#these things are put in for a purpose and I love dissecting things

[absent-o-minded]

Tiny YR S3 Analysis

Just wanted to compare the parallels between these two hand holds in 3x05 and 3x06:

(Please ignore the shitty screencaps, I tried my best)

In terms of composition, these shots are identical. A hand-hold centre to the frame, in a car with the camera placed in the middle. However, they're underpinned by different narrative contexts.

Here, the first shot from 3x05 is drenched in darkness. The actual lighting inside of the car is dim enough to obscure both of their suits, which almost blend them into the seats and so it becomes hard to distinguish between the two of them - The only focussed light is on their conjoined hands. Notably, the actual touch itself is tentative, almost like the bridging of an awkward divide on the way to the palace. Neither of them are sure what the touch actually means. Even their sleeves fall over their wrists and interfere with the actual act, so we only see the bottom half of their hands. Simon reaches out first and places his hand in the open sliver between the two seats before Wille accepts and laces their fingers together. It's an assured squeeze that reads as: "I'm not sure what will happen. I'm nervous." "I am too."

This scene has garnered a lot of analysis for its parallel to the Kristina x Wille car scene in S1 where people have commented on the reversal of blocking - Wille now assumes Kristina's position and Simon equally assumed Wille's. We now know that this arrives before the birthday explosion, and so it's also a touch that signifies confronting the inner workings of an oppressive environment (the palace). It's nerve-wracking and cautious and consolidating, but it's also doubtful. We, as spectators, pick up on visual and physical cues and so we begin to see the hand-hold as an visual indicator that the unity between the two characters is about to be disrupted.

~~~~~

However, the shot in 3x06 reads entirely differently. The first thing is that the shot is bathed in light. It's a bit like an embrace, contrasting the previous presentation of a cold backseat, Simon and Wille are literally basking in the sun. Most importantly, there is a light flashing on Wille as it seeps in from the windows, illuminating his spot as a person who is newly free. Simon sits to the left with the natural light (no abundance of light) because Simon has always strived to be free. He has never turned away from the light. As he said earlier in the episode: "I never gave up on us. I gave up on the royal court." For Simon, the issue was never the fear of being free, but the constraint of not being free. For Wille, fear hung over his shoulders just like a King's robe would. Being free was an aspiration, never a reality.

But that has all changed. The light is let in. It stands similar to a spot-light, where Wille finally lets the sun hit his body and not have it scorch him, but rather enlighten him.

The actual act of holding hands is no longer bridging an uncomfortable space; It's an assured togetherness. It is the two of them acknowledging everything that has happened and knowing that a future for the two of them is no longer a "possibility", but a truth. It's giddy and confident and safe.

It's also the final touch of the season, and so it had to speak louder than dialogue ever could - Which I think that it does. Throughout S1 and S2, we understood that physical touch was always done in private, or if not, it was done discreetly with the knowledge that it was fleeting. S3 saw the transition from private to public, but not without the fight to touch and not have it be seen as a revolution. To just let it be what it is. And THIS is what the show has been working towards for 3 years. It can all be summarised with this simple, final hand hold in a sunny car that's racing towards a future that finally, finally resembles their dreams. It's not overtly revolutionary, it's not a grand gesture; It's just theirs.

[sunnwila]

dimples

high school best friend! sam winchester x f! hunter! reader

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summary: sam winchester transferred to your high school in your junior year. he lasted all of five months there but in that time, you grew close enough for sleepovers. you reunite on the hunt years later... closer to his brother than he likes honestly. it's shocking that you can hunt for all of two minutes before he sees you take down a vamp.

warnings: some very mild angst, some fluff. jealous sammy and dimpled sammy. nerdy sammy. LOTS of back story i got carried away, sorry. some shit head big brother dean too. brief j*hn winchester mentions... idiots in love!

i love sam's dimples, what can i say.

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The first time you met Sam you were freshly seventeen in your junior year of high school. Sam was just a year below you, despite being seventeen himself (he was forced to stay back a year because of moving around so much. This severely irked him).

No one had the nerve to go up to the new kid, he was lanky and had a mean resting face that dared people to mess with him. You didn't have it either honestly, but luckily for you, you didn't need to because Sam had beat you to it.

"Is that Frankenstein?" he asked, pointing to the book in your hand. His locker was a couple across from yours, but the hallway was nearly empty. He shut his with a click before striding over to you with his head tilted in curiosity. You looked down to the book you had taken out, it was the assigned reading for your Honors Lit class, and you gripped it at the realization that he was talking to you.

"Uh. Yes," you stumbled over your words which made him quirk a half smile, his dimple peeking out at you. Suddenly the giant kid with a size too small shirt and shaggy brown hair seemed completely harmless. You smiled back and from that moment on you'd been inseparable.

Dean had teased Sam endlessly about his "girlfriend" when he would pick him up from school and see you lingering by his side on the stairs.

"Girl and friend, Dean. She's my friend who happens to also be a girl," he would correct annoyed as he slid into the passenger seat, inconspicuously looking back out the window at you.

"Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night," he retorted with a chuckle and a glint in his eye.

Sam and you would pour over books, endlessly dissecting plot structure and sharing character analysis. He would geek out about whatever he was learning in history while you carefully listened and drew little cartoons of him while he babbled.

(His face would light up when he saw these drawings of himself, or sometimes it would be a panel of cartoon-him and cartoon-you doing something silly. Every time, he'd insist you sign them before carefully putting it in-between the pages in his book).

He'd purposely annoy you with arguments like who the best classic author was (he said Salinger, you said Steinbeck) and why Dally in the Outsiders was the best Greaser (you were quite fond of Ponyboy).

Sometimes you'd read in silence together, the white noise and the sound of his breathing enveloped you and you'd sometimes (a lot of times) get distracted peeking over your page to study his face and the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated.

Practically attached at the hip, you two would walk down the halls together, laughing about whatever stupid thing you could think of to get a peek at his dimples.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't harboring the teensiest crush on him.

What wasn't to love? His smile was the cutest. He was a full head taller than you, and then some. He loved to read all of the same books you did, and he was ever the gentleman, kind and reassuring. And he was funny! Most of the time you were in stitches when he would crack the rare joke (apart from his little sarcastic comments).

The only problem was that you didn't know a thing about him. All you knew was that he moved around a lot and had a brother. There was never a mention of his mother or father. The one time he had mentioned John was brief, and it was that he was kind of a hard ass because he was a Marine. The subject was quickly dropped in favor of Napolean and Napoleonic code, something he started reading about when he got bored in Pre-Calc the week prior.

You'd never gone to his house, but he would often come to yours, first to study, then to watch movies, then for dinner. Eventually he was spending weekends at your house. Your mother thought the two of you were dating. You had to shush her anytime she thought to bring it up with a sly smile at dinner. Sam wasn't stupid, he knew, but politely continued to eat with a faint blush on his cheeks, pretending he hadn't heard.

It irked you that you two could share so much of your time with each other, but you still knew so little about him. He knew everything there was to know about you. You'd only learned the little things, his favorite color (orange, the burnt siena kind), his favorite book (The Catcher in the Rye), how he liked his eggs in the morning (over medium, not too runny, but enough that he could dip his toast in it), and his favorite band (Alice in Chains). You took what you could get, and you never let it show, but it disappointed you that he didn't trust you to tell you. You were so vulnerable with him, did he think that you wouldn't understand?

One Friday he didn't come to school. You texted him a quick where r u??? before going into your shared chemistry class. You didn't hear from him the whole day and didn't see him again until that Tuesday. Worried sick, you pushed him for answers, especially for the black eye he was sporting. He dodged your questions and gave halfhearted attempts to change the subject until eventually he shut you out. He moved out of town a day later with no explanation. He had sent a goodbye text, but that was the last you heard from him.

For the next few years, you thought about Sam. All you'd had left of him was his Radiohead CD and an arbitrary green t shirt. You'd texted and texted but got no response.

When you'd graduated top of your class, you wished he was there. When you'd had no prom date, you wished he was there. When you were applying to schools you wished he was there.

When your mom got killed by a rugaru in your second semester of your freshman year of college, you'd wished he was there.

And like any hunter worth their salt, you dropped everything and began hunting the thing that killed her.

For a while you were chasing your own tail in circles. You came across other small hunters, but it wasn't until you'd met Bobby that you were finally able to track the thing down. All those years of your mom insisting on kick boxing and Jiu Jitsu classes were starting to make sense.

She'd been a retired hunter and a close friend of Bobby's. He told you that your father had been killed by a shifter a month before you were born, leaving your mother in ruins. Instead of aiming for revenge, she swore it off to keep you safe.

Fat load of good that did you.

Rugaru dead, you found yourself spending a lot of time with Bobby. You didn't go back to school, but you did start carrying your own weight around the scrapyard and helping with the hunter information hub.

That's how you met John Winchester. And evidently Dean.

When you first met them, you couldn't believe it. Were these the infamous Marine father and annoying brother Sam hardly spoke about back then? You couldn't believe it. You obviously hadn't known before that Sam's family were hunters, but things began shifting into place in your mind when you put two and two together.

He'd clam up when the subject of college was brought up, all the weekends he'd spend at your house, avoiding questions from your mother about where his family was and if he'd told them he was staying over. All the ominous talk about not wanting to go into the family business. Your heart swelled at the thought of seeing him again, only to deflate when Bobby had to explain that Sam wasn't in the life anymore. It was then you realized that all the time Sam spent with you, was to escape.

Pieces of you were glad Sam got out. His reluctance to mention his dad then made sense. But what stood out in your mind most often was his fiery blush when you told him that with the way he talked himself out of trouble all the time, he'd make a decent lawyer

Even three years later, you still thought about him. You missed him.

So you got to know the parts of Sam he hadn't shown you before.

Dean took to you almost immediately. He remembered you from that beat-down-town years ago and enjoyed annoying you just as much as his brother once had. When you got on your feet again and started hunting, you'd tagged along with John and Dean, eager to get out. When John got sick of lugging you around, calling you dead weight (not without a sneer and a scoff of disbelief from you) he sent you and Dean to small-fry jobs.

A month or two in, Dean and you found a rhythm. Find the monster of the week, do your homework, scramble to kill the thing, celebrate with a few beers and a night at a dive.

You hardly brought up Sam. It was a touchy subject. From the tidbits you'd gathered on drunk sappy nights with Dean, Sam had left without looking back. He'd run off to college and was determined to leave this life and his brother behind. Dean hadn't spoken to him in years. You weren't sure if you should tell him that it didn't sound like Sam to leave with no contact, but then again, he had done the same thing to you. You'd only been friends for five short months; you had no idea who he could've grown up to be.

John brought him up when he needed to point out how much better Sam was at research then you were, or really anything you did-- Sam was better. The pride in his voice mixed with the disappointed look in his eye encouraged you to keep your mouth shut. Usually, you'd just sit there and fume, you hadn't known the man long enough to spit something back, sufficing with muttered fuck you-s under your breath. You hadn't wanted to upset Dean, you knew how highly he thought of his father and had decided it wasn't worth it.

Fire would rise in your chest when you saw the pained look on Dean's face anytime his dad talked about Sam. In the months you'd gotten to know him, you became fiercely protective (something that made Dean wildly conflicted, he was the big brother/mama bear... having someone else dote on him was foreign, but strangely not unwelcome).

Usually, when John started on a tangent, you just removed yourself and lugged Dean with you. He kept the shouting up as you two stalked off to the Impala, or the Motel, or wherever he wasn't. It was around those times where he would send you two off on your own.

That's how you'd found yourselves in the Impala on the way back from a hunt in Raleigh. It took a week and a half to find a haunted doll hiding in someone's attic, but you'd managed to salt and burn it without much damage. Two years of hunting with Dean put you at a comfortable ease during a hunt and the two of you pretty much knew the ins and outs of each other, both as hunters and as friends.

On the way out of North Carolina, Dean decided to call John, to check in and see how his hunt in California was going. Fourteen missed calls later, Dean was worried. Bobby hadn't heard from him, and John wasn't necessarily a friendly hunter, so none of Bobby's hunter friends had seen or heard anything either.

The car was silent while he figured out what to do in his head. His resolve never faltered, his gaze trained on the road ahead.

"I think I should get Sam," he said.

"What?" The idea of seeing Sam for the first time in over five years almost made your heart stop. But you didn't want to be selfish. it wasn't fair to bring him back because of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Our dad's missing, Sam deserves to know," he had replied, knuckles tightening on the wheel.

"Dean, are you sure we should even bring him back in?" As much as you missed Sam, you respected him more.

"Our Dad is missing," he said with a tone of finality that shut you up. You'd have plenty of time to argue with him later, it wasn't worth it right now.

"I'll drop you off at Bobby's," he added.

"What?" you repeated, starting the fight you'd planned for later. There was no way you were sitting this out, you'd told him as much, but he wouldn't have anything of it. This was something he felt he didn't need to drag you into. You didn't even like his dad anyways, he had said. Which was true but hearing him say it felt like a slap in the face, as if you weren't allowed to want to help Dean, someone who had become family.

The car ride was silent after your argument. You'd gotten out of the Impala without a word, lingering to see if he might say something. When nothing followed, you stood there like an idiot for another second before a simple "Goodluck" fell from your mouth and you shut the passenger door on him. You'd turned and trudged into the ranch ahead, too stubborn to actually give a proper goodbye.

For days you wanted to cry. You hadn't heard anything from him, Bobby mentioned he had called when he got Sam, but nothing else. When you got over yourself, you realized that in Dean's stupid protective head he probably thought he was looking after you. Whatever he thought had made his dad disappear, he didn't want you to get hurt. That's what Bobby had said. You tried to not let it sting whenever you thought about him thinking you weren't capable or a good enough hunter.

A week passed when you heard about Jess. Still nothing from Dean or Sam. You hadn't known he was in a relationship, neither did Dean, by the way he spoke about him--at least, he had never mentioned anything. A twinge of regret pierced through your heart, and embarrassingly enough, disappointment. That stupid high school crush never really went away. But you'd only sort of gotten to know him, briefly, you had no claim on him.

You didn't call Dean to check on them. You didn't want to press, you were sure Sam didn't need that right now.

Another week passed with nothing from them, and you quickly got sick of sitting around all day and decided to go back out and hunt. Overthinking your relationship with the both of them wasn't doing you any good. Bobby was worried for you, but you'd amassed quite the skill since your mother died, your fighting skills far passed anything Dean could muster, and your aim was getting better as time went on.

You took a car from the yard--something you'd been tinkering with for the time you'd spent there--and packed a bag. Then the gear. And after a nice roast dinner you'd made for Bobby and yourself, you hit the road, following a lead on a djinn down in Tennesse.

And just like that, you had spent a year hunting on your own. Not necessarily with the same efficiency that you achieved when you were hunting with Dean, but you handled your own well enough. Hunts took a little longer, but then again, you were finally on your own, no crutch to fall back on. It was relieving as much as it was lonely. You missed sharing breakfast or lunch or dinner with Dean at a diner, laughing when he stuffed his face.

And the money thing was kinda hard. Dean handled the fake credit cards. You'd learned how to hustle pool and so instead of committing credit card fraud, you used good old-fashioned misogyny to win a couple hundred bucks from loser guys at bars.

It was one of these nights that you found yourself at the edge of a pool table, hustling a group of guys that had a little more to drink then they probably should've.

Five of them crowded around the other side of the table, four cheering on the fifth who was currently aiming for a striped ball in the corner pocket. You'd beat two of them already, but somehow the others couldn't believe that you, a woman, could not beat them. Let alone have the smarts to hustle them out of their money. It must be beginner's luck they chortled amongst each other.

The laughing stopped when you beat the fourth guy. And like clockwork, the fifth stood up to play. You had to roll your eyes. Did they even consider the fact that you were hustling them? You couldn't tell if they were more upset that they were losing their money or that it was a woman they were losing to.

