideon's body. But also there are many times In Gideons life were she has faced near death events or events that she should not have survived from and still was breathing on the other side.

To go in chronological order of these events, when she was first born she was found in a container held by the air depraved suit of her mother. And while ofc In the book it does state that her mother had redirected her air supply to Gideon, but it is simply being stated to cover all my bases.

Then the 200 sons and daughters massacre when Gideon was 1 (or 2 im not sure) when she inhaled poisonous air without dying. Which led ofc to the Reverend Mother and Father fearing the ground she walked. And this is a big one because, it literally creates waves in the plot. It's a defining point of Harrow and Gideons relationship. That Gideon did not die when she was supposed to.

Later in the story Gideon talks with Pal when she believes Harrow to be a murderer and openly admits to him that "she nearly killed me a half dozen times growing up" which obviously in context was to emphasize on the brutal relationship between her and Harrow. But this could also be other times where miraculously Gideon survived death when she shouldn't have. Because as we know from the first confrontation between Harrow and Gideon. Harrow doesnt hold back for her.

Finally of all the events where Gideon escapes death, this one actually happens within the main story of Gideon the Ninth. When Harrow siphons from Gideon to retrieve one of the challenge keys. And at the end when Gideon passes out, it is narrated ""ha-ha," said Gideon, "first time you didn't call me Griddle," AND DIED." Now, this could obviously just be the snarkiness of Gideon narrating. Or something incredibly clever left behind by Tamsyn Muir for a book series that is so clearly meant to be reread. But ofc to do my rounds the next line after does state "well, passed out. But it felt a hell of a lot like dying." But then immediately after "wake up had an air of ressurection." Which honestly feels like Tamysn Muir teasing the readers at this point. The question then becomes rather, which one was the tease and which one was foreshadowing/ evidence.

Now the point of listing all of these events is that in all of these cases the chances of death are so incredibly high that for most its a miracle she's alive. Ofc most notably for the siphoning trial and the poision gas, but none the less there is proof within the written story and and out that Gideon has looked death in face and moved on with maybe a headache. And it wasn't just in her child hood this is something she can just do. Some recreated in the written story! Because as Pal said. Even with the siphoning challenge done perfectly the chances of leaving Cam with severe brain damage was far to high. And Gideon didn't even suffer that.

Sadly, despite all these Gideon gets to the final battle and fights Cytherea and does die. At the hands of a particularly pointy fence. Or was it truly the fence that did her in? Rather than the lyctorship ritual that was started seconds afterwards.

My full theory, isnt just that Gideon Nav can't die. It's that Gideon Nav wouldn't have been able to die... If Harrow hadn't sucked her soul out. There are at the very least 8 seperate events that Gideon should have died, two of which were nearly gauranteed, but she was ended by a piece of metal. Yes, a very well placed piece a metal, but the point still up to that point she had faced worse a came out unscathed.

If Harrow had not completed the lyctor ritual, Gideon would not have died. Wether or not through resurrection or simply walking it off. Gideon's body has some sort of necromantic attributes to it that keep her alive. We see this in the Untitled Entry short story with Judith Deuteros that describes Gideons body, as it does not rot, cannot be injured, cannot be fed to animals forced or otherwise. And that is all before Jod ever gets a look at the body, because otherwise he would have known Gideon was his daughter before the later events of Harrow the Ninth.

And ofc during the first challenge when Harrow uses Gideon as her eyes to be able to see the construct in the other room and Gideon is able to see the thanergetic signatures that Harrow remarks should be impossible. (I assume because the process is Harrow extracting information (Gideons eyesight) from Gideon and so Gideon should not also be receiving information (the ability to see the signatures)) unless Gideon had some form of necromantic abilities, which she was tested for as a kid and apparently did not have. Alongside not having the correct attitude to be a nun of the ninth. And so we can round it out to be her body being naturally necromantic leaving Gideon without the ability to use it. (Which Is a jump from the actual point we are attempting to use, but for now this stops us from assuming Gideon as any sort of necromantic ability which is a theory all on its own. One that I personally have no evidence for or against)

Now, that I have hopefully made both my Ap Lit and Lang teachers proud with my 3 am essay, I must give you the real tragedy of Gideon the Ninth. Had Gideon not died, had Harrow been unable to complete the lyctor ritual for emotional reasons or otherwise, had Harrow not become a lyctor and killed cytherea. Gideon would have had to watch Harrow and Cam be killed, possibly even Corona, Judith and Ianthe. And then to be used for Cythereas own motives. Tamysn Muir beautifully set up the story so that the best possible outcome could have happened. Had Gideon not died. Everyone else would have. And "Camilla the sixth was no idiot" cam knew and accepted this whereas Harrow never would have. And so the unkillable Gideon had to die, and forcing Harrows hand was the only way to do it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

book 7 part 8 thoughts!!

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7 PART 8 OF THE MAIN STORY!!*** Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that roughly unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

Right off the bat, we're starting off strong with a video presentation from Idia!! He uses many MMORPG terms and analogies to better explain his concepts, even referring to allies as "party members".

The video is ~3 minutes long and the artwork used are Takashi Mifune-sensei’s LINE stickers. Yana says she is particular about functionality like Idia is, so she is pleased that they were able to implement this video. “Please watch Idia’s debut as. YouTuber!”

AGKVTIUOD8VQFVE IDIA SHROUD ASKS US TO LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE IF WE LIKED HIS PRESENTATION....... . . .. ...... .. . . . . .. . . . . I'LL GIVE IT TO YOU, IDIA... You popped off on the editing fr...

Idia tells us that there the population of Sage’s Island is roughly 20,000!

He basically explains his plan to defeat Malleus. Idia's going to fuck around with stuff in his own dream to make cheat codes to debuff Malleus (ie remove his invincibility). The others shall distract Malleus so he doesn’t catch onto what Idia is up to. Yuu, Grim, Sebek, Silver, and Ortho will infiltrate the dream worlds of classmates, "wake" them, and then recruit them to their cause. They will then lure Malleus into Idia's dream, at which point all the recruited students will JUMP HIM 🤡 Truly, the power of friendship but the NRC way…

Idia grants everyone the ability to DREAM FORM CHANGE!! By saying that phrase, it opens up a menu where you can magically change your outfit in an instant. The NRC boys are becoming magical girls… ✨

akjlfabidfbefeqof Grim has fun changing into his various Anniversary outfits! Ceremonial Robes, Labwear, Apprentice Chef...!

Silver and co. hop into Epel's dream! (Idia keeps in touch with everyone via his tablet while he stays behind in his own dream.)

Everyone at NRC seems to speak in the same Harveston dialect as Epel. And, well... here's apple boy...

IS THAT EPEL’S HEAD ON JACk’S BODY????????!!!!!?!?!?!!!?!?

THIS IS LITERALLY THE BUFF NATSUKI DDLC MEME 😭 I MEAN I WAS KINDA EXPECTING THIS BUTNIT FLOOKS SO FURGINGNGGGF GS CURSED

Anyway, the group just casually walks up to Epel and tells him everything is a lie??? And when Epel's world starts to go all wibbly wobbly, a dream!Rook and dream!Vil show up to praise him. Rook says he has heard rumors that Savanaclaw wants to recruit Epel for their own dorm, while Vil praises Epel as being both strong and beautiful, a perfect fit for Pomefiore.

I like that the implication is that while Epel still has a desire to be in a "tough" dorm like Savanaclaw, this dialogue seems to also say that he now also finds value in Pomefiore. This is why dream!Rook and Vil are tugging Epel in opposite directions; his soul must like BOTH options. Further proof is that Epel is still a Pomefiore student in his dream, he is not in Savanaclaw. To keep him under the sleep, the dream is trying hard to appeal to both sides of Epel's wishes.

So we battle the fake Rook and Vil!! Then Epel's memories come flooding back to him; the cracking glass effect is so pretty and calls into mind a mirror shattering as Epel gains his lucidity.

(Rook and Vil get similar "glass breaking" scenes upon waking, so I'm only going to comment on Epel's here and leave it at that!)

Cut to black to explain the situation to Epel!

Ortho invites Epel to join their "party" in Idia's dream! Then I believe he uses Epel's dream data to project a hologram of buff!Epel to remain in the dream while Epel joins the gang to hop into the next dream.

Next up is Rook's dream, and--

YUP, THAT'S A YEEHAWING ROOK HUNT IF I'VE EVER SEEN ONE 💀 I thought for sure his in-game 2D model would have larger arms (like, at LEAST Leona-sized arms, if not Jack-sized)... I guess not though, because we cannot have nice things/j

I love the extra detail of the leaves being stuck in the brim of his hat!! dfhlbafbiapia and bro just walks around with a quiver of arrows and a bow strapped to his back at all times...

ahbfg8yoadf9pbaegpb ROOK JUST DROPEPD A FUCKING BOMBSHELL ON US???????? Apparently Vil is a student at RSA and is besties with Neige???????????? BRO'S HEAD IS FR WRITING OUT FANFIC ABOUT HIS TWO MOST BELOVED IDOLS HOLDING HANDS AND GIGGLING TOGETHER

Uhhhh long story short, Rook runs off to his room and we chase him. What we find is--

YEAH THIS IS ROOK'S ROOM??????? It's probably what is depicted in his Savanaclaw Dorm Uniform SSR too. Note the split bed and the completely different carpets in the SSR artwork.

AEBFYVQEVYOFBQB THE WAY THE ROOM IS PERFECTLY SPLIT DOWN THE CENTER AND IS JUST STACKED WITH MERCH (including Tsum Neiges and Vils????????!????!?!?!?!?!??!!!!)

Rook starts to chuckle menacingly and pops off about his hyperfixations to us???? Then he wrangles us all to sit down and watch DVDs with him for the next *checks notes* 5 HOURS?????? AM I READING THIS CORRECTLY????? Rook... HONEY... THE WORLD IS ABOUT TO END, WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO DO THIS...

We keep trying to talk to Rook, but he isn't quite waking up yet. So we have an aside with the gang and Epel suggests... RECREATING OUR VDC PERFORMANCE??????? ? ?? ????? He shows Silver, Sebek, Grim, and Ortho the dance moves and the show goes on!

Rook is lured to the VDC stage and we get a new Absolutely Beautiful rhythmic with our current squad! Unfortunately, the vocals are the same as book 5, so we do not get a new variation with Epel, Sebek, Silver, Ortho, and Grim singing.

I love Love LOOOOVE that Epel is the center here!! He took the initiative to suggest the idea as well as teach everyone, and now he's REALLY walking the talk by serving as the "leader" of the group.

Watching the NRC Tribe makes Rook's head hurt and he starts to remember...!!

Well, wouldja look at that... Here comes dream!Neige and RSA!Vil to distract Rook. They say they are inspired by the NRC performance and start to perform Everyone Yahoo! This entrances Rook, making our task of "waking" him all the more difficult.

aihfboyfpie LMAO THEY'RE SO DRAMATIC?????? Vil steps up to defend Neige, and Neige is all like, "Nooo, Vii-kun! If anything were to happen to you, I'd be crushed by sadness :((" ROOK... IS THIS WHAT YOUR MIND COMES UP WITH...

Rook points an arrow at them and cries about how he betrayed Epel... (AYO LIKE THE HUNTSMAN????) and now he has to destroy Vil and Neige, who are "proof" of his betrayal. It makes him cry even more because he can't think of harming them, even if it's just a dream...

Anyway, time to pummel the sparkly duo! You can see from the battle sprites that RSA students seem to use REAL ASS SWORDS to channel their magic instead of magical pens. Man... Imagine being handed a writing utensil and then glancing over at the next guy and seeing them holding an ACTUAL WEAPON.

If you look closely, you can tell that Neige and Vil's pommels, grips, and rain guards are slightly different. Apparently, every RSA student has a unique one? WOW, I feel like NRC got ripped off then??? Cuz only the dorm leaders get unique items or staves to channel their magic and everyone else has the same standard issue magical pen but with a different magestone color. The only exception to this for the average student seem to be Diasomnia kids, who have baton style magical pens in their dorm uniforms.

Rook fully awakens and we rinse and repeat what we did with Epel (cut to black to explain things to him, make a hologram Rook to leave behind, and invite him to join us).

The last part of the update has us venturing into Vil's dream.

OMG, WE'RE IN FAIREST CITY??? AT QUEEN'S FILM STUDIO???? We just visited this place in a recent event! What perfect timing... I see you, clever TWST devs!

I swear that Vil's outfits are getting worse with each new one I see him in, but that's probably just my fashion sensibilities clashing with his 💦 I thought from the initial silhouette that we would be getting a slightly older Vil to show us how his values have changed since book 6, in which Vil declares he is always beautiful no matter what. Him being older would truly drive that point home; I feel this was a missed opportunity but maybe it wasn’t possible because these dreams don’t seem to be taking place in the “future” but mostly center on the present or past? Something, something, magic limited to what can be imagined and maybe the magic can’t reach that far “ahead”?

aefyeyovfyvqvf HIS NEW HAIRSTYLE KINDA LOOKS LIKE CROWLEY'S, DOESN'T IT...

