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all-might-can-smash-me · 4 years

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Homestay

You are on Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Taishiro Toyomitsu / Fatgum x Reader

Summary: it was recommended that the people involved in the huge incident be sent off to the country side to heal and recover from injuries. Fatgum, Red Riot, and Suneater find themselves in a nice home, living the simple life and enjoying their chores, but Taishiro can’t help but let his heart flutter upon getting to know the host

Got the idea after watching My Neighbor Totoro also phone fucked up Fatgum’s name but I’m too lazily to scour the one shot to fix it

Masterlist

“Hurry up boys and stop lagging behind!” Called out Taishiro as he paused his steps upon the dirt, gravel road that he happily hiked along. Though Kirishima and Amajiki lugged behind, suitcases in their hands hanging low as they heads hung back or low as the summer sun shown down upon them.

“Why couldn’t they drop us off at the place? This is a little...much...” Tamaki muttered out as he soon went to smack a mosquito that dared to try and bite his arm. Kirishima made a sound of agreement as he looked to the ricefields surrounding them that stretched on for miles and miles before looking back to the pro hero who was a few paces ahead of them.

“Drop us off at the place? You crazy? The little car that they were driving would have never made it down this road.” Taishiro said with a loud laugh as he slowed down to now be walking between the boys. “Guys, we aren’t in the city anymore...” He teased a bit as he nudged both of them with his elbows. “It’s fun though! Look how nice everything is! Farm land, trees out that way, little tiny shrines....” he said with a sigh, though he was soon smacking away a mosquito as well. “Well...those things aren’t great, but what would you expect next to so much water and moister?” He said as he motioned to the flooded rice fields that seemed to stretch on forever.

“Why are we here again?” Kirishima asked honestly as he looked up to the pro hero, his own hand swatting away one of those brave pesky mosquitoes, though they had no match for his hand that crushed it. “It’s kind of REALLY out of the way, honestly...” he mumbled out as shrugged his shoulders.

“It was recommended that we hunker down for the next week to rebuild, rest, and heal until they pick us up Sunday morning” Taishiro said confidently, casting glances to the two teens. “Which we desperately need after our last mission. It’s also better to do it in locations like these, it’s less likely. The others involved were scattered to different areas like these for the same reason.” Taishiro said, pausing to look at an old road sign, setting down his suit case to tug his phone out his pocket, reading the directions that were given to him before picking up his suit case again to turn down onto a small dirt road, tall grass swaying happily along side it.

“But I’m ready to go back to just...doing what I got to do!” Kirishima protested as he followed alongside the pro hero, Amajiki silently following on the opposite side. Taishiro only rolled his eyes with a snort.

“I’m sure you are, but as a hero, it is best to make sure and be sure that we are fit! If we don’t, it can only lead to further and or worsening of our injuries and can cause even bigger problems.” Tiashiro pointed out, which then it wasn’t surprising that Kirishima was soon agreeing with him. Though there appeared a house. The doors were slide open for the summer breeze to come in which also allowed the three to be able to peer in just a tiny bit. A women was soon hurriedly shoving her shoes on before making her way outside, already beginning to met the three.

“Hey! You must be...Red Riot?” You asked as you hugged Kirishima excitedly. “And you....Suneater!” You said with a laugh as another hug was giving, Amajiki was quite taken aback by it and was left a blushing mess. “And you are-“ though you were cut off by his words.

“Fatgum, nice to meet you.” He spoke out with a grin before excepting your hug as a greeting. It was nice, he had to admit, but you pulled away, already beckoning the three over to follow.

“It’s nice to finally have some people over to stay! It’s been awhile since I had any home stay guest! Never heroes either” you said with a laugh as stepped through the open doors, shoes slid off along with the other three. “Though I’ll go over the simple rules I have and where you will be staying, now follow me.” You said with a grin as you soon walked deeper into the home, now sliding a door open, revealing a room. “This will be your room, but if you find it too hot, I can set up futons and mosquito nets on the back porch area so you can get a breeze.” You said as you motioned for where they could set their suitcases down. You were soon moving again though, now stepping down a step or two into the kitchen area. “Of course, kitchen, dining room is that last room we past up, but here is the bath room.” You said as you shoved open a wooden door, pointing to the shower and then to the tub. “This house is really...outdated, sorry.” You said with a giggle. “Restroom is back in the main house across from your room.”

“It’s fine, I kind of really like it.” Taishiro spoke up with a grin. “It’s like getting blasted back into a studio Ghibli movie, right guys?” Tiashiro said as he looked down to the two teens who vigorously nodded their heads to the statement as they admired the home around them.

“Awe..thanks..” you said with a little laugh as you closed the bathing room’s door, now pushing another door that lead to outside. “Now the agreement I made was that you could stay here under the condition that you would help out a bit.” You said as you looked over your shoulders as you lead them out. “I need someone to pick the eggs in the morning and feed them, then feed them again at lunch, then again in the evening and then check for eggs again.” You explained as you you stopped, pointing to a chicken coop up ahead. “Then my little garden over there, I need someone to pick what’s ripe in the morning before the sun has a chance to kill it and then water it in the evening.” Your hand was soon pointing to the little garden in question. “Then of course when I do laundry someone we’ll need to hang it up on the clothes line, just leave your dirty clothes in the baskets I have set in the bathing room for you, and then washing dishes after each meal. You can help cook too, but I won’t really nag the three of you for that.” You said with a giggle as you turned to now face the three. “Deal?”

“Deal!” The three of them said with curt nods of their heads. Boy was it nice. Tiashiro was enjoying it, probably way too much. Lounging about on the ground in the large main room as the breeze blew in was nice. It was nice too that Amajiki was even sprawled about, Kirishima as well with his earbuds in listening to music. Though the two teens disappeared as the evening rolled in, going to check on the chickens and water the small garden. Tiashiro on the other hand, found himself in the kitchen, watching you waltz about to prepare things.

“Can I help?” He asked, you nodding your head as you motioned him forward. He did, now at a cutting board and cutting the vegetables you had placed before him, you at the stove, meet sizzling away in a pan. “Do you get a lot of people here?” Taishiro asked with a raise of his brow, glancing to you.

“No, but then yes? I get people who stay, but they stay for months, maybe even as long as a year, or then maybe a couple of weeks are two...” you said with a little smile, looking over and to him, though the look and the soft smile on your face made a blush crawl to your cheeks that made you quickly move away. “This must be totally different from the live that you three are use to.” You teased as you cracked an egg skillfully, shell tossed aside in a bucket.

“It is very different, but it’s a nice change, you know? No rushing, no noise, just a nice calm, which is awesome to experience after the chaos of the city.” He said as he soon handed the cutting board to you, you now making use with the cut vegetables, him now leaning against the counter as he watched you.

“Well I’m glad that you are already enjoying your time here.” The cooked dishes were now already being placed onto plates carefully, you handing them off to him. “Set this down on the dinner table please? I’ll be right behind you to set the table.” You said, the hero giving a nod of his head as he carefully the food from you, now in the dining room to set down the plates in the middle of the table, you setting down the plates and chopstick.

“Whoa...something seriously smells good!” Kirishima spoke out from the doorway of the dining room, Amajiki peeking in from behind him. “And your chickens? Those things are deadly!” Kirishima said with wide eyes, you motioning the two to come in and sit down. “They could have pecked my eyes out! But of course...I’m so manly...” he spoke out as he sat down.

“He ran away...” Amajiki softly spoke out, Taishiro letting out a little snort as saw Kirishima glare at Tamaki at exposing him, the four of them already beginning to eat. “I thought they were nice...” he added quietly, now silence by the food he placed into his mouth.

“Oh my gosh....” Tiashiro mumbled out as he ate, eyes wide as he looked up to look over at you. “This is good!” He shouted up excitedly as he continued to eat. You of course gave a soft giggle and a blush as you glanced over and to him.

“Yeah, when he says he likes your food, he means it.” Kirishima mumbled to you from beside you with a laugh, Taishiro giving him a playful glare.

“Well it was mentioned to me that you rely on food for your quirk, so I made sure to make plenty and to also keep a lot of snacks on hand. Also, cooking is a skill that I needed to master with having people stay and what not.” You said with a little giggle. The laughter and conversation was nice, but soon came to an end when the food had come to an end and Amajiki and Kirishima gathered the empty plates to haul to the kitchen to wash them, you standing off to the side to help dry and place away the dishes as Taishiro had took his chance to get clean up, but there was a problem....he was stumped as he looked to the bathtub, not really knowing how to work the spouts.

“Shit...” he muttered out as he wrapped a towel around his hips, pushing open the door to poke his head up, a sheepish grin plastered onto his mouth. “Hey...um....I kind of need help...” he spoke up, you tossing aside the towel in your hand.

“Shoot, I’m sorry, that’s what I forgot to go over” you said as you stepped into the bathroom, closing the door. Though you cleared your throat and quickly looked away upon seeing the man wrapped up with just the towel, his muscles now on full display to your eyes. “This knob is hot water and this is cold.” You said as you pointed to the rusting handles, now trying to pull the one for the hot water. “Sometimes it gets stuck...” you groaned out, Tiashiro’s hands now now coming out from either side of you to grab hold along with you, the knob now groaning as it was turned, water now beginning to pour out and into the tub. “Thanks..” you said with a little laugh, though was soon left blushing upon turning around, now coming face to face with his chest, but he only back up with an apology, you now hurrying out of the bathroom.

“Hey...you think we can get those mosquito nets and futons set up?” Kirishima asked, you nodded your head to his question.

“Of course! Come on.” You said as you motioned for them to follow, already motioning to grab the futons that were settled away in a closet in their room, soon grabbing the nets and leading them out to the back porch area, nets now carefully being hung up by your, helping Kirishima and Amajiki set out the futons.

“Oh this is so cool!” Kirishima gushed out as he let himself sprawl out on his futon once it fixed, Amajiki soon lowering himself down onto his own. “It’s like we’re camping! But nicer...” He spoke excitedly to Amajiki, who of course only nodded his head, you laughing as you stepped out from the net, closing it carefully behind you.

“Well I’m glad you boys are enjoying it, this would be my favorite thing to do as a kid! So I would hate it when the winter months would come.” You spoke with a little laugh as you were now heading back into the house, but of course, you almost embarrassingly ran into Taishiro, his hair still damp from his bath.

“Awesome! Fatgum is out!” Kirishima said as he was already out from the mosquito net, slipping past you and him and soon running to their bedroom until running out with clothes in tow, bathroom door already slamming shut. Tiashiro only laughed as he and you managed to shuffled past each other, he already making his way into the mosquito net and laying upon his futon that the two others had set up for him.

From then on....you found yourself casting little glances to the pro hero...but little do you know that he was just as crush stricken as you were. Watching you laugh along with the two teens as you helped them water the garden and tend to the chickens. Watching you show him how to check what was ripe or not was just.....embarrassingly hot? It just made him adore you that you just knew how to do it? Also he loved to make you laugh as he would help you hung the laundry to dry too. And he loved cooking with you. He would drop a flirt here and there too and that blush upon your face that would follow would just....send his heart fluttering.

“Let me get this, you can’t even reach.” He teased as he grabbed the sheet from you, tossing it over the clothes line, which you only giggle and rolled your eyes, pinning down the sheet after he did so.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to prove myself!” You accused, shaking your head as you looked up at him, but that look he gave you made your heart stop, breath being stolen from your lungs. The both of you had begun to gravitate towards each other, lips brushing up against each other....until the two of you quickly pulled away as the sheet had begun to be moved around.

“Oooh! Spooky! Did I scare you?” Kirishima childishly laughed as he lifted the sheet to reveal his grinning face, though it fell as he looked to Fatgum’s face that looked disappointed to almost....annoyed? Angry? “What?” Kirishima dumbly asked, now looking to you who only looked off to the side to hide your blushing face.

“Red Riot...you are in your first year of high school....” Taishiro commented as he looked down to the teen, though you only gave him a nudge in his side, you seeming to recover from your embarrassment as you grabbed a sheet, tossing it over Tiashiro’s head with a giggle.

“Oh...now that is spooky!” You commented as Tiashiro only huffed, lifting the sheet from his head to see you and Kirishima laughing away, which meant that Taishiro was soon laughing away along with y’all, he continuing to hung up the clothes to dry.

Though when night had come along and Kirishima and Amajiki had now fallen asleep and snores away, he tossed the blankets off of himself before getting up, walking past the flaps for the net, closing them carefully before making his way into the house, already slowly making his way to a door with a pounding heart, his hands sliding it open. You carefully leaned yourself up, heart pounding as you saw Tiashiro standing at the threshold of your room, giving him a nod of permission, which he now then stepped into your room, slid shut as he made his way to your futon, you now moving over to let him join you, both of your hands nervous with jitters from the intimate encounter.

That’s how the rest of the nights were spent, giggling away quietly in your room once the two boys would fall asleep in their deep slumbers from their day of chores and fun. Though the last night was here, Taishiro now playing with your hair as you rested your head upon his bare chest, eyes closed gently from the gently touches upon your hair.

“I’m gonna miss you...” you whsipered out as you soon moved your head to look up at him, pressing gentle kisses along his jaw and chin, he sighing in content as he caressed the side of your face.

“You have my number, so call me anytime you get lonely...” he whispered out before pressing all gentle kiss upon the top of your nose. “And then I’ll came to visit you....and then maybe you can come and visit me? See my agency...?” He asked hopefully, you nodding your head with a grin upon your lips.

“Most definitely so I can cook for you...” you teased, Taishiro smothering your face now with kisses.

“Please....I love your cooking....”

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kyoomiii · 4 years

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♡ Weight Insecurity [hcs]

- ➣. . . ❝ can i request the weight insecurity with sugawara, nishinoya, kenma, and bokuto? ❞

― requested by: @ anonie ―

- ✎ characters ❝ sugawara, nishinoya, kenma, and bokuto ❞

- [ trigger warning(s): heavy mentions of insecurity ]

- ⚘ genre ❝ fluff, angst ❞

❝ i’m so sorry you had to wait so long anonie. but i hope you enjoy this~

๑•́ㅿ•̀๑)ﾉ also i may or may not have gone a little overboard on bokuto’s...

oopsie ❞

-kyo ♡

The gentle breeze that flows through the warm spring air is delightful against your skin, Sugawara’s small hums to an unknown tune filling the space as the two of you walk hand and hand to the vending machine.

Despite the relatively quiet atmosphere, you don’t feel the least bit uncomfortable, rather the opposite really. But, then again there was always something about Sugawara that was so welcoming and soft- even mere strangers couldn’t help but fall into his warmth.

Your gaze trails aimlessly, the thought dancing in your head as you listen to his hum. Quietly, your eyes begin to wander over his features almost absentmindedly.

It’s then you begin to truly realize- The boy is absolutely beautiful. Whether it be his smooth unblemished skin or the tiny little beauty mark that’s settled right next to his eye. His appearance is nothing short of a delicate beauty.

The longer you stare, the more you come to realize just how unreal his beauty is, something so pure seemed to belong to nothing short of a prince from a fairy tale. And though it never bothered you in the first place, you find yourself growing anxious.

Anxious because while you know Sugawara is beyond breathtaking, as shown in his countless admirers from all grades. You’d never truly realized just how gorgeous he is- and though you put him above wanting someone solely based on their appearance, you feel as though he could definitely do better- and maybe one day he will.

And now, as you come to a stop, despite being far from close to the vending machine. The loud thundering of your heartbeat drums through your ears.

You can only watch as a girl- perhaps a 2nd year, catches Sugawara’s attention. Cheeks flushed, and hands folded neatly in front of her. Her lips are moving, but you can’t seem to catch what she’s saying. She’s pretty, big doe eyes, small, and thin- a delicate beauty, just like him.

Drifting in your own thoughts, you don’t even seem to notice as she walks away, somewhat dejected, though seemingly not too upset.

“y/n? Is something wrong?”

The sudden call of your name startles you, but you can’t say that you weren’t expecting it, after all his observation skills are one of the many things you love about him, and with that you know there is no use lying.

“Koushi- am I pretty?”

Wide-eyed and jaw-dropped, he can’t help but stop his tracks, his eyes carefully watching as you observe the retreating girl.

“Oh y/n...Of course, you are. What makes you think you aren’t?”

“...I-... Well. I just think you could find someone better… You know, someone who is prettier- I mean, I’m not exactly… As beautiful as you are. And I think you deserve someone who fits that. Someone breathtaking and… thin.”

Not once, throughout your entire ramble do you look at him. Your eyes seemingly glued to the direction in which the girl has left.

But even so, Sugawara cups your rounded cheeks in each of his hands. His movements are slow and calculated as he turns your attention back to him.

Hazel eyes boring into your own, and suddenly you feel vulnerable. Stripped bare to your insecurities, as his eyes, search what seemed to be the deepest spaces of your mind.

And though you don’t take your eyes off him. You are caught completely surprised as he places a gentle kiss to your lips, his thumbs caressing the soft plump skin of your cheeks as he takes the air from your lungs before pulling away slowly, and carefully as if you were glass.

“You are beautiful just the way you are okay? I love you and only you, and no one can change that, because you are gorgeous both inside and out and I am so so so lucky to have found you. So please y/n… Try not to put yourself down like that ever again. You are amazing, and I’ll make sure you see that every day of our lives.”

The sound of volleyballs hitting the hardwood flooring followed by the shouts of teenage boys seemed to be nothing more than background noise. Your mind too adrift to focus on the intense practice happening just before your eyes.

Instead, you find yourself completely entranced by her. How someone could hold such an elegant beauty was something you felt you’d never be able to understand. Even in the almost suffocating heat of the gym, and the faint smell of sweat, she looked completely flawless- almost as if she were not of this world.

You suppose you could understand just why Nishinoya was completely at her mercy. She was nothing short of perfection, a true beauty- whereas you felt as if you were nowhere close in comparison to her.

And the sudden realization has a stream of worry trickling through your body. You knew she’d never shown interest in Nishinoya, but, even so, she didn’t need to. She had him wrapped around her fingers, whether she acknowledged it or not.

You felt as if you were being paranoid, Kiyoko would never try to hurt you. And Nishinoya, the ever-loving goof who’d stolen your heart was no doubt in your mind faithful, he too would never do something like that. But, no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the small ache that maybe one day he would return to her, settled itself deep within your chest.

The feeling of hands around your waist startles you, shaking you from your thoughts.

A small smile graces your lips at the feeling of Nishinoya’s lips against the plush chubbiness of your cheek.

“Something on your mind?”

Unsure of how to say it, you nod silently. Your lips pursing as your fingers find his own, fiddling with them as you search for how to voice your thoughts.

“Kiyoko-senpai… She’s pretty isn’t she?”

The silence that follows is quickly replaced with the thundering of your own heartbeat as you wait for his response.

But after what seems like an eternity- which was really only a couple of seconds. You can slowly feel yourself being swallowed up by the floor. The walls begin to cave as you subconsciously shift, subtly trying to escape Nishinoya’s grasp.

“She is.”

You can feel them. The tears that gather in your eyes.

“But so are you.”

Turning to look back at Nishinoya, you are met with his signature grin- bright and warm as always, and his eyes- they shine like the sun as he gazes at you.

“Yuu…”

“I mean it y/n… Yes, Kiyoko is beautiful- But so are you. And I have eyes for only you. You mean so much to me, and it hurts to know that you don’t see it. I think you are really cute y/n. Don’t you dare think any less of yourself ever again!”

The tears that wet your cheeks are no longer of sadness as the widest smile you’ve ever had graces your features. It makes Nishinoya’s heart flutter more than he ever thought possible.

“You’re so sweet to me Yuu.”

“It’s what you deserve~”

The soft glow of Kenma’s t.v illuminated the otherwise dark room as the clicking of the controller in his hands followed by the sounds of the video game he was currently playing filled the relatively quiet space.

Your eyes trailed after the small avatar that scurried across the screen. Head leaning against Kenma’s shoulder as you nibbled on the small snack between your lips.

You thought it was silly really. To be jealous of a digital 2d character on a screen, but even so you can’t seem to help it. And the fact that Kenma spent most of his days glued to some sort of device, a pretty maiden with a body of a goddess displayed before his eyes seemed to only worsen that insecurity.

However, you could never find the heart to tell him that, knowing just how much his games meant to him, and to make him feel bad for something he probably didn’t even take notice of, or had the ability to control was unfair. So for his sake you would suck it up.

The gentle tug of your shirt sleeve catches your attention, drawing you from your thoughts. A small smile tugs at your lips as your eyes meet Kenma’s.

“Which outfit should I buy y/n?”

Your eyes trail back to the t.v, the character displayed shifting between two outfits of Kenma’s choice, both equally form fitting to highlight the character’s flawless curves.

You find your smile quickly turning into a frown, however one glance at Kenma has you trying to play it off as if you were merely thinking.

“What’s wrong?”

The sudden question startles you, but then again you should’ve known better than to hide from Kenma’s attentiveness. He could catch even the smallest changes of details in people, especially you- someone he has grown fond of.

That doesn’t stop you from trying though. Quickly putting on a smile and shaking your head.

“It’s nothing Kenma, just thinking I suppose.”

He doesn’t believe you, and he shows it in the form of a scrunched up nose and a small almost unnoticeable pout.

“You’re lying… But I guess if you don’t want to talk about it we don’t have to.”

A wave of guilt washes over your body, but, you can’t seem to find the words you want to say. Instead you curl your legs up to your chest, and to Kenma you look like an absolute ball of fluff as he continues with his game, choosing an outfit at random.

It’s not brought up again, not even as you feel yourself grow increasingly frustrated, nails digging into the plush skin of your thighs.

“-Kenma can I ask you something?”

Startled by the sudden noise, Kenma jumps slightly, looking over at you questioningly, not ignoring the way you stare almost longingly at the avatar on his screen.

“Would you find me more attractive if my body looked like that?”

He’s unsure of what to say, shifting nervously as silence engulfs you two. The only sound for a long while is the music track of the game.

“Oh- I’m sorry… I’ve made you uncomfortable… I- Just forget I said anything.”

Shaking his head, he takes your hand in his own. A small shrug coming from his shoulders as his cheeks flush pink.

“I guess if you wanted to… But truth be told, I like you the way you are y/n. You’re beautiful.”

His words leave you speechless. A small flush matching his own coloring your cheeks.

“Thank you Kenma.”

There was no other way to describe Bokuto other than a pure ball of sunshine. Bright and welcoming with people flocking from all over just to bask in his warmth. And it didn’t hurt that he was quite the looker too. Truly someone special, and way out of your league in your opinion.

In moments like this you wonder how you got so lucky. With your head resting on Bokuto’s shoulder, your gaze directed out the window as he rambled on about something only he could make interesting as the two of you waited for class to begin. The sound of his voice calming, despite the energy that seeps from every word.

You don’t even notice the teacher enter the room. The only thing to catch your attention is the gentle nudge from Bokuto, and the wide grin you love so much before he heads to his assigned seat.

“Today we will be working in pairs.”

Before you had gotten with Bokuto, the announcement would have made you groan. But, one glance at him from across the room seems to make the assignment a little more bearable.

“-I’ll be choosing your partners today.”

And of course you should’ve known better, the feeling of dismay tugging at your lips in the form of a pout as the teacher lists off the pairs.

Disappointed, you can’t help but sigh, glancing over at Bokuto once more who sends you a small apologetic smile as he meets up with his partner. A girl you have come to recognize as someone who was admired by many for her appearance and sweet, sunny personality.

The sight of them together doesn't bother you much, however, the small ball that sits at the pit of your stomach can’t be helped as she smiles up at him with a grin that almost seemed to rival his own… You had to admit, they were cute together.

Sucking it up you decide to push the thought away as best as you can. However, it doesn’t seem to be as effective with the occasional glance in their direction. It was like watching two angels, pure and bright.

Luckily, the end of the class as well as the school day, arrive faster than you had expected it. And with a new found energy you find yourself bounding over to Bokuto- who you find happily conversing with his partner, the topic having changed from school to general personal topics.

And much to your dismay, it doesn’t take long to notice the hand on his bicep. Her small frame leaning in close to his, eyes shining as if hearing about his assignment for a different class were the most interesting she had ever heard in her lifetime.

You watched with wide eyes, suddenly nervous to approach the pair that shone like the sun.

So instead you wait, busying yourself with some other mundane tasks, because surely he’ll be done soon- Bokuto has always been social anyway, it would be rude to suddenly pull him away now, especially when he looks like he’s having a good time.

But seconds quickly turn to minutes, and Bokuto has yet to pull himself from her grasp. And you find yourself growing tired.

Timidly you walk up to Bokuto, hand gently tugging his blazer, which he seems to immediately understand.

“Ah- See you tomorrow r/g/n-chan.”

