#my thoughts and theory noodles

[cartoonus-maximus]

Notes and Observations on FNAF TFTP Vol 8: "B7-2"

Ya'll! We're here! We're at the end! I'm finished, and I'm so so so so so happy to be done!

And for some reason I thought this volume was called "Dittophobia?" I think probably because that story got leaked online and everyone in the theory community had things to say about it, but haven't heard as much about the other stories. (Which was great, btw! Allowed me to experience the first two stories completely blind, and I enjoyed them a lot more that way.)

These stories were… well, to be honest, none of them are my favorites, exactly. I ended up really liking the first one, but it's definitely got some issues that I can't easily overlook. But, whether I liked them or not, these stories are very lore heavy, and they seem determined to give us information about the greater world/story of this franchise.

Ugh. I hate hate hate the cover image. The damn thing gives me nightmares. Knowing that it's a character I already knew makes me feel a little better about it, but still… I'm so glad I don't have to look at it anymore.

... Y'know, we've never been told who the cover artist/s for these books is/are. Which I suppose suggests that it's still the problematic woman (whose name escapes me right now), but I guess it could be anyone.

And as always, these are just some of my notes and observations made while listening to the audiobook, which I borrowed from my local library. Fair warning: there will be spoilers. If you want the whole experience for yourself, you should skip this and go read/listen to the book yourself first.

Here are my observations on the other books in the series, if you are interested.

With that being said-- *cracks knuckles* --let's crack into the lore and finish this series, shall we?

(Rasta beanie by JamikeyShop on Etsy: link.)

"B7-2"

As it turns out, this story is a sequel to "B-7," a story from the second volume of this series. This struck me as odd -- "B-7" didn't feel like it was being written as part of a story, but felt like it was meant to be a whole story itself. The two parts of "the Bobbiedots" each feel like half of a story, with plot points that rely on those from its partner story to make sense, and with titles that actively tell the reader that these stories aren't meant to be read alone, labeling each one as "Part 1" and "Part 2." But this one doesn't do that for some reason.

(Genuinely, I'm not sure if these two "B-7" stories were always meant to be a two-parter. The first one feels self-contained, and the second one feels like the creative team's delayed response to backlash from the first one. But, whether planned or not, they both work together to tell a cohesive story, and they end up carrying a lot of lore related to fan favorite character Michael Afton, so we're just going to have to accept their existence and glean what we can from them.)

(Side note: if this is a sequel to "B-7," shouldn't it be "B-7.1" or "B-7 2.0" or something? Moving the hyphen like that doesn't make sense.)

Regardless, this story opens shortly after the last one ended. We pick up with Billy in the hospital and, just like the reader, he wonders how he's even alive. He remembers being crushed by the trash compactor. He remembers dying.

"How did I survive being crushed in the car?"

A nurse named Gloria realizes he's awake and starts to check his vitals and helps him drink a little water; while she's checking over him, Billy is startled to realize that he has an arm and a leg, since he'd previously had all his limbs amputated off. He's still missing his tongue though, so he can't really ask the nurse any of his questions.

The nurse leaves, and awhile later Billy is visited by Dr. Herrera, the surgeon who has been responsible for Billy's treatment. She explains that Billy was saved because the junkyard owner happened to notice blood leaking from the crushed car and alerted the local authorities; they managed to get Billy out of the car and, realizing that he was still breathing, rushed him to a hospital. Billy's been kept in a medically induced coma, and his body has been healing at a strangely fast pace.

Herrera explains that, while Billy was in the coma, she's been performing several surgeries on him, removing all of the "foreign" metal and plastic components that he had on and in his body; she not only removed his prosthetic limbs, but also the metal plates inside his face that had reshaped his facial structure, the black coloring from his eyes, and the synthesizer and speaker that was in his throat. She tells him that she "had" to remove the inorganic parts, and says that it's all in a storage drawer elsewhere in the hospital, presumably for future disposal or replications, since they're biohazardous at this point.

(And that's just… gross. Like, imagine you spent a lot of time and money altering yourself, whether that means transitioning or body modding or just basic cosmetic surgeries or something, then you get into an accident, and while you're unconscious and unable to advocate for yourself or anything, the doctor assigned to take care of you just decides "yeah, I think I'm going to undo all their hard work! They'll thank me later!" Terrible. Horrific. Literally non-consensual body modification. A very real horror for some people. No wonder that one reviewer I saw slammed this book for being pro-detransitioning.)

Anyway, she tells him that she removed enough metal pieces from him to build a full metal endoskeleton with, so clearly that's what the horror creature is on the cover. (I actually ended up becoming very fond of the endoskeleton by the end of this story, but uuuugggghhh I still hate it.)

Billy struggles to speak, but manages to admit out loud that he climbed into the car himself, and that he was planning on dying there. Herrera nods, and tells him that she thought as much; the police initially thought he's been attacked and put in the compactor against his will, and they ended up investigating Billy's home. They found paperwork and computer files that led them to the backdoor surgeon that Billy had had deals with, aka the guy who took Billy's money and performed all the weird surgeries on him in the first story. Following the paper trail, the police found and raided the abandoned facility that Billy met the sketchy doctor and had his surgeries at. In the facility, apparently they found multiple freezers filled with human body parts, including Billy's amputated limbs, and Dr. Herrera salvaged what she could. As a result, Billy now has one right leg and one right arm, both of which had a lot of work done on them to make them usable again. His left arm and left leg were either not found or were not longer viable for use.

The sketchy doctor hasn't been found. The freezers contained parts from several other people as well.

(Herrera also says that Billy's right leg, the one he still has, was strangely fused with pieces of the metal from his prosthetics, and she had to remove a lot of metal from it. It's healed up quickly though, and appears to now be a fully formed, fully functional leg again.)

Herrera gives Billy a handheld mirror so he can see what he looks like now. His ears are still misshapen from when he had them removed, his eyes look normal again, and his brown hair is growing back in on the top of his head. He has a lot of scar lines around his face from when Herrera removed the metal plates. He thinks he looks like his dad. (And that's the second time he's thought that, with the first time being toward the end of the first story. Definitely important. Very Michael-core of him.)

Billy has a lot of thoughts about Herrera after meeting her. He finds her beautiful, and clearly she's a competent surgeon, but he feels uncomfortable around her, and (obviously) doesn't like that she was cutting him open and removing parts of him while he was out of it, even if they were parts that he'd been growing to hate. He also can't help but notice that she's had some cosmetic surgeries done on herself, and he zeroes in on this fact, which seems to make him feel a little more comfortable around her.

(Also the text tells us that Herrera has an accent that Billy thinks may be Spanish. The audiobook narrator sure tries to give the doctor an accent, but I'm not sure she hit on anything that sounded like Spanish.)

Herrera tells Billy that he could be fitted for new, normal prosthetics to act as a left leg and arm. Billy emphatically says no, irrationally afraid that he'll slip back into acting like a robot again if he has fake limbs. (Okay, now we're having a weird addiction parallel, I guess?)

After only being awake from his medically induced coma for a day, Billy is already starting physical therapy. Within a single PT session, Billy is gripping things, standing on his own (with the aid of a crutch), and is even walking up and down the hospital halls with no further aid than his crutch. The medical professionals in this story keep commenting on how quickly Billy is healing. (Just… keep his super-healing in mind. I'll bring it up again in the theorizing section.)

Since files were found on Billy's home computer about how he's "really a robot," Billy has to undergo a mental health evaluation while he's at the hospital. We aren't told what the results of this evaluation are. What we are told is that the evaluator openly stares at Billy during the entire session, seemingly judging him based on his physical deformities. It makes Billy feel extremely self-conscious about his appearance. Nurse Gloria listens to Billy bemoan how much like a freak he looks because he doesn't have proper ears, and she later gifts him a crocheted Rasta beanie from a donations bin, which covers up a large part of his head. Billy likes the hat; he likes the soft texture and the vibrant colors. It becomes his new comfort item, and he wears it for the remainder of the story.

During Billy's hospital stay, Billy has a lot of time to himself to think, and he realizes that he's going to have to handle an adult life now, and he has little knowledge of how to be an adult. He's spent his entire life trying to be a robot, and he doesn't know how to be a normal person, and he doesn't have parents to ask for help anymore. He doesn't really feel like a robot anymore, but he also doesn't feel like a human yet either, and instead feels "strange and incomplete."

"He felt like he was missing parts of himself, and he didn't know how to find them."

Billy gets a lot of visitors during his hospital stay. His childhood therapist Dr. Lingstrom pays him a visit, as do his old classmates and childhood pals Clark and Peter, and then two grocery delivery people named Fran and Ned, who always handled Billy's groceries. 'Get well soon' wishes and a bouquet of flowers are bestowed upon Billy during this sequence of visitors, shortly after Nurse Gloria checks Billy's IV lines and reminds him of pills he needs to take.

Billy's final visitor is his own grandmother (who he has completely forgotten about and who I didn't realize existed until this moment; she wasn't a part of the first story). It's the first time Billy has seen her since he was five-years-old. His last memory of her is her showing up at his family's home to drag him to Sunday school and stressing the importance of church life on his father (who is her son, but he hasn't been to church since he was a child).

"Sunday school isn't optional!" (This line of dialogue made me laugh out loud. It's not factually accurate -- I'm a Christian and I grew up in the church, but I often hated Sunday school as a kid, so I can definitely relate to Billy and his dad trying to get out of it in this scene. But it sounded like something my own late grandmother would say, and it made me cackle.)

One night in the hospital, Billy is woken up by a soft, synthesized voice calling his name. He thinks it's a nurse at first, but he doesn't see anyone. He searches around his room and, finding nothing, grabs the crutch he uses to walk and leaves his room, following the voice out into the hall. The ward's nurse's station is empty, and there are no nurses or other hospital staff to be seen. Aside from the strange voice, everything is eerily still and silent.

The voice continues calling for him. Billy thinks it's coming from downstairs. He has a moment of thinking that he shouldn't be searching for the source of the voice, but he also can't help himself. So, he gets on the elevator, which magically opens for him and takes him down to the hospital basement. He sees a janitor down there, but the man just walks past Billy with a strange, blank expression, as though he doesn't see Billy at all.

Finally, Billy follows the voice into a storage room, and the door closes and locks behind him. He opens a silver storage cabinet (which he thinks resembles a body drawer in a morgue) and comes face to face with the rest of himself -- his robotic parts are lying in the storage cabinet, spread out and shaped like a corpse. Billy stares down at it, uncomprehending. A security guard appears out of nowhere and escorts Billy back to his room.

Later on during the night, back in his room, Billy gets the feeling that he's not alone in the room. He can't see anything, but he keeps hearing footfalls and a "clicking" sound, and he can smell both human blood and motor oil. He panics and rushes out of his room, trying to flee the hospital entirely and fighting with a hospital security guard when he's caught. A team of nurses and security guards get him back to his room, where they have to restrain him to the bed and sedate him.

Alone in the room again and unable to escape, Billy hears the synthesized voice calling to him again, and he recognizes it as his own voice from his own synthesizer that he had installed in his throat. The voice is now in the room with him, slowly approaching his bed, and pleading with Billy over and over to "let me back in." It approaches the foot of Billy's bed, the only place where Billy can see, and reveals itself to be his own removed robotic parts, shaped roughly like a person and held together by skin and muscle tissue that clung to it during the surgeries. It addresses Billy exclusively as "B-7," and begs and pleads to be "let back in," and promises to take care of Billy and love him forever if Billy will only take it back into himself. (It's like a vampire -- it needs permission to enter.)

"I only want you to be happy. And to be happy, you have to live your true life." (We are still not beating those trans allegory allegations. Andrea and Scott really made a "transness is an evil that needs to be purged" story and published it in their silly murder robot series for children! And then they did it again! Only this time it has lore about an important character, so I can't just throw it out! What fun! *rolls eyes*)

Billy falls under the sedative and doesn't wake up until morning. He's still restrained, with no memory of what happened during the night, and has to call a nurse to come release him. Gloria rushes in and fusses over him, and tells him that her coworkers told her that Billy had a terrible panic attack during the night. Since Billy doesn't remember what actually happened, he accepts this explanation.

Billy's endoskeleton partner has vanished now that it's daytime. And we actually don't see or hear from it again during Billy's hospital stay, even this the rules of this franchise and the genre both suggest that the endoskeleton should call out to him or visit him every night in a repetitive cycle. But it doesn't come back, and we don't see or hear from it again until the end of the story.

After some unspecified period of time, Billy is released from the hospital, and his grandmother takes him to stay in her home, a small country house just outside of town that has already been renovated to be handicap accessible. Her yard contains a lot of flower beds that are overfilled with flowers, resulted in a cluttered, quilted look that Billy finds overwhelming. The inside of the house is cluttered, stuffed full of old-fashioned furniture and appliances, and nearly everything has a floral pattern. Billy finds the entire house to be overwhelming, overstimulating, and claustrophobic.

Billy is given the guest bedroom to sleep in, and his grandmother tells him he can decorate however he sees fit, so long as he doesn't make everything grey and metallic like his old home was. His grandmother has arranged for some of Billy's clothes and other personal affects to be delivered to her house, but doesn't let him have his computer or television or cell phone, citing that such things are "evil" and "not allowed in her house." Billy's previous life was all online, including his girlfriend, and he is bewildered to learn that the only technology that exists in his grandmother's house is standard electricity and a single landline phone that is hooked up in her bedroom.

Billy doesn't really want to live with his grandmother, as the stern, uptight woman makes him extremely uncomfortable (she makes disparaging remarks about his Rasta beanie, and also about his late mother), and finds himself retreating inward in attempt to get away from her and the situation, but he doesn't have any better options right now. He thinks about returning to the hospital, but has a panic attack at the thought, and so decides to stick it out with his grandmother. Having no other course of action, Billy begins role-playing as a "dutiful grandson," and this role ends up being the thing that keeps him sane in this house.

His grandmother's house has a grandfather clock, and the loud ticking makes Billy anxious. There's nowhere in the house that Billy can go to get away from the ticking, and the sounds haunts him during the weeks he's living there. The constant ticking reminds him of his endoskeleton, and he remembers being trapped on his hospital bed while listening to it pleading with him, and this sends him into a panic attack.

His grandmother has a conversation with him about the clock one day. She tells him that the grandfather clock is a 200-year-old family heirloom, and that it will go to Billy's father when she dies, and that she'd like it to go to Billy one day. She shows him how to wind it and clean it, and understanding how it works and its symbolic importance to his family make Billy feel a little better about the constant ticking.

They talk briefly about Billy's father during this clock conversation. Billy hasn't really thought about the man since he left when Billy was a child, and asks if his grandmother knows where his father is. His grandmother rolls her eyes and sighs and says that her son was in Peru that last time they spoke (about a year ago) "working for one of those companies that's harvesting the rain forest." She isn't happy with any of her son's choices in life, but he's also her only child, and it's clear that she still cares about him, even if that care mostly comes from familial loyalty more than anything else.

(Unknown to Billy, she cares about him in a similar fashion. She's been diagnosed with terminal cancer, a fact that she keeps secret from Billy for most of this story, and has chosen to spend her last days helping her estranged grandson navigate his adulthood, even though they don't understand each other or have a proper relationship. Because of this and because of what she does later in the story, I found her to be a very interesting character, and I wish she'd at least been given a name somewhere in the text.)

The phone in his grandmother's room rings every night at 9:03, and his grandmother answers it every night. She speaks in low tones that Billy can't hear. Billy wonders if she's talking to his father or someone else, but doesn't feel like it's his place to ask, and she never brings it up in any way, so we spend most of the story in the dark about these strange phone calls.

Over the course of the first week, Billy learns how to perform most household chores with one hand, and readily participates in helping his grandmother around the house. He also learns that he's good at simple repairs. During the evening hours, his grandmother teaches him different ways to relax, encouraging him to read different books and teaching him how to play various board games. All of these lessons help Billy become more settled with himself, and he starts to feel a little closer to normal.

He still can't cook by himself, but he can help out in the kitchen when she asks him to. (Billy is also currently avoiding any white-colored foods like the plague these days, and has developed a great love for tomato sauce.)

On Sunday morning, Billy's grandmother throws him out of bed and drags him to church with her, despite his general lack of interest. Billy worries about being stared at or judged by strangers. Thankfully, this doesn't happen (unrealistic; no one judges you as severely as elderly churchgoing women). Instead, he ends up befriending an old man named Frank, who is friends with his grandmother and offers to take Billy out fishing.

Billy meets up with Frank for numerous fishing trips after this. It turns out that Frank is a retired author of mystery novels, and he talks with Billy about the writing process and about what sort of books Billy's been reading. When Billy expresses that he'd like to try writing himself, Frank gifts him an empty notebook, and tells Billy that a good place to start would be to keep a journal, writing down anything that he wants to in the moment and then re-exploring the notes later, refining them as desired. Billy takes to this task and starts keeping the journal; we aren't told much about what he writes, but we're led to believe that he mainly writes about his own experiences.

After living with his grandmother for several weeks, both Billy and his grandmother realize that he's fully capable of living alone and taking care of himself. The two don't really talk about it, but they both feel a sense of finality about the day. Billy makes arrangements to live somewhere outside of his grandmother's house. He even makes appointments to go pick up new prosthetic limbs (of the standard variety), no longer feeling overwhelmingly uncomfortable about the idea.

That evening, Billy's grandmother goes to bed early. Billy never hears the phone ring, something that has never happened the entire time he's been here. He passes by her bedroom door, and hears her talking to someone. He calls out to her to ask who she's talking to, but she doesn't answer him, and he worriedly opens the door.

Inside his grandmother's room, Billy sees his grandmother sitting on her bed, holding and talking to his own discarded metal endoskeleton. When Billy enters the room, his endoskeleton stares at him forlornly, saying "I'm supposed to be with you!" His grandmother explains that Billy's endoskeleton has been calling on the phone every night, searching for him, and she's been talking to it; she says she doesn't think the two different halves of Billy can make each other happy anymore, and encourages the endoskeleton to fuse with her own body instead.

Billy tries to intervene, but is ultimately forced to watch as his grandmother's body is split open, his discarded endoskeleton crawling inside and fusing with the old woman. But, once the thing is fused with her, it starts freaking out, trying to separate from her again. Billy's grandmother laughs and holds it in her, explaining to both halves of Billy that she's "been terminal" for some time now, and she had a feeling that she was going to die soon. Since she's already dying, she decided to take Billy's monster with her.

The metal endoskeleton begs Billy for help, at the same time his grandmother tells him "Don't grieve for me. It's time for you to live." Billy watches in horror as his grandmother dies, and the entire identity of B-7 dies with her. Feeling a great sense of both sadness and relief, Billy sits beside the combined corpse for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Billy calls Frank, who come to help bury the body of both Billy's grandmother and B-7. Frank also says that he'll handle Billy's grandmother's house, and gives Billy a drive into town. He wishes Billy luck with his attempt at a writing career, and the two part ways.

Outfitted with a new prosthetic leg and arm, Billy makes plans for his future. He's going to be staying with his friends Clark and Peter for a little bit, but then he plans to go to Lima, Peru, deciding that he's going to hunt down his father. If nothing else, he thinks he'll get to experience something worth writing about. . . . I have mixed feelings about this one. I really liked parts of it -- I like revisiting an earlier character, and I like the idea of him haunting himself at the hospital. But I don't think that both this story and the original "B-7" have a plot that's all over the place and doesn't know what it's doing, and it's very confusing to read.

It's also just a weird story altogether. Part 1 was very much "Billy wants to change his outward appearance to match how he feels and identifies himself on the inside and he's Wrong and Evil for doing that, and he's destroying his family, and he deserves to die for being such a Disgusting Monster." Which is… a horrible thing to say in general, and particularly horrendous to say when you know your audience is mostly impressionable young teens who are just now figuring out what their identities are. And Part 2 is very different but still bad, because it says "Billy's self identification was Just A Phase, Really, and he's totally fine and normal ™️ now! In fact, the part of himself that could be used as an allegory for transness was literally killed on-page by his old-fashioned, conservative, Christian grandmother, who by the way also thinks technology is the Devil's work and blames television for Billy's 'sickness.'" Ugh. Just ugh.

(Physically, I am at home, but mentally I am rolling up to the church picnic to square up with Scott, Andrea, and the rest of the team.)

(I'm renaming these stories to "Transphobia, Parts 1 & 2." They'll fit in just fine, because now the lineup will be Somniphobia, Submechanophobia, and Transphobia.) (Jk, but am I really?)

Okay, soap box aside, let's crack open the lore, because this is a story about Michael Afton.

This story is definitely about Michael after the events of "Sister Location," becoming more and more robot-like as his body deteriorates. In the first "B-7" story, Billy has a breakdown at the end of the story, culminating with him "shambling down the street" with his miscolored skin, blacked out eyes, and reshaped head, all while thinking about how he "looks like his father" and is now rejecting his robotic self and parts. To me, this sequence is a clear parallel to the cutscenes from "Sister Location" where we see Michael walking down the street over and over, becoming less and less human with each cutscene, and ultimately results in him apparently forcing Ennard out of his body.

This story is telling us that Michael rejected Ennard, and then had to spend some time healing and trying to understand everything he's experienced, before finally, after processing everything, he decided to get back up and go hunt down his misbegotten father (who abandoned him in his time of need).

It's called out multiple times during this story that Billy heals extremely quickly, and even heals from things that he shouldn't have been able to hear from. This tracks with what we know about Remnant, and also what we know about Michael (The line "I should be dead, but I'm not" from SL, and Michael being consistently portrayed as looking like a normal dude even post-scooping, like in both the "Security Log Book" and the short story "You're the Band.").

(Also Billy's full name is likely 'William,' so that makes him Afton-coded by default.)

There's also the house that Billy lives in with his grandmother. The house is talked about in detail, and it sounds a lot like the house from FNAF4: it's a small, two-story house out in the country (like we see on the FNAF4 game menu), and the inside is described as being decorated with lots of gaudy, old-fashioned-style pieces of furniture and decor, which matches the interior of both the FNAF4 house and living room in "Sister Location" cutscenes. It is also worth recognizing that the text of the story calls specific attention to the items of IV drip, pill bottle, and 'get well soon' flower bouquet, which are all the mystery items that appear beside the bed sometimes in FNAF4.

To me, this just reads as telling us that, after rejecting and expelling Ennard, Michael ended up returning to his childhood home (not the neighborhood he's living in during those walking cutscenes) and hunkered down to heal from his experiences.

This definitely changes the meaning of the line "What has followed you home?" from the original FNAF4 trailer. At the time, the implication was that the Nightmare Animatronics "followed you" from somewhere. Now, the implication is that Billy's former identity (and the metal parts that made up that identity) are literally stalking him for a time.

Billy's friends Pete and Clark are interesting, as we're told Billy's clearest recollection and instant association with them is playing "robot" with them in elementary school. If we're assuming Billy is a Michael-parallel, then these two guys could represent some of Michael's bully friends that we saw in FNAF4 (i.e., Bonnie Mask Bully, Freddy Mask Bully, and Chica Mask Bully). (Especially interesting given how those guys have been spotlighted in the fandom recently, with the fairly popular theory that Cassie's dad from "Ruin" is the Bonnie Mask Bully, and the suggestion that people have discussed about Oswald's dad from "Into the Pit" being the Freddy Mask Bully.)

"Old Man" Frank is also interesting. Maybe it's just because he takes Billy fishing and imparts wisdom upon him, but he gave me a lot of "Old Man Consequences" vibes.

There's also something to be said for it being called out so frequently that Billy only has one hand for most of the story, so he can only hold one thing at a time, and only one leg, so he spends a lot of time sitting and watching things around the house, and he has no tongue, so he doesn't talk much. It's very reminiscent of traditional FNAF gameplay, which involves your character sitting in a room for hours at a time, not talking at all, and seemingly only able to interact with one object at a time; the games were designed that way to make both development and gameplay as simple as possible. But, since it's commonly assumed that the player character in most of the games is Michael, and now we're being given a possible in-universe reason for those mechanics… I'm just putting this as another tick mark in the "Billy represents Michael" column.