Here, Vil seems to be highly popular + considered fairest of them all. Additionally, a certain SOMEONE has been relegated to being his mere assistant (and uh, Vil is somewhat demanding of them):

VIL... THIS ISN'T HELPING YOU BEAT THE MEAN GIRL ALLEGATIONS, SWEETIE...

On a more serious note, I think this raises an interesting point about Vil’s character. Try as he might to get over his envy of Neige, it’s clearly still something so deep-rooted in Vil, right up to the end of booo 5. Now this element also permeates in his dream world. Neige “has” to be demoted in so Vil can stand on top—but is that really “fair” to Neige?? Is it truly Vil’s jealousy that informs the dream of this, and thus the dream is spinning this shallow, easy victory for Vil’s satisfaction??? Because the noble Vil I know of in book 5 wouldn’t consider this a real “win”. Very fascinating topic to ponder!

Vil has Neige toss us out, which Neige does. The dream is preemptively acting this time, with dream!Neige coming at us. We make a getaway and somehow whack the head of the announcer + have Rook usurp his role.

As Vil is walking down the red carpet, Rook announces the various sins that Vil has committed. Vil panics and demands that someone shut Rook up, but then he starts to realize things aren't quite right.

We try to intervene, but Neige gets in the way and ultimately Vil is pulled deeper into his own darkness. Everyone else plunges into the dark with Vil?? I was worried that we'd have another battle map segment but thankfully there was none!!

We're back in the VDC backstage hallway area and stumble across a horrifying sight. Neige is on the ground (next to an empty bottle of apple juice) and all Seven Dwarves are surrounding him and sobbing. Ortho runs a scan on his vitals and Neige... FLATLINES...

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?????? THAT VIL ACTUALLY INTENDED TO KILL NEIGE IN BOOK 5????? 💀 Dude... No wonder why Vil was feeling so guilty and screaming that his actions were so "ugly"...

Epel uses his UM to encase Neige in a magical glass coffin to keep him safe. Then they run out onto the VDC stage and hear the announcer declaring that NRC has won. Vil is there soaking up all the attention and praise until we confront him.

Just as he is starting to "awaken", the darkness comes back and Vil alone is taken.

What I find really adorable here is that both Epel and Rook rush to his side and try to pull Vil out of the darkness. They're... OFFERING THEIR HANDS... TO HELP HIM OUT OF THE MIRE... OFFERED HANDS... A MOTIF THAT HAS BEEN IN TWST SINCE THE PROLOGUE... 👁️

Vil finally faces off against his Phantom. Like Idia in the last update, Vil willingly assumes his OB form to do battle. These fights seem very symbolic in the grand scheme of things. Idia and now Vil, confronting the worst, most unsavory parts of themselves, their inner demons, and rising victorious, proving that they have become better people… It continues the little bits of character growth that we’ve been seeing in each of the past books!!

He rises from the darkness and joins up with everyone else after conquering the fight!! The update ends here.

Okay, there's a LOT to talk about????????

The highlight for me was definitely Idia's presentation. It was very fun to watch because of the slick editing and it was a silly way to lay out the plans. I appreciate that we get to see Idia's strengths on display here; he can get long-winded and throw in lots of eccentric gamer slang, but you can also see how quickly he's able to tailor a complex plan together while accounting for many variables. adfhlboafoiyebif I UNDERSTAND THE IDIA HYPE NOW, I UNDERSTAND IT ALL...

(Side note: I did not know where to insert this, so I'll do it at the end! BONUS POINTS TO IDIA FOR RIGHTFULLY CALLING MALLEUS SHALLOW 💀 because his understanding of constitutes as happiness truly IS shallow. Once again, Idia slays with his brutally real words...)

I already said my parts about Epel and Rook's dreams when they happened. It was great seeing how their characters have developed, especially Epel! I never much cared for him, but I really appreciate all that he has done this update.

This pretty much confirms that future updates will have us visiting every remaining classmate's dreams and "waking" them. Admittedly, I'm both excited and worried??? Because that's a TON to cram in, and I worry that not everyone will get proper screentime or development. On the other hand, I'm hype to see what their dreams are like and what other limited SSRs the game might throw at us.

I feel like with the reveal of Vil OBing to fight his Phantom/"inner demons", we'll get similar scenes with the other OB boys coming to terms with what they've done and where they can go from here. This... might lead into the highly desired and speculated about Overblot series of SSRs, which I theorize will be the limited SSRs for each of the OB boys. I'll definitely be keeping my eyes peeled for those, TWST... I wonder if we'll get a Neige card eventually too??? Since we did see his battle assets exist this time. Will Chenya get one too, assuming he comes in a futureHeartslabyul update??

Aaaaaah, next time... Scarabia... 🤡 I'm so hype for that, Scarabia is like my second favorite dorm next to Octavinelle!! (SPEAKING OF, WILL WE FINALLY GET EEL FORM CARDS FOR THE TWINS...)

I’m sliiiightly concerned for Silver because bro used his UM no less than, what? 4 or 5 times this update alone??? He used his UM to enter Yuu’s dream and then Sebek, Lilia, AND Idia’s. Presumably, he also has to use his UM no less than 13 more times (12 more for the remaining boys + 1 more time to return them all to Idia’s to ambush Malleus). And even worse, he has to transport an increasing number of people each time. HOW TF IS SILVER NOT OVERBLOTTING????! 😭

bxjsgwjwnwkcbjsbs This update was nonstop WTF moments sandwiched between genuinely heartfelt moments. It’s been really rewarding to follow along and see how the Pomefiore boys have changed since we first met them all the way back in late book 4, early book 5. Looking forward to seeing how the other boys play out!! (… Book 7 is fr about to be 200+ parts long 😭)

[theminecraftbee]

the summer before THE END...

(this fic contains @hotguycomiczine spoilers! go read it first! i'll wait!)

It’s midday. The sun is heavy and hot, bearing down against the asphalt and visibly making the air shimmer over the road. Summer in Hermitopia can be miserable, and frankly Cuteguy thinks it’s far more miserable than the bruises. The humidity makes his feathers stick together and itch in awkward ways, he’s sweaty twice over because he hadn’t had time to actually wash his costume between the last major villain attack, his recent part-time line cook job, and then this fight.

He’s in his early thirties and he’s becoming an old man, he thinks. His knees should not hurt this much, and yet here they are. Vigilantism is going to give him early arthritis.

They’ve driven off the villain. Didn’t manage to catch him, though. He wasn’t even from Hermitopia. That’s been happening more lately; people who see Hermitopia as some lawless wasteland where they can come visit, avoid drinking any water, and live out their dreams of being a comic book character, damn the consequences or collateral damage. It’s frustrating. Sometimes, deep in Cuteguy’s soul, he sort of thinks the Soup Group has a point in calling out all this bullshit.

Of course, they do all that murder about it. So. Not much better, really.

He leans against a building and tries to breathe. Normally he has a water bottle with his costume, but this guy had homemade napalm. Luckily, not real napalm! The water did work for putting out the fire! Unfortunately, it’s ninety-seven degrees and humid and Cuteguy has just done enough cardio that he’s honestly worried about the odds he passes out. 

Out on the street, Hotguy is chatting with every civilian he comes across. He’s grandstanding. He’s giving blow-by-blows. He’s acting like his sweat doesn’t stink like a mere mortal’s. He has a water bottle, and he’s taking sips of it between chats with reporters and posing for cameras. There are enough cars and civilians that Cuteguy isn’t all that worried about the TCG yet. Hotguy’s still pretty damn wanted, what with the whole possession thing that they don’t exactly have the means to prove to the public, so Cuteguy’s got to keep an eye out for them, but with this many cameras on him? The TCG isn’t about to arrest him on camera. Despite everything, he's still too charismatic; he'd still make them look too bad. 

Cuteguy wipes his forehead again. He does notice when someone starts approaching him; he might be exhausted, but he’s acting as Hotguy’s situational awareness while he’s busy playing up crowds. He can’t afford to be that exhausted, so he isn’t. That, and the woman approaching him is hardly as stealthy as the Bleeding Hart. Another thing he might have to give to the Soup Group were he willing to give them credit for anything: he’s never been able to fully stop noticing where everyone is around him. Hotguy had winced and called it “hypervigilance”. Cuteguy had said that he wasn’t any better, he just calls it a superpower. Hotguy had said it is hardly his fault his superpower promotes vigilance. Cuteguy had—

“Uh, good fight. Thanks,” says the woman.

“Oh, uh. You’re welcome,” Cuteguy says.

She’s tall and blonde. Also, she has four arms. Cuteguy should have probably noticed that first, but he didn’t, and that’s on him.

“Bit of a mess, especially in this weather. Hotter and they’d issue a heat advisory, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cuteguy says.

He is not good at post-battle smalltalk. That’s why it’s Hotguy’s job. He’s good at causing chaos if needed, but chaos is the opening the TCG would need to get to Hotguy. Cuteguy glances in his direction. He’s posing and signing autographs still. He can’t help but sigh. They’re going to be here all day.

The four-armed lady follows his gaze.

“You know, I’d always wondered why you stick to him,” she says.

“Sorry?” Cuteguy says.

“I just mean—I watched the fight. Yeah, he’s good, but you’re decent at range too. You can get enough height to really not need perfect accuracy because you’ll be hard to hit. Wings are, uh, a pretty overpowered combat tool, really, especially when most of your enemies are on the ground. But you’re good at close range, so, uh, inside isn’t awful for you either, really.”

“I mean, you’re right, I am pretty good,” Cuteguy says, interrupting her. “I don’t really get—”

“Look at him,” the woman says. “You ran around more than him and he took the water bottle.”

Cuteguy wants to defend Hotguy for that one; it’s hardly his fault that Cuteguy dumped his water bottle on napalm like it would do anything. It did, which is convenient, but still. Not Hotguy’s call. He doesn’t quite get the chance.

“Even after everything last month, he’s still grandstanding too. Sure, he’s stopped shooting people for not being grateful enough, or holding rescues hostage for cash, but look at him. Hardly any better, is he. Sure, he says he was possessed—”

“He was,” Cuteguy snaps.

“—but like, is the guy he is now actually all that different? Just saying.”

Cuteguy stares at the man trying to get extra photo ops out of a group of passing runners. They’re topless to account for the heat, which is probably why Hotguy wants photos with them. Cuteguy can just barely hear the man asking to trade phone numbers. Is it worse or better, Cuteguy wonders, that the phone number Hotguy gives out just goes straight to Cub’s inbox? Is that catfishing or just good sense?

“He’s trying to help,” Cuteguy says.

“He’s desperate for attention,” the four-armed woman says. “You know, you’d probably be better without him. After everything that happened, your reputation would be better too. A little more in the shadows, a little less associated with his crimes.”

“He’s…”

“I just want the real reason, really,” the woman says. 

“What do you…”

“Why would you stick with him when you’re so much better?”

Hotguy waves goodbye to the runners. He takes another sip of the water bottle. Really, there’s so much that Cuteguy can say here, watching that. He could say something about how, in the terrible days when the Soup Group had first come onto the scene, Hotguy had barely left Cuteguy’s side until Cuteguy started pushing him away. He could say that Hotguy is earnest, that he really does want to save people, despite the fact he also wants attention. He could say that he knows the man behind the mask now, and he’s seen his films, and frankly getting a little recognition as Hotguy kind of makes up for not getting recognition for his decent acting talent. He could say something about playing Mario Kart on the couch, or learning to aim a bow, or fights with Doc, or secrets shared that Cuteguy wants to make sure Hotguy never has an incentive to spread. He could say something about how dangerous fighting alone is. That’s probably the more sensible thing to say, actually; Cuteguy knows exactly how dangerous fighting alone is.

What Cuteguy says is this:

“He makes me happy.”

There is a long not-quite silence as sirens and cicadas fill the summer air.

“Huh,” the woman says.

Cuteguy doesn’t say anything else.

“Well. I mean. I don’t really know how to save you from that, so I guess I’ll just leave you to it,” the woman says. “Consider if he’s really worth it.”

She leaves. Cuteguy stares after her a moment before shaking his head and going back to scanning the crowd for any known TCG elements.

“Birdie!” Hotguy crows, running over from the reporters. “We’re on the 5 PM news!”

“Really? An out-of-towner with questionable pyrotechnics made it?” 

“I got it worked out,” Hotguy says confidently. “But, uh, with that said, you look like you need some AC and a drink. I have so much Gatorade in my fridge that it isn’t even funny. All the labels are pulled off because it’s for that one football movie I did, right? And for some reason they didn’t want to give Gatorade the product placement, so they made all these sports drinks without—”

“Not in-costume, Hotguy,” Cuteguy says, but he doesn’t put any heat into it.