Either way, pride got in their way. Another win, and you had over half a grand in your hand. You had to laugh.

"Good game, hon. You almost had me!" you shook your head in amusement.

"You bitch," the fifth man snarled. Two other men saddled up behind him, giving menacing stares.

They weren't so amused, apparently.

"Freaky, huh? I mean, are you sure you guys weren't going easy on me?" you couldn't help yourself as you pocketed the cash. You hoped the kitchen was still open, maybe you could get some mozzarella sticks to celebrate your win.

"You think you're funny?" One guy said.

"Oh no! A little girl like me? Funny? Can't be," you grinned. A small audience was forming as people began to take notice of the hostility radiating off of the men. You knew when to quit it, so you smiled extra sweet at them, an evil glint in your eye, before bending down to pick up your bag from the ground.

It was at this precise moment that a few things happened at once. First, the fifth guy (the ringleader if you will) stepped forward, no doubt, with the intent to scare you. You had anticipated this and popped up, ready to play dirty and kick his knees in, when another man from the audience stepped in with a deep "Hey!" You got a brief flash of leather, and, unable to stop what had already been put in motion, side swiped the fuck out of the man stepping up to your defense.

"Shit!" he cursed as he went down. Shocked and apologetic, you turned to help him up, barely catching a glimpse of your victim, when a heavy hand came crashing down on your shoulder and pulled you away roughly. Assuming it was one of the other pissed off guys, you turned and swung in the general direction of what you assumed to be your attacker's head.

A familiar "oof" came when you made contact with a cheekbone. Immediately your brows furrowed, your hand slackened and your heart dropped. It couldn't be.

Your mouth was too slow on the uptake and Dean beat you to it. Hauling himself up from the floor where you'd swiped him down and called your name in disbelief. Your eyes widened when you realized.

Your head whipped around to see Sam standing behind you holding his cheek, bewildered.

"Holy shit!" you looked between Dean and Sam, the angry men stood forgotten on the sidelines of the whole ordeal, unsure of what to do. You paid no mind as you looked back to Sam again, not convinced this wasn't a dream.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked as he pulled you in for a hug. You embraced him and shoved your face in his leather jacket.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you quipped, slapping his shoulder.

"Getting attacked by you, even though I was about to defend your ass!"

"My ass doesn't need any defending, thank you," you smiled.

"Right. You had it handled," he rolled his eyes. You slapped his shoulder again.

"Yeah, I did. I'm a way better fighter than you," you shrugged.

"You are not."

"Bobby thinks so."

"What?" That got him. Before you could unleash your witty reply, Sam cleared his throat behind you, turning both yours and Dean's attention to him. He wouldn't look at you at first, just made big expectant eyes at Dean.

"What?" he said, clueless. Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to you with a soft smile on his face.

"Hi," he said, all sheepish.

"Hi!" You beamed and immediately pulled him in for a hug. He was at least three inches taller than the last time you'd hugged him. He smelled the same, though. Just the feeling of his heart beating against your cheek pulled you back to seventeen, pining after him and laughing in the echoing hallways.

"What are you-"

"Why are y-" you both cut each other off with an awkward chuckle as you pulled away.

"Sorry, you go," you smiled.

"No, no. You first," he gestured with his hand, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, dimples peeking out in amazement.

"Uh, before you two start, can we sit? I need a beer," Dean chimed in with a grimace. You rolled your eyes, Sam mirroring your expression before turning to the nearest booth.

When you guys settled, Sam across from you and Dean on your right, you ask your question again, "Why are you guys here?"

"Hunt, duh," Dean replied, taking a sip from his beer. You saw Sam's eyes widen in annoyance in Dean's direction.

"Oh. Right. Sammy, she's a hunter now," he explained. Your head spun back to face Sam.

"Wait, you didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know?" he replied, half joking, half butthurt at being left out.

"Well, I assumed your brother told you," you shrugged, looking to your right and fixing Dean with a look.

"Sorry, but he would've gotten all worried and distracted. You know how he is," he busied himself with a ring on his finger, avoiding eye contact.

"You're an idiot," you said before turning back to Sam with a smile.

"So you're a hunter..." he trailed off.

"Yeah, have been for about... four and a half years now?" you sighed.

"Wow. And that's how you know my brother," he said, eyeing Dean.

"Yeah. Went hunting with him and John a few times. Then with Dean for like, what? Six months?" you turned to ask.

"Eight," he replied.

"Eight months I guess," you said turning back to Sam. He had an unreadable look on his face. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it looked like jealousy, but that couldn't be. He'd tensed up when you brought up John too, and by the clear lack of him around, you understood that they still hadn't found him. You didn't push the subject.

Sam's hands rested on the table in front of you, his fingers woven together and fidgeting. He didn't say anything for a while, just looked at you like you could disappear any moment. He seemed like he wanted to say something but refrained. Maybe for Dean's sake, maybe for his own. You wished he'd just say it.

After a moment he smiled, "Man, I can't believe it's you. I thought for sure you'd be a professor or something," he shook his head.

"A professor? Why?"

"Well, I was gonna say doctor, but you hated chemistry so much back then..." he trailed off. You laughed.

"Yeah, you're right," you wanted to reach out and touch his hand just to feel him. You still didn't believe he was right there in front of you, after all the years of wishing you could see him, hear his voice.

Dean spoke up then, "We're here about some disappearances."

"Me too. It's a vamp nest," you said without turning your head. You couldn't stop staring at Sam. He was looking down at his hands, so you drank him in without freaking him out. His hair had gotten longer; he kept his bangs though. The urge to trace the moles on his face made your fingers twitch and you had to squeeze them to remind yourself of where you were. Of who you were to him. His girlfriend had only died just last year.

"You're quick," Dean replied, "when'd you get here?"

"Mmmm, last Friday?"

"Huh," Sam chimed in, studying your face. Though he tried to mask his surprise at your efficiency in finding the monster in a short few days, his mouth gave it away, twitching in disbelief.

"Right, well, y'know where it is?" Dean sipped the last of his beer and motioned for another.

"Oh yeah, couple buildings down from here, was gonna head over after I gambled for my lunch money for tomorrow," you grinned. Sam laughed at this.

"Alright lemme finish this and let's go," Dean motioned.

"Are you hijacking my hunt?"

"You don't want help?" he tutted.

"Yeah, yeah," you swatted him away as he poked your arm. Sam watched this interaction closely, his jaw clenched. You only caught a glimpse of it before he steeled himself and his face went back to neutral.

Dean finished his beer in two big gulps and you and Sam followed him out and to your car.

"You fixed this thing up?" Dean gestured to your mustang.

"Mhmm, this is Cherry," you puffed up your chest in pride as the boys looked onto your cherry red muscle car.

"Creative," Sam quipped with a teasing smile. He peeked into the car, eager to see what you had in there. He wanted to take in as much about your new life as possible. He felt like he missed so much.

You popped your trunk, grabbing a machete and a book from your duffle.

"Hey, you still like this book?" you called out to Sam whose head was almost fully in your passenger side window. He shot himself up so fast, you were surprised he didn't hit his head. Sheepishly, he walked around to you where you held out your beaten copy of Frankenstein that the two of you had gushed over all those years ago. A laugh bubbled out of him, and you warmed at the sound.

"You still have this?" he reached out to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"Well, yeah. It's in your hand, isn't it?"

"Still a smartass then," he shook his head with a fond smile.

"Says you," you nudged his shoulder. Dean had wandered off to the Impala to grab their gear, so it was just the two of you alone. "You can have it," you said pushing the book closer to his chest. More fluttering in your stomach at the contact with his warm hands.

"No," he tried to argue but you shushed him.

"Seriously. I've read it so many times, I can recite whole pages, word for word." He laughed again at this, and you beamed.

"Fine. But I'm giving it back when I'm done."

"Sure, you are."

"I missed you," he said after a moment of silence. You looked up at him.

"I missed you too."

"I wanted to call so many times," he said.

"That's okay," you looked down and kicked at a pebble with the toe of your boot.

Both of you weren't sure what to say next. The Impala started with a roar in the distance, filling the silence between you two.

"I'm sorry about Jessica," you whispered. You didn't want to bring her up. You didn't know how Sam was doing; you hadn't ever talked about anything so vulnerable regarding his life with him before, but you needed him to know.

Before he could reply, Dean rolled up, window down and head sticking out his driver's side window.

"Alright, let's dust these fuckers, you comin'?"

"Right, yeah" you said, swinging the machete in your hand. Sam cleared his throat, eyeing your swinging before rounding the car and entering the passenger side. You sidled up to the trunk, tossing the weapon in with the others and swung around to the back, sat comfortably behind the brothers.

"How long you been huntin' again? Last I heard from Bobby you were hangin' around there," Dean asked as he sped off.

"Eh, year or so? I go back to Bobby's every coupla months though," you cracked your knuckles in the silence. Sam's head turned ever so slightly in your direction, you wouldn't have caught the motion if you weren't staring. He didn't say anything for the whole ride, but Dean did a whole lot of talking for the both of them, asking how you've been, commenting on the new machete, but never bringing up John.

When you got there, Dean assigned roles. You took the back entrance; he and Sam would take the front. You had a mean swing, and weren't worried, but Sam's eyebrows furrowed when Dean announced that you would be alone. He looked about to speak up, but you interrupted before he could say anything.

"I'm good. There's only like three of them in there, last I checked. I could do this alone if I wanted," you couldn't help the boast. Dean laughed and clapped his brother on the back.

"She ain't a little girl anymore," he strutted off (because yes Dean Winchester struts). Sam followed but not without a look of reluctance to you, "Be careful," he urged.

"I always am," you smiled before jogging to the back. You peered through the windows but saw nothing but shadows. It was pitch black out and there were no lights on inside. The back door opened without any force and you made your way inside, eyes scanning what looked to be the kitchen. You heard muffled footsteps to your right, but turned to see it was just Sam.

"Anything?"

"No, there's gotta be a basement," you replied. The two of you began searching for a door until you heard a grunt come from the room next to yours. There were a few more and what sounded like a punch landing. You and Sam ran to aid Dean in whatever he was dealing with when another vamp descended on you. You swung your machete around and nailed it in the arm. It hissed and swung its other arm at you, grabbing your shoulder.

In the mess of fighting, you caught a brief glance at Sam fighting his own vamp, it getting dangerously close to his neck at points.

You ripped from the vamp's grasp and kicked it down, knocking the wind out of it before swinging your machete around and slicing its head clean off. When you turned to see how the boys were doing, you were met with less success than yourself. Dean had gotten his weapon wrestled from him and thrown to the side.

You charged up to the vamp attacking him from behind and swung, but he moved at the last second and you cut through the air, nearly missing Dean's nose. His eyes widened before turning his attention back to the vampire, turning its attention on you, pissed.

Dean grabbed for his machete on the ground and charged, nicking its shoulder. You turned back to Sam who was far too preoccupied with watching your back that he was losing his battle. His arm was bleeding as he tried to fight off with his other good arm. As you made your way to help, the vamp kicked him across the floor, Sam slammed his head on the cabinets in the fall, and you winced. You turned back to Dean, who had his vamp cornered and was talking smack (because he always has to use that smart mouth). Seeing he was perfectly fine; you turned your attention back to your vampire.

Pissed, you took one swing to the unassuming man and his head thudded to the ground, rolling as you rushed over to Sam.

"Jesus," you said as you helped him up. He groaned. "Why the hell were you watching me?" you remarked, annoyed.

"I wasn't!" he defended, propped up against the cabinets behind him. Footsteps echoed behind you.

"Sammy what the hell!" Dean said behind you.

"He didn't bite you, did he?" you asked, brows furrowed and eyes scanning his body. You looked closer at the wound on his arm, and he hissed.

"No."

"No need to be pissy about it, c'mere," you hoisted yourself up and held out a hand for him to take. He grabbed it and used the leverage to pull himself up as well, not meeting your eyes.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," you scolded.

"Yeah, well I didn't," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"I dunno why you were so worried about me. I told you; I was fine. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I gathered that," he replied with a huff as he walked through the back door.

"That was it right?" you turned to Dean who had been silent for the time being.

"Yeah, those assholes came from the basement. I checked after I wasted the other vamp."

"Wasted?" you teased.

"Shut up," he rolled his eyes with a smile. You turned your attention ahead of you again and saw that Sam was much further ahead than before, so you jogged to keep up with him.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he grumbled.

"You have a huge gash on your arm, and you hit your head like a motherfucker," you deadpanned. Normally, this would crack at least a small smile from Sam, but he said nothing keeping his eyes trained ahead.

"Listen, I don't understand why you're upset with me," you tried again.

"I'm not upset with you," he reluctantly responded after a moment.

"Then what's up?" More silence. You saw him chewing on his cheek, contemplating what to say next. "C'mon, you're my best friend," you nudged his bad arm, and he winced. "Shit, sorry."

He turned to you with a look in his eye, scanning over your face before speaking, "I wasn't expecting you to be so close with Dean."

You almost laughed, but for Sam's sake you reeled it in. A smile creeps up on you, and you watch his face for a second before replying, "Are you jealous, Winchester?"

He shook his head in disbelief and a small laugh fell from his lips. You smiled, "I missed that laugh." Your cheeks flushed at the moment of vulnerability, and you hesitated to meet his gaze. He dipped his head, so you had no choice but to look up at the puppy dog look he was giving you as the two of you walked right up to the side of the Impala.

You both stopped, saying nothing. You weren't sure what to say. Sam didn't have anything to be jealous of. Dean was your family, sure, but Sam was this big, never ending, sense of warmth. You held on to that stupid crush for years. How could you explain that to him?

You looked at him and studied his face. His lips were pursed slightly and his eyes darted back and forth over your face. You wished so badly to reach out and touch him but refrained, reminding yourself for the umpteenth time that it wasn't your place. Sam still said nothing.

Dean finally reached the two of you, clearing his throat with raised eyebrows. Some sight the two of you must've been, Sam bloody and beaten, and you sheepish and wide eyed, turning from each other to look at Dean.

"Don't you two look cute," he remarked with a smirk, making Sam choke in surprise, his neck stiff with embarrassment. Your cheeks went red, and you squinted at Dean as if you could inflict physical pain through a look. He looked smug as he glanced between the two of you and the both of you took a step away from each other at the implication.

"I need a cigarette," you both said at the same time. Then, "You smoke?"

𖤐

not really proofread... sorry !

[sunnyside30]

I don't think we talk enough about what Mac falling for Johnny means in terms of his perception of love and his relationship to Dennis. I mean, we talk a lot about Dennis catfishing and e-dating him and the sexual component of it —which gives us plenty to unpack about Dennis' psyche, so it's understandable— but my favorite aspect to dissect is Mac's willingness to "fall in love" with a ghost.

In the episode, Dennis mentions there being texts between them so we know Mac wasn't just talking to a wall the whole time, but he's been stood up by Johnny so many times.. yet he keeps at it, keeps going on errands and to motels just in case Johnny decides to actually meet him this time. He's constantly waiting for someone who never shows up for him, and that's reflective of Mac's entire character. He keeps searching for love and validation from his mom, his dad, Dennis.. and when he doesn't get it, he just keeps on pushing, putting in more effort because maybe this time it will be enough. He holds so tightly onto his faith in god, a being he can't even see or hear, but that represents a hope for eternal love if you do everything right and conform nicely to its supposed expectations.

Mac isn't a stranger to loving distant beings, so of course he fell in love with Johnny. He's so desperate for someone to love him back but the only form of "love" he recognizes is a distant kind. That's why he can't give his date from the episode a chance, and why he doesn't want anything to do with uncle Donald. Easy and earnest love isn't something Mac knows. Hell, it isn't even worth it. Love, in his experience, requires work and sacrifice, otherwise what's the point?

This also plays a lot into his dynamic with Dennis, and why Mac will never let go of it. Sure, we saw him kind of trying to move on in 'The Gang Gets Romantic' by fabricating a love story for himself with Greg, and a more genuine attempt in 'Frank vs. Russia' by dating Johnny, but all roads eventually lead back to Dennis. A part of it can be attributed to Dennis not letting him move on —keeping Mac at arm's length while giving him just enough to keep him hooked— but that's not all. At this point I don't think there's anything Dennis could do or not do to put a definitive end to Mac's obsession with him, because he's exactly the type of person Mac craves in his life. As mentioned before, Dennis is someone that makes him earn his love and respect, and Mac can't find that in other potential romantic partners. He already tried looking for it online, where you can meet all kinds of people from all kinds of places, and who did he find? Dennis.