Bokuto takes your hand in his own, bidding the girl goodbye with a small wave as he practically drags you out of the classroom.

The walk home is quiet, much too quiet for Bokuto’s liking. The tension thick in the air as you walk a distance away from him rather than holding his hand like you normally do.

“y/n-chan? What’s wrong?”

Stopping in your tracks, you direct your gaze to the ground, pout present on your face as Bokuto reaches out to hold you soft jawline, turning your attention towards him.

“Do you like her?”

Shocked his brows furrow.

“Ehhh? What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know… She’s just so pretty and nice- You two looked like you were getting alone… And I figured it was only time for you to want someone… Like her.”

Bokuto frowns, his hands moving quickly to engulf your plump body.

“Don’t you ever say that… You’re beautiful too- if not more. I don’t care if she’s skinny- or whatever! I only have eyes for you, no one else… You’re so silly- to not see just how gorgeous you are…”

“Thank you for making me feel better. I love you Kou.”

“Of course y/n… I love you too- forever and ever.”

“That’s quite a long time.”

“I know, but that’s okay- I want to spend it with you, and no one else.”

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amintyworld · 3 years

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It’s a Wonderful Life, Tommy - Dream SMP Holiday Oneshot

A/N: So this started as an imagine that I wanted to do a bullet fic for, but I got carried away and kind of, sort of, wrote an 11-page fic? So, sorry for the extra setup at the beginning. It’s inspired off two of my favorite Christmas movies: ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and ‘A Christmas Carol’ and I ended up with a pretty good even blend of the two, and I’m pretty proud of this. Here’s my Christmas gift to the fandom, I hope you enjoy! So, grab your hot cocoa and Christmas cookies, settle into a blanket and enjoy this holiday tale. -Minty

Summary: After a nasty fight with Tubbo combined with Tommy’s worsening depression, its Tommy’s final straw as he decides he’s ready to give up. But, it looks like Tommy’s condition and situation has gotten some supernatural attention.

TW: Suicide attempt, talks of suicide, heavy blood and gore, manipulation and blame, major character deaths(?), insanity. (Please tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

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Imagine it’s Christmas Eve but he didn’t end up going with Technoblade and he’s still alone. He’s still as depressed as ever, and on top of all of that, he had an argument when Tubbo tried to visit that ended worse than anything Tommy ever imagined.

Tommy’s trying his best to enjoy the holiday and ends up wandering around, stumbling upon Technoblade’s house - where Ghostbur and Techno are both singing carols while decorating a tree. Tommy’s heart aches with loneliness as he quickly leaves before anyone could see him through the window. No one had left him any presents (Dream burned them all secretly) and he kept looking over Dream’s gift - a white porcelain mask with eyes and no mouth, like Dream’s. Dream claimed in his note that things were getting dangerous and it was to keep him safe and hide his identity. Something about it felt off, though.

He didn’t want to assume the worst of his friend, but it seemed more like a gift Dream wanted him to have instead of something he wanted. That’s why after a while of just holding it and tracing over the details with his fingers he put it away in his chest. He climbed his tower again and was getting ready to aim for the top of a tree, done with everything - with trying to hope when everything he ever had, his friends and family, were gone. He kept searching for a point to his suffering and found none, so he decided to finally end things for good.

A voice called out to him. It was Phil.

“It’s not really the season for giving up hope, now is it?”

Tommy was of course startled, as a floating spirit in the form of what looks like Philza, his dad, flying and floating in front of him... with wings? Tommy is trying to compose himself while trying to discern whether or not his ‘thing’ is real - touching his shoulder only to touch absolutely nothing, yelling at it to see if it’s a demon, while the spirit is nonetheless, unimpressed. “What are you? Are you really Phil, or am i just... hallucinating again?”

“I am quite real - you can call me your guide of sorts. I’ve taken the form of your loved one to make you feel more at ease. Anyway, Tommyinnit, I’m sent here to stop you from jumping from this pillar.”

“Why exactly should I listen to you? For all I know, you’re just another weird vision like Tubbo was. I’m really tired of my messed up mind, just go away.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Tommy. It’s my sworn duty to step in here, for your behalf.”

“My behalf?! I assure you, whoever you are, I’d be happier dead than to live without anyone who really cares about me.”

“How about a deal then? I will show you three places, events, and if I can’t change your mind, I’ll leave you alone.”

“No lying?”

“Why would I?”

“Okay, sure.” Tommy still didn’t think any of this was real, but he was honestly curious where this weird dream was going. The Guide took Tommy’s hand and told him to trust him, and they both jumped, Tommy yelling, confused, as he fell, fell, fell, preparing for impact and probably death, instead of falling into... snow?

He shivered and looked around - how is the sun up, it was the night a few seconds ago...? The Guide took his hand with a comforting smile and led him through the trees when Tommy froze in his tracks. A house... he KNEW that house. “Look familiar?”

Shouts nearby made his head whip around as a snowball raced toward him. He braced for impact, but it didn’t hit him. Instead, it hit a tree trunk behind him. Laughter filled the air as he heard a familiar voice behind him yell. “HA, your aim is shit, Tommy!” He saw a young version of Technoblade rush through the bushes, and... that was him... a young version of him in the trees, snowball in hand, angry at his missed shot.

“Yeah, well I still have the high ground, you arsehole!” He noticed a young Tubbo next to him, a snowball in each hand wearing a green coat that was way too big for him. He laughed, remembering it - Phil didn’t have money for a new coat for Tubbo that year, so he gave him his older one to use, and the poor kid kept falling over and tripping on it. Tubbo handed Tommy another snowball as they both pelted the snowballs down as Techno rushed into some cover behind a rock.

“This is Christmas by the lake, where Phil grew up. But, how can I see it, that was over six years ago-?” Tommy turned to the guide who showed him who his whole body turned translucent.

“In order to show you events, we must travel to that point in time, but we’ll only be observers, we can’t interact with them.”

Tommy looked over as Technoblade pelted Tommy with a snowball hard, making him lose his balance and fall to the snowy ground below. “This is unreal, it’s so clear, how can I recall this in a dream...?”

“I told you, I am a spirit Tommy, your Guide.” Looking around at it all, Tommy couldn’t help but to start to believe him. The smell of gingerbread filled his nose from the house as Wilbur walked out, his hands in the air.

“Okay guys, Phil told me to tell you to come inside-” Before his older brother could even finish his sentence, three snowballs hit him square in the face. “Hey, I’m not even playing!”

“You’re in the kill zone, Wil!” Tubbo shouted from the treetops as if that would explain everything.

“Ugh, why are you all so annoying-”

Techno smirked, looking over at his brother from his spot covered by the rock. “Aw, come on, don’t be a buzzkill Wilby.” Wilbur stopped at the nickname and turned with a fire in his eyes.

“I’ll show you buzzkill-!” He shouted as he threw a snowball at Techno, running for his own cover.

“Look at you, surrounded by your family, your best friend - it seems like you all love each other a lot.”

“Well, of course, we’re family.” Tommy paused, realizing what he said and quickly correcting himself. “At least, we were.” He watched the scene unfold - Philza called them in for cookies and cocoa and they all rushed into the house. While running, Tubbo tripped on his coat and fell again, and Tommy saw himself stay back and help Tubbo to his feet with a smile.

“I bet Tubbo appreciated your friendship, especially then.”

“Well, I knew what it was like to be the new kid in the family, you know? It’s awkward and weird at first to settle into. You’re by yourself for so long it’s hard to get used to being around people all the time who give you so much affection.” He walked over toward the window and looked inside - Phil put on some Christmas music that blasted through the player and Techno covered his ears, begging for something different, making everyone laugh. Wilbur pulled out his guitar as Technoblade practically slammed the ‘stop’ button on the player.

“All of you look close.”

“We are- were,” Tommy said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, none of this does - even if they cared for me and loved me then, doesn’t mean they do now.”

“I thought you said family loved each other no matter what.” The Guide said smoothly. “Why would it make sense for them to stop loving you now?”

“I don’t know...” Tommy breathed, his mind confused and questioning. “Maybe we’re not family. Maybe we... maybe we never were. Anyways, you’ve shown me enough of this to count for the deal, let’s just move on.”

“Hold on, we’re gonna miss my favorite part.” The Guide said as Philza came in with a Santa hat.

“As per tradition in the Sleepy Boys Incorporated Household, me - the Grand Master - shall decide who gets to receive an extra special gift to open before Christmas Day.” Wilbur bounced excitedly on the couch, and Tommy crossed his fingers as they waited. “I have tallied the points-”

“I still think there’s no point system-” Technoblade mumbled as Philza continued.

“And this year, the wearer of the special Santa hat goes to... Tommy!” Phil said as he tossed it over to the boy, who smiled widely. “For your extra help around the house and chores, this year’s for you, buddy.”

“Yay, Tommy!” Wilbur said from the couch as Technoblade smiled and nodded in approval. Tubbo clapped and cheered - this was the first year Tommy had ever been given the hat. Outside the window, Tommy crossed his arms and looked at the snow, knowing what was going to happen next. Young Tommy smiled wide as he clutched the Santa hat in his hands. He looked over to Tubbo for a moment, then to the hat, unknown thoughts in his head. Then, he handed it out to Tubbo.

“Here. You can have it.”

Tubbo looked confused. “But Tommy, you worked so hard for this - you did extra chores, you helped out Wilbur when his beanie got stuck in the tree... you didn’t curse for an entire week!”

“I know.” He smiled, turning into a smirk. “But, you know, if it was that easy for me to get it this year, I can always get it again. And, since it was harder for you, if I don’t give you the hat now, you probably won’t get it until you’re Phil’s age.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Philza shouted as he carried in a large gift-wrapped box to set on the table.

“But Tommy-” Tubbo tried to interject, but Tommy threw him the hat.

“Come on, I insist,” Tommy said, and the two best friends hugged each other tightly. Outside, Tommy looked at the scene, pressing his hand up against the glass, his heart aching uncomfortably, not being able to tear his eyes away from the tender moment. He turned to the spirit, emotion, and anger on his face.

“Tubbo exiled me, he burned his compass, he didn’t show up to my beach party, he didn’t even come to see me.” His eyes looked cold. “He’s NOT my best friend, let alone my friend!”

The spirit looked calm. “I see.” He slowly turned and began to walk away into the forest swiftly, leaving Tommy scrambling to catch up.

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

“Spirit... Guide... whatever you are, wait up!” Tommy shouted as he sprinted after the figure through the trees, suddenly being caught by his shirt before he fell into the water. He looked around and noticed he was in L’manburg - the moon just how he left it when the spirit took him to the past. He noticed the Chinese lanterns, the dock, the houses - it wasn’t just L’manburg, it was New L’manburg. The spirit walked up the steps silently and Tommy was quick to follow. “We’re in the present, in L’manburg, but why?”

“I thought you’d be curious to see how your former friend is celebrating tonight - a look without the trouble of trying to hide or break the rules.” The spirit said simply, before holding out his hand for Tommy to take. “Hold on tightly, please.” Tommy gripped the spirit’s hand as he was dragged through a few walls, freaking out a bit until he realized that he was in the same state as a ghost, or like the spirit called it, an observer - so he couldn’t suffocate.

Whatever Tommy was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. A room filled with torn posters of Technoblade pasted along the walls calling him all sorts of bad things, and a wooden table in the center with four people sitting around it, Tubbo among them. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea anymore, Big Q. With what Dream’s done to Tommy, what if he gets caught in all this?”

Quackity looked upset, his eyes narrowed. “Tubbo, this is our one and only chance to get revenge for our country, and you’re saying to stop all of our work for the small chance, chance that Tommy will show up?”

“He’s a L’manburg citizen, Quackity. As president, it’s my job to protect every citizen-”

“You’d sacrifice the country, Mr. President, everything we’ve worked for, for one person?!” Quackity snapped. Tommy looked on with piqued interest, noticing how both Ranboo and Fundy sunk down a bit on their chairs from the building tension in the room. Tubbo got up and leaned in so he and Quackity’s faces were inches apart.

“Yes, I would. I’m not going to be responsible for anyone becoming a ghost on my account, Quackity.” Tubbo snapped. “I draw the line at risking innocent lives.”

Tommy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Even after they yelled at each other, screamed at each other, he... he still... cares?

“I’m questioning your true loyalty to your country, Mr. President - it seems your loyalties lie elsewhere. What kind of President wouldn’t be willing to do anything, make any sacrifice, for the betterment of the country?”

“One like Schlatt. Wilbur maybe. But not me.”

“Then, Mr. President, you’re nothing but a traitor.” Quackity said, pulling out his sword and pointing it at Tubbo. “I’m taking you under arrest.” Tubbo slowly put his hands up, looking over to Fundy and Ranboo, who both looked distraught and stayed silent.

“Quackity, you’re insane. You’re going to destroy L’manburg to kill Techno and Dream, you’re going to destroy everything we’ve worked to save.” Tubbo protested, but his cries fell on deaf ears as Quackity forced him to give him his stuff and armor.

Tommy’s mind whirred. “Tubbo still cares about me. Even after everything, he’s still my friend.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I...I can’t believe it.”

“It’s a shame you don’t think the same of him.”

Tommy was quick to respond. “I do, I have, it’s just he’s done so much against me - he burned the compass, he didn’t show up to the beach party-”

Tommy looked over just in time to see Quackity close the jail cell loudly - there was barely enough room for Tubbo to sit or even stand. Tubbo’s hands clutched the bars. “Quackity, don’t do this. Do you even understand what Dream and Techno are capable of?!”

Quackity glared at him. “Of course I do, which is why I need to dispose of them since our leader is too much of a coward to do it himself. Come on guys, we have a festival to prepare for.” Fundy and Ranboo were silent as they passed him, bowing their heads in shame. Tommy walked closer with the spirit to see him pull out...the compass...

The enchanted compass, the matching one to the one Tommy had in his own chest. The one Dream said he burned. That didn’t make any sense, Dream said he- Dream. “Are you tricking me?”

“Why would I do that, Tommy? We made a deal.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense, Tubbo shouldn’t have the compass, it’s supposed to be burned!”

“Ah. Maybe that was the claim that led you astray?”

Tommy silently looked down at Tubbo as he held the compass in his hands, tears welling up in Tubbo’s eyes. “Guess you were right, Tommy. I’m so sorry…” Tommy had no words, thoughts running through his head. This didn’t make any sense. Dream wouldn’t lie to him, he’s his friend. Even so, emotion welled up in his eyes as his stomach formed in knots.

“Dream wouldn’t lie to me. Stop trying to trick me, I know this isn’t real.”

“But I promised you I’d only show the truth, didn’t I?”

“But this can’t be true - Tubbo’s compass is supposed to be burned, he’s not supposed to cry for me, he's supposed to hate me, they’re all supposed to hate me!”

“What if they don’t, Tommy, and they never have?”

“Even if they didn’t...even if they cared, I’ve caused too much trouble - all of this started because of me. So, wouldn’t it be better if I was gone?” The spirit held out his hand to Tommy.

“Do you want to find out?”

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

After a few moments of hesitation, Tommy took the Spirit’s hand, and quickly was dragged upwards through the wall, into darkness, the spirit’s wings taking them up, up, up, and suddenly… he found himself on the ground. Thunder rolled in his ears as a light shower of rain began to fall toward the ground. He was on a mountain, and his hands gripped the soggy grass between his fingers, feeling the realness of it all. He looked around for his winged spirit but found no one. L’manburg stood around him, and he walked down the dock, noticing a crowd of people gathered around a memorial of sorts.

Curious, he crept closer. Who’s memorial was it? It looked nice too - a small stone cover from the rain, vines and flowers growing all around it. He started to worry - did his death cause someone else’s? He looked over at the crowd - he noticed Skeppy holding Bad close as he cried, and there was Puffy and Ant, who looked dazed by it all, their faces solemn. Oh, over there was Quackity - he crossed his arms and looked to the floor. Fundy sat next to George and Sapnap - his eyebrows furrowed in thought. George held Sapnap’s hand in comfort as tears slid down their cheeks every now and then. Punz and Ponk were in the back.. Oh, there was Ranboo!

His half-enderman friend was shaking, as Ghostbur stood at his side and did his best to comfort him, though even Tommy could tell the ghost was more than distraught over it all. Tommy walked closer… wait, was that Technoblade?! What was he doing here…? Isn’t he wanted in L’manburg? Even more surprising, was the tear staining glisten in his eyes - Technoblade was crying. It was an odd sight indeed to see his tough friend weep, but Philza was at his side to pull him close, tears rolling down his cheeks as well.

“He was a hero for L’manburg, and made numerous sacrifices for our country. More than that, he was an uncle, a son, a brother, and a friend to many who knew him.” There was Tubbo, speaking at the podium looking the saddest Tommy had ever seen him. His hands gripped the wood tightly as he shook slightly. “Though he was not with us for long, I think it’s clear to see when I look around this room he touched more lives than he knew. He was brave, strong, and an inspiration to many as someone who encompassed the true values of our nation.. He may be gone, but will always live on in our memories and in our hearts.”

Tommy’s heart dropped as he read the sign: ‘Tommyinnit, joined July 2020, died December 2020. A friend taken too soon.’ This was his memorial, all of them were here… this was HIS funeral! He noticed how Tubbo’s shaking grew more noticable as tears streamed from his eyes that left drops where his speech was prepared. Philza walked up and they both hugged each other tightly, Phil rubbing his back as Tubbo let out a sob and the two walked back to sit with the rest.

Slowly, one by one people began to walk up to a buried spot on the ground - his green bandana was tied tightly to the side as it waved in the wind like a flag. He watched as Ghostbur walked up and left some blue flowers at his grave. “I hope you’re happier, wherever you are. Here’s some blue - I got extra so you won’t run out.” Tommy’s eyes threatened to spill with tears as Ghostbur put a hand on his gravestone. “Both Alivebur and I love you very much, and we’ll miss you a lot, but don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine! I’ll try to take care of Tubbo for you, okay?”

“Okay..” Tommy choked out as a tear slid down his cheek. Ranboo walked up to sit next to Ghostbur, silent. Ghostbur gave him a hug, which he returned before Ghostbur left, walking back into the crowd of people talking.

“I really should have noticed it sooner, shouldn’t I?” Ranboo said. “I should’ve been there more, did more, did anything… but I… I’m so sorry, Tommy.” His hands were shaking as they reached out toward the gravestone but stopped short of touching it. “You did so much for me, you protected me, and I… I couldn’t even do the same for you. I’m a pretty bad friend, aren’t I?”

“No, no.” Though Ranboo couldn’t hear him or see him, Tommy put his hand on Ranboo’s shoulder as he tried his best not to try, sniffling. “You were the best friend I could ever ask for. You were there for me whenever I needed you. This isn’t your fault.”

Both heard steps behind them and turned to notice Techoblade standing there, no clear emotion in his face. Ranboo quickly left, intimidated by the pig hybrid as he disappeared back into the crowd. Technoblade took his crown off as he approached, kneeling in front of the gravestone, silent for a few moments. “I wish we were closer. I wish I would’ve been there to help you before it was too late. I… I wish you knew how much I loved you, but I guess we’re both too similar when it comes to admitting something like that, huh?” Technoblade smiled a bit before it quickly fell. “I know I didn’t agree with your choices, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t help you, I should’ve let you know that.” Tommy stood, stunned at Technoblade’s words - that he loved him, that he’d miss him. Techno pulled out a folded cloth. “I was going to give you it for Christmas, but Dream had other plans. I’m sorry, it’s the only present I saved from the lava.” Technoblade set it down next to the flowers. “It’s a cape like mine, see? Wilbur kept telling me how cold you were in exile. Partly it was because of that, the other part was because I was too annoyed when you kept trying to steal mine-” Technoblade sniffled, a few tears going down his cheeks that landed in the dirt below. Philza walked up and gave him a tight hug.

“Shh, Techno. It’s okay. I know he would’ve loved it.” Philza said, comforting his eldest. “Now go talk to Ghostbur and make sure he doesn’t wander off with Friend.” Techno just nodded, taking one last look at the grave and placing his hand on the stone, turning and walking off.

Philza was by far the quietest one of all, running his fingers over the soft green bandana and the top of the gravestone. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he took out a small photo in his pocket. It was an old Christmas photo from so long ago - Technoblade had Tommy up on his shoulders, Wilbur was standing at attention in a salute, holding back a laugh as Tubbo chased his scarf, Philza taking a sort of selfie with the camera, the chaos showing in the background. He wedged it in Technoblade’s cloak. “Here, don’t forget us - the good parts of us.” Philza said softly. “Don’t forget that we’ll always love you, no matter what.” Philza wiped away a few tears from his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever know why you did this, and I don’t think I’ll ever really know. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good father to you, and I hope you’re at peace wherever you are.” Philza took a deep breath getting ready to leave when a loud crash interrupted him.

Tommy, still trying to compose himself and wipe away his tears from his family and friend’s sentiments, looked up in surprise to see Tubbo pissed off, being held back by Technoblade and Puffy, Ghostbur trying to calm him down. Dream got up from his place on the ground, a large crack forming on his white mask. Tubbo yelled, shouted and kicked. “He doesn’t GET to be here, he’s lucky I don’t kill him right now! He’s the one who killed him, he doesn’t get to go near him again!”

Ghostbur looked nervous when Tubbo smacked the blue he offered out of his hand. “Tubbo calm yourself, please, for Tommy-!”

“I didn’t push him off that tower, did I, Tubbo?” Dream’s words were sharp and calm, traced with anger. Everyone fell silent, as Dream approached the President. “I didn’t do anything, if anything, he died because of all of you - you could have stopped me, you could have visited, and you did nothing-”

Without hesitation, Tubbo decked him across the face, his mask flying toward the ground, and suddenly blonde messy hair and piercing green eyes started down at him. “You told him lies, you manipulated him, you made him think he was alone. We may have not done much, even if we knew what you were doing, but at least we didn’t drive him into that depression, Dream. That’s all on you, and you fucking know it.” Tubbo pointed a finger at his chest. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here after everything you did to him. I don’t want you here and I know that he sure as well wouldn’t either.” Tubbo’s eyes narrowed. “So you either leave or we’re settling this right here, right now.”

“Are you threatening me, Mr. President?” Dream smirked. “Not a very wise decision - I’ve beaten you before, I’ve taken everything away from you and watched you beg for mercy.”

“That’s what you don’t understand, Dream.” Tubbo said. “You’ve taken so much away from me I have nothing left to lose.” Dream pulled out his sword but a heavy smack from Tubbo sent it to the floor. “You underestimate just how far I’m willing to go, Dream. You think you’ve seen me upset, seen me angry? You haven’t seen even a fraction of it. I will stop at nothing for Tommy - I don’t even care if you kill me, all I care about is that you’re going down with me.” For the first time in his life, fear flew across Dream’s face.

“Tubbo. Leave Dream alone, he’s not worth it.” Philza said as he turned Tubbo away from Dream and glared down at him. “Just get out of here, Dream.”

“Tubbo never really was the same again after you left.” The guiding spirit turned Tommy’s attention to the side, where he sat at the top of the dome memorial. “You mean a lot to him, and losing you after L’manburg fell to Dream, it was the last straw.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Dream owns L’manburg?! That’s impossible, Tubbo would never allow that to happen.”

“He didn’t.” The spirit replied. “Quackity led the charge against Dream and failed, nearly destroying the nation again before legally surrendering it to Dream. Ranboo was going to let Tubbo out of his cell to help, but when he didn’t hear from you he decided to check on you instead and found your body. As always, Dream traded Quackity L’manburg for something he wanted more than anything - the power to revive Schlatt.”

“Revive Schlatt?!” Tommy’s eyes widened. “Dream knew how to do it all along. So why didn’t he revive Wilbur…?”

“It wasn’t of use to him.” The spirit said. “When you died, L’manburg died with you. Philza fell into a deep depression after losing two of his sons to his own hands, and Technoblade… he went mad.”

“Technoblade went crazy…?!”

The spirit pointed around the corner as they jumped once again, landing on the dock as screams of agony echoed throughout the country. Tommy looked around in disbelief as red blood splattered the ground. He noticed Niki run past him toward the bridge, terrified. A dark shadow passed overhead and Technoblade landed in front of her with a wide smile and crazy eyes. “Where are you going, Niki…?”

“N-nowhere, I was just going to go fishing…”

“Really…? If I knew any better, I would have thought you were trying to leave.” Techno’s eyes narrowed. “You know how Dream feels about people breaking his rules.”

“Technoblade, I’m sorry, please… I promise, I won’t come near the docks ever again-!” Niki pleaded as Techno’s laugh echoed through the walls, turning into… crying? Technoblade sobbed as he leaned on his trident as a sort of staff. Niki approached, sympathetic.