“—oh, you know no one’s listening, lighten up! Anyway, so the movie ended up somehow ordering far too many bottles, and you know what they say about underpaid actors and free food—or, I’m not sure it’s actually an expression, but let me tell you, I have never turned it down. And with the number of ele… electo-mites? I think? You know, all the sweat we’re sweaty about—come on Cuteguy, I don’t want you passing out on the pavement, I really didn’t mean to get caught out that long!” Hotguy says, grabbing Cuteguy’s hand to take him back to his apartment.

Miserable heat or not, Cuteguy can’t help but smile slightly.

“I don’t want to pass out either, that’s why I’m not running, Hotguy,” he says, and he lets himself be tugged along in that man’s wake once more.

[pandalexoxo]

since i’ve watched youtubers play dead plate, it’s been on constantly my mind 😻 i’ve literally searched up gacha reactions, fanfics, edits, etc, just because i’m starting to obsess over the game. not to mention how little attraction it’s gained?! where is the fan art, the fanfics, the loveeee?!? 😭 anywho! just a little blurb i keep imagining in my head!

this takes place after ending 3 so please, keep in mind that this will contain spoilers for the third ending! you’ve been warned!

(DEAD PLATE X READER)

With his left hand, Rody puts pressure on where his left ear had been before Vincent had ripped it off and eaten it. He pants softly, unable to tear his gaze away from the flames that engulf the bistro.

Rody is able to break contact when he sees a shoe in the corner of his right eye. Rody’s body tenses as he looks over at the shoe, allowing his gaze to slowly move up to take in the owner of the shoe. Black leather shoes that shine bright from the fire’s light, black slacks and a white long sleeve button up underneath a black vest adorned with a black tie. Rody’s eyes widen at the face.

The persons expression is full of worry, the figure holds their hands out as if wanting to comfort Rody but feeling as if they shouldn’t overstep boundaries in such a clearly traumatic time. the figure’s mouth opens, mouthing some illegible words. Rody hasn’t realized that all this time his ears had been ringing, his brain already trying to force this moment into the back of his head.

Rody’s eyes fill up with tears and he sniffles. The ringing slowly fades out as the voice slowly registers. “Rody! Hey, are you alright? Hey, deep breathes, you don’t have to tell me what happened, let’s- here, can i lead you to my car…?” Rody feels tears flow down his cheek and drip off his chin and Rody feels like he’s breaking as he wetly smiles. “…(M/n)…”

The man, finally known as (M/n), looks relieved as Rody seems to snap out of his previous delirious state. “Rody… Hey… Let’s step away and go to my car, yeah?” Rody nods but takes one step and falls forward. (M/n) panics, stepping a few paces forwards to catch Rody.

Rody’s eyes close and he whines, letting his tears fall and openly sob as he mourns. Mourning over the truth he has learned, that his girlfriend was killed and cooked up by his boss, being served to Rody though, due to his inability to cook, he had not eaten the dish, which Rody is now thankful for. Rody finds himself surprisingly mourning over Vincent too, just wishing to make some money to whoo Manon and wanting to try to become closer to Vince, maybe even become friends. It’s too late, what’s done is done.

(M/n) sighs softly, his expression softening as he holds Rody close. He allows Rody to get all of his feelings out, hoping his friend will be able to feel better. “Rody… I don’t know what happened and you don’t need to tell me until you’re ready, but… Please … I want you to know that i’ll be here with you, for you… All the way...”

Rody’s body continues to heave from the force of his sobs but ultimately seems to be calming down. Rody is reduced to sniffles and he clears his throat to speak. “All the way…? You promise…?” (M/n) hums, rubbing Rody’s back soothingly. “All the way. I promise.”

Rody nods, feeling content before pulling away with a sheepish look, as his stomach growl. He scratches the back of his neck nervously but (M/n) breaks into laughter, causing Rody to follow suit. “(M/n)… Could we get something to eat…?” (M/n) nods, able to pull both of them up and lead Rody to his car. “Of course, my treat.”

[macabresymphonies]

(minor TMA spoilers and general TMAGP spoilers) Having so much time to think about incidents in TMAGP due to hiatus made me realize that all of them, to some degree, contain the theme of "sealing your own fate" or "consequences of greed/hubris".

You see, while I do not believe that TMA had a consistent theme every statement was based on, the overall messege seemed to be that horrors are inevitable. Once you've been marked you cannot escape, no amount of therapy or running can release you from it. I think Michael Crew is the best example of that:

"The thing that chased me, you see, it was an arcing branch of the Twisting Deceit, taken shape to follow me. (...) And I knew within that book was something that could not only release me from my pursuer, but chain my being to that rush of wind and vertigo forever." Michael Crew in "The Coming Storm"

You cannot escape it once you've been marked, only bind yourself to different one and this marking is, most often than not, nonconsensual. Jane Prentiss would run around and infect random people, Not!Them didn't need anybody to come to them before it was sealed and Peter Lukas also tended to just disappear random people just to feed. The fears were very predatorial and active and the victims were selected based on their own fears and anxieties. This is not to say there weren't victims who failed due to their own curiosity/hubris/greed, but I think it's telling that few of the most greedy/curious people in the series, Mikaele Salesa and Jurgen Leitner, stayed largely uncorrupted by the fears not cause they avoided interacting with them, but simply avoided getting marked by them.

Now we come to protocol and every incident so far has the main subject of that incident actively engage with the horror and have one or multiple points at which they could stop and leave, but they do not. Daria went to the tattoo shop on her own accord, Harriet wanted her husband back no matter what and even Dr Webber was described to be able to leave the garden whenever he wanted, but, due to hiding from authorities, chose to stay until it was too late for him. Every incident so far seems to have this theme of consent, characters detailing very clearly that consent was given to engage with the abnormality:

"Ah well that’s a tricky one. Sort of? In many ways he stabbed himself on me. By the time he saw the needles we were already very close. Close enough to smell his sweat and cheap aftershave. In fact, he barely had time to be afraid before we embraced. He’s terrified now of course…" Needles in "Introductions"

"The young man's interview was not exceptional as he had no experience in charity work, no driving license nor any demonstrable experience in retail. He claimed however, to know the Hilltop Centre better than anyone and as he was the only applicant in the role I elected to give him a try." Dianne Margolis in "Give and Take"

"I hesitated a moment but before I could consider her strangeness a particularly high tide of color swept down the corridor toward me. I panicked, and before I realized what I was doing I had darted inside the lift and slammed the close-door button." Terrance Stevens in "Running on Empty"

It does not matter some of these are under duress or deception, all of them contain some type of action "confirming" consent. Mind you I do not believe all the victims of of these horrors confirm consent in some way, like people who get killed by Bonzo probably didn't agree to it (though considering he's most likely a hitman, some degree of "you agreed to this by overstepping your boundaries" philosophy could be applied), but subjects of the incident very much pay for consequences of their own actions.

That brings us to OIRA itself, and how every character so far seems to actively dig themselves deeper by their own accord, Gwen wants position of power, Colin wants to figure out the system, Sam wants to know why he wasn't chosen and Alice is in it for the money (for her brother which still counts as consent). This is literally said directly to us in episode 1:

"If you hate working here so completely, you are perfectly within your rights to resign. No one is forcing you to stay here." Lena to Gwen in "First Shift"

All of this, all this horror is happening due to their own accord, curiosity, obligation, greed for knowledge or just for the money, it does not matter, the choice is there, but they delve deeper anyway. We will see how long it holds up, but I will be on the look out for this theme in the future.

[cenorii]

Wesker: personality

This is my psychological analysis of the character, which includes important details of the story, an analysis of the decisions they made and the concept of the phenomenon of «Guiding Fear». Contains spoilers!

Even if you know lore 100%, you will be able to learn something new from my thoughts

I did this to practice analyzing personalities and reliably prescribe my own characters.

[These are all my personal reflections that I have been accumulating and analyzing for six months. You can see the same analysis with Chris here. In Wesker's case, I dispel the myths that he is evil-evil and crazy, it's not that trivial here... Thanks to everyone who reads this, I really appreciate it and it's nice to know that my thoughts are of interest to someone!]

The most difficult subject of all. An attempt to embrace the immensity. He is infantile and the desire to prove this quality forced me to write such a huge article.

Wesker embodies the fear of losing himself, the anxiety of being someone he is not. He knows nothing about himself from the beginning, neither his Spencer-prescribed destiny nor his real name. As he tries to resist and exercise his individuality, he is eventually confronted with the truth that his every move has been pre-planned, never answering the questions: where are his own decisions? Where is he himself? What is really his?

I chose this fear for Wesker for a reason. The fear of losing himself can cause a person to purposely distance himself from others and not allow anyone to get close to him. He strives to shield himself from everyone, and we can observe this in his desire to be alone. Outwardly, such a person may appear indifferent and cold, even indifferent, so as not to give away to others (and to himself) his true feelings and needs. Wesker believes that it is right not to show anyone that something matters to him, otherwise he will develop weaknesses. After all, what people hold dear can be manipulated. And he doesn't want anyone to have control over him. He hates being controlled, so his surroundings know the bare minimum of information about him.

Who's Spencer? One of the founders of Umbrella, to put it succinctly. A man who is obsessed with identical mansions and mysteries and immortality and creating «perfect humanity». Rich and powerful.

But let's get to Wesker's story. A lot of things happened to him in his 48 years of life.

First of all, I want to point out that at an early age he was taken from a family that Spencer believed had a unique combination of intelligence and genes. But he wasn't the only one who was treated this way as part of «project W» (the experiment to create the perfect human). There were hundreds of children who were later given the surname Wesker. Until their adulthood, they received the best education, living in a boarding school (presumably), and were selected to be the best.

The children, being a blank slate, absorbed Spencer's teaching, being brought up according to his ideals. Their lives were pre-scripted, every step of the way. Those who were unremarkable were weeded out. Competition, anxiety. The lack of a normal childhood could breed a fear of losing oneself in every Wesker, for life was controlled. Personal boundaries and choices were absent, Spencer's worldview was pounded into everyone's head. Children were also distorted with notions of right and wrong, forced to be emotionally detached from a non-ideal world. This upbringing has produced people who have no empathy for others, empty machines with no personality of their own, ready to perform perfectly in any job in which they find themselves successful. They see the world through Spencer's eyes, but not their own.

In the end the best were 13 people, where number 12 was Alex Wesker and number 13 was Albert, the one in question. Someone who really always wanted to see the world with his own eyes, wanted to transcend.

The 13 candidates, following Spencer's plan, had to mature before moving on to the final stage of project W - injecting themselves with a special prototype virus. The power that this virus can bestow is so great that an immature individual, according to Spencer, has no right to possess it. In theory, this virus should improve a person, make him perfect, but in fact it turned out to be very selective and killed 11 candidates out of 13. Only Alex and Albert survived. Alex didn't gain any strength, because at the time of the injection she was sick, and the virus cannot improve a weak organism. But her half-brother was lucky, and the virus endowed him with all possible positive properties, changing his body and turning him into an almost immortal creature, looking completely like a human. That is, outwardly, except for the color of his eyes, nothing had changed in him. At the time of the injection, they were both 38.

I don't believe in theory that he lost his «humanity» due to mutation. On the contrary, he was never «human» in the classical sense of the word. He, like the others, was raised not to show empathy for others and was indoctrinated to believe that he was superior. Wesker had not changed, but because of his newfound freedom, he was no longer constrained by the limits Spencer's upbringing had placed on him.

When Wesker was 18, he was sent to the «Umbrella Executive Training School» with his future friend William Birkin, who was 16. They were research associates. As one could guess, the stress didn't end with his childhood, it coexisted with it. Following the text from his report, Wesker continued to feel like a mere toy in the hands of Umbrella, and further in the hands of Spencer, he literally raved in every paragraph about the old man. And to get out of this state was impossible from his words.

He and Birkin were led to Lisa Trevor, a subject who had been physically and psychologically abused in this School for many years. The horrible picture that opened before them, gave Wesker confidence that he could be in her place if he did his job badly. But he had no idea that he'd always been there, that every stage of his life was Spencer's experiment, just not as ugly.

Wesker wrote in his report: «We had two choices: succeed in our research... or lie here and rot like her. Thus we had only one option. This woman tied to a pipe touched something in our minds»

These thoughts are literally a revelation of his subconscious fear that has haunted him since childhood. A manifestation of humanity.