And finally, there's Billy's writing career. Let me start by saying this: I read the entire "Fazbear Frights" series some time ago, and I had the repeating thought through a lot of the stories in that series: "These are all just re-imaginings of Michael's death, or they're exploring William's different identities -- father, businessman, monster, killer. I understand that those are big parts of this franchise, but we're spending an awful lot of time on them. And now 'Security Breach' is out, and we're being shown that these books exist in-universe. If you told me that Michael Afton wrote these stories as a way of dealing with his trauma, and then Fazbear's acquired and published them, I'd absolutely believe that to be the case."

Obviously, IRL those books (and these books) were written because there's a market for them. But, since the books also exist in the game's universe, that means there's also an in-universe reason for them, too. And if that reason is that they were written by Michael Afton, both as a way to make money and as a way to process all of his thoughts and feelings about everything that's happened in his family… I think that would be a pretty interesting reason.

And that's kind of what's happening in this story -- Billy processes a lot of his feelings in a journal, and says that he's going to write and publish stories inspired by his own experiences, including any experience he has while looking for his dad.

So, is Michael Afton the """""true""""" author of any or all of the FNAF books? I'll let you decide that.

"Alone Together"

This story centers around Travis, a boy in middle school (so he's probably around 12-years-old) who is extremely shy and mostly keeps to himself. He'd really like to make friends at his school, but his shyness seems to make him invisible to people. He has a woodshop class that he enjoys, and he really likes both building things and drawing designs for future builds.

Travis attends 'Brighton Middle School.' (Oh hey! "The Walten Files" reference! Nice!)

The story opens with Travis overhearing some classmates talking about going to the Mega Pizzaplex together after school. He thinks it would be nice to go with them, but he's too awkward to ask them, and he knows they think he's weird because he's so quiet and never talks to anyone. (This sequence gave me some very unhappy flashbacks to my own grade school experiences.)

Travis lives alone with his dad, and his mom left over a year ago. Before she left, there were a few months where his parents seemed to fight a lot, and neither one seemed to have time for Travis. Since his mom left, it's just been him and his dad, and the house has been pretty quiet; his dad works long hours and isn't home much, and he doesn't talk to Travis very much when he is home. Although Travis tries to engage with his dad as much as possible, his dad tends to not look directly at him, and, the few times his dad does talk to him, his words are vague and spoken in low tones. His dad doesn't help him with his homework anymore, or watch TV with him or take him on long drives the way they used to, and Travis often feels forgotten and neglected. His dad doesn't even pay for his school lunch anymore, and Travis ends up having to steal food from other kids if he wants to eat (not that he's hungry very often).

(This all sounds terrible, but, if you haven't guessed the twist yet, just trust me when I say Travis' parents are not bad parents.)

Travis would like to go to the Mega Pizzaplex, but he hasn't had the opportunity to do so. His life is pretty monotonous these days, only going home or to school and feeling snubbed in both places, so the Pizzaplex ads make it sound like a lot of fun. Travis is especially intrigued by the Daycare Attendant's "Sun" personality, who he refers to throughout the story as "the Sun Man" even he knows that's not what the character is called. (Despite Travis' interest in the character, this really isn't a DA-centric story. The DA is just referenced every so often, but he doesn't really show up at any point.)

There's a girl at Travis' school that he keeps running into. Her name is Marissa, and she's described as wearing all black every day and having purple streaks in her hair. (I thought it was going to be Millie from "Count The Ways" when I first heard the description.) Marissa seems to like spooky things and she likes to draw. She's not very friendly toward Travis, but she's the only one at school that doesn't completely ignore him, so Travis keeps trying to talk to her or befriend her in some way, becoming more desperate to talk to her over time.

Travis tries to visit his grandmother at the apartment complex she lives, but she isn't there. He also finds it strange that his father doesn't talk about or visit the old woman anymore, even though she's his mother.

The woodshop class at Travis' school is given an assignment to pick a project from a list and then work on building it over the course of the next six weeks. The list contains several basic or classic woodworking projects, and Travis is drawn to "the Mechanical Turk." He decides to recreate the Mechanical Turk with a wooden puppet of the Daycare Attendant sitting behind the cabinet.

(The Mechanical Turk, or the "Automaton Chess Player," is a real-life mechanism made of wood that was originally designed and built in 1770. Here's a link to the Wikipedia page about it if you're interested. For now, I'm just doing to explain the basics: a human-shaped automaton or puppet sits behind a large cabinet, seemingly playing a game of chess on a chess board that's sitting on top of the cabinet; the cabinet is big enough for a person to sit inside, where they operate the automaton's movements without being seen. The intention is to make it look like the automaton has been programmed with the necessary movements to play chess, when in reality they are being puppeteered by a human.)

As Travis researches the functionality of the Mechanical Turk and figures out his own design for it, he experiences a lot of deja vu, constantly feeling like he's read all this before, and he's drawn this before, and in fact that he's built this before. He doesn't understand why he's feeling this way.

Travis goes to bed at night, and has a dream about building the Mechanical Turk. In his dream, he finishes the whole project and then climbs into the cabinet. The cabinet closes on him, trapping him inside, and Travis ends up wandering through a black void. He comes across the "Sun" side of the Daycare Attendant playing chess against Glamrock Freddy. The two animatronics acknowledge Travis but mostly continue with their game. Travis can hear music playing from somewhere, and Sun is enjoying the music so much that he eventually abandons the game of chess, getting up and grabbing Travis to dance with him across the endless void they're in. When Travis tries to ask about what's happening, Sun cocks his head and asks him the rhetorical question "Why does this all seem familiar?" in a manner that seems to mirror the question that Travis keeps asking himself about building the Mechanical Turk.

"He wishes there was some switch he could flip to go from melancholy to joy."

Travis tries to visit his grandmother after school again, and this time she's actually at the apartment. She lets him in (and he sees lots of new furniture around the apartment that doesn't fit with his grandmother's sense of style) and they chat for awhile. She says that she's been spending time with old friends, and that she plans to visit them again soon. She asks what Travis has been up to, and he tells her all about the Mechanical Turk project, the weird feelings he's been having related to it, and his attempts to befriend Marissa. His grandmother suggests that he talk to Marissa again, but to be patient about it because "she's probably shy like you are."

As for his strange feelings about the Mechanical Turk, Travis' grandmother tells him a story about something similar that happened when she was a child. She tells him that a woman died decades prior on the property that became her family's farm, and sometimes the woman would appear as a ghost, haunting the property. As a young woman, Travis' grandmother searched the land for the woman's remains, trying to help the spirit pass on, but never found them, and so the woman's ghost lingered. She tells Travis that a haunting is a completely normal and natural thing that occurs whenever a deceased person's body goes undiscovered, and suggests that he's being haunted. She also gives him a list of indicators for a ghostly presence:

"You start to have funny dreams and flashes of memories that are not yours. It's like they possess your thoughts when they're near."

"You can feel chills or a tingle on your arms or back when they're around."

"There could be sudden movements of objects or sounds out of the blue."

"If they really attach themselves to you, sometimes you can hear thoughts in your head as if the ghost is talking to you."

"And if you're really gifted, and this is pretty rare, you might even see the ghost with your own eyes."

"Most ghosts linger around the place they died, especially if their remains are undiscovered."

After taking in all of his grandmother's information, Travis comes to conclusion that a student at his school tried to build the Mechanical Turk before, and may have died during the project and is now haunting him. His grandmother listens to him wonder what happened to this previous student, and encourages him to do some digging.

Travis comes home after visiting his grandmother to find his version of the Mechanical Turk half-built in the backyard. His memories are fuzzy, but he remembers his dad bringing the wood out there for the project and he remembers cutting out the parts for the cabinet, so he thinks that he and his dad must have built it together. Looking at the cabinet now gives him a weirdly claustrophobic feeling, and he feels like he's trapped somewhere. Believing those are the ghost's feelings, he dismisses them.

Travis sneaks back his school before it can be locked up for the night, and accesses a faculty computer. (How very Tony Becker of him.) He uses footage from a security camera that's mounted in the woodshop room to find when the Mechanical Turk was last built. The camera takes photos every few minutes, and he finds a few pictures from the end of a semester almost two years ago, where the students brought their 6-week projects in to show. One of the projects is the Mechanical Turk, with a Sun-inspired automaton that looks exactly like Travis' design. None of the pictures show who originally brought the project in, so Travis still doesn't know who the student was, but the following set of pictures show the Mechanical Sun sitting untouched and abandoned in the woodshop room for a week or so before school faculty members can be seen carrying it out of the room, presumably putting it in storage somewhere.

Believing that the ghost haunting him is attached to this earlier build of the Mechanical Sun, Travis decides to hunt down where the build is being stored. He prints out a map of the school grounds and marks all of the places used for storage.

The next day, Travis skips classes and instead wanders around the school to look through all the storage areas, starting with storage closets and other spaces in the main building. He runs into Marissa again and tries to talk to her again, but she makes it very clear that she doesn't want to be friends with him.

Travis goes home after school, and overhears part of a phone conversation that his dad is having with someone. He knows that his dad is talking to his mom, and he knows that they're talking about him, but he ignores the rest of the conversation, trying hard not to hear it. He thinks he might be in trouble for skipping classes at school. (We'll revisit this phone call later.)

Future punishments notwithstanding, Travis skips classes again the next day, searching through the school basement. He still doesn't find the Mechanical Sun. He gets frustrated, and light bulb explodes in a ceiling fixture above him. Thinking the ghost is upset with him, Travis freaks out and leaves the basement. Out in the hallways, Travis sees Marissa and tries to talk to her again, but she ignores him. Being ignored again like this is a sort of 'final straw' for Travis, and he ditches school, running out the building and off the school grounds. He wanders through the residential areas between his school and his home for awhile, the whole time wishing he was able to make friends, and wishing that he and his dad still had a good relationship. Finally, he heads for home, thinking that he should tell his dad about the haunting he's been experiencing.

When Travis gets home, he sees that the Mechanical Sun in the backyard has been destroyed, like an angry person attacked it with an ax. He assumes that his dad must have destroyed it as punishment for skipping class, and thinking about his father tearing his creation apart like that makes him cry. His dad isn't home now, and Travis, deciding to settle the ghost once and for all, takes a flashlight and runs away from the house, heading back for the school grounds.

"Then everything would be okay. Then [Travis' dad] would love him again."

In the dark of late evening, Travis begins searching through sheds around the school property. He reaches an old shed with doors held closed by a rusty chain, and the chain falls apart and falls to the ground as soon as Travis touches it. Travis moves several spiderwebs aside and steps into the storage shed, with is filled with lots of old, retired sporting equipment, among other things. There are old wolf mascot costumes. There's also a rotting scent in the shed, and Travis wonders if it's a dead animal or a human body.

After searching through the piles of old stuff, Travis finally finds the original Mechanical Sun, the big thing stuffed into the back of the shed. He pops the cabinet open and, like the dumbest protag in the history of dumb protags, climbs into the cabinet in order to figure out if there's a body in it. To no one's surprise, the cabinet door slams shut behind him, and he's unable to open it. Searching around inside, Travis realizes two things: 1) the cabinet door is stuck tight, and it's impossible to open, and 2) there is a dead boy's body inside the cabinet.

After screaming and panicking, Travis forces himself to calm down, and, assuming that the body belongs to the ghost that's been following him, he starts talking to both himself and the ghost, assuring the body that he'll figure a way for them to get out and everything will be okay. But, as he focuses the flashlight onto the body, he realizes that he and the body are wearing the same clothes (the same clothes that he's been wearing through this entire story). He realizes that he's not staring at some other student's body, but that it's his own corpse he's looking at.

"He was the ghost that haunted Brighton Middle School!"

Understanding that he's dead and that he's been dead for over two years floods Travis, and it breaks down the mental block that he's had for the entire time, allowing his memories to come back to him.

About two years ago, Travis built the Mechanical Sun for his workshop project, and brought the mostly finished build into the school on the due date. After school, Travis had gone back into the room alone, and had climbed into the cabinet to make sure he could fit. The cabinet door closed behind him and got stuck, and he ended up overheating and then passing out from lack of air, then dying inside the cabinet. He's never really processed his own death, so he's just been going on about his regular school day ever since.

Travis was reported missing. His parents never collected his Mechanical Sun, and the build went into storage on the school grounds, with no one realizing that Travis' body is inside. Months later, Travis' parents start fighting about what happened to their son and what they should do about it, and they eventually split up. Travis' dad still lives in the house, and he still talks to Travis from time to time. During the phone call that Travis tried not to overhear, his dad told his mom that "it still feels like Travis is in the house," and because of that he can't leave the house, not really ready to move on.

Travis realizes that Marissa is probably one of the rare people who can see ghosts, or maybe she just saw him because he wanted her to see him so much, but either way she saw a dead boy every time she looked at him, and that's probably why she never wanted to interact with him. He also realizes that the Mechanical Sun in his home's backyard was built entirely by his dad, the structure a product of a bereaved father trying to figure out what happened to his son, and destroyed in a fit of rage because rebuilding it wouldn't magically bring his son back to him.

We're then told that Travis' grandmother died a few years ago, a fact that Travis had forgotten until now. They're able to interact because they're both dead, but not very often, because she passed on properly upon her death, whereas Travis has been haunting his school and home ever since. His grandmother visits with him every once in awhile, and it seems like she's been trying to give him a little nudge every once in awhile, trying to guide him into understanding his death without directly spelling it out for him.

Travis thinks about his death, and realizes that he's been haunting himself, something that makes sense for him to do, given his tendency to talk to himself. He sits down beside his body and promises not to leave himself again. He curls his spirit protectively around his body and settles in, preparing to stay with himself forever. . . . I liked the twist of this story. Very "The Thing in Auntie Alma's Pond"-feeling. (Story I love by Bruce Coville, btw.) I just wish this story flowed better; it feels very long and says very little.

It's also a similar story to the "Fazbear Frights: Coming Home" story, with the main difference being that, while the audience is led to believe that Travis is a living child through most of this story, and which Travis believes as well, the audience of "Coming Home" was told outright that Susie is dead and haunting her family, a fact that Susie herself seems to forget throughout the story. In both cases, we're seeing children who are haunting their homes and families because they've forgotten their own deaths.

I find it interesting that this story is placed here between two very lore-heavy stories, while it doesn't feel very lore-heavy itself. I mean, yes, it's telling us information about how ghosts and haunting work in this universe, and it's telling us that people in this world can die without fully realizing they're dead. But what specifically is it supposed to be saying? Is it just general information for us about how this world operates? Or is there a character that we know who died awhile back but is still literally haunting the narrative, potentially unaware of their demise? And if so… who is it?

That's all I have to say about this story. But I've got a lot to say about this next one, so let's move on.

"Dittophobia"

Dittophobia -- the fear of repetition; the fear of repeating patterns.

(Not gonna lie, I was dreading this story. None of the theorist community would shut up about it after it leaked online, and I got sick of hearing about it pretty fast. But I girded my loins and I made it through, and y'know what? I disagree with those early theories. Let's talk about it.)

This story introduces us to Rory, a 7-year-old boy who lives in the FNAF4 bedroom. And it's made very clear to us that it's the FNAF4 bedroom, as it is described in detail several times over throughout the story. Every night at midnight Rory is awoken by scraping sounds, heavy breaths, and heavy footfalls as he is stalked and attacked in his own bedroom by the Nightmare Animatronics. He doesn't recognize them as animatronics, and instead refers to them as "the creatures" throughout most of the story.

Rory is described as resembling a little boy with pale skin, freckles on his face, hazel eyes, and messy brown hair. He also has big ears and pointy nose, and bags under his eyes from his nightmares and restless sleep. He always wears the same set of black-and-white zebra striped pajamas to bed. His daytime clothes aren't described with much detail.

We follow three nearly identical days in Rory's life, one right after another. They're monotonous, and little changes between them, so I'm only going to describe them once.

Rory wakes up in the morning in the FNAF4 bed. Sunlight streams through the high windows on the wall behind his bed, an air current "hisses" through the vents near the top of the walls, and he deduces that being attacked by "the creatures" during the night was just a nightmare. He also doesn't remember what he did the previous day, and every morning is a blank slate for him.

"Morning was here. The nightmare was over."

Climbing out of bed, Rory calls out to his parents, but receives no answer. He can hear the shower running in his parents' bathroom, so he assumes that his dad has already gone to work and his mother must be in the shower, so he doesn't expect a response from either of them. Sometimes Rory makes his bed at this point, and we're told that the quilt on his bed is from his grandmother, who made it for him. He gets dressed for the day, passes by several toys on his bedroom floor -- the smiling phone, the purple robot, and a rabbit toy (did Plushtrap replace the caterpillar thing?) -- and heads into the hall bathroom. (The bathroom contains a claw foot bathtub, and I'd like to know why these things keep popping up in this series!)

In the bathroom, Rory washes his face and tries to get his hair under control. He doesn't have a comb, so he has to smooth his hair out with his fingers, remembering that his mother doesn't like when his hair looks messy. He passes by his parents' bedroom and bathroom on his way to the kitchen, hearing the shower still running. Rory goes to the kitchen, which is part of an open concept "great room" space and shares space with both the dining room and living room. He eats fruit and bagels from the fridge for his breakfast, bypassing any plates or silverware entirely. The kitchen smells a little funky, like something in it is rotting, and the food Rory eats is always a little out of date, but it's never outright growing mold or anything so he doesn't think much of it. He eats his breakfast alone every day, and makes sure to clean up after himself, since he knows his mother hates messes.

While Rory would like to talk to his parents and spend time with them, he's not surprised that they aren't around during the morning. His dad spends more time at work than at home, and his mom is always thinking about her work (she's an interior decorator) and often doesn't seem to hear or notice Rory when they're in the house together; she also likes to take long showers, so the constant running of the shower doesn't register to Rory as odd.

Rory has a few distinct memories of different interactions with his parents, but they seem hazy and distant, like they happened many years ago and not as recently as he thinks they did.

Rory has a friend named Wade, who goes to the same school as him. The two boys are often picked on by their peers, and they have a secret clubhouse that they like to hang out in after school. Wade has an interest in ham radios and walkie-talkies; he gave Rory one of his walkie-talkies once so they could talk to each other over long distances, but Rory doesn't know where it is now.

After breakfast, Rory grabs his backpack and starts to head out for school. This is when Rory, having forgotten the day before, realizes that there's no front door, back door, or any other possible exit to his house. The windows don't even open, and every door that doesn't lead to his bedroom or bathroom is locked, preventing him from opening any of them. Rory begins to get really stressed out, and walks around his house in circles, searching for a way out and calling desperately for a mother that won't answer him. (I swear I read at least three creepypastas back in the day that had this same plot.) Sometimes, he realizes that the shower isn't running anymore, and he assumes that his mother has also left for work, abandoning him in the same way his father has already done.

"Why couldn't he find his way out of his house? And where was his mom?"

As Rory circles the house over and over again, his agitation slips away. His mind gets cloudy and his body gets tired. He loses track of time and soon the light coming through the windows begins to dim, as though the sun is setting. Rory gives up on his quest, showers, puts on his pajamas, and then goes to bed, making sure to close and lock his bedroom doors. Rory goes to bed, falls asleep, and a few hours later midnight rolls around, he's awoken by "the creatures" entering his room, and the cycle repeats.

"The bear with the top hat moved to loom over Rory, as if rising from a grave from beneath Rory's bed."

On the third day, when Rory is cycling through the house and becoming more and more stressed, he hears a "knocking" sound from inside the wall. He thinks it sounds like an engine misfiring, as the sound reminds him of a time when his dad's car broke down. Soon enough, the sound stops, as though this supposed engine has died. In the near silence, Rory can't hear anything except a hum from the kitchen, which he assumes is the fridge. He can't figure out why there would be an engine in the walls of his house though. And, since he notices the sun is setting, he decides not to worry about it, and just goes to bed.

Rory wakes up the next morning fully rested, and realizes that he had no nightmarish visits from "the creatures." He sits up in bed, and sees that his room looks different from when he went to bed -- everything is dirty and dusty, with wallpaper peeling off the walls, a carpet covered in footprints and scuff marks, and even the quilt on his bed is old, miscolored, and falling apart. Confused, Rory calls for his mother, but hears a man's voice come out of his own mouth, the sound startling him. He looks down at his body, and finds that he's much taller than he remembers being, with "furry" legs and hands that look huge to him. Distressed, Rory stumbles to the bathroom, where he stares at himself in the mirror.

"The image in the mirror gaped back at him."

Rory doesn't recognize the image in the mirror as his own reflection, but instead refers to it as "the guy in the mirror." He still has big ears and hazel eyes and messy brown hair, but his hair is very long now, going down past his shoulders. His face and body are both thin and bony, and the freckles on his cheeks have been replaced by large patches of acne and wisps of facial hair. For some reason, Rory comes to the conclusion that he must be around 17-years-old now, even though he has no memory of aging to this point. He worries that he slept for several years like Rip Van Winkle.

"Rory knew himself as a seven-year-old kid. But what he was seeing in the mirror was more like a seventeen-year-old teenager. How had he jumped ahead ten years?"

Rory calls again for his parents, and still gets no answer. So, wearing nothing but a children's t-shirt that fits him like a crop top, a stretched out pair of children's socks, and a stretched out pair of zebra stripe pajama pants, Rory begins to explore the rest of the house. The place is pretty disgusting and broken down, resembling a haunted house more than a place to live. There are ants crawling around in the kitchen, and the kitchen very distinctly smells like rotten food. Rory realizes that the "fridge" is actually a fridge-shaped vending machine, and that all the food inside it is old, stale snack packets and wafers, each item individually wrapped. The plumbing works, so after eating some stale wafers, Rory washes it down with water from the sink.

(The zebra striped pajamas are an interesting detail. On the one hand, it's a standard print on children's clothing -- although not a common one on boy's clothes here in the U.S. -- so it doesn't immediately raise any red flags. But, on the other hand, there's some visual connotations with that pattern. Zebra stripes look a lot like white tiger stripes, which is part of the imagery we keep seeing associated with the Mimic. And, by consistently calling out that Rory is wearing black and white striped clothes, the text is making it clear that he is a prisoner of some sort, bringing to mind the visual of old-time-y striped prison garb.)

Rory approaches his parents' bedroom and bathroom, but realizes that the two doors that should lead to those rooms aren't really doors -- there's just a section of wall painted to look like a door, and with doorknobs attached directly into the wall. He can hear what sounds like the shower running, but sees that the sound (a recording) is coming from a speaker high on the wall.

"If the doors weren't real, and the shower wasn't real, was his mom real?"

There are metal tracks embedded in the floors of the house, like miniature train tracks, seemingly starting at the foot of Rory's bed and winding their way all around the house. Rory follows the tracks around for awhile, and sees that one track ends at his bedroom closet, and the other three tracks end at different doors around his house, each door being a real physical door that he had previously assumed to be a storage closet. Forcing each door open reveals the Nightmare Animatronics, each tucked away and prepared for future use. They aren't actually animatronics in this story, as they seem to be more statuesque than anything, and Rory thinks they look like Halloween decorations. (So there are four closets holding animatronics, huh? Where have I heard this one before?)

Once again, Rory finds himself wandering the fake house, searching for a way out. The only functional doors in this place are the ones to his bedroom and bathroom, and the ones hiding the Nightmare Animatronics. He realizes that the fake fridge has to be restocked from outside somehow, and he ends up pulling the "fridge" away from the wall, revealing a passageway behind it. Rory grabs a flashlight, crawls through the tunnel-like passageway (like the vents you crawl through in "Sister Location"), and shoves open a metal door that's on the other side of the tunnel.

Outside of the tunnel, Rory finds himself in some sort of "concrete corridor," which is lined with metal racks full of air tanks. Labels on the tanks read "Danger: Compressed Gas," and a cluster of rubber hoses lead from the tanks to a pumping machine and then into the wall, going back into the fake house. Rory realizes that, whatever the tanks contain, he's been breathing it for some time. He turns to the pump and sees that it's not running, and rightfully assumes that it's the thing he heard breaking down.