“I want him back, Niki. I just want him back.” Technoblade said. “I’d do anything for him, any goddamn thing…” The crying stopped as Techno looked up, eyes full of anger. “Even if that means ripping the guts out of some lying two-faced bitch who didn’t care enough to save him. Come here you little-!” He charged at Niki, and she took off again, screaming, crying for help.

“N-no… Technoblade stop-!” Tommy cried, but Techno didn’t hear him as he snatched her up and beheaded her in one rip, sending blood everywhere. Niki’s painful screams filled his ears.

“Tubbo managed to take Dream down, and they both died in one of his death traps. Now, thanks to his manipulation, Technoblade is a bloodthirsty warrior with no master to serve. He clings to the bit of sanity he has left, not being able to deal with the guilt of being responsible for your death, so he blames others.”

“This can’t be true. Surely if I died some good would come from it.” Tommy said.

“The only good that would come of your death would be Dream’s, who thanks to Tubbo died much earlier than he was supposed to, and in turn saved his people from another tyrannical ruler.” The spirit said. “As for Ghostbur, well…”

Tommy turned around to notice Ghostbur flying around, wondering in the bloody mess of L’manburg that was too eerily quiet for Tommy’s liking. The spirit was gone again, Tommy was alone. He followed Ghostbur as he stepped over dead bodies and looked inside houses. “Hey Technoblade?” Ghostbur called, looking around. “Hey Techno, I have a fun idea to prank Tubbo with, where are you?” He opened the door to Philza’s house. “Philza? Philza Minecraft?!” He called. “I can’t find Techno, do you know where he… oh, you’re not here either.” He knocked, door to door, calling out for everyone, but it was dead silent. “Quackity?! Niki…? Fundy, where are you?!”

Tommy reached to grab Ghostbur’s hand. “They’re not here, Wil. They’re dead.” But Ghostbur didn’t notice him in the slightest.

“Tubbo?! Fundy…?”

“Ghostbur, they’re dead. You gotta stop, they’re not here.” Tommy said solemnly. “They’re dead because of me, but you gotta stop looking, they’re gone-”

“Sapnap? Bad…?”

“Wilbur please.” Tommy begged. “They’re dead, you have to move on.”

“George…?”

“They’re dead, WIlbur.” Tommy snapped, beginning to cry. He looked around for his spirit friend. “Spirit, can you hear me? I want to go back, please let me go back. I don’t want this to happen, please! Can I change it? Is there still time?! I want to live!”

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When he opened his eyes, he was in his bed in the tent, the morning sun just peaking above the horizon. He wiped a few tears off his cheeks. Was it all a dream… was it not real…? He scrambled for his calendar - Christmas Day. There’s still time. He could fix everything! He searched in his chest for the compass and his discs as he packed a bag - he looked over the mask for a second, before rushing outside and in a fit of rage, frisbees it into the ocean and watched it sink to the bottom. “Fuck you, Dream.” He cursed, feeling freer than he had in weeks.

He grabbed his bag and ran off into the forest toward the snow covered house he knew, picking up some blue cornflowers along the way. His heart felt light as he hummed Christmas carols, running along the path he knew until he saw Technoblade’s house in the distance. Running up to the door, he knocked, smiling. The house was decorated beautifully, and when Ghostbur opened the door he smiled. “Hello, Tommy!”

“Hey Ghostbur!” Tommy smiled. “Sorry it’s a bit early, but I just couldn’t wait to come over and say Merry Christmas!” Technoblade came over to the door, looking extremely confused.

“Tommy…?” Technoblade yawned before Tommy crashed into him with a hug, only making the older increasingly confused. “Um-”

“Merry Christmas, Technobade.” Tommy said happily, handing out the blue flowers to Ghostbur, his eyes lighting up as he smiled. “This is for you.”

“So much blue!” Ghostbur shook with excitement, taking the flowers in his hands. “They’re so pretty, thanks Tommy!”

“You’re welcome.” Tommy said, feeling a sense of dejia vu from it all. Technoblade smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Wanna come inside? I was just about to make breakfast.” Technoblade’s voice was gentle, and for the first time in a long while Tommy felt really happy. Techno ushered him inside by the fire, insisting that he was turning blue out in the snow without a jacket. Ghostbur realized too quickly that Techno didn’t have a vase for the flowers, but with a bit of help from Tommy, he was beginning to weave a flower crown. It was nice to revisit that - he remembered how Philza taught them all how to weave flowercrowns when they were younger, and how to make an acorn whistle, which he quickly regretted. Tommy laughed as he remembered Phil’s face as all three of them whistled all the way home so loud they scared away any animals within a 100 mile radius, for sure.

Techboblade was quiet but content, relaxed, and happy. After a nice breakfast of eggs and toast - the first good breakfast Tommy had in ages, which he finished in record time - Wilbur stood under the tree to open gifts excitedly like he was a child again. As they all settled in, a quick knock on Technoblade’s door interrupted them. “Hello- Oh… hey Phil.”

To his surprise, Tommy and Wilbur couldn’t see their dad at all behind the large pile of wrapped boxes in his hands. His breaths were labored as he spoke. “I hope I’m not late-”

“No, no. In fact, you’re just on time.”

“I was looking for Tommy’s house everywhere and then I realized I went the wrong way, and then he wasn’t there-” Philza began, walking in as he noticed Tommy sitting on the floor. “Well, there you are.”

“Here I am.” Tommy said with a sheepish smile. “Do you need help with that?”

“Please.”

After all of Phil’s gifts were added to the growing collection under the tree, his father pulled Tommy in for a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re here. Christmas wouldn’t be the same with you, you know.”

“I’m glad you didn’t forget me.” Tommy admitted softly, and Phil squeezed around his middle a little tighter.

“Never.” Philza whispered in response, making the younger tear up a bit at the words in joy. When they both pulled away Tommy wiped his eyes, not being able to help his bright smile. “Alright, we’ve got some presents to open, don’t we?”

“We may have to do mine first, I didn't have much time to wrap-” Tommy said as he grabbed his bag and searched. Wilbur proudly showed off his Blue flower crown with glee, making the other two smile at his child-like cheer. Technoblade stilled as Tommy held out a diamond for him. “I’m sorry, I was in a bit of a hurry, I know you have netherite, if you don’t want it-”

“I love it, Tommy.” Technoblade said as he took the diamond and held it in his hands. “It means a lot to me you’d give me it. Thank you.” The two shared a smile before Techno’s face turned into a smirk. “Plus, you’re poor, it was the best you could do, anyway-”

And, as Philza admired and thanked Tommy for the stone sword, Tommy couldn’t help but notice a figure in the window, a figure he thought he’d never see again. His Guardian Spirit, looking inside from the window at the scene with a warm smile. As the spirit looked inside the joyful house, Tommy could distinctly recall a voice in his head echoing words that he’d never forget.

“It’s a wonderful life, isn’t it Tommy?”

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eurosong · 3 years

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Undo my ESC 2021 - Semi-final 1

Good afternoon, folks! Every year, I take a look at each semi-final and share what feasible change I would make – as small as changing a few lines of the song or an element of staging, or as big as a different song completely winning a national final – to make it even better (just in my own opinion of course!) This year will be harder than usual, but I’ll try to set aside my conviction that every 2020 artist should have been able to return to see how different SF1 might look. Let’s go!

🇱🇹 Lithuania: PiN was in the Roop's hands, and whilst I fell in love with some of the underdog songs they were up again, most notably Home and Never fall for you again I wouldn't take away the chance away from the Roop. There's nothing I'd change about Discoteque, and I love their nod to On fire, but the way that they also took things in a different direction to last time.

🇸🇮 Slovenia: I may be in a small minority, but I absolutely love Amen and I loved Voda too! Ana Soklič has so much presence and stunning vocals with so much texture and depth; she can sell me pretty much everything. My only change would be to insert Slovenian language lyrics!

🇷🇺 Russia: I was initially really disappointed that we wouldn't see the iconic Little Big on the ESC stage - but I commend the way they wanted to share the limelight with other artists. The unexpected Russian mini-NF ended up being a revelation and very diverse for its size. I liked all three songs, but I think that the best hands down won. There is nothing I have to change to Russian woman, one of the most powerful propositions of the season for me. I just hope juries will value it and we won't see a Telemóveis style situation!

🇸🇪 Sweden: After a year of being happy with the result in Sweden - I was always in Dotter's corner, but who can't love the Mamas? - we return to more familiar terrain of an MF result disgruntling me. Tusse has charisma and talent, but his song is lacklustre at best for me. My fav was, once again, Dotter, and I wish that either she'd taken the win or that the Mamas got their shot at ESC as main artists.

🇦🇺 Australia: I really enjoy Technicolour, one of the more out-of-left-field entries from Oz. I am so intrigued as to what the Diane Warren song offered to Montaigne was like, as I'm certain that this isn't it, but I'm glad she trusted her gut and went for something so distinctive. My one change would be to get rid of the unnecessary key change at the end.

🇲🇰 Macedonia: When there was a nationalistic furore with attempts to stop Vasil from representing MK, I was entirely on his side even though his song for me is one of the least appealing of the edition. I'd still want him to get his chance at ESC - but his Sudbina would have been such a more compelling entry for my taste.

🇮🇪 Ireland: Lesley Roy served nostalgic pop wonderment for the second year in a row, and another song that has etched itself already onto my life's soundtrack. I don't know what I'd change, except perhaps translate one of the choruses into Irish Gaelic - it'd make the message of a return to home even more resonant for me.

🇨🇾 Cyprus: Cyprus and I haven't seen eye to eye for several years now, and it's a shame as they were one of my favourite countries of the 90s. I do enjoy El diablo more than their last trio of songs, but I find it leans too heavy on a clear inspiration from Gaga, which takes away from some of the more original elements of the song. So, I'd rework the chorus, and also change some of the lyrics elsewhere because some lines just flat out make me cringe.

🇳🇴 Norway: I seem to have been in the minority of people delighted at MGP's final results! I had bigger favourites - the rambunctious sea shanty that is Vi er Norge, the kickass empowering Witch woods or the pulsating groove of Playing with fire - but I wouldn't take Tix' win away from him given how meaningful it was for him and what the guy has been through. My change? Revert partially or entirely to the Norwegian version, Ut av mørket; for me, it hits my heart harder.

🇭🇷 Croatia: Sincerely, my biggest disappointment of the NF season potentially - I wish Damir had been internally selected, not just because of my wish to see all ESC'20 alumni return, but because his was the best Croatian song for me since Moja štikla. Tick-tock is harmless but if we can't get a Damir return in this hypothesis, then I'd go for Rijeka, which captivated me with its epicness on first listen and has just risen in my estimation since. Though, given Nina's histrionics after coming second, maybe I'd have Albina perform the song instead.

🇧🇪 Belgium: I was prepared to not be on board with Belgium this year despite my long-lived love for the country - I found Release me, whilst orchestrated beautifully, entirely lacking in dynamism; and I really couldn't stand the way the band dumped Luka unceremoniously. And yet... this lush piece of art is one of my favs of the entire season. And there's something different and singular in Geike's voice. So the only thing I'm changing here are the dudes' attitudes to ESC so that they can value it more, especially Alex.

🇮🇱 Israël: As one of the most naturally charismatic performers of 2020, I had high hopes for Eden's return and the original idea of a mega-NF for her seemed really promising. Instead, we ended up with an uninspired strewing of songs, of which the best didn't even get the chance to be recorded by her. Set me free was my favourite of the three that got to the final, but I feel they've really worsened it with the revamp, in between the hail mary pass of the whistle vote and the extra emphasis on "I'mma". I would have Eden perform Shoulders instead - I don't know how it NQd and think it would allow her to showcase her personality a lot more.

🇷🇴 Romania: I really enjoyed Roxen's selection last year - small but quite diverse, and I felt the best song won. My change would be to have seen a similar national final with 3 or 4 other songs of hers this time, because I'm not convinced in Amnesia anywhere near as much as I was of Alcohol you.

🇦🇿 Azerbaijan: I wish they had gone with something at least a bit different rather than this cut, smudge and paste from last year that is so on the nose with its "you loved Cleopatra, so you will love this, won't you?" feel that it even namechecks the previous song. Efendi has a lot of talent and could have shown more diversity here.

🇺🇦 Ukraine: I'm getting used to the surprise revamp of Šum by now, but the question still remains for me, why did they do it? They needed to cut about a minute off the duration of the track, but to me, that doesn't explain why they also had to change the melody in large parts of the song. I'd be tempted to revert to a shortened form version of Šum version 1.

🇲🇹 Malta: Another unpopular opinion, but I'm just not that into the Maltese song this year. The lyrics are great and Destiny has poise and presence and PIPES and I'm sure she'll do well, but the style - a glammed up Electro-Velvet, essentially - doesn't heat me up, and I feel like the different parts of the composition are too dissonant from each other, like we have 2 or 3 songs in one here. My change would be for her to have gone with something more soul-ish in its sound, like AOML was.

And the AQs of this semi

🇩🇪 Germany: How did juries decide upon this, especially when there seems to have been many promising artists in the German selection? No shade against Jendrick who seems like a lovely chap, but the song sounds like the cheerful four chords on a ukulele you hear repeated as royalty free background music on Youtube tutorials, merged with a post-chorus breakdown taken from a Stefan Raab b-side. I would have gotten out my phone book and given Lilly among clouds a call - she gives me the vibes of being able to create something totally show-stopping.

🇳🇱 Netherlands: My original slight disappointment at this was more because of how high I have Grow than any fault of its own. It's another gorgeous composition from Jeangu, with probably the best set of lyrics of the year, and this is going to be a moment. I change nothing.

🇮🇹 Italy: I like Måneskin and their performances at Sanremo were brilliant - but they were far from being at the top of my favourites list. I would have given the win to Madame with Voce, or Ermal with Un milione di cose da dirti. Both would have been my #1 of the entire year, both move me deeply. Madame showcases contemporary Italian style with classic songwriting, whilst Ermal almost created a companion piece to Fai rumore - Diodato wanted to hear the sound of his loved one, whilst Ermal struggles to make a noise and say what he feels about his love.

Join me soon as I take a look at SF2 and its songs (and France, Spain and the UK, the auto-qualifiers from that semi!)

#eurovision 2021 #esc #eurovision #eurovison song contest #opinion #esc 2021

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so-sweet-nana · 3 years

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Interview: NANA Talks About Cohabitation-Romance & Kang Min Hyuk

Im Jin A (임진아), or better known as NANA (나나) is not only easy on the eyes, but also a super talented actress. Since her involvement in “Into The Ring” and “Confession” last year, fans have been eager to see her again, this time in “Oh! Master” (오! 주인님), or “Oh My Ladylord”.

The former After School member sees herself playing actress Oh Joo In, who apparently “can’t” love. Her romantic life is practically non-existent and only seeks to provide for her family. In an attempt to buy back her old home, Oh Joo In stumbles upon Han Bi Soo and that’s when things get interesting. Check out the interview where she delves into this romance drama and more.

1. This is your first time working with these costars. What was your impression of one another and how has it changed since you finished filming together?

When I first saw Min Ki, I knew right away that he is a charismatic guy from the sharp look in his eyes and the energy that he gives off. At least that’s what I thought first. But now, he’s more than just a co-actor. He’s always considerate around me, and he makes sure we go over the script before the actual shoot. I feel comfortable being around him, and I learnt a lot from him.

2. What kind of drama do you usually like to watch?

It’s hard to pinpoint a specific genre of shows that I prefer. In fact, I try to expose myself to various genres so that I can indirectly experience the stories of other people. While doing so, I would put myself in their shoes to experiment with different acting styles, which is also how I further improve my acting skills.

3. How did you prepare for your role? Were there any skills or characteristics in that you had to pick up?

When acting out a role, it is crucial for an actress to tap on the feelings she got from the initial script reading. So that the acting doesn’t come out as too exaggerated. This way, the viewers can understand the writer’s intentions.

I did my best to deliver Joo In’s heart-throbbing feelings to the viewers. Also, I’ve made efforts to portray both sides of Joo In – her glamorous life as a popular romance-comedy actress versus her ordinary everyday life.

4. Both of you have starred in other romance dramas, how does this drama stand out from other series for audiences?

One of the unique things about “Oh! Master” is its cohabitation-romance genre. A man and a woman who are complete opposites live together, they grow on each other and draw comfort from each other. The story about the family members is heartwarming to watch.

5. How will you describe your character in this show? Can you identify yourself with the personality and story of your character?

Although she’s the go-to actress for romance-comedy shows, Oh Joo In is a beginner when it comes to romantic love. She’s very filial to her mother, they share a special bond. Her cheerfulness and kindheartedness are what we have in common.

6. What is the one lesson about love that viewers will learn from this series, especially from your character Oh Joo In?

In the drama, Oh Joo In expresses love for different people. There is romantic love between a man and a woman. She is also a loving daughter to her mother. I believe that the two different perspectives of love shown by Joo In will give you the chance to rediscover the warmth of human relations.

7. What are the similarities and differences between you and Oh Joo In?

We are both actresses, we are loving toward people around us. However, the situation Joo In is going through, people she interacts with, and even the living conditions are totally different from mine.

8. Oh Joo In couldn’t resist Han Bi Soo’s script. As an actor yourself, what kind of script appeals to you?

I’m drawn to stories that are full of optimism and positive energy. In turn, I want to become an actress who has infectious positive energy, so I can inspire the viewers.

9. What kind of challenges did you encounter in the process of playing a top star? Did you put more effort into appearance? For example, personal maintenance, fitness, etc.?

To prepare for the role of actress Oh Joo In, rather than focusing on the self-management aspects of a popular actress, I worked hard on kickboxing, one of her hobbies, to make it look more natural and real.

10. What kind of message do you want to convey to the audience through this show?

“Oh! Master” isn’t just a romance piece, it’s a story about all kinds of love. I wish to convey the message of hope. I hope viewers will heal from wounds inflicted by other people.

11. What attracted you to take on ‘Oh Master’? Introduce your character and what do you think is the appeal and charm of the story and your character.

Among many other things, I was drawn to “Oh! Master” mainly due to its uniqueness in portraying the cohabitation-romance drama. When I went through the script for the first time, I could relate to Joo In’s occupation as I am an actress too. I wanted to show, in my own honest way, how a daughter expresses her love towards her mother.

12. If you were a writer, what kind of dramas would you want to write?

As an actress playing Oh Joo In, I was moved by the heartfelt feelings a daughter may have toward her mother. That is why I would like to write a story full of humanitarian elements that can comfort others.

13. You’ve acted in romantic dramas twice in a row. Do you like this genre?

I get positive energy when filming romantic-comedy shows. “Oh! Master” is such a romantic drama that gives off positive vibes. Plus, there’s the heartfelt mother-and-daughter relationship. So that’s why I accepted this project without any hesitation.

14. How would you rate your love chemistry score for your couple pairing (NANA & Kang Min Hyuk), and why?

Oh Joo In and Jeong Yu Jin have been besties since their high-school years. They feel comfortable around each other. That’s why people did not doubt the fake couple. Because of their close bond and perfect chemistry, I would give them a 100 out of 100.

15. How would you rate your love chemistry score for the couple pairing (NANA & Lee Min Ki)? and why?

I will also rate the chemistry of Joo In and Han Bi Soo 100 out of 100— but for a different reason from Jeong Yu Jin. They were completely different from each other to begin with. As they sought comfort from each other, they grew on each other.

I remember this particular scene, Joo In’s mother fails to recognise her own daughter due to her worsening dementia symptoms. Bi Soo comforts Joo In, she unknowingly leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

16. Have you ever worked with Min Hyuk before? What was that like?

When I was active as a member of K-pop group Orange Caramel, Kang Min Hyuk starred in our music video “Magic Girl”. I was so delighted to work with him again in “Oh! Master”.

Interview from: Hype Malaysia

#Nana #Lee Minki #Kang Minhyuk #Oh My LadyLord #Oh Master!#Interview #After School #Orange Caramel

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songofclarity · 4 years

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I just want to say that I love your blog, and especially your post about the person doing the abusing in /any/ sort of n1eyao situation is jiggy, not nmj. and that jiggy is gaslighting a mentally ill man. (fandom throws that word around a lot, but jiggy is actually doing it, he's literally making nmj think that his own thoughts and feelings can't be trusted.)

Thank you, welcome, hello! I’m glad that post worked for you! Nie MingJue really gets the bare bones of rights in this fandom so I’m just over here tending my humble crops of Nie MingJue Deserves Better Understanding and More Appreciation 🌼

Although oof! There are several unpleasant things I feel when I see the name Nie/yao but I’ll just say: it’s dead dove to me. Any consideration that there was a romantic/sexual relationship between them is on the borderline of notp and meeting my occasional cravings for dark and dubious content. While I prioritize novel canon, that moment in CQL at Nightless City when JGY mockingly strokes NMJ’s arm “soothingly” and NMJ, who is absolutely a non-consenting party, has to shove him off only for JGY to learn back in again is uncomfortable to watch but it conveys the nature of their relationship rather well, I think. There is a reason why my tag for them is JGY vs NMJ and why it goes in that particular order.

Because yes, it's the gaslighting/abuse of a mentally ill man. NMJ, LXC, and JGY are all aware of NMJ’s situation and this is intimate knowledge shared only by them. That only makes it worse because JGY’s manipulation of LXC, who so regularly prioritizes helping NMJ, comes back around to contribute to this gaslighting, and the double-team is quite effective!

And I agree with you that surely we can call this gaslighting considering NMJ knows what he's seen and knows what he's heard correctly, and we know that everything he's seen and heard is true because WWX has verified the account for us. His feelings are valid but NMJ gets spun around. LXC and JGY are over there spinning tales of hardships and struggles and NMJ is guided by the hand and led to believe that JGY is a good person and a good brother who is trying his best and is trying to do right by NMJ -- despite there being no real evidence to support any of this. He’s blinded by smoke and mirrors, by a silver tongue and pretty promises and insistant reassurances that the evidence already exists and that he’ll get to see it soon.

What really gets me is that NMJ never suspects that JGY is trying to hurt him. He never gets to find out that he was being abused and slowly murdered. A true testament to the power of JGY’s gaslighting. NMJ was never suspicious and THAT’S why the morning of NMJ's qi deviation hits him so hard. The gaslighting got turned off without warning and NMJ was blinded by the sudden harsh reality that JGY was, in fact, a little shit who had been talking shit about NMJ behind his back -- a quality of character that JGY knew NMJ hated from their very first meeting. It’s in addition to the betrayal of finding out one of the two people NMJ dared to trust had been deceiving him and thinking so poorly of him for years.

Like JGY put a lot of effort and strategy to build and build and build this brotherhood between them just so he could crash it all down on top of NMJ's head to spur on a qi deviation. It wasn't just the music, which JGY picked to kill NMJ long before the stair scene happened. The Collection of Turmoil exacerbated NMJ’s condition but it was JGY, with a personal touch, who pushed NMJ over the edge with his words.

And it's also not like NMJ didn't know he had a mental illness via the saber spirit. He was seeking/accepting help for it! That's why his sworn brothers were playing music for him -- to help him, to calm him, to keep him alive. It’s why LXC was pleading with JGY to not upset NMJ on that fateful final day, because NMJ shares his worries about his illness and knew the stress his worsening condition was putting on his relationships. NMJ isn’t shown to get any pleasure out of kicking brothers down stairs or burning their prized possessions or getting into arguments with them. In a universe where literally everyone needed therapy, NMJ was the one person self-aware enough to keep his appointments, the one person who did not turn help away when it knocked on his door, and JGY punished him for it.

#asked from above #salazarastark #mdzs thoughts #jgy vs nmj #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #y'all are going to stop sending me asks one day #bc i literally don't know how to take my hands off the keyboard lmao #also ty to salazarastark for the qi deviation turns nmj into a child au #which my two brain cells are obsessed with #nmj escapes jgy's abuse by turning into a child #and everyone's defense mode gets activated #bc lil nmj must be protected at all cost!

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mangobone · 4 years

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I just watched ep 13 and I’m stunned! Finally, the fog is clearing away and the information shown in the earlier slower episodes is paying off! This time is the Seo’s case thats finally coming to light along with some other things.

This is going to be a long post so go get some water and a snack if you’re willing to read and share your thoughts!

Also, If you haven’t watch the ep, please wait until you do before you read this. You’ve come this far, it’d be worth it:

-I don’t want to rewatch any of the earlier episodes until this season is done, so the Park Gwan-Su case with Hanjo, Choi Bit and Woo Tae-Ha is a little muddle for me so I’d give it a pass, just to say that I loved the acknowledgement to the late Chang-Joon and his incredible efforts, that still ripple through various people. He truly was incredibly smart in that aspect; however it didn’t stop him from turning into the mastermind of 2 serious crimes so I’d love to know how Si-Mok feels about him, 3 years after the whole ordeal.