When Wesker entered this School, he felt freedom and saw the horrors of science for the first time. Perhaps a turning point in his life, for in order not to lose that little freedom, and his life, he had to do as he was told. Had to adjust and ignore the rationalism screaming inside. Working there greatly affected Birkin and Wesker, but Wesker had to transfer elsewhere to get more information about Spencer and also because of the realization that he had reached his research limit. When Birkin started studying the G-virus, Wesker realized that it was beyond his knowledge. Although he was good at science, he didn't want to do it all the time, he wasn't looking to improve his skills and knowledge, reaching for something else, as if trying everywhere, trying to find his place.

Close to the age of 38, Wesker gets a job in a special police unit as Captain of the S.T.A.R.S. Squad and a double agent. But he was already then pursuing a personal goal and found himself a triple agent. His goal was not simply to test bioweapons on members of his squad, as the assignment stated, but to escape with the results to another organization. The only way to break free from the influence of Umbrella, which is why he gave up his best people so easily.

It's unclear why he planted supplies on Chris in a difficult moment and helped him in every way he could if the trial was supposed to go «natural». Perhaps he wanted Chris to 100% make it to the final trial, but Chris was doing fine without it. Maintained the image of the captain? Game rules? Anything is possible. I'll use the code word «WX» to note this behavior, because I'll come back to this topic a few more times. «WX» stands for Wesker's penchant for actions that do not conform to his basic behavior, including helping others that does not bring him any personal benefit or benefit. In other words, good without any reason.

At the mansion, Chris and Jill get rid of the bioweapons in their path and make their way to the lab, where they catch Wesker off guard. There are 12 endings in the game, but only the one where Wesker is stabbed in the stomach by the Tyrant is canonical, as that is the ending depicted in Umbrella Chronicles, where the story is told on his behalf.

He survives by regenerating from a pre-injected prototype virus, but it's unclear if his death was part of the plan. His first report states that Wesker planned his temporary death from the Tyrant, but in subsequent retellings of this moment, I began to question how relevant this report was. His reaction and facial emotion shown in the re1 remake described surprise. But he couldn't be faking it at that moment, because he already had his back turned to Jill and Chris. Considering the way Wesker in Umbrella Chronicles describes his death, it seems like he really didn't expect this. Something didn't go according to plan. He didn't plan for this kind of trauma to activate the virus within him.

The point about the prototype virus is also worth mentioning. Birkin, on Spencer's orders, misled Wesker by telling him that this substance was developed specifically for him. That is, Wesker did not know the truth and details about having a huge probability of simply dying from the injection. Judging by the information in the notes, if Wesker had not injected it into himself, the virus would have entered his body in some other way, it was inevitable. The remaining 12 Weskers were injected with the virus, some by force, some at the request of a friend, and some under the guise of vaccination.

Let's take it a little further. Wesker was declared dead and moved on to another organization. Now his plan was to get rid of the sinking ship that is Umbrella. But why was he so intent on destroying it? It could have been a personal vendetta, after all, it was Umbrella that had manipulated his life and taken away his freedom. It was also a way to prove to his new organization that he was worth something.

By executing his plan, he inadvertently helped Chris and Jill, who were seeking the same thing. I'd call it «WX», but since he was pursuing a personal goal for his own benefit, it's 50\50.

Then in re4 he gives Ada the task finds the amber with the parasite Plaga. Considering that Wesker moves quietly around the island in the remake, it's odd that he didn't get that amber himself. With the power and speed from the virus, he took it all on the shoulders of one Ada, who was also infected during the mission, which only wasted his time. Didn't want to get his hands dirty? Maybe. But if he had gotten them dirty, the mission would have been completed faster, and isn't that a tactical advantage?

In the remake, he manifests «WX» (DLC Separate Ways) when he shows up at just the right moment for Ada and saves her from the ganados. After likely killing them with a gun, he takes a passed out Ada to Mendez's bedside, where he gives her a temporary recovery shot (or draws her blood?) But you know what's even weirder? He purposely chose a comfortable place for Ada, rather than laying her down on the ground somewhere. He was also there with her the entire time she was lying unconscious. I'd put an exclamation point on that weirdness, because... why? First of all, why did he save her when he could have continued the mission in her place? Recall Code Veronica, there Wesker arrived on the island with his HCF squad, but then we find his soldiers infected. He showed no concern for them and actually continued the mission on his own. Second, why did he keep sitting there? To scold and pathos leave?

He envisioned the option of Ada's possible betrayal and later stole Krauser's body, from which he had already extracted the Plaga sample, but he saved her anyway. Why? All of Ada's subsequent tasks on the island he could also have accomplished on his own and much faster. It's not like he was very busy if he allowed himself to sit with a sleeping Ada. The next meeting with Ada takes place on the elevation. Wesker brings her a case, pointing a gun at her. What is this gesture for? I don't think he sees her as a threat. Maybe it's a way to lend weight to his words, but doesn't he consider his authority absolute? He's a much bigger threat than the gun in his hand, so it's an odd action that makes him seem insecure.

After Ada's betrayal, one of Wesker's allies informs him that her helicopter can be attacked, but he refuses, calling it her "little act of defiance". Thus, he gives someone the Plaga sample she stole, and also spares Ada herself. It's «WX», though he could have gotten rid of two problems at once - the traitor and the competition.

We are now transported to the future, in the DLC for Re5 – «Lost in Nightmares». Here's where the fun begins.

DLC reveals to us that something has been bothering Wesker all his life, and that something is a subconscious manipulation that has been psychologically programmed into every Wesker. The so-called «Spencer's presence». It was a defense mechanism that constantly caused a sense of anxiety and a desire to seek out Spencer, to obey him. But this defense stopped working as soon as the old man met his prodigal son and told him everything. Wesker learned from him the whole truth about himself and about «project W», that his whole life had been manufactured. Then the defenses in his head were destroyed and he quietly killed Spencer, appropriating his dream for himself. He failed to deal with the realization of the truth, taking his dream of becoming God and creating a perfect humanity. An infantile fantasy of an unjust world that needed to be changed to fit his ideals.

In that moment, he faced his fear head-on. There she was - the cause of his fears, the person who had gotten into the depths of his mind, into his innermost being. Spencer. And now this old man was lying bloody on the floor. Perhaps Wesker should have been relieved and finally started living the life he wanted, not this old man. But he had taken Spencer's dream for himself, thus, once again acting against his will. In doing so, he didn't walk away from the problem, but exacerbated it without even realizing it. Wesker must have guessed that he had some problems, but his inflated ego that prevented him from thinking about it, screaming that he couldn't have any flaws. The problem became a hole that he tries to fill with things like this.

Whereas other characters conquer their fears by facing them, Wesker drowned in them, unwilling to change anything. His entire personality was built on the horror of losing himself, and when he found out that he basically had no self all his life, he lost his mind. He decided, since this world was unfair to him, then he needed to completely rewrite it and turn it into his own utopia, in which he would be whoever he wanted, untouchable, whom no one would point out and control.

However, thanks to the re4r (DLC Separate Ways), we now know that similar thoughts haunted Wesker even before he met Spencer. His desire to change people and start a new era he expresses after the credits. With this, the writers patched a few plot holes that appeared after re5. Now Wesker sounds like he didn't assign Spencer's goals to himself, but even before meeting him, he decided on a vision based on his upbringing.

Unfortunately, there is a long known scripting problem re5, because Wesker was not planned as a character who will survive the events of this game, so his motivation sounds stereotypical and stupid, because his plan and should not have been realized. Must be in the remake they will fix this flaw, because the beginning has already been made. His moment of frustration after killing Spencer is interrupted by Chris and Jill coming up. Consumed by rage, Wesker is seriously trying to kill Chris this time, or he was playing with him again, knowing that he would not oppose him. After saving her partner from death, Jill pushes Wesker out the window, falling down onto the rocks with him. After falling off a cliff, Wesker obviously survives, but also saves Jill. Why not just leave her to die? Why treat her and then plan to make her a test subject? Aren't there other healthy people out there? Stupid and empty revenge is not in his character. This is just another manifestation of «WX» and his obsessive desire to cling to the past.

I don't have much to say about re5, because Wesker died there, or we were made to think so. The only thing I will mention is his unhealthy attitude towards Chris. He displays it at every chance he gets. The notes about Wesker in Umbrella Chronicles state «As a spy he held the concurrent post of S.T.A.R.S. Captain and has been impressed by Chris' combat abilities since then», and during the events of Umbrella Chronicles, Wesker said the phrase «Chris, it appears our fates are forever intertwined». In the re1 remake and Code Veronica, he openly stated that Chris was «his best man» in a sort of unobtrusive admiration. It's no longer possible to perceive Redfield as separate from Wesker.

Each time he points a gun at him, Wesker never takes a shot on target. In the battle on the airplane, he points the gun at Chris without even putting his finger on the trigger. Such a good opportunity to kill him, to get rid of the enemy for good, and he just stands there holding a gun he's not even going to use. Just take the shot and it's over, but no, he's standing there babbling on as if it's actually that much more important to him. It's like Wesker was looking for an opportunity to vent to the very person from his past. It's reminiscent of the moment he pointed the gun at Ada. It's like he was trying to add weight to his words, to show the importance of what he was doing.

In Code Veronica, he decided to play with Chris instead of killing him. So many opportunities were missed, as if he couldn't physically hurt «his best man». Chris is Wesker's only drop of common sense. If he was sure of what he was doing, and also sure of himself, he wouldn't have left Chris any chance of survival. He would have killed Redfield at the first opportunity, but he stands there every time and doubts what he's doing. Chris is a kind of controlling element to him that constantly makes him hesitate.

And this strange hatred for Chris also raises questions. Maybe he hates him because he was jealous of what he owned? Something that cannot be obtained with money. Support, understanding, the love of a sister and close people, trust. Wesker compulsively convinced himself that he was not made for such things, for even having a sister, they did not possess affection. From the beginning he had no friends and his only companion was Birkin, though their relationship could hardly be called a normal friendship. He had no family or loved ones, and the only support he received came from «patrons» who were actually agents of Spencer and Umbrella. Seeing the Redfields supporting each other in difficult moments, being heroic, Wesker truly realized that he would never do the same. He has no people he holds dear, nor does he have those who hold him dear. There are no irreplaceable people in his worldview, but this connection between Redfields is probably beyond his comprehension. It's a simple human problem, which is why he's so fixated on himself, because if he loses the only thing he has, he'll have nothing left. He's miserable and drowning in his own despair.

While interacting with Chris on the volcano, Wesker first reveals his idealistic, infantile nature, naively dreaming of a better world without war and disease. Losing control of his powers and realizing that he will not defeat Chris in such a state, he decides to overdose himself with Ouroboros, which in the end does not make him stronger at all, but only slows him down, making him drown not only in weakness, but also in his own uncontrollable anger and frustration. Events are moving too quickly and so it can be assumed that his words here are not addressed to Chris, but to himself. After all, in the last battle he claimed to be «saving the world» and now he wonders «is it worth saving?» He dies without knowing the answer.

«However, there is no point in power if it consumes itself» his phrase, well suited to the situation at hand.

Btw, in the original idea, the moment before he died, his eye color would become natural, showing despair and horror. An interesting idea that was discarded.

I would also like to parse his phrases: «Only those with superior DNA will be chosen by Uroboros. Only those fit for survival will be allowed to carry their genes into a new age!» Also, «I don't need anyone else. I have Uroboros!»

Wesker is more aware of how the world works than anyone else. Corruption, betrayal, human vice and filth. He had to participate in it to achieve his goal, had to go through a lot of disgusting people for the sake of getting benefits, himself to sink to their level. Seeing this, he has become disillusioned with people, so he wishes they would disappear, giving way to someone more «worthy» of life. He also renounces everyone, entrusting his fate to his creation, desperate to gain understanding.

His life was cut short at the age of 48 (2009) in a volcano, but that's according to official reports. In theory Wesker and his possible clone are alive now, which we could learn from Umbrella Corps. But I'm not going to tell you about it here.

I failed to mention that at 32, Wesker had a relationship with a woman named Muller. Strangely, she was still alive afterward and had a good opinion of him. Although it would seem that with such a personality it should be the other way around.

She ended up pregnant, and now, as of 2021 in the re8 storyline, their son is 29 years old. I can understand why she might not have informed Wesker about the son, because first of all he might not have approved and made her get rid of him, and secondly she might have lost the ability to contact him, since he was working in secret. But the fact that she kept the baby speaks volumes. That the man she broke up with is genuinely pleasant to her. I mean, if he'd been the way he was at the time of his death, it's unlikely she would have kept the baby. Often victims of violence/abuse get rid of their children, no one wants a child from a tyrant. That's the side of this character that we don't know anything about.

It's hard to imagine how a person who has a fear of losing himself and who distances himself from others has managed to find a short-term relationship at all.

What about his personality? There's a double bottom here.

It's ambiguous. At first you see a stereotypical villain and then a psycho who wants to «save the world» by destroying it, a standard hackneyed scheme, nothing interesting.