There's a desk at the end of the corridor, with a clipboard and a stack of notes on it. Rory tries to the read the notes -- he can barely read, having not attended school past 2nd grade, but he understands enough to know that the notes are about him. The notes are dated as different days, and each say something along the lines of "Subject continues to react with fear to what he perceives to be creatures. Fear Level: 9." Some of the notes refer to something called "hallucinogens." One of the earlier notes says that the wafers in the "fridge" have been made to contain all the nutrients a growing child needs, and Rory wonders if that's really enough for his body to live off of anymore, given how bony his frame is. One page on the clipboard details the purpose of this experiment, labeling it as a "study of the ongoing effects of fear in children," and clarifies that the goal is to see how a child would behave if they were exposed to the same nightmares every night, over and over, with nothing else in their life to balance out the nightmares.

Rory doesn't really know what a "hallucinogen" is, but he knows a hallucination is something that isn't real, and he knows that he's been living in a fake house while perceiving it as a different fake house, so he understands that he's been lied to about his reality for quite awhile. He begins to wonder how many of his childhood memories are even real, since his present day isn't real either.

The most recent note is dated "just a month after [Rory's] seventh birthday." Looking between the notes and the gas pump beside him, Rory has the realization that he's been held prisoner and used for some sort of experiment for nearly a decade. He also assumes that, because there haven't been any notes made since, that both he and the experiment were abandoned nearly a decade ago.

Thinking about the kind of person who must have been using him for an experiment, treating him like an object to be observed and not like a human being, fills Rory with rage, and he decides he hates this unknown person. Then he remembers that they abandoned him, and he begins to hate them even more, deciding that being left behind is even worse than being mistreated. In anger, Rory unplugs the pump from its gas supply, preventing the thing from ever messing with his or anyone else's perception.

On the other side of the desk is a door exiting this corridor, and Rory opens it and steps through. He walks through multiple hallways lined with "metal snakes" (likely cables) along the walls, and thinks to himself that this space smells like an automechanic's shop. He reaches the end of these hallways and comes out in a small room that has large windows on all sides of it, leading out into blackness. There are brightly colored lights in the room, along with a control panel of some sort, but none of the lights are on and the machines are all powered down. He sees a picture of a robotic clown girl, but the image means nothing to him. (Obviously, he's in Circus Baby's space from "Sister Location," but he doesn't know that, and he doesn't understand any of what he's seeing.) Rory thinks this place must be an "observation station," and assumes that it's part of another "mean experiment," immediately feeling a kinship with whatever exists in the blackness beyond those windows. He moves on, leaving through another door.

Next he enters a dance floor, empty and unused and covered in dust. There are no light on in here either. He sees a "metal ballerina" standing frozen on stage, but she doesn't move or react to his presence so he walks right past her. (Is that really Ballora that he's seeing? Or is he seeing Ballora's empty outer shell, or a statue made to look like Ballora? The fact that she apparently doesn't move or respond to him is really strange.) On the other side of the dance floor, Rory finds a breaker room. He has a memory of watching his dad flip a breaker in their home, and he mimics the action, trying to turn some lights on in this place. It doesn't work though. Nothing happens, and no lights come on. Frustrated, Rory leaves the breaker room.

Rory finds a storage room full of unused animatronic parts. He thinks the workshop looks like a doctor's office, and the space makes him feel uncomfortable. After this, he finds a large room, just as unused and empty as all the other rooms have been. There's a lot of dining tables and chairs arranged around a stage, and a sign above the stage reads "Funtime Auditorium." He sees a "cracked and empty shell of a pirate fox animatronic" lying in a heap on the floor. Looking at it makes him uncomfortable, as it reminds him of the fox that's been haunting his nightmares. He leaves the room quickly.

After this, Rory finds another observation room, this one with a big fan and several clown faces on the walls. (So now we're in the main hub of "Sister Location.") He digs around in some cabinets full of paperwork, and finds blueprints for the building, labeling the entire space as an "Underground Testing Facility." Rory realizes that he's been underground this whole time, and gets mad that even the sunshine coming through the windows of his house was fake.

"He didn't know what had been observed, and he didn't care." Lmao, this guy is so done with Afton's bs.

Rory studies the blueprints for a bit, comparing it to the rooms around him, and finds the elevator (and it is definitely the same elevator we saw Michael ride down in "Sister Location"). The elevator seems like it's the only way out, but it isn't working since there's no power down here. Rory does some more searching around the abandoned underground facility, and he finally finds a two-way radio.

Drawing on all of his memories of watching Wade manipulating radios, Rory manages to turn the radio on and (somehow???) manages to contact Wade on the old walkie-talkie that Wade still has. Wade is happy to hear from his friend that's been missing for so long, and tells Rory that his parents are still looking for him, that they haven't given up on him, and that he has a younger sister that he's never met. He asks where Rory is, knowing that Rory ran away from home as a child and assuming that, against the odds, Rory is somehow in a safe environment now.

Rory explains to his friend about his kidnapping (which he knows must have happened, but he doesn't remember it happening) and about the experiment that's been performed on him, and about the underground facility that he's currently trying to escape from. The two boys brainstorm for a little bit, and then Wade points out that Rory's fake house still had power, even while the rest of the facility doesn't, so it must have its own generator that's separate from the facility's main power. Wade says that he's going to try to get help for Rory from the outside (as best as he can when neither boy knows where this underground facility is), and Rory disconnects the radio and heads back to the fake house, planning to look for the generator so he can try to hook it up to the elevator so he can escape.

Back in the fake house, the "windows" have gone dark, indicating that night has fallen. Rory watches as the various locked doors pop open and the Nightmare Animatronics file out and fly down their tracks, heading toward his bedroom. While they're gone, Rory checks in all their hiding spaces to see if there was a generator hidden behind any of them, but finds nothing. He then wanders through the sparse living room and dining areas, but doesn't see any place where a generator could be hidden. He can still hear the fridge humming in the kitchen, and then remembers that the "fridge" isn't an actual appliance, so something else must be making that sound, and he starts to follow the humming. He finds a generator inside the kitchen island, hidden and muffled behind a wall of soundproofing.

When Rory starts messing with the generator, he triggers a response from a connected mechanism, and a voice recording starts speaking to him through a speaker in the ceiling. Rory doesn't recognize the voice, but can tell that it's a grown man's voice, and assumes that it must be the person who was running this experiment. The voice addresses him by name and warns him not to move the generator, lest the entire house cease to function. He reminds Rory of how he ran away from home as a boy, reminding him of how lonely and unloved he felt as a child; Rory concedes that the voice is right, remembered how unloved he felt at home, and how cruel most of the other kids in his school were, and how unhappy he was.

"Rory's mom cared more about the way things looked than she did her own son."

Rory has a hard time connecting the image Wade gave him of his parents (loving, missing him, still desperately searching for him all these years later, still hoping that they'll find him someday) with the image from his memories (his father often being absent and neglectful, his mother being verbally and emotionally abusive, both constantly upset with him over minor things). The voice on the speaker tells Rory that his home life was so bad that Rory ran away from it, and, looking back on what little memories he has, Rory is prone to believe it.

The voice says that Rory "came here because [he] knew [he'd] be taken care of here," and assures Rory that he's been taken care of here far more than he ever was at home. He says that the generator is hooked up to a steady supply of gas, and that it's "always there" to "care for" Rory. As the voice speaks, Rory feels comforted by the voice, feeling complacent, and feeling as though the man behind the voice really cares about him.

"You've never been abandoned here." Well, that's a lie. The entire experiment was literally abandoned, and Rory with it.

The voice stops talking, and Rory has some time to think, and several fears begin to set into him. He doesn't really want to go home -- he's afraid that his parents will be unhappy with him again, and that his new sister won't like him, and he'll have a miserable home life again. He also thinks about how far behind he is in his education, and he worries that he'll never be able to catch up with his peers, and he shrinks away at the idea of being a social outcast again. Here, in the fake house, he knows he'll be provided for, and that he'll be provided with an imitation of care. He'll never have to second-guess himself or face another person's anger or judgement. The worst thing he'll have to deal with in the fake house is some nightmares (that he doesn't think can physically hurt him) and loneliness (something that he thinks he'll have to deal with if he escapes, anyway).

Ultimately, Rory decides that certain artificial love is better than uncertain real love, and chooses to resume living in the fake house. He puts the generator back in its hiding place. He climbs back out through the tunnel, repairs the gas pump and re-hooks it to all the gas canisters, and climbs back into the fake house, sealing the door up behind him. He replaces the "fridge" just as the gas starts pumping into the "house" again.

Within minutes, Rory is blinking in confusion, trying to remember why he's standing in front of the fridge in the middle of the night. He tries to remember if he went to school today but can't, then shrugs to himself and heads to bed. He walks back into his (clean and fixed up once more) bedroom, changes into his pajamas, and climbs into bed, promptly falling asleep. It's made very clear to the audience that the hallucinogenic gas is in full effect again, and that Rory is once again perceiving himself as a child, perceiving this house as his own house, and has forgotten everything about the last day.

In the mechanism attached to the speaker in the kitchen ceiling, a cassette tape in a player reaches the end, clicks, and then rewinds back to the beginning, "once again ready for the next time Rory wandered too far." . . . Okay, so this story is… a lot. Lot of "Plato's Allegory of the Cave" vibes. And, while I have nothing concrete to say for sure about it, I have a few thoughts about it.

My first thought was "none of those early theories about this story are correct." By which I'm referring to the popular (at least at the time) theory that the story was telling us that William was torturing and experimenting on Michael for years. Now, I understand where that theory is coming from, don't get me wrong! Over the years, we've gotten plenty of evidence that Michael has been in the FNAF4 bedroom, at least at some point, and we know from the "Security Logbook" that Michael has seen the Nightmare Animatronics, as he draws a detailed picture of Nightmare Fredbear from memory. This story is telling us that the Nightmare Animatronics were William's creation to torment someone, and if Michael has seen them, doesn't that suggest that Michael was the one William was tormenting? It seems pretty straight-forward.

However, that theory has never sounded right to me, and it still doesn't sound right even after reading this story. And I'm going to try to explain why.

First of all, what exactly are we being told about the Nightmare Animatronics? Yes, we're being told that they were created by William with the express purpose of tormenting a child. But we're also being told that they are physical animatronics that he built, and that they are in the "Sister Location" bunker, at least for a time. And you know who else is in the SL bunker at some point, who is sent down there with express orders from William to complete specific tasks, and who works at the time as an animatronic engineer and technician? Michael.

I'm going to posit the suggestion that Michael knows what the Nightmare Animatronics are not because he specifically was haunted by them, but because he's had to repair them for his dad before. Throughout the game series and in the "Security Logbook," we're shown multiple times that Michael can repair (or tamper with) animatronics, and that he's often willing to follow his father's orders, so why couldn't he have just seen the physical Nightmares at one point? "But he specifically draws Nightmare Fredbear in response to being asked about his dreams!" Yeah? They're called Nightmare Animatronics. They're meant to cause nightmares. He can operate on them and know what they are and still associate them with dreams, whether those dreams are his own or not.

There's also the fact that Rory doesn't seem to be a Michael parallel character. By this point in the series, most readers should have gotten familiar with characters that represent Michael in some way, shape or form. They often share physical and similar traits, so they're pretty easy to pick out. And our buddy Rory here? He doesn't check enough boxes to qualify.

Primary Michael representative traits are:

brown hair and/or blue eyes, with blue eyes often being the more important trait

tall

looks like his father

has Daddy Issues and/or actively thinks about his father throughout the story, usually with complicated but ultimately positive feelings

likes to draw

likes playing video games

good at building/repairs

bully (if child) / actively dislikes children (if adult)

seems to know more than he says

bad/morbid sense of humor and love of puns

Not every Michael representative character has all of these traits (and this is by no means an exhaustive list), but they tend to have a decent handful. Rory has brown hair, and he exists in some of the same spaces that Michael has been in, but that's where their similarities end. Rory simply doesn't resemble Michael enough for me to be okay with saying "obviously this is a story about Michael!"

There's also the fact that we're being told that this story takes place after the events of "Sister Location." The bunker is deserted. The Funtimes are gone. No one has been down here for years. Rory doesn't even have Hand Unit for company, he's that alone! Yes, he seems to see Ballora on stage in her gallery, but she doesn't move or react to him, and it makes me wonder if that was actually Ballora he was seeing or just like… her discarded outer shell or something. But, given the overall abandoned state of the bunker, I think it's safe to assume that the Funtimes have already left as Ennard, Michael is gone as well, and the place has been completely empty for awhile now.

"Okay," I hear you say. "So he's not Michael! But what about Crying Child? We've had that theory that William made the Nightmare Animatronics to scare his younger son away from 'Freddy's' for years, so what about him? Does this story prove that one?" To which I say… maybe? Rory shares a few similarities with Unnamed "Crying Child" Afton, as well as with some of the CC representative characters. For example, he

Is the same gender and similar age, size, and general appearance (small white boy with brown hair).

Exists in the FNAF4 bedroom, a space from the game where we were first introduced to William's younger son; the game has been slightly retconned here and there over the years, but the original implication seemed to be that you were playing as the Crying Child for the entire duration of the game, indicating that that is his bedroom.

Is kept in a constant state of fear, and is specifically afraid of the animatronic characters. And is especially afraid of Foxy, who he views as an even worse tormentor than the others (an interesting callout, since the cutscenes in FNAF4 show us CC being tormented by Michael who is dressed as Foxy).

Is observed passively and from a distance by William during the entire time when he's being constantly scared again and again; in FNAF4, Crying Child is observed and spoken to by a Fredbear toy he carries around, and we see the Fredbear toy on William's desk in "Sister Location," a speaker on its chest and microphone nearby, suggesting that William was using the stuffed toy as a nanny cam to watch and communicate with his youngest throughout the day (and it's also conveniently next to a set of monitors that William uses to observe the inside of the FNAF4 bedroom)

We've also had Crying Child representative characters before that were portrayed with hazel eyes like Rory has (Hazel from "Lonely Freddy" being the main one coming to mind right now), as well as freckles.

So yeah, Rory certainly checks enough boxes to seem like a stand-in for Crying Child! Except for the most important one: "is an actual child." Rory believes himself to be a child, but isn't. Crying Child doesn't live to adulthood, and even his stand-ins are almost always children.

But there's also two important details to take into account: William knows who Rory is, but Rory doesn't know who William is. And that destroys any assumption of Rory representing either Afton boy.

William knows everything about Rory. He knows Rory so well that he builds a fake house that replicates the house Rory's family lives in (and we know this because Rory distinctly remembers his mother walking around the house with him, explaining terms like "great room" and "chair rail"). He knows Rory so well that he has a recording talking about why Rory ran away from home as a small child, and how much Rory hated school, and several other details about Rory's life that we know are true. And he knows Rory so well that he knows to set up this recording in a way that Rory will find it, because he knows what Rory will do if the gas ever stops pumping.

But Rory doesn't know anything about William. He has no memory of being kidnapped. He only recognizes William's voice as being that of a man "about his father's age," but not a voice he knows. It's made very clear that William isn't his father or anything, because Rory remembers his father's voice and knows that this isn't it, and the voice elicits emotions out of him that his father's voice never did. (William's voice makes him feel safe and loved, but his father's voice always made him feel on edge and alone.)

There's also the fact that, based on the abandoned state of both Rory's experiment and the greater facility, William has likely either been springlocked by this point, or is simply in hiding somewhere as "Dave Miller" or something. Either way, he's not around anymore. And Wade specifically calls out that Rory's dad is still around and looking for him; and since Wade seems to be a trustworthy character according to the text, and we can believe what he says, we can see a clear contrast between "Rory's dad is still around" and "William has disappeared." If William were Rory's dad, Wade would have likely told us a different story, saying that Rory's dad vanished less than a year after Rory did.

Either way you slice it, Rory isn't Michael, and he's not Crying Child. So… where does that leave us?

I'm not sure. The fact that William knows everything about Rory but Rory doesn't know anything about William frustrates me. I can't make sense of that. William isn't really in the habit of knowing what his victim's bedrooms look like (aside from his own children), but it's made pretty clear (to me) that Rory isn't his child. And I don't know what to do with that information.

My best guess is that Rory doesn't represent anyone at all, and is just a brand new character that we've never seen before. And I have a couple of ideas for what this Fear Experiment is.

Fear Experiment Interpretation #1: My actual first theory was that Rory was a child that William kidnapped in order to recreate Crying Child's last days and eventual death, presumably with an end goal of figuring out how to bring Crying Child back in some way or other. I mean, William has already seen the effects of Elizabeth haunting Circus Baby by this point (presumably), so it would stand to reason that he tries to create a similar scenario for his other dead child, so that CC could come back somehow. William is just forced to abandon the experiment (and Rory) before he can finish it.

The problem with this is that we're directly told that the fake house is a replica of Rory's house, meaning that it's not meant to be a recreation of Crying Child's bedroom or life.

Fear Experiment Interpretation #2: My second theory is that this is what William did with all of his victims, at least at some point. I mean, this experiment space is right near where the Funtime Animatronics are kept, and we know they're meant to be used as kidnapping containers, right? And we know William has, at different points, tried studying the creation and effects of both Remnant and Agony, two different substances that come from dead people, with Agony being created when the person dies under extremely stressful circumstances (and leading to hauntings). So it would stand to reason that William was using the Funtimes to lure and kidnap children, having them delivered after hours to this space, and then running experiments on them in attempts to create Agony or something.

And Rory's character works with this theory, because while he doesn't really act like any of Afton's kids, he definitely acts like Afton's other victims. Despite not knowing the man, Rory has a strong love-hate relationship with William, something he shares in common with the MCI kids, who (in both the "Silver Eyes" trilogy and the in the movie) we see go back and forth between viewing William as their enemy/tormentor and as their friend/caregiver. William is very good at gaslighting and Stockholming his victims, and Rory, who decides to trust the voice on the recording above the voice of his real life friend, definitely exhibits that sort of behavior.

The main problem with this theory is that Rory has no idea who or what the Funtime Animatronics are. He's never seen them before. Circus Baby, Ballora, and Funtime Foxy don't hold any meaning to him, and he never encounters any form of Funtime Freddy at all. So it seems like that idea is out, or at least that portion of it.

This story is definitely worth noodling around, but boy is it confusing! Ultimately, the only concrete things that I can take away from this story is that William Afton has specifically experimented on children to observe their reactions to fear and stress, possibly with the intention of creating Agony and causing a haunting as the result, and that the FNAF4 bedroom may have been the primary location for those experiments. Valuable information, but it raises a lot more questions than it answers.

Other parts of this story that stuck out to me:

The FNAF4 bedroom existing in a fake house that exists as part of the "Sister Location" facility explains why we can see it on the electrical map when Michael is working in the breaker room -- it's plugged into the greater electrical grid of the bunker, but it also has its own source of power, explaining why it's visible but the player can't access it. (Are the Plushtrap hallway and the sidewalk path also underground experiment spaces? Are there other children being kept there, or are they areas that Rory was supposed to be moved to at some point?) (How much does Michael know about these experiments? He can see them on the electrical map, and he's seen the Nightmare Animatronics, so he's at least passively aware of them.)

Rory doesn't know who or what Circus Baby is, but he immediately relates with the empty room she used to be kept in, empathically assuming that she's the victim of another cruel experiment like he is.

FNAF4, like many games from Scott, is very imperfect and has some janky game mechanics. This isn't a bad thing! Many people think that's part of the charm of the FNAF games! But in FNAF4, while visual and audio cues around the bedroom during the main game tells us that our player character is a child, they don't always seem to be child-sized, and some players have said that the movements and POV of the player character looks more like an adult crawling on their hands and knees. While I think that's just a weird developmental error in the game, I think it's interesting that this story offers us an in-wold explanation, saying that the character is a young adult who believes himself to be a child, and so is still behaving like a little boy.

I think it's funny that, from Wade's POV, he's in a Mimic story. I mean, our man suddenly starts hearing static coming from an old walkie-talkie he's kept for sentimental reasons, and then his long lost / presumed dead childhood friend starts talking to him, saying things like "I'm trapped underground" and "I need help!" This is exactly how Cassie gets got in "Ruin!"

And speaking of the Mimic, it's finally time to wrap up the epilogue story!

"Epilogue"

We pick up right after Kelly's death. The Mimic has wandered off, but Lucia is still hanging around in her rat costume, staring at the puddle of blood that used to be Kelly and still in too much shock to move. After some time, Lucia finally calms down enough to start thinking and processing her surroundings again. But as she looks cautiously around herself, she sees more remains of more dead friends, and the reality that she's the only one left hits her hard. After sitting alone with her thoughts for a bit longer, Lucia decides that the Mimic needs to be destroyed or deactivated, and she begins to come up with a plan for how to do it.

"There was nowhere in this tomb of a pizzeria where Lucia could safely hide."

"There was only one way that she was going to get out of this place alive: she had to kill the Mimic."

Remembering the springlock jester suit in the costume room, Lucia decides that the best way to disarm the Mimic would be to trick it into wearing the springlock costume, and then triggering the springlocks to snap down on it. Since the Mimic keeps changing the costume its wearing every so often, Lucia begins to sabotage all of the costumes in the costume room aside from the jester costume, so that the Mimic won't have any other option the next time it comes in for a quick costume change.

"The yellow-walled costume room…" Bit of a "the Yellow Wallpaper" moment there.

There's an unnecessarily long section that just describes Lucia breaking off or otherwise ruining the zippers on all the costumes. I think it's just padding out the page count for this epilogue.

While Lucia is jamming and tearing out zippers, the costumes start moving, and she realizes that something has jostled the rod that they're all hanging on. She assumes the Mimic has entered the room, and she finds it in a gopher costume. With only three costumes left in the room (the jester costume, a lion costume, and the rat costume that Lucia is still wearing), the Mimic crawls out of the gopher costume and tries to climb into the rat costume.

The Mimic grabs the rat costume, peering in through the eye-holes and making eye contact with Lucia inside. It then opens the costume's mouth and starts to climb into the costume through the mouth, squishing Lucia against the back of it. Lucia manages to pull the back zipper down and jump out of the costume just as the Mimic climbs inside, leaving the Mimic in the rat costume and Lucia exposed.

While the Mimic is still re-configuring its body to fit into this new costume, Lucia grabs some rope off the floor and ties the costume's legs together. When the Mimic tries to grab or chase her a second later, it trips and lands on its face. Lucia ducks behind the jester costume, which is pretty big and conceals her almost entirely.

The Mimic is described throughout this section with such awesome phrases as "segmented worm," "expanding viper," and "pulsing, squirming snake." This thing is not in a humanoid shape right now, that's for sure.

Lucia positions her head against the jester suit, making it look like she's wearing it, and calls out to the Mimic. She ducks down as the Mimic lunges for her, and it climbs into the jester suit, clearly intending to kill her the same way it killed Kelly. Lucia picks up an unused metal rod from the floor and starts beating the Mimic like a pinata, trying to set off the springlocks. When this doesn't work, she ends up stabbing the rod right through the Mimic's mouth like a spear. This sudden action finally sets off the springlocks, and they all start snapping at once, crunching down on the Mimic. The Mimic starts flailing, and "viscous, black fluid" that smells like engine oil starts leaking out of the suit like blood. Lucia backs away to a hiding spot for a moment, watching the Mimic flail around in a pool of its own "blood."

"[The Mimic] was no longer the menace in control -- it was the victim!"

When the Mimic's movements have slowed down enough, Lucia approaches it again. Remembering what she read in the notebook, she begins searching and feeling around on the back of the Mimic's head, where she finally finds the power switch. She flips it, and the Mimic deactivates, falling limp in front of her.

Lucia escapes the Pizzaplex, managing to scale up the wreckage of the basement stairs and then busting through an upstairs window. It's now morning outside. A construction worker (described as a handsome young man with "gentle blue eyes") sees her and helps her out. He tries to comfort her when she bursts into tears, and tries to ask her what she was doing in the unfinished building, but Lucia can only cry and smile at him, both in relief and hysterics. . . . Interesting to "kill" the Mimic in the same way William is killed, with a springlock suit… Especially interesting since our first introduction to the Mimic (all the way back in the first epilogue) featured it having rabbit ears. And that we now know that Mimic AI (different from this Mimic, but connected) is portrayed as Glitchtrap in some of the games. Lot of Mimic/Afton parallels. Not sure if that means anything, but it sure is interesting.

