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jackrrabbit · 3 years

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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #my writing

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ye4gerismarchives · 3 years

Text

the bachelorette: the wedding

an: h-hey guys😅 a whole month w/o rhe bachelorette. y’all prolly forgot about it. fortunately, i haven’t😭 sorry yall, i’ve been up all night for the past month reading about nasty white men instead of writing for the bachelorette. this chapter has 4768 words, so i guess that’s a plus.

tags: black, fem reader. i don’t have any triggers off my head, if something does trigger you, do let me know

taglist: @taybird

5:00 am

You had plans to send Levi to his grave. How dare he wake you up at like four in the morning only to start your makeup and hair an hour later? The makeup and hair team were completely respectful towards you and respected your space, considering today was going to be full of emotions.

As your face was getting beat, there was a knock at the door. The makeup artist working on your face stopped so that you could address the person at the door. "If your name is Levi, don't bother coming in," you say. The door opens and your heart jumps because

Her Royal Highness Princess Historia and her girlfriend, Ymir, were in YOUR room.

"Oh sh*t, Your Royal Highness," you let out. Members of your team start to curtsy and bow to Historia. Ymir stands awkwardly behind her. She must have been getting used to the royal bs around her.

You stand to curtsy as well but Historia raises a hand to stop you. "Today is all about you. Ymir and I are going to be your bridesmaids today! Levi called us and we decided we would support you today!" she says cheerfully.

So, Levi probably wasn't going to die today. Now, you couldn't bring yourself to be mad at him but you still side eyes him. He was a powerful guy- you were still under the impression that he said something to Mikasa during the show and caused her unusual behavior.

"O-Oh?"

"Yeah! Ymir and I will get changed but we'll see you in your dress."

And with that, the princess and her girl left your room. It was like a dream.

5:30 am

Weeks before the wedding came, you went dress shopping. However, it didn't go how you wanted it to go. Ideally, you would be dress shopping with Sasha, Mikasa, and Connie. There was no way in hell you would call Sasha and ask her to go with you. You called Connie, who refused to pick up. You thought about calling Mikasa but you felt uneasy about it. So, Levi and his husband, Erwin, went with you.

Erwin was a complete angel. He asked you respectful questions about your life and even made you laugh. Spending time with Erwin made you realized how...dark Levi was and even made you question why they were even together. But your thoughts couldn't stop you from seeing how Levi melted under Erwin's touch. They loved each other. You hoped that You and Jean would be like that.

With their help, you managed to pick the perfect dress.

Slipping it on for the second time was just as magical as it was the first. Your team awed and cooed over how beautiful you looked. Historia and Ymir entered in matching pink outfits and immediately started fawning over how good you looked.

You felt your face redden up and you couldn't help but smile. But all of that went away when a familiar face entered.

"You...you look good, y/n."

"Mikasa...what are you doing here?"

Mikasa was standing in front of you in the same pink color that Ymir and Historia were in but her outfit was a sleeveless wide-legged jumpsuit. Her bangs were brushed away from her face and the rest of her hair sat behind her ears- well, mostly.

"Levi called me. He apologized for everything and told me to come over to apologize to you too. And then he forced me to be your maid of honor," Mikasa explained.

Levi forcing her to come over sounded like him but apologizing? He must have realized he went too far, especially since Mikasa was his niece. Levi was too caught up in creating and entertaining drama that he probably forgot Mikasa's relation to him.

So, you decided to let everything go.

You walk towards Mikasa with arms open and she's shocked but she doesn't hesitate to envelop you in her arms are well.

"I'm so sorry, y/n. I know was so out of line. I'll never let any man get in the way of our friendship again," Mikasa said as she squeezed you harder.

"Same here. If things don't work out with Jean, I'll marry you instead," you joke. You can feel Mikasa's laughter vibrate against your neck. She pulls away first and you proceed to ask another question. "Have you been in touch with Sasha?"

Mikasa purses her lips and shakes her head. "She's been radio silent. I can't tell if she got more backlash than me. She's off social media and just unwilling to speak with anyone. The hate probably got to her and she's just hiding for now."

You weren't too surprised. Mikasa was doing a job- a terrible one- but Sasha went out of her way to sleep with one of your guys...but she was drunk. You could imagine Sasha being the most discussed and debated online. Without speaking to her, you wouldn't know what was really going on in her mind.

"Oh! You never said hi to Princess Historia or Ymir. They're my bridesmaids for the day," you point out. The color leaves Mikasa's face when she realizes who's in the room with her. "Sh*t. Your Royal Highness," Mikasa curtsies. Historia lets out one of her signature giggles and begins to introduce herself and Ymir to Mikasa. As that goes on, your team starts helping you with your dress again.

You were slightly glad Mikasa was by your side today. The situation between the both of you was awkward but you were willing to give her another chance.

7:30 am

In the last two hours, you've done photoshoots and chat with everyone around you. Now it was time for Jean to be yours and for you to be his. You did question the early wedding time that Levi gave you but this would probably be the last time you saw that man so let's just let him do what he wants.

You were visibly nervous. You were gripping onto Mikasa's hand like it would be your last time doing so. "Hey, just remember, he's not your real husband. At least for now. This is all show," Mikasa reminds you. She was right. Jean may have been romantic with you but also he got his hour of fame, he could possibly leave you. Maybe he would get married to Connie.

You started to take a few deep breaths as you pulled up in front of the venue. Levi had rented a beach (not the one you and Connie were on) for your wedding.

From what you could see in the car, there were multiple seats and people were filling them up. You hoped that Connie's family had no ill-feeling toward you and decided to show up. It would be a shame since you were caught on television talking about how you would love for them to be there.

Your car came to a slow end. "y/n, do not worry. Remember, THIS is all fake. Only you decide if it's real," Mikasa reminds you. Levi opens your door and offers his hand to you. "It's go time." Mikasa helped you with your veil making sure that it wouldn't hit the ground.

"y/n, I know I may have been a menace but I'm happy for you. You might have had the most popular season yet," he says. Him bringing up ratings was no shock to you. You don't reply and Levi have his moment.

You like to think that Jean would like to spend the rest of his life with you. You knew that wasn't the case with many Bachelorettes and Bachelors but you look at Levi and Erwin...ah well, that wasn't a good example, considering that Erwin wasn't a contestant. He was the previous host. 'CALM DOWN,' you tell yourself, 'YOU AND JEAN WILL BE GOOD. AND IF HE DOESN'T LIKE YOU, ITS WHATEVER BECAUSE I'M THE BEST THING EVER.'

Minutes later, you're at the end of the aisle. Jean has his back turned and he's pacing back and forth slightly. Next to him is Connie. You know this because you recognize his big egg head. You're happy he put everything aside to support the both of you.

Mikasa takes her place in front of you and the music starts. Levi offers you his arm and you take it.

This was really happening.

You looked into the audience with a smile on your face but everything was moving so fast, you couldn't recognize their faces.

Before you knew it, you were by Jean. He still couldn't look at you- not until Levi gave you away. The marriage officiant clears his throat and begins to talk.

"We are gathered here today to witness the union of Jean and y/n. Welcome friends and family! We're glad to have you with us.

Today is the beginning of a remarkable journey for this couple. Drawing on their mutual admiration, respect, and trust, they are ready to embark on the next chapter in their lives. We celebrate the love and light evident in their relationship and wish them well on this joyous occasion.

Who gives this woman away?"

"I do," Levi answers. He takes Jean's hand and places it on top of yours. Jean then moves his under yours so that he could hold it. He looks down at Levi and mouths 'Thank you'. The shorter male nods and takes a seat.

The officiant gives you and Jean a moment to face each other. Jean had the biggest smile on his face when his eyes landed on you. "You look gorgeous," he whispers. "You're not so bad yourself," you reply.

The officiant continues. "If anyone has cause to object to the forming of this union, speak now or forever hold your peace." You look over Jean's shoulder to see Connie. You couldn't see his whole face, thanks to Jean's height, but you could see his eyes. They were narrowed and looking straight at you.

You wanted to feel bad, but you couldn't. YOU decided that Connie would not be your spouse, and that was final.

No one responded to the officiant's request, so he continued.

"Marriage is an integral part of the human tradition. Let us remember, as we stand here before the Universe, that the vows taken today hold great importance, just as they did to our ancestors. As individuals, we choose to enter the union of marriage to share all aspects of ourselves with our soulmate. Today, this is true for Jean and y/n."

Soulmate. You hoped that was true for you and Jean. You did meet him on a tv show.

"There are few greater joys in life than finding someone with whom we truly "click." In that spirit, I will now share a short reading on soulmates from author Richard Bach:

"A soulmate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we're pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we're safe in our own paradise. Our soulmate is someone who shares our deepest longings, our sense of direction. When we're two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we've found the right person. Our soulmate is the one who makes life come to life."

Under the eyes of Ymir, together we take a moment to acknowledge the seriousness of the commitment being entered into today. With great joy, we also recognize the special bond shared by Jean and y/n.."

This...this was a special bond indeed. Not only that, it was completely random. The next part of the wedding was your vows. The next part of solidifying your relationship.

"I will now invite the couple to share their vows. Jean and y/n, the promises you make today are sacred; they are the groundwork from which your marriage will grow and blossom over time.

Jean, would you like to begin first?"

Jean nods and squeezes your hands. "y/n, hopefully by the end of this ceremony, you will be my wife. I know there's a lot that you're worried about but I'll do everything to make you happy. I'll always protect you and keep you satisfied."

"y/n, your turn."

"Jean. I'm not too sure what to say...you've out-speeched me," you joke. Jean chuckled. "But...I too promise to love and protect you. I'll also make sure we're on the same page because that's very important for our relationship. I'm willing to fight for us."

You look at the officiant, letting him know that you were done.

"Let us proceed. Jean, before your family and friends, do you take y/n as your beloved Wife, to have and to hold, through laughter and in sadness, through challenges and successes, so long as you both shall live?"

Jean is silent for a moment. He's rubbing the back of your right hand and staring straight into your eyes- almost as if he was reevaluating everything. This made you nervous. Jean was a smart guy. You know you couldn't hold him down and force him to do anything he didn't want.

"I...I do," he finally answers. The weight on your chest dissolves.

"y/n, before your family and friends, do you take Jean as your beloved Husband, to have and to hold, through laughter and in sadness, through challenges and successes, so long as you both shall live?"

"Yes, I do," you answer quickly. You hear small laughs coming from the audience.

The officiant gives you a small smile before continuing. "Wedding rings are a traditional symbol of the strength of the bond between two soulmates." Connie comes from behind Jean with the wedding bands and gave you both one.

"This bond is never broken, and continues in a perpetual circle, glowing with the warmth and eternal light of two souls in a perfect union. By wearing these rings, you will be always reminded of the connection you share and the vows you have made today. Jean, please, repeat after me;

I, Jean..."

"I, Jean..."

"present you, y/n, with this ring..."

"as a symbol of our everlasting love."

"Let it never lose its luster..."

"just as my love for you will never fade."

Jean, still gently holding your hand, slips the ring on (whatever finger your culture uses for weddings!). He can't help but admire it for a moment. He looks back up at you with the biggest grin. All you had to do was place the ring on his finger and your marriage would be "official".

"y/n, repeat after me. I, y/n..."

"I, y/n..."

"present you, Jean, with this ring..."

"as a symbol of our everlasting love..."

"let it never lose its luster..."

"just as my love for you will never fade."

You slip the ring onto Jean's left finger.

"By the power vested in me by the Ymir Life Church and Paradis, under the eyes of the Ymir, I happily pronounce you Husband and Wife! Jean, kiss your bride."

At that moment, everyone disappeared. It was just you and Jean. Jean places a hand on your waist and pulls you in. You find your hands riding up his chest and resting on his shoulder as you get closer. You and Jean connect and all of sudden, you're not in that bubble anymore.

"Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time, I give you Mr. Kirstein and Mrs. l/n!!."

You and Jean left together as "spouses". The first thing you did was official wedding photoshoots that were to be spread all over Paradis and all over the world- thanks to social media. Y'all kinda look like Meghan and Harry tbh.