-The Seo Dong Jae case OH! MY! GOD! (I’m turning into Janice from Friends, sorry) I wasn’t expecting that, but I do remember seeing the young man in the beach and thinking there was something off with him when he was being question by the police and he looked like a deer in theheadlights when he saw Si-Mok; however with the onslaught of information from the rest of the cases and the fact that he was a sort of “victim” from the couple that burndt the restriction line, I completely removed him from my possible culprits mental list. I was shocked today tbh. And I suppose Chief Kim has something to do either with him or the fake witness, that much is clear, but I won’t speculate too much there.

-The scene with Kim...JESUS. Hwang nerves of steel Si-Mok! He truly gave absolutely NOTHING away as he kept apologizing while looking at Kim straight in the eye and wasn’t that INTENSE?!!; I was repressing a scream throughout the whole scene. Btw whats with the forgotten garage control? I wonder if that’ll be significant.

- I really hope Kang Won-Chul won’t get too damaged when the shit hits the fan, with the whole Hanjo business and the war between the Lee’s. I’m also interested to know who was Park Gwang-Su’s younger brother.

My guess is that Si-Mok will have to make a decision between helping Kang Won Chul and following his strict moral code in the end. It’ll hurt whatever the decision, as can see that the appreciation between those two is sincere.

-I hate Oh Ju-Seon. So. Fucking. Much.

-The Eun Soo reference? Jeeeeez that was painful (great scene between CSW and Bae Doona btw) I think self-reproach, guilt and regret are Si-Mok’s kriptonites, as we can see since the Tongyong “incident”, and the fact that the “surviving” student is the abductor will only worsen the feeling for sure as he didn’t suspect him from the beginning. (I have a theory about this but it’ll be way below.

-NOW the scene between Yeo-Jin and Choi Bit? (Aside from the horrendous product placement) Well, Choi is holding back nothing eh? But I like that she doesn’t really tease her, she just asks honest questions (though a bit out of place, IMO) says what she feels she needs to, in order to “protect” both Han and her own interests. On the other hand Yeo-Jin GIRL YOU DIDNT DENY THE STATEMENT! Though I think we all knew she had something of a crush on Si-Mok from the first season, she indeed looks a bit more invested now. And I could guess that one of the reasons why she wanted to be in charge of the Seo Dong Jae is because of Si-Mok’s need to catch whoever hurt another one of his fellow prosecutors.

-Boy! Finally a scene where they find that son of a bitch! The moment when Yeo Jin presents her ID and the musical punk looks around to see if he’ll be able to knock her out and kidnap her JESUS OMG I WAS SCREAMING AGAIN and dismayed that our prosecutor hadnt gone with her! but thank heavens Hwang Si-Mok’s elegant shoe made its appearance, along with the rest of him and I was able to breathe!

-BTW I’m not too sure that Si-Mok will be able to catch him without Han’s help (We know that’s not his forte) by the looks of the teaser but he sure will be yelling at him, and for that I’m more than glad! He needs some catharsis and we all need the information.

Also, I love aggressive Hwang Si-Mok 🙃 (Sorry for the shitty captures, but I didn’t want to invest much time in them)

-From the teaser: WHY THE HECK ARE THEY LOOKING UP? Is there something horrible up there? AND WHERE THE HELL IS SI-MOK?!?

-And also...whoever decided to add a scene from episode 14 (to be confirmed) way back in the teaser for other episodes?!? That’s not cool and I’m sick of being cheated.

-NOW! onto why Si-Mok didn’t suspect the Tongyong “survivor”? Two theories that could be seen as one but here we go:

-Unknown emotions getting in the way:

In the first season the media was trying to destroy his credibility and Yoon Se-Won told Chang-Joon that Si-Mok had undergone brain surgery when he was younger and it was possible that he could be temporarily suppressing his emotions; so what if In these past years and everything that happened with his colleagues and with meeting someone like Han Yeo-Jin, changed him subtly but enough that he could actually empathize, if only for a bit, with Kim Hu-Jeong? And that all of these questions and doubts on his professional capacity are because he’s too worried about his college but he doesn’t know it, just like Prosecutor Kim suggested it, when he suggested that he’d tell Chief Woo that he wasn’t ready to take Seo’s case.

-Mental turmoil

Or what if he’s actually a little bit...depressed? Contemplative? Unsatisfied?

When we start the season, for the first time we see him more as a lonely man rather than an outsider. He’s actually got a farewell party thrown for him that he clearly doesn’t look forward to, he’s watching couples and families stroll by, he admits openly to Kang Won-Chul that he “may never fully understand the things that he should know by a certain age”, he doesn’t let his mother know that he’s back in Seoul and the promised visit is clearly not his idea, and the talk with Yeo-Jin about Eun Soo and the simplicity between living and dying got me wondering about his state of mind. He’s got questions he won’t ask to the only authoritative figure he still respects somewhat (Kang) and he’s more defiant to Woo Tae Ha. So he’s more self-isolated with the only exception being Yeo Jin, to whom he asks questions about her obvious attitude change.

These things, along with Han Yeo-Jin’s change in attitude really got me wondering about both our protagonist but we don’t really get enough time with her to venture theories on what is going on and why she keeps quiet when Si-Mok questions her about her life choices, just that she’s miserable on her desk job with her bureocratic collegues.

Also, I could be mistaken BUT anyone noticed how this is the first time Han Yeo Jin mentions someone from her family in the series? (grandmother).

I’d go on and on writing on the possibility of a Hwang/Han relationship but I feel that those two ending together is just too unlikely, as much we as audience would love it. They truly are made for each other, like a perfect yin-yang, and this season only confirms that she’s the only person who manages to make him eat in peace and make him smile.

Well I’m sorry for offending your eyes with this sea of text but I had to get it all out before tomorrow’s episode!! Going to sleep and hopefully I’ll open my eyes to the new ep!

#secret forest 2 #stranger 2 #stranger 2 tvn #Hwang Si-Mok #Han Yeo-Jin #Bae Doona #Cho Seung Woo #long ass post #I'm sorry but I needed to get it out #I'm really sorry for any typo

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your-worst-knightmare · 4 years

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Broken Speech

Memory was a fleeting thing, nowadays. Whatever rose in that murky abyss drifted away just as quickly. It may have been a small mercy. Jay didn’t know. All he knew was now. And now was being shut up in the same elaborate room when the Mistress had no use for him.

The Mistress talked to him, sometimes. Sometimes it was idle conversation. Other times it was commands. Most times it was “Talk.”

He could, he knew that. But every time he tried, his mouth would be dry and his mind blank and the words never came.

The Mistress tried to help him. She really did. She gave him teachers. They died too easily. So the Mistress gave him books. They were left unread. Not because of lack of want, but he simply couldn’t. He knew how, but his body refused to listen to him once again.

As so he was stuck with the fleeting library of his own memory. Not that there was much he could recall, anyway.

Today, the Mistress came to visit him. “You will watch my son, Jay.” A command. She was in no rush to speak, and the words flowed like sweet honey. Jay envied her words. He so wanted them, but they refused to let him hold onto them. “He will be your brother. Treat him as such.”

From the corner of his eye, Jay watched a small child stride into the room sourly.

“Be good, Damian,” the Mistress called as she left.

The boy tutted. “I do not require a caretaker,” he scoffed, mostly to himself. He turned to Jay. “And you are not my brother.”

Jay kept staring ahead blankly. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Why had the Mistress left her son with him? He kept staring.

“Well say something, you incompetent fool!” The boy leapt at him, all intentions turned towards attack. He was slammed to the floor the next moment. It was all reflex to Jay. He hadn’t meant to flip the boy, but his mind and body seemed to be twain nowadays.

The boy growled, but didn’t attack again. Instead, he flopped down onto a cushion near Jay. Close enough to observe him if necessary. He grabbed a book that he had brought with him and began to read.

Jay watched, not having moved a muscle since putting the boy in his place. The stared at the cover of the book, in some vain effort to absorb its knowledge. He yearned for it, but like many things, it didn’t seem to enter his mind.

An hour passed. The boy continued reading. Jay remained frozen. The boy looked up suddenly. “Mother mentioned you were from America. I am currently studying American literature. It may be a clumsy language, but there’s hope yet. Would you like to hear a poem?” Despite the boy’s friendly words, his tone was frosty. The Mistress likely told the child to speak to him. He would have remained silent otherwise.

But– at the chance to hear something that would feed his mind, Jay fought to speak. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes. Please. No words came. His face remained blank. The boy looked at him, huffed, and began reading anyway.

“Do not go gentle into that good night.” The words were music to Jay’s mind. He savoured each syllable slowly, picking it apart and inspecting it. “Old age should burn and rage at close of day.” Jay found himself reading along in his mind. He knew them! The words! From the before– before memory. “Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.”

Jay’s vision became blurry. Those weren’t tears, were they? But he was grateful so grateful that the boy had read. That he had reminded Jay of the before. Of the warmth in a vast library. Of kind voices speaking to him as his fingers brushed aging paper. And that was something he would have a hard time repaying.

___________

Damian al-Ghul did not require a caregiver. He was six years old. He could take care of himself. He had thought that Mother would understand that by now. But it seemed she didn’t, even after his previous caretakers had vanished under mysterious circumstances.

It wasn’t just this new caretaker that irked him. Mother and insisted that he was his brother. Ridiculous! If Damian had a brother, he would have known. When he first met Jay, he almost laughed. Jay couldn’t even be considered qualified to watch a chicken. The boy’s expression remained blank he entire time he was spoken to. Damian expected some sort of reaction, at least, but Jay gave none.

That is, until Damian attacked him. Jay was proficient in combat, Damian gave him that. Not that the boy could do much else. Perhaps that was why Mother had chosen him.

Damian resigned himself to reading under Jay’s watch. At remembering Mother’s request to talk to Jay, he figured he should read aloud. That technically counted as speech. Then Damian would not have to be distracted from his studies by idle, one-sided conversations.

Jay seemed... happier after Damian read. Which was odd, because he had not previously shown any hint of emotion. Damian decided to disregard it.

Much to his annoyance, he was required to stay with Jay the next day as well. And the next week. By the time the end of the month rolled around, Damian had consistently spent most afternoons in Jay’s lonely chamber.

It was a late Friday afternoon when Damian returned to Jay’s room, carrying two steaming cups of tea. They smelled sweet and floral, reminding Damian of Mother’s perfume. He set one cup in front of Jay, knowing the boy would drink when he wanted to.

“I shall resume our reading of Hamlet,” Damian informed him. “I suggest you drink your tea whilst I read, lest it go cold again, Jay.”

Had Damian not spent the past month with him, he would have missed the slight smile that tugged on the boy’s lips. Satisfied that Jay was listening, Damian began reading. His words were clear and each character seemed to speak through him when he read. “To die, to sleep –/ To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub,/ For in this sleep of death what dreams may come…”

Jay, who had been nursing his cup of tea, stopped suddenly at the line. Damian had learned to take his subtle clues at communication rather seriously, so he closed the book.

“What is it Jay?”

The boy’s eyes snapped around the room wildly, as if he did not recognize the place. It was vastly different from his usual blank, placid expression. He opened his mouth to speak. “Br’ce?” His words were garbled and his voice was raspy from disuse, but it was speech all the same.

Damian sucked in a breath. Jay was talking. Talking. Mother would be ecstatic. “No Jay, I am–”

“Day’m’n.” Jay’s answer has surprised him. But Jay knew his name. He knew Damian! Mother would be ecstatic.

“Yes, J- akhi,” Damian beamed. Jay, Damian supposed, was his brother. Mother had been right. he wouldn’t have been particularly concerned about Jay otherwise.

He ceased his reading for the day and in favour of encouraging Jay to speak again. Another word, for Mother, he pleaded.

By the time the last of the sun’s rays were starting to disappear from the horizon did Mother arrive, as she always did. Damian did not need to be coddled, but he appreciated when she came to see him. Damian had made no progress with Jay, but he was still excited to share the news.

“Mother, i have most excellent–” he stopped upon seeing Mother’s grave expression. “What is it Mother?”

Mother opened a bag, filled with servant’s garments. “Help me dress Jay, child. You shall remain here, until I come to collect you afterward.”

Damian obeyed quickly. He was never one to question his Mother’s orders. However, something felt off. “ Jay spoke to me today,” he finally said.

Mother raised an eyebrow. “Did he now, dearest?”

“Yes. It was not much, but I believe he said both mine and Father’s names.”

She smiled sadly. “I am glad Jay was able to talk to you.But your brother has been able to say your Father’s name ever since he came to stay with us. However, you name is progress, i am sure.” She bent down to kiss Damian’s forehead before leading Jay out the door. “Sleep well, my pride.” With that, Mother left Damian alone with a sneaking suspicion that something wasn’t quite right.

Damian slipped out of his room and followed Jay’s lumbering figure in the poorly-lit hall. He lagged several feet behind Mother, which worked to Damian’s advantage.

The sinking feeling in Damian’s stomach worsened as Mother led Jay farther and farther down into the compound. There was only one place they could be going. The Lazarus Pit.

Grandfather had acquainted Damian with its waters when Damian was three. Needless to say, it was not his most pleasant memory. And Damian suspected for someone in Jay’s condition, the experience would be even worse.

Damian did not want to watch his brother go stumbling into that green crater, but he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. Mother had not even led Jay down half of the final staircase when she pushed him. Jay always fought back at a menacing touch, but never when it was Mother. The boy teetered at the edge of the platform before sinking into that ancient lake.

Damian’s breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. How could he? How could he when his brother had been thrown into a pit that was the very mother of insanity?

Time seemed to pass sluggishly. It was forever that Jay rested at the bottom of the pit. Then, hands started to claw their way to the surface. Their body and voice soon followed. Damian thought he was prepared. He wasn’t.

It was almost absurd. The silence that embroidered Jay’s fall could have been broken by a mere pin-drop. Upon his emergence, however– Damian pressed his hands to his ears. It was all he could do to block out Jay’s heart-wrenching cries.

It was worlds away from the raspy, stuttering voice those same lips had uttered hours before. Even from a distance, Damian could see the toxic green eyes the pit had cursed Jay with. He knew the rage the pit brought all too well.

Dusk had fully disappeared when Damian returned to Jay’s empty quarters. There was nothing Damian could do for him at the moment but the moment but wait.

He thought back to their first meeting. What was the poem he had read to Jay? Its words taunted him, but he could not seem to get the nagging thought out of his mind. Damian found the book and opened it, his eyes flitting to the final line. The irony was not lost on him. It could be all that was left of Jay now, if they weren’t lucky.

Yet Damian had a strange urge to read the line aloud. His fingers brushed over the words, reminiscing all those afternoons he spent with Jay. Afternoons he may not get again. “Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.”

The poem in this story is “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night” by Dylan Thomas

#red hood #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #talia al ghul #lazarus pit #league of assassins #red hood lost days #fanfic #oneshot #dc comics #poetry #hamlet

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bluewatsons · 3 years

Text

Stefano Roberti Belli, A psychobiographical analysis of Brian Douglas Wilson: Creativity, drugs, and models of schizophrenic and affective disorders, 46 Pers & Individual Diff 809 (2009)

Abstract

The suggestion of a relationship between creativity and mental disorder has existed for centuries, and has been advocated by many psychological researchers. The present analysis offers a consideration of the nature of mental disorder present in Brian Wilson, an individual recognised as one of the most creative figures in 20th century popular music. Using converging biographical evidence, and the diagnostic program Opcrit, Wilson’s diagnosis is concluded to be schizoaffective. Employing details of his drug abuse, various models of schizoaffective spectra are examined, in particular a reconsideration of the LSD model of schizophrenia. The model is shown to be useful for positive schizophrenic symptoms including overinclusion, a potentially key element of creativity. In doing so, this psychobiographical analysis allows examination of potential relationships between mental disorder and creativity, the effects of various narcotics on creativity and various elements of men- tal disorder, the efficacy of various drug models of psychotic disorders, and the overlap between psychotic and affective disorders.

Introduction to creativity, mental disorders and psychobiography

Precedents for psychobiographical analyses of creative musicians exist, but the area is not as heavily researched as it might be. Studies across various disciplines (e.g. creative writing, music, politics, philosophy) have previously suggested a connection between creative potential and the presence of affective disorders (Andreasen, 1987; Ludwig, 1995). Other work suggests links between creativity and various psychotic traits, but the absence of perfect correlations precludes equating psychological disorder with creative talent (Brod, 1997). More recently, Nettle (2001) has made an attempt to draw these ideas together, suggesting that elements of emotional and psychotic disorders overlap and interact, with both being associated with creative potential. At present though, there does not exist any substantial body of work attempting to methodically validate these ideas. Furthermore, the specific consideration of musical creativity remains underrepresented in extant research.

Wills (2003) examined psychopathology in eminent jazz musicians, and found high rates of affective and psychotic disorders, as well as substance abuse/addiction in virtually the entire sample. The study is somewhat of a rarity in reviewing psychopathology and musical creativity in contemporary artists; literature on the relationship between creativity and mental disorder far more commonly concerns either historical musicians (Post, 1994) or non-musical artists (Claridge, Pryor & Watkins 1990). Given the exponential increase in mass media during the twentieth century, a far more intense and accurate degree of analysis is now possible for contemporary artists. The musician Brian Wilson presents an exemplary case for such an analysis, having produced many renowned works, as well as being the subject of a wealth of readily available biographic information.

Brian Wilson: an introduction

Brian Douglas Wilson is a composer, arranger, producer, vocalist and multi-instrumentalist, most famous for his work as a member of The Beach Boys. He grew up in a Californian suburb with his parents and younger brothers and fellow Beach Boys Carl and Dennis. From the establishment of The Beach Boys, Brian took the role of bandleader and creative force behind the group, though he often came up against opposition from his father and manager, Murry Wilson. Relationships between the two never seem to have been particularly warm, especially in light of allegations of physical and emotional abuse levelled at the Wilson patriarch by his children. Brian Wilson remains musically active at present, both in touring and composing new works.

Creativity and unusual thinking

Sternberg and Lubart (1999) highlight novel ideas, flexible approaches and appropriateness of outcomes as criteria for creative acts. This emphasises that while creative and psychopathological thinking are both unusual, only the former generates ideas that are recognised as meritorious by other individuals. Not all psychologically ill people are creative geniuses, and the majority of creative individuals show no signs of mental illness (Juda, 1949). Therefore, especial consideration should be given to Sternberg and Lubart’s suggestion that the discriminatory factor of creative value is evident from peer attitudes towards creative products. Creativity can be described as novel or unusual approaches that are appreciated by people other than the creator.

Brian Wilson employed musical techniques that inspired contemporaries both within his field (MacDonald, 1998) and without (Ligerman & Leaf, 2004). At the same time, his work garnered commercial success via a string of high-charting singles and million-selling albums, whilst nevertheless retaining integrity in peer reviews (Rolling Stone, 2003). That Wilson employed novel approaches in composition is evident from his use of unconventional instrumentation and compositional methods, which make heavy use of bizarre and idiosyncratic harmonic progressions (Wegman, 2005). Interestingly, his unusual approach to instrumentation seems linked to strange and emotional associations to sounds, e.g. remarking that the sound of the theremin (a rare instrument, which he championed) put him in mind of ’weird facial expressions - almost sexual’ (Wilson & Gold, 1991, p. 82). Unusual thoughts such as these provide the basis for speculation of a link between creativity and mental illness.

In later years, Wilson’s song-writing and arranging skills developed to such an extent that he was consistently named as one of the most creative and influential figures in popular music in the latter half of the twentieth century. Unfortunately, as his fame and musical prowess progressed from the year 1964, so too did a range of psychological problems, including heavy drug use. Wilson has been (at different times and by different individuals) said to suffer from unspecified schizophrenia, paranoid schizophrenia, depression, schizoaffective disorder and bipolar depression. Part of the scope of this analysis is to examine how valid these diagnoses were and how any symptoms he shows might best be conceptualised. This is of particular importance in trying to identify characteristics of mental disorder that may impact on creativity when we consider the vast heterogeneity of symptoms present in schizophrenia and related disorders (Buchanan & Carpenter, 1994), of which schizoaffective disorder is an example (Gershon, DeLisi, Hamovit, Nurnberger, Maxwell, Schreiber, Dauphinais, Dingman & Guroff, 1988).

Consideration of sources

Though various accounts have been given of Wilson’s life, these have not necessarily all been reliable: parts of his 1991 autobiography (Wilson & Gold, 1991) have latterly been criticised by biographers and the Wilson estate as being largely ghost-written, supposedly editing details so as to portray Wilson’s then psychiatrist/business manager Dr. Eugene Landy in a better light (Carlin, 2006). Though these remarks are oriented more towards how Landy’s techniques and business decisions are described in the book (mostly in the second half), it is possible that there is also some fabrication of accounts of Wilson’s mental states and biographical details. At the time of the book’s publication Wilson was still under the care of Dr. Landy, who was later proven to have taken an exploitative measure of control over Wilson’s life. Accordingly, any information used in this analysis has been included only when referred to by two or more biographical sources, and all information from the autobiography has been treated with especial scrutiny, bordering on scepticism. Sources used were: Wilson & Gold (1991), Carlin (2006), Gaines (1995), Ligerman & Leaf (2004), Abbott (2001), Webb (2001), King (2004), Gabel (2000) and (sparingly, and where appropriate) the liner notes to the re-issued albums by The Beach Boys (2000-2001): ‘Pet Sounds’, ‘Smiley Smile/Wild Honey’, ‘Sunflower/Surf’s Up’, and ‘Beach Boys’ Party!/Stack-O-Tracks’.

Accounts of Wilson’s psychological disorders

Nature and onset of hallucinations

Potentially psychotic aspects of Wilson’s disorders are straightforward enough to identify: he suffers from auditory hallucinations, and has also held various paranoid beliefs and delusions. He first reported hearing indistinct voices and screaming in his sleep in 1963 (at age 21), reporting that he was able to stop himself from hearing them as long as he kept working and producing music. This claim ties in with Wilson’s reports that at about this age he felt ‘a compulsion’ to write music constantly, becoming sick and anxious when he did not do so (Wilson & Gold, 1991, p. 72; Ligerman & Leaf, 2004). Compulsion to write music may also be an early indication of safety behaviours and attempts to regain control of his environment, given that Wilson has often made reference to experiencing anxiety in the presence of others, as well as reticence in engaging in interpersonal relations.

His strange behaviours deepened with time: by 1964, he would often become obsessed with tiny details (e.g. counting the number of tiles on a floor, the number of peas on a plate, the number of stitches on an aeroplane seat), and by 1966 he would conduct important conversations only in his home swimming pool, as he believed his house was filled with hidden recording devices. More overtly psychotic symptoms gradually worsened as Wilson entered his mid-twenties, particularly his auditory hallucinations which went from indistinct recollections of hypnagogic experiences to fully formed speech that reminded him of critical remarks made by his father (Carlin, 2006). As Wilson grew older, the voices he heard grew more frightening: in 2004 he reported that when he experienced them, they would threaten to kill him and his family (Ligerman & Leaf, 2004).

Though these hallucinations are clear indication of some sort of psychiatric disorder, there is conflicting evidence regarding Wilson’s drug use relative to the onset and development of such symptoms. His autobiography claims that he was hearing hallucinatory critical remarks in the second person by 1964, though more recent interviews place the beginning of these episodes after he had first used d-lysergic acid diethylamide-25 (LSD) in 1965. This distinction is crucial, given the ambiguous relationship that LSD has with psychotic symptoms: in a review of literature on the drug, Strassman (1984) emphasises that no causal link between LSD use and subsequent development of psychotic traits has been established, but this argument is somewhat undermined by the review’s concession that drug experiences may act as precipitating factors in the incidence of schizophrenic episodes. Considering drug use is prevalent among sufferers of schizophrenia and related disorders (Soyka, Albus, Kathmann, Finelli, Hofstetter, Holzbach, Immler & Sand, 1993), the specific nature of potential effects here are difficult to resolve, and it is unfortunate that currently no definitive source of information exists on when Wilson began experiencing verbalised auditory hallucinations relative to his first LSD experience.

Having said this, Wilson began using marijuana recreationally in 1964, with his use gradually increasing, especially following his retirement from live performances in 1964. Cannabis seems to play some role in the development of psychosis, be it a primary effect of the substance or a secondary effect due to subjective cognitions associated with its use (Hall & Solowij, 1998). Such effects have yet to be conclusively proven in normal individuals, though the drug has been shown as an independent risk factor for psychosis (Andr ́easson, Allebeck, Engstr ̈om & Rydberg, 1987; Caspari, 1999) in individuals with predispositions towards mental disorder (Linszen Dingemans & Lenior, 1994). Wilson may have had such a predisposition: despite an absence of reported unpleasant hallucinations prior to 1965, he consistently reports a curious subjective experience of constantly hearing music (‘musical hallucination’, cf. Sacks, 2007), dating back as far as he can remember. Furthermore, this phenomenon appears to be integrally related to his song-writing and arrangement (i.e. his creative ventures), where he would supposedly hear completed songs in his head before hearing them performed, baffling session musicians and bandmates who claimed that their parts would often make little musical sense before being heard in the context of the full arrangement of the piece.