Yay! Lucia survived! I honestly didn't think she would, but I'm happy she did. :)

And yay! The Mimic is gone! (For now, anyway…)

And most of all -- yay! I'm done with this series!!! Cue the party streamers and confetti canons! Hallelujah, I'm done!

[noodledrawsandstuff]

The strangest Kid Pirates theories I've seen

Wire is a government spy because he's the only one who didn't react when Kid was shot by the Pacifista

Heat is a robot created by Kid, hence why he calls him "Master Kid"

Kid has royal lineage

Kid murdered Victoria / Heat and Wire murdered Victoria

Killer is a clone of Shiki

Kid is a clone of/the son/grandson of Rocks

The Jiki-Jiki no mi is a mythical zoan and hasn't awakened fully yet / Kid will eat a mythical zoan DF

[dukeofriven]

The Mandalorian decided that droids needed a bar, because every Star Wars writer has made the moral black pit of droid sentience and servitude ever more incoherent, absurd, and irreconcilable. (The short version is that droids in Star Wars can fundamentally not be sentient for the ironclad non-diegetic reason in that its moral framework cannot handle the weight that every organic character in Star Wars is at-best totally indifferent to slavery and has casually and comfortably bought slaves, sold slaves, murdered slaves, ripped bits out of some slaves to improve other slaves, left slaves to die, ordered slaves to their death to save their own skins, and watched other people murder slaves without any reaction either personally or within any kind of larger narrative awareness. Stupid writers keep dancing towards the issue because they think it adds 'depth' or some kind of 'edginess' but no, it just breaks Star Wars. Seriously, if droids are fully people Star Wars just... breaks. In a way that's really obnoxious, too, like that one asshole who corners you at a party to tell you that the Jedi are the REAL villains if you think about it. No, dipshit, they're not: even Andor understands that the moral line in Star Wars is really obvious and solid. Star Wars morality can encompass people doing bad things in pursuit of a noble goal, but it never goes 'fascists and anti-fascists are a mirror image' because that's authoritarian-friendly centrist bullshit.

[sidebar: Andor understands that's there's nuance to freedom fighting, that terror can be a tool to fight oppression but, equally, that an anti-fascist who turns to fascism to fight fascism is just a fascist. The tension in Andor is not that fighting fascism will turn you fascist, but that the choices you make might free others but leave you forever chained. You might bring your people to the promised land, but there's no guarantee you'll be able to join them because a moral person who holds themselves to their own moral standard values himself too much to live comfortably with what he's done. Luthen Rael doesn't think the things he are does are justified because of the greater good: he thinks that he couldn't see a better option and he will live every day until he dies questioning, re-litigating, and self-flagellating himself that he wasn't good enough to figure that better option out, and nothing or no-one will ever free him from that guilt and shame. A fascist and an anti-fascist can both do terrible things but its the fascist who can sleep well at night, and that's all the difference in the world. Andor's a pretty good show, y'all.] Thus, as the Empire is explicitly pro-slavery, you can't have the Good Guys also be pro-[droid] slavery as some kind of 'both sides' tu quoque rhetorical flourish. It doesn't work—not in Star Wars. Not even in mildly more mature, grown-up Star Wars. Droids cannot be sentient in Star Wars because literally the entire moral underpinning that is the narrative raison d'etre of the entire series falls completely apart. (This is, incidentally, the non-mechanical reason I don't like droid PCs in my SW campaigns.) And yes, this is the short version of this argument. The long version involves me whacking you with a pool noodle while reading long passages of Uberto Eco and CLR James until you stop trying to make Star Wars 'edgy' like someone writing an 'evil Santa' movie.)

[mournaeve]

❝ almost, always ❞

paring : yeon si-eun (weak hero) × gn!reader

genre : fluff, mild angst/hurt-comfort, emotional miscommunication, slow burn

warnings : mentions of emotional exhaustion/burn out, emotional whiplash but make it quiet and poetic, excessive eye contact with a emotionally constipated boy, 9/10 confession (where's the last 1, no one knows)

synopsis : Two people, both quiet in different ways, six missed chances, one almost-confession—and a love that grows in the silence between what’s said and what’s meant.

joy speaks : hi, and welcome to my first fic <3 genuinely hope you like it. don't be a silent reader!

1. The first time you met Si-eun, you were stealing Baku's snack and threatening to bite Gotak. Not seriously, of course, but with the kind of conviction that only came from a lack of shame and too little sleep.

Your mouth still tasted like instant noodles and regret. Your hair was a chaos theory. Your hoodie?—stolen from Baku, smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sweat, like a boy who lived his life in motion and never washed anything properly and also had a giant yellow pikachu on the front.

You didn't notice him at first.

No, at first you were too busy lying on the classroom floor, narrating your slow descent into madness because Gotak had, in your words, 'emotionally betrayed you' by siding with Baku over what was clearly your bag of chips. Baku, naturally, just sat on your back and told you to accept death with dignity.

Then you saw a pair of shoes. Clean, white, very still. Not fidgety like Gotak's or scuffed like Humin's.

You tilted your head up, squinting from the floor like a raccoon caught under fluorescent light, and there he was.

Expression unreadable. Face sharp in that quiet way—like something drawn in pencil and not yet colored in. Si-eun. Yeon Si-eun. You knew his name only because Gotak had once whispered it like he was talking about a ghost who might hear him.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked down at the mess on the floor, you, mostly, and blinked.

You, still on your stomach, gave a small wave.

"Hey. I swear I'm not usually like this."

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of the mouth. But you swore later, swore, that his eyes lingered for half a second too long. Like he was trying to decide whether to ignore you or classify you as some new species.

Maybe both.

That was the first time. You didn’t know yet that it would become a pattern—him appearing silently, you saying something ridiculous, the two of you orbiting each other like mismatched planets with slightly wrong gravity.

But in that moment, on the floor of a classroom you barely stayed awake in, with Baku sitting on your back and Gotak looking vaguely concerned for everyone’s sanity—

—you thought, 'huh'

He’s kind of cute when he looks confused.

◎⫘◎

2. You didn't expect to see him again. Not so soon, not without the buffer of Baku's laughter or Gotak's nervous commentary or the chaos of you being your usual, spiraling self. But there he was, outside the convenience store, earphones in, staring at the gum rack like it had personally offended him.

You stopped short. He didn't look up.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain even under emotional duress, you didn't keep walking. You hovered.

Like an idiot.

"Didn't peg you for a mint guy," you said finally, voice casual, like you hadn’t just debated crossing the street to avoid standing next to him and his inexplicably intense aura.

He looked up, slow. Blank expression unreadable. Those same pencil drawn beautiful eyes.

Then, flatly, "I'm not."

You blinked. Looked at the gum in his hand. "You've been holding that for like three minutes."

"I was spacing out."

"Oh."

Beat.

You nodded, like that explained the universe, and turned to grab a bottle of water. Behind you, you could feel his silence — not heavy, just… neutral. Like air that hadn’t decided if it was humid or cold.

"I wasn't following you, by the way," you added without being prompted, twisting the bottle cap as you rejoined him at the register. "In case your survival instincts kicked in."

Another pause. He looked at you.

"I didn't think you were."

You laughed — too loud, too fast — and instantly regretted it. "Right. Cool. Great. Just clearing that up, y'know, for the record."

"I don’t think about you that much."

And there it was.

You froze mid-step, plastic bottle crinkling in your hand. A second too slow, your brain tried to patch the damage: he didn't mean it like that. Probably. Hopefully?

"Oh," you said, smile cracking just slightly. "No offense taken. I also don't, like, catalogue your whereabouts or anything. That would be psychotic."

He gave you a look, like he was either very confused or wondering if you were having a stroke.

You both stood there, the cashier watching, deeply done with both your energies.

Si-eun finally paid for his gum. That he definitely didn’t want.

And you stood holding a bottle of water and the first bruise of misunderstanding, shaped like a boy who said things without malice but still managed to dig a little too deep.

Later that night, Baku asked why you were chewing mint gum with a dramatic sigh.

You told him it was an aesthetic choice. You didn't mention Si-eun. Not yet.

◎⫘◎

3. It happened because Gotak's mom called.

Loudly. On speaker. In the middle of the table, right as he was halfway through explaining some physics concept that sounded like witchcraft. He panicked, unplugged his charger wrong, and blew the socket.

And just like that, the lights went out in Baku's room.

Chaos. Swearing. Baku tripping over a dumbbell. You, laughing until your ribs hurt. Gotak apologizing to the socket like it had feelings. Juntae being all flustered while trying to keep the others in check.

Eventually, they both left to 'buy snacks and air out their humiliation.' You were too tired to follow.

And Si-eun didn't leave.

He stayed sitting on the floor, back against Baku’s bed frame, eyes unreadable. You weren’t sure if he didn't move because he was comfortable or because inertia had claimed him.

You sat across from him, the silence sitting with you like a third presence. It wasn't uncomfortable. It just… was.

You cleared your throat. "You always this quiet?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Then: "Do you always talk this much?"

Your jaw dropped. "Are you saying I talk too much?"

"No," he said, and blinked, slowly, "I'm saying I wasn't aware human lungs could handle this level of dialogue per minute."

You gawked at him.

He didn’t look smug. Or mean. Just… factual. As if he were reading weather data.

You threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it with both hands, unimpressed.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," you muttered, curling into a cross-legged huff.

Silence again.

You should’ve let it drop. But something in you always needed to make sense of things. Of people.

"You don't like me, do you?" you asked.

He looked up at that. Not startled. Just puzzled.

"Why would you say that?"

You mentally snorted 'I wonder why."

"I don't know. The gum comment. The lungs comment. The general 'I'm enduring your presence like a particularly inconvenient fire drill' energy."

His brows furrowed slightly.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I don’t dislike you."

"But you don't like me."

He looked at you for a moment too long.

"I don’t not like you."

It was the kind of answer that made your brain run into a wall. You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"…Wow," you said. "Poetry."

He frowned faintly, clearly confused why you sounded so sarcastic.

You didn't push it. But when Baku and Gotak returned and flopped dramatically into the room with ice cream and shame, you laughed louder than you meant to.

And you refused to meet Si-eun’s eyes for the rest of the night.

◎⫘◎

4. You were wearing another hoodie.

Not Baku's this time — a different one. Slightly too big. Worn in the elbows. Charcoal gray with a weird bleach stain near the zipper. Not your usual look.

Si-eun noticed it immediately.

He didn't say anything, of course. He just stared.

You were too busy trying to untangle Gotak's wired earphones (how did they still exist?) while sitting on the cafeteria bench, ranting about something inconsequential — probably the school vending machine robbing you again. Baku was making jokes, as usual. Gotak laughed too loudly, as usual. Juntae was swinging his legs adorably like a child waiting for his mother to provide him with candy.

Then a boy walked past. Said your name. Smiled.

You looked up. "Oh—hey. Thanks again for the hoodie."

Si-eun's gaze didn't shift. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

You caught it in the twitch of his fingers, the flick of his eyes, the way his entire body went very, very still.

Later, in the hallway, he stopped next to you. Not with you — next to. A detail you couldn’t unfeel.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked, tone flat.

You blinked. "Who?"

"The guy. With the hoodie. The one you smiled at like he invented oxygen."

You snorted. "No. He just lent me this when I spilled coffee on my shirt this morning."

He nodded. Slowly. You waited for a follow-up. It didn’t come.

Instead, he walked away with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, that silent wall rising like it always did when he didn't understand what he was feeling.

You stared after him, eyebrows pulled together.

You weren't his. He wasn't yours.

But still, you wanted to yell down the hallway,

'I would tressure your hoodie, if you ever offered it.'

◎⫘◎

5. It was raining the way it only rains in cities—sideways, rude, unforgiving. You hadn't meant to forget your umbrella. You were just late, and your brain had been full of other things. Like him. Like the hoodie thing. Like the way he hadn't spoken to you in two days. You were treading recklessly on the thin line between friends and strangers who know each other because of their mutual friends. No matter what you tried, attempted at, maybe to bring you both closer and not be strangers or just be his friend- he would always retract. Push you away with words or build walls around his heart that were too big and impossible not to notice.

You were soaked through by the time you reached the courtyard gate. Shoes squeaking, hair clinging to your face, hoodie (not his, not anyone's) weighing you down like a wet dog sweater.

Your heavy wet eyes widened at the sight before you.

Si-eun.

Standing under a small blue umbrella like the sky had personally chosen to leave him untouched.

You stopped. He didn't wave, or smile, or call out. Just lifted the umbrella a little higher.

You stared. Your heart twisted sideways.

"…Are you offering me that?" you asked, cautious.

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't."

You blinked. Walked over. Shoulders tense.

He didn't say anything. Just turned slightly, so the umbrella covered half of your body. His half was still mostly dry. You were dripping.

After a minute, you exhaled. "You didn’t have to wait."

"I know."

"…I thought you were mad at me."

"I'm not."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore."

"I do."

You were quiet.

Then you whispered it. Half a joke, half a plea:

"So this is... pity, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes sharp and unreadable.

You couldn't hold the silence.

You stepped out from under the umbrella. "Forget it. I'm fine."

Rain hit your skin like needles. Cold. Fast. Real.

He didn't follow. You didn't look back. And by the time you got home, soaked to the bone and furious with yourself, it was too late to ask him what he really meant.

◎⫘◎

6. It was late.

Too late to be in the library. Too late for the lights to still hum this way, for the floor to be cold against your knee pits as you sat between shelves with your hoodie bunched up beneath you like a failed pillow.

You weren't crying.

But you were close. That tight-throated silence. That wet weight behind the eyes that made everything feel distant. The kind of sad that didn"t have a name. The kind that didn't explode — just leaked.

He found you anyway.

You didn't ask how.

Si-eun stood there, backpack still on, hair a little rumpled, shirt collar tugged loose like he'd either run or paced in circles before finding you.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just sat beside you. Close, but not close enough to touch.

After a long, long moment, he said, low,

"I'm not good at this."

You blinked. "At what?"

"This. Talking. Reading people. Knowing the right thing to say."

You looked at him, sharp, surprised. His voice didn't waver, but it wasn't calm. It was something else — strained. Steady, but brittle at the edges.

He went on, "I don't realize when I'm being too blunt, or too distant. I've… ruined a lot of things that way."

You didn’t speak.

He stared at his hands.

"I used to think it didn’t matter. Not anymore. That being quiet kept things simple. But you—"

He stopped. Swallowed. "You confuse the hell out of me."

Your breath hitched.

"You talk like your words are racing to escape you. You say things I don’t know how to answer. You make me feel like I’m always three steps behind and—and I hate it."

The silence rang.

Then, quieter:

"But I hate it more when you're not around."

You didn't move.

You didn't say anything.

Your brain tripped over itself. Every version of you — the loud one, the jokey one, the brave one — went silent. And in that stretch of hesitation, Si-eun stood.

He didn't look at you.

"I shouldn't have said that," he murmured. "I knew it would come out wrong."

He walked away before you could tell him it didn't.

Later, lying in your bed, face buried in a damp hoodie, you whispered it,

'But it didn’t come out wrong at all.'

◎⫘◎

6. It started with silence.

Not the usual kind — not Si-eun's quiet that felt full of thinking, full of weight. This was emptier. Distant. Clean, like someone had wiped the board.

He'd stopped showing up to group study sessions. Stopped responding to your messages. Left early from lunch. Didn't make eye contact in the hall.

You told yourself he was just busy. That midterms had fried his brain. That he'd drop a deadpan one-liner in your DMs any second now.

He didn't.

When you finally cornered Baku and asked what was going on, he just shrugged — unconvincingly.

And so, armed with indignation and mild sleep deprivation, you found Si-eun after school, outside the campus gates, hoodie up, hands in pockets, looking like a ghost of himself.

"You’re avoiding me," you said.

His eyes flicked up. Then away. "No, I'm not."

"You are." You laughed — humorless. "Jesus, Si-eun, at least lie with conviction."

He was quiet for a beat. He exhaled quietly, "I thought you might want space."

"From you?"

"You looked uncomfortable. Last time. When I said… all that."

You stared. Mouth open. Head buzzing.

"That’s why?" you whispered. “You thought I was uncomfortable?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. "You didn't say anything. So, I figured I'd made things weird."

You exhaled, slow. Almost a laugh. Almost a scream.

"You idiot," you said, soft.

He flinched — just slightly. Gazing up with his eyes, 'god damn his eyes, were they always this beautiful?'

You looked away before your voice could crack. "You didn't make it weird. I did. I didn't know what to say, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to say something."

He didn't answer.

The wind was cold. The sky was turning gray, like it couldn't make up its mind.

You looked at him again.

"You always do that," you said. "Assume how people feel and then act like it's confirmed data."

"It's easier than asking."

"Well, maybe next time, ask."

He looked at you then.

Like he heard you for the first time.

But still, he didn't move. And neither did you.

The moment passed like a train that didn't stop.

You both walked away feeling like you’d missed something important.

Because you had.

◎◎⫘◎◎

1. It didn't happen at some climactic hour, in some big cinematic way.

There was no rainstorm this time, no bruised hallway lighting, no tension humming between the inches of silence.

Just a classroom. Late. Empty. Gold evening light spilling sideways through the windows, dust drifting in slow motion. The kind of warmth that didn't burn — just sat in your bones like an old memory.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep.

You'd only meant to rest your eyes. Just for a second. But the warmth got to you — the sunlight, the still air, the safety of a quiet room without anyone needing anything from you. You drifted.

When you opened your eyes again, Si-eun was there.

Sitting on a chair beside the desk. Back against the wall. Book in his lap. Head tilted slightly toward you.

Not watching. Just being.

Your first instinct was to speak. Crack a joke. Break the softness with your usual deflection.

But for once, you didn't. You just looked at him. Let the quiet stretch.

He closed the book.

"Bad dream?" he asked, voice like a whisper folded in linen.

You blinked the sleep out of your eyes. "Not really. Just... weird."

A pause.

"Felt like I was floating."

He nodded. Like he understood.

You sat up slowly, wincing a little at the crick in your neck.

He reached into his bag and passed you a water bottle without a word.

You took it. Sipped.

He didn't fill the silence. He didn't shrink from it either. Just sat there with you, like he had nowhere else to be, no one else to become in that moment.

And then—"Thank you," you said.

He looked at you, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "For what?"

"For... not leaving."

It came out so softly you weren't sure it even reached him.

But his eyes held yours, steady.

You took in his eyes, his eyes were a study in contradiction — sharp in thought, but soft in shape, always watching like they were learning you in real time. Slightly wide, dark, and quietly luminous, like they held whole libraries of things left unsaid. They didn’t flicker much when he spoke — they lingered, honest in a way his voice never quite managed.

And when he looked at you, really looked, it felt like standing barefoot in the middle of something sacred.

Like silence could be tender. Like you could finally stop explaining yourself. Those eyes didn’t ask for words. They just understood.

Then he added, not quickly, but like it had been waiting:

"I wasn't going to."

Nothing more. No sudden hand grabs, no confessions, no dizzying declarations. Just that.

For the first time, there was nothing to correct. Nothing to fix.

You both stayed there. In the gold-lit quiet. In the stillness that didn't ask for answers. Just presence.

And this time — finally — you both understood.

◎◎⫘◎◎

2. It was dark by the time the rooftop emptied out.

The others had gone. Baku, Gotak, Juntae— loud footsteps, louder laughter, the crunch of snack wrappers left behind. The kind of after-school chaos that made everything feel alive. But now it was quiet. That dusky, hush-hour kind of quiet, where even the wind didn't bother to speak.

You stayed behind to clean up. He stayed behind for... something else.

Neither of you said it.

Si-eun was leaning against the railing, hood pulled halfway up, hair catching in the breeze. You were stacking drink cans into neat, metallic towers and pretending not to feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

"You always do that," he said.

You blinked. "Do what?"

"Stay behind. Fix things no one notices."

You smiled — crooked, tired. "Someone has to."

Silence again. Not heavy. Just full.

"I used to think I was fine alone," he said. Quiet. Almost to himself. "That being alone meant being safe. That silence meant control."

You straightened. Slowly.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept talking, eyes on the horizon where the sky bled orange into navy.

"But it’s not quiet when you're gone. It's louder. It’s—"

He cut himself off. Bit his lip. Exhaled sharp.

You waited.

"I don't know how to say it right," he admitted.

"You don’t have to."

"I want to," he said. "I—"

He turned then. Finally looked at you.

"I think about you. All the time. In the middle of things that don’t matter. Like math problems and weather reports and the noise in the hallway. You just show up. In my head."

Your throat tightened.

He stepped forward — one pace. No more.

"If you asked me what we are," he said, "I don't have the word. But I know what I want it to be."

You didn't breathe.

"-and if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I'll try to not think of it" His voice cracked slightly, "But I don't want to keep pretending this is nothing."

You looked at him.

"I feel it too."

He smiled.

Actually smiled.

Not the polite curl of the corners of his lips he wore in passing, but the real one, the one that came slow and reluctant, like it wasn't used to being let out. It broke across his face like sunlight through fog, fleeting and precious, the kind of thing you only caught if you were paying attention.

Now that it happened, everything softened: the edges of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the guarded quiet in his eyes. It was a smile that felt like a secret, like you’d been trusted with something he didn’t give away easily. A quiet admission that, for a moment, he let himself feel joy — and let you see it.

And in that soft rooftop dark, with cans clinking quietly in your hands and the wind threading through your sleeves, you realized something simple:

There was no misunderstanding anymore.

There was just you.

And him.

And everything you hadn’t said — finally, beautifully heard.

◎◎⫘◎◎

@mournaeve 2025, I don't allow translations or reposting of my work however reblogging is fine :)

[dreamersparacosm]

i just want to see jk's reaction when he found out our girlie INDEED got mingyu and she had him really good for ck in the drabbles tyvm lol

tpod!jk the kinda man to pout bc some man called his girl pretty.. which like, yeah, you are pretty but no need to vocalize it. hence why i am apart of the Jungkook Is A Jealous Man™️ club (i’m the president, actually.)

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 4!

prompt ; in which jungkook rethinks his friendship with mingyu (unprovoked)

warnings ; none!

It had come randomly one day.

You were working from Jungkook’s house — the unofficial branch of Calvin Klein’s global operations, if anyone asked — fully drowning in deadlines. Two laptops open, an iPad balanced precariously on your knee. Phone wedged between your shoulder and ear while you typed notes with one hand and crammed bites of cold noodles into your mouth with the other.

Three negotiations deep, sleep deprived, and running purely on caffeine and hubris, you had hopped on a “quick Zoom call” — a phrase that, historically, only ever led to disaster — and before you knew it, it was done.

Mingyu had finally become the face of the next Calvin Klein seasonal campaign.

You were so excited you nearly flung your laptop across Jungkook’s living room, barely managing to set it down before launching yourself at him in a flurry of screaming and celebratory laps around the couch.

Notably, he was not a happy camper.

At first, you thought he was just stunned or maybe a little proud (after all, you had just secured another kpop megastar, one of the most marketable faces in Asia, without even breaking a sweat.)

But then you caught him, side-eyeing your laptop and typing furiously on his phone, thumb jabbing at the screen like he was plotting a war crime.

Later, you found out from Yoongi, after another delicious session of judging people , that Jungkook had in fact texted Mingyu immediately. Something about “just so you know, she’s my girlfriend, so be chill.”

Whatever that meant.

(You tried to be mad about it for like three seconds until Jungkook shoved his face into your neck that night and mumbled “I just don’t want anyone thinking they have a chance with you,” and you, like an absolute fool, melted into the floor.)

All that to say — Jungkook is still not a happy camper a few weeks later, which becomes especially apparent the day he decides to visit you on set out of the goodness of his allegedly supportive boyfriend heart.

In theory, he’s there to support you, support his friend, Mingyu.

In practice, he looks like he’s about two seconds away from committing a crime of passion the moment he steps onto the parking lot you’ve all turned into a fashion set.

You spot him instantly — leaning against a brick wall, arms crossed, hoodie hanging loose around his frame. Raising your brow at him, you mouth behave like you’re scolding a petulant child.