Anyway.

You both got an opportunity to change in your reception outfits. After that, it was another car ride to the reception venue. Jean held your hand and couldn't stop talking about how beautiful you looked. You were so flustered, you couldn't get a response out. When you reached the venue, the driver helped out first and Jean slipped out of the car after you. He took your hand and entered the reception venue with you.

When you entered the dining hall, you were welcomed by cheers and claps. It was extremely overwhelming- not in a bad sense, however. You looked around the room and caught some familiar faces. You saw Bertholdt and Reiner sitting at a table with another unfamiliar girl. Across the room, Mikasa is seated with Connie, Historia, and Ymir. Everyone else is family that Levi most likely reached out to.

You and Jean take a seat and the cheering calms down. You lean on Jean's shoulder and sigh. The day wasn't over yet, but you were already so tired. Jean places his head on top of yours. "I can't wait to just be with you. I don't know what you had planned tonight but to be honest, I just want to sleep. I haven't realized how tired I was until now," Jean says quietly. "I have to agree. Let's just take a shower, cuddle and just pass out."

Jean brings his head up and smirks at you. "A shower? Together?" You only roll your eyes jokingly. "Oh, look, I think Levi is gonna call us up to have our first dance." "Don't worry, I'll get my answer sooner or later, y/n. You can't run from me." Jean pokes your arm teasingly, which causes you to squirm a little bit. Levi calls you up and Jeans takes your hand to lead you to the dance floor.

(Song of your choice) starts playing and you're not even sure where to start. Jean has a hand on your waist and is holding your free hand. You have a hand on his shoulders. "I'm not even sure where to start, we never practiced," you whisper. Jean smiles softly. "Don't worry about it. We're in this together aren't we?" He begins to move, taking full control. You stumble a bit but your reception dress hides your clumsiness. After a bit, you weren't stumbling anymore. You rest your head on Jean's shoulder and he pulls you even closer. Your movements get even slower. The music slowly disappeared and so did everyone else. It was just you and Jean.

When the music actually came to an end, you pulled away slowly. "You did great," Jean says softly. "So did you." You both go back to your seats. Waiters started to come out and take everyone's orders for dinners and started to pour drinks- meaning a toast would be coming up.

Mikasa comes up to the dance floor and awkwardly clanks her glass, trying to get everyone's attention. Everyone turned their heads and it wasn't because of the awkward clanking of the glass. There were some 'What the hell is she doing here?'s and 'Eren's b*tch?'s. You could visibly see Mikasa's nervousness so you attempted to lock eyes with her. It took her a while but she could finally look you in the eye. Mikasa clears her throat. "Um, hi. You're probably wondering why I'm here but today is not about me. It's about y/n and Jean. I was once y/n's closets friends until I was pressured to do something that I wouldn't normally do." Mikasa gives Levi a side-eye. The shrimp man crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

"y/n is absolutely amazing...I can't really put it into words but there's something about her that just make people want to be around her. I can see why Jean fought so hard to be with her."

Jean squeezes your hand when she makes that comment.

"I often think to myself about how y/n could have easily met Jean at a café or a movie theatre or something rather than on TV show. But at the same time, this was good for her...and all of us. Here we discovered the lengths of our friendship and who we really were as people. I believe these ups and downs helped y/n find Jean- her true love. Honestly, I wish you both a happy future. Make it worth it."

Mikasa raises her glass and everyone clinks their glass with their neighbors. Connie begins to walk up to the dance floor as soon as Mikasa leaves.

"I'm going to be really honest with you. This is was unexpected. I honestly thought that today was going to be about me." Connie raises his eyebrows at Jean, who furrows them.

"But I guess it's a good thing I didn't marry y/n. I wouldn't have been enough to handle. So, congrats to you, Jean. You're tolerable."

Connie gets off the dance floor without giving you or Jean a look. You look at Jean and he's hurt. "H-hey...maybe he's drunk or something. In his feelings, you know? Don't let him make you feel bad," you say. Jean gives you a small smile before sipping down his drink.

Moments later, it was time for parent dances. Jean got up to dance with his mom. It was a little bit uncoordinated than yours but they looked like they were having a lot of fun.

Next was the bouquet and garter toss. You started with the garter first. You sat in a chair with your legs cross. You knew this was going to happen but it wasn't rehearsed. Jean could see your uneasiness, so he started doing a silly sensual dance. It made you laugh and your laughter got louder once he started shimming down to the floor. He got closer to your thigh and you felt your face heating up. You slapped your hand over your mouth once he starting biting the garter and pulling it off. As he continued, you cupped your face. When Jean was finally day, cheers erupted and you uncovered your hot face. Jean closes his eyes and throws the garter into the crowd and it lands in the hands of Reiner. The guys cheer even louder for him as he awkwardly glances over at Bertholdt, who is a few people away from him.

Next was the bouquet throwing. You closed your eyes and the guest counted you off. Once you heard the number three, you threw the bouquet. You open your eyes and turn around to see that Bertholdt had gotten the flowers. His face is so red...he look like a tomato.

After your guest settled down, it was time to cut your cake, meaning that your wedding day was almost over. You picked a (cake of your choice) for tonight. "It looks delicious. I can't wait to try it," Jean whispers in your ear. "It is. You'll love it," you respond. You pick up a knife. Jean wraps his hands around yours. You both gently place the knife on the cake and pushed it down. You lean back to give Jean a kiss and he gives you one. Jean grabs two forks by the cake and hands one over to you.

Jean scoops a piece of the cake first. He places a hand on your chin and you open your mouth. "Ladies first," he says as he places the cake in your mouth. You take a minute to savor the taste before swallowing. You also take a piece of the cake and get on your toes to feed Jean. He chuckles softly at your struggle before taking the fork from you and feeding himself. "You're right, it's good," he says after swallowing. He bends down slightly to give you another kiss.

The night was slowly coming to an end. There was no sight of Connie after his stupid speech and Levi and Erwin were getting ready to get home. Historia and Ymir had left right after the cake cutting ceremony but had promised to call you once everything had settled down. You and Jean formally greeted your guest and started your goodbyes.

Mikasa had gone up to you with a slightly awkward face. "Today wasn't so bad, huh?" she starts. You give her a kind smile. "It wasn't. Did you enjoy yourself?" Mikasa pauses to answer. "Your wedding was beautiful...however, I can't get upset over the reaction about me being here. y/n, I have to apologize again. What I did was completely wrong. I shouldn't even be blaming Levi for everything. I could have told you at first and-"

You pull Mikasa into a hug to shut her up. "Mikasa, move on. Come on, we're adults! At least you're apologizing and trying- unlike someone we know," you joke. You pull away. "Hopefully, if Jean and I have a real wedding, it won't be as awkward for you." Mikasa nods. "I'll see you around. Congrats." As Mikasa walks off, Reiner, Bert, and this mystery blonde come up to you. Inside Reiner's pocket is your garter sticking out and Bertholdt is clenching your bouquet.

"Hey," you start," Thank you for coming. Who's your friend?"

Bertholdt looks over at the blonde. "Thank you for inviting us...um...this is Annie. My dad thought you were her."

Now, why did Bertie's dad think you was this yt girl?😟

LMAO. "Nice to keep you, Annie. You Bertie's girl?" you ask.

Annie shakes her head no frantically. "OH, NO. Never in a million years, no. Yuck!" she answers dramatically. Reiner throws an arm over Bert's shoulder. "He's actually my boy now," he says proudly. "OH-! Congrats! So we're having a wedding for you soon, yes?" You tease. Reiner nods and Bertie tries to hide his face in Reiner's hair. "When did this all happen...? I just eliminated you like...two weeks ago?"

"Well...Reiner and I were still in contact and when I left, he reached out to me. We met up a few times and we hit it off," Bertie explains. "Congrats. I'm really happy to hear that," you answer. You turn around to look for Jean. He's talking to his mom. He gives you a small glance before continuing his conversation with her. "I better go catch up with Jean. It was nice to see you...and finally meeting you, Annie." The trio say their goodbyes before leaving.

You make your way over to Jean but you're stopped by the human fit of annoyance- Levi. You were so tired of him but you threw on a smile since Erwin was walking over as well. "Yes, Levi? I thought we were done here," you say in a singsong voice. "Aw, you're ready to go?" Levi says sarcastically. You open your mouth to answer but he cuts you off. "For starters, thank you for adding on to mine and Erwin's paychecks. We really appreciate it. Arrangements for your hotel and honeymoon have been put together. You're tired of me, but don't hesitate to call me if something goes wrong. Besides that, I wish you luck. Make everything worth it."

Levi walks past you and Erwin stops to hug you before following his husband.

Jean makes his way up to you, his mom following behind. "Everything good? I saw shrimp talking to you." You take Jean's hand. "Everything's good." Jean pulls you into a side hug. "Aw, you guys are so cute. I really do hope you last," Jean's mom comments, "I've always wanted a daughter."

"Mom, nothing's official yet-"

"I'm glad you think of me as your daughter, June."

"Well, I'll see you later. Jean, take care of her tonight. Be good to her and listen to her. Don't be rough, she's not a rag doll," June warned her son. She had a finger up in his face and everything. Seeing their relationship on the regular was going going to be hilarious.

Jean swats his mom's finger out of his face before waving her goodbye. He then fully wraps his arms around you. "No offense. But I'm glad this is over. We'll get to know each other one on one now," he says. You can't help but agree.

ITS FINALLY OVER. well not exactly. i have one more chapter to write and y’all will never hear about levi, 12 guys, and dates ever again😭 but since this series has reached its goal (you getting married) please do me a favor and rate my series, it would be appreciated!

#black!reader #jean kirstein x reader #aot x black! reader #jean x black!reader #jean x reader #bertholdt x reader #connie spinger x reader #onyankopon x reader #eren x reader #reiner x reader #aot x reader #floch x reader #porco x reader #colt grice x reader #nicolo x reader #armin arlert x reader

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kythed · 3 years

Text

synopsis: it’s a tragic case of boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl has a boyfriend. [un]luckily for you, semi doesn’t play by the rules... and you don’t really want him to.

tagged: semi eita x reader, fluff, mediocre writing.

commitment level: 2,583 words.

table of contents | next chapter >>

They say young love is a rite of passage. They say it’s fresh and light, it’s wading in the shallows of a swiftly flowing river and letting the deliciously frigid water take you wherever it flows. They say young love comes easily.

But they don’t tell you youth is not a remedy for pain. They don’t tell you the cold of that water burns your skin, too — it leaves your fingertips numb and kisses your palms an angry red. They say “it’s just puppy love,” but they don’t tell you puppies grow into wolves.

You’re eighteen when you first meet Semi Eita, and he’s twenty-two. It’s not a highly significant age gap, but it’s noticeable enough.

“She’s a baby,” he says, eyes grey as the southern sea and just as unforgiving. Though he’s young, the weight of an iron giant rests on his slender shoulders.

“She’s talented, Semi,” says Akamine, tone wheedling. He fiddles with the lapels of his coat — it’s Italian, all cream silk and bronze buttons. “She’s capable.”

Twenty year old Akamine Keo is a trust-fund kid, born into the arms of an oil empire he’ll someday fall heir to. He’s charming, clever, and sweet, with distinctly expensive good looks, fine features and black hair like raven’s feathers. He also happens to be your boyfriend.

“That means nothing,” Semi says, peering into your face. An uncomfortable chill tickles the back of your neck as you fight the urge to look away. “There are toddlers who can shred Led Zeppelin, but they’re not musicians. They’re puppets controlled by overzealous tiger moms. They can’t take the heat of the real industry.”

“I can take the heat.” Your words bleed out heavy and sharp, a rough gash through the palpably thick tension. Fingernails leaving painful half-moons on your palms, you clench and unclench your fists down at your sides. “And I can sure as hell shred better than any toddler.”

For a split second, surprise flashes across Semi’s face, only to be quickly replaced by a wry smile. “Brave.”

You stare at him, lips sucked in and eyes narrowed as Akamine slings an arm over your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temples.

“See?” he says with a laugh. “She’s talented, capable, and brave.”