Delusions

Wilson’s delusions were various and wide-ranging. Perhaps the earliest example was, in 1964, a belief that his bandmate Mike Love was having an affair with his wife (Wilson & Gold, 1991). With time, his delusions became more outlandish: as well as the aforementioned suspicions that his house was bugged, he became convinced that recording a song about fire had caused a nearby building to burn down, and he once refused to let a business associate’s wife into the recording studio because he believed she was a witch trying to control his mind (Carlin, 2006, p. 119).

Depression

That Wilson exhibits symptoms of affective disorder is given strong empirical support by the relative effectiveness of different drugs that he has been prescribed. Initially diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic by the controversial Dr. Landy in 1983, Wilson was heavily medicated with anti-psychotic drugs; so much so that he developed tardive dyskinesia (Carlin, 2006, p. 271). All sources referring to the medication he was taking until 1992 are no more specific than mentioning ‘psychotropic drugs’, though the development of tardive dykinesia implicates medication with phenothiazines, and it is likely that chlorpromazine would have been used in such an instance (Starks & Braslow, 2005).

Psychiatric evaluations between 1992 and 1994, after Wilson had left Landy’s care, favoured diagnoses of schizoaffective disorder and mild bipolarity. This led to a change in Wilson’s prescriptions: to anti-depressants, and in a far more moderate dosage (Carlin, 2006, p. 280). These appear to have led to a greater lucidity and subjective sense of well being, which may however have been due to his transference to a less oppressive environment: whilst in Landy’s care, Wilson was separated from his family, and put under strict regimes of diet and timetabling. The positive mood effects following this change of medication are said to have come together with a reduction in the frequency and severity of Wilson’s auditory hallucinations. At the time of writing, Wilson’s hallucinations are still present, but are episodic, and he reports feeling better able to cope with them (Ligerman & Leaf, 2004). Whether this is a primary psychopharmacological effect of the new medication or a secondary effect due to his improved emotional state is difficult to say.

Other than improvements as a result of treating his disorder with antidepressants, there is biographical evidence that Wilson suffered from depressive episodes. He and others have noted him suffering periods of low mood and general disinterest in doing anything of his own volition, even growing bored of writing music, the one thing that he had previously claimed always offered some sort of solace. He has also shown episodes of vast weight gain and expansion in appetite, gaining over 100lbs between 1973 and 1975 (Wilson & Gold, 1991), clearly evident in photographic evidence from this period. Other depressive symptoms he has shown include sleeping or staying in bed for most of the day, and suicidal ideation that may have resulted in legitimate suicide attempts (Wilson & Gold, 1991; Carlin, 2006; but see Whitworth, 2004).

These episodes are typified by a period between the summer of 1973 and the end of 1975 where Wilson experienced all of the above, as well as refusing to groom himself for weeks at a time. Examples of his binge eating at this point included eating three to six hamburgers a day for lunch, and eating a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread for breakfast. Wilson himself has noted that when he was over-eating, he would often consume sweet, fatty, or unhealthy food. Even at a conservative estimate, it seems that this period qualifies as a major depressive episode (MDE) according to DSM IV-TR classification (American Psychiatric Association [APA], 2000). A biographical note regarding the onset of this specific episode is that Wilson’s father (with whom he had always had a strongly emotional and rather unhealthy relationship) died on the 4th June 1973, shortly before the episode’s onset. Though this may have acted as a trigger for depressive symptoms, there can be little doubt that what Wilson experienced cannot be fully accounted for by bereavement, given that the symptoms persisted for well over two months, and he was subject to marked functional impairment (criterion E for Major Depressive Episodes, regarding bereavement, APA, 2000), evidenced by his sudden decrease in rate of writing music (The Beach Boys, 2000).

Hypomanic qualities

Wilson clearly exhibited depressive symptoms, but evidence of hypomanic episodes is somewhat subtler and more elusive. There are a number of possible reasons for this: Wilson may not have suffered from mania; it could simply be the case that manic episodes were less pronounced and less common than his depressive symptoms; or it could be that his mania was manifest in irritable moods and other forms that may seem less obviously ’manic’ (cf. criterion A of the manic/hypomanic episode classification, APA, 2000) than a prolonged elated mood. It might alternatively be the case that Wilson was subject to mixed episodes, and as such any manic symptoms may have been overlooked due to depressive elements of his disorder, presumably more salient as they are less characteristic of how a pop singing sensation is expected to behave. Having said this, most biographical accounts make some reference to Wilson experiencing ‘mood swings’, two notable examples being: ‘Some days Brian would stay in bed, gazing vacantly up at the ceiling. . . Other days he would jump out of bed with all the energy and enthusiasm he had ever had’ (a description of Wilson in 1967, from Carlin, 2006), and the description of Wilson as ‘crying one minute, laughing hysterically the next for no reason’ by Wilson’s ex-wife Marilyn, who claimed that these mood swings gradually grew ‘wider, more unpredictable’ after Brian’s first experience with LSD in 1965 (Wilson & Gold, 1991).

Furthermore, there is evidence of events in Wilson’s life that, even if they did not form part of a manic/hypomanic episode per se, certainly show evidence of being symptomatic of such states. These include periods where he would stay awake for prolonged periods of time, experience highly goal- motivated periods of activity and flights of ideas (the recording and writing sessions for the albums Pet Sounds and SMiLE, respectively), as well as various rash business decisions (most infamously the opening, on a whim, of a 24-hour health food shop, which he had no idea how to manage. The shop quickly failed). Even if these symptoms did not co-occur, they are still indicative of hypomanic symptomatology, and given that they occurred together with Wilson’s depression over a period of years, this would suggest at least some sort of cyclothymic disorder, as defined by the DSM IV- TR. However, given that Wilson experienced what seems to be an MDE—an exclusion criterion for cyclothymic disorder proper (APA, 2000)—the diagnosis of mild bipolar disorder reportedly given by his doctors does appear to be the most appropriate. If we accept the previous diagnosis of an MDE, then type II bipolar disorder would be the most likely candidate, as it requires at least one incidence of an MDE (bipolar I disorder does not, but does require a manic episode).

Finding an appropriate clinical framework for the observed psychoses

There is good evidence that Wilson experiences hallucinations and delusions, and these (perhaps more likely in the case of the former) may be related to his creativity. However, as defined by the DSM IV-TR, schizophrenia (the disorder most commonly associated with these symptoms— cf. Rosenhan, 1973) contains an exclusion criterion whereby the disorder can only be diagnosed if the symptoms present cannot be alternatively explained by schizoaffective or bipolar disorders. The heterogeneity of Wilson’s symptoms together with the problem of hierarchical exclusion criteria potentially confuses diagnosis. The computer program Opcrit v4.0 (McGuffin & Farmer, 2004) was therefore used in an attempt to resolve this diagnostic issue.

Attempted verification of diagnoses with the Opcrit program

Opcrit 4.0 (McGuffin & Farmer, 2004) is a computer program that rates an individual’s psychopathology scores on 10 different diagnostic schemes (and 3 subsystems determining schizophrenic subtypes) following the completion of a 90-item checklist. An intrinsic feature of the Opcrit program is that it can be configured to generate diagnoses from a number of different sources, for example: hospital notes, structured interviews and (as was used in the present analysis) a combination of various sources not including a structured interview. Although Opcrit was initially developed for use in clinical diagnoses, there is precedent for its use with psychobiographical information. Claridge (1998) employed the program in a manner very similar to that used here, generating diagnoses from biographical information of creative individuals.

Data from all available sources were compiled and used to complete the Opcrit checklist. This was performed as conservatively as possible: evidence was only used when timeframes were evident and when corroborated by reliable sources. In instances of ambiguity (examples here being changes in the nature of speech/communication, and any items relating to libido), items were coded as absent, so as to ensure the most stringent analysis possible given the non-clinical form of the sources of evidence. Despite this, Wilson emerged with definite diagnoses on nine of the program’s ten main diagnostic schemes (see Table 1).

It is clear from these results that Wilson presents with diagnostically significant psychotic and affective symptoms. The diagnosis of ‘schizoaffective disorder’ is supported by those four diagnostic schemes that use this terminology, while the other schemes support the identification of both schizophrenia-related and mood disorders. Any uncertainty presented by this set of outputs relates to the specific nature of the affective component of Wilson’s disorder - namely that there is a split between diagnoses of bipolar (DSM, RDC) and unipolar (Taylor & Abrams, ICD) depression. This echoes earlier concerns of this psychobiographical analysis, and the absence of a definite bipolar diagnosis may reflect the conservative approach used in the data entry. Finally, there is some slight ambiguity in Wilson’s classifications on the schizophrenic subtypes. He emerges as paranoid type on Farmer’s classification, but conversely as hebephrenic type via the Tsuang and Winokur system. Taken together with the verdict of ‘mixed type’ from Crow’s classification this would suggest that a purely schizophrenic framework is inappropriate for Wilson’s disorder, as he demonstrates a mixed symptomatology with clear manifestations of positive, negative and affective syndromes.

Table 1: Showing the various diagnoses and subtypes for Brian Wilson generated by Opcrit 4.0

All considered, the extent to which these ratings resemble both the initial speculations of the present report and Wilson’s reported diagnoses is encouraging. It bears mentioning that even in their ambiguity, the outputs lend themselves to interpretation as the mild type II bipolarity postulated earlier. Given the preponderance of depressive symptoms in such a disorder (and the fact that Opcrit makes no distinctions between bipolar types I and II) mild type II bipolarity would seem the most plausible conclusion given the outputs. The Opcrit program lends strong, clinical support to the analysis and validates the use of a schizoaffective framework. Furthermore, the outputs— mainly atypical psychoses and schizoaffective disorders—resemble diagnoses from a range of creative individuals (Claridge, 1998), supporting ideas that such disorders are closely related to creativity.

Family effects and the Wilsons

Genetics

In contrast to consistent findings of high correlations within families of psychotic, schizophrenic, and schizotypal symptoms (Grove, Lebow, Clementz, Cerri, Medus & Iacono, 1991), no reports of explicit hallucinations are given for Wilson’s first-degree relatives, nor does there seem to be any family history of such psychotic qualities. However, there is strong evidence of other forms of psychological disorder among Wilson’s close family, implicating a potential genetic vulnerability to psychopathology, even if there is heterogeneity in symptom presentation.

Brian’s father Murry has been described as domineering and abusive by Brian, Dennis, and Carl Wilson, as well as various neighbours of the Wilson family (Carlin, 2006). There is also evidence that Murry Wilson suffered from what may have been an MDE: after being dismissed as manager of The Beach Boys by Brian, Murry took to his bed for a period of between three weeks and a month, with a noticeable loss of motivation: ‘He could barely summon the will to change out of his pajamas at first’ (Carlin, 2006). Brian’s current wife Melinda has explicitly referred to Murry as having suffered from depression (Whitworth, 2004), though this comes with the caveat that she never met him, and no biographical evidence exists to suggest that he was treated for such a disorder. Brian’s mother is purported by Wilson & Gold (1991) to have abused alcohol (supposedly as a way of dealing with the intense and violent Wilson home environment), but this claim should be regarded sceptically, as it does not appear in any other sources. Both of Brian’s brothers suffered from addictions to various substances: Carl to alcohol and cocaine, Dennis to alcohol, cocaine and possibly heroin (he used the latter on multiple occasions, but the actual frequency and nature of his use is unclear).

The prevalence of substance abuse and dependence in Wilson’s close family is of particular interest when we consider that clinical and biological similarities between drug abuse (as opposed to recreational use) and mental disorders have been identified (Davis, 2001). As luck would have it, the environment of The Beach Boys provides an interesting natural experiment: assuming that all members of the group were exposed to the same kinds of situations in which drugs would have been available and accessible, only the Wilson brothers developed dependencies. The other three members of the band, one of whom (Mike Love) was a first cousin of the Wilsons, used drugs recreationally without becoming addicted.

The findings of Volkow, Fowler & Wang (1999) may elucidate the observed family effects relating to drug abuse and mental disorder. This research into dopaminergic reward systems and cocaine use suggests a biochemical predisposition (such as having significantly fewer D2 dopamine receptors) that enhances the hedonic aspects of the drug. These findings support the potential involvement of dopaminergic systems in genetic susceptibility to psychological disorder in the Wilson family. Furthermore, there is evidence to suggest that abnormalities in dopamine receptors may be related to bipolar disorder (Pearlson et al. 1995). Interestingly, dopamine tends to also be linked (with far greater regularity) to schizophrenia and other psychotic disorders (Meltzer & Stahl, 1976; Grace, 1991), albeit in this case with an excess of the neurotransmitter rather than deficiencies in receptors. No current framework exists to attempt to resolve these findings. Despite this apparent lack of clarity, there does seem to be familial evidence among the Wilsons of divergence from norms, evident in mood and likely rooted in biochemistry. More directly observable in the current analysis though is the role that Wilson’s family environment may have played in forming his personality and psychological disorders.

Family environment

One widely documented aspect of Wilson’s family environment is that of the relationship between Murry Wilson and his children, specifically the physical abuse he administered. This has been consistently reported across biographical accounts of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys alike, and typified by Dennis Wilson’s quote ‘He used to whale on us’ (Webb, 2001). More doubtful though is the extreme psychological torment recounted in Wilson and Gold (1991), which includes claims that Murry once summoned his family into the kitchen so he could shout at them that he was ‘King of [the] goddamn family. I’m the goddamn king’ whilst standing naked on a table; and that he once forced Brian to defaecate on a newspaper in front of both his parents. Due to Brian’s inconsistent memory, it is difficult to either prove or disprove these stories. As an example of his confabulation, he has variously attributed the deafness in his right ear to congenital nerve defects (Wilson & Gold, 1991); an early beating administered by his father (Ligerman & Leaf, 2004); and an accident involving a neighbourhood boy (Carlin, 2006). Though Brian no longer recounts the more extreme accusations of Wilson & Gold (1991), he has recently claimed (Ligerman & Leaf, 2004) that the beatings he experienced as a child were so severe that his stance was cowering and hunched until high school age.

Although the absence of striking psychotic (hallucinatory/delusional) symptoms in Carl and Dennis Wilson limits the influence ascribable to Murry’s behaviour on the specific presentation of Brian’s symptoms, physical abuse has been shown to be a significant independent risk factor for major depressive and dysthymic disorders, drug use, and cigarette smoking (Kaplan, Pelcovitz, Salzinger, Weiner, Mandel, Lesser & Labruna, 1998), as well as other affective disorders (Herman, Perry & van der Kolk, 1989). These points are especially pertinent in light of the fact that, although Carl and Dennis Wilson were never diagnosed as having psychotic or affective disorders, they did both suffer from drug and alcohol abuse and addiction. A healthy family environment has been shown to act as a protective factor for schizotypal traits (Raine, 2006), and childhood trauma has been identified as a significant independent risk factor for psychotic symptoms (Bak, Krabbendam, Janssen, de Graaf, Vollebergh & van Os, 2005; Janssen, Krabbendam, Hanssen, Bak, Vollebergh, de Graaf & van Os, 2005) and schizophrenia-related disorders (Read, van Os, Morrison & Ross, 2005). Accordingly, the abuse that Brian Wilson suffered may well have contributed to his psychotic symptoms. Murry would often make needless, malicious criticisms of Brian’s music; Brian has alleged that these critical remarks provided the template for his earliest (vocalised) auditory hallucinations, as well as some strange behaviour that may well have been delusional. For example, in 1980 Brian attacked a psychiatrist for lighting a pipe in a way that resembled his father (Carlin, 2006). It seem a viable assertion that Murry Wilson’s specific actions and the general abusive nature of the familial environment in which Brian grew up provided an independent contribution to his various mental disorders.

Drug Use

Another external influence upon Brian Wilson’s psychology was his substance abuse. This included extensive, excessive use of cannabis, cocaine, amphetamines, cigarettes and caffeine, as well as sporadic use of LSD, and over-medication with prescribed sleeping pills when isolated from his drugs of preference. Aside from the role previously hypothesised for these drugs exacerbating certain of Wilson’s symptoms, there seem to have been distinct conscious reasons for his use of each. These points afford a unique insight into the influence of such substances on creativity and mental illness, as well as offering dissociations between the actions of different drugs - a useful consideration for drug models of psychological disorders.

The roles that caffeine and cigarettes played for Brian are easily explicable as consequences of his depression and his lifestyle, both coinciding as they did with Wilson’s years of depression, weight gain, and cocaine addiction. A concise overview of both of these overindulgences is given in the opening chapter of Wilson & Gold (1991), where they are portrayed as habitual excesses, as opposed to being used for any sort of high. This is exemplified by Wilson’s behaviour in 1978, where he would spend hours at a time lying on his couch, staring up at the ceiling and smoking constantly (Carlin, 2006).

Cannabis

Wilson was originally recommended cannabis by a friend, and enjoyed the new perceptual experiences afforded by its effect. Soon after this, he began using the drug explicitly for creative purposes, and he cites its influence in his decision to use bigger, denser sounds in music production, employing orchestral instrumentation as opposed to the simpler and more conventional rock arrangements that he had favoured for earlier tracks (Wilson & Gold, 1991, p. 114; Ligerman & Leaf, 2004). This finding is interesting in light of observations by Fachner (2006), who explains the greater incidence of cannabis use among musicians (compared to other artists) with data suggesting that marijuana subjectively enhances certain aspects of music by intensifying sensory perception with regard to duration, loudness, pitch, and timbre. Since many musicians have been documented as changing ’their sound’ as a result of using cannabis (see MacDonald, 1998 for an excellent overview of these changes in many popular bands in the 1960s), it may be that the drug does indeed offer creative insight for the musician. In contrast, Bourassa & Vaugeois (2001) found no effect upon divergent thinking (a common test of creative potential, e.g. Wallach & Kogan, 1965) due to cannabis in novice users, and found a detrimental effect in regular users, suggesting that the drug has no direct influence on divergent aspects of creativity. At the same time, it is not hard to see how allowing proficient musicians new perceptual insights in listening to music could produce novel results (cf. Sternberg & Lubart, 1999): that is to say cannabis may be associated with creative acts, but only when musical creativity is already the individual’s wont. These perceptual insights are orthogonal to measures of divergent thinking, and neither provides a full account of creativity.

Cannabis is also notorious for its supposed induction of psychotic episodes; both in short term cannabis psychosis and in hypothesised links to schizophrenic symptoms. Hall & Degenhardt (2000), in a review of such possibilities, suggest that though the former is a verifiable risk of overindulgence in the drug, the latter point remains unproven. Data implying that schizophrenic symptoms can be induced in normals as a result of using cannabis are lacking, but there is evidence to suggest that it may act as an independent risk factor for such symptoms where the individual already has some predisposition to mental disorder (Andr ́easson et al., 1987; Caspari, 1999) and that cannabis use can be considered a stressor likely to result in relapse among schizophrenic individuals (Linszen et al. 1994). The evidence from Brian Wilson lends some support to these ideas, but at the same time may be indicative of a more subtle interaction of factors. For example, drug use may have affected his psychology and behaviour indirectly in terms of how he approached the substances, and the initial use may have been associated with adverse life experiences (e.g. high stress). These extraneous variables are impossible to control for in retrospective analyses.

As well as the previous speculation about the involvement of marijuana in the first incidence of Wilson’s auditory hallucinations, he suffered what appears to have been a panic attack shortly after his first experience with cannabis, in 1964. In this incident, Wilson experienced a sudden onset of intense fear and anxiety on a plane, despite having had no previous disinclination towards air travel. The episode involved him screaming for his wife Marilyn, whilst running around the aircraft shouting for the plane to land. However, the timing here may be coincidental, given the mounting pressures of writing and touring that were then affecting him: as well as touring internationally, Wilson had, by June 28th 1964 (age 22), produced ten LPs in less than three years. It seems unlikely that this episode would be directly attributable to the effects of cannabis, given that Wilson has said that he would use the drug to relieve anxiety, initially together with the creative influence that he felt it gave him (Wilson & Gold, 1991) but subsequently more and more for recreational reasons (Carlin, 2006). This assumption seems to better suit past research on cannabis, noted for its relaxant effects (Wachtel, ElSohly, Ross, Ambre & de Wit, 2002).

LSD

The other drug that Wilson used with creative intent was LSD. Wilson has cited the drug as being greatly influential on his creative apex ’Pet Sounds’, but perhaps indirectly. Although it is a widely reported story that the influential single ‘California Girls’ was composed under the direct influence of LSD (i.e. whilst tripping), Pet Sounds shows a secondary influence of the drug, derived from Wilson’s reconsideration of sonic and perceptual experiences in reflection of the trip itself. Moreover, the poignant introduction of California Girls, which at first glance reflects more hallmarks of a stereotypical ‘drug influence’ (slow, wordless, unconventionally orchestrated), was in fact written later, with the portion composed whilst under the drug’s influence being nothing more than a straightforward and derivative rhythmic figure that Wilson sat and played at a piano for half an hour (Ligerman & Leaf, 2004; Wilson & Gold, 1991). This remains noteworthy, though, as such repetitive rhythmic figures would later come to define Wilson’s approach to song-writing after Pet Sounds, from 1966 onwards (Wegman, 2005). During this time his behaviour became increasingly erratic and his delusions reached a stage where they were interfering with his normal functioning (e.g. halting work and destroying music because he believed that it had unnatural power, as he did during the recording of the song ‘Fire’ in 1967; purposely avoiding people or leaving his room as a coping method for his increasingly severe auditory hallucinations), suggesting that his symptoms were becoming pathological.

Around this time, Wilson’s auditory hallucinations also started worsening, until by 1969 they had all the characteristics recognisable in his contemporary hallucinations (namely those of accusations and threats in the second-person, making liberal reference to the devil). Though Wilson indulged in LSD far less than other drugs he used (various sources stating that he took it no more than three times), it would seem foolish to discount the role the substance played in his mental degradation post-1965, especially in light of circumstantial evidence of similarities between LSD psychosis and actual psychosis (Young 1974; Vardy & Kay, 1983) and more explicit findings that LSD presents a significant independent risk for psychosis in predisposed individuals (Abraham & Aldridge, 1993; Vardy & Kay, 1983). Furthermore, only the truly cynical would discount its additional effects on his creative exploits. The question thus begins to emerge of whether this creative enhancement is related to the exacerbation of his mental disorders, and how far LSD may be accountable for each of these. This question will be addressed shortly, but is perhaps better viewed in light of a full account of Wilson’s drug use.

Amphetamines

Though not expressly used as a creative tool in the way of cannabis and LSD, amphetamines quickly became an integral part of Wilson’s working process after he started using them in 1967. During the writing sessions for SMiLE (the abandoned album that was to follow Pet Sounds), Wilson and his lyricist Van Dyke Parks would take vast quantities of amphetamines to allow them to work on their songs late into the night, for hours at a time. Thus amphetamines initially helped Wilson with issues regarding motivation and concentration: compare these speed-fuelled writing marathons with the writing sessions for Pet Sounds (a year earlier), where he would wake up in the early afternoon, procrastinate by watching children’s television after his lyrical co-writer had arrived, and take frequent breaks once song-writing had begun.

Given Wilson’s subsequent diagnoses and depressive episodes, one might claim that amphetamines were initially used in self-medication to allow him to continue to function as a songwriter by relieving the cognitive (focus-based) and physiological (tiredness-based) impairments that he was then experiencing. Certainly, self-medication has previously been shown to be closely associated with psychotic disorders (Haas, Weiden, Sweeney & Frances, 1991). The possibility that he may have used amphetamines as a self-medicating treatment for problems in focusing on work is tantalising evidence for an overarching concept of schizotypy and affective disorder in Wilson, given that impairments of volition are hallmarks not only of depression (Drevets & Todd, 1997), but also schizophrenia, particularly in how negative symptomatology maps onto avolition in a manner phenomenologically akin to depression (Lysaker & Bell, 1995).

Alcohol and cocaine

Further evidence for self-medication comes from Wilson’s use of alcohol and cocaine. Alcohol appears to have been the first substance that he used heavily, in this case to calm intensely anxious spells that he experienced while touring until 1964 (Wilson & Gold, 1991). This anxiety relief was later supplanted by cannabis, together with its use in creative endeavours. His introduction to cocaine came in 1968, upon a friend’s advice. He began overusing the drug and quickly became addicted, consuming it in excess, especially when he resumed touring in 1977. In this period there was little question of any drugs being used for creative purposes, given that by this point Wilson rarely wrote new songs, and certainly did not seek to push himself creatively when doing so (Carlin, 2006, p. 239). Instead his attitude towards drugs was characterised more by a desire to change his normal functioning, once again suggesting the likelihood of self-medicating.