His reaction to that is to tighten his arms across his chest and glare harder. Like you said.. petulant child.

Meanwhile, Mingyu is currently shirtless in nothing but Calvin Klein denim, all rock-hard abs and charming smiles, laughing at something the photographer said.

You turn back to your clipboard, trying to focus on work but out of the corner of your eye, you can practically feel Jungkook’s soul trying to claw its way out of his body.

He manages to hold out for another ten minutes before he finally snaps. Jungkook materializes at your side like a dark, sulking storm cloud, sliding next to you with all the grace of a man moments from murdering his friend.

“Jungkook…” You sigh.

“I didn’t say anything,” He mutters.

You glance at him; the man is slouching, hood up now too, looking like the grim reaper of jealousy. A sigh leaves your mouth, shaking your head to hide your laughter before prompting your assistant to ask to adjust the monitor’s brightness.

“He’s doing a good job,” You offer casually as if dangling bait in front of an animal.

“Sure,” he grits out. “Great job. Fantastic. Real groundbreaking stuff.”

You bite your lip, fighting a smile. On screen, Mingyu grins, turning slightly to show off the curve of his back muscles, Calvin Klein waistband sitting low on his hips.

Jungkook physically recoils at the sight like he’s been slapped.

He turns to you slowly, betrayal written all over his stupidly pretty face. “You think he’s better than me?” he pouts.

You shrug and taunt him, “I mean, yeah. A little.”

“You made me retire from Calvin Klein and then gave my job to Mingyu,” His eyes narrow into crinkled slits.

“I didn’t make you retire,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “You completed your campaign. Very successfully, might I add. And now you’re my personal boy toy forever. Congratulations.”

Jungkook scowls at you. You just grin in return unapologetically.

Across the set, Mingyu is pointing at the shots on the screen, deep in thought with the photographer and Jungkook visibly stiffens.

You lean over, crowding his personal space. “You wanna take your shirt off and show him who’s boss?”

“I will if I have to.”

You laugh at that, and Jungkook can only stand there, glowering at the man wearing the underwear he thinks he invented, while you watch with all the satisfaction of a true marketing genius.

At the end of the day, Mingyu might be the new face of Calvin Klein.

But you… you’re all Jungkook’s.

And no amount of glistening ab shots is ever going to change that.

masterlist + ask

[cherrybr4t]

hoshi as your boyfriend (+18)

(sfw + nsfw)

warnings: first half is all FLUFF <3 nsfw part included too! dancer!hoshi, dancer!reader, fem reader, unprotected sex 😔, public sex, creampie, mirror sex, orgasm denial + edging, they r in luv! <3

boyfriend!soonyoung who’s the school’s infamous dance captain, while you’re a member of the dance club. that’s how the both of you met.

boyfriend!soonyoung who was known to be a dynamic ball of energy, but with you — he was so shy initially. thought you were too pretty to approach, thought you looked out of reach. took him a while to be able to be friends with you.

boyfriend!soonyoung finally had the balls to confess to you after working on a dance project with you for 2 months. impulsive 2am thoughts and a slip of the tongue while the both of you were slurping down cup noodles after practice.

“—so yeah jihoon wouldn’t stop making fun of me, especially about my crush on you and—”

“what?”

“…what did i say?”

boyfriend!soonyoung who’s superrr clingy. even if it’s a separate practice session for team projects within the dance club, he’s gonna be at yours. sitting at the back, the front, beside the mirrors — wherever. (and it makes the juniors/other members nervous as HELL)

boyfriend!soonyoung who gets pouty when you tell him not to show up all the time — “it intimidates the rest!” but he promises to not be noticed the next time; cue him going to your next practice in a ball cap and mask, sitting at the back corner.

boyfriend!soonyoung who is always willing to help and guide you patiently. (though he is always impatient and scary with the other team members) with you though — he can never lose his temper at you. every mistake you make causes him to giggle like you’re the cutest thing ever.

“you’re so cute baby,”

you pout “i’m sorry baby… i can’t seem to get this even though i’ve done it like - 20 times.”

“it’s okay baby, you’re doing so well. doing better than dino even.”

you tilt your head…”that’s impossible”

“i’ll happily watch you practice it a 100 times angel,”

boyfriend!soonyoung who’s your biggest supporter. he’s your biggest fan. after every performance, he never fails to gift you the biggest & most dramatic bouquet of flowers with a little tiger plushie in the middle. with the longest heartfelt letter sealed in a tiger print envelope.

boyfriend!soonyoung who feels so lucky to have you. because if you think he’s dramatic? you’re even MORE dramatic. customised tiger gifts for him, an even bigger bouquet of flowers for him, and the cutest love letter he has pinned on his board at home.

boyfriend!soonyoung who is always your biggest defender. anytime he hears people talking shit about you — he’s immediate to thrash things out with them. always reminds people how hardworking you are, and loves to talk about you to everyone he knows.

“she’s the prettiest, kindest, purest soul i’ve ever met. and have you seen her dance? swear she’s better than me.”

“she’s the best. i don’t know how i got so lucky to love someone like her.”

boyfriend!soonyoung who loves using not only words of affirmation, he loves his quality time with you, he loves feeling your touch all the time, and he’s the best at acts of service.

“i love you baby. i’ll never get tired of telling you how amazing you are. i’m so happy we got to exist in the same universe timeline, like—” *him rambling and getting distracted by the theories about different universe timelines*

*him always planning the most thought out dates — full day itinerary; at the zoo, pottery dates, etc. but he loves spending his down time with you too — sitting at home, putting on animal print face masks together, doing feet baths together.*

he always needs to hold your hand — doesn’t want to lose you in the crowd (though the crowd on tuesdays at the mall seems to be…bleak). hugs with him lasts at least 10 minutes at a time, and naps with him end up with him hugging you like a koala bear on a tree.

hungry at 2am? he’s at your door within 15 with your favourite late night snack. on your period? he’s got a full care pack covered. late for class? he’s already sitting in your lecture hall; attendance marked for you, taking down notes for you.

nsfw version here!

boyfriend!soonyoung who found out he had a thing for exhibitionism one night while the both of you were practicing late in the dance studio.

you were practicing your moves, concentration at a 100% while looking at yourself in the mirror. and he couldn’t help but feel a little turned out by how hard you were dancing. sweaty, flushed and so so pretty.

the song switches — and you snap your head towards soonyoung. he walks towards you in beat with the sensual song, before wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“follow my guide baby,” he sways, holding onto you so tight. he traces your arms, interlocking both hands with you — flowing with the music while his eyes never left yours in the mirror.

“you’re so sexy baby. love the way you move,” he breathes down your neck, eyes shutting for less than a second before he focuses on you again.

you hum, hips moving against his crotch as you feel yourself get heated up as the song progresses. “learned it all from you baby,” your giggle snaps him out of his deep reverie.

“getting bold now are we?”

boyfriend!soonyoung loves how you’re always down to explore new boundaries with him. he knows the deep trust goes both ways, and he’s grateful.

boyfriend!soonyoung loves when you get all needy for him. it’s usually him being all clingy and like a baby when it comes to you. you’re his safe space. so when he sees you being all wide eyed and desperate for him — it turns him on to no end.

he’s a menace. when it comes to fucking you, he’s double the menace. gets off on you being his needy little angel. no one would ever guess what goes on behind closed doors when it comes to him.

he’s edged you for the past 30 minutes, your juices tainting the dance floor that’s only seen blood sweat and tears of the dancers. his smile is sinister, is relishing in the fact that he’s holding the key to your heaven gates at the moment.

loves to have you in front of him sitting right in front of the mirror. the big and wide mirror capturing the indecent act. your legs wide open for him as his fingers alternate between rubbing messily and harshly on your clit, and plunging deep into your his cunt.

wants you to come undone on his fingers and torture alone.

but he’s selfish, only wants to achieve what he’d set to do so earlier. and it’s for you to cum on his cock. he sits on the floor with his pretty cock out in the open, and has you in the same position, except now you’re sitting on his cock — deep inside you. all still facing the mirror where his gaze is locked on every move you make.

“that’s it baby, ride my cock like you fucking mean it yeah?”

“training you to have strong legs baby, you need them to continue to dance amazingly right?”

you cry out at the overstimulation, you want nothing but to cum. every hit his cock makes chokes you and you don’t recognise the girl in the mirror anymore — so wrecked on your boyfriend’s cock.

“tell me what you need pretty girl,” soonyoung teases as he leans back on his hands, enjoying the view in the mirror, hiding how fucked out he feels. how he is so close to cumming right inside of you this very moment. but he’s holding back. he’s got better control than that anyways.

“need to—need to cum nowww soonie, please baby,” tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you continue to ride him, pace faltering as you feel your legs getting tired.

“if you can cum like that, be my guest baby. cum.” he shrugs, and you notice the glint in his devilish gaze through the mirror. you groan, legs giving out on you and you resort to grinding slowly.

“need you to—need you to help me,” you pout, if acting cute won’t get you what you want, you don’t know what else to try.

“baby needs my help? can’t cum on her own? aw baby.” he pouts back at you, and you want so badly to snap at him at his tone but you know better than to do so.

“on your knees, face the mirror. won’t tell you twice.” and all energy resurfaces as you scurry to go on all fours, looking at how desperate you appear through the mirror — your reflection mocking you.

soonyoung grunts in approval. slides his cock right back into you, and thanks the heavens for you. for being able to take you like this. swears you look like an angel even being so fucked out on the dance floor, back being blown out.

“so fucking pretty like this baby, how do you always look so fucking beautiful,” he snaps his hips so deep into you with a certain tempo, and you feel like you’re ascending to heaven each time he fucks his cock into you.

his fingers reach forward to smack your puffy clit, using the tip of his fingers to rub messily, finally deciding to let his angel cum.

“c-can’t—gonna cum—i’m gonna cum gonna cum” you cry out with a hoarse throat with actual tears running down your flushed cheeks this time. your hands reach back to grab onto his biceps, nails plunging in, and it drives him crazy.

“you can cum baby, cum on your fucking cock—cream it baby let me feel you—” you clench around him so tight he lets out a string of ‘fucks’. you fall forward, face flat — cheeks pressed on the dance floor, letting your body do the job of releasing the past hour of edging. all tension let loose, you moan out his name so beautifully as you cream and choke his cock with your cunt.

“fuck fuck fuck baby, gonna cum too. gonna cum inside you pretty, fuuuuuck—” his grip on your hips tighten as he releases his creamy load inside of you. airy moans leaving his chest as he lets his cock paint your cunt as his.

he slows down his thrusts, letting the mixture of your releases mix together slowly. you both slowly relish in the moment of your bodies connecting, feeling nothing but love left.

boyfriend!soonyoung who’s always taking care of you — including after care! loves praising you non stop, leaving trails of kisses everywhere. post-nut clarity hits differently for him — where he always tells himself that he wants to be yours forever.

boyfriend!soonyoung who’s not only the best boyfriend, the best lover but also your best friend and the one person you’re most thankful for in the world ! <3

a/n: haha…was in a hoshi mood…<3 GAH. i hope u guys liked it ! typed this all in one go while thinking abt hoshi n him being the bestest boy ever.

[kittenisstarstruck]

Sick Days

How these sweethearts would take care of you when you get sick. Posting because i've been fighting the worst illness of my life and I need an outlet.

KUROO:

You barely register the sound of the front door shutting. Your head is heavy against the back of the sofa, wrapped in a cocoon of fleece and tissues and general misery. A sniffle escapes you before you can suppress it, and then—

“Hey, kitten.” Kuroo’s voice is warm, like the first few rays of sunlight through your curtains. “Still feeling like death’s less charming cousin?”

You don’t bother answering. Just nod weakly, snuggled deeper into your blanket. The TV plays some quiet background show you’re not paying attention to, more for noise than actual entertainment. He doesn’t ask again—he gets it.

A few minutes later, he’s kneeling in front of the coffee table, carefully ladling soup from a pot into your favorite chipped ceramic mug—the one with a little black cat on it. He holds it out to you, already blowing gently over the top.

“Made you the miso soup you like. The one with tofu and those seaweed things you like even though they’re kind of weird.”

You take the mug with both hands, letting the steam soothe your raw nose. “Thanks,” you croak.

Kuroo watches you like a scientist waiting for an experiment to confirm his theory. When you finally take a small sip and don’t immediately grimace, he relaxes.

“There we go. That’s the stuff, huh?”

You nod. The warmth of the broth spreads slowly through your chest, and for the first time all day, you don’t want to crawl out of your own skin.

He reaches over with a thumb and swipes at your mouth. “Soup casualty,” he murmurs, inspecting his fingertip like it’s part of the job. “Can’t have my patient getting soup stains on my couch.”

You blink at him, a little dazed. “I thought this couch was already ruined from that time you spilled ramen.”

Kuroo grins, entirely unrepentant. “That was character-building for the couch.”

You try to smirk, but it turns into a cough. Instantly, he’s pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, tucking it gently under your chin like he’s wrapping a fragile parcel.

“You’re alright,” he says softly. “Just need rest. And more soup.”

You lean your head on the back of the sofa again, soup cradled against your chest. He sits down next to you, close enough for his thigh to press against yours, radiating that particular Kuroo warmth.

In a world that feels a little foggier, a little heavier today, Kuroo still manages to make things feel lighter. Sweeter.

Even the soup.

KENMA:

It’s raining outside, just enough to blur the windows, just enough to make the world feel far away. You’re nestled into the corner of the couch, swaddled in a blanket so thick it’s starting to feel like a cocoon. Your head is heavy, your throat aches, and nothing tastes right—not even the tea Kenma made you earlier.

You hear the soft tap of bare feet against the wood floors before you see him. He’s holding a small bowl of soup with both hands like it’s something precious.

“I didn’t know what kind you’d want,” he says, voice quiet like he’s afraid of disturbing you. “So I made the one my mom used to make me when I was sick. It’s... kind of simple. Just broth, noodles, a soft-boiled egg.”

You blink at him from your pile of blankets. “Sounds perfect.”

Kenma kneels beside the couch, placing the bowl on a small tray. Then, wordlessly, he helps you sit up, adjusting the blanket so it doesn’t fall off your shoulders. You murmur something that might be “thank you,” or maybe it’s just a tired sigh. He hands you the bowl and watches as you take a slow, tentative sip.

You hum quietly. “Warm.”

Kenma nods like that’s all he was hoping for.

But then you feel it—the tiniest drip of broth escaping the corner of your mouth. Before you can grab a tissue, he’s already leaning in, thumb brushing delicately over your skin.

“Got it,” he says, eyes still on your face, thumb lingering just a moment too long.

You blink at him. “You’re being really gentle.”

He shrugs, sitting back on his heels. “You look like you’d break if I poked you too hard.”

Despite everything, you smile. “Flattering.”

Kenma doesn’t smile back, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders again, tucking it in like you’re something he wants to keep warm and safe.

“I paused our game,” he murmurs. “I can keep playing solo if you want background noise. Or I can just stay here.”

“Stay,” you say, without thinking.

He doesn’t move. Just leans against the couch, close enough for your foot to brush his leg through the blanket.

You take another slow sip of soup.

In a fevered, foggy world, Kenma doesn’t ask you to feel better right away. He just stays, warm and quiet, until the soup is gone and your eyes start to drift shut. And even then, he doesn’t move.

LEV:

Your bedroom feels like a cave—dark, warm, and completely sealed off from the outside world. The blinds are half-closed, and your phone’s been untouched for hours. All you can do is lie there under too many blankets, alternating between being freezing and sweating, your head stuffed with cotton and your throat sore enough to make even a whisper feel like effort.

And then—

CLANG.

Something crashes in the kitchen.

You groan. Loudly.

A few seconds later, Lev pokes his head through your bedroom door. His silver hair is fluffed from rushing around, and he’s wearing an apron you don’t even remember owning. “Hi!” he says like he’s just come home from a long day and not like he’s been loudly destroying your kitchen.

“Are you… okay?” you croak, eyeing him like he might be carrying another metal pot behind his back.

“Better question is: are you okay?” he says, dramatically making his way over to your side. “You look kind of like a sad burrito. A sick-rito.”

You blink at him slowly. “Lev…”

“I know, I know. I’m not proud of that one.”

He sits carefully on the edge of the bed like you’re made of glass. In his hands is a bowl—some kind of soup. He holds it out to you like an offering. “I made you chicken soup. Kind of. It’s mostly broth and noodles and a suspiciously cube-shaped chicken I found in the freezer. But I tried really hard.”

You reach for it, but your hands are shaky. He notices, of course, because he’s watching you way too closely.

“Wait—no, don’t move. I’ll feed you. I got this.”

“I can—” you start, but he’s already sitting closer, blowing gently over the spoon like it’s something sacred. He raises it to your lips, one hand steadying your back.

You take a sip. It’s… not bad. A little salty. Very warm. Weirdly comforting.

“You’re not dying, right?” he asks, watching for your reaction.

You shake your head weakly. “Not yet.”

Lev grins. “Nice. Because if you die, I’d have to keep your plants alive, and we both know that’s not happening.”

You snort—then cough. He panics instantly, putting the bowl down and grabbing a tissue with so much force it tears in half.

Once you’ve stopped coughing, he tucks the blanket back up under your chin, brushing hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle hand. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says, softer now. “You’ve got me. And soup. Mostly me, though.”

Your body aches, your nose is stuffed, and your brain feels like it’s been microwaved. But Lev is here, fussing over you with his weird soup and his lopsided apron and his warm hands.

And for the first time since this miserable flu took you down, you feel just a little bit better.

MORISUKE:

You don’t even remember texting him.

You just know that when your shift ended, and you slumped against the wall near the entrance of your workplace, head pounding and vision swimming, your phone slipped from your fingers—and the next time you looked up, Yaku was there.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes one look at you—damp forehead, pale face, sagging shoulders—and makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

“You should’ve called me earlier,” he says, not unkindly, but with that sharp-edged tone that always means he’s more worried than he’s letting on.

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” you mumble, voice like sandpaper.

Yaku raises an eyebrow as he opens the passenger door of his car and gently—gently—helps you in. “You think driving home half-conscious isn’t more of a bother?”

You blink up at him. “I wasn’t gonna drive. Just rest for a minute. Then maybe nap on the sidewalk.”

“That’s not the win you think it is,” he mutters, buckling you in.

By the time you make it home, your fever’s spiked and your limbs feel like they’re filled with wet cement. Yaku helps you inside with a firm arm around your waist, guiding you straight to the bed with no room for argument.

You think he leaves—but you’re not sure, because you blink and suddenly he’s back, slipping your shoes off with careful fingers.

“Soup’s on the stove. You’re not allowed to die before it’s done,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your forehead.

You try to joke, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “It’s a please don’t scare me like that again, is what it is.”

Ten minutes later, he returns with a tray—tea, a warm towel for your forehead, and soup in a mug with a little crab on the side. He doesn't hover, but you can feel him near—watching your breathing, checking how much you drink, adjusting your blanket when you shift.

You whisper, “You're good at this.”

Yaku shrugs. “I’ve had to patch up plenty of idiots after volleyball practice. You're just my favorite one.”

Your heart flutters despite the flu.

He sits on the edge of the bed once you're settled, brushing a thumb over your temple. “Next time, just call me right away. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the day or if I’m in the middle of something. You’re not supposed to be out there pushing through this alone.”

You manage a weak smile. “Yes, Nurse Yaku.”

His lips twitch. “Damn right.”

And even though your head still aches and your throat still burns, the pain dulls a little—because Yaku is here, and you’re warm, and the soup tastes just a little better with him beside you.

[andorappreciation]

There have been times where the struggle seemed impossible... Together, unrested, daunted by the lack of news or trailer, we have waited…and waited…

But the day has finally come when all these edits and drawings, these metas and fics…will help the Andor fandom countdown to the Season 2 premiere!

Sunday, April 6th to Thursday, 17th (ahead of all the Star Wars Celebration excitement) @andorappreciation will be hosting 12 Days of Andor: a fandom-wide event celebrating our resilient, creative, talented community and the long-anticipated return of our favorite rebellious show.

Prompts

April 6th, Day One: Networks Either Change or Die Dive into the interconnectedness of this complex narrative. Find the ties that bind characters, factions, and plots. Parallels, theses, and themes… obvious or unhinged, make your case!  Alternate Prompts: Symbolism || Elements

April 7th, Day Two: Everyone Has Their Own Rebellion Themes, politics, messaging--there were many reasons for Andor’s success, but chief among them was what the show had to say, both about our world and the world of Star Wars. Examine Nemik’s Manifesto, or offer your own treatise on Luthen’s methodology, but whatever you do, don’t lose your nerve! Alternate Prompts: Underrated Quotes/Dialogue || Sacrifice

April 8th, Day Three: I Show You the Stone in My Hand, You'll Miss the Knife at Your Throat Mon Mothma was speaking for more than just herself here– dualities and split identities are a throughline in Andor. Whether it’s Vel Sartha playing as the spoiled rich girl or Lonnie Jung literally posing as a double agent within the ISB, explore the world of deception and the webs of lies that hold the Rebellion and the Empire together. Alternate Prompts: Underrated Scenes || Ambiguity

April 9th, Day Four: Kill Me, Or Take Me In The last words of the first season, uttered by the show’s protagonist. With this ominous bargain, we were all left to speculate wildly about the upcoming second and final season. Here’s your chance to share those theories and predictions, from the most sound hypothesis to the crackiest wish fulfillment!  Alternate Prompts: Penultimate Moments || Death

April 10th, Day Five: They Don't Even Think About Us But we bet you do right? Everyone has their own rebellion, yes, but everyone also has their very own Glup Shitto. Are you a Time Grappler Stan? A Blue Noodle boy? Show your love for your Andor Shittos!  Alternate Prompts: Underrated Side Characters || Nature

April 11th, Day Six: That's Just Love...Nothing You Can Do About That Just like with every good story, the relationships among the characters are what draw us in and keep us hooked. Whether it’s a fraught love story or a complex connection between mother and son, Andor is rife with intricate interpersonal relations and, ultimately, a hell of a lot of love. Share your feelings about the relationships you find most compelling!  Alternate Prompts: Doomed by the Narrative || Echoes

April 12th, Day Seven: We Are Healthcare Providers Are you fascinated by the crushing bureaucracy of the ISB? The ponderous gears of the Imperial war machine? Do you simply love Dedra Meero and think she's neat? Share your thoughts about the Empire and the unique way that Andor explores the banality of evil! Alternate Prompts: Character Arcs || Morality

April 13th, Day Eight: "Pilgrim" Are you the biggest Nicolas Britell fan ever? Have you memorized every interview with Denise Gough? Have you watched everything Diego Luna is in? Show your appreciation for the incredible cast and crew that make this show come to life!  Alternate Prompts: Favorite Quotes about the show || Behind the Scenes

April 14th, Day Nine: Pockets, Piping, Some Light… Tailoring From the rich costumes to the lavish sets, Andor gave us some truly sumptuous designs to sink our teeth into. Explore the details of costumes, sets or both!  Alternate Prompt: Hidden Details || Colors

April 15th, Day Ten: Peezos… The Greenie Green Ones Run up to Arkie’s and pick up some shit posts! Just make sure you don’t look like ‘you’re a part of it’. Alternate Prompts: Favorites (episodes, characters, etc) || Humor

April 16th, Day Eleven: You’re My Ideal Reader Have a fic that you just love? A gifset that you stare at until your eyes water? A manifesto with not enough circulation (in your opinion)? Spread the love and recommend your favorite metas, edits, fan art, podcasts, gif sets, fics, whatever you’d like!  Alternate Prompt: Alternate Universe || Time

April 17th, Day Twelve: ONE WAY OUT!  You’re free! Hopefully you can swim! AKA: Dealer's choice || Free Day

How It Works

We have included multiple prompts for each day to provide optimal opportunities for fan work creators of all kinds. Pick a prompt and create to your heart’s content! When the day arrives, post your work!

Feel free to tag us @andorappreciation! We will also be tracking #12DaysofAndor2025

Do’s & Don’t’s

DO

Have fun, be creative and follow us for all the glorious content!

Please reblog!

Pop some peezos. The greenie green ones!