“Well,” says Semi, drawing the word out. He cocks his head, giving you one last hard once-over, before extending a hand for a firm shake. “We’ll see. I’ll give you two months. A trial.”

You accept this compromise, returning the shake. Semi’s still skeptical, you can tell, but you make a vow to yourself — you’re about to blow this sonuvabitch out of the water. As Akamine crows in delight, Semi’s eyes don’t leave yours.

Good luck, they seem to be saying. You’ll need it.

You smile, and he smiles back.

I won’t.

Semi’s a phenomenal bassist. When you’d first started dating Akamine and he’d just joined Semi’s band, he could scarcely shut up about it — “His name’s Semi Eita, and I swear he’s got magic in those fingers, babe.”

Well, Semi Eita’s about to be dethroned, because your fingers are magic, too.

For those two months, you’re the band’s lead guitarist, and you pass Semi’s test with flying colors. It takes a couple weeks to fall into step with the other guys — Semi on bass, Akamine on drums, and a quiet college kid called Yasuda on keys — but you’re a quick study, and soon you’re a cornerstone, expertly weaving searing arpeggios of dashed dreams and fiery hopes up and down the band’s underlying tunes.

(You should’ve seen it coming.)

You and Semi somehow become co-songwriters. He has a knack for melodies, and you have a knack for lyrics. Akamine doesn’t seem to mind the long hours you spend in Semi’s company, working in a whirlwind of messy notes and empty energy drink cans — he trusts you.

(Sometimes you feel like maybe he shouldn’t.)

“What do you think of this?” Semi says, idly twirling a pencil between his fingers. It’s 10pm on a Friday night, and you’re stretched out on his couch, inhaling chow mein from a greasy paper box. “For the second verse, I mean.”

“Lemme see,” you say around a mouthful of noodles, snatching the paper from his hand. You furrow your brow. “‘Tear me open like a scarlet letter, cruelly addressed ‘return to sender…’’ Jeez, Semi. Who hurt you?”

Semi scowls. “It’s a breakup song, isn’t it? It’s supposed to hurt.”

“You might consider being a little more… subtle,” you suggest, offering him a fortune cookie. He takes it and sets it aside.

“Heartbreak isn’t subtle,” he says, shooting you a look that speaks of throbbing phantom wounds. “It cuts deep. All the way down to the heart. Hence the name heartbreak.”

“Wow. I had no idea,” you say drily. You swing your legs over the couch and sit upright, snatching his pencil. “I just think we should tackle this with nuance, not just write another ‘eff you’ ballad.”

“This world can always use another ‘eff you’ ballad,” Semi says humorlessly, resting his chin in his hand.

You regard his suddenly silent demeanor as he stares, unseeing, out the window. It’s dark outside, and it’s a darkness that speaks less of peaceful sleep and more of emptiness.

You sigh, nudging him with your foot. “What was her name?”

“What?”

“Her name. This demon of a girl that hurt you so badly.”

For a moment, it seems he’s going to argue, to deny ever being afflicted with something so childish as lovesickness. Then he runs a defeated hand through his hair and shakes his head, laughing. “You’re too curious for your own good.”

You wait. There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence as Semi chews his lip.

“...Her name was Aiko,” he says finally, inspecting his nails with a faux nonchalance. “Smokin’ hot. Met her in music school three or so years ago, I think — she was a TA, a few years older than I was.”

“Older women, huh?” you tease. This is new territory — you’re dipping a toe into the forbidden arena of flirtation. A shadow of guilt creeps into the back of your mind as you think of Akamine, but the bright light of Semi’s crooked grin swiftly flushes it away.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to flick your leg. “I don’t date babies like you.”

“Maybe you should consider it,” you say, unthinking. Semi stares at you, eyebrow raised, and you flush, frantically backtracking. “Not me specifically. I’m just saying — well, I mean, ‘cause this Aiko chick was such a bad time and everything.”

“If you have a crush on me, just admit it,” Semi says. You’re sure it’s meant to come across jokingly, but the way he’s eyeing you twists your stomach into a pleasurable knot. Then he sighs, leaning back on his arms. “She was a great time, actually. It’s the ending that sucked ass.”

The question lingers at the tip of your tongue, hesitant like an ill-trained acrobat, but before it even attempts the leap, Semi answers.

“It burned.” He looks straight at you, and you can taste the bitterness in his words. “It burned, and not a day goes by that I can’t remember how awful it felt.”

That’s the first of the many secrets you trade with him.

Later that night, you tell Semi about your first kiss, about how the recipient smelled like Old Spice and tasted like chapstick, how he walked you to your front door and introduced himself to your mom. About how he took your virginity six months later, and how you soon realized there are some things in life you don’t get an exchange receipt for.

Semi tells you his favorite color is green, and that outer space scares him more than anything. (He doesn’t like thinking about life in other galaxies because he can hardly handle thinking about life right here.)

You tell him you like milk tea with 75% sweetness, and he promises he’ll take you to his favorite cafe sometime. (“Not a date,” he assures you, and you internally scold yourself for wishing it was one.)

He says he once accidentally kicked a stray cat while trying to find a volleyball he lost in the bushes near his house, and that’s why he considers himself a cat person now: as repentance. (He has a pet cat called Haru, and he shows you a picture — Haru is small and black with bright yellow eyes. You say he’s cute, but Semi corrects you: “Not cute. Fierce.”)

You say you used to wish life had a restart button, so you could turn back time and dance through each year without making a single mistake.

Semi says he still wishes that.

(Another thing they don’t tell you is how secrets are really currency. Secrets can’t help but pay for familiarity, and familiarity often leads to something more.)

It’s a couple weeks later when you have your first gig. It’s at a bar downtown, and Yasuda nabs fakes for you and Akamine, though you don’t plan on drinking. Not much, anyways.

(Speaking of Akamine, your relationship with him has grown strained over the past month. He’s stretched himself thin between the band and his business degree, and you — well, whenever your phone pings, you can’t stop hoping it’s from Semi.)

Five minutes before show time, Semi turns to you, eyes wide. “We don’t have a band name.”

“What?”

“We don’t have a band name.” He looks around, frantically trying to draw inspiration from something in the dimly lit bar. “Quick, think of something.”

So you think for a moment, chewing your inner cheek, before reaching out and tugging on Semi’s sleeve. “Paper.”

“Paper?”

“Paper.”

Paper is fragile, it’s thin, it’s easy to come by. But it’s also a world of potential on one sheet, a story waiting to be written.

When the bar owner walks onto the stage and introduces the band, you know you’ve made the right decision. And from the glittering smile Semi flashes you before nodding at Akamine to count you in, you know he thinks so too.

The show goes on without a hitch, and even though the bar is far from packed, you’re just as proud as you’d be playing in a stadium of screaming fans. The air smells of stale whiskey and fresh beginnings, and as your fingers dance up and down your Gibson’s fretboard, you hear colors — rich teal, smooth mahogany, creamy gold and silver brighter than the stars. Akamine keeps the rhythm like a war drum, and Semi, as always, is perfect. Yasuda, doubling as the main vocalist, sings until his voice gets wonderfully low and raspy, keyboard taking some of the heat as he grins back at you, mouthing how badly his throat hurts.

You’re sweaty when the set’s done, and Akamine buys you a drink, giving you a quick, half-hearted kiss and a tired smile.

Akamine’s always been kind to you.

“I gotta go,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Essay due tomorrow at ten.”

He looks so genuinely sorry to leave, you almost feel guilty.

You’re packing up your amps into the back of Semi’s van, alone in the parking lot save for the moon many miles above, hanging bright and full in a clear sky. The moon has seen all your most indulgent sins, and she’s going to see one more tonight.

“You did well.” Semi heaves the last of the equipment into his truck before turning to you, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Consider me impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you say, giving him a mock bow. “So glad I’ve finally managed to impress the Semi Eita.”

He regards you for a moment, arms crossed. A small sigh escapes his lips. It’s both a sigh of resignation and one of anticipation.

Then, in one smooth motion, he steps close, reaches out, and pulls you close by the waist.

You stare up at him, all too aware of the heat radiating from his body. His skin is burning, and his cologne is different from Akamine’s — it’s not expensive, it’s not a multilayered, deep, woody scent. It’s cheap, the sort of cologne a struggling musician can afford, but it smells of home.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he whispers, sliding a hand up your jaw to cup your face. His hair glows silver and ghostly under the streetlamps.

“And what are you about to do?” Your voice is deadly quiet, and your chest feels a deathly cold despite Semi’s proximity, refusing to thaw as you await his answer.

“Kiss you absolutely senseless.”

Semi’s never been one to make empty promises, and right now is no exception. He presses his lips to yours and you immediately melt into his arms, suddenly craving him and only him. You’re not entirely sure how you’ve managed to avoid devouring him whole up until this point, because he kisses like Eros, full of pomegranate seeds and crimson blossoms, of days spent in clandestine bliss. He kisses like a man on death row, desperate and longing, hands squeezing your waist like your body is his only anchor to life itself.

Semi Eita wants to be a rockstar, but right now he’s just a boy kissing a girl he’s bound to fall deeply, inexplicably in love with.

When he finally breaks away, you’re breathless, staring up at him like you’ve just seen an angel. Your hands are still curled in the front of his shirt, you’re still standing on tiptoe, lips just inches from his.

“Semi…” You swallow hard. “Akamine’s a good guy… I can’t.”

Semi tenses his jaw, taking a finger to lift your chin. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hungry.”

He’s got you there.

You’re standing on a balance beam splitting two vastly different worlds. On one side there’s the known: Akamine and his bright, blue-eyed optimism, his willingness to shoulder burdens he shouldn’t have to. There’s his sweet touch and soft kisses, his firm words of reassurance and his sunny laughter shedding light on your hidden depths.

The known is comforting. It’s familiar.

But on the other side… there’s the unknown. There’s Semi Eita in all his scalded glory, his sharp tongue and headstrong determination. There’s his burning touch, his fingers leaving scorch marks on your cheek and his lips depositing glowing embers in your mouth, ready to ignite at a single inflammatory word. There’s his moonstone enigma, the shadow underlying his every sentence like smudged eyeliner.

The unknown is frightening, almost overwhelmingly so… but there’s something in you, something willful and terribly thirsty, that draws you to this unknown and the possibility of knowing it.

“Because I am.”

And you grab his face and pull it down to yours, impatient, frustrated by months of dancing around that painfully tangible attraction, that magnetism — finally, you allow yourself to fall, hurtling through a chasm of fallen stars and ancient suns, hanging on to nothing but Semi and his carefully guarded secrets.

You kiss him hard, pouring your soul into his mouth, all your youthful doubt and hope. You knot your fingers in his hair, and he pulls you into his chest, pressing your body so close it’s as if he wants to make it a part of himself.

And when you part for the second time, chest heaving, you know you’ve fallen completely, entirely, without a doubt.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #semi eita #semi eita x reader #semi eita fluff #semi eita angst #semi eita fic #semi eita imagines #semi eita headcanons

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years

Text

Loki Odinson’s Guide on How to Woo a Noble

Chapter 2: The Feeling of Friendship

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Now that Loki made a good first impression, you became fast friends. Determined to get a day out of the palace, you and Loki sneak into the nearby village for some fun. Warnings: fluff, fluff, and fluff (did I mention fluff?) A/N: Just more young Loki and his crush. There’s references to the first chapter in this, but I realized you could probably read it as a oneshot if you really wanted. Anyway, one more chapter to go in my first attempt at a miniseries. As always, my lovely readers, I hope you enjoy :) Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

About a month after that night in the gardens, Loki once again found himself brooding in a tree. This time, however, it had nothing to do with you. Odin had left earlier that morning for a diplomatic mission to Alfheim, taking only one of his sons with him. Needless to say, it wasn’t Loki. The young god couldn’t fathom his father’s decision to bring Thor and not him when his brother was so reckless and brutish. Deep down, Loki knew it was because the Allfather was grooming his eldest to take the throne, but it wasn’t fair. Loki was still in the running to become king, but he’d never win if he wasn’t given the same opportunities as that oaf.