Drug models of Wilson’s disorders

As noted by Claridge (1994), both amphetamines and LSD have been used to model schizophrenic symptoms, with varying successes; amphetamine models are more widespread and benefit from heavier research (Claridge, 1978). Admittedly, they tie in well with the dopamine hypothesis of schizophrenia (Meltzer & Stahl, 1976; Willner, 1997), a theory supported by observational sim- ilarities between amphetamine addicts and schizophrenics, as well as psychotomimesis from amphetamines that is reversed upon administering anti-psychotics (Griffith, Cavanaugh, Held & Oates, 1972). Furthermore, anti-psychotic drugs such as chlorpromazine block dopamine receptors in the brain (Abi-Dargham, Rodenhiser, Printz, Zea-Ponce, Gil, Kegeles, Weiss, Cooper, Mann, Van Heertum, Gorman & Laruelle, 2000). However, Claridge (1994) suggests that these findings do not serve as the most accurate drug model of psychosis available, drawing attention to the facts that amphetamine modelling of the disorder only reproduces a limited number of features, and even then only with very high or chronic doses, and only in individuals with predispositions to psychotic symptoms. This suggests that abnormal dopamine levels are secondary in the disorder. Evidence from Brian Wilson then provides a basis to emphasise the effects of LSD in accelerating schizophrenia-like symptoms.

LSD models of schizophrenia-related disorders

LSD models of schizophrenia focus on perceptual effects. The experiences that the drug elicits resemble positive aspects of schizophrenia as given by the DSM IV-TR, including delusions, hallucinations and disorganised speech/behaviour. Admittedly, LSD has not been shown to mimic negative effects of schizophrenia - and as such cannot be claimed to be a comprehensive model of the disorder - but a reconsideration of existing research into this area, together with other schizophrenia research and information from the case study of Brian Wilson, could prove highly informative.

The main thrust of LSD modelling of schizophrenia is that the drug disrupts serotonergic activity (Woolley & Shaw, 1954), likely by virtue of the fact that it resembles serotonin in its functional groups and as such affects sites of serotonergic action in the brain (Bennett & Snyder, 1976). Disrupting serotonergic activity interrupts perceptual pathways in which the neurotransmitter is implicated (Mehl, Rther & Redemann, 1977); this disruption could then lead to a mismatch between external stimuli and subjective perceptual experience, evidence for which abounds in available LSD research.

Claridge (1994) highlights findings of dissociations between visual stimuli and physiological responses in humans under the influence of LSD. Under low general arousal conditions the drug led to selective and progressive enhancement of visually evoked potentials (VEPs) from light flashes (measured by electroencephalogram, EEG), as a function of stimulus intensity. Instead of a linear effect of EEG signal increase with increases of stimulus intensity (seen in absence of the drug), there was a greater rate of increase in the neurophysiological responses to stimuli when these were more intense. These results demonstrate dissociation between external stimuli and subjective responses in terms of sensory, autonomic and somatic arousal, giving empirical demonstration of subjective reports of disengagement from reality as a result of LSD use (Linton & Langs, 1962). Claridge & Clark (1982) found identical perceptual dissociations in a schizophrenic sample, suggesting that LSD is an effective model of this aspect of schizophrenic functioning.

However, merely showing that LSD leads to perceptual aberrations comparable to some aspects of psychosis is not enough for a viable model of schizophrenia-related symptoms. Though researchers such as Young (1974) have stated that psychoses induced by LSD and schizophrenia are phenomenologically indistinguishable, the model is lame without a framework to link such observations. Jacobs and Trulson (1979) propose that the serotonergic disruptions seen when administering LSD to animals consistently serve to produce hyperactivity and hypersensitivity to all environmental stimuli. They suggest that the normal functional role of the affected serotonergic neurons is therefore to modulate an organism’s behaviour, providing focus and subjecting action to certain limits and constraints.

Impairment of selective attention is a fundamental deficit in schizophrenia (Kornetsky & Markowitz, 1975). Studies using dichotic listening to examine attention in schizophrenic patients have shown abnormalities inferring atypical filtering of information into the nervous system (McGhie, 1969). The notion of a defective attentional filter could potentially explain these findings and others mentioned earlier, especially if the filter were controlled by serotonergic systems. Though there is scant neurophysiological evidence to clarify what the neural mechanisms themselves might be, the idea of a dysfunctional cognitive filter has been proposed as a model for the disorder by Payne & Hewlett (1960), supported by cognitively disordered performance of schizophrenic patients on object-sorting tasks (Payne, Hochby & Hawks, 1970). The case study at hand provides support for suggestions of an impaired attentional filter in schizophrenia-related functioning: Brian Wilson appeared to suffer from such impairments, attested to by reports of his poor driving skills, rooted in an inability to selectively attend to a single stimulus (i.e. not becoming distracted by extraneous noises and traffic) for prolonged periods of time (Carlin, 2006).

The specific model of attentional aberration that best fits the observed data seems to be Cameron (1947)’s identification of ‘overinclusion’: schizophrenics’ tendency to incorporate irrelevant environmental information into subjective experience, and inability to maintain concise conceptual boundaries. Payne (1971) attributed this effect to a defective cognitive filter. Indeed, overinclusion adequately explains the greater variability of schizophrenics’ EEG evoked potentials, both visual (Rappaport, Hopkins, Hall & Belleze, 1975) and auditory (Callaway & Jones, 1975; Call- away, Jones & Layne, 1965). Overinclusion therefore seems a good starting point for a theory of schizophrenia-related functioning, informed as it is by the positive symptoms akin to the cognitive disorder component of schizotypy (Mason, Claridge & Jackson, 1995).

However, the LSD model of schizophrenia is far from being conceptually complete, as it falls short of providing a complete mimicry of positive schizophrenic episodes. A good example of this is that when Brian Wilson experienced an ‘acid flashback’ (‘post-hallucinogen perceptual disorder’: recapitulation of LSD’s effects in the absence of actually taking the drug—APA, 2000) in 1965, he recognised it as qualitatively distinct from his other positive symptomatological experiences (Wilson & Gold, 1991). Even if the perceptual effects reported in LSD influence (Claridge, 1994) and schizophrenia (Claridge & Clark, 1982) are identical, there are obviously other components that contribute to the subjective experience of the disorder. This shortcoming, together with the model’s inability to explain negative symptoms of schizophrenia, is clear evidence that LSD cannot model schizophrenia-related disorders in their entirety. However, what it does offer is an insight into the often-linked and just-as-often-debunked co-incidences of mental disorder, LSD use, and creativity.

Overinclusion in creativity and schizophrenia-related functioning

There are two key points here: firstly that of overinclusion, and secondly that in the case of Brian Wilson, the only drugs that he and others claimed changed his personality and creative attitudes were cannabis (the creative role of which has already been explained in some way by possible perceptual effects on audition) and LSD. Cocaine and amphetamines by contrast seemed to have had little effect beyond relieving depressive symptoms. Drug use for self-medication is frequently observed in individuals with schizophrenia-spectrum disorders (Dixon et al., 1991). Since LSD may foster or exacerbate the effects of overinclusion, we would assume that this second point is crucially related to the first.

At the risk of trivialising the eternal plight of the artist, overinclusion seems to be the mechanism by which the divergent thinking component of creativity (at least in Wilson’s case) may operate. This echoes Eysenck (1995), who postulated overinclusion as the mechanism for allusive thinking in both schizotypal individuals and creative normals. As previously mentioned, LSD mimics schizophrenic functioning in that it impairs the serotonin-influenced cognitive filter for information, which presumably allows for a wider spread of information to be incorporated into the attentional window. This sits well with the impairments of selective and sustained attention that characterise schizophrenia-like processing (Kornetsky & Markowitz, 1975; Juda, 1949).

Furthermore, Woody & Claridge (1977) report findings that individuals at higher risk for psychotic symptoms show higher divergent thinking, together with overinclusion. Perhaps most intriguing though are studies showing that overinclusion apparently leads to greater generalisation of learning and knowledge. For example, Key (1961) showed that (unlike amphetamines) LSD’s ability to alter the significance of stimuli led to a greater generalisation of conditioned responses in cats. Similarly, Mednick (1958) found greater generalisation and sensitivity to remote emotional cues in schizophrenic patients, via a higher responsivity to stimuli remotely associated to those presented. This corresponds to the ’novelty’ aspect of creativity (Sternberg & Lubart, 1999); creative individuals may make associations between items which to the general population would seem distantly related. This is evident in the case of Brian Wilson from strange associations seen in his comments about the theremin, as well as his use of unconventional orchestration.

Overinclusion and other factors in Wilson’s creativity

As previously mentioned, the thinking of psychiatric patients is not creative; it is pathological. Overinclusion explains how unusual combinations of thoughts may arise, but - as evidenced by thought disorder—not all unusual thoughts are creative. Creativity diverges from simple expertise by being unusual, but this also implies that aspects of expertise are necessary for thought to be truly creative. In terms of the current argument, there is likely a significant contribution of overinclusion to Wilson’s creativity, but there must also be other factors at work.

Intelligence is often implicated in creative success as necessary, but not sufficient, for creativity (Brod, 1997). Claridge & Beech (1995) suggest that it may act as a moderating variable serving to ‘guard against’ the most serious expressions of mental disorder. Though Wilson did briefly attend college, he was not necessarily particularly intelligent in academic terms. However, his musical intelligence (not to be confused with instrumental virtuosity, where he was proficient, but not outstanding) was nothing short of extraordinary. This is evidenced throughout his life from an absurdly precocious start to musicality: being able to hold a tune before he was able to speak (Wilson & Gold, 1991), continuing through to casual displays of exceptional musical talent, e.g. arranging a six-part horn piece whilst conducting a conversation, in the midst of a period of drug abuse and depression (Carlin, 2006).

Although musical proficiency did appear to run in the Wilson family (Carlin, 2006, pp. 5–9), Brian outstripped all his relatives in skill. Whether this talent (as distinct from creativity) is directly related to his mental disorders is debatable, and has little precedent in the literature, but it can be reported with little doubt that his high musical intelligence is certainly a factor in his creativity. We can infer this from his unremarkable (even poor) lyric-writing ability: it is little coincidence that he expressly employed lyricists for various songs, as well as the albums that he considered his most significant creative contributions to music: Pet Sounds and SMiLE. Furthermore, evidence of Wilson’s poor prose style can be seen in the truncated, almost childish style of writing that he uses in the forewords to liner notes on Beach Boys albums, especially evident in the liner notes for ’Beach Boys Party!’ (2001). Music was the only domain in which Wilson showed especial intelligence, and was the only domain where he expressed creativity. Interestingly, music is an area of Wilson’s life that seems to be strongly related to various aspects of his schizoaffective disorder: both in strong emotional reactions (such as spontaneous crying) in response to music (Wilson & Gold, 1991) and in strange perceptual aberrations, notably musical hallucinations (Carlin, 2006; Ligerman & Leaf, 2004).

The role of affective disorder in the schizoaffective framework

At this point, little mention of Wilson’s affective (bipolar) disorder has been made with respect to his creativity or drug use, despite the fact that his mood swings are a prominent part of his personality-psychology continuum. Moreover, mood disorders such as his have previously been related to creativity, most often in creative writers (Andreasen, 1987; Jamison, 1993). As well as the fact that his affective disorders seem less prominent compared to his psychotic problems (not least due to the seemingly arbitrary hierarchical classifications in exclusion criteria that pervade the DSM IV-TR in terms of such diagnoses), the current analysis is guided by research suggesting not only that certain psychotic effects are effectively interchangeable across various schizophrenia-spectrum disorders, but that affective disorders are also part of the same or an overlapping spectrum (Nettle, 2001). Here there is evidence to suggest that schizophrenia-related symptoms are more suited to dimensional classifications than the rigid categorical model that currently exists. As well as vast degrees of overlap between schizophrenia proper and other schizophrenia-related disorders (Siever, Kalus & Keefe, 1993), there is evidence that positive schizophrenic symptoms exist along a continuum, gradually strengthening from personality traits to personality disorder to clinical disorder (Clark, 2005).

But there is more to schizophrenia-related disorders than positive symptomatology. In the current example, Brian Wilson’s schizoaffective disorder contains the additional element of bipolar disorders of mood. As highlighted by Andreasen (2005) and Jamison (2000-2001), mood disorders have been consistently linked with creativity, with some evidence that this is a stronger relation- ship than that with schizotypy. However, it may be misguided to propose an exclusive association to either affective disorders or schizophrenia-related disorders. For instance, Sass (2000–2001a,b) compellingly argues that affective disorder traits often correlate with Romantic creativity (based in strong emotionality), whereas schizophrenia-related functioning encourages the self-consciousness and sense of alienation prevalent in modernist and post-modernist creative works. The implication of both positive schizophrenic symptoms and affective components in creative thinking certainly draws parallels to the symptomatology displayed by Brian Wilson, as well as previous psychobiographies of various schizoaffective authors (Claridge, 1998).

So it appears that cyclothymic, schizotypal, and schizoaffective spectra are all associated with creativity to some extent. The problem then becomes one of trying to establish whether the associations of these disorders with creativity represent a single effect, or whether the routes to creativity are distinct in the different spectra. Unfortunately, a clear delineation of these possibilities is all but confounded by the vast amount of overlap between the disorders (Nettle, 2001). Some researchers additionally claim that the various spectra are simply different manifestations of the same disorder, with differences in symptom manifestation being attributable to personality effects (Crow, 1998; Kendell, 1991; Taylor, 1992). Although such assertions may be a little bold based on current evidence, the disorder types certainly have many phenomenological similarities, whether or not they share the same neurological substrate.

One way of uniting current theory is to emphasise the reactive and compensatory nature of symptoms and effects across affective and schizophrenia-spectrum disorders. Chapman (1966) pro- posed that for many schizophrenics, the first change in mental state is one of perceptual aberration; thought disorder, and atypical social functioning: safety behaviours (which may include delusions) may then act as ways in which an individual attempts to restore subjective normality or well-being, as a psychological defence mechanism. This then offers some explanation for the incidence of negative symptoms: they may be a reactive mechanism in response to positive symptoms. This is lent credence by observations that schizophrenics, when prevented from expressing positive symptoms, will ’lapse’ into negative symptoms (Bouricius, 1989). Moreover, a strikingly similar observation has been reported in bipolarity, namely that depression is a reactive process of exhaustion or compensation after episodes of creative or manic exertion (Persinger, 1993). So while by no means trying to demote such disorders to side effects of schizophrenic functioning, and fully realising that such assertions are beyond the scope of this analysis, it seems that the two spectra share the same reactive and complementary natures.

Of course, this is all proposed with caveats. Bipolarity could manifest itself as a reactive disorder in response to antecedents other than perceptual atypicalities (for example a hyper-responsive dopamine system), and it is important to note there are currently no grounds to disprove the possibility that reactive cyclothymic function simply represents the later stages of a deteriorative pathological process (Persinger, 1993), as opposed to a progressively more degenerative set of coping strategies for early perceptual distortions in schizophrenia (Chapman, 1966). Still, the data fit well with the current case of Brian Wilson, and provide grounds for empirical testing. For instance the theory proposed here would suggest that schizophrenic-spectrum patients would become ’more bipolar’ as their disorder progressed, showing wider mood swings and more pronounced oscillations between positive and negative symptoms.

Conclusion

The case of Brian Douglas Wilson has proven illuminating for current models of creativity, schizophrenia (and related spectrum disorders), bipolarity, and drug effects. The evidence presented strongly supports his diagnoses of schizoaffective and mild bipolar disorders, though there is also in- formation to suggest that such categorical labels may not provide the most qualitatively informative account of his condition. His drug abuse has had detrimental effects on his psychological well-being, as did poor clinical and medicinal decisions earlier in his life. His cannabis and LSD use may have exacerbated and contributed to various frightening aspects of his disorder, but at the same time had some (likely indirect) positive influence upon his creativity. Furthermore, this insight has allowed for a reappraisal of the efficacy of LSD as a drug model for psychosis (albeit an incomplete one), and the nature of Wilson’s coincident mental disorder has fostered development and clarification of theorising about the potential relationships between schizophrenia-spectrum disorders and bipolarity. Since no one drug serves to fully replicate his symptoms, we may also conclude that finding perfect drug models of either creativity or certain disorders is unrealistic. A more useful method may be a componential approach to models of creativity and psychological disorder. In the current instance, LSD-sensitive serotonin pathways are specifically implicated in attentional overinclusion, but this represents only one facet of creativity. Similarly, a pathologically wide attentional focus fails to account for negative schizophrenic symptomatology and the reactive nature of bipolar depression. Favouring a trait’s-eye-view rather than a disorder’s-eye-view would therefore seem a more fruitful approach for future experimentation and theory. That is simply to say that certain combinations of various (overlapping) traits manifest as diagnostically distinct disorders, but it is more enlightening for current purposes to consider them in terms of their phenomenological similarities and continuous variation rather than categorical boundaries.

As a final note, it bears mentioning once again that despite its presentation as a scientific case study, the current analysis in no way professes to reduce the astounding creativity of Brian Wilson to a simplistic account of his psychological disorders. Wilson’s life and music bears influence that stretches incalculably further than the stylised and convoluted ramblings of this article. The genius evident in The Beach Boys’ discography by itself makes this point rather eloquently.

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janustrash1 · 3 years

Text

my sides (masterpost)

hey, sorry that i haven't been posting at all recently. life has taken a bit of a slip downhill and things like my sleep schedule have been really out of wack. to make up for it i’ve decided to talk about and introduce you guys to some very special characters of mine. my sides.

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before i introduce them, i’d like to talk about what they mean to me. i got really into sanders sides at a very low point in my life. at this point i already had four characters that i considered my version of the main four sides. they didnt represent anything yet. i only knew that each of them were my version of a respective side. i had also started counselling at this point, and ended up talking to my councillor about sanders sides and how much i love the show and the dynamic. she encouraged me to take these characters and break them down into their essentials. making my first four sides.

i would talk to my sides whenever i needed to figure something out. i was able to take the multitude of thoughts going through my head and divide them off into things that each side was saying. this made everything much easier to manage in my head as it was basically the equivalent of talking to friends. however a year passed and a new train of thought started occurring. i tried applying it to an existing side but that didnt work so, i made a new one, my fifth side.

more recently, around the start of this year, i started having some, unpleasant, things happen with my mental state. i would hyper focus on too many things at once, meaning that i got little to no work done, i started having worsening intrusive thoughts, and i just all around felt a bad presence. once again, none of my sides were the ones causing this so, a new onw was made. my sixth and as of writing this, newest side.

my sides are a genuine coping mechanism for me. i have a rare profile of autism that makes it hard to understand my own emotions, and the sides help with that. they also act as someone i can tell everything to, and just generally help me feel less alone from time to time. im putting a lot out here to share a secret that i keep from most with the world, i would appreciate it if you guys would treat me just the same as always. side note: yes my sides have different genders and some arent the same as me biologically. they are made like this to capture how some of these aspects of me can sometimes be more prevalent depending on how i present myself. it also just made sense to me. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

anyways, now that we know where they came from. i would like to introduce you to them. first up, The four Main sides

Opal (Optimism)

opal is probably the happiest side in the mindscape. she represents my happiness and excitement, as well as some of the content and calm feelings, often relating to my image. before Allison, she was the one to offer words of encouragement when things slipped up. some of the sides refer to her as “Mom” and Allison will often just call her “Wife” Opal wears a lot of pale pink and soft greys, not really one for bright or bold colours, she has an assortment of different headbands and bows but is most often seen wearing a pink cat ear headband. she is a Pan Cis Woman and uses She/Her pronouns

Ray (Reasoning)

Ray represents everything about me that doesnt revolve around my imagination, as well as some things that do. they are my sense of reasoning, there to talk me out of an impossible situation and ground me back to reality. they are here to make plans and help me stay physically and mentally well in the most efficient way possible. i would say that they are the most like a canon side out of all of them, having an uncanny resemblance to Logan as far as function is concerned. they are the “left brain” of the sides. they wear a light blue polo shirt, keeping the collar in place with a neatly knotted scouts neckerchief. they are the only side to actually wear glasses, even though i myself need them but often dont wear them. they are biologically genderless and use Them/They pronouns.

Cameron (Confidence)

Cameron is the most eccentric of all the sides, constantly bellowing his ideas in the most sing-songy, theatrical voice. he is the brightest and most determined, constantly suggesting new and “foolproof” plans to get big and become famous. unfortunately, these “foolproof” plans are often made by a fool. He doesnt always see the bigger picture, much like Opal, he always keeps his eyes on the prize, to such an extent that he often skips steps in his plan. he often wears fancy blue jackets, but his more casual wear is a royal blue button up over a white t shirt. He is a Cis man who uses He/Him pronouns.

Percival (Paranoia)

Percival, or as we all call them, Percy, is the most quiet and reserved out of all of the sides, only kicking off when something could go wrong. when they were first created, they would do this constantly, however as time has progressed they have realised how this can be a hinderance more than a help, and has taken to not really speaking unless necessary. they are one of the ImagiSiblings, along with Ivory, they were temporarily separated as i got older however, and now they are quite scared of what ivory has become and will keep their distance when possible, but has shown that they very much can still be a brilliant older sibling to the younger side. they are often wrapped in a red blanket, with a black long sleeved shirt and leggings poking out from underneath. when they have to leave the house however, they throw on a red plaid hoodie and a black facemask, a new addition to their wardrobe. they are also biologically genderless and use Them/They pronouns.

now, my fifth side, created around a year and a half after the main 4

Allison (Protection) (Formerly Anger)

Allison was first created as a way to filter out some of the more angry and violent thoughts in my head and make sense of them. they never really seemed like the violent type, more like a protective mother, a role that they very much fulfil better, therefore they were recently changed and allowed to focus more on protecting me and my friends. they have a lot of.... violent suggestions, but they do genuinely care for me and often stay up with me during sleepless nights, helping me get through the following day. they often wear an oversized blue shirt under an even more oversized black cardigan with a black trilby/fedora hat, sometimes switching the hat out for a plain beanie in the winter. they also carry my headphones in case i need a reminder that i always have music as a way to control my thoughts. they are an AFAB Demigirl and uses Them/They pronouns with female titles (miss, mom etc.)

and finally, my newest side, created around march of this year

Ivory (Impulse)

Ivory was created to explain the constant creative itch i get whenever there are too many ideas. they started off as a sweet, excitable child, but are quick to change when they dont get their way. they are able to shapeshift and will sometimes become threatening and scary if the creative itch isnt met to their standards. they are also the source of most of my intrusive thoughts, often thinking that their suggestions will help. overall they are probably the most dangerous side and we still do not know much about them. their clothes often change but one thing that always remains is a jacket that i actually own covered in various embroidery and collected patches. sometimes this will be worn over a simple t-shirt, sometimes over a black button up. they are the youngest of the sides, being around 10 physically. im not yet sure of their gender but they seem to like Them/They pronouns

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and there you have it. theres my sides. it honestly feels good to have written this all down and have it in a convenient place to be able to show people. i hope you like them just as much as i do, if you have any further questions feel free to send me an ask or re-blog this post.

thank you so much to any of you who have read this far, i really appreciate it.

#sanders sides #sanderssides #thomassanders #thomas sanders #@thatsthat24 #my sides #mysides #my sanders sides #mysanderssides #characters #original characters #ocs #masterpost

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snidgetsafan · 5 years

Text

Good Omens

Rating: T

Summary: It all starts in a garden...In a world where Heaven and Hell play an ineffable game of backgammon with humanity, an Angel and a Demon have been stationed on Earth since the dawn of time. And after 6,000 years, any being, whether they be ethereal or occult, would go at least a little native. And after 6,000 years of being the only two immortal souls on Earth, could you blame these beings for braving angelic and demonic taboos and growing close?

A Good Omens AU (no prior knowledge of the book or mini-series needed) (on AO3)

Notes: Here is my entry for @csseptembersunshine! Good Omens is my favorite book ever, and the mini-series has reawakened my obsession. I haven’t been able to write anything else, this idea wouldn’t leave me. Just so you know: this was supposed to be a bullet point outline. And here we are, 10k later... I wish I could say I was sorry for all the puns and dumbass jokes, but you know I’m not. Last but not least: a HUGE thank you to @shireness-says, who has edited this fic in two days, cheered me while I was writing, and tolerated both my fixation and puns (and even made one of her own! I’m SO PROUD)

Wordcount: 10.7k

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It all starts in a garden. No, not a garden – the garden. You could even say the Garden, since it’s currently the only one in existence.