Obviously, the Johnny thing being orchestrated by Dennis means that Mac "found him" on purpose, but the point here is that Mac didn't know that. From his perspective, it was a fresh start with someone completely new, a guy that met his subconscious requirements. It just so happens that his requirements are Dennis. Because as mushy and gooey as it sounds, at the end of the day Mac is irreversably in love with him. He loves Dennis so intrinsically that he falls for him a second time, without even being aware of it. And I suspect he always will, no matter how many times he tries to move on.

[futureplayboibunnie]

Heartless Pt. 4

Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

You and Miguel are married to each other…and it wasn’t because of love.

thank you for all the love so far! also this is my personal touch for this fic, but while i was writing it i was listening to the entire Honeymoon album by lana del rey (especially the instrumentals) i’d recommend listenting to it. it fits this vibe so perfectly, literally trying to encapsulate that feeling with this series.

“I'm in the middle of something.” You piped up nonchalantly, like being half naked and dripping with water in front of men was a completely normal occurrence. “Well, now that you're here, it would be nice if you were helpful by getting my bags.” You said with a wry, and slightly pissed-off smile. He just observed you with darkened eyes and a grinding jaw, if he pressed harder you would practically hear the bones crunch together. The look you gave him was an urging one. “So what will it be? Gaping at me blankly or being mildly helpful?” Your tone was aggravating, grating the inside of his head- your glib comments were making him realize that you were actually capable of disrespecting him.

Miguel didn't know what to make of you in his room like this, acting as if it were your own. It wasn't. But you were married now. Technically, what was his was yours. He didn't like it. He sneered, his features merely angry slashes contorting up his face. “I'm not your sniffer dog.” He barked, storming out of the room and slamming the door so hard that it closed and sprung back open. You rolled your eyes at his outburst, but you had to admit, it was a little unnerving to see him lose his temper that quickly. Miguel huffed, grabbed your stupid bag, and slammed the door open like a bull in a china shop. “Here, and get out of the room. It's mine.”

“What? I was in here first.” You protested in vain, you were the one who was dragged away on a honeymoon, you were the one who was being ordered around like a stuck-up child. The least he could do was let you sleep wherever you wanted to sleep.

“Well, I own the fucking building.” Miguel bit back deadpan, his voice flat and so sadistically arrogant, like money was all that made him. It was an insult to the whole idea of humanity to rely on something as belittling as money.

Miguel's head was storming, dissecting every single premonition about you and how you could so easily flip on him, he would tolerate your disrespect for now, you hadn't properly settled in yet, but if you made it a habit, he'd make you regret it. It should be funny, Miguel was so proper and particular about his women. There were things he liked and didn't like on women. He hated flats. He only liked certain colors. He hated jeans. He liked skirts and dresses for...easy access. He liked his women easy, and you were definitely not easy. You were making it difficult for him on purpose now. But for some reason, defiance suited you more than nonchalant complacency. It was more entertaining than the graceful, polite facade you shirked up.

“Can I put my clothes on now?” You objected, snapping him out of his pondering, looking like an idiot just glaring at you like this.

Part of him wanted to say ‘Well. No. I'd prefer you with nothing on actually.' His steely resolve almost broke at the realization, but he shook his head and pushed it down. Yes, you were attractive but your personality was a mystery for him, he was battling his own personal mysteries, and he didn't have time to psychoanalyze anyone elses.

-

You slept...okay. Miguel didn't disturb you or actually force you out of his room which was odd. He probably had enough of this senseless bickering, you'd probably just go back to ignoring each other, maybe at least try to independently enjoy this stupid 'honeymoon.’

The sun woke you up sweetly, and the soft gentle breeze billowed through the open curtains, offering the hum of salt air whispering through the room. You wanted to avoid Miguel as long as you could, so you decided to just go in the garden, sunbathe, read a book, do something meaningless to just forget about the fact you're married to one of the most dangerous men you've ever met.

You practically jumped out of bed, went to the bathroom, splashed your face with water, brushed your hair, and put it up in a claw clip with the speed of an Olympic runner. But what was all the hurrying for when you were completely stumped on what to wear? You tossed out your clothes and put them all away, you ultimately decided to wear a bikini and on top a cute mid-thigh sundress, you weren't going anywhere too fancy, the back garden wasn't exactly Paris fashion week. When you glanced outside the terrace, you were happy to see that the garden was adorned with carefully cut shrubs, willowing trees, orchids, and chrysanthemums. Considering Miguel rarely leaves for leisure, it was a surprise that is was being kept up - it must have meant a lot to him then. You grabbed your things and opened the door quietly, wanting to sneak out as soundlessly as possible in order not to attract attention from Miguel, or worse, be the reason to wake him up.

You padded away barefoot, feeling the warmth of the sun outside surround you as it seeped through every glass window.

Even though Miguel told you to get used to his lifestyle, you still hadn't settled in, something just didn't sit quite right with you. You were fortunate enough to come from a wealthy family but the way Miguel wasn't bothered by the sheer amount of blood money he acquired is...distasteful. Thinking of which, you peeked your head around the corner in order to see if Miguel was awake but instead you found something else. He wasn't in bed at all. He was asleep, his hands were crossed on the kitchen counter and his head was flat on his upper arm, fast asleep with his laptop open in front of him Jesus. He still hadn't changed. What was it with men not wanting to take care of themselves?

You shifted towards him, inching closer and closer to his sleeping form. Wow. He almost looked peaceful, not full of that mindless aggression he was known for. His copper hair was tousled and disheveled, his golden skin was creased but reflective against the light, and his breathing was slow and heavy- it was odd seeing him this relaxed when he wasn't even in a relaxing position in the first place. You raised an eyebrow at his disposition. Maybe Miguel wanted to outsmart and outwit sleep, he obviously had to succumb to its charms. You worked your way around the kitchen island, unable to stop looking at him like this, you grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and just stood and stared at him like a creep. You really should leave before he wakes up, but you didn't want him sending his capos combing the entire complex for you, so you just left him a note.

In the garden.

-

Miguel heard a gunshot.

It reverberated in his ears.

More gunshots. Thousands of rounds smoking away.

His eyes widened, and the sleep left his bones. His head spun around, shifting erratically, and he almost fell off the fucking chair. A tight anxiety squeezed the color out of his face, the heavy breaths wouldn't bring any solance to any of the fragments falling at his palms. His chest filled with panic, and the first thing that came into his head to find was you. He eyed your note and rushed down as fast as he could. He needed to get you out of here.

But then all he heard was silence when he stepped out onto the patio. A muffling silence. Then the sharp hum of wildlife, the birds chirping, the distant sounds of the beach, the flattening waves. The crickets trilled and the leaves rustled, the nostalgia of the oddly familiar sounds crept up on him like a disillusioning shadow. An itch he couldn't scratch. A never-ending nightmare he couldn't end. A man with everything he could ever want, but no clear consciousness, no clear mind. He was blind and tortured.

You were lying on a sunbed, and Miguel only caught onto your back and a little bit of your side profile. His eyes were dead set on you, contemplating you...and there you are, emerging in his eyeline. Those flashes of skin become a painting, a jigsaw puzzle coming together. He was slow in his movements, finally viewing you as you were. You were lying there, glowing in a small bikini, taking in the sun like a nymph. Your body was so….

Miguel frowned.

The apple you bit into was stuck to your teeth, you stopped everything you were doing, pausing for your eyes to follow from Miguel's thighs to his face. This was the moment where he saw you as if you were like a deer in headlights, like a naive girl who tries to hide behind back-talk and retaliation. The wide-eyed look you gave him, pupils glazing over, revealing no thought behind your eyes. But he saw you. He saw you being affected by his presence. He felt himself loom over you. Your eyebrows creased in pensive irritation, Miguel's face was hard and steely in something he couldn't quite define. You finished biting into the apple, chewing and just giving him a nonchalant look. Reverting back like second instinct.

“Did you rush out here to gawk at me again? Or to blame me for your lack of sleep?” You breathed out judgementally, but at that moment, the way your eyes connected sent a strange chill down your spine, even when you were lying out in the sun. Miguel felt it too. The scorching, pulsating beat behind your gaze was a never-ending maze, an attempt to figure out who was going to break first. Neither of you was willing to back down. It was sizzling…as wellias unsettling.

Miguel didn't know how to answer your question. He couldn't exactly tell you that his nightmares of the most traumatic thing that's ever happened to him tricked his head into believing he was hearing the remnants of it in real time. Part of him wanted to say yes to both. His sleep schedule was a nightmare in itself and the woman who is the bane of his existence has to be looking so...delicious when he was absolutely not in the mood. He wanted you with nothing on, maybe force you to look at him the exact same way he just found you...with his hand between your thighs.

Miguel shook the annoying, sleep-induced thought away. He was acting like every other man, their mind wandering to hell when they see any attractive woman- he won't fall for it. He won't. But you weren’t any other woman were you?

Miguel watched you bite into the apple and instinctively, he just grabbed it from your mouth, almost pulling at it. He watched your face flit into a multitude of different emotions at what he did. You opened your mouth to say something but you just huffed instead, glaring a hole into his face. Miguel took a bite out of it and tilted his head to contemplate you. He knew he shocked you.

You were really fuckable.

Extremely fuckable.

It was an objective statement.

But he still won't play into it. Nah. You wouldn’t be able to fix him. He was too damaged for you. He wouldn’t mind the primitive pleasure of fucking you. He just won’t do it. You weren’t as nice as before. You’d grown a smart mouth.

“Hm.” That was all he could say to you. “I want my room back.” His fingers reached out and tilted your chin up a little, he felt you flinch just a millisecond and that expression on your face was unamused, dead set looking up at him. It felt like you were holding your breath. He took another bite out of the apple. "Happy sunbathing carino." He yelled behind him as he walked away.

-

taglist (giggles) : @deputy-videogamer @aisyakirmann @idolautism @residentialcryptid @bunnyrose01 @hqllcheers @minalovesyoubabes @amelialysm @moonvoidpng @ahano @hanberkkk @lavenderslemonade @mynameiswilliamblake @gejo333 @leahnicole1219 @iite-cool @zaunsin @kkchgee @yujyujj @hazelnutbitch @hiraya1802 @leo-lvr @sh4nn @watyousayin @siidmm @ciwywt-com @death-moth-art @ihateuguys @enmuhusben @berry-potchy @s0lm1n @amelialysm @migueloharastruelove @lauraolar14 @tashames @soymiguelsesposa @noblesavagex @miguelsslutprincess @lilipads (sometimes i hate this fkn app it literally doensn’t let me tag other ppl why)

[phoenixblaze1412]

Hiii love your page sm! Wondering if I could request Dottore with Fem!reader who is like The Herta from HSR? 💜💜

In the cold, clinical corridors of the Akademiya, brilliance often hid behind veils of eccentricity. You were no exception, with a personality as peculiar as it was captivating. Detached from the world’s expectations and deeply engrossed in your intellectual pursuits, you found fascination in everything strange. Your aloof and deadpan demeanor often put others off—but not Dottore.

Dottore—Zandik, as he was known back then—was equally ostracized, though for vastly different reasons. His methods were merciless, his goals unrelenting. Yet, despite his cold, calculated nature, he found himself inexplicably drawn to you, the odd scholar with a penchant for creating strange automatons and making unsettlingly blunt remarks.

The first time you met, Zandik was dissecting a particularly rare desert creature, his movements precise and methodical. You walked in uninvited, holding a curious automaton in your hands. It was a strange, humanlike small version of you with spindly limbs and an almost lifelike gaze.

“Is this where you hide when you don’t want to deal with people?” you asked flatly, tilting your head as you observed him.

He glanced up briefly, his expression neutral. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

You ignored his question, setting the mini automaton of you on the table beside him and poked its cheek. “Do you think it’s creepy? People keep saying it’s creepy.”

He stared at the automaton for a long moment, then back at you. “What exactly is it supposed to do?”

“Anything I tell it to,” you replied with a shrug. “But mostly, it’s just fun to look at. Like you.”

His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t take it personally,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “You have a very symmetrical face. People like symmetrical faces.”

That was the beginning of your strange dynamic—equal parts baffling and fascinating.

Your personality was a study in contrasts. You were perpetually calm, unbothered, and mildly sarcastic. Dottore, on the other hand, was intense, driven, and occasionally prone to fits of anger when things didn’t go his way.

You often made comments that left him speechless.

One day, as you watched him conduct a particularly gruesome experiment, you looked over his shoulder, “You know, most people would find this horrifying.”

He didn’t look up. “And you don’t?”

You shrugged. “It’s gross, sure, but it’s also fascinating. Kind of like you.”

He paused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You have a strange way of giving compliments.”

“I wasn’t trying to compliment you,” you said simply, your expression blank. “Just stating facts.”

While you found entertainment in experimentation, Dottore was wholly consumed by it.

“Why do you care so much about proving everyone wrong?” you asked him one night as you tinkered with your automaton.

“Because they are wrong,” he said, his voice cold and sharp. “Their ignorance holds back progress.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’re very passionate about being right. It’s almost cute.”

He scowled. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” you replied, your tone flat. “You just make it easy.”

Despite your differences—or perhaps because of them—you and Dottore found yourselves gravitating toward each other.

He was often intrigued by your automatons, though he’d never admit it outright.

“What’s that one supposed to do?” he asked one day, gesturing to a new automaton of you that you’d been working on.

“It sings and dances,” you replied, pressing a button on its back. The automaton began to hum a haunting melody, its movements eerily lifelike as it twirled around in one place like a ballerina does.

Dottore raised an eyebrow. “And what purpose does that serve?”

“It doesn’t need a purpose,” you said with a small smile. “Not everything has to be useful.”

He huffed, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You often found yourself drawn to his intensity, even if you didn’t always understand it.

“Do you ever stop working?” you asked him one evening as you sat on a table, watching him scribble notes.

He didn’t look up. “No.”

“That��s unhealthy, you know,” you said, resting your chin in your hand.

“And yet, I’m perfectly fine,” he replied curtly.

You leaned closer, a small smirk playing on your lips. “You’re fascinating, you know that?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes narrowing. “You have an odd way of showing affection.”

“Who said anything about affection?” you teased.

Centuries later, after the fall of Khaenri’ah and the passage of time, you and Dottore found yourselves in Sumeru under very different circumstances.

You had disappeared from his life long ago, your fate unknown. He assumed you were dead—another casualty of the calamity that had reshaped the world. But as fate would have it, your paths crossed again during the Sumeru Archon Quest.

When you first saw him, standing tall and imposing in his Harbinger robes, you couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite symmetrical face.”

He froze, his eyes widening ever so slightly. “You.”

“Me,” you replied, as calm and unbothered as ever.

His composure quickly returned, but you could see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

“Everyone thought I was dead,” you said with a shrug. “But here I am. Surprise.”

At first, your interactions were tinged with the same mix of sarcasm and curiosity that had defined your relationship in the Akademiya.

“You’re still as insufferable as ever,” he muttered one day after you teased him about his methods.

“And you’re still as intense as ever,” you shot back. “It’s good to see some things never change.”

Despite your bickering, there was an undeniable tension between you—a connection that neither of you could ignore.

"Oh? I thought you didn't like to study about the way of how I make my automatons yet here you are, having different automatons of yourself. Do they sing and dance as well?" you asked as you looked over at the different segments working, some would stop their work to stare at you (mostly the Akademiya segments) while others would simply give you a small glance and go back to their work.

"They do not do as such. Think of them as replicas of me who acts and thinks the same way I would. They have their purposes." Dottore replied as he went back to looking over his reports.

"Yet you still made them all have a symmetrical face. How endearing." you stared back at the Akademiya segment and cupped his face, your fingers caressing the segment's cheek before pulling your hand away. You swore you could have heard Dottore let out a huff of annoyance.

As you spent more time together, the walls between you began to crumble.

One night, as you worked side by side in his lab, he glanced at you and said, “I missed you.”

You looked up, surprised by his admission. “You did?”

He nodded, his gaze softening. “More than I thought possible.”

For once, you didn’t respond with sarcasm. Instead, you reached out and placed a hand on his. “I missed you too.”

Your relationship was far from conventional, but it worked. You balanced his intensity with your calmness, and he grounded your whimsical nature with his focus.

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” he told you one day as you tinkered with an automaton.

“Coming from you, that’s a compliment,” you replied with a grin.

[ptej1980]

Well…so much for quiet

First of all let me give a round of applause to the Lukola FBI

After yet another event with the 🐜 in attendance, the Lukola FBI was able to piece together through pap pics that Luke arrived by himself and left by himself. It was also discovered that he attended the Netflix party ( no bug ) and arrived late to the GQ/Vogue party staying no more than 1 hour. @fiamat12 has a great post about it with pictures if you want to check it out.