Loki sighed. He was aware of the fact that it wasn’t Thor’s fault he’d been left behind, but he still felt angry at his brother. After all, it was doubtful he spoke up on Loki’s behalf. With nothing else to do, Loki began to practice the latest spell his mother had taught him. Focusing on the energy in the air, he pictured what he wanted to happen. One deep breath later, he’d successfully produced a ball of light in his hand, a trick that would be useful the next time he was sneaking around in the servant passages. The next part was considerably harder to accomplish as it required much more control, but Loki was determined to feel like he was good at something. Slowly, he produced the desired effect, and the light began to pulse in his hands.

“Hey, Loki! Come down here!” you called, pulling him from his fixation on his spell and causing the light to fade away.

“Hello,” he replied, swinging off the branch he was seated on with impressive agility. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Simple. I just followed the pulsating ball of light. Not to mention you seem to have a thing for sitting in trees.”

You both laughed at that, and he felt a light blush color his cheeks. After the stargazing, Loki assumed that you’d be friendly to him when you passed each other in the halls of the palace, but was pleasantly surprised when it went beyond that. You’d begun to actively seek him out and, sure enough, had found him in a tree quite a few times. He wasn’t exactly sure when that habit started. He just knew that it was one of the best places to avoid people. Luckily, you happened to look up often. Or, perhaps, you were specifically searching for him among the twisted branches. Either way, the fact that you initiated conversations gave Loki the confidence to do the same. Soon, walks in the garden became a weekly occurrence. He was certain no one else knew yet, for if they did, it would surely be the subject of much gossip. Not to say that you were actually courting each other, though. It was merely friendship.

“Fair enough, I suppose. Where are you going?” he inquired, noticing the cloak you wore over suspiciously casual clothing.

“I think the better question is where are we going?”

“Ok, fine. You still haven’t answered the question, though,” he persisted as you started off down the path.

“Into town, obviously. Which reminds me, you’ll be needing this.”

You pulled out another cloak from a satchel that was hidden by the flowing cashmere fabric of your own. You were met with a hesitant look from Loki when you held it out to him.

“Are you sure about this? It seems ill-advised that we go out unaccompanied. Besides, that might clash with my outfit,” he mused, examining the cloak.

“Relax. We’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “Plus, the whole point is that we’ll look inconspicuous. No one will even notice what you’re wearing. Not to mention you look good in anything.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth once the words you’d just said registered in your mind. Though you hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, it was exactly the push Loki needed to agree. Anyway, he never could resist a chance to stir up a little mischief. Walking side-by-side, the two of you made sure to stay quiet as to avoid detection from someone who could stop your plans. Eventually, you reached the wall surrounding the palace, but much to Loki’s confusion, not the part where the gate was.

“You are aware that there is no exit here, correct?” he inquired, though he was certain that you had some trick up your sleeve.

“Haha, very funny. This is where you come into play. Can you magic us out of here?”

Loki frowned for two reasons. For one, he wasn’t confident enough in his ability to get one person to the other side, let alone two. For another, what if that was the only reason you’d invited him to tag along? Not only would that mean you didn’t actually want his company, but he was also positive he’d let you down.

“If that is the only reason you have asked me to come along, I apologize, but I will have to disappoint you. Teleportation is not exactly my strong suit,” he admitted, eyes locked on the ground.

“Loki, gosh, I thought you knew. I seek you out because I like spending time with you. If you’re really not comfortable using your magic, that’s ok,” you consoled him as you stepped closer. “We can figure something else out. I do believe in you, though. All you have to do is get us to the other side of the wall, not into the village or anything like that.”

Loki bit his lip and stole a quick glance at you. He felt ashamed that he’d let his insecurities show to you, of all people. But, ignoring that for a minute, it felt good to hear you say you enjoyed his companionship. And you believed in him and his ability, which was another rare thing. Now, he had practiced teleportation before with some success. Well, that is, if you could count moving two inches as success. The wall before him was, what, nine maybe ten feet? Then he’d have to add an extra foot or two to ensure a safe landing. You were looking at him expectantly, already forming a plan in your mind in case you had to get past the guards.

“I can do it,” Loki decided, shaking out his doubts and squaring his shoulders.

“Perfect!” you squealed in delight. “Ok, let’s do this.”

“Just a couple of things if this is going to work. We need to stand as close to the wall as possible. And well, um, we are going to have to hold hands,” he added sheepishly.

“Oh! I-I mean, yeah. Of course. If that’s uh, a thing that has to happen then, sure. Yeah,” you rambled and looked away as you offered him your hand.

Once you interlocked fingers, Loki grinned at the familiar feeling. It took him right back to that perfect night that had led to this moment. Though he never knew why, Loki had always run on the cold side, so the warmth emanating from your palm was extremely welcome. He offered you a shy smile, which you returned with an encouraging one. He shut his eyes and furrowed his brows. You were careful not to make a noise, understanding the intense concentration he’d need to accomplish this task, something that he appreciated.

Loki started just as his mother had taught him, picturing the place he was trying to get to. He imagined the lush, green grass on the other side of the obstacle keeping you from your destination. Next, he focused on the distance he needed to travel. Once he had a clear image in his mind, the young god took a deep breath and prepared to complete his most impressive feat to date. That is, if he could actually accomplish it. A gentle feeling of wind passed by him, accompanied by the tingling sensation of his magic.

“Loki! You did it,” you cheered, pulling your hand away from his to throw a hug around his shoulders.

He slowly opened his eyes and embraced you, too. Now that he’d succeeded, he allowed himself to acknowledge the fact that, had he messed up, you could both be dead right now. Needless to say, the thought caused him to shake a little. That was soon replaced, though, when he realized that you were still hugging each other. You must have also noticed because you pulled away and nervously shifted your weight from side to side.

“We should probably get going now,” you said, starting to walk in the direction of the village.

Loki nodded and followed you with a dorky grin on his face. He was starting to be thankful that his father left him in Asgard. Unfortunately, remembering that did sour his mood, but he did his best to hide it. After all, he didn’t want to ruin his time with you. He’d almost entirely forgotten about it by the time you reached the houses on the edge of town. The two of you pulled up the hoods of your cloaks and joined the flow of people in the streets. That was when Loki realized he had no idea what exactly you planned on doing here.

“Well, what now?” he whispered to you, eyes shifting from side to side, expecting to be caught any second.

“Now, we shop! And don’t look so nervous, we’ll be fine.”

Eyes shining with excitement, you grabbed Loki by the wrist and pulled him into the busy marketplace. For once in his life, Loki decided to relax and enjoy himself. Besides, it’s not like anyone would be paying attention to him. As far as they knew, he was just another common kid running around. Granted, he might look a little more lost than anyone else milling in the streets. From the way you expertly navigated in the crowd, Loki could tell this was not the first time you’d been here. It wouldn’t surprise him if you also snuck out when your family spent time in your manor, which was even closer to the village than the palace was.

There were many potent perfumes and scented oils at the booths of the market square, filling the air with their heavenly aromas. They were starting to make Loki’s head feel a little foggy by the time you finally paused in front of a stall that sold candles, examining their wares. You were tapping your chin with the most adorable contemplative look on your face. The way the light was glimmering in your eyes completely transfixed Loki for a minute before he regained his senses and pointedly looked away before you could catch him staring. It was then that an item at the next booth over grabbed his attention.

“I will just be over there for a second,” he informed you, pointing at his destination.

“Ok, I’ll be done here in a minute. Don’t get lost without me,” you teased.

After squeezing through the mob of people that separated the two booths, Loki stopped and got the attention of the clerk.

“I would like that bracelet please, my good sir,” he said, gesturing to the one he wanted.

It was a thin gold band that, upon closer inspection, was designed as a snake with its tail in its mouth. A single emerald that served as the eye of the serpent was set in the medal. It was as if it was made for the sole purpose of Loki being able to present it to you. Unfortunately, the salesman did not share the same point of view.

“I’m sure you would, sonny, but how ’bout we find something more in your price range.”

He laughed then and gestured to the brightly colored, obviously cheap jewelry made of beads and string. Loki became indignant at the comment. Not only did this man think he’d be gormless enough to ask for something he couldn’t afford, but he also indicated that Loki had poor taste by suggesting he would like such an ostentatious accessory that was only fit for children and street performers. It took all his energy not to place a hex on him or reveal himself as a prince of Asgard. Instead, he quickly eyed the price tag and then emptied a pouch of gold coins that had enough money and then some.

“Believe me, it is, what was it you said? Oh yes, ‘in my price range.’”

Between the haughty, mocking tone of voice Loki used and the seemingly endless bag of riches, the clerk was left standing with his mouth agape. He eagerly inspected the coins, wanting them to be real but not quite believing it. Satisfied that he wasn’t being duped, and having no good reason to accuse Loki otherwise, the man handed over the bracelet in an ornate box.

“Will that be all, sir?” he asked, still not entirely trusting what just happened.

“Yes. Thank you,” Loki replied, pleased with the new respect in the man’s tone.

Spying you working your way through the throng, he went to meet you halfway. Based on your empty hands, it seemed that you’d decided not to purchase anything after all. On account of how noisy your surroundings were, Loki decided to wait until you’d made your way out of the market to present his gift to you.

“So, what did you get?” you questioned once it was quiet enough.

“Well, it is for you, actually.”

Loki opened the box and showed you the trinket. Now that he’d done it, there was no taking it back, but he suddenly became very self-conscious. Was it even appropriate for him to get you a gift if you were not courting? He was sure that his tutors would disapprove, but it was just hindsight now, and there was simply nothing he could do. The worst part, though, was that you’d yet to say anything. Rather, you were just standing there with a surprised look decorating your features.

“Of course you do not have to accept it if you do not like it,” Loki added somewhat dejectedly. “Or for any other reason, either.”

“Loki,” you breathed out in a soft voice. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”

The sincerity in your eyes chased away any lingering doubt he still had. Carefully, he picked up the bracelet and slid it onto your outstretched wrist. It was a perfect fit, and Loki’s skin tingled with magnetic energy from where it brushed yours. For a minute, neither of you said anything and instead just got lost in the other’s eyes. And then you were interrupted by a growl from your stomach.

“I, um, I guess I’m hungry. You?” you stammered, sheepishly fidgeting.

“Absolutely famished,” he replied, hoping to alleviate some of your embarrassment. “Well, I suppose we should be heading back to the palace then.”

“Are you kidding me? The best food is right here in town! Come on, I’ll show you.”

With that, you were once again bobbing and weaving through the crowds. Finally, you came to a cart emitting a delicious scent. After a short wait on line, you ordered some laufabrauð and urrädla for you and Loki to share. The crispy, fried dough treats were light and delightful on the tongue. Loki hummed in joy at the pleasurable taste.

“See, what did I tell you?”

“Well, it is delicious, I’ll give you that. But better than what is served at the palace? I think you are crazy,” he said with a friendly laugh.

“Maybe. But you like crazy, don’t you, God of Mischief?” you teased right back.

Loki once again found himself blushing. He hoped you did not know too well just how right you were. At least, when it was applied to you. The clever remark Loki was preparing died on his tongue as he noticed a pair of royal guards approaching where you stood. You looked over your shoulder, following his gaze, and saw them, too.

“It’s probably fine,” you said. “They’re just walking in this general direction, right?”

“Perhaps,” he responded, though something about their urgent gait did not sit right with him.

The Einherjar were doing their best to avoid looking at the pair of young nobles but kept glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t bolted. Unfortunately for them, you both noticed, and with a small nod to each other, you took off, trying to lose them in the crowds. Though Loki had received training for battle, even his nimble feet couldn’t keep up with yours, experienced in traveling the busy streets. When you noticed he was falling behind, you seized his hand without thinking about it. Sadly, it did more harm than good because Loki couldn’t focus on his footing when your fingers were interlocked with his.

Finally, you found a stack of boxes to hide behind. You dove down, pulling Loki behind you. Thinking you’d lost the guards, you both dared to peek out to make sure. After identifying their retreating forms, you and Loki descended into a fit of giggles. Unfortunately, you were too busy laughing to notice the figure approaching you.