But if you look closely, we see a simple man on the verge of despair. With his past behind him, he cannot give up everything and live the way he likes, because he is superfluous in this world. Because of his own fears, he has developed a belief that he has to strive for something in order not to lose himself. All Weskers have been raised to believe that they have a great destiny, which builds an unhealthy and extremely vulnerable self-esteem.

With his fear of losing his identity, Wesker isolates himself from others, creating psychological walls that even he is afraid to penetrate. This may be the reason he broke up with Ms. Muller. She risked getting into places where even his foot had not set foot, so it became necessary to distance himself from her in order to avoid unpredictable consequences.

His dream, adopted from Spencer, actually echoes his deeply buried problem. «Infect people with a virus that will only improve and not kill a select few like him» That is, Wesker dreamed of making people like himself. Isn't it loneliness and desperation that makes people do such things? It didn't seem that he was hungry for «power» specifically, because he already had it in the traditional sense. All the more, based on his words, he did not wish for evil with this gesture, he wished to «save» humanity, knowing that millions would die. For the sake of finding a company «worthy of him», he was willing to risk killing everyone and being alone. Desperate and lost, he began to make bad decisions.

You know, it's been unusually hard for me to see beyond the obvious. I feel like I did the wrong thing by taking it upon myself to judge him without knowing almost anything about him. I originally had a biased and negative opinion of the character. But now I've gone neutral.

What do I see in front of me now? A character disconnected from his own lore. We read about one thing and see something else entirely. And also an unhappy man. Wesker is famous for his reports. They were always interesting to read because of their informative and judicious tone, so it was much more interesting to watch him when he acted in accordance with his reasoning.

Judging from the story, he is able to evoke compassion and empathy in the viewer, but does he evoke it in action? In action, he evokes nothing. He is not even annoying, although a well-written character should evoke an emotional response, but he evokes it only with his story.

Creating something unambiguously negative is not a bad thing. But such a thing should be presented wisely, and it should have a certain kind of backstory, which will only deepen our belief that this object is evil.

But in Wesker's case, things went wrong from the start. Having created a story that resonates in you with an atmosphere of hopelessness, lack of choice, and fear of losing yourself, we see a character that doesn't match that. It's the events of the personal story that create the character, but if the character feels pulled from it, something went wrong in the writing.

If you are creating a character who is supposed to be compassion, the story should help with that, make you feel his problem. The same is true if you're writing someone who is negative and should be disgusting. Murder isn't enough to make a character a villain, the story is the main key. And our victim's story isn't about becoming evil at all, it's about fighting fear, where fear wins in the end, which doesn't fit with the concept of evil evil at all. That's why the player/reader/viewer can't always decide who he is: antagonist? Anti-villain? Who the hell is he?

[The beginning of an optional fragment]

By the way, there aren't enough facts in this analysis, so now we're going to break down the prototype virus that was injected into 13 Weskers. If you're not interested in that, skip to the next section. I haven't previously mentioned the Progenitor, from which many viruses in this universe originated, so the prototype is an unstable strain of the Progenitor, weakened dozens of times so as not to be too toxic. This virus either gives a person immense strength or kills them altogether. Alex stayed somewhere in the middle, because nothing happened to her, but her brother changed a lot.

Wesker has special genes, as well as immunity, that made the prototype fused with him. But activation, according to Birkin's report, requires a stressful situation. That means the hormones released as a result of stress dramatically amplify the influence of the virus, helping the body to initiate the fusion. It's all about hormones, we'll come back to that.

When Wesker received an injury incompatible with life from Tyrant, the hormones produced at that moment triggered the V-ACT process. He went into anabiosis, transforming all the cellular tissue in his body as well as repairing the damage he had sustained.

But having gained strength through a complete reorganization of his body, he was not yet aware of the instability of the virus inside. He didn't know that the prototype doesn't «fix» in his body. Therefore, the strength provided by the virus is not eternal, weakening with time.

So Wesker has to take PG67A/W regularly to re-secure the virus inside and stay strong. An insufficient dose of PG67A/W can cause malaise, and a large dose becomes poison. Which is what happened in re5 when Chris and Sheva injected him with the substance an extra two times. He experienced pain, and then presumably his powers escalated to the point where he no longer had control over them and they lost usefulness.

His son, Jake, also inherited genes and special immunity, which is why most viruses are harmless to him, but also do not give any advantages.

The fact that the forces of an overdose are not lost, proves the moment when Wesker easily damages the rocket with his bare hand.

Now back to the subject of hormones. Not only do they provoke viral activation, but they are a completely controlling element. Wesker, when provoking his emotions, can change the density of his own body, which also causes bioluminescence in his eyes. I noticed this when rewatching the re5 cutscenes. Always when he is about to strike, his eyes start to glow. Glow is emotion, and emotion is hormones.

This is why Excella can free pierce his skin with a needle and inject the drug, because at this point Wesker is calm and his body density is close to that of a human. In battle, his body is like a stone, it hurts Chris to hit him and this can be seen in his animations.

[The end of an optional fragment]

The injections are another painful element that robs Wesker of his sense of self-worth and freedom. Therefore, coupled with the fear of losing himself, he has an inferiority complex. This complex manifests itself outwardly in a superiority complex - in arrogance, an inflated ego, which we see in his behavior. This is the answer to the question of many people, why he behaves this way. Not considering himself a full member of society, not considering himself suitable for ordinary life, Wesker begins to believe that he is above «all that» and calls himself God, in other words self-deception.

An inflated ego is the result of psychological defense, a sign of hidden fears (loss of self). It also indicates the presence of insecurity, which he tries to hide by creating a strong image for the outside world. However, like many people with large egos, Wesker has a fragile self-esteem, which is why he hates so much the rude Chris who initially discerned his weak side. His self-esteem is closely tied to his ego, so with the image he has created, Wesker protects a side of himself that he never shows to others. He hides it even from himself, as I mentioned earlier.

I thought Jake's AI words would be perfect here:

This is the only fragment where I decided to have fun with AI, but it gave me something that really makes sense.

I would like to summarize, because the analysis turned out to be long, and something towards the end may have already slipped the reader's mind. So... What do we know?

Because of his nonstandard childhood and obsessive upbringing, Wesker has an unhealthy and extremely vulnerable self-esteem. By deceiving himself, he began to consider himself superior to everything ordinary, and to believe that he is simply not made for this cruel and unfair world with wars and diseases, so he dreams of creating «his own world», where there will be «equal» people, so that he will no longer feel superfluous.

Also, because of his childhood, he is withdrawn to the point where he hides his true feelings and needs even from himself. He feels safe as long as no one knows what he cares about. If you don't know what a person cares about, you can't manipulate him. And if he doesn't care about anything, he is invulnerable. He is afraid to be himself and express it. He himself doesn't know what «he» is really like. Judging by his phrases in the game, Wesker would like acceptance, but would never admit it openly.

It is also an echo of an effect he has been under the influence of all his life - the «fear of losing himself». This fear has become a convenient pattern of behavior in his life: pretending not to care about anything and believing it. People with this fear need to appear indifferent, not letting anyone know that anything matters to them.

But what is «fear of losing yourself»? It is the phobia that someone more powerful can manipulate you and take away your sense of security, of reliability, whereupon you no longer consider yourself strong and confident. Wesker felt for years that he was under Spencer's strong influence, his puppet, which cemented the «fear of losing himself» even deeper. Every step in his life was not his personal choice but Spencer's, Wesker was only made to think that he was acting on his own free will.

Loneliness and lack of empathy were also his eternal companions. Never having friends, never having family and support, and never having anyone that Wesker could cherish. And no one who would have treasured him. That's why he's so fixated on himself, because if he loses the only thing he has, he'll have nothing left at all. That's why he prioritizes pragmatism over emotion, easily betraying anyone and replacing one with another. But he also tends to cling to the past, sometimes betraying his pragmatism.

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

Due to a misunderstanding, I would like to supplement my text. This analysis is only my personal interpretation and my personal view of the character and his story. I do not claim that it is 100% canon, because canon is so vague and disjointed that it is impossible to fully assemble it objectively. Everyone is entitled to have an interpretation different from mine. Best wishes to all!

[y-rhywbeth2]

D&D Vampire Lore Dump #1

Feeding and Diet It's actually more complicated than just "they bite you and eat your blood." Plus what they're able to eat; how often they need to eat; what happens to you if they bite you and what happens to them if they don't feed- spoiler: it's unpleasant. Incidentally, you should reload and kill Cazador again.

(I was comparing stuff across editions and compiling it into something more coherent and then figured I'd info dump about it in case my fixations are useful to somebody out there.)

DISCLAIMER: There are two things to note about the lore presented here: First, while the standard stat block in the monster manual is the default, in terms of lore vampires have this annoying tendency to be incredibly, stupidly varied. They are magical monstrosities ruled by the power of symbolism and superstition above anything else.

The next is that D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest.

Basically, in D&D, canon is what you decide it is.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

They only need to feed once in a 24 hour period. Vampires can survive between 3-9 months of starvation, but it's a terrible idea. -

There are three different categories of "Undead Hunger." Vampires have two of them and actually need to consume more than one thing to stay "healthy": Blood and life force. -

The blood is obvious. This is categorised as a "diet dependency." It's required to preserve their bodies and powers, and without it their powers* are suppressed as their bodies begin to shut down. *This refers to the powers a vampire gains with age; they cannot lose power they had as a newborn (the base stat blocks given for vampires and spawn given in the monster manual) A vampire requires the equivalent of 12 hit points of blood a day, or it begins to revert into a corpse-like state. Mentally they slowly regress into a desperate, mindless animal frenzy where they'll kill and drain anything containing blood they can get their hands on. Ultimately, if they don't get any blood then they revert into a corpse and they're trapped in their own body as it begins to wither and mummify. They're trapped in a coma, vaguely aware of the passing of time in flashes of awareness until somehow they are fed blood. If they ever wake up again, they will probably wake up feral and absolutely ravenous. -

Vampires rely on the victim's blood pressure to expel blood from the wound they create, lapping and mouthing at the wound rather than actually sucking on it. Being bitten is a highly pleasurable experience that victims can't help but desire, even when they know they shouldn't. -

While the damage done remains, the wounds from a Vampire bite closes itself quickly after the feeding (assuming you're still alive). It does however leave a mark. The bite mark itself is often "less than half an inch in length", and leaves behind a significant bruise that causes no pain or sensitivity to touch. Other side effects include fatigue and a weakened immune system. -

Vampires typically target sleeping victims (less likely to fight back) and favour the blood of their own race above others. So theoretically, Astarion finds elf blood tastes best. -

Drinking animal blood tastes bland and is health-wise akin to drinking tainted water: yes it might keep you alive in desperate times, but it's ultimately bad for you and will probably make you ill. That said, it has no mechanical detriments and a vampire that's forced to live on animal blood will be just as strong as its kin, but considerably bad tempered about it. -

A vampire's secondary feeding requirement is called an "inescapable craving", which means that if a vampire doesn't get that fix then their hunger begins to devour them instead. The pain is described as a spike boring into the vampire's brain, obscuring their awareness. They begin to obsess over feeding to the exclusion of everything else, they become willing to take ridiculous levels of risk to stop the hunger as they become more and more desperate. As they are consumed they become progressively more feral until they're just a rampaging mindless horror driven only by horrific hunger. For vampires, their inescapable craving is life force, which a vampire leeches from their prey through touch leaving the victim weak. Direct skin contact isn't required, if you're wearing full plate and/or the vampire is wearing gloves and they lay a hand on you they can still drain you. Mechanically these were combat abilities, energy/level draining occurred when a vampire struck a target with their own body (usually their hands). Before 5e hit them with a nerf bat, vampires could permanently weaken you this way (you could lose character levels from this). 5e also seems to have rolled life drain into the biting, so a vampire can consume your blood and energy at the same time. -

Post feeding, a vampire starts to look alive. Their skin is flushed and warm and they feel elated and energetic. In contrast, a vampire that hasn't been feeding properly becomes more corpse like and feels "sluggish" (I'm interpreting that as flu-like symptoms). It's purely emotional however, the vampire is no less capable and dangerous and suffers no mechanical penalties. -

Vampires can feed on other vampires, which is actually more filling than living humanoid blood and gives them the ability to communicate telepathically for a few hours. They don't like it though. If a vampire drinks from another vampire then they can be controlled by that vampire and the link forces them to feel affection for each other against their will until it wears off. The results of both vampires in question feeding on each other is described as "debilitating" since they both paradoxically become enslaved to the other's will and forced to "love" each other creating an absolute dysfunctional mess of control, obsession and resentment. The good news is that it only lasts a few hours. -

Some vampires can eat regular food (no nutritional value in it for them) while others would regurgitate it if they tried. As they retain their tongues, vampires can also taste food. That said, it's a bad idea for them to eat garlic, even if they can eat solid food. -

Some kinds of vampires don't drink blood. There's all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff a vampire might be required to consume instead. Spinal fluid stands out. Or the bit about ones who drain the ocular fluid from your eyes. Gale might find interesting things to talk about with the magic eating ones who prey on mages. They're much less common, probably something to do with most people not finding that very sexy. I don't think any of them exist on Toril.