DON’T

Repost work that is not yours or work without credit

Post work without proper tagging/warnings

Post offensive material including non-con or bigotry

Any questions, concerns, or clarifications can be submitted via ask.

Sincerely,

@andorappreciation

ALL CREDIT FOR THE INCREDIBLE CASSIAN BANNER AND B2 DIVIDERS GOES TO LOVELY MOD @ninsletamain

[gonetoforks]

art of my oc, Salai from months ago.

More info abt how he’s drawn and why under the cut lol

I got the idea for him from a (mostly debunked) theory that underneath the Mona Lisa is a painting of Da Vinci’s assistant, whose nickname was Salai. I thought “hey, that sounds like salamander!” and the coincidence was too good to pass up. And so he became Salai; hiding underneath the name of Y’gthba.

I also wanted to split the scientist 87 Mona (who imo is a bit too old for Raph) and the burly soldier Mona into their own characters, so I made up a story for him about family, his sister Y’gthba, meant to parallel Raph but from the perspective of the youngest of a group of siblings so they would have something in common but also something different.

He’s built like a cooked penne noodle lol. Earlier design sketches were more tame, like there could feasibly be a human walking around in a costume under there, but I thought it looked weird, boring & not really “Rise-y” enough. So I looked for character sheets of side characters, villains, hidden city civilians, etc and realized they all looked kinda zany and ridiculous, and fun!

The proportions I landed on are important so he can go on all fours and scuttle and skitter around on walls and whatnot. He needs to be able to go creature mode. The scuttlability is very important. Although he ended up kinda balancing his weight between his legs and his tail like a tripod lol

[terminuslucis]

If lil silver can handle ghost possessions, what about stuff like hypnosis? (Not counting Jamil’s snake whisper/charmer in book 4)

One might think that his ability to be possessed would also mean he's easily hypnotized, but it's actually the opposite.

This is something I've been thinking about when considering how he'd change the main story. In short: Jamil's magic looks like very pretty mood lighting when attempting to use his spell. Rather than being manipulated, Little Silver agreed because he's a nice boy who was kind of bored during the vacation.

My silly little guy has a pretty strange constitution and it's been very difficult to figure out the rules of his abilities. His lack of awareness hasn't made things any easier.

Possession of his body: yes, easy-peasy. Go forth and conquer his physical form, ghosties. The world is your oyster, so long as you don't mind having weak noodle limbs and the intimidation factor of a kitten. Manipulation of his mind or actions: nope. No chance. Attempts to influence him bounce off without a care in the world, and he doesn't even know they've been made.

The difference in these behaviors has caused his friends no end of grief and raised a fair number of questions.

Possession of his body results in the suppression of his consciousness. Does that count as manipulation? Not according to the rules that govern mind control...probably.

Does intent or source matter? His school back home isn't exactly rich with hypnotists, so they don't have many people to test with. All they know is that malicious entities have possessed him and that one guy with mild mind control meant no harm when trying to make him buy everyone drinks.

Is it a matter of relative strength? He's been possessed by some pretty flimsy spirits, so that's probably not the case.

Terry and Philip have come up with some unsubstantiated theories. Philip's idea is that possession is a result of his empathy combined with a sensitivity to death, both of which are unusually high. This results in a very particular vulnerability in his otherwise airtight psychic shielding.

Terry's theory is that he is allowing spirits to possess him, albeit unconsciously. For whatever reason, he is actively lowering his defenses in the presence of spirits in order to, perhaps, help them resolve whatever problems they have.

Of course, nobody really understands his powers enough to back these ideas up. The boys will keep throwing thoughts at the wall until something makes sense.

[cartoonus-maximus]

So I'm still watching playthroughs and haven't seen the end results of the "moon.exe" game, but so far the main thought I have is that Edwin programmed this game to be about David, and he specifically programmed it as a way to teach M2 how to act like David.

It's Edwin coding an AI, but using a PC game to do it.

I don't know if that makes sense to read, but I'll try to expand on it later after I get some sleep.

EDIT: I HAVE CHANGED MY MIND, BUT ALSO EXPANDED ON THIS. Please check the reblogs if you're interested.

[yowlthinks]

The Final 15: Aziraphale's decision matrix in a no-choice situation

I have been thinking and reading about what happened since season 2 came out, and I think I have finally been able to put it all down into a logical sequence. This meta is the result of both countless posts I have read on tumblr and my own thoughts.

But let us start from the beginning, which is essentially Metatron's offer:

Notice how Aziraphale consistently declines the honour, as Metatron keeps pressing. When he says that Aziraphale is the perfect choice he also mentions that Aziraphale "is a leader, is honest and doesn't just tell people what they want to hear", which is of course a lie and they both know it. Initially, Aziraphale can't deny it because he can't just go "well, actually, I have been doing exactly that, stretching the truth in my reports and on a few notable occasions outright lying to my superiors and even God Herself". So he deflects to "where will I get my coffee?", preferring to highlight his attachment to Earth. In response to that Metatron makes his final move: he knows about Aziraphale's partnership with Crowley, and that means he knows about the lies.

This threat to Crowley gets Aziraphale to the following decision matrix:

Telling Crowley about the threat is useless. Aziraphale knows he will suggest running away together, and that puts them both in danger. Similarly, running away alone / hiding Aziraphale will not be a good move either because Metatron will not hesitate to harm Crowley and use him as a bait for Aziraphale.

So this means that Aziraphale's best option is not telling Crowley about the threat and persuading him to come with Aziraphale, his second best being going alone. Both of these offer best safety guarantees for Crowley, and this is something Aziraphale would not compromise on.

So our angel launches into this entire speech about making a difference. These are the only arguments he can come up with on the fly regarding why he took the position (the position he does not want! At a place he does not want to go back to!). And he is terrified that Metatron will come back and he won't be able to finish this conversation, won't be able to persuade Crowley. Add to this the fact that Crowley is clearly trying to have an important conversation with him too. A conversation they would like to have in private, but which Aziraphale knows can be interrupted at any moment. That's why he tries to stop Crowley, that's why he is constantly glancing out of the window.

Aziraphale is angry and frustrated, but this is mostly anger at Metatron who put him into this position, at the unfairness of it all, at himself for not being able to get Crowley to agree. It is the despair that just when Crowley confesses his love, instead of being able to say "I love you" back, he has to swallow it down again. Aziraphale's "I forgive you" is "I forgive you for not trusting me to make the best choice for us both", "I forgive you for not agreeing to go with me, I understand why you declined". And this aligns neatly with the theory about the Nightingale song in the car being a message from Aziraphale: it is his way of saying "I love you, I chose you, I chose our side, and that’s why I had to go".

And you know what? Crowley is a clever noodle and he knows Aziraphale well, so he will figure it out, he will spot this out of character, under-duress-only style of decision-making and start untangling that mystery.

We all know how it ends, and I can't wait to see it!

UPD: to put the above in perspective, see this meta with graphs!

[starberry-cupcake]

I'm back too soon, I'm sorry, I didn't let the last recap marinate enough and that's never a good idea because you can't keep up BUT WE'RE DONE WITH DAY FOUR!!!

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag, for the uninitiated

CHAPTER 18 (eight house????? mayonnaise uncle???? duracell bunny nephew???? are you with us????)

angel teacher decides to write down an inventory in case they get looted, so that people don't ruin the kids' things

she also orders sriracha girlie to go turn down the generator

it's like when sam jackson was ordered to turn the power back on in jurassic park, idk about that

camilla trips, angel teacher caches her and I'm here thinking if camilla just stole something from her, because she'd never trip in her life

luckily for me, angel teacher asks about nona's drawing

she asks her, specifically, how she drew it and if she had seen what she draw in the picture

nona says she made it up and describes what I think might be an animal

"See these things? They're its ears. This thing is its nose, and you can't see it because I didn't draw it, but the mouth is under here. When first it was born, it used to live in a river, but then it got cold so it had to get large. I know the legs can't rotate, but you don't think that's stupid, do you?"

I thought it was an elephant, because of the ears, nose and lack of mouth in the drawing and legs that can't rotate, but idk about the river and the cold

maybe it's a mammoth

maybe it's a new zealand animal that's going over my head

maybe nona calls flippers legs and it's a whale, for all I know

in any case, DON'T TELL ME

camilla says she hasn't seen it before and angel teacher says it's a "cradle creature"

I was suggested to look up things I don't know in an online dictionary and, if it's not there, assume it's a book thing, but it's not working out with this

camilla (or maybe palmolive) says "I've heard that phrase. Somewhere" and angel teacher says "Have you?"

so maybe it is a book thing

this might be an animal that hasn't been seen by people at this time

like a mammoth for us

or a dodo

or the girl in waterworld who drew land things

and this is a point for the ice cube barbie theory, like the hokey pokey was

so, at this point, palmolive goes "fuck it" and throws caution to the wind

he doesn't say it outright, but I'm assuming it was his thought process

he asks angel teacher if, at some point, she received medical attention from the nine houses and if she's got an implant

this is noodle in that moment:

angel teacher understands, with that, what camolive might be

she goes "my colleague thought you were a prossie" and palmolive goes "What I know about sex work could fit in a teaspoon and leave a lot left over"

the intricacies of pimping and the ins and outs of sex work are very frequent conversations in this school

which is a lot more than I can say for the state of fundamental sex ed in a lot of places with conservative governments that obscure whatever can guarantee safety for all and the accessibility to education with diversity as a key part of it

and ban books, films and conversations about it

ANYWAY

they talk about the nickname the kids gave her and she says it's sriracha girlie's fault because she overheard things she doesn't understand

angel teacher is reticent towards palmolive and tells him that, if he gets close, she'll jump out a window and her body is "designed" to deny him answers

angel teacher thinks camolive is a lyctor, that they did something to her when they fake tripped, and that she might have messed up in some way, which prompted them to come out to her

palmolive swears on the life of camilla that they aren't a lyctor

angel teacher goes "Then that'll make this easier"

and my heart nearly stopped at that

WE KEEP PUTTING CAMILLA IN DANGER

CHISUS CHRIST

angel teacher, I respect you a lot, but if it's between you and camilla

nona is sitting on the ground in the blue light of varun, because she refused to leave camolive alone

and sriracha girlie enters and sees her

next nona knows, she's having the worst headache of her life and everything is a mess around her

when nona comes back from the blue screen in her head, after feeling like her brain was being squeezed out of her skull, she hears a voice cursing and trying to cancel something

angel teacher and the new person are, according to themselves, pretty fucked

new person says "You should have thought of that before you started playing teacher with the frigging Troia experiment"

angel teacher is clearly out of her depth here

I'm wondering where the fuck my wife is and if she's ok

angel teacher says she was trying to protect the kids, which I can appreciate and understand, but right now it's hard to be objective with them

WHEN I DON'T KNOW WHERE CAMILLA IS

MY REACTION REQUIRES A VIDEO, NOT GIF

angel teacher tells the other person "You discharge a firearm with me in the room, you'll get court-martialled and hanged"

which, again, makes me think...is this the most important vet in the planet???? what's this authority level?????

other person says "We play our cards right here, I can get Suffer out clean. Hell—I play this really right, nobody's going to know a thing until it's too late"

which immediately makes me think this is pash

it's insane to be on this side and know how much these people are playing with fire over here

I can't understate what a bad fucking idea this is and the only thing that can save them is that camolive and nona aren't into murdering for sport

but they're even pushing that

unknown person I think might be pash wants to finish off camolive and nona, but angel teacher is like

we suffer really has to deal with people going off like this at the worst possible moments

nona gets up and she's shot at so she gets mad because that's rude af

angel teacher is crying and saying she's sorry

but nona looks for camilla, which THANK YOU

camilla is lying on the ground, holding two bullets in her hands

she gets up and asks for an update

THAT'S FIERCE

SHE'S SO AMAZING

*absolutely insanely dangerous situation* me: where is camilla?????? camilla: *totally alright, holding bullets in her hands or having left lots of people lying on the ground and covered in someone else's blood* me: is this an awkward time to propose?

nona recognizes the other person as pash, with her distinctive machetes, but her way of talking shit and of ruining stuff was already a dead givaway

camilla asks pash why they weren't told angel teacher was one of them and pash is very quick to make clear that camilla isn't part of them

imagine not wanting camilla as part of whatever you're in

can't relate

I can't believe I survived a whole book with her showing up like only two times

IT'S FINE, I'M MOVING ON, I PROMISE

pash gets angry at nona because she made a radio call to coronabeer and nona says it was a pretend call

I KNEW THEY WERE GONNA FALL FOR THAT

I KNEW IT, I SAID IT HERE

angel teacher is like "that's the crown you always talk about?"

how many crowns do you think there are here, angel teacher?

is it a common name?

pash tells her "you just called wipe protocol on the fucking Lyctor project"

none of this is planned at all and we suffer is gonna be killed by high blood pressure with these people

angel teacher tries to stop whatever thing she unleashed and calls herself "the messenger"

not easy to stop people once you tell them to shoot freely

whatever merv wing is, I don't think they're stopping

angel teacher accepts camilla's help and says "I did call for you to be shot, though"

camilla says "No problem. So long as I can let out some deferred aggression"

nona is asked to go to the kitchen but she chooses to stay by camilla instead

when asked what she really wants to do, though, nona says she wants to find sriracha girlie

camilla is hesitant, because sriracha girlie saw something

I'm hearing alarms in my head at this, but nona, of course, is not

we're gonna regret this

pash thinks she can order camilla around and camilla is kind of like "I don't understand you very local jargon, so whatever"

not in those exact words

nona takes some time to think that pash is pretty, that her eyes are lovely and that her electric blue hair is cute

nona is easily distracted with people she thinks are pretty

because then she thinks she wants to marry camilla and adopt a dog with her

which, GET IN LINE, NONA

I WAS HERE TWO BOOKS BEFORE YOU

AND WE'RE ADOPTING KEVIN

palmolive has to agree to that too, though

MOVING ON

nona goes to the generator room to find sriracha girlie, who's curled up and has thrown up

she is saying that she made something up, which nona agrees with, even if she doesn't know what it is

I'm sure she didn't make anything up, this is all insane as it is

sriracha girlie happens to have a gun on her person

I'm worried she might have already used it

and she proves me right when she says she remembers shooting nona in the head

nona tries to lie and gaslight her

nona also feels disappointed that she won't see camilla fight

which, I relate, because we've seen her fight and

nona restrains sriracha girlie so she stays there while the whole fight is happening and, once over, angel teacher comes to retrieve them

nona asks about camilla and pash's status and angel teacher says "cuts and scrapes", which checks out with the absolute goddess, icon and legend that is camilla

sriracha girlie, upon reaching the classroom again, realizes she did shoot nona

camilla and pash have a moment in which they say the same thing and look at each other

YOU ALSO GET IN LINE, PASH

sriracha girlie is retreating, though, and I'm thinking this is it with this friendship

nona is embarrassed about sriracha girlie seeing her dead but there's no time to be embarrassed when you're getting shot

"You're out of the gang" says sriracha girlie, before shooting

so, the party is officially off, my friends

the girl who is in a cumple 24/7 has lost her party guests

JOHN 5:1

this part of the bible is when jesus heals someone who can't walk

which is, again, very telling

we find dr reverend emperor john setting a car on fire

he continues narrating his problems with getting people to listen to his ideas and plans and how he wanted them to do something about it

then, him and his team finally veer towards justice league territory and consider it's on them to save the world

P, who I'm assuming is our friend pyrrha, tells him that, in order to get them to do something, they need to scare them

so, in comes a mystery client

they ask dr reverend emperor john boi to make a puppet out of a person so it looks like he's alive

they offer him a lot of money for it, so they all consider it

meanwhile, the government and other suits continue the FTL project and are determined to ship billionares out into space

this is sci fi, nothing like this would ever happen in real life, right?

RIGHT?????

"a's little brother" (alfred?) says "money is one big shared hallucination" and ain't he right af

they all think there's something sus about the whole operation

mercygirl and augustine are in agreement and a united front, which scares everybody

they were probably already fucking

sorry, very rude of me to say, I should be more respectful

they were probably already pre-planning the lyctor orgies

so dr reverend emperor john butt, mercygirl and augustine go to the client's place and turns out the client is actually a country and the puppet is actually a leader

it remains unknown which and who

the country representatives give tons of reasons why dr reverend emperor john should go full on gepetto on this guy, but we all know he always acts like he's thinking about it but does it anyway

I don't think he thought that hard about it at all

so augustine, mercygirl and johnny boi start negotiating with these people and end up getting a couple billion doll hairs and a bomb

I'm sure that'll go great

CHAPTER 19 (THE TOMB!!!!!!)

nona wakes up, has been sleeping on chairs and has her legs and arms tied to them and a radiator

rip to you all, BOE or whoever the hell you are

nona has a tantrum

her third tantrum, she says

apparently, they're bad enough that camilla and pyrrha let her swim in the ocean to calm down, even if it's dangerous

so, nona screams as a warning to everyone that shit's about to get very real very fast

since I don't know where camilla is, I'm good, let her loose

you do you, nona

live your truth

fuck shit up

she breaks herself to escape the ties, one part at a time

there's a moment where she thinks "The plastic ties were good, like Corona had said"

and I was like "corona???????? what about crown???????"

I think it's the first time I read nona call coronabeer "corona" and not "crown"

it's not like nona is super strong but she's resilient, so she can kick shit down with patience and regeneration

I respect that

she sees people with pash's boots and has a moment of intense anger against pash for everything that went down

I mean, lying to sriracha girlie and making friends with her in the first place was on you, but still I don't know where camilla is, so by all means, nona, fuck shit up

they shoot her, as if that did anything, and she perseveres

she chases those who keep on shooting and they scream, running away, which is both fierce and kind of funny

nona screams and that makes the person running from her put their hands over their helmet

they drop a bag over her head and immobilize her so she starts to power down

"Inside the hood she heard her mouth say, savage and distinct and cool despite the trembles: 'Fool. You're killing her.' But she was only talking to herself, after all."

HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE WE KEEPING IN THIS GIRL?

IS THIS A CLOWN CAR?

I'm still rooting for the ice cube barbie theory somewhere in there

BUT HOW MANY SOULS CAN WE KEEP IN ONE PERSON?

JOHN 3:20

"Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed."

dream pov (who was referred to as harrow but doesn't sound to be her) says she forgets how to breathe sometimes

girl, same

dr reverend emperor john says they had three stages for their plan: 1) keep talking, 2) throw money, 3) reveal nuke

"We were willing to gamble on being tried at the Haugue just to stop the process. Ready to make a hell of a mess to buy time. Prepared to do anything to keep you going"

we keep talking to this pov as if she was some earth princess idk

"C— kept saying. Pick one. Are we more invested in proving this new plan is bullshit or in saving you? I was like, It's both, how can it not be both. C— was like, It can't be both. Pick one and stick to it. Decide what you give a fuck about"

saving earth princess personification who might or might not be ice cube barbie???? idk

"I found that the problem with being the death man is you stop giving much of a fuck"

girl who is referred to as harrow (but might be earth princess ice cube barbie or whatever) gets spooked about having goosebumps and dr reverend emperor john has to explain its mechanics

this is another thing to note

nobody is taking notes anymore because there's a war, so I'm keeping the notes myself

the authorities doing the project that they all think is sus continue to be sus and offer to choose 200 people for the first wave they're sending off to space

the final frontier

everyone apparently falls for their bs

they then claim they're starting to build the ship they need to send the first wave off

god and lyctor gang realize easily that they're full of shit and none of the stuff they seem to be doing correlates with actual things they should be doing if they were doing what they say they're doing

you get me?

so god and lyctor gang go to the authorities like naive kids and the billionares lie about it

who would have thought billionares lie????

according to him, they keep using the cows against him

that's kind of funny

they decide that, if they treat them like they're a cult, they'll be a cult

not like it already wasn't on its way there, honestly

a slippery slope that turned into a toboggan real fast

so, john god asshat decides to drop the science and start the theater

he starts calling himself a necromancer

*dramatic pause*

that's really interesting, actually

because we start this journey just taking necromancy for granted, it's interesting to see it originating as something science-related and then being named that as a sort of theatrical way to call people's attention

it's interesting to see a journey in which this came to exist that isn't just "necromancy exists in this universe", which would have been totally valid too

but here we see that it's actually something else that was named this way to make it seem more attractive to audiences, which is an interesting level of storytelling

very cool

AND THAT'S IT WITH THIS DAY!!!!! this is a long one, I was gonna do two chapters but then the next two were short enough. As a bonus, here's Dana who was looking at birds while I was reading this part in the backyard.

[anisespice]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 3

one || two || four || five

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: various x gn!reader [ osamu, sakusa ]

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, MDI. literally can’t be bothered to think of anything else, but feel free to let me know lol

notes: sooo i lied <333 i’ve decided to give suna his own chapter later on (srry suna lovers !!!!) i just wasn’t satisfied with how his was turning out, and it was the only roadblock delaying my progress soooo figured we’d just put a pin in his for now lol especially for those who were FROTHING for these two in particular (this for y'all ✨) hope you enjoy :)))

notes ii: nobody LOOK AT ME, this took me an embarrassingly long time lol. i’m not familiar with them, personality-wise, but i tried ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes iii: this one’s got atsumu written all over it LMAOOO

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy

“Aht-CHOO!”

The bowl of popcorn nearly flew out your lap when you shrieked bloody-murder, body in fight or flight from the abrupt sound happening moments before a jumpscare in the movie you were watching. Head on a swivel, you soon realized the culprit wasn’t a psycho-killer in a ghost mask, but your darling OSAMU with his lawnmower of a sneeze coming through your front door.

You exhaled, relieved, but scared shitless. After pausing the movie, you glared down the hall leading to the door. “Seriously? You had to do that with your entire chest?”

Osamu sniffled, then muttered. “…Y’supposed to say bless ya before scoldin’ at your sweet and thoughtful boyfriend, y’know…”

“Aw, bless you, my love. And, fuck you.”

The brunette snorted, no doubt rolling his eyes as he toed off his shoes. Coming down the hall to soon reveal his handsome face, illuminated only by the bright tv screen, Osamu held up a large plastic bag filled with something greasy and delicious as the smell traveled up your nose. He grinned smugly at you intently eyeing the bag. “Fuck me, huh?”

You immediately doubled down, waving your hands. “Waitwaitwait I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it as in…fuck you’RE so sweet and thoughtful, and I love you so much..?”

Osamu hummed, taking off his ball cap to place it on your head. Shaking it a little by the brim, he winked. “Nice save, darlin’.”

He made way for your inspace kitchen to get dinner assorted with you trailing not too far behind. Your eyes eagerly ate up the widespread of all your favorites displayed on the countertop, practically hanging off his back since there was barely any room for the both of you in the tiny space. Popcorn long forgotten, your stomach sang a symphony for some real food, Osamu saving you the trouble of eating instant noodles for dinner yet again.

And without you even having to ask him for any of it, too.

Your gaze eventually locked onto the former volleyball player, eyeing him up with a newfound hunger that he was quick to pick up on while he popped a piece of fried chicken in his mouth. Looking down at you with a raised brow he patiently waited for you to voice your thoughts, a boyish grin growing on his face as he chewed.

You blinked. He blinked back, then chuckled lightly. “We communicatin’ telepathically, or somethin’?”

“If we were, you’d know I wanna suck you dry right now.”

Osamu.exe—E R R O R.

Man straight up inhaled the little that was still in his mouth, hurling him into a fit of hacks as he turned away from the food to fight for his life at your sink. Coughing up what he could into the drain with you behind him hitting his back for support, you couldn’t stop the evil, little laugh from slipping out seeing this as a form of karma for the scare earlier. Osamu fixed you with a weak glare once he calmed down, reaching over to pinch your cheek. “A warnin’ next time, would’ya?…”

You winced, but mirth still swam in your eyes. “Your only warning would’ve been your pants around your ankles-”

“Oi, quit that.” He gently grabbed your jaw to squish up your mouth, though it didn’t repress the cheeky grin you wore. The brunette did his best to remain unfazed, but the flush across his face was evident, your words clearly effecting him. “…Jeez, at least ask me how m’day was before ya slut me out. Soundin’ like all them thirsty-ass comments floodin’ my socials all damn day.”