“What are you two doing away from the palace? Running around unsupervised, no less.”

Your chuckles came to an abrupt stop. Looking up, you saw Heimdall standing over you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Loki was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question, and that he’d be in deep trouble even if it wasn’t. You shot him a concerned look to which he responded with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Oh, wow. You’re right. This isn’t the palace,” you ventured, playing dumb. “Did you notice, Loki?”

“I had absolutely no idea! How confounding, don’t you agree?”

You nodded along, saying, “Indeed. Well, I suppose we should be heading back, now. Thank you, Heimdall, for alerting us.”

You and Loki started heading back in the direction of the palace, though neither of you actually had the intention of returning yet. You’d already started quietly giggling between yourselves, but it was cut off by a loud, exasperated sigh from the all-seeing god.

“It is no problem at all. Since we are all returning to the palace, we can walk together.”

You and Loki had no choice but to agree, and so you sullenly started your walk back, for real this time. The young prince was beginning to be annoyed by having his time with you cut short. It happened far too often, in his opinion. When he risked a glance at you, though, you were smiling.

“Don’t look so upset,” you whispered, elbowing him in the side. “I still had a good time.”

“Me too. And,” he whispered back, lowering his voice even further, “I rather think that we will have to do this again.”

You nodded, eyes lighting up in excitement. It made Loki’s heart flutter in his chest. The whispering continued all the way back to the palace. Once you’d reentered the gates, Lupus came running up to you.

“Hi boy!” you greeted the wolf pup, bending down to pet him. “Did you miss me?”

Loki bent down to pat your pet on the head, which was met with a lick on his face. He sputtered as Lupus’s tongue caught him right on the mouth, earning a laugh from you. It was then that your mother’s maid came rushing up to you.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “Your parents are looking for you. Come along now, best not to keep them waiting.”

She grabbed you by the arm to whisk you away, and you helplessly waved goodbye to Loki, Lupus running behind you. He waved back and stared wistfully off into the direction of your abrupt exit. The light caught the golden bracelet hugging your wrist, and he couldn’t help but break out into a huge grin. Heimdall, who was not about to let Loki off the hook so easily after his little escapade, cleared his throat, bringing the young god back to reality.

“Alright, fine. I apologize,” Loki conceded, though it was quite hard for him. Then a bit more nervously, he added, “You will not tell my father, will you?”

“You know I am required to report any significant events to your father,” he said. “Though, since this is only a minor infraction, I am willing to turn a blind eye, as it were.”

“Thank you,” Loki said as Heimdall turned to leave. He made a mental note to work on ways to avoid Heimdall’s all-seeing gaze in the future. “I truly appreciate it.”

“You are welcome, my prince. Oh, and one more thing,” he said, turning back around, “they really do enjoy your company.”

He bid a stunned Loki goodbye and was on his way once more. Naturally, you’d expressed that you liked spending time with Loki, but he never could fully rid himself of doubt. Heimdall was certainly telling the truth, though, instilling Loki with a newfound confidence. He swaggered into the palace, completely certain that when he told you how he felt, whenever that may be, you would feel the same way, too.

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alma37 · 3 years

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A[h]arrowing evening - chapter 2

I kind of promised another chapter if I reached 100 hits on AO3. I am a little behind schedule, but a promise is a promise.

So, here is the chapter 2.

Fandom : Dracula TV 2020

Relationship : Agatha x Dracula

Rating : this one tends to M but not quite

I still have not counted the words.

@hopipollahorror @lady-of-the-wolves @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @feralstare

[let me know if you don’t want to be tagged]

@vampyrsbride @khyruma no idea if you even read fanfiction

Anyone else who didn’t ask to be tagged but still read my shit,

everyone, I hope you’ll enjoy!

As Dracula was settling comfortably for the night, a knock resounded on his door. Curious, he went to open and was startled to find a swaying Agatha in front of him.

- Agatha! To what do I owe the pleasure? Or is it displeasure tonight?

The young vampire waved her hand and slurred :

- I came to aplo... to aloo... ap.., to say I'm sorry.

The older vampire frowned :

- Are you all right?!

- Nether bedder!" She was leaning dangerously sideways until she was supported by the doorframe.

- Did you take something?" Dracula asked, incredulous.

- Noooo!... " But after a short pause, she admitted : "I just drank a drunk!" And she sniggered. Agatha never sniggered.

- Oh my! Are you drunk?!

- Mabee a little bit. But he tasted sooo good!" Agatha mumbled, ecstatic.

- What did I tell you about drinking drunk people?!

- Pff!" The younger vampire scoffed. "I drrink whoeve' I want, Mr 'now-it-all.

Now she was listing dangerously towards Dracula who held her upright by the shoulders.

- Do you understand how much alcohol is needed to affect us?! How much blood did he have left in his alcohol stream?!" He asked drily.

The former nun, leaning on his chest now, snorted.

- Did you just make a joke?

- Perhaps.

- You shooould not do that.

- Why not?

- Because... it makesss you likeable. And I am not sh-supposed to like you. I am sh-supposed to.. to kill you! See? I still have my little arrow with me, just in case.

Agatha brandished in all directions the wooden weapon she got used to carry since Dracula turned her. Weary, the older vampire got hold of it before his younger kin could do some damage to either of them.

- Yes, I can see that. I'll keep it for now, if you don't mind.

Agatha made a gesture, that could either mean she didn't mind or its exact opposite. When she didn't try to take back her weapon, the Count concluded it was the former and returned to their previous conversation :

- Did you just said you liked me?

- Ov course not! Why would I do that?! You mush... must get deaf in your old age.

- I assure you my hearing is quite good. You just said you liked me." He persisted.

- Nooooooooo. No, no, nononono. No..." Another short silence, before :" Maybe. A little. But I am rrrreally d-drunk at the moment, so you'll have to ashk... aks... hashk me again tomorrow. When I sh-slept it off.

- When you slept it off, you are going to wish me to the devil. So...

- Zat's not... jat's... that... Yeah!... Maybe we should sleep it ohf togejer, zen.

- I beg your pardon?!

- Zat way, no dish... no dims... no w... no sc-scoffing at.

- I won't sleep with you when you are drunk, Agatha.

- Why not?! I am vewy ri... very vi... willing at the moment. When will you 'ave anozer chance, do you think?

- God, give me strength!

- Did you..." Agatha sniggered for the second time in the evening. " Did you just take God's name in vain?!" before she dissolved in laughter, at the utter dismay of her older kin, while actually slouching against him.

- That's exactly why." The only thing keeping her up was his arm around her waist. When she finally calmed down, he tried to lead her towards the bedchamber :

- Come now. I am putting you to bed.

But Agatha resisted his pull. Even drunk, she was still a vampire.

- Only if you're coming with me into it.

Dracula towered above her.

- Agatha, don't push me. You know I want you. But not like that.

Far from being cowed, the younger vampire slid along his chest until she was an air breath from his mouth before flashing him a brilliant smile :

- Draaackeyyyy... me loveyyyy. Don't be so meaneyyyyy.

The older vampire snapped :

- That's it. That's enough! I am putting you to bed now.

Lifting her like she was a bag of feather, he threw her on his shoulder. Sober Agatha would have been scandalised. Drunk Agatha, however, sniggered for the third time and purred :

- Ooooh! Me very own cave man!... Cave vampire!" Then, even upside down, she set about removing his shirt from his trousers. Dracula couldn't believe what was happening : a few weeks ago, she almost killed him and now, it appeared that she was intent on undressing him.

- Agatha, stop that!" He admonished her, to no avail.

The younger vampire, apparently, was determined to see him naked before they could reach the bedroom. She was really trying his self-control.

- Agatha, if you don't stop, I am going to do something I have wanted to for a long time and you will be left with only regret and self-loathing in the morning. Is it really what you want?

At last, this made her stop. Dracula couldn't help but release a relieved sigh.

Once they reached the bedroom, Dracula slid her down to the bed. He put a knee on the floor to remove her shoes. Agatha, surprisingly silent, was watching him. When he straightened up to help her lie down, she unexpectedly put her hand under his shirt flat against his abdomen. Dracula fought to keep what was left of his restraint.

-Show me your scar.

- It's gone. You know we don't scar." The older vampire answered while removing gently her hand from his skin. She was warm from the blood, which wasn't helping with his growing lust. Luckily, she didn't resist. But she looked disappointed :

- I wanted to kiss it better, as you asked me. As an apology.

- You did, don't you remember?

- Hum! Yes. But I wanted to do it more... Can I kiss you better somewhere else, then?

- Agatha..." But before truly realising it, he was leaning forward. His restraint was flying through the window.

The kiss started sweetly, a mere brush of the lips, but drunk Agatha was demanding and Dracula, unable to resist, gave her what she asked. Soon they were tangled with each other, the older vampire not sure anymore how many limbs his younger kin had, as she seemed to touch him everywhere at the same time. He finally stopped her hands from their roaming and threaded their fingers, while exploring her mouth with avidity. In all their 123 years of fighting, she had never let down her guard and never allowed him this close. Until tonight. She was exquisite, as always. Warm and soft and... softer?

Dracula raised his head to note, with a mix of dismay and amusement, that his nemesis had fallen asleep in his bed. Well, at least, she finally was where he wanted her. The vampire shook his head and laughed softly at the irony. As it was, she wouldn't be able to stake him come morning. Small mercies.

*************

A few hours later, Agatha emerged slowly from her slumber. For a few instants, she couldn't remember but when memories flooded back, she put a pillow on her face and groaned. How could she do that?

- Oh! I see you are awake. Hum! And not suffering ill effects from your over-indulgence.

- Sweet Jesus! It really did happen, then?! I still hoped it was a nightmare.

- I am afraid not, Angel.

- I can't believe I did that. This is so embarrassing!

- Well, it could have been worse. I could have given in.

At those words, Agatha removed the pillow from her face - She couldn't smother herself anyway - and looked at her supposedly oldest enemy. He was watching her with a mix of fondness, resignation and longing. Or so it seemed to her guilty mind.

- I am so sorry, Vlad. I... Well, thank you for resisting. At least one of us didn't embarrass themselves last night.

- My pleasure, Angel. And don't thank me, I wasn't able to totally resist, if you remember well. If you hadn't fallen asleep, honestly..." He trailed before falling silent.

Agatha dropped her gaze on the sheets, a new wave of mortification washing over her.

- Yes, well, I provoked you. So, for once, I don't blame you. You actually showed remarkable restraint.

- Did I hear you well? Did you just pay me a compliment?! You may suffer ill effects after all." Dracula teased her.

- Nevermind." Agatha mumbled, going out of bed. Dracula presented a helping hand, which, after only a slight hesitation, she took. Once upright, though, she had to grip it more tightly as she swayed on her feet.

- Hum. Not totally unscathed, then." The older vampire remarked, without mirth.

- I'm fine." She defended herself."I just feel a little numb.

- Yes, of course. My mistake." He answered, with a knowing smile this time.

- Oh do shut up, Dracula!" The younger vampire growled, as she tried to remove her hand from his. But Dracula didn't let her.

- Maybe you should stay the day. Sleep it off.

- Dracula...

- I promise you : no mischief, no ulterior motive. If I may say so, you don't look so good. You could rest here, I won't bother you.

- I don't think..." She hesitated.

- I can bring you some clean blood to clear your head and you can lie here as long as you want." Dracula added when he sensed her wavering.

Agatha was thinking about accepting his offer as she felt exhausted, but still she pondered.

- Where will you rest? It's daytime.

- Don't worry about me. My sofa is quite comfortable.

The former nun snorted :

- Your sofa is as comfortable as a marble coffin and at least a foot shorter than you!

Dracula shrugged.

- Well, I still have to put a bed in the guest bedroom, so it will have to make do.

Agatha looked at her nemesis' bed : it had been made for him, so it was probably a foot longer than her and at least, large enough to house a small village. She gulped then took a deep breath :

- Your bed is big enough for the both of us. And since, you were the gentleman and offered me its exclusive use, I would be a very sore guest if I'd let you sleep on this terrible furniture you dare call a sofa.