[yandere-sins]

Crisis Averted - Part I [Genshin Spoilers 4.1.]

New Genshin Updates always make my thoughts go brrrr. So here's a little something (with modified happenings to fit the story lol) of Wriothesley after he survived the encounter with the Primordial Sea!

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Wriothesley x GN!Reader   Warnings: Yandere, Topics of death (Fear of death, Near-death experiences, Fear of loved ones dying), Reader got locked into a closet, Forced Relationship, Dub-Con touches, Long post

Heavy were his steps as he finally made his way back to his office. 

The stairs seemed to drag on endlessly after exerting more energy in a matter of minutes than Wriothesley had done in months—actually, years. He couldn't even remember when he last needed to drain his vision for just one more blast of ice and then one more. Luckily, Clorinde was neither a talkative fellow nor in much better shape than he was after they both struggled to hold back the Primordial Sea from escaping. They were both tough and hard to take down in a fight, but even they had their bodily limits.

She left him on the floor beneath his office with a short nod, a few words exchanged out of courtesy and thankfulness. Then she was gone, and Wriothesley's heavy boots continued their ascend, disregarding any weariness in his bones and the burning of his muscles. In a way, the Primordial Water was a prisoner of this place, and Wriothesley chuckled at his own thoughts as he came to this conclusion, exhaustion making everything sound a bit more funny in his head. However, despite knowing that the crisis was averted and the seemingly inescapable destruction and ruin had been contained like an unwilling prisoner of the Fortress of Meropide, he didn't feel like he had succeeded in keeping death away from what he treasured.

Muffling the yawn ripping from his throat, how could he not be elated by the thought of returning to you, the feeling giving him back the pep in his step? Even after all that happened—and Wriothesley had thought of many, many ways this could have ended—you were both still here. Alive. 

Unless the ice had frozen you to the core by the time he reached you.

He skipped the last two steps with a jump to avoid this possibility, generating enough energy to jog from the staircase to the closet. Noticing the glistening ice still enveloping the doorknobs, Wriothesley let out a breath of relief before quickly grabbing them, unbothered by the frozen sting ramming into his hands. Not even his body heat would be enough to melt the ice, but he'd be damned if he let his own safety measures keep him from you. 

Bracing his body against one of the doors, Wriothesley made sure to keep the closet standing upright while he pried the other one open. More strength was needed to loosen the ice that had seeped into every crack, an airtight grave keeping him away from you. But even so, it would have been a better death than what the Primordial Sea would have done to you had they not been able to contain it. Wriothesley forced himself to avoid the thoughts of the pain and agony the water would have caused you, the idea of him suffering such a fate enough to rampage his skin with goosebumps. He had put you into an awful position, but at that moment, he had believed it to be more merciful than being dissolved and drowned in the water.

Jerking the door again, he could hear the ice cracking, more relief washing over him. Relief that it would have succeeded in protecting you until the worst was over, and even more relief that it was giving way now, returning you to him. Surely, you must have already been panicking with the cold raking at you and the slow loss of air. He'd have to apologize later for putting you into this position, wipe your tears if necessary, and get someone to smuggle some cake into the Fortress as a well-done treat. But all he wanted to do now was to have you back in his arms. Everything else was a worry for later, like the Primordial Sea threatening to destroy all life around Fontaine.

One more ice-breaking tug and the door finally gave away, revealing a trembling, miserable person. His trembling, miserable person. Your first instinct was to gasp for air, the few minutes locked away having taken its toll on you. You were coughing and gasping, clawing towards the light, more than ready to exit your makeshift coffin. Wriothesley caught you before you fell, your eyes unaccustomed to the brightness after spending so much time in the dark, and he sat you upright again, helping you out of the blanket he had wrapped around you in a hurry when the commotion started. 

More than any ice, your body had cooled down significantly, and other than when he touched the frozen doorknobs, Wriothesley noticed the temperature of your skin even through your clothes. It pained him, yet, it had been necessary. Pulling his trusty coat off his shoulders, he slung it around your violently shivering form, closing the front tightly so the fur collar would warm your cheeks and ears. There was no way he'd let you walk on legs that were fragile from the cold, and he never planned to let you go anywhere on your own in the first place. 

Strong arms wrapped around your body, now engulfed in his coat. His scent was so prevalent, even when it mixed with yours. Wriothesley appreciated how well they worked together. Had scent been enough to mark you as his, he might not have had to do so many things to keep you by his side. You two could have lived pretty normal lives if all it needed was him rubbing off on you, but alas, normalcy wasn't something he had ever been blessed with. Given that there was a very real chance of him dying from being submerged in Primordial Water, not even his death would be able to be claimed as normal. But neither would yours.

But not today. Neither of you died that day, and Wriothesley thanked whatever godly entity he had to thank for that. Even just having the chance to hold you once more was enough to convince him that everything would be okay. At least for now. For one more day. Lifting you out of the closet, he held you, unmoving. Your arms wormed out, desperately holding on to him as if for your dear life, his warmth seeping onto you. Wriothesley felt your nails rake over his chest, panic driving you closer to him. Every shiver, every squirm through the thick material of his coat, and every sob ripping out of your throat, broke his heart more than you'd ever know. 

"Why did you do that?" you asked, your voice so full of hurt and accusation, yet you pressed yourself harder against him, teeth chattering. For all you knew, you two had been drinking tea (albeit reluctantly on your part) when the alarms suddenly began to blare around you, and Wriothesley shoved you into the closet as if he was punishing you.

"I had to," he mumbled back, his words muffled by the fabric, his arms restricting tighter around your body.

"I could have died! It was so hard to breathe! And the cold… the cold…”

More sobs tore out of you, and Wriothesley closed his eyes, knowing he had to endure the blame your shaky, fragile voice rightfully accused him of. You were right, but would you understand? Could you understand that he'd rather allow you to die peacefully and whole than go through the same agony he'd be in at the same time? Wriothesley had laid awake countless nights thinking of the what ifs and what to do if push came to shove, only to still be unprepared and get run over by the events, wrapping you in a blanket and kissing your head before forcing you into a closet and sealing it shut. Your safety, or at least heightened chances of survival, were the only things he could think of at that moment, you being the only component in his plan that could make him panic.

But now you were crying in his arms, the fear of everything—the unknown, the darkness, death—spilling out of you. He wished he could have prevented it, but now he knew that the truth would only make it worse for you. If he told you what was happening, you'd react like most prisoners here would, and he couldn't guilt you. Not telling you and keeping you in the dark, doing whatever he had to do, regardless of the feelings, was the only way to keep you safe. Wriothesley was the only one to protect you from a fate much worse than what awaited him if he failed. But now that the danger had been averted, the least he could do was hold you.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, rubbing your back through the fabric, hoping to give you the comfort he needed almost as much himself. But other than you, he could only dream of being comforted by the person he loved. And even those dreams seemed unrealistic. Worse days awaited you two, your and his fate sealed together with that of the rest of Fontaine. But not now. Now wasn't the time for tears and worries, and if he hadn't been so damn exhausted—with you in his arms doubly, warm and soft—he would have celebrated your survival more. Soon, you'd come to your senses, fighting him again, and this time, he wouldn't stop you. He couldn't. 

So he'd use what little time he had to enjoy this moment. Walking over to his chair, you graciously let him carry you, allowing him this little, intimate gesture of holding you in his arms all throughout the short journey. Even though he sat down abruptly, knees giving out from under him, your body landed softly, enveloped in his while he let out a strained grunt. The feeling of gravity pressing you into him was one he would have liked to treasure for the next few days, and if it had been up to him, you two would have been cooped up for just as long. But beneath his calloused hands, he could feel your body warming up, your breath no longer icy when it brushed his neck and cheeks.

The fight hadn't taken too long, evident by you still being alive, and yet it felt like he'd been gone for weeks, maybe months. Years of absence that made him miss the feeling of your body and the sound of your voice. His mind should have been on the enemy he was fighting, and yet, his only concern had been you. Getting back to you and not dying without seeing you one more time was everything he thought of as he pushed another punch of eyes to that gate that kept the Primordial Sea contained. You gave him the strength to keep going, if only to give you a chance of survival and to not die in pain like anyone else who'd get into contact with the Primordial Sea. To not give up until Neuvillette showed up, releasing him from this duty to society so he could return to the duty of loving you. 

It had been a lot, but when he raised a tired hand to push some of the fur out of your face, witnessing the tears having stopped and the warmth returned to your cheek, it had all been worth it. Wriothesley had to make progress on the project he kept hidden from everyone to ensure that you'd be protected from all the dangers surrounding him. If anyone, then at least you. So even if he couldn't push this tired body of his to do it that day, he knew that from the moment he'd open his eyes after a nap, he'd be back to working on it tirelessly. 

"This face," he sighed, cupping your cheek and snorting softly at the pout crossing your features. Tracing the bridge of your nose, he hummed, satisfied that everything was still right where it belonged and had not fallen off from the cold. 

"These lips," he mused, brushing his thumb over the soft cushions he dreamed about kissing every night. 

"And these eyes." 

His words made your gaze rise to his, beautiful jewels in the moody, damp lighting of his office, glistening from the tears yet raging like the sea in a storm defying his adoring stare. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. If you had to hate him, then hate him. Despise him, he'd deal with it. Wanted to hurt him, he'd let you. Love him… A man could dream. But seeing a storm of emotions was better than the faded light of death you had when he pulled you out of the closet. That was something he wished to never see again. That he'd fight and strife for to never appear on your face again.

"Don't," he chuckled, grin splitting his lips as he pinched your cheek in a loving reprimand after noticing how you wanted to start arguing. Wriothesley couldn't help but laugh out loud when you let out the most adorable grunt in annoyance, squirming on his lap until you could hide your cheeks into the fur again, away from his touch. He settled for the nape of your neck, holding you there gently and noticing in the back of his head how long your hair had grown since you came to the fortress as he brushed his hand through it.

You glared at him defiantly from the safety of his coat, and Wriothesley couldn't imagine a better place or better look for you. "That's what I'm fighting for," he mumbled, pushing his strained muscles to move so he could kiss your forehead. "It's all worth it as long as I can hold you like this. Just a little longer, alright? I'll get you something nice in return."

Wriothesley wasn't someone who begged, not even for your attention. He'd take it and have it as he pleased, but in that moment, he worried he'd lose you if he let you go—for real this time. The uncertainty and inability to tell you what was happening, left a cold, dark hole inside him, wrenching his gut and bursting his heart with regret. All he had to soothe the pain it caused him was to hold you and feel your soft heartbeat through the layers of clothes around you two. 

It relieved him to know you were safe. He was safe. You both were okay, but mostly you. He never told you that if there was a way to save your life in exchange for his, he'd do it, no question asked. But it was a weird topic to bring up, especially when you considered him to be a heartless, manipulative asshole who used his authority to take advantage of someone less fortunate. So he didn't. Like many things, he kept his thoughts to himself, hoping that, in some miraculous way, you'd come to understand one day. Maybe even like him. 

"I hate you," you reiterated, and Wriothesley managed another chuckle to hide how much that statement hurt him. He fully expected you to jump off his lap now, walk away from him and out of his office, choosing to spend your time wisely instead of indulging him. You were no longer shivering, your teeth calm, and your heartbeat even, and yet, you didn't budge. 

Turning your head to the side, you placed it on his chest, stilling on top of his heart, this small gesture enough to make it threaten to burst out of his ribcage. Maybe he underestimated you. Perhaps you did understand, at least vaguely, that whatever happened had been pretty bad for him. He'd take the pity if it came from you. Wriothesley could only hope you magically understood that whatever he did in his absence, he did it not to harm but to protect you. You never showed him any mercy with your opinions or actions, so this side of you could only be explained by assuming kindness and understanding from you. But whatever it was, he was grateful. So, so grateful. 

This was all he ever wanted: holding you, burying his face in your hair in a moment of vulnerability for him. Where he wasn't stronger, wasn't exuding authority over you. Forcing you to bend to his will. A moment where he could forget the world as all his senses tuned themselves on you. Everything was you, from the softness of your body to the smell surrounding him. Your heartbeat in his ears and his eyes closing as Wriothesley was comforted by your warmth. Even if you'd never appreciate what he was doing, this was enough reward for all the hardships he went through for you daily, but especially on this day. It reminded him of why he was working so hard, even though he never meant to fall in love with you this deeply. Your tiny bit of compliance would satisfy this overpowering need for you for a couple of days until he'd be back on his feet. 