It’s a gorgeous Garden. You could even call it heaven on Earth, because it is.

It doesn’t actually start in the Garden proper, mind, but rather on top of the wall surrounding it, where an Angel is watching the first two humans walk towards an undetermined future. More determined, however, is the lion slowly prowling towards them. A slight breeze brings the smell of ozone from the coming storm (the first storm – God really casting the humans out in style), as well as the slightest whiff of iron. That last smell is explained a few seconds later by the appearance of a huge snake slithering up the wall before slowly taking human shape as it reaches the parapet, as if unsure how to go about the transition. A Demon, then.

And thus the Demon spake unto the Angel, “Well, I don’t think that could have been any more dramatic.”

“I beg your pardon?” are the first words the Angel spake unto the Demon. The Demon smiles in amusement, their dark hair fluttering in the wind as it steadily blows stronger; the storm is growing nearer. They catch a few strands between their fingers, looking at it in puzzlement before shrugging and turning towards the Angel.

Then their smile turns into a frown. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” they ask, tilting their head to look behind the Angel, just in case their lanky frame could somehow hide a huge sword on actual fire. Such a feat would have to be quite the mirac– well.

The Angel averts their blue eyes, pretending to be fascinated by the approaching clouds. When they see the Demon patiently waiting for an answer (and isn’t it odd, seeing a Demon display one of the seven Virtues?), they mumble an answer, turning their head away once again.

(Those clouds really are quite something. They’re the first ones, for starters).

The Demon’s serpentine eyes widen. Surely – “You what ?” And then the Angel says Words, words that will shape the next six thousand years of the world, from its very beginning to its end (and its aftermath, too, but more importantly its end).

“I gave it away,” they repeat defensively, not looking at the Demon, unwilling to see the mockery on their face. The Demon is glad that the Angel’s not looking at them; this way, they have time to hide the absolute awe they’re feeling at the moment. It’s not that the Angel has compassion; angels are made of love, compassion is innate for them. No, it’s that this Angel, without even realizing it, has shown free will, has had the complete and utter balls to find and use a loophole in God’s orders.

They’re so awed, they don’t even acknowledge the envy and wrath this realization awakens in them (why didn’t this angel fall, when what they did was worse than what the Demon did – when they only asked questions? )

It’s the first time of many that the Angel will cause the Demon to ignore their very nature, reminding them of Before (before Eden, before Hell, before the fall, before the doubt).

And with the dawn of human history begins the dance of Emraoth and Kiliel (for they do learn each other’s names eventually). Because while “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” is quite an interesting question, it would be more appropriate to wonder what an angel and a demon would dance if left to their own devices (or to be more precise, not an angel and a demon, but rather this Angel and this Demon).

For instance, right now, you could say they’re line dancing; following the steps set by the choreography, occasionally facing each other but each staying in their own space, in sync with their side. They meet in Mesopotamia, Etruria, and what will become Australia. They assume their roles at the foot of the Ararat Mountains, though they’re not very good at it (an angel unenthusiastic about the Flood and a demon raving about the children not deserving this fate – what would their ilk think?)

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And then Jerusalem happens. Kiliel watches with sorrow in his eyes as God’s Son is nailed to one of the crosses. He knows God’s Plan is ineffable, and that Jesus’ death is a vital part of it, but his heart still bleeds as he hears the man’s cries and whimpers. He oddly feels relieved to smell the whiff of iron, turning his head to see Emraoth suddenly standing next to him (but not watching him - almost never watching him, not since Eden). She is draped all in black with a veil covering her brown hair in the local fashion, and she looks grim, no sign of amusement on her face.

“Did you meet him?” Kiliel can’t help but ask, both out of curiosity and as a way to cover Jesus’ cries of pain.

“I showed him all the kingdoms of the world,” she murmurs, not looking away from the cross now slowly being raised.

“Why?” Kiliel asks, not understanding what temptation she was trying to accomplish. And just like Emraoth’s whole worldview had tilted on its axis on the Garden’s wall, so does Kiliel’s on top of the Golgotha as Emraoth snorts, although there is no mirth in it.

“He’s the son of a carpenter. How else was he supposed to see them before he died?”

And just like Emraoth hadn’t expected to find free will in an angel before the Garden, Kiliel hadn’t expected to find pity in a demon before

They wait in respectful silence for the end after this, feeling Jesus deserves to not be left alone in his last, most terrible moments. Neither of them says a thing when the spear pierces his side; they’ll later get commendations from their respective sides for the act, and they won’t say a thing. What could they say? Could Kiliel say that out of the two of them, it was the Demon who showed mercy? And what can Emraoth say when Hell rejoices in her worsening the Christ’s agony? That it was the farthest from her mind?

So they continue line dancing. While they imperceptibly move out of sync with their sides, their steps start complementing each other’s instead, though no one notices, them least of all.

(God of course notices, just like She’s noticed everything since the beginning, but keeps Her own counsel on the matter).

––-

For once, Kiliel is the one who first spots Emraoth in Rome. She looks dejected, slumped against the counter with her head leaning on her fist. Kiliel feels quite nervous; he’s known Emraoth since the Garden (as much as one can know a demon, duplicity being second nature to them, he thinks, remembering Liamel’s warnings every time he reports in Heaven), but he doesn’t know how to deal with a demon capable of compassion.

But Kiliel is… curious, and he approaches her (and if Emraoth’s abrasiveness settles him into a relative sense of comfort, well, nobody has to know). They eat oysters, of all things. Emraoth hates them, but seems to like the honey cakes he orders for dessert (if the way she gobbles her plate and steals his last morsel while he is distracted is any indication, anyway). And during their meal, they talk. Not of deep things – they don’t trust each other enough for that - but of what they’ve seen. Kiliel talks about the Library of Alexandria; Emraoth mentions seeing it. Kiliel is suspicious until Emraoth snaps that it wasn’t her that burnt it down; Maleficent, one of the Duchesses of Hell, has pyromaniac tendencies.

They part, but something has changed. Both have enjoyed the other’s company, despite their natural enmity. Both Angel and Demon know that if their sides were to know this, they’d – at best – be called back to Heaven and Hell, never to set foot on Earth again. They tacitly agree to keep their acquaintance a secret.

The line dance stops, rearranges itself; they’ve shifted into a tripudium, right in time for the Dark Ages. The Church considers dancing to be immoral, wanton, but how can you stop humans dancing when there’s music? You can’t, so you compromise: people may dance, but under no circumstances should there be physical contact. Touching is impure, a mark of the Devil.

And isn’t that right on the nose for Kiliel and Emraoth.

They continue to meet from time to time (and if they sometimes investigate stories of miracles or curses wondering if they’ll find the other at the source... well, nobody has to know). Human technology and knowledge takes a step backwards after the fall of Rome. Kiliel misses running water and notions of personal hygiene; Emraoth misses good entertainment and good wine. They complain about it to each other over what passes for a drink at that time in inns, taverns, and on one memorable occasion, during a coronation feast.

They meet again in Ireland in the 5th century, and the discussion becomes quite heated over, ridiculously enough, salmon. Heated enough that Emraoth transforms back into a snake out of a frustration that makes her want to hiss properly. And heated enough for Kiliel to, for the first and only time, discorporate Emraoth where she writhes. They certainly didn’t intend to be seen by the locals, and Kiliel certainly didn’t expect it to gain as much traction as it did. He didn’t chase all the snakes out of the island; he just banished the only snake that ever stepped foot on it, is all. Still, he gets a commendation for smiting a demon and bringing Christianity to Ireland. Above is so happy with him that the medal is directly delivered by the Archangel Blue on a rainy Tuesday morning. The meeting leaves him feeling on edge; while he was outwardly rewarded and praised, this felt more like a trial than anything else. Blue’s parting words certainly didn’t help:

“It’s surprising how well you’ve adapted, Kiliel. Be careful not to go too native, though.”

(Emraoth takes her revenge a decade late when she sees Kiliel on the battlefield of Châlons, making sure at least three arrows are miracled to pierce him when he’s distracted. Why she had to make sure one hit him in the arse, Kiliel wonders before he is sent back to Heaven, he’ll never know).

––-

Kiliel joins King Arthur’s Round Table in the 6th century. Above wants to see how all of this quest for the Grail turns out, and he’s been sent to observe it all; Arthur had seemed like such a good lad at the lake when Kiliel had handed him the sword. (Not just a sword, either, but his sword, the one he hasn’t seen since Eden, though it’s not flaming right now. When it’s delivered to him by Blue he keeps a straight face. Nope, nothing to see here).

When talk of a dark sorceress reaches Camelot, Kiliel volunteers to investigate, centuries of habits making him guess who is behind these tales. And just as he thought, he finds Emraoth in the woods, lounging in a mossy clearing. She does look impressive, if a little… surly. Snakes don’t like the cold and the damp, after all. Neither do angels, for that matter. (Or Kiliel, to be more precise. Heaven, while beautiful and peaceful, is cold . Being posted on Earth had been a blessing in disguise; the warm caress of the sun had felt scorching after the chilly harmony of Paradise).

And in the middle of that mossy clearing, as Kiliel’s neck itches under his chainmail, and as Emraoth keeps having to miracle the bottom of her gown dry as they catch up, that clearing is where the Demon vocalizes an idea she’s had since at least Pompeii.

“If I’m here to wile, and you’re here to thwart, and all we do is cancel each other out all the time… wouldn’t it be more sensible to just… go home?” the Demon asks, her serpentine eyes fixed on Kiliel’s, “What’s the point of staying here in the damp when what we’re doing won’t have any impact anyway?”

Kiliel entertains the idea for a second (that chainmail really is itchy, and the less said about his braies, the better) before he sees through Emraoth’s attempt at sloth.

“No!” he exclaims, “what’s wrong with you?” Emraoth just shrugs, miracling her dress dry once more. She hadn’t even been trying to tempt the Angel; it would have just been more practical for both of them to go home, that’s all.

Oh well.

It only takes a decade for Kiliel to see Emraoth’s point as he takes Arthur to Avalon on his final trip, once again appearing as Viviane, the Lady of the Lake. That mess with Lancelot and Guinevere really soured Kiliel’s time in Camelot, and he feels that Arthur giving back Excalibur and dying marks the end of his time at the Round Table.

(He can’t help but feel a little responsible for Lancelot. He did have a hand in his upbringing, after all, and may have been a little heavy-handed in his lessons about love).

He has half a hope to be able to keep his sword at the end of it all, but it’s whisked away by Blue minutes after Arthur has breathed his last, nattering about how it’s going to be needed later on. He finds Emraoth still in the same mossy clearing, and the Arrangement is born. Instead of fighting fruitlessly against one another, one of them can accomplish both the blessing and the temptation.

And if the other one stays home… well, no one has to know.

––-

And so they now seek each other out, meeting in inconspicuous places: gardens, balls, markets, and isolated clearings. Kiliel is the one who goes up to Iona in the 9th century to inspire some Vikings into attacking the monastery there. He is also the one who helps the monks flee to Ireland. During the trip, he happens upon a gorgeously illuminated book, and is absolutely charmed. He helps the monks settle, and decides to stay for a little while, just to make sure the monastery stays safe (and the books, because there’s a second one ). A little while ends up being five decades. It’s in that time that he decides to adopt the name the locals have given him: Killian. It’s close enough to his real name, and attracts less attention than his foreign-sounding one.

During this time, Emraoth goes to the continent to wreak a little havoc. She has way too much fun nicknaming the successive kings of that period. Kiliel empathizes with Charles: being constantly mocked for your hairiness by being nicknamed King Charles the Bald must have stung something fierce.

When Emraoth comes back, she tells him she now goes by Emma. He guesses he’ll get used to it, even if it’s been almost five millennia of calling her by her demonic name. And if Emma doesn’t meet his eyes when she tells him she just liked the name when she heard it, Kiliel won’t call her out. Just like he won’t mention having read about the angel Immanuel in the Book of Isaiah (although he can’t – he can’t remember ever meeting her before the Fall. So is the curse of the Fallen, that their annihilation from Heaven be so complete that their very existence is banished from Heaven’s memory).

The Arrangement continues and strengthens with time; the dancers get closer and closer, until there is at last, some measure of trust; they touch, even if it is still hesitant. The dance once again changes, the parudium leaving its place to a stately minuet, where the dancers twirl around each other, growing closer then separating in order to come near again. (And if the dancers twirl closer and closer, well, again – no one has to know).

Kiliel learns not to tell Emr– Emma that she is nice, or kind, because she will spend the next decade trying to prove she is not . He spends all of the 10th century protecting the Kells library from different pillaging attempts because the Demon knows he loves those two books and is being spiteful. The monks there comment that it’s a miracle the two manuscripts always seem to survive the attacks on the monastery. Kiliel (or brother Killian, as he’s known there) smiles nervously and changes the subject every time.

Years, then decades, then centuries pass in this fashion. Neither Heaven nor Hell seem to catch onto their ruse. Quite the contrary, in fact; the commendations both from Above and Below become more frequent. The only downside to the Arrangement is that Kiliel sees Blue much more often than before, and every meeting leaves him feeling out of sorts, as if he’s missing something, as if Blue’s hiding something behind her affable smiles and azure garments. Kiliel can’t help but feel guilty after each meeting for doubting his superior; Blue knows what she’s doing, and if she weren’t following God’s Plan, then surely the Almighty would have already taken care of her.

Emma absolutely loathes the 14th century, and she makes sure everyone around her (especially Kiliel) knows it. Her drunken rants about all the evils of the era become legendary in their length, virulence, and irony. The last straw is when the umpteenth bout of plague decimates the village she is staying in; she decides in a fit of pique to sleep the rest of the century away. Kiliel does not miss her. He had just grown unaccustomed to only speaking to mortals, that’s all. Plus it’s nice not to have to protect what has become known as the Book of Kells from constant attacks because someone was annoyed and feeling childish.

(Emma has been a constant in his life since the beginning of human history; truth be told, he sees her more often than those on his own side. Of course he’s grown accustomed to her).

As time goes by, Kiliel grows more and more fond of books in general. Even though the Angel loves illuminated manuscripts and thinks them objects of art, no one is more excited than he about the advent of the printing press. He is quite proud, in fact, of having inspired the first sentence to be typed. “Fiat lux” – let there be light – had, indeed, been quite enlightened of him, he thinks. It helps balance the quite scandalous things that print will be used for. Being able to produce several books a day will certainly help spread not only the Gospel, but also stories and histories to people who didn’t have access to them before. And if more people can read, then more people can write books. That’s a win-win situation for the discerning angel looking for new material to read, after all.

Libraries start popping everywhere around Europe. Kiliel is all in favor of giving people free access to books; it’s just that books deserve respect , deserve to be handled with care, and so many of these humans seem unable to grasp that fact. They are precious, not only because they are rare, but because of the knowledge they hold. Even he will admit that he went a bit far in the Hereford Cathedral’s library. Chaining the shelves was frowned upon both by the Archbishop and by Above; he’s supposed to influence humans to do God’s will, not miracle the chains himself during the night. He had received a strongly worded letter the following week; phrases like “more judicious use of your grace” and “try to deal with less trivial matters in the future” were used, making Kiliel grimace in discomfort. Head office was not happy.

Emma comes back from her jaunt in the Carribbean with a tan and a new accent and laughs herself silly when he tells her what happened. Kiliel didn’t know demons could laugh. They snicker, cackle or chortle ominously, but Kiliel had no idea they could make such delighted (and delightful) sounds. And if he thinks that laughter really suits Emma, much more than her customary smirks... well, no one has to know.

A century later he is more careful in Dublin; chains are too obvious to protect the books. He just makes sure to devise a system that makes it near impossible to find specific volumes. After all, arranging them by weight and size is logical and practical when you think about it. So little space, so many books. And well, if the Book of Kells finds a privileged place in the college’s library, then that’s just a coincidence, isn’t it?

(His classification system serves as inspiration again when he opens his bookshop at the end of that century. Again: so little space, so many books ).

As Kiliel slowly sets up his shop at the end of the 18th century (he finally found the perfect place, a corner shop in the middle of Soho deserted by its previous owners due to the latest plague outbreak), he hears that the revolutionaries in France are requisitioning all the belongings of the nobility and selling them. He thinks of the libraries of the Versailles palace, of Paris, of Brittany. He thinks of all that knowledge being dilapidated and lost and can’t bear the thought. He needs to do something .

So the Angel travels to Paris with his pockets full of écus , and starts making enquiries. Except that the situation is so... peculiar in Paris these days that a rich well-dressed man automatically translates to aristocrat. And nobles aren’t very popular in Paris right now, except on the guillotine platform. And so an Angel finds himself chained in a cell in the Bastille. He’d miracle himself free, but he’s not supposed to be in Paris (he should be blessing away in Norwich, but Emma had drawn the short straw this time) and he doesn’t want to attract Above’s attention. And he’s sure he can explain himself to the court; their Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen sounded perfectly reasonable when he’d read it the previous month, very progressive and full of good sense. He might even suspect Heavenly influence, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s the only angel in Europe right now.

It turns out the French are not reasonable at all, especially when they see the content of his pockets and decide it would look better in their coffers. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised; they’re a pretty uncouth and smelly bunch and would be unsalvageable if it weren’t for their cuisine and wine. Kiliel finds himself in a new cell, one in which he can hear all the poor souls being decapitated to the cheers of the crowd. Nothing Heavenly about this, he thinks. Hell must be the ones behind this. He hopes Emma was not involved (and doesn’t dither too much on why he doesn’t want her specifically to be responsible).

He barely waits an hour before the executioner arrives, looking decidedly too cheerful for a dealer of death. Under his jolly appearance and upbeat tone, Kiliel can sense a man rotten to the core, who takes pleasure in making heads roll. No reason nor help coming from this side either, then. Getting discorporated is going to be such a bother, Kiliel thinks, disgruntled. At this rate, he should really use a miracle to free himself; he’s going to be reprimanded anyway, but at least he won’t have to fill the paperwork to get a new body.

“I really don’t understand how you can behave like such animals while pretending to fight for freedom,” Killian grumbles while raising his hand to snap his fingers, not realizing Jean-Claude has stopped moving entirely.

“Animals don’t use clever machines to kill each other,” sounds a voice from behind him as he realizes the crowd outside has grown silent. Emma . He turns around, smiling delightedly, never happier to see the Demon. She’s wearing the local garb, Phrygian hat hiding her brown curls, smoked glasses firmly planted on her nose to hide her serpentine eyes. Her hands are also on her hips, and her eyebrow is raised in the universal sign of annoyance.

“What the heavens are you doing here, Angel? Don’t you have a bookshop to open?”

While it might be surprising to see an angel lectured by a demon, it’s important to remember that this is not just any angel, nor any demon. So Kiliel tells her everything, ignoring the way she rolls her eyes so hard her head follows the motion. Explaining to Emma why he hasn’t freed himself is a little trickier, though (a lot more embarrassing, more like). Where he expects Emma’s laughter, or her anger, he’s only met with fond exasperation as she shakes her head, looking at him over her glasses. Emma can’t hold time prisoner for long, though, so she switches Kiliel’s clothes with Jean-Claude the executioner’s just in time for two soldiers to come fetch the “English pig” to take him to his date with Madame Guillotine. Both men ignore Jean-Claude’s protestations that he’s French, which probably has something to do with the fact that he’s suddenly forgotten how to speak French. The Angel doesn’t feel guilty about Jean-Claude’s fate. After all, it’s divine retribution for his crimes; he will die as he lived, on the scaffold – only this time, he’ll be the one with his head on the block.

After getting out of the Bastille and breathing in the relative fresh air (Revolutionary France really was letting itself go in terms of waste disposal and personal hygiene, not that it had been this stellar to begin with), they go to a café and have some crêpes. Between Emma riding on the high of a successful rescue and Kiliel feeling relieved at not having had to resort to any miracles, the tone is jovial. They joke around, Emma telling him about Norwich, Kiliel telling her about his latest purchases. After the first bottle of cider, Emma finally teases him about his coming to Paris, making the Angel smile (he’d been waiting for it; after almost six thousand years, he was starting to know the Demon).

They end up walking in the Tuileries after dark among canoodling couples and groups of friends. It would be hard to guess from this sight alone that the city was in the middle of the Reign of Terror. They stop on a bench overlooking the Louvre. Amusement and the alcohol they’ve drunk make Emma relaxed, and that the flimsy little glasses she wears keep sliding down her nose as she talks animatedly. Kiliel looks at her, finding her positively charming, her flushed cheeks and relaxed brow making her appear younger.

(Than usual, that is, not than her actual age. Any breathing body automatically looks younger than six thousand years. To be honest, any body looks younger than six thousand).

Fresh air and Paris and wine as well as a good time had with a friend make Kiliel unable to keep his thoughts to himself. “You have the most beautiful eyes, love,” he blurts out, emboldened by being able to see them for once, no smoky glasses shielding the serpentine orbs. Ever since she had discovered smoked glasses, she almost always had a pair over her eyes, the most notable exception being when she’d turned into a snake in Ireland (and hadn’t that encounter ended spectacularly badly).

And yet, even as the words escape his mouth, he knows he’s making a mistake; those glasses are an armor for her, one behind which she can hide and upon which she’s based her whole persona, her whole shell. Her face closes off immediately, and in another two minutes she’s gone, pretexting a temptation in Orléans. It’s only after she’s disappeared behind a row of trees that he realizes he’d never asked her how she had known where to find him.

Neither of the dancers notice, but Paris in 1793 marks a significant change in the dance, as the minuet slowly becomes livelier, sharper, more challenging. Both dancers prod at each other, enter each other’s space to see if they’ll take a step back, twirl and walk and collide in a fiery facsimile of a fight. Though it hasn’t been invented yet, the angel and the demon are the first to dance a pasodoble.

Kiliel doesn’t hear from Emma for 10 years. She waltzes back in his life one Tuesday morning in 1803 as he’s trying to convince a gentleman that no, he doesn’t want to purchase that Shakespeare folio, that it’s not for sale even if yes, it is on display in a bookshop. The gentleman is quite insistent until Emma snaps her fingers and he seems in a hurry to get… somewhere else. Kiliel doesn’t want to know. He’s just glad to be rid of the man, as he had quite odd ideas; arguing that bookshops have to sell books, how preposterous. It’s taken him more than three centuries to amass his collection, he’s not going to start squandering it. He didn’t nearly die in Paris for this.

That first meeting is all business, as she has a new pet project in Manchester (or, to be more accurate, the pet project is Manchester). They make a deal: Kiliel will ignore what’s happening in Lancashire, and Emma will steer clear of County Mayo in Ireland. Not that it’s a sacrifice for her; she still hasn’t forgiven him for what happened there in the 5th century. But if Emma plans on influencing a whole city, then Kiliel should definitely do the same, just somewhere else. He remembers popping by Cathair na Mart two decades ago for a blessing, inspiring the lord of the place to rebuild the village he had destroyed to extend his grounds, instead of just turning the inhabitants into the streets. A second blessing on the architect ensured that the new town would be decent; he’s particularly proud of the promenade along the river.

So Kiliel starts spending more time there, dusting off his Killian moniker and encouraging the citizens to do good. His efforts show, as four churches open. More importantly a proliferation of missions and charities begin to operate in and around the city. He hasn’t often concentrated so much on one place, and he finds he quite likes it, even if he misses his bookshop (though his frequent absences help establish him as a particularly difficult merchant, a reputation that he is far, far from resenting, as it keeps most customers away).

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to enjoy sailing so much. Oh, he’s already sailed before in his long existence – after all, you can’t travel from England to the rest of the world without setting foot on a ship (he could fly, but the air currents over the Channel are a nightmare to navigate) – but this, this is different. Sailing directly from London to Cathair na Mart is quicker and more practical than traveling by land, and for the first time since the invention of the caravel, he actually sails on the open sea, and he finds it exhilarating . When the wind is behind them (and it always is, he makes sure of it), it feels like flying, the ride smooth and swift. He loves it so much that he acquires his own ship, a small brigantine named The Ethereal Swan which employs eight sailors (but which he usually sails by himself if he can help it). He makes sure that a dock is always miraculously free for him both in England and Ireland.

He finds he can’t wait to show his ship to Emma. They are… friends, after all, are they not? They’ve been exchanging letters this whole time (even if months or even years could pass between each one), ostentatiously to continue with their Arrangement, less officially to catch up.

(Emma still refuses to step foot in Ireland; considering the utter mess she’s wreaking in Manchester, that’s probably a good thing. Kiliel can’t approach Manchester now without the stench of evil making his eyes water. They’d meet, but they’re afraid that both of them being absent from their cities at the same time would raise some suspicion).