Despite his surprise at her unexpected proposition, Dracula chuckled :

- Well, if you get into the habit of coming to see me while drunk, I may need to invest into a second bed. Or...

Agatha raised a warning finger :

- Don't even think about finishing this sentence, Count.

The older vampire grinned but stopped talking. After an awkward silence, Agatha added :

- You should think about replacing that sofa, too.

- I will." At his tone, she looked at him. He was watching her back with that same expression again.

- Are you sure you don't mind?" Dracula broke the spell. "I must admit I got quite fond of my bed, since I don't need my coffin to sleep in.

- No. I mean : I don't mind." But she insisted, to be sure : "You promise me no mischief.

- You offered me to sleep with you." He countered, teasing her.

Agatha didn't catch the joke, if her scandalised look was any indication :

- I was drunk!

Dracula laughed at her outraged tone.

- I'm joking, Agatha. Relax.

he sat on one side of the bed and patted the place next to him.

- Come on. You look dead on you feet. I promised you no mischief. I'll keep my word.

Agatha sat carefully on the bed then lay down next to her old enemy. They didn't say anything for some time. Dracula rearranged his limbs then put his hands behind his head, settling in.

Agatha was lying next to him rigidly, debating with herself, until finally she sighed :

- Oh Hell!" And throwing caution to the wind, she rolled on her side to nestle against him. It was quite nice, actually.

The older vampire stayed still for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, slowly, he put down one arm to place it around her shoulders and bring her a little closer to him.

- No mischief." She mumbled into his shirt.

- No mischief." He confirmed with a smile in his voice. "Even if you make it hard for me to keep my promise."

- Not without a partner." His younger kin replied softly, already on the verge of sleep.

Dracula resisted laughing at her tart answer, so as not to disturb her. She was relaxing against him and very soon, he could sense she was fast asleep. No partner indeed.

He couldn't hold it any longer and laughed, barely disturbing his exhausted partner. She muttered in her sleep, then settled against him once more after throwing an arm across his chest.

Perhaps, she would heed his advice next time. But Dracula hoped she wouldn't. Drunk Agatha was almost as fun as angry Agatha and far more agreeable.

The older vampire looked down at the woman in his arms. Maybe he was the one high, in this instance : he still couldn't believe his nemesis was actually sleeping, sober and peaceful, in his embrace. If God had decided to be done with him and Agatha was His sword arm, Dracula decided then and there that it was a small price to pay for a few hours with her in his arms. And with that satisfying thought, he slipped in a comfortable slumber.

#dracula 2020 #dracula bbc #dragatha #a [h]arrowing evening #chapter 2 #stand alone #agatha got drunk #drunk agatha is fun #poor dracula has to resist #she's driving him ragged #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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shook-snatched-and-sad · 4 years

Text

so i binged a show called ‘the owl house’...

and to say the least, i am OBSESSED!

(this contains spoilers so don’t read if you haven’t finished the show yet!!)

aside from the fact that i’m a big old lesbian simp for Eda the Owl Lady, i really loved her storyline. it reminds me a lot of my day to day life as someone with a chronic illness. I want to focus on episode 4 ,“The Intruder,” where we learn of Eda’s curse and later episodes where it’s a prevalent point.

in the beginning of the episode eda’s exhausted to the point where king and luz end up carrying her to her bed (nest). she was already tired, but tried to show luz more magic bc she wanted luz to be happy and let her sleep. sometimes when you’re tired and want to lay down you still try to make others happy, and that can be too much for your already sick body. i am guilty of this 10 times over!

she has her elixir, which is almost like pain meds for me and others with chronic pain (or other meds for others in the chronic illness gang). her elixir has a tag reading, “an elixir a day keeps the curse at bay.” if she doesn’t take it, she transforms into something she doesn’t like. and i mean,,,, yeah, it REALLY DO BE LIKE THAT. even tho i’m still trying to find the right medicine for me, i feel like total GARBAGE when i forget to take my meds. i get snappy and irritable and anxious and everything hurts beyond comprehension; that’s all part of my “curse.”

she also took a little while to reveal her curse to luz, and king didn’t even know but has lived with her for a while. some people i’ve known most of my life don’t even know that i sometimes need a cane or that i even have a chronic pain disorder! you don’t want that judgement or others feeling like your condition is too much for them to handle (which is shitty, but people do say this); you can see that eda has had this happen to her time and time again and that it really left a mark on how she feels about trusting others.

she also doesn’t remember who cursed her, and this fleshes out in my mind a few different ways:

1. it adds to her trust issues. she doesn’t consciously know who did it, so it could be anyone she interacts with and that’s scary. to her it’s traumatic, and she lives with the aftermath of the event everyday

2. not remembering? mega brain fog! sometimes you just have bad days where your brain is so cloudy that you low key forget someone’s name or a simple word to something (i once forgot the word “tv” and it’s technically not even a word). it’s almost like a tip of the tongue type thing. also, the figure kinda looks like fog

3. sometimes you don’t know what causes your illness. i have fibromyalgia and it’s just one of those complicated medical conditions where there is no determined cause for it. trauma? yeah, maybe. a few people in the fam with rheumatic stuff? could play a part. god spun the wheel and had to add whatever wacky thing it landed on? hell yeah, baby!

later in the season eda needs some more of her elixir (her meds) and the guy at her usual place doesn’t have it in stock for another 2 weeks. she has to go to the boiling isles’s version of the black market to get it. when she gets to the black market guy, the price is outrageous and he just proves that this show is TOO SELF AWARE FOR ITS OWN GOOD. IDK WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT TO SPIT SUCH FACTS ABOUT CAPITALISM BUT GODDAMMIT SOMEONE HAD TO SAY IT!! sometimes you can’t get the name brand version of your meds bc insurance doesn’t cover it (even if that’s usually what you get) and you have to get the generic version but IT’S STILL WILDLY EXPENSIVE. and it’s worse if you don’t have insurance. i know other chronically ill people who just ended up smoking w**d for their symptoms until the insurance company stopped playing games, and honestly that says something about the wack ass healthcare system of america *sips tea* luckily the rude mf that wouldn’t give eda her meds got his stand destroyed and that’s on performing magick without parental supervison

and what i especially like about this show is that they gave this character a curse (illness) and didn’t make it her entire identity for the show. any other time there’s a chronically ill/disabled character, it’s their only personality trait and exhaustively used throughout as a lazy ploy too add diversity. yes, eda has this curse and she lives each day treating it, but she has so much more substance to who she is: she’s a businesswoman, a friend, a mentor, a goofball, a badass, a powerful woman in her craft. eda had said her self at the end of “the intruder,” “no one likes having a curse, but if you take the right steps, it’s manageable.” and that’s exactly what it’s like being a chronically ill person who is able to manage their symptoms with medication and still do certain things that bring them joy. without her elixir eda wouldn’t be able to perform magick and have her business; without my meds and some physical therapy i wouldn’t be able to go to school full time for my photography degree and have a job as a photographer.

could i possibly be projecting this metaphor onto a character that makes my little gay heart go uwu? maybe but that’s none of your business (unless you feel it too. in that case it’s our business <3). but i seriously cannot wait to see what else is in store for our #1 bad girl in the rest of the series!

(my attention deficit ass wrote this while being distracted from one of my final papers thank you for attending my TEDTalk)

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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

Text

HERE FOR YOU || Jurdan College AU Pt. 2

Warnings: None. Swearing maybe?

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @aesthetics-11 @hizqueen4life @duarteegreenbriar @mysweetvilllain @judexcardanxgreenbriar @nite0wl29 @althekingshorses @thewickedkings @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @acourtofmoonlight @queen-of-glass @random-llama-socks @jurdanhell @cardan-greenbriar-tcp

[if I forgot to tag anyone or if you want to be tagged let me know!]

Summary: After finding a very ill and feverish Jude, Cardan takes her to the doctor. And deals with her usual stubbornness.

HFY Masterlist Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 [coming soon]

AO3 link

My masterlist

Cardan had never liked doctors. When he was a little kid, his mother had to apologize several times because he kept glaring and calling them creepy warlocks, claiming they cured people using potions that stunk and had a sour flavor. And even though he’d got over that phase of his life, the scent of medicine still gave him a slight skittish sensation.

Now, after nearly an hour of waiting he was definitely not enjoying himself, except that this time he couldn’t quite tell if the feeling was because of the smell or not knowing what the doctor was telling Jude, making his muscles tense more with every minute that passed.

One part of him wished nothing more than yell at her for being so reckless and not seeking for help earlier.

The other part though, kept thinking about that morning.

He and Jude had agreed to meet every monday and friday at 9:00 am to work on their final project. At the beginning their meetings had place at the school’s library, since they didn’t talk much. Not because he didn’t want to, of course. But after years of confronting Jude at class, he’d learn to give her space when she focused on something. And maybe because she was a little scary too.

Within time, her frowning glares became curious eyes and her monosyllabic answers, full conversations.

By the third month, they had to look for a new place to meet. The library’s manager, tired of scolding them at least six times a day for talking and laughing too loud, had forbid them to enter the building together. Or being together in there at all.

That’s how they ended up in a coffee shop near the campus. The place was small and cozy. The owner, an old sweet lady called Joanne, prepared the best cappuccinos Cardan had ever tasted.

That morning though, he hadn’t been able to take a sip of his beverage. The two cups of coffee steaming on the table seem to mock him as he alternated his gaze between them and the door, waiting for her to arrive. His leg bounced uneasily and he felt his hands sweatier than usual.

He glanced at the clock. 9:20 am. She was already twenty minutes late. Jude was never late.

From the kitchen, Joanne whistled cheerfully the song that came out from the speakers. An italian song he couldn’t identify. When her eyes crossed Cardan’s she smiled and gave him an encouraging nod. He shifted on his seat, looking down at the small bunch of flowers he’d bought. The white peonies and daisies rested smoothly on the wooden table.

Damn her. Of all days, she’d chose this one to be late.

When he woke up that morning, he was thoroughly decided to finally come clean. To finally tell Jude he was in love with her.

He sent her another message. Nothing.

He called her. No answer. Again.

Had she forgotten?

Impossible, they met there twice a week.

The only possible option left in his mind was that she’d remembered. And didn’t care.

Anger pooled on his stomach. What an idiot he felt now. They had an agreement, imposed by her by the way, of letting the other one know about any inconvenience. Was he really that insignificant for her he didn’t deserve a simple notice?

Bottle it up, he said to himself.

That’s when he remembered she’d been absent from class those last two days too. Even professor Noggle asked about her, a thing he didn’t do with most of the students.

Cardan frowned. In a swift move he stood and walked out.

He left the money for the coffee on the table, and the flowers next to it.

The door opened, bringing him back to the present. As Jude walked out of the consulting room, he noticed her pallor had decreased. Not enough to relax him, but it was something.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, raising to stand next to her.

She shrugged. “Better, I told you it was nothing. Let’s go.”

“Ah ah,” The doctor started, closing the door behind him. “That’s not exactly what I said young lady.”

Cardan frowned at her. Seriously? Her only answer was a deep sigh and rolling eyes.

“My exact words were that it didn’t seem like something too serious or life-threatening. Not that it was nothing.” He took a prescriptions block out of his coat and scrawled something in the front page. Jude groaned. “It’s most likely a severe stomach flu, aggravated by the days it was left untreated. But since the fever was strong, I’d like to wait and see if it settles now.”

“Most likely?” Cardan repeated, his brows pulled together in a frown. What had he paid this clown for, then?

“Well it’s always good to scrap any other possibility, I took a blood sample from miss Duarte so I can send it to the lab. But I don’t believe it will show any other result.”

He nodded. “So what now? We just wait?”

“Cardan.” Jude mumbled. He didn’t move his eyes from the doctor.

“Pretty much.” He handed him the prescription. “She got an injection for the temperature already. Here are scripted some pills she’ll need to take for the next three to five days, to help with the nausea. And of course, lots of water and electrolytes.”

“Thank you, I’ll get those right away.” She said as she snatched the paper from Cardan’s hand and put it away.

“Miss Duarte, I’ll recommend you to stay under observation the next two days. Just in case the fever returns and you need immediate assistance.”