Osamu let go of your face to grab plates from your cabinet, leaving you standing there, dumbfounded. Pursing your lips, you crossed your arms with a raised brow. “‘m sorry…the what flooding your socials?”

He busied himself with fixing your plate, nonchalantly recalling the very incident that occurred the other day, “That dumb fuck-list or whatever, mixed up me ‘nd ‘tsumu in their little post. Had his ugly mug front ‘nd center, but had my name attached to this long-winded thread ‘bout me basically being better in the sack than him. Shit’s wild.”

“The fuck-what now?” Osamu handed over a healthy plate full of food, you absentmindedly took it but made no move to eat. He started fixing his own, acting as if he didn’t just delay your appetite with this information. “Y—…you’re joking right? There’s no way something like that exists.”

“Oh, t’s very much real. Read it with my own eyes,” he licked the spoon he used to spread sauce across his chicken. “What, ya sayin’ ya haven’t heard of it? Seriously?”

“You know I don’t care enough to keep up with the trends that go on around here. And with good reason, clearly. What’s even the purpose?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. But it’s got ‘tsumu givin’ me the silent treatment, so maybe it’s not that bad after all.”

“Pfft. He’s pissy because some random on the internet said you’re the better lay? How would they know?? You’re both happily taken, and I wish a bitch would.” You smugly declared, bringing your food to the living room.

Osamu grinned at your possessive tone, trailing behind you holding plate and soda cans in either hand. “Damn straight. But, wasn’t just some random, babe. We’re talkin’ millions.”

Had you not already gotten situated on the couch, you would’ve surely spilled food all over yourself. Jaw nearly to the floor, you blinked up at him, bewildered. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Holy shit.”

Osamu took his usual spot next to you, large frame nearly taking up most of the couch. With bellies empty, knee knocking against knee, and elbow nudging elbow, the brunette hummed contently as he soaked in his favorite atmosphere—Your voice, your warmth, you. Though too busy monologuing about the absurdity of such a thing going viral to notice his fond gaze, Osamu silently listened to every word as he began eating from his plate. Although, all that mushiness is soon pushed to the back of his mind when the next sentence fell from your lips. After you eventually found said post to see it for yourself, needless to say you had some…hot takes.

“How could someone write this and not cringe? I mean, I love you ‘samu, but a Dom? If only they knew how nervous you were our first time, it was so adorable.” You giggled, tossing some chicken into your mouth. “You are not that guy.”

Osamu’s chewing paused. Your laughter eventually died down.

You didn’t feel his stare earlier…but you were definitely feeling it now, Mr. Krabs. Suddenly, the same dread you got when anticipating a jumpscare resurfaced. A sinking pit in your stomach like a rabbit stumbling upon a fox—Cliché aside, you fucked up. And you knew it in your bones the second your eyes locked with his, void of fondness and full of hunger despite his plate being half-eaten.

He swallowed the bit in his mouth, then spoke. “Sure ‘bout that?”

You mouth moved, floundered even, but nothing would come out. And Osamu didn’t rush you either, if anything he gladly watched you struggle while he continued munching away. “I—..I-I mean..I was just saying. Because…y’know, you never…we never really-”

“Mm. Jus’ cause we usually take things slow doesn’t mean you can’t get a hole fucked into your mattress, sweetheart. Keep tryin’ ya luck, ‘nd ya just might. Finish eatin’ first, though. Ya gonna need your energy.”

SAKUSA couldn’t give a flying fuck about the list. He would literally walk away from someone mid-conversation if said topic got brought up. And don’t think that you’re the exception, either—Man parked and got out of his OWN CAR during the drive back to his place, refusing to get back in until you dropped the subject entirely.

“Omi-”

“No.”

“C’monnnn.”

“No.”

You giggled, “I won’t talk about it anymore, I promise.”

He had his back to you as you spoke through the rolled down, driver’s side window, trying to ‘pspspsps’ him back into the car like a stubborn cat. Sakusa knew he was being ridiculous, but he just couldn’t stomach anymore nonsense. Plus, there’s a bit of suspicion on his end whenever it came to talking about the accursed list—Sakusa saw it as a bad omen.

Anyone who talked about it within his circle, be it teammates or personal friends, miraculously found themselves posted up the following day like fresh meat on the market. Once he caught wind that not even taken people were spared from being thirsted over, his disdain merely amplified, as did his precaution.

“Baby, I’ll burn some sage back at your apartment to scare away the bad energy from my filthy words. Would that make you feel better?”

Sakusa huffed, looking over his shoulder to give you a good ole stank face—One you barely paid any mind to as you batted your lashes at him. He glitched. Had it not been for the mask he was wearing, you’d see the harsh flush that spread across his face. Too bad his neck was exposed, giving him away as you grinned knowingly. But, you weren’t about to distract him from the issue at hand, you temptress.

“Don’t patronize me. Besides, you didn’t say it at my apartment, you said it in the car. Would completely defeat the purpose.”

You blinked.

There was no stopping the laughing fit you fell into when his words eventually processed, borderline cackling. “I-I’ll sage the car then, how ‘bout that?”

The ravenette squinted, marching up to the car to stick his head in before pulling his mask down so you could see his heavy frown through your tearful hysterics.

“You’re laughing. You’ve doomed me to becoming targeted by perverts, and you’re laughing.”

“‘yoomi, PLEASE.” You wheezed, waving a hand at him for mercy. With a couple stuttered intakes of air, you did your best to pull it together. “Don’t you think…you’re being a little paranoid?”

Amusement colored your features when you made eye contact with the outside hitter. Sakusa rolled his, tugging his mask back on before re-entering the car. “We’ll see how funny you find it when we can’t be seen together in public anymore.”

“And why not?” You raised a brow, still giggly.

Sakusa buckled in, taking the car out of park. “Because. When I do get posted, I won’t be leaving the safety of my room until that shit gets banned.”

“Oh my god, honey, I promise. You’re worrying over nothing. If you were gonna be on the list, don’t you think you would’ve by now? I mean, c’mon, even Hinata got on it before you. Majority of your teammates did!”

“That’s exactly my point. I’m the only one left.”

The two of you continued a playful back and forth pretty much the whole drive, more so you teasing him than anything else. After a while, having had your fun, you gave it a rest much to Sakusa’s relief. “Can still burn some sage, if you want-” “You’re not funny.”

Your evening continued on as normal, him taking a shower while you busied yourself by looking for a show the two of you could binge. Although, even after the discussion from earlier had been dropped, your boyfriend’s words still echoed in the back of your mind like a mantra. ‘I’m the only one left.’

As much as you’d hate to admit, though never to his face, your over-suspicious companion had a point. Without the safety net of his more extroverted teammates being in the spotlight of rabid fans, what’s delaying the swarm of unsolicited desires now? Even with his sourtude, Sakusa was an attractive individual—The dark curls that frame his face perfectly, his piercing pools of obsidian that shred through you like paper, the beauty marks above his brow, his THIGHS. And those were just surface-level things.

Being one of the privileged few who’ve seen all layers of Sakusa, you couldn’t blame them for wanting to explore deeper into who he was beyond that cold exterior…in more ways than one. Who better to fill those burning questions than some horny randos with too much time on their hands?

But, he’s made it this far without issue, what’s there to worry about now?—*Bzzzzt*

You jolt slightly, the harsh vibration coming from the sofa table breaking you out of your thoughts. With a short glance at your phone, the lit screen revealed an incoming call from Sakusa’s cousin, Komori. You exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, reaching over to grab the device and answer it. However, as your thumb hovered over the green button, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder…why would he be calling you?

You shook your head, answering the call before your mind could wander. He probably just wanted to catch up, make small talk. A smile graced your face as you happily greeted him, “Mori! Hi, what can I do ya for-?”

“Has he seen it?? Am I too late??”

You froze, blinking widely in stunned confusion. Your silence must have been loud enough for the man to grow more anxious, calling out your name to regain your attention. “Uh…has who seen what?”

Komori exhaled, in what you could only assume was relief. “Thank God…you sound blissfully unaware. That means there’s still time. You’re at his place, right?”

You blinked, eyes looking around as if he could see you.

“Kiyoomi’s? Yeah, I am. He’s in the shower at the moment if you were trying to reach him. Is everything okay?”

Now it was him who turned silent. You waited with bated breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you wracked your brain for every worst case scenario…but a small part of you already had an idea.

“It’s the complete opposite, I’m afraid.”

‘Kiyoomi Sakusa. 6’2ft of ?????. An enigma. We had to take our time this one. This tall, personification of a hand sanitizer bottle may appear to be disgusted and disinterested, but once you get past those disinfectant defenses of his…Lady in the streets, but a freak in the bed. Why else would he keep so clean all the time? It’s ‘cause he’s hiding an absolute FILTHY ANIMAL behind his mask (literally and figuratively) you cannot convince me otherwise. Definitely a Hard Dom, would degrade you for making a mess all over him even though he’s the one to blame; THRIVES when you get messy for him tho. Firm believer that he’d spit in your mouth, both as punishment and a reward. He won’t make much noise, you’ll think he’s doing taxes while deep in your guts, but just watch his face; homie is EXPRESSIVE. Aftercare could go either way, but he’d probably focus more on getting the sheets changed than cleaning you up. 7/10.’

You clenched the phone in disbelief, eyes watering due to the sexual word-vomit burning them the more you read on. It didn’t even take you long to find the dreaded post you were convinced would never manifest, refreshing the page multiple times just to confirm its existence. “Shit. I really did doom him to being targeted by perverts…”

“Huh??” Komori voiced. You merely brushed it off.

“Nothing,” you sighed. Taking the conversation out on the balcony in case Sakusa overheard, you had Komori on speaker as you attempted to do damage control. “Do the others know about this? Oh God, does Atsumu?? Knowing him, he’d surely jump at the chance to tease Omi with something like this.”

“Dunno. Just found out myself, and you were the first person I thought to call.”

You looked over your shoulder, peeking inside to see if the outside hitter was roaming around. There didn’t appear to be any movement, but there’s no doubt he finished showering by now.

Exhaling, you began sifting through your contacts. “We need to do whatever it takes to make sure he never finds out about the post. I’ll text everyone I know to help flag it down, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take before-”

“Who’re you talking to?”

Startled, phone nearly tossed off the balcony, you turned toward the sudden appearance of your freshly washed boyfriend, towel around his neck and adorned in lounge wear. Komori held his breath, as if he also were caught in the act even though he could easily escape with a mere press of a button. “Um…your cousin.”

“Okay, but…why’d you come out here? You wouldn’t have disturbed me if you took the call inside.” Sakusa raised a brow at your stiff posture, perplexed but concerned. “Something the matter?”

“No!” You winced at your own volume. His eyes widened slightly, making you nervously chuckle. Clearing your throat, you attempted to play it cool. “No, uh…just wanted to get some air while catching up with Komori, that’s all. W-why d’you ask?”

Sakusa squinted at you. “You’re jumpy.”

“J-Jumpy? Me? Uh.. that’s because…” Searching your brain for an excuse, luckily Komori had your back with his quick thinking.

“B-Because! We’re talking about the list! And t-they figured you wouldn’t wanna hear us, so-” SLAM!

Before he could even get the rest of the explanation out, Sakusa had already closed the sliding door. You and Komori shared a sigh of relief. You watched Sakusa’s back retreat into the living room as he sat on the couch, flickering around for something to put on to pass the time.

Just as suspected…still paranoid.

“That was close…”

“Super close. Think he bought it?”

You groaned, hesitant to take your eyes off him. “Won’t matter if he decides to check his phone at some point…”

It didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight, hopefully charging in another room. But, there was no point in wasting time worrying about that. You had some flagging to do. And as long as he had no reason to look at it, you’d be fine.

Sakusa, now bored with you occupied by something else, couldn’t help but to watch you longingly from the couch. You were speaking so animatedly, using your free hand to gesture, pacing back and forth. He frowned—How can that stupid list be more important than snuggling up with him? Yet another reason to hate it.

Exhaling through his nose he leaned back on the sofa, remote in hand as he looked for something to help pass the time. However, before he could get very far in his search, his phone rings.

Confused, he reached into his pocket. Instantly, his mood went from neutral to shriveled when he read the caller ID—Miya.

He had half a mind to ignore it, but knowing Atsumu he’d probably just keep calling until the inevitable happened with him turning up on his doorstep. Sakusa gave an annoyed huff, reluctantly answering the phone.

“Better have a good reason to be calling me this late, idiot.”

“Oh ho ho. Believe me, Omi-Omi. You’ll wanna see this.”

Back on the balcony, after the sixth time flagging the post for misinformation and harassment, you suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere that wasn’t there moments before. Halting your frantic thumbs, you slowly looked up from the screen as a cold chill ran up your spine; something didn’t feel right in the force.

You weren’t sure what made you turn back to look inside the room, but the moment you did…it was like the world had gone into slow motion—Komori’s voice faded into the background as he called out your name, drowned out by the sound of your heart pounding through your ribs at the sight of Sakusa on his phone, face contorted into what could only be described as pure humiliation as he stared into the endless abyss while on his knees.

Probably should’ve burned that sage when you had the chance.

© 2023-2024 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[salmonballsss]

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 9)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Masturbation

You didn’t protest when she shifted again, this time sliding her arms fully beneath you.

“Don’t—” you started weakly, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“I said you’re not fine,” she muttered, voice low. “Stop arguing.”

Before you could respond— not that you had the energy—she lifted you like you weighed nothing. You felt your limbs dangle, loose and uncooperative, your head falling lightly against her shoulder.

She was so warm… 

The walk back to the bedroom was slow and steady. Agatha’s steps were careful, every movement measured, her grip unshakable. She nudged the door open with her hip, eased you down into the covers like she’d done this a thousand times before. You sank into the mattress with a trembling sigh, blinking up at the ceiling as she adjusted the quilt over you.

Then she lingered.

She sit near you, watching you with that same unreadable focus—like she was listening for something beneath your breathing. Waiting to see if you’d puke again. Pass out again.

Your eyes drifted closed, just for a second.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. Quiet. Firm.

You cracked an eye open, surprised by the softness in her tone. Agatha reached out, brushing a hand through your hair, fingers searching for something behind your scalp. You winced when she hit a sore spot near the back of your head.

Her fingers paused.

“Hold still,” she murmured.

She parted your hair gently, tilting your head. You heard her make a small sound in her throat—half relief, half annoyance.

“No blood,” she said finally. “You didn’t tear anything.”

You blinked up at her, dazed.

She raised an eyebrow. “So unless you managed to vomit up a demon, I’m guessing the noodle theory’s bullshit.”

Your lips twitched, despite yourself. “Just… really bad soup.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Please. My soup’s divine. You probably summoned something and tried to eat that .”

You didn’t laugh. But you didn’t deny it either.

That made her squint harder.

But instead of pressing, she pulled the quilt higher up your chest, smoothing it over your shoulder. Her touch lingered there a moment too long.

Then she sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. Guarded. Quiet.

Waiting.

Like she knew the real story was coming eventually.

You shifted on the mattress with a wince, your voice rough. “Did you find my things?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

She just looked at you—head tilted, brow furrowed slightly, as if you’d started speaking in tongues. Her eyes flicked over your face, unreadable.

Then finally, a hum. Low. Noncommittal.

You frowned. “Is that a yes or a no? You can’t just hum at me and expect me to read your mind.”

Her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything soft.

“You’ve been trying to read me since the moment we met,” she said, stepping closer. “Thought you liked puzzles.”

You stared up at her, not quite matching the fire in her voice.

“…I like answers more.”

Agatha didn’t answer. Just squinted at you, like she was trying to xray your soul.

You scowled, suddenly too raw to hold her gaze. “Stop looking at me. Did you find it or not? That’s all my research and—”

“Yes,” she cut in sharply, voice flat. “It’s downstairs. In the living room.”

You blinked. The answer landed harder than expected—not because it was what you wanted, but because she gave it so easily. You nodded, then closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. You were starting to feel better… slowly. Less nausea. It was like that notebook had caused this reaction.

Agatha’s notebook.

Did you dig too deep? Had you finally gone too far with your research? And why did Agatha seem so dead set on keeping you safe all of a sudden?

You sighed and looked back up—only to find her still staring.

“What is up with you?” you asked, not used to this behavior from Agatha , of all people.

She muttered a small, “Nothing.”

Then, after a pause, “Did you take the pills I left for you on the counter?” When You shook your head slightly, Agatha sighed, rubbing at her temples like you’d just told her the sky was on fire.

“You never listen, do you?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Well excuse me for fucking fainting on the floor and not being able to move!”

Agatha stopped, her eyebrows furrowing.

“…Right.”

Silence.

You and Agatha just stared at each other. Eyes locked. Neither of you moved. You held your breath, heart starting to race as her blue eyes bore into yours—sharp, unreadable.

Then she tsked her tongue and stood up.

“I’ll get you the medicine. And your things.”

You barely got out a quiet “Okay” before she disappeared from the room.

As you waited, your thoughts drifted back to the notebook. Before the pain—before you hit the floor—you were on something. A trail.

Several trails, really.

Especially the one that screamed, Agatha wasn’t in her 40s. Not even close. You could ask her. But that’d only make her more suspicious. Of what happened. Of what you’d seen.

Did she know you snooped?

You had left the notebook on the floor after you dropped it… and probably the study door wide open like a damn neon sign.

You shifted upright and coughed.

Something landed on your sleeve—well, Agatha’s sleeve, technically, since these were her clothes.

A thick smear of bloody, black gunk.

You stared at it, confused. What the hell was that ? Was it something you ate? But the only thing you’d had in the past two days was soup. Just soup.

Was it… from the beast?

You didn’t remember much from that night. Everything was still hazy. Maybe you could call Irene and ask? Though… that might be a little weird.

"Hey, I know I tried calling you a few days ago. I saw something terrifying in the woods, blacked out, might’ve thrown up demon goo. Anyway—what did the police find in your husband’s corpse?" 

You snorted to yourself at the absurdity of it all.

Just then, Agatha walked back in, youtr duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“Oh… thank you,” you mumbled, as she approached and set everything down near the nightstand.

Then she turned to you again. “Here’s some medicine. Then I just need to check your stitched up side. If you were throwing up like that, the heaving might’ve pulled something.” Her eyes scanned your form, sharp and methodical. You shifted, wrapping your arm back under the blanket—too late. Her gaze zeroed in on your wrist. On the mess you’d coughed up.

“Yeah, okay. Just let the medicine kick in first,” you said quickly, already moving to hide your wrist again—only for her hand to snag it mid motion.

“ Really ? On my sweater?” she asked flatly.

You gave her a sheepish look. “…It was an accident.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. Just held your wrist, eyes locked on the gunk like it had personally insulted her.

You shifted awkwardly, trying to pull back. She didn’t let go.

“Well,” you muttered, voice dry, “it’s not like I aimed for your sleeve.”

Still nothing from her.

The tension in the air shifted. She wasn't bickering. Not rolling her eyes or making one of her usual backhanded comments about how delicate you were.

Just staring. You squirmed.

Finally, she released your arm with a strange sort of gentleness—like she hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding on. Agatha stood up straighter, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Let me… check your side now.”

You blinked at her. “Now?”

“Yes. Before you puke up anything else corrosive and rot my mattress.”

There she was.

But even with the bite in her voice, something felt… off. Her eyes didn’t match her tone. Her hands hovered for a beat too long before she moved closer to the bed. You didn’t argue. Just nodded faintly and began shifting awkwardly under the blankets, untucking the edge of the sweater to expose the stitched side.

Agatha crouched beside the bed, a hand resting on the sheets for balance, the other slowly moving to lift the hem of your shirt.

Except it didn’t.

Her hand paused.

Unlike before—back when she’d changed your bandages, this timeher fingers hesitated.

She didn’t touch you.

Just hovered.

Your breath hitched.

“Are you gonna—?”

“I’m looking,” she said, cutting you off, but it came out low. Not annoyed. Almost like she was trying to convince herself of something. You felt her knuckles graze your ribs. Just barely. And then she pulled the fabric up. Her breath caught before yours did.

The stitches were still in place. Still holding. But around them, spidering out from under the neat line of thread, were veins—dark, not red. Not bruised. Black. Like ink. Or tar. Crawling under the surface of your skin like something alive was pressing from underneath.

You stared. Blinked once.

Then twice.

“…That’s not normal,” you said, way too calm.

Agatha didn’t respond. She was still crouched, still holding your shirt up, but her eyes had gone wide.

Wide for her. 

Her jaw was tight.

“Is it… infected?” you asked, voice wobbling now. “Because it doesn’t feel infected—”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Not infected.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your stomach twisted.

“Agatha,” you said, slowly, “what the hell is it, then?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Her hand was still frozen near your side, the fabric of your shirt clenched between her fingers. You could feel the tension in her knuckles, the strange war in her expression—like she was trying to hold something in. Like she was trying not to panic .

“…Agatha?”

Finally, she blinked. Stood up fast.

Too fast.

“I’ll run you a bath.”

“…What?”

“You’re sweating. And you’re pale. You should soak,” she said briskly, already turning on her heel. “It’ll help.”

“I don’t think soap is gonna fix my black demon vein infection, ” you snapped.

“Do you want to feel worse or better? ”

That shut you up.

She was already halfway to the bathroom, not looking back. You stayed frozen in place, arm over your middle, fingers pressed near the weird mark like maybe you could stop whatever it was from spreading if you held it hard enough.

The nausea came back, but slower this time. Duller. Still—your heart was sprinting. The sound of running water echoed from down the hall. The pipes in this house moaned a little, creaking like they hadn’t been used in years.

You tried not to hyperventilate.

What the hell had you summoned?

And more importantly—what the hell had it left inside you?

You stared down at the marks on your side, breathing fast.

This wasn’t normal.

This was not academic, historical weirdness. This was… other.

Footsteps padded back into the room. Agatha again. She stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, eyes flicking to your arm, then to your face, then back down. Her jaw tightened again “Come on,” she said softly this time.

Not commanding. Not annoyed.

Just… there.

You stared at her. “What?”

She extended a hand.

“I’m not gonna carry you.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Then move.”

You stared another beat longer before sighing and peeling yourself off the bed with a dramatic grunt.She didn’t help, but she also didn’t walk away. You winced with every shift of movement, side screaming in tight pulses. The dark veins were still there, still quiet, like something sleeping just under your skin.

You tried not to think about it.

Agatha waited until you were mostly upright before gesturing stiffly toward the bathroom. Inside, the room was already full of steam. There was something herbal in the water—you couldn’t name it, but it smelled sharp, calming. Not quite mint. Not quite lavender. Something else…

Weird.

You stood by the edge of the tub, blinking down at the swirling heat. Agatha lingered in the doorway.

“…Do you need help getting in?”

You turned slowly to face her. “Do you want me to get naked right now and die of embarrassment on your bathroom tile?”

One of her eyebrows twitched. “You fainted in your own vomit less than an hour ago. Let’s not act like there’s any dignity left between us.”

You let out a snort, despite yourself.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “Just… hand me a towel or something.”

She did. Wordlessly.

Her fingers brushed yours again. Brief. Warm.

Your breath caught.

She didn’t say anything else, just nodded and turned to leave. You watched the door close, listened to the soft click of it latching behind her.

You didn’t move for a second.

Just stood there.

Steam curling around you, the veins on your side pulsing with slow, sick rhythm. Whatever this was—it wasn’t normal.

But Agatha knew something, and you weren’t sure if that made it better… or much, much worse. You hesitated, hand gripping the towel at your side, the other still pressed against your ribs.

Slowly you set the towel on the sink counter, and slipped off agathas sweater, then came the sweatpants. with a grunt that felt way too dramatic for your age, you lowered yourself in. The heat bit at first. Sharp and too much—your breath hitched—but then your body adjusted and—

Oh.

Oh. 

The pain didn’t vanish. But it shifted. Blunted. Like the edges of it were being shaved down by something thicker than water. You slumped back, jaw slack with shock.

Okay. That… shouldn’t be working.

You let your head fall against the cool porcelain lip of the tub and exhaled through your nose, slow. Long. You hadn’t realized how hard you were clenching every muscle until they all started to unclench at once.