Wriothesley wanted to say more. In fact, he wanted to tell you everything. But it wasn't the right time, nor did he have the strength. Your feelings changed nothing about his, every beat of his heart screaming, "I love you! I love you! I love you!"

He was a little glad you didn't hear it. That would have been embarrassing. 

Grinning to himself, he could feel his conscience being pulled out from under him. His breaths even, despite the extra weight on his chest that he clung to desperately, his chair never feeling more comfortable than in that moment. He wished to stay awake for a little longer, muse about the fact that you were the best blanket he could wish for, feeling just so right. Sleeping while holding you like this would definitely improve his nights, as he wouldn't have to worry about where you were and who you were with. If you were safe or in the process of trying to do something stupid. But he'd take what he could get, even if it was just this one time of you not trying to tear out of his arms and run from him.

After all, this day could have ended very differently. But it didn't. 

He got to hold you again, the crisis averted so he could return to you. He had to be thankful for that, as his life would be worth nothing without you. And even waking up with you gone would be more pleasant than any thought about you dying far away from him. So he'd take this time to rest like he always had wanted, his beloved in his arms, his thoughts and dreams filled with you.

Trying not to be too greedy, now that he knew what it felt like not to lose you.

[perhaps-in-anotherdream]

[CN] Li Zeyan’s Reliance Date (Eng Translation)

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 依靠之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

⚠️ Additional Warning ⚠️ while the entire date is not spice-themed, but the steamy parts are borderline dangerous and highly not recommended if you don’t qualify for the 17+ age rating (CN server). so, the call is yours~ :>

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【Subbed Video】

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【Chapter 1】 

MC: [on the call] …We need to find some local media outlets that we can potentially partner with for our ad campaign ASAP.

MC: [on the call]  Also, email me a copy of the revised design proposal for the main exhibit booth.

As soon as I hang up the phone, a flurry of work notifications causes my phone to vibrate again. I roll over on the soft couch and can’t help but heave a sigh.

MC: Sigh…

[MC’s Company Name] has undertaken several major projects this year, and all of them have been executed very successfully. The company’s reputation is also gradually expanding beyond Loveland City.

Last month, our company bid for a large-scale project in collaboration with Copenhagen City Council and Loveland City, and I worked overtime for over a month for this.

However, just as we were about to secure the project smoothly, we were maliciously intercepted by the competing company Shuanjian Media. In the end, it was due to LFG stepping in that we were able to resolve the situation with a narrow escape.

Even though the project has been secured, a lingering sense of defeat from being backstabbed and making critical errors remains with me, refusing to dissipate from my mind.

Perhaps because of this, I’ve recently spent the majority of my time being on top of all kinds of tedious work, afraid that if I don’t handle them in time, it will lead to further consequences.

The sound of steady footsteps gradually draws near, and I turn my head to see Li Zeyan walking towards me. He places a cup of hot Longan tea on the coffee table next to me.

LZY: This is already the eighth time a certain someone has sighed tonight. What’s so thorny about the project that got you on edge?

I put my phone down and, somewhat coquettishly, open my arms toward the person in front of me.

MC: We’re planning an exhibition for the project in Copenhagen. Just finalized the venue today and now ironing out the details.

He readily responds to my cue and enfolds me in his arms. His fingers trace their way up my neck, massaging the skin there in a soothing manner.

LZY: If I remember correctly, the preparation period for this exhibition is quite long, and there’s no need for your recent overtime to catch up on the schedule.

MC: You’re right, but the coordination needed for various aspects of a multinational project is quite intricate. Starting earlier allows more elbow room…

MC: Plus, the reason I’ve been working overtime isn’t just for this project. The business interview you’re starring in will also be recorded tomorrow.

MC: It’s the final episode of the year, so I cannot afford any slip-ups!

LZY: You’ve already confirmed the program sequence with me three times today. What could possibly go wrong?

While speaking, Li Zeyan sits down next to me and draws me into his arms.

MC: After all, the external press would absolutely kill to have their names in the show where the CEO Li of LFG is making an appearance. So, I definitely need to be 200% cautious.

Nestled in his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent, I make a conscious effort to relax my somewhat tired brain.

LZY: If you encounter any difficulties, reach out to me at any time.

MC: I’m facing difficulties right now, and I’m in urgent need of CEO Li’s encouragement!

I pucker my lips and lift my head to approach him. The corners of Li Zeyan’s lips curl up slightly, and he lowers his head–– a soft, warm touch descends before leaving just as quickly.

Though fleeting, the tenderness of the moment washes over my heart. I nuzzle his chin with the tip of my nose, feeling perfectly content.

LZY: [chuckles indulgently] Dummy, you’re so easily satisfied.

MC: Why wouldn’t I be? What could be more soothing than a kiss from CEO Li?

MC: As for work matters… CEO Li has already helped me a lot, so I’ll work hard and handle the rest on my own!

LZY: We’ll talk about the “working hard” part later. But if you keep dawdling like this, the bathtub is gonna need a refill of hot water.

MC: Hehe, right now, you should say something like, “Honey, it’s bath time~”

LZY: …

Ignoring the speechless look in his eyes, I lazily shift my position and nuzzle his neck, then stand up with a smile.

MC: Would you like to join me for some relaxation time?

I notice that his fingertips seem to tense up for a moment. Before he can really come and “arrest” me, I make a face at him and dash into the bathroom.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 2】

Soaking in the warm bath, I feel the fatigue in my body dissolving into the water.

Just as I’m about to use my phone to find a drama to watch and completely clear my mind, work messages begin popping up one after another on the screen, and I subconsciously click on them.

MC: [to herself] So, the collaboration partner we agreed on before has backed out…?

As part of our tourism project with Denmark, we are planning to establish recreational and promotional zones in both cities, and we have found an experienced collaborator in the relevant field to partner with.

MC: [to herself] Everything was already talked through and all set, so why are they bringing up issues with the company’s capital chain at this critical juncture?

I feel my insides somewhat burning with rage, so I give Anna a call. She also sounds just as angry and swiftly catches me up to speed on the situation.

Anna: [on the call] I did some digging, and it turns out one of the shareholders of this company has a very close personal relationship with the owner of Shuangjian Media.

MC: [on the call] Shuangjian Media?

Isn’t that the black-hearted company that tried to sabotage our tourism project?

Anna: [on the call] We initially partnered with them because of their experience in cross-border tourism projects, but now wrangling with them is more cumbersome than it’s worth. I think it might be better to take this opportunity to switch to another company.

MC: [on the call] …let me think about it.

I release a sigh and hang up the phone, then bury my face in the water, blowing bubbles as a mild head throbbing creeps over me.

The perfect company… As I ponder on this matter, a face flashes through my mind.

As a matter of fact, I have casually mentioned this project to Li Zeyan before, but he didn’t show much interest in it.

Should I… go ask him?

Even though I know in my heart–– LFG is the ideal choice that can’t go wrong, for some reason, I can’t seem to bring myself to voice my thoughts.

I can’t always turn to Li Zeyan to help resolve my problems every time I run into one.

No longer in the mood to soak in the warm bath, I reach for the shampoo and press the nozzle, intending to wash up as quickly as possible.

I press down hard twice, but the bottle only emits a sputtering sound, and the last remaining bit of shampoo drips pitifully into my palm.

MC: …

Akin to a sudden spark explosion, it instantly triggers a denotation of all the built-up frustration inside me.

I take a deep breath, jerk myself up from the water and throw on a robe, intending to head for the cabinet to find a new bottle of shampoo.

Little did I know, the moment I step onto the tiled floor, I feel my feet slip out from under me, and my body uncontrollably begins to topple forward––

With a loud thud, the immediate sensation of pain shoots up my knee.

MC: [in pain] Hiss…

The pain causes my eyes to burn hot, and I slide down onto the bathroom floor, rubbing my knee.

A flurry of somewhat anxious footsteps echoes outside the door. Moments later, the door is flung open, revealing Li Zeyan’s face, tension written across his entire countenance, an expression that is rarely seen on him.

LZY: [panicked af]  What happened?

The blast of cold air from the open door causes me to shiver. Noticing this, he closes the door before squatting down beside me.

MC: …I slipped and banged my knee.

As he looks at my slightly reddened knee, a hint of helplessness crosses his expression.

LZY: [sighs with infinite indulgent resignation] Restless.

His warm thumb massages the area around my reddened knee, causing the jumble of fretful emotions in my heart to instantly turn into a surge of grievances and pour out.

I blink, trying to dispel the mist clouding my vision. The finger caressing my skin pauses for a moment before suddenly landing at the corner of my eye, catching me unawares.

LZY: [even more indulgently] Crying because it hurts too much?

MC: …no, it’s not that!

MC: It’s nothing serious, just that I got a call from Anna earlier. There’s been… a minor hiccup with the tourism project.

Pouting my lips, I recount to Li Zeyan the “bad news” I’ve just received.

LZY: Do you need my help?

This seems to be the second time he has asked this question. I struggle with myself for a moment before shaking my head.

MC: There’s… no need for now, but if I can’t handle it myself, I’ll definitely reach out to CEO Li.

Hearing me respond this way, Li Zeyan doesn’t press further, and he simply places his palm on the side of my knee.

LZY: Does it still hurt?

Listening to his tender tone, I can’t help but gently hook my finger around his.

MC: It hurts… I can’t get up.

LZY: [laughs helplessly] When a certain stubborn someone fixates on something, there’s no stopping her, but she’s oddly honest when it comes to being afraid of pain.

MC: I’m just being a little persistent, is all. I can’t always have you be my safety net every time there’s an issue… ouch!

My knee twitches slightly, and a dull ache once again surges through my knee, reminiscent of spreading out along silken threads.

LZY: You can’t solve two things at once, so take them one at a time.

LZY: Do you want to take care of your knee first, or deal with the work matters?

MC: …knee.

The air in the small bathroom with thick with white steam, and even Li Zeyan’s faint sigh seems to blend into the steaming hot vapor.

LZY: [lets out a complex laugh; it’s of sb who is all-knowing of all happenings but is infinitely indulgent towards you]  Then listen to me.

MC: [confused]  What…

–

Before I can finish my sentence, Li Zeyan has already shown me through his actions how I should “listen.”

A soft touch imprints on my skin, and a burning sensation spreads from my knee along my skin to my entire body.

I jolt slightly and freeze for a moment. The patch of skin kissed by that softness tingles, and it seems like even the pain is slowly dissipating.

LZY: Don’t fidget; it might make the pain worse.

The deep, slightly hoarse tailing note of his voice, accompanied by the sound of running water, causes me to subconsciously draw my leg back a little, only to have it restrained in place by that hand again.

A gentle sensation, carrying with it a slight chill, seems to pepper its way over my knee, and the painful spot feels as if it’s being licked with cherishment and care.

All the senses in my body seem to be concentrated on that one spot, and I can’t help but take a light breath.

MC: Li Zeyan… 

LZY: [SO SOF– but you can also hear he’s THERE–]  Hm?

MC: …It’s nothing, I just wanted to say your name…

The fingers supporting my knee tighten slightly, and a surge of scorching breath sweeps over me, swallowing my trailing notes.

I follow his breath and, bit by bit, probe deeper, my heart in my chest pounding in synchronization with his increasingly rising body heat.

Warm water continues to gush from the showerhead, soaking both Li Zeyan’s clothes and mine without distinction.

A body temperature hotter than mine gradually closes in, and I feel as if I’m drowning in this steamy heat swirling in the air.

The lingering colorful bubbles from the shower gel float into the air, then burst open with a pop, leaving behind a soft chime drowned out by the sound of water.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 3】

Even though I gave up on the bubble bath halfway, ended up having to take a second shower, and by the time I went to bed, it was already the middle of the night, I still woke up early today.

[MC’s Company Name] annual business interview program is scheduled to shoot its final episode today, and Li Zeyan will be appearing as the heavyweight guest in this installment.

I have postponed all my other work and arrived at the studio early to ensure every detail of the shoot is absolutely flawless.

The soft white light from the softbox projects onto the light gray background wall, dimly reflecting the shadows of people hurrying around.

Standing in front of the filming equipment, I direct the production crew to adjust the set.

MC: This table needs to be moved a bit more. It doesn’t look well-positioned at the moment.

MC: Turn the reflector on the front left a little more to the right… there, perfect!

MC: The set is almost ready. I’ll go and check on the guest first.

—

After saying hello to the supervisor, I head to the dressing room.

Li Zeyan, clad in a suit, sits in front of a vanity mirror, his bangs swept up, causing his somewhat piercing eyes to be enhanced with an even deeper intensity.

The moment I walk in, those eyes precisely capture me from the reflection in the mirror.

MC: How is the preparation coming along, CEO Li?

LZY: Not bad. Is everything taken care of on the set?