“Of course.” Jude answered nonchalantly, already reaching for the exit. “I’ll let my sister know so she can come over. Thanks.”

Back on his car he drove in silence. ‘Never let me go’ by Florence + The Machine sounded low on the radio. With closed eyes, Jude leaned towards the open window, her brunette locks flying wildly around her head.

Cardan glanced sidewards at her, forcing himself not to linger too much on her slightly parted lips. His mind went back to the moment she’d collapsed in his arms. Cheeks flushed and burning up in heat. Even if he never admitted it out loud, she’d scared the hell out of him.

He pulled his attention back to the road and cleared his throat. “I thought both of your sisters were out of town. Is any of them back? I can call them if you like.”

Jude ignored his question. After a moment of silence she whispered. “Why are you doing this?”

Cardan shrugged. “It’s a little bit obvious isn’t it?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You have our full project on your laptop, Duarte. And it has a password. If you die, then how on earth am I supposed to recover it?”

A punch landed on his arm, followed by a soft chuckle. “Ass. And you don’t need to call anyone. It’s not necessary.”

“Meaning?” Now it was his turn to scowl.

“Meaning,” She sighed. “That I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you already did more than enough. Besides you’re right, my sisters are far far away from here, right where they should.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. Earning a honk from the car behind them, Cardan pushed the brake, leading the car aside so it could fully stop on the sideway.

“Hey, calm down Toretto!” She shouted raggedly, grabbing the door handle for support. “What the fuck!?”

“What the fuck? That’s exactly what I’m asking you, Duarte!” Now he could fully turn to face her incredulous stare. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You passed out a couple of hours ago, you were burning up in fever. Do you realize that? Apparently not, because despite the recommendations, you still insist on not listening!”

An exasperated sigh left his lungs. He grabbed the wheel tighter, trying to ease the growing pool of rage inside him. Calm down. He’d spent his life telling himself to calm down. Being terrible at expressing his feelings, he was used to get irritated every time he faced pain, or fear. Or pretty much anything, actually. But gods, how could she be so stubborn?

Jude pressed her mouth into a thin line and looked down, her hands twisting faintly on her lap. She was indeed nervous about whatever illness loomed in her body, he noticed, trying to ignore the lips he so badly wanted to tug between his.

“I’ll stay with you.” The words left his lips before he fully realized it.

“You what? Don’t be rid-”

“The doctor said you needed to be under supervision.” He answered turning back to the road, and put his car on march again. She was probably giving him some murdering glare that he prefered to elude. “So you have two options sweetheart, either you let me stay at your place or you come back to mine, but a frat house it’s not exactly a place to rest. You are, by no means, staying alone.”

Half a second later, even the radio was muffled by her incessant ranting. Hardly determined to convince him of doing otherwise.

Cardan just drove.

When he parked next to her building the sun was already setting.

With her arms firmly folded across her chest Jude hadn’t stopped gritting her teeth all the way back. This was madness, she repeated to herself over and over.

The man showed up out of nowhere, took her to the doctor, paid for her medicine and now wanted to stay in her apartment? No fucking way.

The problem now, was that if there was anyone on earth even more stubborn than her, it was Cardan. A man that no matter how many times she asked him to just leave her on the sidewalk and leave, was now walking up the stairs next to her. A satisfied grin on his perfect charming face. If she didn’t feel as weak at the moment she’d slapped his way out of the place.

Once inside she left the medicines and the gatorades on the table and turned to him.

“For the hundredth time, Cardan. You don’t have to stay, everything is under control and I’m not feveri- what’s that?” She asked, noticing the hanging object on his shoulder.

“A backpack?”

She rolled her eyes. “I‘m not blind, you ass. What are you doing with that backpack?”

“I always keep some extra clothes in my trunk. You know, in case I find myself in any unexpected situation.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her in a way that twisted her guts. Ugh, disgusting.

The repulse must’ve been written on her face too because he snickered for a second before throwing it next to the couch. “Becoming your hot nurse certainly fits in the category dear, you can’t deny that.”

She blinked and pushed back the intrusive thoughts that emerged from his statement. Why was her mind against her today? Maybe the fever had burned her coherency brain cells, if she’d ever had any to begin with.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.” Cardan dropped himself on the couch, opening a book he’d taken from his pack. “Now take those pills, put on your weird pijama and go rest.”

Maybe she could still gather the strength to slap him after all.

Trying to ignore the sour flavor that shitty pills left on her mouth, Jude stood in front of the mirror. Wearing the shorts and the t-shirt she’d put on before they went to the doctor, she found herself suddenly worried by her clothing and messy hair.

Which was utterly absurd. It wasn’t as if he cared at all about her wardrobe choices.

Still, the idea of them sleeping under the same roof unnerved her. It had been a long time since she’d had someone from the opposite sex staying the night. Either way, her exasperating classmate certainly hadn’t crossed her mind.

She bit her lip.

Ok that was a lie. Being honest she might have thought about it a couple of times. Mostly drunk. She always felt guilty the day after. And pissed. It left her wishing she could hate him again, like she did on sophomore year when he was truly a rude idiot. But no matter how hard she’d tried, his wits and dumb jokes had slowly changed her perspective of him. Not to mention those deep dark eyes and wicked smile of his. It only took a pair of tequila shots to start fantasizing about running her lips along that jaw. FINE, it didn’t take any tequilas to do that. But sober she had a tiny bit of control over her too-creative mind. Drunk Jude had already undressed him in her dreams once. Twice?

And now Cardan was outside, lying down on her comfy couch. Staying the night.

Jude chewed her inner cheek. This was a nightmare.

As quiet as possible, she opened the door and peered outside. He was nowhere to be seen. Maybe some ancient deity took mercy on her and vanished him to oblivion. That or he was probably in the bathroom, so she tiptoed her way to the modest kitchen.

She’d just finished preparing her chai tea when the bathroom’s door opened. Decided to ignore him, she kept her gaze down.

At least until she caught a glimpse of him with the corner of her eyes. That, snapped her attention back. Oh no, no no no no.

“CARDAN GREENBRIAR WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I...what?”

“Could you please… I don’t know, maybe put a fucking shirt on?!” She could already feel her blood gathering on her cheeks.

He paused and quirked an eyebrow. “For your information, Duarte, I tend to sleep naked. These pants are a sign of my consideration to you, since we’re at your place.”

The goddamn idiot was made of marble. Jude knew he wasn’t precisely one of those big muscular men, not that it meant he didn’t have everything in place. His well formed shoulders and arms were visible even with clothes, and now she could admire the slightly marked muscles of his torso all the way down to the V that disappeared under his pine-green pants. His shoes were off too.

“Are you blush-” He started, only to be cut by her murderous voice.

“Good night, Cardan.” Taking her cup, she crossed the place with big steps, slamming the bedroom’s door behind her.

Leaning against the wood, she heard the couch creak as he laid down. Her breathing evened a little a few minutes after.

Shit, that had been rude. Even if he’d imposed his presence there he was still a guest, her mind scolded her. A really hot guest. No no, don’t think of that now.

As silently as she could she opened the door again. And pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her laugh at what she saw.

Cardan’s legs hung over the couch’s arm. Which made sense, considering how tall he was, but right now it only looked bloody ridiculous, and kind of adorable. She tried to ignore the guilt that pierced her heart again. He seemed stiff. An idea shone on her mind. A terrible terrible idea.

“Cardan?” She whispered.

He hummed in response.

She swallowed and walked towards him. “You can’t sleep in there.”

He scoffed and looked at her through hooded eyes, dark and deep made her heart skip a beat. “If you’re trying again to convince me to leave…”

“I’m not.” Jude blurted, passing a hand over her curls. Somehow words seemed to stuck in her throat. “I mean- even when you are completely ignoring me about you not needing to be here… I guess I… What I try to say is-”

“Jude Duarte is babbling. Gods, now I’m intrigued.” He breathed, propping himself on his elbows.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head elusively. It was humiliating how easy it was for him to put her on edge. “Shut up will you? You can’t stay on the couch, it’s small and uncomfortable… And I, well, I happen to own a double bed.”

Smooth, girl, smooth.

“Trying to lure me into your bed? So soon?” He teased, flashing her a smile, yet his joke didn’t reach his eyes. Something in them was different, they were wider, intense.

“You’re intentionally being an asshole.” She said, gritting her teeth. This time his tricky words and good looks wouldn’t affect her. She couldn’t allow it. “I just meant that we can both sleep there. Like, as far away as the bed allows but at least you could rest.”

For a second he just looked at her. Not mocking or rude, she couldn’t place the expression in his face. His jaw set, chest raising and falling slowly. “You don’t have to, Jude. I’m ok in here.”

“Don’t lie. Besides I’d feel better too. Not because- Ugh, I’d feel better knowing that I could at least make your staying more bearable, I guess.” That wasn’t so bad. Yet. And honestly she couldn’t tell if it was worse if he accepted, or refused.

Back in her room an awkward silence filled the atmosphere as both laid side to side. Somehow, even if they were not touching, Jude could feel the heat of his skin. Her heart hammered so fast she swore he could listen to it.

“So…” He started.

Panic filled her senses, she needed to cut any conversation before saying or doing something she’d regret later. “There’s no need to mention it, just go to sleep… please.” She rolled onto her side, facing away from Cardan. “Good night.”

Jude barely heard him sigh. “Sweet dreams, Jude.”

It was hot. Really really hot. Fuck he couldn’t move. How much had he drank last night?

Wait. No, last night he didn’t go out with Locke. He’d said he would spend the weekend with his girlfriend, at least this month’s. Cardan had stopped mocking him for it long ago.

Eyes still closed, he grimaced and tried to stretch but something held down his arm. As Cardan became more and more aware of his body, the memories of the day before flashed in his mind. The failed meeting with Jude, the flowers he’d spend almost an hour choosing, her body going limp against him, the useless doctor… Jude offering him her bed to sleep.

That’s when something tickled his neck, startling him.

No, not something.

Cardan’s eyes snapped open, he looked down and froze when he realized Jude’s body was pressed flush against him, one of her hands resting on his chest. Somehow their legs impossibly tangled. Terrified, he found his own arm encircling her waist, bare skin touching his fingers since her too big shirt had rolled up in her sleep.

She shifted a little and her nose brushed his neck again, letting out a small breath that sent hot shivers down his body.

Any knowledge of how to move or think completely forgotten. He stared blankly at the ceiling.

Fuck fuck fuck shit what the fucking fucks.

#i'm so so sorry it took me so long!!#BUT HERE IT IS #honestly i'm not that happy with it #but i'll try to make it better for chapter 3!!!#oh some good stuff coming there #jurdan #jurdan college au #college au #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #holly black #jurdan fanfic #tess writes

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world-of-aus · 4 years

Text

Behind the Screen - (Part 9)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count:2,825

Warnings: smut 18+ fluff all the fluff.

Author’s Note: this was a little late, but i am still on time in a sense and i am so proud of myself lol. Tag-lists are open for both Behind the Screen and Family Matters if you all are interested in being added just send me an ask or a message! Also again if you’d like to be removed from my tag-lists you can always message me privately. Thank you all for reading and enjoying the content i put out words truly can’t describe how happy your comments, reblogs, and likes make. This goes for just the ones reading as well, thank you! - xoxo

Part 8 / SERIES MASTERLIST

Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, it’s not like he was able to before, but there was something about you now that was just absolutely glowing, injury or not you were ethereal.

“Alright y/n well it’s not broken but I wouldn’t put too much pressure on it, and I definitely recommend taking a good two weeks off from doing any strenuous activities if you want to be able to join the others on missions sooner rather than later,”

A groan left your lips, “anyway I can get you to push that to a smaller time frame?” You questioned.

A smile tugged at the doctors lips, “sorry, but no can do, unless you want that foot to continue to be a problem I’d advise you stay off of it and keep it elevated at all times,”

Another groan left your lips, Bucky chuckled from beside you, you turned your head slightly to give him a playful glare, “laugh it up Barnes, we all can’t be super soldiers” you muttered like a petulant child.