The water moved around you, thick with whatever Agatha had dumped in—herbs or salts. It helped. You shifted slightly, letting one arm float near the surface, the other trailing fingertips along the inside of the tub—just to anchor yourself. Something about the silence was louder than it should’ve been.

Your fingers brushed a rough edge.

You blinked, looking down.

Nothing.

But when you touched the spot again—just under the waterline—there it was. Faint. Like shallow scratches. You couldn’t see them. Not really. But you could feel them.

Not names. Not shapes, exactly. Just… lines.

Marks.

Your stomach turned, but you told yourself it was probably from age. Old porcelain or cast iron. Just wear and tear. Not carvings. Not something deliberate. Still. Your hand moved over them again.

Slow.

The water shifted in response. Not violently. Just… knowingly. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Relax,” you muttered. “Jesus.”

And then— A sound outside. You opened your eyes again, breath catching mid chest. Not loud. But clear. A door. Somewhere down the hallway. Soft click of it closing.

What room did she go into?

Agatha hadn’t said a word since helping you in here. She hadn’t come back. But she was definitely moving around out there. And if that sound really was what you thought it was, then—

She was hiding something.

No. Not hiding.

Retrieving.

Preparing?

You leaned back again, shaking your head. You needed to calm down. Just relax. You took three deep breaths and closed your eyes. Maybe Agatha went into her study? Would she know you went in there and snooped around? Perhaps she’ll see the notebook of hers you’d dropped on the ground and burst in to yell at you… though that means she’d have to see you naked.

A little blush hit your cheeks thinking about that.

You relaxed back a little, thoughts drifting to the bathroom. Those flashes. What had they been about? There was some at the Salem witch trials… one of Agatha sticking your head underwater… or was that Agatha? You didn’t know. The whole thing was one big fever dream.

Then there were the ones of you and Agatha together.

You shifted in the tub, your hand resting on your thigh… Visions of you raking your nails down her back… You gulped, your breathing coming in a bit quicker.

Her eyes locked onto yours… violet, not blue… Violet like people had said throughout history… You groaned softly, your core tightening with simmering arousal. The one where she’d kissed you as if she’d been starved… it all felt so real.

So— good. 

A small whimper left your lips.

Would she kiss you like that? Desperate… overwhelmingly possessive with a mix of longing… Slowly, your hand rubbed up your thigh and to your navel.

A bed. Moonlight. Her fingers ghosting over your skin. 

Her mouth trailing lower. 

A moan—yours. Half sob, half prayer. 

“Mine,” she breathed against your stomach, voice shaking with something far deeper than lust. 

“You’ve always been mine.” 

The vision replayed in your head. Your hand trailing where her mouth had been. Imagining it was her.

Agatha. 

As if continuing it for her. You imagined her mouth trailing further down. Kissing her way lower, eyes locked onto yours as you squirmed under her. God—her stare. That violet glint. Like she owned you. Like she’d always owned you. Not just your body, but your thoughts, your breath, your pulse.

In your mind, she kissed your hip bone. Soft. Lingering. Then the other. Her hands smoothing up your sides, slow, almost reverent.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she'd whisper against your skin.

You whimpered, tilting your head back in the water. The warmth of the bath now nothing compared to the heat pooling in your gut. You could feel her breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh—close. Too close.

Your toes curled against the porcelain. She wasn’t even real right now, and still—you were falling apart for her. Her lips brushed your skin, teasing. Deliberate.

Drawing you out, pulling soft gasps from your mouth.

Agatha... 

You could almost feel her smirk. See the way she’d tilt her head, fingers digging into your legs just enough to anchor you.

“Is this what you wanted?” she’d say, voice low, smug and breathless all at once.

Your back arched in the tub, neck tipping, the vision so strong you swore it was real. Every nerve lit up. Everything inside you begging for more. And still she didn’t move. Not yet.

Just mouth after mouth, kiss after kiss—your thighs, the crease of your hip. Circling around the place you needed her. Refusing to give it. Your hand clutched the edge of the tub, knuckles white. You gasped, shaky, breath fogging the air around you.

“Please,” you whispered aloud.

Small. Barely a sound. But it echoed anyway. As if on cue, you imagined Agatha’s mouth on your sopping cunt. A moan slipped out, soft and shaky, at the first brush of your fingers rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clit.

You tried to keep it gentle—tried to savor it—but your body couldn’t take it. Not after everything. Not after a whole day spent on edge, nerves frayed and every glance from Agatha leaving you aching. You thought of her pinning you against the couch.The way her eyes bore into yours. The heat of her breath so close to your mouth—

“Fuck,” you whimpered, hips jolting.

Your fingers moved faster, each stroke dragging pleasure out of you like a tide pulling at the shore. In your mind, Agatha’s tongue worked in slow, torturous circles, flicking, sucking, her mouth relentless as she moaned into your pussy like she was starved for you. Your back arched sharply, the ache in your side forgotten. Drowned. Only the pleasure remained.

She was everywhere in your head. Murmuring filth against your cunt, lips glistening, voice thick with hunger—

“So wet for mommy…” 

You could feel her fingers now. Long, veiny, deft. Sliding under her chin before plunging into you—And you mirrored it, slipping a finger into yourself. Thrusting in quickly. Then slowly. Curling. The heel of your palm catching your clit just right. A breathless moan tumbled out. Your head tipped back. Eyes fluttered shut. You imagined her watching you like that. Half-lidded gaze. Smile curling dark and knowing.

“Keep your pretty eyes on me, baby.” 

You cried out, biting your lip hard to stifle it. Just in case. But the risk—the thought of her hearing—it only made the heat worse. Your cunt clenched around your fingers, wet and desperate. Your other hand slid up to your breast, pinching softly, then harder.

You gasped.

Would Agatha moan when you touched her like that? Or would she stay quiet—stern, commanding, her voice like gravel and sin? Would she guide you with gentle praise, coaxing you deeper? Or demand it?

“Faster. Deeper. Don’t stop until I say.” 

The image shattered your restraint. Your fingers worked harder, faster, the water splashing around your hips as your thighs tensed tight around your hand. All you could think about was her. Her mouth, her hands, her voice—

Agatha. 

Agatha. 

Agatha. 

Your breath hitched as the pressure in your stomach coiled tight.Your chest heaved, heartbeat pounding in your ears. The bathwater was too hot. Or maybe th at was just you. You turned your head, panting into your shoulder, your skin slick and flushed.Whimpers spilled from your mouth—helpless, involuntary.

Then—your fingers curled. Right against that spot.

And the whole world splintered.

You keened.

Your entire body tensed—

And then you shattered.

“Ah—f-fuck!”

Your orgasm crashed over you in violent, rolling waves. Twitching. Writhing. Gasping for air. Each wave more intense than the last, cresting until you had to clamp your hand over your mouth, smothering the cry tearing from your throat. You kept going, riding it out, chasing every last drop of it.

Until it was too much. Too sensitive.

Too everything .

Finally, finally—you stilled. Blinking your eyes open. Your fingers sliding out slowly, soaked and trembling. Chest still rising and falling in sharp, ragged breaths. You slumped against the tub, spent and dazed. Then you lifted your hand, watching the wetness glisten on your fingers. Still catching your breath.

All of it for her.

All of it because of her.

---

You stayed in the bath for another ten minutes, your body slack and warm, eyes half-lidded as the steam clung to your skin. Every inch of you still hummed. Eventually, your limbs started to feel heavy with the kind of fatigue that came after something… intense. You sighed, finally pushing yourself up, wincing slightly as the cool air kissed your flushed skin. Wrapped a towel around yourself. Tucked it tight.

You paused in front of the bathroom door, hand hovering over the knob, trying to smooth your face. Your breathing. You didn’t look like someone who just moaned Agatha Harkness’s name while fingering herself in her bathtub, right? God. You ran a hand through your damp hair, trying not to groan into the steam-thick air. Your legs still felt a little shaky beneath you, towel clutched in white-knuckled hands like it might somehow protect you from the sheer mortification if she—if Agatha—

No. She hadn’t heard anything. Hopefully.

You slowly cracked open the door. The light outside was dim, just a soft amber glow spilling from a candle on the dresser. Her room was hushed and still. No movement. No footsteps. Just the steady sound of a page turning.

Agatha.

There she was. Sitting in the same chair she had when you’d begged her to stay. Crossed legs, ankle dangling over a knee. A light brown sweater clung lazily to her frame, sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. Her hair was mussed in a way that felt… effortless. Like she'd run her fingers through it once and left it that way.

You wanted to go right back into that bath and put your hand to work again—just from the way she looked at rest.

You wrapped the towel tighter around yourself. The steam still clung to your skin, leaving you flushed and far too warm. You cleared your throat—not because you wanted her to look at you. Not because you wanted her to see you in a towel. Just so she’d leave. So you could change. Into your clothes this time. Not hers.

Though… you wouldn’t mind wearing hers again.

Agatha looked up slowly, unhurried. Her eyes moved from your face—then down. Down the slope of your neck. Over your damp collarbones. Further. Down. Then lazily back up.

A smirk played on her lips. Subtle. Barely there. But enough. You felt it like static running over your skin.

And for a moment, you were completely convinced.

She’d heard you.

You froze where you stood. Eyes locking on hers. Heat climbing from your chest to your face. God, she had to have heard you. That tub wasn’t that far from the door. Her bedroom was connected. The walls weren’t exactly soundproof. And you hadn’t exactly been quiet. You thought back—flashes of your voice, your moans, the breathy way you’d whispered her name. Her name.

Your stomach flipped. You pulled the towel tighter.

She heard you. She heard everything. And now she was sitting there. Looking at you. With that look on her face. The smirk. The silence. The casual page turning like she hadn’t just listened to you fall apart for her in a room away.

Oh god. Oh god.

You took a small step backward. Unless—unless she’d gone to her study. You’d heard the door. Earlier. That soft click in the hallway. She’d said nothing since. She hadn’t come back in until just now. Had she?

Maybe she’d been in the study the whole time.

You clung to that. Yes. The study. Far enough away. Maybe the door had been closed. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything.

You nodded once to yourself, desperate for that reality to be true. That had to be it. Right?

You lifted your chin. “I need to change,” you said quickly. Your voice sounded small. Strained.

Agatha raised a brow, the corner of her mouth still tilted, but said nothing.

You motioned toward the door, your voice a little firmer this time. “Can you give me the room for a minute?”

She blinked once. Then uncrossed her legs slowly, closing the book without hurry. That unreadable expression on her face never shifted. No teasing remark. No protest. Not even a joke.

She stood. Her gaze slid over you one last time—slow and heavy. Then she moved toward the door, And then she was gone. Door clicking shut behind her.

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding, towel still clenched in both hands. Heart hammering. Mind racing. Skin still aching from the memory of your own touch.

You were not going to survive this woman.

You headed to the duffel bag she’d brought up for you, pulling out clothes and setting them on the dresser. Dropped the towel. Your eyes went straight to the blackish veins blooming faintly across your ribs.

You ran a hand over them, wincing slightly. Why was this happening?

You slid your clothes on, mind still reeling. Why was it that the second you arrived in Hollow Wood, everything strange had started happening to you? Back in Washington, you got to study in a library… write your thesis. Maybe go out with Billy. Life was normal.

But now?

Now it felt like you’d been shaken upside down and wrung out to dry.

You glanced at the bed. Agatha’s bed.

Were you allowed to sleep in it?

Did she have a guest room?

Was she expecting you to just… crawl under her sheets like it was nothing?

God.

You weren’t sure what was worse— sleeping in her bed or asking if you were allowed to. It’s not like you hadn’t slept there already. The past two—maybe three—days? You’d been passed out cold in those same sheets, body aching, mind fogged, her chair pulled up close like she’d kept watch.

But this time you were actually awake . Actually aware . Not sick or unconscious or halfway to the other side. She hadn’t tucked you in. You’d have to do that part yourself.

You stared at the bed a long time, still clutching the edge of your shirt, frozen. Not breathing. Not blinking. Brain looping with the quiet static of What now? What now? What now? 

You could… go downstairs?

Yeah.

Meet Agatha there. Eat something. Pretend like you weren’t thinking about her bed. Or her voice. 

Your stomach rumbled faintly, like it agreed with the idea.

Right. Food. Distraction.

You could even grab your other things—she’d said they were in the living room, hadn’t she?

Yes. Yes, that was a plan. A good one.

Anything but standing here like some overheated ghost haunting the edge of her bed.

You exhaled slowly, wiped your damp palms against your sweatpants, and moved toward the door.

You walked quietly down the stairs, the wood warm beneath your feet. The house was dim, cozy—just the crackling of the fireplace and the faint sound of kitchen drawers opening and closing. You followed the smell before the sound, something buttery and familiar drifting toward you. Comforting.

Agatha was in the kitchen, back turned, sleeves still rolled up from earlier. Her hair had fallen a little more, soft waves brushing the line of her shoulders. She moved around the kitchen with unhurried confidence—light touches, small glances, like she was half listening to music only she could hear.

You hesitated at the edge of the room, one hand skimming the wall, trying not to startle her. She didn’t turn, but her voice reached you all the same.

“Back from your dramatic bath exit?” she asked, almost idly, like she was just pointing out the weather. “Or did you come down here to steal more of my clothes?”

You blinked. “I—I was just… I thought maybe you said my things were down here. And I was kind of… hungry?”

Agatha finally turned, leaning a hip against the counter, one eyebrow arching in clear amusement. “Hungry,” she repeated, like it was the most suspicious word in the English language.

You nodded. “If it’s not too much trouble. I can make something. Or, I don’t know, scavenge. You probably have crackers.”

“Crackers,” Agatha said dryly. “What do I look like, a raccoon in a retirement home?”

You smiled, awkward but soft. “It’s okay. I can forage.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove. “Sit down before you humiliate yourself. Again.”

You pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, sinking into it with quiet relief. The wood was warm, just like everything else in her house. It didn’t feel like a place meant to impress anyone. It felt lived in. Real.

“You’re making something?” you asked, watching her work.

“Mashed potatoes,” she said. “Easy for you to digest. Thought I’d spare your delicate constitution.”

Your brow furrowed. “That’s weirdly thoughtful of you.”

Agatha turned just enough to flash you a grin over her shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”

She went back to peeling something, the scrape of the blade rhythmic against the sink. You sat in silence for a moment, listening to the soft thud of her movements, the clink of a spoon, the low bubble of water on the stove.

It was… peaceful.

Domestic.

And somehow that made everything worse .

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d done in her bathtub less than an hour ago. How your thighs had trembled. How her name had sounded in your mouth.

You bit your cheek.

And then—there it was.

Agatha lifted her left hand to sprinkle something into a small bowl of melted butter, fingers flicking with a precise, almost elegant motion. Her wrist rolled just so. Her fingers moved with intent. Sharp and fluid and—

Your throat dried.

That exact movement. Her fingers. That—

You looked away fast, face heating.

Nope. Not thinking about that. You were not going to think about the way she could use her hands. Absolutely not.

Agatha didn’t look back at you, but you swore there was a flicker of something—amusement?—in the set of her shoulders.

You tried to recover. “So, um… do you always make mashed potatoes at night for exhausted houseguests, or am I special?”

Agatha snorted. “You’re lucky I didn’t feed you toast.”

You smiled into your sleeve. “I would’ve accepted toast.”

“Of course you would’ve,” she murmured, tossing the peeled potatoes into a pot. “You’ve got that desperate, polite thing going on. Like if I told you to go chew on a paper napkin, you’d thank me and ask if it was gluten free.”

“I would not,” you said, indignant. “Probably.”

Agatha finally turned around again, crossing her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Mm. I’m not so sure.”

You looked up at her, the kitchen’s warm light making her hair catch gold at the edges. She was watching you with that lazy, unreadable expression again—like she already knew what you were thinking before you thought it.

You shifted in your seat. “I’m not that polite.”

“Oh?” Her brow quirked, lips twitching.

“I mean,” you tried again, “I don’t let people walk all over me.”

Agatha hummed. “Just let them cook for you, clothe you, bring you home, give you their bed…”

“That’s different,” you mumbled. “I didn’t ask for any of that.”

“No,” she said, moving back to the stove, “but you didn’t exactly fight me, did you?”

Your mouth opened. Closed. You had no idea what to say to that.

She chuckled to herself as she stirred the pot, then added softly, “Relax. You’re not that easy to take care of. I’m just good at it.”

You blinked. Something warm curled in your chest.

You watched her in silence as she mashed the potatoes with fluid, practiced movements—quiet, unhurried. Like it was the kind of thing she did every night.

Maybe it was.

You sat back in your chair, head tilted slightly.

This woman was impossible. Sharp tongued and unreadable. But then she made you mashed potatoes at night. Worrying about your stomach. Worrying about you , even if she’d never say it aloud.

And god help you, but it was kind of the most attractive thing you’d ever seen.

You cleared your throat. “Can I help with anything?”

She didn’t look up. “You’ve helped enough for one day.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Agatha just smirked, spooning a heap of soft potatoes into a bowl and sliding it across the table toward you.

“Eat,” she said. “Before I change my mind.”

You looked down at the bowl. Steam curled gently upward. Warm. Comforting. Safe.

You smiled.

“Thank you,” you said, voice soft.

Agatha leaned her hip against the counter again, folding her arms as she watched you take the first bite.

“That polite thing again,” she said, shaking her head.

You just shrugged, mouth full of buttery goodness. “Told you. I’m not that polite.”

She laughed once. Low and warm.

Agatha plopped down across from you with her own bowl, but hers was noticeably fuller—steak, vegetables, a glisten of something richer than potatoes.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” you said, pouting dramatically.

Agatha rolled her eyes with exaggerated patience, already taking a bite. She chewed leisurely, eyes half-lidded like she was doing it just to spite you.

“It is fair,” she said around her fork, “because I’m not the one who tried to summon a beast and almost got myself killed doing it.”

You huffed. “That was an accident.”

“So is eating glue, but we don’t hand out medals for it.”

Without thinking, you shot right back, “I wouldn’t be so sure—I heard from a little bird you and Harry—”

Your words caught midair.

Your eyes widened. Your mouth snapped shut.

Shit.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

Agatha froze for the briefest moment, fork still hovering near her mouth. Her eyes narrowed just a bit—sharpened, but not hostile. More… curious. Watching you like she’d just found something shiny beneath a rock.

“Care to finish your sentence?” she asked, voice light but deceptively smooth. That silk-over-steel tone that made your spine straighten.

You shook your head, suddenly very interested in the potatoes. “Nope. I’m good.”

She leaned forward just slightly, chin propped on one hand, elbow on the table. “Come on. You can’t just dangle a mystery like that and not follow through.”

You stabbed your fork into the potatoes, desperate for a distraction. “It was nothing. Just… some old notes. From Irene. I didn’t even read all of it.”

“Irene?” Agatha repeated, her tone shifting ever so slightly. There was an undercurrent now—something tight beneath the casual lilt, like a bowstring being drawn just a hair too far.

“Uh, yeah… just some… lady I met. Well, actually, on the bus to Hollow Wood and—” You glanced up. Agatha was staring at you, still as stone, those sharp blue eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Then I met her at a coffee shop,” you went on, trying not to fidget, “and… kind of went to her house.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, like that might ease the heat crawling up it.

Agatha clicked her tongue softly and went back to eating, her expression unreadable again.

You blinked. Was she jealous? 

No… no. No way.

Still, something about her silence begged to be poked at. So, you did. Carefully.

“She said she knew you…”

Agatha didn’t look up. She didn’t flinch. But you caught the faintest pinch between her brows. Just a flicker.

“She mentioned the moonflowers, too,” you added, voice light, tilting your head. “Sounded like it meant something.”

That got her.

Agatha’s eyes met yours again, the weight of her stare immediate. Her lips were parted slightly, like she might say something—but she didn’t. Not at first. Her gaze drifted, just for a second, toward the far end of the kitchen. The window? The corner? You weren’t sure.

And then, with a sigh that sounded like she’d finally decided not to launch a fork across the table, she set it down and leaned back in her chair.

“She talks too much,” Agatha muttered, dry as dust.

You stifled a grin. “So you do know her.”

Agatha gave you a look. “I know a lot of people. Doesn’t mean I want them giving out my résumé to every history major with a soft voice and a pair of wide eyes.”

Your face flushed, but you tried to keep it cool. “I don’t have wide eyes.”

“Sure you don’t,” she said, smirking into her water glass.

You scoffed. “Don't deflect. You do know her. Meaning you know her husband… Harry. Right?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

Her fingers, idly curling at the rim of her bowl, stilled. You watched her jaw shift slightly—subtle, but tense. She blinked once. Slowly.

You pushed. “The one that was mauled just past the cemetery? The same one you just happened to find me near... hm? You still won’t tell me why you were out there…”

Still no answer. She just set her spoon down with an exaggerated, delicate clink. Her posture didn’t change, but something behind her eyes flickered. Something old. Something tired.

“Why does the little historian care?” she asked, the corner of her mouth curling upward again. But it didn’t reach her eyes this time. “You seemed pretty happy to see me then.”

You stared at her.

“I know you know Harry,” you said, firmer now. “Because you were mentioned in his notes. And his research. Far too many times to be a coincidence.”

That got her.

Agatha didn’t smile this time.

She sat back slightly, folding her arms across her chest. Her fingers tapped once, twice, against her bicep. You watched her weigh something—words, maybe. Or the risk of speaking them.

“Harry liked to dig,” she said finally. “Dig too deep, if you ask me.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet.

She looked past you then, her eyes unfocused, somewhere else entirely. “Some people… get obsessed with the wrong questions. They think if they pull apart enough threads, they’ll find something meaningful underneath. Something real. ”

Her gaze snapped back to yours, piercing. “Usually, all they get is tangled.”

You opened your mouth, but she cut in before you could speak.

“I didn’t hurt him.”

The words came out flat. Final.

You blinked. “I didn’t say you did.”

“No,” she said, voice a little softer now, “but you’re thinking it.”

“I—” You faltered. “I just… want to understand.”

Agatha exhaled, slow and heavy. She reached for her glass again, turning it in her hands without drinking. “You won’t. Not yet.”

You looked down at your plate, appetite gone. The mashed potatoes had gone cold around the edges.

There was silence. Not heavy, but something close to it. Like the kind that settles between two people who are suddenly very aware of how much they don’t know about each other.

Then Agatha stood up with a small huff. “You want more potatoes or what?”

The question was so abrupt, so domestic in its delivery, it knocked the breath out of you.

You blinked. “What?”

She raised a brow at you like you were the unreasonable one. “You barely ate. If I’m going to be accused of conspiring with dead men and dragging grad students into murder plots, I at least deserve a clean plate in return.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Just a little. A quiet breath through your nose, more a release than anything else.

“I guess… I could eat a little more,” you muttered.

“Good,” Agatha said, already turning toward the kitchen. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“For what?” you called after her.

She looked over her shoulder, that smirk back in place. “Surviving dinner with me again tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart—traitor that it was—fluttered anyway.

Next Chapter

[capekelpie]

Thinking Rafael Barba thoughts again. So there's been some discussion in the fandom about how this civil servant affords multiple two thousand dollar suits. The man dresses like he has 'fuck you' money, and clearly attends events and social gatherings associated with wealth. Even Raul Esparza has weighed in on this. As far as I can tell, the prevailing theories are as follows:

He made a killing in private practice before becoming an ADA

Lucky investments

He's got some very shady dealings going on under the table

Now all three are great, and 3) has some brilliant plot potential. But I would like to present a fourth theory that is infinitely funnier and still, i like to think, plausible.

4. Rafael Barba lives on ramen noodles every single day and shares a matchbox apartment with four college students who are all sworn to secrecy on pain of death.

Its all about the appearance. His entire budgeting strategy is based on the need to sell the image of wealth and success, and everything else is secondary. He's bulk buying rice, bumming WiFi off the neighbours, coupon hoarding better than any suburban housewife. He lives in an affluent part of town in case anyone sees him around but his flat is the size of a pea pod and he has multiple housemates. But that's all fine, because his suits are tailored, his haircut crisp, and his cologne is all brand name. His ideology is 'fake it till you make it' and baby, he's all out of making it. "Not my yacht" is right, but nobody would ever know.