With finding out that Luke arrived and left with out his PR accessory it gives even more fuel to the morsel he posted in the photo dump. He knows we see and dissect everything. During the WT both him and Nic mentioned how clever Polin Stans were at discovering Easter eggs. So he knows that we know that Nic is a massive fan of Love Island, mentioned it when they were discussing their intamacy scenes. So posting a bed full of food with that on the screen and screen shot of a message to Gary! I don’t have to say anything else but IYKYN.

I am not going to go tooo much into 🐜 post. It is the first thing she has posted since early December. Apart from a few random stories. Her page is now it seems strictly professional and yes Luke liked it 🤮. I don’t like being that person to be mean on purpose but even if I had no idea who she was I would look at the campaign and go WTF ����. But yeah…. Luke likes for her is a nothing. Again we would notice a no like or an unfollow, can you imagine….👏👏👏😂 it would melt the fandom and sub fandoms into chaos.

Now the biggest piece of news of the day is Lukey Newts got papped!! Oh I know, he must be tired or off his game, or he is just now being followed because his fame is rising. It was on the DM grid. But do you know what was nowhere on DM? Any gossip surrounding a launch of A….hmm do you not find that strange? Or is it because they have been briefed like all the other major media outlets? @biancadoes1 has a great theory about DM 👍

There were some on x that were freaking out because he was vaping, but fandom has known this for ages, as there have been pictures of it in Sorrento and Brazil. What is the surprising thing today is it is now being talked about everywhere on the chats about the fact Lukey is not wearing his rings and neither is Nicola. There is a theory going around on the chats that it is because when he eventually does put a ring on it will be noticeable and on a particular finger. 🤭 Thoughts?

February has not stopped…it has been insane with ups and downs. I think the best is yet to come but hey I am an eternal optimist.

Manifesting for SAG joint slay everyday until Sunday

[nikethestatue]

I think one thing some people in fandoms forget is that you're not supposed to have to dissect a book to understand what story is being told. Sure, you'll always notice more during a second reread that you didn't catch the first time. But you should be able to grasp all the necessary hints and clues by just reading the books once. That's how most people read. You're not supposed to have to annotate, tab, cross-reference three series, read bonus chapters and obsess over single words in them, for you to be able to understand in general terms where the story is going. Reading the books once, and without obsession, is enough. And that leads to Elain and to Elriel. Sometimes, it is the biggest "fans" that are the most clueless because they obsess over things in ways the author never intended.

YES. Yes, yes, yes.

That's what I mean by 'organic' reading. You just read and things should flow naturally. You should be able to understand the text and the author's intentions just from what they put in writing.

Sometimes, I will see tabbed books on IG, and it's like 130 different colors, the whole book looks like a porcupine and I am just...confused, you know?

It's not just ACOTAR. But legitimately, what are you trying to find???? What is the purpose of this?

I get wanting to highlight some parts that speak to you, but like, are you going to be tested on this? is there a dissertation you are writing?

I find all of this so weird, and I've never encountered it before. Just read the damn books and pay attention. Like I remember before HOFAS, Elriels kept mentioning Dusk. Dusk Court obviously was going to play a big role, it's been mentioned since ACOMAF, there is this constant underlying current of something Dusk-related throughout the books. Yet we were being screamed at (as usual), goaded and made fun of and being called 'delusional'. And yet, it was RIGHT THERE. And indeed, it was right there all this time. And none of us needed to annotate anything to death, because the hints were given and it was pretty easy to build a picture.

Like it's the same with Azriel's shadows. Sure, you are free to go nuts and make up all kinds of wild theories, but the bottom line is that it's pretty simple--they are there for protection, whether to camouflage him, provide him with info, give him a few seconds to react, and at times they reflect his emotions. If they disappear around someone, that's GOOD, especially when they only disappear around the 2 women he's loved, and a couple of times with Cassian, his best friend. If they don't disappear, if they don't warn him, if they act weirdly--that's bad. Or at least it's status quo.

I don't know, none of this is very complicated. But it seems that people want to make it more complicated just to fit their narrative.

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 16

word count: 5.0k

i've hidden some small things within my story that make up aspen and harry, have you guys noticed any? 🤭 where should i turn the story to from here? more dates, more intimacy, group activities, etc! let me know & thanks for all the support!

The next day, Aspen had cleared her schedule, wanting to use the free time for something meaningful. Her evening had been a whirlwind of laughter and warmth, spent with Isobel in her bed as they dissected every detail of Aspen's first official date with Harry. Takeout containers littered the nightstand, barely touched, because they were too engrossed in giggling over Harry's sweet words and Aspen's recounting of every look, every laugh, and every moment of connection.

Today felt different. There was a quiet kind of excitement humming in Aspen's chest, the kind that made her toes curl against the floor and her heart flutter every time she thought of surprising Harry. She'd been up early, not out of necessity but because the thought of doing something thoughtful for him gave her a sense of purpose she didn't often feel in her quieter routines.

Her plan was simple but heartfelt: bring Harry lunch. She'd realized, after observing how carefree and spontaneous he seemed, that he probably didn't bother with packing himself meals. He struck her as the kind of guy who either grabbed something quick or skipped lunch entirely. The thought tugged at her, making her want to do something about it.

Aspen had spent her morning channeling her rare bursts of culinary motivation into creating something she hoped Harry would love. The kitchen had filled with the warm, savory aroma of steak bites sizzling in butter, the citrusy tang of cilantro lime red rice, and the comforting, creamy scent of mac and cheese bubbling on the stovetop. Cooking wasn't something Aspen did often, but when she did, she poured herself into it entirely. Each stir, each sprinkle of seasoning, carried her thoughts to Harry—how he'd smile when he opened the container, the way he might tease her for going through so much effort, and how he'd hopefully enjoy every bite.

When the meal was ready, she carefully packed it into a container, sticking a pink sticky note on the lid. She spent longer than she'd admit debating what to write, eventually settling on a simple but warm message:

For my favorite person. I hope you love it! ❤️ —Aspen

The little heart at the end made her blush as she stuck the note firmly in place. It was bold for her, but she wanted to leave him with a tiny piece of her feelings—nothing overwhelming, just enough to make him smile.

Aspen slid the container into her light pink lunch bag, patterned with scattered white stars, and tucked in a bottle of water and a Redbull, knowing he might need the energy boost. Napkins and a fork were added as the final touches. Checking her phone, she noted the time—she had about thirty minutes before his usual break, just enough to pull everything together.

She dashed upstairs, her heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. After rummaging through her clothes, she decided on the grey flared leggings from the other night, paired with her trusty Converse. For her top, she grabbed the shirt she'd "borrowed" from Harry—it still smelled faintly of him, which made her cheeks flush as she pulled it on and tied it in the back to better fit her frame.

Aspen worked quickly, brushing her hair and pulling it into a simple half-up, half-down style. She swiped on a light coat of mascara, just enough to make her eyes pop, and dabbed tinted lip balm on her lips, giving them a subtle sheen. Glancing at her reflection, she smoothed the shirt over her waist, trying to quiet the small voice in her head wondering if she looked okay. It wasn't about being perfect—Harry had already seen her in her coziest clothes—but she wanted to feel confident and put-together.

With her tote bag and lunch bag slung over her shoulder, she took a deep breath, her heart thudding softly in her chest. The thought of surprising Harry, of seeing the look on his face when she handed him the meal she'd made with him in mind, made her smile. It was a small gesture, but one she hoped would let him know how much he meant to her.

As she locked the door behind her and stepped into the bright spring afternoon, the warmth of the sun seemed to echo the warmth in her heart. Today, she wasn't just thinking about Harry—she was showing him how much she cared, in her own quiet, thoughtful way.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The bell above the tattoo shop's door jingled softly as Aspen stepped inside, her lunch bag clutched tightly in one hand. She paused just inside the threshold, taking in the space that felt both familiar and slightly intimidating. The red-accented walls were lined with framed artwork and sketches, a testament to the creativity that buzzed within these walls. Aspen adjusted the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder, her heart racing—not from fear, but from anticipation.

Zayn was the first to notice her. He was behind the counter, flipping through the appointment book, and his face lit up when he saw her. "Well, if it isn't little miss Aspen," he greeted warmly, leaning casually on the counter. "What brings you here today?"

Aspen offered him a shy smile, shifting on her feet. "Hi, Zayn. I, um... I'm here to see Harry."

Zayn's brows lifted, his grin widening with mischief. "Here to see Harry, huh?" His tone was teasing, but not unkind. He gestured toward the back of the shop with his chin. "He's in his office. Go on back."

Before Aspen could move, another voice chimed in—Niall, sitting in the nearby waiting area, sketchpad in hand. "Ooh, Harry's got visitors now? And bringing lunch, too? Look at him, living the dream." His Irish lilt made the teasing even more playful, and Aspen could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Shut up, you two," came Harry's familiar voice from somewhere behind them. He appeared a moment later, his flannel sleeves rolled up, ink staining the tips of his fingers. His green eyes softened the moment they landed on Aspen. "Hey, love," he said, the corner of his mouth curving into a lopsided grin. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

Aspen smiled nervously, lifting the lunch bag a little as if to explain herself. "I thought I'd surprise you... I figured you might not have had lunch."

Harry's gaze flickered to the bag, then back to her, and something warm and unspoken passed between them. "Y'know me too well," he said softly. Then, turning to Zayn and Niall, he added, "Don't you two have something better to do than nose into my business?"

"Not a chance," Niall quipped, earning a laugh from Zayn. "You're the entertainment, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding. Instead, he placed a hand lightly on Aspen's lower back, guiding her toward the hallway that led to his office. "C'mon, let's get out of here before they make it worse."

Aspen's skin tingled where his hand rested, and she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder. Zayn gave her a wink, and Niall mimed a slow clap, his grin wide. They exchanged a look between each other, surprised at Harry's sudden softness. 

She turned forward quickly, her cheeks flushing even more. "They seem... nice," she murmured. Harry chuckled, his voice low and warm. "Nice isn't the word I'd use, but they mean well."

When they reached his office, Harry pushed the door open and gestured for Aspen to step inside first. The space was small but cozy, with sketches pinned to the walls and a desk covered in art supplies and paperwork. A worn leather couch sat against one wall, and the scent of ink and faint traces of cologne lingered in the air.

"Make yourself at home," Harry said, shutting the door behind them. He leaned back against it for a moment, watching as Aspen set her bag down on the desk. There was something about the way she moved, so quietly yet purposefully, that tugged at his chest. And he would be lying if he said his eyes didn't wander lower, lingering on how her gray leggings hugged the beautiful curve of her ass. He looked back up with a small smirk when she turned back to face him.

Aspen glanced around, taking in the little details of his space. It felt so him—creative, a little messy, but warm. She carefully unzipped the lunch bag, pulling out the container and setting it in front of him. "I, um, made this for you," she said softly. "I hope it's okay... I wasn't sure what you'd like, but..."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to lift the container's lid. The smell of the warm food hit him immediately, and his eyes widened slightly. "You made all this?" he asked, looking at her in surprise.

Aspen nodded, twisting her hands together nervously. "I thought... maybe you don't bring lunch with you? And I just wanted to, you know... do something nice for you."

Harry stared at the meal for a moment, then back at her, his expression unreadable. Finally, he smiled—a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "You didn't have to do this," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. "But... thank you, Aspen. Really."

Her heart fluttered at the way he said her name, the warmth in his tone making her feel like she'd done something right. "I just... I wanted to," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "You do so much for me, Harry. I wanted to do something for you, too."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to touch her arm lightly. "You're somethin' else, y'know that?" he said, his voice low. His touch was gentle, grounding, and Aspen felt her nerves settle slightly under his gaze.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket. For Harry, the thoughtfulness of her gesture was almost overwhelming. He wasn't used to people doing things for him, not like this—not with so much care. And for Aspen, the way he looked at her, like she was the most important person in the world, made her chest feel light and full all at once.

Harry reached down, his hand sliding gently along Aspen's arm as he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or demanding, just a quiet moment that seemed to still the world around them. Aspen's breath caught, her eyes fluttering shut as her heart raced in her chest. When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on her face, his green eyes warm and filled with something she couldn't quite name but felt deeply all the same.

"C'mon," Harry murmured, his voice low and coaxing. He slid his hand into hers, guiding her toward the worn leather couch against the wall. Aspen followed, feeling lightheaded but blissfully so, her fingers curling around his instinctively.

As they settled onto the couch, Harry unwrapped the container she'd brought him, his brows raising slightly as he took in the meal. The sight of it—the steak bites perfectly cooked, the fluffy cilantro lime red rice, and the creamy mac and cheese—made something tight in his chest ease. She'd done this for him, thought of him enough to go out of her way. He wasn't used to that kind of care, and it both surprised and humbled him.

He took the first bite, letting out a low hum of approval. "Bloody hell, Asp," he said, looking at her with wide eyes. "This is incredible. You've been holding out on me, haven't you?"

Aspen's cheeks flushed immediately, her fingers twisting in the hem of her borrowed shirt. She ducked her head, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "I don't cook much," she admitted, her voice soft. "It's kind of rare that I actually feel like doing it."

"Well, I'm lucky you felt like it today," Harry said, taking another bite and savoring it. He glanced at her, his grin softening into something more genuine. "You're spoiling me, baby."

The word "baby" made Aspen's stomach flip, and she pressed her lips together to keep from smiling too widely. She couldn't help the warmth spreading through her chest at his words, though, or the way her heart seemed to skip every time he looked at her like that.

As Harry continued to eat, he threw in compliments here and there—about how perfectly seasoned the steak was, how the rice was better than anything he'd had from a restaurant. Each word made Aspen shrink a little further into herself, not because she didn't like the praise, but because it made her feel so seen. She wasn't used to this, to being appreciated so openly, and the intensity of it made her shy.

But as she watched him eat, a different thought began to creep into her mind, one that made her pulse quicken. She wanted to kiss him again. Badly. The way his lips curved into a soft smile as he spoke, the way he licked a stray bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth—it all drew her in, leaving her with a quiet ache she didn't know how to voice. The realization made her blush even more, and she turned her gaze toward the floor, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

Harry, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in her demeanor. He set the container down for a moment, leaning back against the couch as he looked at her. "Y'alright?" he asked, his voice gentle but curious.

Aspen nodded quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her leggings. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, though her voice was quieter than usual. She glanced at him, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart stutter. "Just... thinking."

"Thinkin' about what?" Harry asked, tilting his head slightly. He had a feeling he knew, but he didn't want to push her too much. He could tell she was feeling shy, and the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Aspen hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she looked down again, her blush deepening.

Harry couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him. "Asp," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and the touch sent a shiver up her spine. "Y'don't have to say anything if you're not ready. But if i's about me, I'm all ears."

Aspen bit her lip, her gaze flickering up to meet his for a moment before dropping again. "I was just... thinking about... how much I liked—" She broke off, her face flaming as she stumbled over her words. "Never mind."

Harry's grin widened slightly, though his tone remained soft when he spoke. "How much you liked what? The food? Or somethin' else?"

She groaned softly, hiding her face in her hands. "Harry," she said, her voice muffled but filled with exasperation. "You're making it worse."

"Alright, alright," he said, laughing quietly. But he didn't let go of her hand, and the warmth of his touch was enough to steady her nerves. He was patient, waiting for her to speak when she was ready, and that alone made her feel a little braver.

"I was thinking about kissing you," Aspen finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She peeked at him through her fingers, her heart hammering in her chest. "And now I'm all embarrassed, so... yeah."