Detecting a hint of jest in his tone, I walk over with a smile.

MC: Yup, that’s why I’m here to check in on this side of things–– CEO Li is our important, esteemed guest after all, so we can’t afford to be negligent.

MC: Therefore, today, my entire day belongs to you, CEO Li.

I wink at him through the mirror and catch a subtle smile playing at the edge of Li Zeyan’s lips.

I sit down on a stool nearby and watch the makeup artist styling Li Zeyan.

From this angle, his ocular orbit and the bridge of his nose appear even more defined, accentuating the depth of his eyes all the more.

MC: CEO Li’s side profile could outshine many stars on the cover of fashion magazines without competition.

LZY: [laughs in spite of himself] …always laying it on thick.

Even though he says this, the slight arch at the tip of his brows betrays a hint of delight.

Spellbound, as I continue to watch him, my phone suddenly vibrates twice, and a message from Kiki pops up––

Kiki: Boss, great news!!

In the chat window, a push notification jumps into my sight, and a few familiar words grab my attention.

MC: [reading the news] “Shuangjian Media Faces Major Crisis! Multiple celebrities under its banner are implicated in tax evasion scandals, and the investigation is underway. The amount of tax evasion has reached up to…”

Upon seeing the number below, I take in a sharp breath of air.

With such a large amount of tax evasion being investigated, it’s sure to land them in serious trouble.

Although I have caught the wind of some rumors before, suddenly so many people being exposed at once seems more like a deliberate action…

A vague idea surfaces in my mind. I instinctively look towards the man not far away, only to lock eyes with him directly.

LZY: MC.

I haven’t even noticed when, but his styling is already complete, and the makeup artist has left the dressing room, leaving only the two of us.

The slightly slim-fitted suit highlights his already tall and straight stature, and his slender fingers unhurriedly adjust the cufflinks. He looks in my direction, lifting his head slightly.

LZY: Help me out.

I raise my eyes and see a rose gold collar pin loosely hanging from the collar of his light gray shirt. 

I walk up to him and carefully fasten the collar pin. My fingertips inadvertently graze against the skin of his neck, eliciting a slight quiver of the Adam’s apple beneath the collar.

A somewhat scorching breath caresses my bangs, leaving a tickling sensation.

LZY: [laughs in amusement] Why are you zoning out?

His warm fingertips are on my neck, gently grazing the skin there intermittently.

MC: Just saw some good news that came as a relief for body and mind, that’s why I was a little distracted.

MC: Shuangjian Media, the company that intercepted [MC’s Company Name] before, has hit a roadblock… I wonder who “played the hero to uphold justice.”

I smile and wink at him, trying to discern any inkling of a clue from his expression that would confirm my guess.

However, he simply lowers his eyes slightly and looks at me, a barely perceptible arc forming on his lips.

LZY: [chuckles softly, but that’s a mastermind chuckle i tell you lmao] That’s quite nice.

MC: Li Zeyan, you…

A knock on the door cuts me off, and the voice of my assistant comes from outside.

Assistant: Boss, CEO Li, it’s almost time for the shoot to begin.

MC: Got it, we’ll be right there.

I purse my lips, suppressing my urge to inquire further, and loosen my hands, intending to escort Li Zeyan to the filming studio.

To my surprise, the pair of arms holding me within show no intention of letting go. He lowers his eyes, his gaze intent upon me.

LZY: Given the importance of this shoot, there ought to be an additional step in the preparation process.

With his head lowered, Li Zeyan leans in towards me slightly. A gentle and familiar breath assaults my senses, and his soft finger pad presses between my lips and teeth, hinting at something ambiguous. 

I cradle his face and lift myself up on my toes.

Our breaths intertwine for a brief moment, but a gentle ripple is left in my heart, reminiscent of a dragonfly lightly touching the water’s surface.

MC: So, even CEO Li needs a little encouragement before stepping in front of the camera?

LZY: I learned it from a certain someone.

The light in those deep eyes remains locked onto me, shimmering slightly, radiating a glow that seeps into my heart.

LZY: And it’s very effective.

—

Such scenes are run-of-the-mill for Li Zeyan. His tone remains steady throughout and devoid of any trace of tension.

LZY: The economic situation this year isn’t conducive to expanding the business scope or making risky investments, but there are more opportunities in the lower-tier markets compared to previous years…

As I watch Li Zeyan through the camera lens, the soft light, which leans more on the cooler tone, accentuates the depths of the man’s countenance all the more.

He speaks at a measured pace, but each word is uttered with an inexplicable sense of certainty.

Host: Although CEO Li mentioned just now that this year isn’t favorable for expanding business extern, LFG seems to be steadily venturing into new fields this year.

LZY: As a matter of fact, LFG has not been as stable this year as it may seem from the outside. On the contrary, we’ve encountered more crises than in previous years.

LZY: The failure of some investments has even put us under the preying eyes of many industry peers.

LZY: But fortunately, I’m not alone in holding up LFG, and LFG is not an isolated island––

As he speaks, his gaze seems to subtly shift towards me behind the camera. In that brief second our eyes interlock, the corners of his lips curl upward into a small smile.

But when I focus and take a closer look again, it’s as if that fleeting smile was never there.

LZY: LFG was able to weather this year’s storms without any mishaps not only due to our decisions but also thanks to the countless colleagues who worked tirelessly day and night to recover the company’s losses, as well as to the support of our subsidiaries.

LZY: Especially the companies that LFG has invested in. Without them, LFG would’ve encountered even greater challenges this year.

Li Zeyan’s straight-from-the-shoulder remarks leave even the host a little taken aback, an expression of surprise settling on their face.

Host: It appears that even LFG, regarded as the lion king in the eyes of the others, has times when it rides the waves to advance.

LZY: That’s inevitable; no one walks a solitary path in this society.

LZY: Having your own plans and making decisive choices is important, but choosing the right people to move forward with is equally important.

I am slightly taken aback.

This was not in the script; it’s obviously an impromptu remark from Li Zeyan.

I’m not sure why, but these words suddenly make me think of those eyes gazing into mine in the bathroom last night.

The unnecessary persistences in my heart seem to quietly start to disintegrate. I tightly clench my fingers and pull my attention back to the show.

Host: We can tell that CEO Li is speaking from the heart. It seems that not only for the company but also for you, CEO Li, personally, do you have someone who can be considered as your exclusive “valued person”?

This time, I clearly see the smile in his eyes. I hold my breath slightly, waiting for the answer that I may have already known for a long time, yet can’t help eagerly anticipating––

LZY: [while looking at you] I do. It’s a well-spring that will never run dry, even in the desert. No matter what trouble may arise, I know without a doubt––

LZY: [while looking at you] She will be by my side forever.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 4】

After the interview concludes, the filming crew and I head to the Central Grand Hotel.

To celebrate the completion of year-end work and the official wrap-up of the show, [MC’s Company Name] is holding a team-building celebration party here.

Perhaps because the end of the year is drawing closer, a festive atmosphere gradually begins to permeate, filling the banquet hall with laughter.

Being spurred on by this pure joy, I also end up having a few extra drinks.

I find myself feeling a little woozy, until, finally, Li Zeyan takes the wine glass from my hand and escorts me all the way to the lounge of the suite.

—

Inside the room’s bathroom, I turn on the faucet–– the cool water flows over my hand, washing away the slight tipsiness from the alcohol.

After the buzz from the alcohol has worn off a bit, I exhale and push open the bathroom door.

—

The lights in the room are not lit, and a familiar voice can be heard drifting from near the window. He seems to be on the phone with someone.

LZY: …got it. Email it to me.

The high heels under my feet tread on the soft carpet, barely producing any sound as I walk quietly to the floor-to-ceiling windows––

Outside the glass windows of the high-rise, thousands of lights spread out into the distance like a dazzling mosaic of stars.

Li Zeyan is lying on the carpet, the neon lights falling upon him in soft, colorful specks.

I sit down by the freestanding panoramic bathtub not far from him, watching as he hangs up the call.

MC: Was that about work?

LZY: Mm. I heard [MC’s Company Name] is looking for new partners for the Denmark project. I’ve asked the marketing department to draft a proposal. Once it’s finalized, I’ll send it over to you.

MC: But… weren’t you not very interested in this project before?

LZY: It’s true that the profit margins of this project are finite for LFG. However, if we approach it strategically, it could be a breakthrough in the Nordic market.

Seeing my somewhat baffled expression, he raises an eyebrow.

LZY: Since a certain someone has been dragging her feet, I have no choice but to take the initiative and propose it myself.

LZY: Or perhaps you already have other choices in mind?

MC: Of course not!

I don’t shy away from meeting those deep eyes of his squarely. My heart skips a beat, and I’m reminded of the question I’ve been holding back all afternoon.

MC: Before I give you my formal answer, I also have something I’d like to ask CEO Li––

MC: Shuangjian Media artists were found to have engaged in tax evasion. Helping [MC’s Company Name] vent some frustration this way… that was CEO Li’s doing, wasn’t it?

LZY: After all, a certain someone has been frowning and being glued to her phone even during meals for the past two weeks because of the troubles this company has stirred.

LZY: It’s best to take care of it early on, so it doesn’t take up more of your energy.

I’m momentarily stunned, and as I reflect on the recent events, a surge of emotions suddenly intertwines in my heart.

MC: So, CEO Li, what you are subtly reminding me is that I’ve been too occupied with work recently and have been neglecting you?

LZY: [you can’t hear me, but I’m screaming––]  I simply want to have the share that’s rightfully mine.

His understated words convey a hint of tenderness that’s impossible to miss, and it sears into my heart, making the swaying toes of my feet pause mid-motion.

MC: Li Zeyan, thank you. Even though it may sound very formal, I still want to say thank you.

LZY: I wonder who was the person that said before that, you and I, we are one identity?

I’m slightly taken aback for a moment–– I did seem to have said those words not too long ago.

At the time, FengZhen Group was making moves against LFG, and I couldn’t be more grateful to be the one who could stand by his side.

–

[Tidbits]: It’s a call-back to Li Zeyan’s 2024 CNY UR: Burning Imprints~

–

MC: [teasingly]  I believe I said “and LFG” at the time.

LZY: [confidently shrugs off LOL] Same thing.

LZY: Both LFG and I are enmeshed in many complicated relationships, and more and more branches and leaves are slowly growing outward.

LZY: So there’s no need to be so anxious. You’ve long been the sharpest blade capable of breaking the siege for LFG.

The lingering haze that has been weighing on my mind for the past half a month suddenly clears up. In its place, there arises a kind of sweet and surging fluttering sensation, and it’s overwhelming enough to fill my entire heart.

I did seem to be a little too anxious, so anxious that I overlooked the fact that I didn’t need to be in a hurry to rush forward. The unshakable position by his side will always belong to me and me alone.

I lower my eyes, my gaze tracing the contours of his outline obscured by the darkness.

MC: Li Zeyan… you will forever be my first choice.

–

As the words leave my lips, my ankle is suddenly clasped by a warm, dry palm.

Followed by a sigh that almost blends into the night, a twinge of pain shoots through my calf––

My eyes widen, watching as Li Zeyan’s lips meet my skin and nip me gently. He raises his eyes to interlock with mine, and I can see a hint of dissatisfaction swimming in their depths.

LZY: [GOSH THAT SULKY YET SEXY TONE] You’ve hesitated for too long.

Warm fingertips trace upward along my calf little by little, as if offering a kind of appeasement.

The worries haunting me every now and again, concealed in the darkest recesses of my heart, are set alight and burned to ashes.

MC: …I didn’t take that long.

LZY: Since I am your first choice, don’t hesitate.

His fiery breath snakes slowly up the inside of my knee, accompanied by comforting words tinged with a layer of inexplicable rosy hue, causing one to become addicted.

The soft touch rests gently agains the bend of my knee, causing me to shiver involuntarily. I chuckle softly and look at him with a semi-playful gaze.

MC: Um… Mr. “First Choice,” could you help me with something––

MC: Tell me, what can I do to make you happier?

Not waiting for me to finish my sentence, the pressure on my thigh increases slightly, and suddenly my body feels lighter.

The cry of exclamation hasn’t even left me before I find my entire person already wrapped in strong, solid arms.

LZY: You knowingly ask the question.

His deep eyes are so close to me, almost within reach. I can clearly see countless sparks surging beneath them, stirring up an ambiguous and inexplicable heat.

LZY: [chuckles softly] Also, while I said I would help you, it doesn’t mean you won’t have to pay the price.

LZY: After all, I don’t do business at a loss.

LZY: You still have time to think about… what you can give to pay me.

My heart is filled to the brim. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, bury my face in the crook of his neck, and release a sigh of contentment.

The throbbing and undulations of his chest pound against my body again and again, and even the depths of my very soul seem to be trembling along with the motion––

Filling up my entire being.

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