He thinks he might get a chance in 1835, when Emma sends a message to his bookshop (he’s been spending more and more time there, his work in Mayo County slowly coming to an end) asking him to meet her at St James’ Park, not far from Buckingham Palace. It’s become a privileged meeting spot for them since the 1660s, but they haven’t been there since the canal had been transformed into a lake. Kiliel is quite eager to see the changes (and even more to see Emma; it’s been too long, despite the letters). They catch up with each other while walking the new avenues, Emma telling him all about the mischief she has been up to in Manchester and the commendation she’s gotten for it, before Kiliel talks about Cathair na Mart and Emma tries not to roll her eyes at the sentimentality (well, not too much). Kiliel softly smiles whenever she does so; he knows what she looks like when truly annoyed, and this isn’t it – this is just a front. The Demon Emraoth can be quite soft when she wants to be, although Kiliel isn’t stupid enough to voice that thought (not anymore, at least – he doesn’t know where she’d find Vikings to attack Trinity College, but he trusts her to somehow manage it).

It’s while they’re sitting down in front of the new lake, looking at the new facade of Buckingham House (“Palace, Angel, get with the times”) that Kiliel finally broaches the fact he bought a ship. “You what?” Emma laughs, looking delightfully surprised (just as she had on the wall of Eden, at the very beginning, and Kiliel is proud to still be able to surprise her). So he invites her to Rotherhithe where the Ethereal Swan is docked, planning on taking a cab to go there. Emma stops him, bringing him to a black buggy which she drives with… unabashed enthusiasm, a part of Kiliel tries to think diplomatically (though the rest of it is screaming that she’s driving like a madwoman). Between sharp turns and exhortations for Emma to watch the road, Kiliel performs six minor miracles to ensure there are no casualties to Emma’s driving, while the demon snaps that pedestrians know the risks when they venture onto the streets. It’s with the greatest relief that Kiliel finally glimpses the masts in the marina, and directs Emma as close to the Swan ’s dock as possible.

He suddenly feels bashful as he guides Emma onto the gangplank, ridiculously wanting her to approve of the ship. He can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as soon as he steps on the deck, feeling more at home than anywhere else (even more than his shop, and he’s lived there for the last five decades, longer than anywhere else). Emma has already started exploring, climbing on the upper deck to see the wheel and peer over the railing, before coming back towards him. Kiliel waits patiently for her, watching her walk around his ship, the sight oddly right.

They end up in the captain’s cabin, sharing a bottle of rum Emma miracles. She had brought back some from her time in the Carribean, and Kiliel had developed quite a taste for it. “Plus,” she smirks, ”it’s quite appropriate to toast the ship with some naval rum, wouldn’t you agree, Captain ?” Kiliel just smiles while sipping his drink, letting the alcohol and the company warm his insides.

It’s as she leaves that Emma plants a seed in Kiliel’s mind, looking around her at the books littering the window’s edge and the furniture.

“If you feel so much at home here, why do you even bother with your bookshop?”

(And isn’t that the way of demons, sowing seeds and making sure humans grow them all by themselves? Ironic, when you consider how hopeless Emma is with plants.)

At the time, Kiliel just smiles, but the wheels of fate have already started turning, even if he’s not aware of it yet.

––-

After that, they start meeting more often, always following the same pattern: they meet in the park, and end up either in his bookshop or on his ship (and always, always with Emma’s mad driving in the middle, regrettably). Excepting the infernal rides, Kiliel likes this new development. Even though she is supposedly his mortal enemy, he feels a kinship with Emma born of almost six millenia spent on Earth and of their own alchemy.

This state of harmony comes to an end on a stormy Tuesday morning four years later when Blue herself graces him with her presence, stepping into his bookshop as he waits for Emma’s arrival. They’re planning to go eat at Claridge’s. Apparently, his achievements in Cathair na Mart have earned him a medal, as well as a promotion. A promotion that means he’s being summoned back to Heaven, permanently . Something which he definitely doesn’t want, but can’t really say to Blue, now can he? Kiliel tries to argue that he is an asset here on Earth, that he knows the enemy and manages to thwart them quite effectively, but to no avail. She doesn’t seem to care at all that if he were to go, Hell would be left to roam Earth unchallenged, even enjoying the thought. And this promotion doesn’t feel like one either. What did Petrarch used to say? “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer”? Kiliel somehow doesn’t feel like a friend there. He manages to win a little time before he has to leave, just enough to sort his business here (just enough to say his goodbyes).

But it doesn’t come to that, as Blue comes sulking back two hours later, this time with Gabriel in tow. The head Archangel looks perplexed (which would translate to frantic agitation in any other person or angel). Apparently, Kiliel’s promotion has been postponed, as he is considered far more useful on Earth than Above – but he can keep the medal, thank you and goodbye. Blue doesn’t look perplexed or alarmed; instead, she looks frustrated, her mouth turned down into a subtle frown that Kiliel somehow catches. Her insistence on his being on Earth as merely temporary is also odd; it’s almost as if she wants to get him away from Earth, and not up to Heaven.

He sits at his desk, puzzled, when he realizes that Emma never came. It’s as he’s wondering where she is that she appears, as if summoned by his thoughts. She listens as he recounts his morning before rolling her eyes behind her glasses (she unconsciously rolls her neck at the same time, which Kiliel does not find cute; if Emma knew what he was thinking, he’d be discorporated on the spot) and inviting him to lunch. They don’t talk about it any more, and at the end of their lunch Emma heads off to Camberwell to officiate a blessing for Killian on her way to Croydon.

(Kiliel is not amused by the result of this blessing; young John William Bean was supposed to feel divine inspiration to bring change to his life, but not by shooting at the Queen. Emma is, however, and keeps arguing that the gun was full of coffee, anyway, the worst that could have happened was that Her Majesty’s dress would have sported a suspicious brown stain)

The incident stays in his mind, however, and he realizes with a certain shock that he can’t trust Blue anymore, that she doesn’t seem to have either his or Earth’s best interest at heart. The thought scares him, as an Angel is not supposed to question his superiors (is not supposed to question anything, really), and he knows that several of his former brothers and sisters have fallen for just this reason. He fears this will be his fate, until he realizes that it’s not God he’s questioning (he still has the utmost Faith in Her, doesn’t doubt Her Great Plan), but rather a particular Angel. The thought saddens him, as angels are not supposed to be suspicious of each other, but it is what it is.

And that’s where Kiliel starts to plan. Because whatever Blue’s goal is, it involves him not being on Earth, and he has no intention of being a part of it if it’s not the Almighty’s Plan. So he needs some sort of… deterrent. But what can an angel do against an archangel? There’s only one answer, and it’s a terrible, unthinkable one. Which is why Kiliel chooses to unthink it for a decade, pretending everything is fine as he conducts blessings as usual, interspersed with the occasional temptation for Emma.

But really, the thought keeps nagging him despite his best efforts; Hellfire is the only thing that can kill an angel. And he’s not talking about a simple discorporation, your mortal vessel dies, whoops, Up Above you go, please fill these forms to get a new one and don’t let us see you again. No, death by Hellfire would mean complete annihilation of the body and the soul; you’d be burnt away from existence, with no hope of resurrection whatsoever. It is an abomination, made even more abhorrent by the fact that it’s a weapon kept solely in the hands of their mortal enemies – just like the Heavenly Host has Holy Water. The stakes are balanced, each side having the means to destroy the other.

(While God’s Plan is Ineffable, this part is pretty clear, the balance perfect. They’ll see which side tips the scales when Kingdom comes.)

And yet, it’s the only solution. And as far as he knows, there’s only one way to get some Hellfire, and that’s through a demon.

Good thing he knows one.

Except the meeting doesn’t go as planned. They meet at St. James’ Park, feed the ducks, then head to the bookshop (which he keeps mostly closed these days; he’s getting tired of fending off customers) like usual. He makes his request after a few drinks, but Emma flies off the handle, categorically refusing to even give him an ember.

“I will not give you the meansss of destroying yourself. I need sssome time, Kiliel,” is the last thing she tells him, hissing her s in a rare show of true anger before leaving his shop, not looking back despite Killian calling after her.

He doesn’t hear from her for 64 years.

For the first time since the beginning of the world, the Angel and the Demon dance separately. The Demon has walked away from the paso doble, leaving the Angel alone on the stage.

And so, lonelier than he’s ever been, the Angel dons a mask that hides his face, and performs the steps that ensure he doesn’t stand out from the ensemble. He begins a Kabuki performance that will last until November 14th, 1941.

––-

Kiliel (or Killian Jones, as he’s come to be known by mortals) should really have realized this operation was too good to be true. He’d been contacted the previous week by a Captain Teach, who’d told him some Nazi agents were looking to obtain his collection of books of prophecy, and that the SOE wanted to use this occasion to root out the cell. He had readily acquiesced, always eager to thwart evil coming from demons and humans alike.

The Nazis has indeed contacted him, proposing a substantial sum of money to convince him to part with his precious volumes. He had accepted and called Teach back, giving him the time and place of the meeting. He thought it was quite fitting that they were to be brought to justice by an angel in a church, but he guessed that it made sense to meet in a place that was public but usually deserted, and which wouldn’t be crowded in case of an air raid. However, he didn’t like that Her house would be used for such nefarious purposes, but guessed that the ends justified the means in this case.

Except that it turns out Captain Teach is only a pseudonym, and that he’s really a mercenary who doesn’t care where the money is coming from, as long as it’s hard cash. Kiliel is fuming as he stares down the nozzle of the gun pointed right between his eyes; he can’t believe he got swindled by these half-witted Nazis .

His execution is stopped by colorful swearing and the off-rhythm staccato of heels hitting the church’s stone floor. The men turn as one to see a woman hopping quickly towards them. Kiliel can’t believe his eyes; he hasn’t heard this voice in 64 years (nor seen these calves since Ancient Greece, if he remembers correctly).

“The notorious Emma Swan,” Teach breathes next to him, sounding astounded.

“Swan?” Kiliel asks in confusion, ignoring the humans behind him.

“Yeah, what of it? I had to think of something,” Emma grumbles, coming to a stop near them, sitting on a pew and taking her feet off the ground with a sigh of relief escaping her red lips. Kiliel tries to hide his smile, flabbergasted she’s here, in front of him, after all this time, and that she walked on consecrated ground to come to him. Turns out it’s not the only miraculous thing to happen today, though; she explains to Teach and the Nazis that they’d better run if they want to avoid getting killed by the bomb that’s heading their way. She mentions that only a miracle would allow someone to survive the explosion, looking meaningfully at Kiliel over her glasses, who understands her meaning and prepares to use his Grace at the right moment.

Teach is the only one who heeds Emma’s advice and scampers out, running out of a side door. The Nazis don’t move, thinking that Fraulein Swan is bluffing, even as they can detect the buzz of planes coming nearer. They only realize she’s definitely not when they hear the tell-tale whistle of a bomb heading towards the ground at breakneck speed. Kiliel walks closer to Emma before blinking and making sure their little corner remains untouched by the blast and the debris, allowing only a warm breeze to ruffle their hair. When the dust has settled, Kiliel turns his head towards the Demon. She looks regal, draped over the pew, her black outfit untouched by the dust as flames reflect on her sunglasses, making her appear absolutely diabolic. She’s never looked more beautiful to Kiliel.

And then he realizes he completely forgot about his books. They’d been in the Nazis’ hands before the bomb had fallen, and they must be completely crushed under the rubble, or even burning, he thinks with dismay, sighing noisily. They had been among his most prized possessions, some of them even signed by their authors (he especially loved the dedication by Nostradamus – such a nice man, if somewhat misguided). But then Emma gets up, heading towards the biggest pile of rubble and picking something up before tossing it to him. Caught by surprise, Kiliel fumbles to catch it before looking down and seeing that it’s his satchel, untouched by the destruction around them.

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” Emma says as she passes him, gingerly walking towards the exit, the ground still consecrated even if the church doesn’t exist anymore.

Kiliel doesn’t follow immediately, floored by the thoughtfulness of his friend as his heart soars and his stomach swoops and – oh . How could he have been so oblivious? Angels are beings of love: they are made of it, and they thrive in it. An argument could be made for his love for Emma blending into the love he feels for all creatures, high and low, but that’s not it, is it? He doesn’t merely love Emma, he’s in love with her. He doesn’t just want to see her happy, he wants to make her happy. If he could give her back even a tenth of the bliss she elicits in him just by existing, then he’d be satisfied.

He’s jarred out of his thoughts by Emma calling after him to hurry up. With a soft smile, he follows her to the street, where she heads towards a parked car, clicking her tongue at the gravel and dust covering it. Stepping on the sidewalk, Kiliel blinks once more, and the car is sparkling clean. Kiliel is surprised to see that it’s more yellow than black – a surprising color scheme for a demon but then, when has Emma been remotely conventional? It’s surprisingly her , he thinks fondly. His smile is soon wiped away, however when he sees her get behind the wheel, the passenger door opening on its own in a wordless invitation to get in as he hears sirens in the distance. Surely she’s calmed down on her driving, right? What with the different vehicle and the risk of rubble on the streets she’s going to be more prudent, he’s sure. Kiliel gets in, clutching his satchel.

He was wrong. She’s even worse than before, the maneuverability of the vehicle allowing her to do more daring stunts, like taking turns on two wheels, or slaloming between craters at top speed. Kiliel is glad Soho is not far from the church, as he would surely have discorporated if he’d had to stay in the car for five more minutes, either from an accident or from his heart giving out on him (Emma scoffs when he tells her that, reminding him that he actually doesn’t need a heart, stop being so dramatic, it’s not cute at all ). The only good thing about the ride is that since they’re in the middle of an air raid, there are no pedestrians on the street.

Emma stops when she enters the bookshop, looking at the empty shelves with amazement before turning to Kiliel, silently waiting for an explanation. It’s simple, really; what with the Blitz raging over London, he wanted to make sure that both his ship and his books would be safe. He went with the most practical solution, which was to put the books in his ship, and his ship in Cathair na Mart. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny about it, but Emma is highly amused (and if her mocking allows him to hear her beautiful laugh, then it’s a small price to pay).

They spend the evening drinking, catching up, and not mentioning their last meeting at all. The Angel asks about Emma’s new name, and has the pleasure of seeing a slight embarrassed flush bloom on her cheeks as she mutters that she needed a new name and that was what came to her – it’s not her fault demons have no imagination. Kiliel charitably doesn’t say anything more, as they both know Emma can be quite creative when she wants to be, choosing instead to ask about her car. That launches her into how she got it and the modifications she had done to it.

Kiliel keeps expecting to feel different about Emma, but apart from having identified his feelings, it’s just like any meeting they’ve had before. It’s comfortable, familiar, a breath of fresh air after more than half a century of her absence.

When Emma leaves, it’s with no promise that she’ll be back. And yet, Kiliel somehow knows he won’t have to wait 64 years to see her again.

––-

The Demon comes back to the dance floor, and the pasodoble resumes, even more intense than before. But the dynamics have changed; they don’t push against each other as much, choosing instead to move together. The posturing is just that, now: a facade for the audience.

Another change: they barely look away from each other.

Kiliel’s books never go back on the shelves of the bookshop, despite the ship coming back to its place in Rotherhithe after the war. A seed Emma had planted a century before finally blooms, and he realizes that he is much better on his ship alone with his books rather than trying to fend off rude people not understanding that they’re not for sale (“customers, angel, they’re called customers ”).

Arranging his collection to his satisfaction takes some time (and a miracle or two, both angelic and demonic) until he’s satisfied. The whole cargo hold is transformed into a new library, with only his most prized books in his cabin. With this new organization, Kiliel finds himself with a lot of room below deck empty; he uses it to store bits and bobs, such as nautical maps and instruments, his old clothes (though his toga doesn’t survive the trip, and miracling it whole wouldn’t be the same), and various furniture and decorations (and if the pew on which Emma had lounged in 1941 finds its way to the galley… well, no one has to know).

Once he’s satisfied with his organization, in 1952, he invites Emma aboard to show her. He’s a little miffed by her laughing fit, because he’s not a proper pirate now, whatever she says (though her laugh is still as delightful and precious as ever, even more so now that he knows how much he loves her. For a few minutes he thinks mission accomplished , he’s made her happy).

Emma is so amused that for the next fifteen years, she only refers to him as Captain and asks him every time they see each other how his pirate booty is doing. Kiliel feels like he is the butt of the joke in some way, though he’s yet to find how.

They also see each other more frequently, approximately once every couple of years. They don’t mention it, but Kiliel is glad; he missed Emma before, and in a world that has become so fast changing, it’s reassuring to have a constant, even if she insists on following human fashions, making each meeting a lesson in the zeitgeist of the time.

On a foggy Tuesday morning, Blue comes to visit Kiliel at his old bookshop. Though his collection has been relocated, he keeps the shop to maintain a base of operations in Central London, now filling it with much more recent books that he is willing to part with (though he keeps his hours as erratic as before; he doesn’t mind selling these books, but even he has his limits when it comes to customer service). She wants to ask him what he knows about a heist that took place in Mayfair’s Christ Church. Apparently a door was broken down, but nothing was stolen – except, oddly enough, all the Holy Water vats were emptied, not a single drop remaining. Kiliel hadn’t heard about this, and plays it down as probably a local homeless man wanting a dry place to sleep for the night and who was thirsty. Blue almost seems disappointed by his explanation, asking him to look into it nonetheless; they can’t have Holy Water falling into the wrong hands, after all.

Kiliel diffidently agrees, even though he can feel his anger rising. He knows. A quick visit to the church confirms his suspicions; a slight scent of iron betrays that a Demon has recently come here and burnt her feet on the consecrated ground. Though why would she take such a risk, knowing that even a mere handful of liquid could do her serious harm, even kill her if she were splashed?

How dare she take such a risk, Kiliel thinks angrily, when she could just as easily have asked him to – oh.

Oh, the hypocrisy .

While Kiliel has adapted quite well to the human world, he remains at his core an angel, and while angels are known for their benevolence, they’re also known for their righteous fury when provoked.

And Kiliel? Oh, Kiliel feels provoked alright.

He heads to her new apartment (she wasn’t even subtle, just went to the closest church, that damned serpent) and barely restrains himself from literally knocking down the door, but only because he can feel human eyes on his back and he doesn’t want to cause a scene. So he pretends to have a key and miracles the door open, striding into the living room. The Angel can feel that Emma is absent; there’s no one in the flat, so he sits down, and waits. He waits until the sun has gone down, and until it goes up again, his anger feeding on itself to remain a burning fire in his chest.

When Emma finally shows up, she enters her living room cautiously, already knowing he’s there. Kiliel doesn’t even let her open her mouth to talk, laying into her immediately. Because beyond the anger, he is hurt , hurt that she wouldn’t trust him, hurt that she’d do the exact same thing she had refused him the previous century, and hurt that she would risk herself in such a way. And beyond the anger, beyond the pain, he is afraid, because what could a demon want with Holy Water?

“That’s none of your business!” Emma exclaims, her eyes flashing behind her sunglasses.

“None of my business? Are you kidding me? It is my business when a demon does what no other has ever done and sneaks into a church to steal Holy Water ! It is my business when that stupid, stupid act attracts the attention of the archangels, and they ask me to investigate! And whether you want to admit it or not, it is my business when my friend takes ridiculous risks to obtain something that could obliterate her from existence, and refuses to tell me why!”

“We’re not friendsss ,” Emma hisses, as if the word is the ugliest swear she’s ever uttered, “I don’t even like you.”

Of all that he said, that is the thing she chooses to respond to? Infuriating woman, he doesn’t understand how her animal traits are not those of a bull; she’s the thickest-headed being he has ever had the displeasure to meet.

“Yes you do ,” he snaps back, at the end of his rope. He doesn’t know when he stepped closer to her, but he is now towering over her smaller form, forcing her to raise her head to look him in the eyes (and despite the glasses as a barrier between them, he’s not fooled by her) but for once he will not back down. This is too important. “What’s going on, Emma?”

He can see her wavering, senses it in the way her breathing hitches, how her body shifts as if she wants to slither away, forgetting she’s in human form for a moment. But she rallies (because she wouldn’t be his Demon if she didn’t) and answers his question with another one. “Why did you want Hellfire for anyway? Quite hypocritical of you to rake me over the coals, so to speak, for something you tried yourself barely a century ago.”

Kiliel doesn’t let her barb get to him and instead decides on honesty, knowing that this will catch her off guard. “Because I need… something to defend myself with, just in case,” he says simply.

“Defend yourself? From angels? What the fuck is going on, Kiliel?” Emma almost never uses his name, preferring one of the numerous nicknames she has for him, so he knows she’s rattled.

And so he tells her everything: that while his faith in God has never wavered (quite the contrary; seeing Her hand in the wonders of the world, both big and small, has only strengthened it), he has started to have doubts about Blue, finding her actions and words quite peculiar. He tells her about his fear of Falling for doubting his superior, and that the fact Blue herself hasn’t Fallen means that she is still faithful to God, and the incident that triggered his request for Hellfire. He’s surprised, however, when she snorts as he recounts Blue’s change of mind.

“Yeah, I know, I was there,” Emma says, smirking. “I heard her when she was at the bookshop with you, so I took action.”

What kind of action exactly, she will not say. Kiliel is mystified: not only had she known about Heaven’s plans, but she’d actually thwarted them with no one being the wiser, the clever, clever woman. Doesn’t like him, right .

Emma then opens up to him; demons don’t trust each other by nature, but Hell has been even more tense recently. Something big is brewing, although she doesn’t know what yet. More demons have been making noise about coming to Earth, too, even high-ranking ones, such as two of the Duchesses of Hell, Maleficent and Cruella. Nothing has stirred Hell like this, ever ; even the Great Flood hadn’t excited demons in this way.

Something wicked this way comes , Kiliel can’t help but think. Good old William – he’d heard Kiliel tease Emma back at the Globe, and he’d run with the line. He doesn’t know what’s better: being the inspiration behind Macbeth ’s most famous scene, or Emma’s offended face when she had seen the three witches for the first time.

But they have no idea what it is, so all they can do is prepare as well as they can and agree to keep each other in the loop from now on. Kiliel manages to get a promise from Emma that she’ll get some Hellfire for him, which he hopes she’ll honor.

Neither of them talks about the fact they are actually plotting against their own side, choosing their mortal enemy (though just one in particular) over their own brethren. But they have been here on Earth so long that it has started to feel more like home than Above or Below ever have; they have spent so much time together that they feel more kinship to each other than to their own kind.

The next day, Kiliel finds a lantern glowing with an ever-burning fire on his cabin’s desk. It ends up in his safe, warded against any accidents, whether external or internal. Emma is not the only one who’s paranoid.

––-

Months pass, then years, then decades. The Angel and the Demon see each other more frequently, though not regularly, in order not to arouse suspicion. Short, short, long, go the intervals. Quick, quick, slow, goes their rhythm. They fly across and around and over the world in an otherworldly foxtrot as Earth evolves around them, faster and faster, busier and busier. But the world can’t go on accelerating; it’ll need to either stop turning or rotate right out of its orbit, both outcomes meaning its downfall.

––-

On a perfectly fine Tuesday morning, Blue visits Kiliel in his used bookshop, startling him from his inventory (he had to do something with the space, after all, and filling it with books that have been loved by previous owners creates a warm glow that warms him from inside; he is an Angel, after all, and angels thrive on love). From the start, the Angel knows that something is different. Blue is positively glowing, her eyes sparkling and the corners of her lips seemingly permanently turned into a slight secretive smile.

The secret, for once, is quickly spilled; the Archangel seems delighted to announce that the Antichrist has been delivered to Earth, and by none other than the Demon Emma, as if it’s Kiliel’s personal fault. She doesn’t elaborate on this theme, however, preferring to tell him that he had best put his affairs in order, as eleven years will pass quite quickly. Her parting words - that he should also start training for the War, that he seems to have gotten quite out of practice, if his reflexes are to be believed – hit their mark, despite Kiliel’s best efforts not to let them. He used to be one of the Host’s best soldiers, after all, his exploits earning him a post at one of Eden’s gates.

But six thousand years on Earth have changed him; he doesn’t want to fight anymore, doesn’t see the point in it (and he doesn’t want to face even the slimmest possibility of finding himself opposite Emma on the battlefield). And yet, the arrival of the Antichrist shows that the Ineffable plan is going along, that it is God’s will.

So be it.

On a perfectly fine Tuesday afternoon, Kiliel stands at the prow of the Ethereal Swan , looking unseeingly over the water, when his phone rings. Without pulling his gaze away from whatever it is he is seeing, he answers the phone, already knowing who’s on the other end.

“Emma. I suppose you’re calling about…”

“Armageddon, yes.”

Well.

––-

The music stops, and so do the dancers, their hair and their clothes snapping around them as they lock gazes, lost in their own world. A world that’s coming to an end.

Welcome to the End of Times.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #ouat #septembersunshine #snidget writes #good omens

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