Harry stared at her for a moment, his chest tightening in a way he hadn't expected. She was so endearingly honest, even when it made her nervous, and he found himself falling for her all over again. "You're somethin' else, Asp," he murmured, his voice soft. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her temple. "Y'don't have to be embarrassed, love. I've been thinkin' the same thing."

Aspen's blush deepened, but this time, there was a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "You have?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Course I have," Harry said, his tone gentle but firm. "Who wouldn't?"

Aspen fidgeted with her hands as she tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, her blush still lingering as she glanced shyly at Harry. The words danced on the edge of her tongue, but she hesitated, biting her lip as if she wasn't sure if she should say them. He waited, patient as ever, his eyes soft as they studied her face. Finally, she took a deep breath and let the words tumble out.

"Maybe it's the whole... 'I have a boyfriend' thing," Aspen murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I've been thinking about you more than usual. Like... a lot more." She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, her cheeks burning with the admission.

The corners of Harry's mouth curved into a slow, warm smile. His chest tightened at her honesty, and a wave of gratitude washed over him. He knew how much it took for Aspen to open up like this—how much courage it required for her to let him in on the thoughts she usually kept to herself. That bravery was one of the things he admired most about her.

"Y'know," he said softly, setting the half-eaten container of food aside, "you're so brave, Asp. For tellin' me all this. For lettin' me in." His voice was warm, laced with sincerity, as he leaned forward to take her hands in his. His thumbs traced gentle circles over her knuckles, his touch grounding her in the moment.

Aspen looked down at their hands, her lips curving into a shy smile. "It's easier with you," she admitted. "You make it... safe. Like I can say anything, and it'll be okay."

Harry's heart swelled at her words, and a quiet sense of wonder settled over him. He'd never expected to find someone like Aspen—someone who made him want to be better, softer, more present. He gave her hands a gentle tug, guiding her toward him.

"C'mere," he said, his voice low and coaxing. Aspen hesitated for only a moment before letting him pull her onto his lap. Her hands instinctively went to his shoulders for balance, and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her securely.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, her cheeks flushing again as she settled against him. "This is so unfair," she mumbled, though her tone was more playful than anything.

"Unfair?" Harry repeated, raising a brow as he gave her a teasing grin. "How's this unfair?"

"You're too... you," she said, gesturing vaguely as if that explained everything.

Harry chuckled, his hands resting gently on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. His lips lingered there for a moment, and he couldn't help but take in the details of her outfit—the way the leggings hugged her legs, the way his shirt looked impossibly better on her than it ever had on him.

"You're wearin' my shirt," he teased, his voice a low murmur against her skin. His grin widened as he leaned back slightly to get a better look at her. "Didn't think you'd steal from me so soon, love."

Aspen's eyes widened, and she quickly tugged at the hem of the shirt, her blush deepening. "I didn't steal it!" she protested, though her voice was soft and her smile betrayed her. "You didn't mention needing it back, and it was... just there, and it's comfortable, so..."

"So y'stole it," Harry finished for her, his tone light and teasing.

She buried her face in her hands, letting out a soft groan. "You're impossible," she mumbled, though the warmth in her voice gave her away.

Harry laughed, his hand sliding up to gently pull her hands away from her face. "Impossible, huh? Guess that makes two of us," he said, his grin softening as he looked at her. His thumb brushed over her cheek, and he leaned in just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

For a moment, the world outside faded, leaving only the quiet hum of their connection. Aspen felt her heart steady, the nervous flutter settling into something warm and sure. Harry's presence had a way of grounding her, of making her feel like she could let go of the walls she'd spent so long building.

"You're somethin' else, Asp," Harry murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. "Y'know that?" Aspen bit her lip, her gaze meeting his. "I think you might've mentioned it," she said softly, her smile shy but genuine. Harry chuckled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her temple. "Well, I'll keep sayin' it," he promised, his arms tightening around her. "Every chance I get."

Aspen’s fingers moved delicately along Harry’s shirt collar, their slow, rhythmic movements betraying the nervous energy coursing through her. She felt the soft material between her fingers, grounding herself in the moment, but all resolve slipped away when Harry pulled her closer. A small, involuntary sound escaped her lips, blending into a soft giggle as his lips curved into a smirk against hers.

Harry’s hands rested on her hips, his grip firm but reassuring. He tilted his head up to meet her lips, their familiar softness igniting a warmth in his chest. It had been too long—much too long—since he’d kissed her like this, and the moment felt like a long-awaited reunion. The cool press of his lip ring against her skin sent a shiver through her, its gentle nudges against her teeth a comforting reminder of their closeness.

For Harry, kissing Aspen always felt different—more intimate, more profound. Her lips molded perfectly against his, and the subtle gasps she made only fueled his desire to savor every second. It wasn’t just the act itself; it was the way she melted into him, the way her quiet trust was woven into every kiss.

Aspen slid her arms around his neck, her thumbs brushing lightly against the soft curls at the nape of his neck. The sensation made him hum low in his throat, the sound reverberating between them. Her touch was featherlight, reverent, and it made Harry feel cared for in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

Their kisses were slow and tender at first, each one a quiet confession of how much they’d missed this. But when Aspen tilted her head slightly, granting him better access, Harry’s lips parted. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, and Aspen’s breath hitched. Without hesitation, she parted her lips, letting the kiss deepen.

The moment their tongues met, Aspen’s body instinctively leaned closer, her movements shy yet intentional. The languid motion of their tongues moving together sent a warmth coursing through her, spreading from her chest to her fingertips. Her thumbs brushed gently over the curls at the base of his neck, grounding her in the moment.

For Harry, it was as if time slowed. Every touch, every small sound Aspen made, was etched into his mind. His fingers tightened slightly on her hips as he sat up straighter, his head tilting to match the new depth of their kiss. The soft noise Aspen made from her nose—a quiet exhale laced with pleasure—sent a jolt through him. He didn’t want to stop, but the need to taste more of her overwhelmed him.

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away from her lips, but he didn’t stray far. His lips pressed gently to her jawline, tracing a line of tender kisses down to the side of her neck. Aspen tilted her head instinctively, granting him better access, her cheeks flushed with a deep blush that spread all the way to her neck. The warmth of his mouth against her skin made her dizzy in the best way, and she let her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into his touch.

Though this was only the second time Harry had kissed her like this, the intensity of it all overwhelmed Aspen in the best way. It wasn’t just the physicality of it—it was the way Harry’s touch felt deliberate, the way he seemed to cherish every inch of her. She buried her manicured nails gently into the curls at the back of his neck, her fingers tightening slightly as she let herself sink further into the moment.

Harry’s hands shifted, his fingers splaying out over her hips as they began to wander. He tested the waters carefully, his hands slowly moving toward the curve of her ass.

“This okay?” His voice was low, thick with want but tempered with care, his words murmured between kisses as his lips lingered against her skin.

Aspen’s breath caught at his question, but she nodded, her voice soft yet assured. “Yes,” she whispered, her tone trembling slightly but filled with trust. When Harry kissed that one particular spot on her neck, a breathy whine escaped her lips. “Yes, it’s okay,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry hummed in approval, the sound vibrating against her skin as he kissed her again, focusing on the spot that had made her gasp. His fingers moved lower, trailing over the curve of her ass before gripping gently, pulling her closer against him. She fit against him so perfectly, it almost made his head spin.

“You’re perfect,” Harry whispered against her skin, his lips brushing against her collarbone. He pressed wet, lingering kisses there, his teeth grazing her lightly, just enough to make her shiver. Aspen’s hands tightened in his curls, her soft breaths quickening.

The next sound she made was different, not quite a whine but unmistakably a moan. It was quiet, shy, as if she hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but it made Harry pause for a moment.

She had moaned for him, on his lap, in his office, because of what he was doing. 

Harry groaned softly against her neck, his lips trailing wet kisses along her skin. The nip he gave to her sweet spot drew a quiet gasp from Aspen, followed immediately by a soothing kiss that made her body relax under his touch. She felt warm, wrapped in the cocoon of his arms, and completely consumed by the moment—until a sharp sound jolted her out of it.

Her eyes shot open, her ears now hyper-focused on the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the door. Panic shot through her like lightning, and her hands quickly slid down from Harry’s neck to his shoulders. She gave him a gentle but urgent push, scrambling off his lap and onto the seat beside him.

Harry blinked in confusion, leaning back against the cool leather as he tried to process what had just happened. His brows furrowed deeply, his green eyes clouded with concern. Had he done something wrong? The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Asp?” His voice was low, tinged with worry as he studied her flushed face. “What happened? Did I—.”

Before he could finish his thought, Aspen shook her head frantically, her soft voice rushing out a series of breathless “no’s.” She was practically vibrating with nerves, her fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt when the door swung open.

There, standing with smug grins and bags of crisps in hand, were Zayn and Niall.

“We just came to check on how your homemade lunch was,” Zayn began, his tone dripping with mock innocence. His gaze flitted between Harry and Aspen, taking in their disheveled state. His grin widened. “But it’s very clear you need some alone time.”

Niall snickered beside him, not bothering to hide his amusement. Harry ran a hand through his wild curls, his face twisting into a scowl.

The picture Zayn painted wasn’t far off. Harry’s hair was a mess, his lips red and slick from their kisses, and Aspen’s face was a shade of crimson that matched the heat she felt radiating from her cheeks. They probably looked the part of being “busy,” and that only added to Harry’s irritation.

“Don’t you dipshits know how to knock?” Harry growled, his voice sharp as his glare bore into them. “Get the hell out.”

Zayn and Niall didn’t seem phased, their laughter echoing as they backed out of the room. They continued to crack jokes through the muffled door, their chatter trailing off as their footsteps faded.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of Harry letting out a long, exasperated sigh. He leaned back and turned his head to Aspen, his expression softening the moment he saw her face. She was burning red with embarrassment, her wide brown eyes fixed on the closed door as if willing it to lock on its own.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, his touch gentle and grounding.

“That was somethin’, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry 'bout that, love. Was what I was doing okay? Didn’t scare you off, did I?”

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she tried to gather her thoughts. Slowly, her eyes peeled away from the door to meet Harry’s.

Her gaze took in everything about him—his unruly curls, his lips still glistening and swollen from their kisses, the cool glint of his lip ring catching the light. He looked confident and composed, as if the interruption hadn’t rattled him at all. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly handsome he was, and the realization only made her blush deepen.

“No, no…” Aspen’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she tried to convey her feelings. “It was good. I liked it. Really… liked it, H.”

Her words were sincere, and though her tone was laced with shyness, it carried a weight of gratitude. She appreciated how Harry always checked in with her, how he never took her silence or hesitation as anything but a reason to ensure her comfort.

Harry’s heart swelled at her honesty. He knew how much courage it took for her to open up, and every time she did, it felt like a gift. His lips curved into a small, lopsided grin as he hummed in approval.

“Mmm.” His fingers wrapped gently around her ankle, tugging her closer with ease. “Yeah?”

Before Aspen could process what was happening, Harry guided her down onto the seat, coaxing her to recline fully. She felt her heartbeat thunder in her chest, each pulse so loud she swore it echoed in her ears.

Her breath hitched when Harry nudged her thighs apart with his knee, settling himself between them. The closeness made her head spin, her fingers instinctively reaching up to tangle themselves in his curls at the nape of his neck once again.

Harry’s grin widened, playful and teasing as his gaze roamed over her. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement as he kissed her shoulder and worked his way slowly up the side of her neck.

“’Cause I wasn’t done.”

[velidewrites]

Azriel v Marcel homoerotic torture-thon when??

NOW THIS IS THE TYPE OF CONTENT I CRAVE IN MY ASKBOX I can ALWAYS rely on you. The way I sat up when I saw this -- I have been dying to talk about Azriel vs Marcel as torturers and no one has ever asked me about them. I love you I am obsessed with you also sorry for the Azriel psychoanalysis under the cut

Now I'm hardly an Azriel expert but I do not under any circumstance subscribe to the "Azriel hates his job" headcanon. In my humble ratty little opinion, Azriel tortures for two reasons and two reasons only:

The Rage ™️

My victims are A Mirror of What I Deserve

He needs those hands elbows deep in fresh sticky blood because that's the only way to truly cover those scars up, right? RIGHT?? Nothing else seems to have quite the same effect. Nothing else truly lets him forget -- forget what sort of creature Azriel is. He is a monster. He is nothing. He will only ever be nothing. Undeserving of all the love that had been thrown his way, unworthy because he took it all and it still doesn't feel like enough. It isn't enough, not to fill that nothingness, that emptiness, and so he rages. He takes the knife and he is unstoppable. He works and works and works and maybe, slowly, he will no longer be a reflection of that void, but of those who'd put the knife in his hand. Keeping Rhys's court, keeping his family safe, means the monster is redeemable. Means the monster deserves to ask for more. Means the monster's rage, monster's hunger is justified. Means the monster is actually not a monster at all.

There is conflict and blood and orders and fuck their orders, sometimes the real monsters threatening his family deserve worse than the death Rhys had sentenced them to. They deserve the knife placed specifically into Azriel's blood-soaked hands. They deserve the rage.

And then we have Marcel. Azriel tortures for others, Azriel tortures for himself, Azriel doesn't know anything anymore -- but Marcel... Marcel has a purpose, and it's perhaps the only thing he can see clearly amidst the smoke. The smoke is his one salvation. The smoke causes him pain. The benefits outweigh the costs, but Marcel is no longer willing to pay. Decade after decade, century after century, Marcel is diligent with his research. Get the information and dispose of them, Beron always tells him. How Marcel does it all holds no importance to the High Lord at all. Beron's prisoners are Marcel's test subjects. He began his work almost five hundred years ago merely an apprentice, his only ability being the tendrils of deadly rot. A touch was always required -- a brush against his victim's skin was enough, but it was a touch nonetheless. But, in Beron's dungeon, Marcel got to experiment.

Scream-filled years later, Marcel is better. Stronger. Breathing in the smoke is enough to make them die. He hardly needs to lift a finger -- the smoke appears wherever he commands it. Traces of it can fill the air, nearly invisible to the naked eye, and yet, they are enough. He can command them to enter an unsuspecting mind and shape it according to his will -- a particular skill he developed while dissecting a daemati captured on the Eastern Autumn shore. A spy from the Continent.

So many new powers, and yet the costs have not lessened. The pain persists. He tries and he tries and he tries, and his own flesh still rots all the same. Rots and heals, heals and rots. Those damned gloves help, at the very least, and so does the mask he hardly ever takes off these days. He does not remember how he got them in the first place, and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He's studied the charms placed on them, and they would never be enough to nullify the effects of his magic, the sheer damage it's determined to do to its own master. So Marcel needs to work harder.

The difference between them? Azriel, perhaps, feels everything. Marcel feels nothing. Azriel, for all his cold, icy composure, burns wild like a pyre. Marcel is the ash that remains. He is calculated. He knows exactly what he wants and that when the wind blows the right way, it will scatter the ash and carry it exactly where it was always meant to be. The fire only rages brighter with the wind.

Still, a shadowsinger would be an interesting specimen to study. Marcel supposes their magic is similar, in a way, though the cost the shadowsinger pays seems to be one of an entirely different kind. Marcel knows that is precisely what makes Azriel weak. Azriel's conflict, Azriel's pain, is entirely of his own making. He clings to it because it's the only thing of his own he's ever had. Marcel has no interest in nurturing the pain. He intends to weed it out.

But when Azriel shows up in one of Marcel's dungeon cells, Marcel -- of course -- tells him he understands. He wills the smoke to enter Azriel's mind and shows him exactly what he wants to see. A pair of hands, clean. Clean enough to slide a mating band over one of his fingers, unstained. A smile, directed at him, open and loving and thankful to have found someone like Azriel in a world as vast and cruel as theirs. And Azriel sighs, content, while Marcel watches as that fire continues to blaze.

Marcel smiles. At the very least, he got to practice conjuring up visions again. He gets better every time.

[paracosm-draw]

Promptober Day 1 - Freckles ☄️

Let's begin this challenge with two prompts in one day while I still have the time and inspiration !! 😌

This one is not very NSFW, starting soft with Anakin not very Jedi-ish daydreams ✨

~~~

Anakin was staring. 

He's been told many times that it was not polite. That his gaze was too intense, too uncomfortable when it landed on people. 

He couldn’t help it. When something caught his attention he had to put his whole focus onto it, examining, scrutinizing, dissecting until he could make sense, understand and classify in his brain. 

The object of his current attention lies on Obi-Wan’s face in the shape of tiny droplets of liquid bronze, as if the Sun had lowered itself from the sky to kiss his skin, leaving trails of fire on his nose, cheeks and forehead. It’s a beautiful thing to witness them blooming when the first sun rays pierce from behind the light clouds, bright and strong, bringing promises of warmth for the months to come. It’s as if they herald the coming of summer, even more surely than the elder’s predictions. 

“Do I have something on my face ?” 

Anakin is abruptly drawn from his contemplation by his Master’s amused tone. Obi-Wan is looking at him with raised eyebrows, probably expecting an explanation about why he’s creepily staring at him instead of meditating like he’s supposed to do. 

“Uh, yes.” He replies dumbly. 

“Yes ?” Obi-Wan frowns and raises a hand to his face, only to be stopped halfway by Anakin’s inaudible mumbling. “Mmh ?” 

“I- I said I- I love your freckles.” He stutters, feeling an embarrassing blush creeping up his neck and spreading all the way to his face, although not embarrassing enough to keep his mouth shut, apparently. “It’s very pretty. They, uh- They suit you.” 

Obi-Wan looks at him with slightly wide eyes, looking a bit confused by the random compliment. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, clearing his throat in the process. 

“I- Thank you, Anakin. It’s… That’s nice of you.” 

An awkward silence spreads between them after that, and Anakin realizes he has started staring again. Before he can stop himself he wonders if Obi-Wan’s tunics hide some more. He’s always so frustratingly covered, it’s hard to tell. 

He wishes he could see more. For scientific purposes, of course. He’s nothing if not rigorous. 

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice brings him back to reality once more. “Focus. And be mindful of your thoughts… Please.” 

His Master’s cheekbones are a shade darker and Anakin bites his tongue not to grin at that endearing vision. Instead he closes his eyes, trying to focus on their session. Only… His mind wanders quickly towards pale skin and pretty freckles again. 

He imagines following their path with his finger, from the bridge of Obi-Wan’s nose to the hollow of his throat, following them like a star map, tracing constellations on his skin as he goes down. He would have to slide his fingers under the tight lapels of his inner tunic, pushing the tabard aside to unveil a bare shoulder and continue his path. He’s almost certain this part of Obi-Wan’s body is also splattered with little sun stains even though he rarely exposes himself. At this point he would have to make a choice ; exploring the plane of his back or scouting down his chest, stripping him from his layers of fabric in any case. 

It might be a childish fantasy but the idea of discarding Obi-Wan from his clothes, to have him undressed for his eyes only is something that always ignites a little fire inside Anakin’s belly. He saw him one time, in a sleeveless shirt on a particularly hot day and the sight of his bare arms was sufficient to fuel his imagination for the next couple of weeks. 

But he’s drifting away from the topic, and from Obi-Wan’s naked chest and stomach that his mind has to create for lack of factual evidence.

He wonders if he could count every single one of the freckles adorning his body. If he could kiss every single one of them. He feels like his skin would taste like a hot summer day, like warmth and salt and honey. He wonders foolishly if Obi-Wan would let him drag his tongue across the shapes of his body, connecting the dots like a child’s play. He would take all the time in the world, hating the idea of missing one. 

He would learn their pattern, archiving them in his mind one kiss after another until they replace the stars when he closes his eyes. His own private galaxy. 

Someone clears his throat loud enough to pull Anakin from his daydream, and when he opens his eyes, Obi-Wan is standing in front of him, face flushed red to the roots of his hair. 

“We’ll stop the session here. We’ll take it back tomorrow.” He says quickly before turning on his heels and walking towards the door, readjusting the collar of his tunic on the way. 

Anakin stays on the floor, watching him leave pressingly with a bit of confusion. What did he do this time ? 

Oh.

 Oh. 

He might have forgotten to shield his thoughts. 

[coffeegnomee]

Bacon saying "yes. [I watched] the entire thing" about having seen Kab's new video "I watched it for entertainment purposes, but I also think I took some things from it as well"

KAB: "fair enough, I put things in there knowing people would watch it and take things from it"

she brings up how Clown never offered her a team, and that she is close to getting his full trust. Which I think is a lie rooted in the truth that she was so "my son could never hurt a fly he's just misunderstood" in the video to get Clown to trust her more irl/in lifesteal. Like how he trusts Branzy and Ferre.

(even though it is SO WEIRD for her to have been like that about Clown in the video. Like it was an exposé about how right the Mice were to be cautious about her affiliation and assume she was telling him things. She was. Maybe not base coords, but she just leaked that she absolutely told him things about them and that she was not for the team at all. And she left that all in. why? WHY Kab? I can only assume it was to endear her to Clown more? That's the only thing that makes sense? Unless she did it to "prove" to the Mice that they were wrong to assume she was teamed with Clown, "see I was just telling him to be careful and you guys were making him into a villain" or smth. I genuinely don't know. I don't understand her at all.)

But she's bringing it up to Bacon and downplaying it so that he thinks she isn't as close to Clown as she is. She's trying to manipulate him here I think.

then Bacon brings up the google doc of Mapicc's personality, which apparently Mapicc dmed her about (which is hilarious for the record)

To which she says it wasn't real [the doc itself], she made it for the video. She only articulated Mapicc's personality and Mapicc's alone.. which obviously means it was him very much on purpose. So did she do it to stoke Mapicc's ego? Or to see what he would say about it and confirm or deny if she was right? I can so easily imagine her writing it up being like, now Mapicc will think I understand him but this is not really what I think about him and he will be easier to manipulate.

But the analysis, like I wrote about, was right for the wrong reasons, AND YET I saw how they were rooted in very plausible assumptions she would have made bc of talking to Ash.

So I struggle to see how that writeup wasn't what she genuinely thought. This whole video just feels like exactly what she genuinely thought throughout the whole first week.

And it's completely rooted in the concept that she knows what she's talking about, even though her only evidence is that she can read Clown. (the only other moment being that she was right the empire would betray them in the End. Which was the softest of softball throws. It was an allyship against the other team. Obv the beef starts up the second that is over.) Like congrats. You've known Clown for two years very closely. It would be weird if you didn't. And on THAT note,

She called Woogie a dipshit for having his own opinions about Clown based on his interactions with him for the past FIVE whole seasons. THREE YEARS.

She took his words as saying that you shouldn't trust Clown instead of what he was really trying to say, which was we as a team should not trust Clown. Kab knows Clown won't kill her but she just fails to understand that other people have their own valid experiences of the members. She's just so focused on her singular view of people and how they will interact with her that she completely misses the opportunity to learn what other people think of other people without it being an attack on her own opinion.

I know I get on here and analyze everyone to death. I know that that's how I love to watch and enjoy lifesteal. And that not everyone observes the lifestealers like bugs to be pinned down and dissected. Watching vods is a listening-only experience. I cannot talk or add to the convo, right?

But it still boggles my mind that she doesn't see the manipulative value in silently listening to every word that comes out of someone's mouth in order to learn what they think about others. And let that tell you what to think about others.

If she just listened to what people said, especially what they say about people she doesn't understand, she would learn SO much.

Like she completely called Woogie an idiot for wanting to ally with the Empire for the purpose of killing Clown Mane and Flame.

And she said it because she doesn't understand how Mapicc and Spoke think.

And because she doesn't understand them, she thinks Woogie doesn't understand them.

Like I know Woogie isn't always the most active and integrated member, and he's also an unreliable narrator and has assumptions rooted in a subjective path just like she does.

But Woogie AND Mapicc AND Spoke have all been playing on this server since Season ONE. You would think that that would be an excellent learning opportunity to ask Woogie how he views Mapicc and Spoke.

And then from there, sure! Take it with a grain of salt. Take your personal experiences with them as the most important opinion to value for your own safety (bc nobody can tell you what your gut says) but then also take their opinion and use it against them if you want to be such a great manipulator. Or at the very least catalogue their opinion away for further study at a future time.

It's just. She just has her assumptions about herself towards every member and completely and totally discounts what anyone has to say about their assumptions of themselves with other members. And she gets so damn triggered by people saying they have more experience than her, thinking it's a personal attack on her intelligence. Where that comes from I cannot know but that sounds incredibly deeply rooted.

So back to the Bacon conversation.

She said she knew people would watch it and said stuff on purpose.

And yet she completely left in the whole scene about lying to Woogie about being sorry for discounting his opinion. “Sometimes you need to be sopping wet for people to trust you chat”

Everyone on lifesteal is going to watch this video. WOOGIE might watch this video (though I have a feeling he won't tbh) and you're just leaving in that when you apologize you are never sincere about it and are 100% using that to manipulate them later.

INSANE to leave that in. You leave that in the drawing board. You keep that shit hidden. ESPECIALLY if you know your enemies will watch it. Girl was the most open book ever.

And then to end the video saying I'm a liar and manipulator bitch I know what I'm talking about. Insane. You are just BROADCASTING that you should never be trusted ever. (for the second video in a row!)

Also in a video about you desperately trying to prove that you should be trusted. It's two different kinds of trust, funny that we use the same word for both.

Trusted in that you tell the truth vs trusted that you know what you're talking about.

I am so interested to know what Bacon thought of that. What will he think if she does apologize now? He's not dumb. He saw the video.

She just thinks she's playing 4D chess. And yet 4D chess would be being silent and listening to what everyone says. Like how Spokes does. and Clown. No talking, just silently listening in vc's and coming to conclusions about the members.

And Bacon too. He's been asking people so many questions about what they're doing and why and then just listening to what they have to say, and then forming his own conclusion about it and going off to try something. He's becoming great at listening and thinking and this whole little arc was founded on using that information to do something interesting on the server.

Though I suppose he wasn't always that good at it. And therefore the final conclusion you can take is the same every time: Kab needs experience in order to gain experience. And it will be a long and painful process.

[extensionallydefined]

Okay, so I've finished my first playthrough of both of the new chapters of Deltarune, and boy do I have thoughts! I just want to put down first impressions/theories (more directed at understanding ch3/4 thematically than predicting 5/6/7). So of course major spoilers ahead, be very careful with this post!

Alright, so, for context, I obtained both eggs and both shadowcrystals, and I also got the shadowmantle. So you can imagine more or less how I engaged with these chapters. I have not yet played them in Weird Route.

So, thoughts!

- I love Tenna and Gerson. Wonderful new characters added to the cast.

- I adore that Toby gave my boy Rouxls more stuff to do. And he's a bisexual poly king! Go Rouxls! That whole part of Chapter 3 was delightfully hilarious. I also quite enjoyed Elinina and Lanino, on that note.

- Ramb is very Spamton/Jevil coded. He's very shadowcrystal boss/freedom coded. I feel like his role in ch3 is analogous to that of the other secret bosses, but it makes sense that he isn't a fight. I feel like narratively he also serves a role, weirdly enough, related to Ralsei? They both seem to be extremely selflesss darkners with the purpose of aiding Kris. For Ramb, it's to give Kris the games they want, and "freedom". For Ralsei, it's preventing physical and psychological pain for the heroes. It makes me think in what other ways Ramb and Ralsei could parallel each other, if there are any (one comes to mind - Ralsei becoming a pushable block in the videogame sections/Ramb asking Kris to push him out of the way).

- What was up with the curtains in the S Rank Room? Who could've been behind them? They give Kris a sword and check if he's hurt, they ask if they can dream... It's very strange. I feel like someone else can dissect that more effectively. I also find Mike as a whole quite confusing, even with the new information we're given lol.

- Friend Inside Me was not real. My last minute investment did not pay off. Oh well. It was still a funny theory.

- One of the craziest things about these chapters to me still has to be the fact that freaking image_friend shows up on endogeny's body of all things during Ralsei's beginning speech in ch3. Like, huh????? Endogeny and image friend??? There's an implication there of friend having to do with dark stuff, probably? It also shows up in Queen's basement and on the cats that Eram/Shadowmantle uses against you.

- On that note, I'm very curious about the thematic importance of the yellow/pink color scheme. It shows up on the oddcontroller, in Spamton's eyes, in Mike/cat's eyes (although I doubt that's important), it also shows up on the loading screens for the game boards... it seems to be some sort of freedom/corruption color scheme?

- On the topic of the oddcontroller, could it be the controller under Asriel's bed?

- Is the Kris that leaves the videogame being controlled by Eram/Shadowmantle? That kind of seems like the implication to me, since it says that it has work to do. It's a very cryptic character. But I feel like little videogame Kris might come back to haunt us players who got the mantle - kind of like how people have been theorizing for years about the discarded vessel.

- Chapter 3 is a wild ride. It feels like a constant mix of "haha happy go lucky games!" and "hey remember this lore thing you've been theorizing about for 4-7 years?". And the cherry on top is the Knight reveal. I think I prefer Chapter 4 overall, but comparing them is kinda lame. I do love the whole aesthetic and sountrack of Ch4 though, and it's so JUICY in lore implications. The whole section in the Holiday Estate must be studied.

- The Knight looks like a Holiday. My current thoughts are it might be Dess/created by Dess/created by Kris during the events of Dess' disappearance. It's definitely connected to the Holidays in some sense, that's for sure, and to Kris too - after you fight it and survive, it very clearly "knights" Kris instead of attacking them.

- The theme for the shadowmantle boss is called "BURNING EYES". Based on its post-fight dialogue and on the whole videogame theme, I feel like it might be referencing when you play videogames for so long/so locked in that your eyes burn. It could be just another case of Deltarune directly referencing getting "sucked into a fictional world", a videogame in this case.

- I find it interesting that when playing the shadowmantle videogame, Kris tries to run away from the bunker/shelter rather than try to go towards it. Basically, they don't want to go there in the game. Originally I chalked this up to Kris having some sort of trauma regarding the bunker, but after playing Chapter 4, could it be moreso that they don't want us to see what's inside the bunker?

- The Titan's battle theme is called GUARDIAN, and its pre-fight sprite resembles an uncanny human head. Slight photoshop Flowey vibes. What could it all mean? Well, Ralsei says Titans are fear-of-the-dark. Coupling that with his early chapter 3 speech... If Dark Worlds are what happens when you take away the light that isn't there, letting the imagination run wild and see things beyond light, then creating a dark fountain out of that makes sense as somwthing that would invoke terror. A Titan being an intense fear of the dark makes sense.

- However, the Titan's angelic and humanoid appearance is a bit confusing. In the prophecy excerpts during ch4, it seemed like the angel *wants* to be banished. Could the angel have something to do with the Titans? Is the angel a Titan? Is it the boss Titan? If the Titans represent fear of the dark, maybe the only way to defeat them is with bravery, like how Susie and Kris defeat the Titan. Then maybe banishing the angel might entail some sort of sacrifice? Maybe this is what Susie saw in the prophecy that Ralsei wanted to hide. But what is a Titan a Guardian of? The darkness? The angel?

- Speaking of that, I also thought it might have to do with Noelle. Weird Route might give me answers there, unsure. Maybe it involves fighting Noelle, or sacrificing her? "SHE WAS USED UP"

- Gerson's dialogue about rewriting stories/changing them as iterations go on is soooo interesting. On one hand, I feel like it goes directly against the supposed idea that "there is only one ending". With Ralsei himself saying that he can't bear there only being one ending, I feel like this idea was something Toby intentionally planted as part of the story, and not unbiased dev commentary on the game. Also, it further brings out the parallels between Dragon Blazers and Deltarune, connecting them to the prophecy and to Lord of the Hammer. It makes me wonder whether this will connect to Deltarune and Undertale's relationship - Is Undertale another iteration of Deltarune's legend, one written countless times after the original? Is it the other way around? I can't wait to see what Toby pulls off there. I trust him as a writer to make the metatextual part of the game make sense and be awesome.

- "The place where it rained" hit me like a truck. Chills. Does this mean we've been mistaken about Sans' name? Is he truly Sans Deltarune and not Sans Undertale? I don't have a concrete answer, but I'm soooo curious.

- I feel like the way that Gerson as a darkner works kind of refutes the idea that Ralsei could be made from Asriel's dust, because whilst it does show that a darkner made from dust and an item is entirely possible, the mechanics seem to go against the idea. "A very specific will" creates a dust darkner according to Ralsei, and Ralsei is not straight up Asriel, he has different memories and a different life. By all means, the knowledge that Ralsei has, which seems incredibly vast and sometimes perhaps beyond his own comprehension, is not knowledge Asriel would reasonably have. Their connection must come from elsewhere. Ralsei's chapter 3 dialogue about his face also makes me sus - perhaps he only adopted that face to make himself palatable to Kris? Maybe he didn't have that face until he took off the hat.

- What the hell is going on with Tenna/Kris/Knight? Game-world Tenna seems to have made a deal with Kris, whilst regular darkner Tenna seems to have made a deal with the Knight. Does Kris Knight still have hope? I'm very curious about this all. It seems the Knight wanted Tenna to keep the Heroes occupied, and Kris also wanted something from Tenna. This might imply a connection between Kris and the Knight.

- Tenna and Spamton's connection is also a bit confusing to me still and I feel like we don't yet have the full scope of Spamton's fucked-up-ness. Tenna and Spamton's falling out seems to be more focused on their interpersonal drama which stems also from Spamton's metaphysical issues but isn't directly affected by them. We can also see that Tenna straight up does not recognize Spamton in the Dealmaker Bonus Room scene. Spamton might've actually changed and shrunk since he was in Ch3. Tenna also mentions that "they never should've took that laptop home", which coupled with Ramb's dialogue kind of leads us to think that Spamton and Tenna's meeting happened when Kris and presumably Dess took Queen and King home and all the darkners interacted. Does that mean Spamton's "corruption" happened during that time too, before Queen returned to the library? I feel like there's a lot to speculate about there. After all, King always says the lightners left him behind. Perhaps he misses the days of Kris and December playing with him, and that's the "being forgotten" that he references.

- The videogame Tenna edits is just Dragon Blazers, right? Then why does the title screen appear to say Manhole? Is it yet another iteration of Dragon Blazers, like Gerson said?

- Susie and Gerson's dynamic is actually goated. One of the best parts of the entire game. I also quite liked Gerson's fight mechanically and narratively - I'd say it was peak ludonarrative consonance.

- I also quite liked the Knight fight, although some attacks maybe could've used some more refining. I'd say the Gerson fight overall feels a bit better, although I understand that the Knight fight is meant to be very very tough. I'm sad that the Knight is a shadowcrystal boss that doesn't use the freedom motif, but it's fine... I just really like that melody. And I do dig the idea of getting past a loss that seems scripted. Gaster sort of breaks the fourth wall in a new sense with encouraging you to go against a seemingly scripted failure.

- Speaking of the Knight, its BlackShard seems to do quite a lot of damage to the Titan - Kris did basically as much damage with it as Susie did with Rude Buster, in the final Titan fight. This leads me to believe that BlackShard's SlayDark ability applies against the Titan. Nothing revolutionary, sure, but it makes you wonder about the Knight's relationship with the Titans, if it holds a weapon that can heavily harm them. BlackShard also doesn't seem to do extra damage to the Titan's *shield*, so perhaps the winged angel-like shield is actually light element wise? More fuel to the weird angel-Titan connections.

- The Egg Man has gotten quite more interesting. He seems to be increasingly associated with liminal spaces, and his location in ch4 seems to even parallel/resemble/be a mental hospital? Frankly, that implication is one of the most unsettling things so far in the game. Is Man okay? Are they letting him be okay? Are they letting him not be okay?

- From what I know, obtaining the Eggs is also that one method of avoiding the chapter end achievement. I wonder what this means. Do the Eggs let you bypass some sort of normality principle? They're not too important... but not too unimportant.

- I feel like everyone was so certain that Jockington and Catti would show up in a dark world, and then they just... didn't, lmao. Seems to me like ch2 doesn't really establish a formula but rather very intentionally brings Noelle and Berdly specifically into the dark world.

- I do kinda hope we get to bring Berdly back into a dark world. He's fun.

- Dess seems extremely essential to everything going on. Not a surprise, but it feels earlier than I expected?

- Gaster (presumably him, pretty likely it is him) talking to you when you retry the Knight boss is hype as fuck, and really curious. It feels like one of those "defying fate" moments. I hope we get to use all our shadowcrystals on a non-weird route for something. Gaster also speaks at the very end, and title drops the game... very fun Mr. Fox.

- My favorite minigame was by far the rhythm game, not just because I'm very good at it, but the music and lyrics are very interesting. The lyrics seem to invoke Dess, but also our possession of Kris.

I think those are all my initial thoughts, at least right now. I hope they at least gave you avenues to think through! Feel free to leave your thoughts in a comment or reblog.

[the-ellia-west]

Khenan and Wild my babies - JoR yapping session

My goal here is Nuance (tell me if I did a good job, but mind you, it's 2am when I write this, so I may explain it really bad)

-

Khenan is an abusive father, and Wild is the victim, but the moral of these two's story and JoR as a whole is that everybody is human, no matter what they've done, and most people can change.

Especially in this scenario. Abuse Is a horrible crime, and it itself is not to be forgiven or forgotten, but abusers are not 100% evil people and CAN change. It's uncommon, (hence why I have several, multiple of whom do not change) but it is possible and they're not evil and don't deserve to be treated as any less than human. Everybody sins, everybody commits crimes against other humans, and if they see the problem with their actions they can and MIGHT change.

I'm yapping bc I'm exhausted but essentially: "Hurting people doesn't make you unredeemable as long as you put in the effort to change and make it right."

So Khenan's whole theme is that he's driven by emotion and impulse. He was raised Corrupt but he wants to do the right thing, only it's often undercut by bad things he finds himself wanting that he often gives into.

To understand this situation better, you have to understand that Wild is NOT the son of Khenan's wife. However, the marriage wasn't one of love at first, and Wild was the product of this after Khenan's wife (who remains unnamed for the moment but I'll call W) had to return to her home city for political shenanigans

I won't elaborate much on Wild's past for the sake of spoilers, but long-story short, Wild's powers are not natural for someone of his species, and his true mother had something to do with it. She died in childbirth, leaving Khenan without the first woman he truly loved, and Wild without his biological mother.

Now, another detail I've forgotten to mention, Khenan has a younger sister, more cunning and thought-oriented than himself. Suited for the job they were both born into where he wasn't. And what Vimadè loves to do more than anything, is dissect. And what more fun to dissect than the person who in her eyes, stole her birthright from her with only a few years. And because of her cunning and her quiet determination, she catches quick to his emotional cues and learns to yank her poor brother around like a Puppet.

(Not helped by this is that Khenan and Vimadè's parents preferred her because of her skills and Khenan was hit and burned and shut in dark rooms to negotiate his way out as long as he made himself useful to the family)

Now, because Wild was his illegitimate child, Khenan couldn't claim him publicly as his own, and ashamed of himself, would hand Wild off to the servants to be raised in the house. Wild would only be around four when one of the servants leaked that Khenan had likely hinted toward Wild being his son, (Maybe Khenan told his wife??????)

But over those years, when Khenan and W would talk to one another more and would establish more healthy communication, they would begin to truly fall for each other. But the leaked rumors not only got back to Vimadè, who made sure the rumors ended with the servant as she found the information more useful as blackmail, but Wild's two older brothers would find out as well, and would blame him for the injustice their mother received at the hands of Khenan's immediate older family

Skipping more because spoilers, Wild is used as a bargaining chip and a hostage, alongside some carefully-placed poison, to convince Khenan to give up his birthright and promise a bi-monthly meeting with Vimadè, who begins to plant seeds in Khenan's head about Wild's species and his mother's death. W takes an interest in Wild and begins to treat him like a son a little after all of this.

Eventually, things happen, and Wild loses his memory in a traumatic event that also modifies his appearance, causing him to wander the streets at 7-8 years old aimlessly without purpose

He's picked up by W because he 'reminds her' of himself. W becomes ill and later dies, after treating Wild the best he's ever been treated in his life, singing him songs and telling him she loves him and telling him stories, Vimadè convinces her parents to take custody of Khenan's older children from him, and he finds himself alone with Wild. (All Wild remembers is his name, that Khenan is his father, he thinks W is some sort of mother, and he's never been good enough to be considered a noble himself)

Khenan recognizes Wild. And up until now, he's tried his best to ignore his presence, as he looks like his mother and acts like W. And Khenan can't stand to look at him.

Later that Month, Khenan, agitated and unable to keep on as things are, impulsively hits Wild with a fire poker. Thankfully the flat bit so it causes no permanent damage, but it's what starts the downfall. Wild is 10 when his father hits him for the first time.

Now that all that backstory out of the way. Let's get into the real meat of this.

Khenan loves his son. He does. Khenan loves him more than Wild could ever imagine. But he'd angry, and the seeds of doubt and mistrust Vimadè planted in his head caused his emotions to turn darker, into an almost sense of Betrayal and fury. Because after all, hate comes from love.

Wild is terrified of his father. He loves him, but he fears him more. All he wants is to escape, he's been stripped down to his bare survival Instincts, suppressing all emotion but fear as he is desperate just to not be hurt. He's down on his knees, apologizing constantly for any mistake he makes, and is jump and hyper vigilant to other's vocal and visual cues and emotions, and just wants to avoid Khenannat any chance he can get.

In his heart he wants nothing more than for his father to love him, but he dares not to get too close because he's been hurt before by hoping. However, over the course of the Story he becomes more confident, he's still terrified of Khenan, but not quite so much as before, and he soon begins to resent him.

Khenan on the other hand, when he finds out Wild ran away, he panics, and frantically joining up with the villains and scouring the continent for news, finding out his son has joined a rebel group, but seemingly a relatively benevolent one, he begins to reconsider his actions and his love for his son, and who Wild is, and as the realization of all that he's done comes crashing down on his head, he slips into a deep depression, all his grief and other suppressed emotions flooding back in and he becomes desperate to make up for what he's done.

He decides Wild would be better without him, and even though he's desperate to see him again, he needs to make sure the group is good enough to take care of him, and he begins to work behind the scenes helping the villains to gather Intel just to make sure Wild will be okay with his new family, willing to settle for never seeing him again or even Wild hating him as long as he's safe.

But what neither of them realize is that Wild doesn't need Hate to distance himself from Khenan. He needs closure. They both Do. They need to talk.

By the way, if you stuck around to read my whole yapping session, plaleade leave a comment, even just a single letter or a period would just let me know you read this. Feedback would be greater appreciated, but anything is good! <3

@an-indecisive-nerd @sunflowerrosy @urnumber1star @homelessnerd @vesanal @darkandstormydolls @supercimi @corinneglass @sm-writes-chaos @thebookishkiwi @blargh-500 @lunaeuphternal @write-with-will @yolbert @thewritingautisticat @carb0n-m0n0xide @theweirdbox123 @inspirationallybored

[taranida]

The Alan headcount; part 1

Alright, I started a theory on all the Alan Wakes we have in the games and, oh boy, did it get bloated. And I actually needed some of the Wakes just to establish important things to draw connections for the main idea. Now, looking at 10k words of build-up without even touching a fun part of connecting the dots, I’ve decided that it would be easier for me and for the reader to have it all split in two.

This part will be focused on the Alans, who don’t really spark arguments yet show and predict a lot. They extend what we know about Alan, add to his character, and allow us to see where some things in other Alans originate from. It will also mostly be focused on pre-AWII, with one exception. There will be no conclusion in the end; it’s just lists of what we know, a bit of dissecting of some of the facts, and nothing more. Aye, I will surely slap a cool quote at the end, but treat it more as a “what we know and ways to interpret it” or a light read of rambling about Alan Wake.

Alan Wake before and during 2010.

I will put this Alan in both parts because he is important, and what I wrote about him here is a foundation that can be applied to any of them (to some extent). We know an awful lot about him (and all of it might be a lie), so I will skip some parts that serve no purpose for the theory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alan had anger issues.

Alan was a sceptic.

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

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

Alan can manipulate time.

Alan ate the Dark Presence and enslaved the Bright Presence.

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

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

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

Oh, boy, the weirdest part of this part of the theory is here. We step into the territory of Alans upon Alans. Join me on a glorious adventure of exploring the multialans, because they are plenty, although the juiciest Alans might await us in the second part.

Dark Alan

We will start with the Dark Alan from The Signal and The Writer DLCs. For clarity, I will refer to him as, well, D!Alan, yes, I’m this cheap.

D!Alan is batshit crazy.

D!Alan gave up and allowed the darkness to consume him.

D!Alan is suspiciously similar to the Dark Presence, both in powers and behaviour.

D!Alan is trying to get rid of his rational part, coming off as malicious, but in fact being desperate.

D!Alan doesn’t need a crutch of writing, he can dream whatever he wants and the Dark Place will deliver; more so, we know for sure he was in no state to even touch the typewriter. He can occasionally narrate what’s going on, but it seems to be more about his need to vent.

D!Alan claims that light burns him.

D!Alan is powerful enough to swipe away the Bright Presence (although not without the help of Rational Alan).

D!Alan loves TVs.

D!Alan is bitter and hurt because he was left to die in the Dark Place.

D!Alan is best represented in the cutscene with Hartman, where he agrees that everything that happened was only in his head. As we learn from AWII, being Alan and being trapped in the Dark Place is a fate worse than death.

D!Alan is in control in the DLCs.

D!Alan is one of the most tragic Alans we have across the games. He wants everything to end, and if you listen to his lines, that are not about how his other part will die; it’s heartbreaking. I find those at the end of The Signal, the most revealing:

What did he have left to fight for? He’d lost everything even before he came here. Even his sanity was gone. What was the point? Why had everyone abandoned him to die here?

The loss of everything even before is a bit nuanced: was it about the troubled marriage, burden of fame, inability to write, or something else? Something else will be discussed in the second part. Nonetheless, this line gives me chills. And the last one, I quoted here... well, D!Alan is crazy; he cannot think clearly to realise that, even if he’s right, not much time passed for him to come to this conclusion. The DLCs take place right after the first game, before AWAN, actually long before, since in AWAN Alan states he already learnt how to try to communicate with our world, managed to get annoyed enough with Mr. Scratch, who visited him multiple times, and decided to change the story he was writing. At the end of The Writer we see the name of the next manuscript "Return." It is not the AWAN's "Return," it’s a different story that was sacrificed to save Alice from Mr. Scratch.

D!Alan is not just suspiciously similar to the Dark Presence; he is the Dark Presence of the DLCs. Not only he does what DP!Barbara was doing, he behaves exactly like Scratch—insecure, lost, yearning for love and attention. D!Alan affects the Dark Place the way Scratch does in AWII, and Scratch and Barbara act differently: Barbara uses her innate powers to keep Alan and Alice hostage, banish the Bright Presence from the cabin, or push Alan away from his clairvoyant dream-memory; Scratch just shows up, changing the story to his whims, wrecking everything on his way. Their control is manifested differently; Scratch is a Dark Presence that can create. As is D!Alan, he’s dreaming everything that happens (mostly), and we can see how his state deteriorates through the environment.

D!Alan is surely not writing, on more than one TV we see him laying on the floor, narrating what’s happening or about to happen. This Alan is a Master of the Dark Place. All it needed is just to lose all sanity, reason, and care not about all the rules Alan likes to impose onto himself. First glimpse at why Alan is unable to escape the Dark Place for thirteen years, being perfectly able to do it at any point.

D!Alan also let the darkness in and decided it wasn’t so bad. It can be tied to Alan’s history of substance abuse (who knows what kind of high the darkness can give?). But, no matter why he decided it was nice, after the two Alans reunited in the end, this understanding, lingering feeling surely stayed. Albeit somewhat controlled for the time being.

Rational Alan

After the D!Alan, we surely need to talk about the Rational Alan, opposing the Dark Alan in the DLCs. Following the lazy pattern, I’ll call him R!Alan.

R!Alan is not so dissimilar to Alan. Actually, there are not many differences at all.

R!Alan as well can shape the Dark Place, although way more subtle than the D!Alan.

R!Alan is neither a “Bright Alan” nor a good version of Alan; he’s irritable, bitter, and not a nice person through and through.

R!Alan is assisted by the Bright Presence, who delivers him some of the manuscript pages that turn into words or phrases (of power?).

R!Alan needs to use these words to manifest tools, goods, memories, or entities, but it is unclear if every word originates from the manuscript or even delivered by the Bright Presence. There is a high possibility he dreams some of them himself.

R!Alan created Imaginary Barry to accompany him.

R!Alan could be dreaming some of the environment as well, since there are helpful things around. Barry even warns R!Alan not to pursue the train of thought that Barry himself is from R!Alan’s imagination any further. Probably, because unlike D!Alan, R!Alan has no control over what will manifest and how.

R!Alan is the closest to AWII!Alan: he’s confused, in need of someone to lead him, and knows that somewhere something awaits him, but doesn’t really know what and why. He’s not in control as much as AWII!Alan is not in control.

R!Alan is hopeful, determined and not ready to give up.

R!Alan is quick to ditch Barry if it serves his purpose.

D!Alan and R!Alan are two halves of the one whole, but they are not the opposites in everything, only in a desire or the lack thereof to keep living. Where D!Alan gave up, R!Alan had changed his mind on this, yet he did want to as well after finishing Departure and saving Alice. They are not Good and Bad Alan, they are Rational and Irrational; the only reason I called the Irrational Alan “Dark” is because, take away some of rationality, rules, and care for the future, D!Alan is a Dark Presence, able to create genuine art and control the Dark Place. I guess the implications here are obvious.

There is not much to add, except for—I'll be damned if R!Alan wasn’t an arse for ditching Barry so quickly and easily. Actually, so much so, he, himself, was angry enough about that, he tried to kill himself.

Imaginary Barry

I’ll explain it with yet another Alan in the DLC, the third player in that story: the Imaginary Barry. He is Alan, too; well, a figment of imagination, but it’s the Dark Place, putting it into the Bright Presence’s words, he is as real as anything else there. I will refer to him as I!Barry for clarity, but keep in mind that there is absolutely nothing in his behaviour that is not stemming from Alan himself.

I!Barry is the originator of the “I’M COMPLICATED” meme. Yes, it’s an important fact; I had to put it here. He’s the one to call Alan complicated and then go as far as to call even his memories complicated.

I!Barry literally voices what Alan thinks about the surroundings before Alan does it himself.

I!Barry is the embodiment of Alan’s fear of being alone. There is no game between them, no secret; they both understand all too well that it’s not Barry, it’s a memory, a perception, a guess on how the real Barry would act in some circumstances. And they both are cool with it.

I!Barry comes off as his own man, but in truth, he does what Alan believes he would do, be it a commentary on some nasty noises or an annoying useless advice Alan doesn’t need.

I!Barry is not controlled by D!Alan, he’s R!Alan’s creation, and he’s trying to kill him at the end of The Writer because, as the Bright Presence said, R!Alan has to abandon his delusions.

I!Barry is not the one to be offended by it; Alan is. Every dialogue line in the I!Barry’s Boss Fight is Alan’s guilt for his behaviour.

I!Barry’s Boss Fight in itself is Alan’s desire to have Barry by his side, his internal conflict for having to part ways, even if it’s not the real Barry. And it is his punishment for everything he’s done and about to do.

I!Barry is the first instance of Alan creating someone in the Dark Place who has some amount of agency, a different appearance, and a different voice that we see on screen.

There is not much to add, although I!Barry and some other entities deserve their own explanation, so I will leave it at that. I just need to establish that Alan is capable of creating semi-independent beings with their own appearances and voices that are to the point controlled by him, but not necessarily consciously or in a beneficial way.

AWAN’s Alan

My favourite Alan is, of course, the AWAN’s Alan. He’s the middle point between two madnesses, the result of a clear mind, a clear goal, and thorough planning. All the good stuff. Because I can’t help meself, I will refer to him as Awan (imagine some cute emoji here).

Awan is the most elevated Alan we ever saw on screen.

Awan is the most confident Alan we ever saw on screen.

Awan is a Master of the Dark Place even more than the D!Alan and without any side effects!

Awan can control it to the point where he kinda-sorta learnt quite a lot about the flora, fauna, population, and the ways in which the Dark Place operates, and felt safe there with only a torch and a gun.

Awan was contacting our world intentionally via radio and dreams (and managed to remember it).

Awan’s biggest achievement—he created a threshold with the Dark Place and Someplace, Arizona. Which, if the map doesn’t lie, is quite a distance from Cauldron Lake.

Awan is everything all the Alans we saw strive to achieve.

Awan is determined to change; he wants to be a better man; he acknowledged his flaws and worked on them.

Awan is still a jerk; don’t get me wrong, but he’s trying, alright.

Awan is elevated enough to create, together with Alice, an object of power to destroy Mr. Scratch.

Awan mastered the loop technique not just to follow the breadcrumbs he left for himself, but to the point where he remembers all the loops clearly and acts accordingly.

Awan even managed to make other people remember the loops to have allies.

Awan, obviously, is the most powerful time manipulator, who actually understands what he’s doing. From the Alans we saw on screen, of course.

Awan is the last Alan to be near the Bird Leg Cabin; in fact, Awan drowned it.

Awan might live on his own private island in the Dark Place with Alice.

Yeah, I guess it would be better to address the last point. Quite frankly, we don’t really know what happened between AWAN and AWII, but there is a possibility that the AWAN’s Alan, like Tom Zane, ended up in a personal paradise. For him, it would be a film setting where he met Alice at the end of the story-mode, creating a private island. I mean, not like we have a shortage of Alans for this to be impossible, and let’s not kid ourselves, the AWII Alan is a huge downgrade from the AWAN Alan; there is no explanation of why and how. Why did Awan fall into the spiral of madness and lost all of his elevation perks, why doesn’t he remember anything, where are his torch and gun at the beginning of the second game, why would he need to rob Noir-Casey to have them? It’s a wild idea (or not really), but in one of the manuscripts Alice’s Film described as their salvation, their chance to be together, a tin can with a bit of magic that Alice unknowingly created. And I’m sure, no one will doubt, Alice is capable of creating miracles.

Other than that, not much to add here; I know there is a chunk of people who didn’t play AWAN; obviously, I can’t explain the story and its significance in the first part of a theory about a completely different thing. But everyone who played it and read all the manuscripts will understand what I’m talking about. The change from AWAN's Alan to AWII Alan is too staggering, really.

Finally, we are in the AWII territory for our last Alan for this part.

Noir-Casey

He, as well as Barry in the first game’s DLCs, is a figment of imagination, and he as well is as real as anything else in the Dark Place. I will refer to him as Noir-Casey.

Noir-Casey follows his own set of rules and character traits, because even before the Dark Place, he was Alan’s creation with thought-out and established behaviour.

Noir-Casey, as well as I!Barry, is an embodiment of Alan’s fear of being alone. This time he has no allies from (kinda) without, so he creates one within and doesn’t let go even after Noir-Casey’s deaths.

Noir-Casey acts the way Alan feels he would in given circumstances, unlike with I!Barry they do play the game of Noir-Casey being his own entity, although they do it following the script.

Noir-Casey is the only character, even in the Dark Place, whose thoughts Alan can "read," not only as an inspiration-clairvoyance “match the black and white bubble” scattered around the Writer’s City, but also when Noir-Casey is right in front of Alan.

Noir-Casey, even while confined by the story, knows that he’s just a character, and he is Alan. Frankly, Noir-Casey is not really happy about that, but it is in his character to suffer silently and just keep going.

Noir-Casey knows about the loops, remembers some of them at least, but, again, true to his character and bound by the script, he acts on this knowledge only in certain moments, giving vital information in a way that won’t affect the story (Alan doesn’t react to any of those bomb-drops at all).

Noir-Casey might’ve been created as a helping hand in stopping Alan from writing; every time Alan encounters him, Noir-Casey comes uncomfortably close to killing him. Since and if that was true, things have changed: in the second alley scene, being suddenly shot in the abdomen would actually trigger Noir-Casey to fire back, but he doesn’t.

Noir-Casey in the first alley scene claims that Alan will kill him there loop by loop; what we are shown hints that Noir-Casey is killed by Scratch, the scene is eerily similar to what we can collect from the moment when Scratch gets to the real Casey. Yet Noir-Casey’s wrath is directed at Alan.

Noir-Casey obviously knows more than he lets out. He doesn’t have memory problems and understands a thing or two about the Dark Place, even if he can’t really comprehend it, being a character from the books.

Noir-Casey might be Alan’s regret for killing the PI from his novels, as it was a starting point for everything to go down in his life. Noir-Casey might be Alan’s desire to be tough and move on, ignoring the pain. Noir-Casey constant presence in Initiation can be Alan’s “I’m sorry” and newfound appreciation for the character he once despised.

Noir-Casey in many ways plays the role of the Bright Presence.

Noir-Casey is yet another time when Alan created someone with agency and a different appearance and voice.

Noir-Casey is clearly a literary device for Alan in AWII. It doesn’t really matter how exactly he was manifested: was Alan dreaming about him, reminiscing about the times when everything was sunshine and rainbows, or was he deliberately writing him into Initiation loop by loop; Noir-Casey surely is yet another Alan. Noir-Casey serves few purposes that might or might not have changed since the moment of his creation, and he does a pretty good job at it; what’s interesting is that the character knows and understands more than the writer. And this will come into play after we will talk about yet another set of Alans in the second part.

The hero has a thousand faces and a hopeless path

[dresh-rx]

(I had this in my drafts for half a year i forgor)

CRACKHEAD THEORY RANT TIME

(plus dive into Ras'plans??)

People, I'm putting my money's worth on Ras'master being the First Spinjitzu Master!

So i can't rant nicely now but look:

Grasslands vibe!!4!

And the place where Ras'master teleported the dojo

Also it's clear that it's someone/something with great power if they can just do that.

And my theory on it being a source dragon has been buried with s2pt2(cause of the dead "balance" source dragon), so if not a source dragon then what. Well, eighter a new powerful character or FSM.

Also the color theme is very much Golden for the master...

As why he can't communicate normally is an intresting question.

Cause he speaks in morse code or broken toaster with Ras.

Maybe the merge fucked with his ability to communicate or smth(more on this below)

More reasons and Ras plan dissection contain SPOILERS for s2pt2 under!

We now know the goal of Ras and the Master:

To reverse the merge

(and all of this, somehow through the Sources, maybe capturing or even killing them, as we now know)

Sounds intresting, considering it doesnt exactly makes sense rn. Like, i get it, the merge was made to be prevented, it shouldn't have happened, but the merged lands are mixed right now. I don't even know how you could separate them anymore.

So obviously, the FSM was the first to want to prevent the merge, with the help of the Sources. He also created multiple standalone realms.

We also know, Wu had something to do with the eruption of the merge. Now its probable he didn't cause it directly and on purpose, since he was looking like he wanted to prevent it. My guess, maybe he was searching for the Dragon Cores and use them similarly of how Lloyd later fixes the merge quakes. And the origin of the merge is tied to the early Spinjitzu family, or just the FSM.

"Too soon"

So he did know it will come, just way more later.

But obviously:

So he didn't tell anyone but he probably knew this might happen all along cause his daddy told him... Oh Wu when will you learn

The last thing he tells Lloyd is:

"Remember, family is key"

Is also very intresting...

Another note, circling back to the idea that the FSM can't communicate properly is the exact same situation with Wu!

He is audiably struggling to talk to the ninja and barely speaks words.

So what if the merge affected the whole early Spinjitzu family (excluding Lloyd ofc). We don't know anything of Garmadon as of now tho, but he could be in a similar position.

Wu lives with this mistake he had a part in, but i doubt it's simple. It's probably the FSM's fault to begin with, as the possibility of realms colliding came after he created multiple more.

The reason why Ras' Master can't be Wu(plus he might doesn't even know the FSM did seek help from Ras) is simple. He is definetly not powerful enough to transport the Shadow Dojo. We haven't seen his full powers, but seeing him in this weakened spirit state is pretty much enough to prove that.

Another thing. He led the ninja to this location:

Which leads to the Monasteries in each realm. (Or just the 16 monasteries, since there seems to be both one in Imperium and one in The Land of Lost Things, which were in the same realm)

Ultimately this could be to warn them about the forbidden five's plans. Which doesn't contradict anything, the Forbidden Five has no intrest in Ras' plan, nor the Source dragons. But they can definetly complicate things.

But i am not sure if Wu has anything to do with Ras' plan or master as of now, but i can't explain it why. He may have, I don't know...

Also:

You guys think the Cauldron of Realms is the place Wu led the ninja to?

It doesn't look, cauldron-y but it definetly leads to all realms... And the place was referred to as a Monastery so maybe unlikely.

...

Anyways i'd love to hear your thoughts on this theory!

And with s3 around the corner this might change

[anintriguedintrovert]

It's just lazy writing honestly. Saying that you want to develop a "mature relationship" between two characters and killing off the female character to fuel man pain is such a tired and dirty trope.

And from his own words in that article - caryl falling in love is "obvious" and "easy" and such a "TV book of tricks" (again - all of these words could have different interpretations.)

Like, my dude, "friends to lovers" is an old but gold timeless trope for a reason. UNLIKE, introducing a female character and killing her to serve the male character's man pain (if that is the route they are in fact taking - I would rather her live or have her death serve some larger/meaningful purpose - bcoz yes...i can't imagine Daryl and Isabelle together - they have known each other for two months and most it has been her lying to him/manipulating him - my man deserves better BUT I also want female characters to be treated fairly) Forcing a relationship between her and Daryl so that the audience would feel more for her when she dies - and completely reducing her death to prop up Daryl is NOT the way to go. Give her a meaningful arc and real/clear/grounded motives and emotional depth.

Also - can we like backtrack here for a minute - saying that making Caryl romantic would be too easy - is like the most ridiculous thing I have heard in a while. Besides the fact that they are both incredibly complex and layered characters of their own right (the best to come out of TWDU imho) - their shared journey is such a gold mine in terms of potential - there is angst, real emotional stakes and conflicts, so much freaking build up that was already established (I mean the entire s10 arc was basically the angst-iest fanfiction to ever fanfiction) - and underneath it all - a bond/understanding/love that is so revered by so many (even the non-carylers). AND - the chemistry between the actors is the perfect cherry on top of this fantabulous sundae. I mean, u can create a whole rom com and a half out of it.

The easy route is pairing Daryl up with a character like Isabelle. Because it doesn't take much creativity or much thinking honestly.

In short, if you are going to go with a TV trope - plz don't put your bets on something as tired and tedious as reducing a female characters death so that the man can cry a few tears. Go with the tried and tested and timeless dynamic so many ppl root for (I mean - I only recently joined twitter to get updates on the Book of Carol - and twdcaryl has been trending for like three days straight now - and that Entire hype is created by carylers- they are out there dissecting every teeny tiny bts pic that we get from s3 - and creating fan art and just non stopping talking about it.)

I only finished twd a few months backs and since then, have been obsessed with this dynamic. I can't say I have hopes for canon. And I have never once interacted with this fandom beyond liking posts and devouring caryl fanfiction from so many talented writers here. But this article just seems like the dumbest decision ever (like why dig your own grave)

Me about Caryl...