“Barnes make sure y/n gets to her room, relaxes, and keeps that leg elevated,” Bucky nodded, “ oh and one more thing, next time you break your nose you might want to come to med bay just in case, I know you all tend to heal a little quicker but it’s advised you get seen by a doctor and not your teammate,” she grinned.

His cheeks flared with heat as his eyes slid to you, you held your hands up in surrender, “I was busy fixing you up, it wasn’t me that ratted you out,”

“alright you two,” she chuckled, “Barnes, can I trust that you’ll take care of y/n, the way that she took care of you last night?”

“no worries Doc, she’ll be in good hands,”

The doctor chuckled helping you from the bed, Bucky sidled up to your side, his arm wrapping your waist supporting your body. You two were almost out of the room when the doctor was calling out again, “oh and Mr. Barnes, please make sure y/n actually gets rest, remember no strenuous activities, she needs to keep that leg elevated,”

Your lips parted open, cheeks going red in embarrassment, Bucky chuckled lowly, “no promises doc, but I'll make sure that leg stays elevated,” he grinned pulling you out of the room and into the hallway.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” you hissed smacking him in the chest.

Bucky chuckled, “what, words going to get out, and be careful doll, I just might pull a you and leave you behind without warning,” he teased.

You glared up at him though a smile pulled at your lips, “you know I'm beginning to think I maybe didn’t mean what I said earlier,”

Bucky stopped abruptly in the hall, eyes looking down at you, “oh really now,” a cheeky grin pulled at his lips, “you should really watch your words sweetheart,”

“why, you gonna make me eat them?” you questioned.

“oh, I'll make you eat something, but it won’t be your words,” he grinned, a loud laughfalling from his lips at the red hue that painted your cheeks.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered into his side as he continued to drag you along.

“my room is that way,” you muttered into his shoulder as he dragged you down your corridor but in the opposite direction of where your room was.

“m’aware sweetheart, but I thought I’d change things up,” he grinned placing a kiss to your hair.

“are you expecting me to limp back to my room?” you questioned with amusement.

Bucky stopped the two of you in front of his door, his body turning to face yours, his hands came up to grasp at your face, “didn’t plan on sending you away,” he murmured thumb running along the peaks of your cheeks, “was kinda hoping you’d stay,”

“you sure about that, you okay if the other’s find out about us?” you questioned teasingly.

He smirked, his head closing in, lips hovering just above yours, “let them find out doll, m’ tired of always having to leave you behind,” he murmured his lips connecting with yours.

A soft sigh left your lips, your fingers curling into the material of Bucky’s gear at his sides, “So I'm assuming you told her?”

You groaned as you pulled your lips away from his to look over your shoulder, a laugh left your lips, your head falling to Bucky’s shoulder, “It just had to be you Steve, didn’t it?”

“at least it’s been me and not one of the other’s,” he shot back, “buck I know I said to help y/n out but I didn’t mean in that way,” he teased.

You groaned a laugh slipping past your lips, “Steve stop!” you whined.

“alright, alright, I'll leave the two of you alone, but be prepared for this to be happening for a good while, especially once Sam finds out,”

“please don’t remind us,” you laughed.

“anyways I'll leave the two of you,” he replied walking past, “oh and one more thing,” he paused the two of you looking over at him, “make sure you keep the noise down,” he winked.

“Steven Grant Rogers!” you gasped.

He threw out a hearty laugh, waving at the two of you as he disappeared into his room, “sure we can’t keep us a secret a little longer?” you questioned looking up at Bucky with amusement in your eyes.

He pressed his head against yours, “not a chance doll, now let’s get you taken care,” oh he murmured pressing his lips to yours, “doctor’s orders”

Bucky’s fingers danced along your curves, his fingers hooking under the hem of your shirt, “lift your arms for me babe,” he murmured.

“You know I don’t think this is what the doctor or Steve meant by helping, I think I can handle a shower, Buck,” you teased, lifting your hands up.

“m’sure you can but I don’t want to risk something happening to you, if you go in there by yourself,” he replied giving you a cheeky grin.

“my hero” you cooed, “though if you plan on actually getting in with me, I think you need start shedding layers,” you murmured fingers crawling up his chest.

“Say no more,” he whispered leaning down to place a kiss to your shoulder.

Moving away from him you moved to the shower turning the knobs, yours fingers reaching out to test the water. Content you reached for the buttons on your pants eager to feel the warmth of the water on your battered skin. Trying not to hurt your foot anymore you wobbled on unsteady legs as you wrangled them off.

You could hear Bucky chuckle behind you, warm and cool fingers found their way to your hips steadying you, his broad chest presses against your back, “shoulda waited for me, I could have helped you,” he murmured pressing a kiss to your skin.

Your head fell onto his shoulder a soft moan falling from your lips, “i can think of other ways you could help me,” his lips paused on your skin, his lips paused on your skin, “how about we get you in that shower first and we’ll see in what ways my hands can be of assistance,” he grinned nipping at your skin.

Needing to feel more of him you wasted no time in ridding yourself of the rest of you clothes. Bucky’s arms stayed wrapped around you as he helped you into the shower a content moan falling from your lips as the warm water cascaded down your body.

Bucky’s lips once more found their way onto your heated skin, “mmm,” you groaned head falling to his shoulder, “what are your hands going to help with first,” you murmured placing an open-mouthed kiss to his chin.

He chuckled against your skin, his hands gripping your hips to turn you in his hold, his hand came up to push the hair back from your face, “how about we get cleaned up and I promise, ill put my hands to good use once you’re all lathered up and washed off,”

Leaning up on your toes as best as you could without hurting your injury further, your lips came to a stop in front of Bucky’s “I’m going to tell Steve you were a sucky nurse,” you murmured.

His hands reached for something behind you, his arms pulling you in closer as he reached for the object. You heard the squirt of a bottle, his hands came up weaving their way into your hair, his fingers working the soap into your scalp “Honey I promise when I'm through taking care of you, you’re going to wish Steve had assigned you anyone else but me,”

“I don’t know Barnes, you’re a lot of talk,” you murmured your head falling back into the cascading water, the lather of shampoo washing away from your hair.

“ouch, y/n, I'm a man of action you should know this, turn around for me,” he murmured once all the suds had cleared.

Turning in his hold your back pressed to his front, his cock heavy with arousal pressing into your back, you couldn’t help leaning into him further, your body reacting to his.

“you want my hands or the loofa?”

“your hands please,” you whisper body thrumming in anticipation.

Bucky leans forward once more, hips grinding into your backside as he grabs the soap, he squirts a generous amount into his hands, lathering them up before he's coming back to your body. His hands work over your shoulders first, making their slow descend down the valley of your breasts, cupping them in his hands he lathers them up with soap, his thumbs running over your hardened nipples. A moan tumbles from your lips, as his hands descend further, fingers scraping softly against the expanse of your stomach, “Buck please,” you murmur the need for his hands to go where you need them to growing.

His head find its way onto your shoulder, the farther his hands go, you wait in anticipation the second his fingers meet the curve of your hips. His hands work over the skin there, sliding towards your heat, a groan slips past your lips as his fingers deflect now making their way down your thighs, “Bucky,” you whine.

A low chuckle falls from his lips as his fingers slide between your thighs, inching up painfully slow, finally you think. Your walls clench in anticipation, “Bucky, no!” you whine as he turns you in his hold.

He’s pushing into you, his hands shutting off the water behind you, his eyes clouded over with lust, “ m’gonna need you to hold on real tight to me doll, don’t want to drop you and injure you any further,” he murmured leaning down to press his lips to yours.

Your hands find their way around his neck, wrapping around him tightly, his hands descend down the curves of your ass, hooking under your thigh as he lifts you up. In that moment you’re grateful you’re standing in a shower and not a bathtub.

Bucky swallows the moan that falls from your lips as he walks the two of you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He’s leaning down, your body gently falling onto the cold sheets below you, he’s screwed he thinks as his eyes drink in your naked form, he’s screwed because he loves you so much, and it scares him because he’s never felt this strongly for someone before.

He leans back over you, body covering yours as his lips connect to yours once more, a soft sigh falls from your lips, your hands snaking their way around his back to pull him closer. Lips pressing further into his, you deepen the kiss, tongue running over his lower lip.

Tongues dancing slowly with one another, his hands roam down the curve of your body, fingers press into your waist as he pulls his lips away from yours, a gasp falling from his lips as he pulls air back into his lungs. Your hips are rocking against his needing to feel the weight of his cock against your aching core, a shiver rolls through him at the low moan falling from your lips, his dick twitching with want. His head presses to yours eyes connecting, a warm smile pulls at your lips, fingers sliding across his face, finding their way into his hair as you pull him down. “i need you Buck,” you whisper lips brushing against his.

His hand at your waist slips further down hooking around your thigh as he brings it up to rest around his hips. A moan is falling from both your lips as the new position allows for the head of his cock to press into your folds, his hips roll forward the tip brushing against your aching clit.

Hand leaving your thigh it snakes it’s way between your bodies to grab a hold of his cock. Dragging it through your slick folds he presses into your warm heat, a moan is falling from your lips as he bottoms out, your lips connecting with his.

“Fuck sweetheart,” he moans against your lips, “always feel so good around me.”

He doesn’t move at first enjoying the feeling of you fluttering and clenching around him. He’s lost on you and how you feel around him, everything about you is so damn beautiful. His hands come up to cup your cheek, thumb running over the swell of your lower lip, “so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your breath hitches in your throat, heart swelling in your chest, “please move, I need you to move, baby,” you reply your own hands running over stubble of his beard.

His hips retreat from yours, cock sliding out from within you till only the tip is left. His lips are pressing to yours, hips surging forward as he builds up a slow rhythm. Your hands leave his face to wrap around his back, fingers digging into the warm skin there pulling him impossibly closer to you. Low grunts are falling from his lips as he fucks up into you, your other leg hooking around his waist to get him deeper.

His head finds its way to your neck lips searching out that hidden sweet spot that will have you coming undone in his arms, his thrusts have picked up speed, a steady speed which draws the sweetest groans of pleasure falling from your lips. He could listen to those sounds falling from your sinful lips for the rest of his life if you would let him.

His lips draw away from your neck needing to see you fall apart from him as he continues to bring you closer to that sweet release. Your lips are parted open, eyes covered over in lust, but there’s something more there, something that has his heart stalling in his chest, because he swears, you’re looking at him like he just hung the stars for you.

“gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous,” he whispers to himself, “look at you sweetheart,” he grunts hips picking up speed, “you’re an absolute angel,”

A moan is catching in your throat, now you’re the one who’s heart is stilling in their chest, “Bucky I-” but you stop yourself. Bucky understand then, picks up on those words that wanted to fall from your lips, because god did he want to say them too. His hand searches for yours on the bed grasping it in his as he pushes you deeper into the bed, his whole body consuming you.

He’s thrusting hard, deep, burying himself in you, your walls fluttering around him as your orgasm approaches. Your head pushed forward , lips finding his shoulder as you kiss the scarred skin there, an intimate motion that has Bucky’s head reeling.

“Bucky please,” you whine low in your throat, pressing warm wet kisses into his skin. He picks up speed needing to bring you to that release, a particularly deep thrust has you falling apart around him, your body falling over the edge, your orgasm washing over you. Long low moans are falling from your parted lips, fingers clawing at Bucky’s back as he fucks you through the pleasure. His name falls from your lips in a silent prayer, you’re pleading, you need to feel him, you need him to cum for you.

Bucky pushes your further into the mattress, his jaw clenching as his orgasm washes over him, his stomach muscles tense, as he spills into you, warm spurts filling your core, he never wants this feeling to end. Not wanting to crush you he goes to move away but your legs keep him locked with you, “stay,” you murmur in your post orgasmic haze.

Your arms pull him down, his head falling to your chest, your heart beating away wildly in your chest. Your fingers run through his chocolate locks, lips pressing into his hair.

He loves you he thinks, he really loves you.

Part 10

Behind The Screen Tag-list: @ladifreakingda @georgialeighc13 @racewife2004 @multy-fandom-lover @otvlanga @sailorstupidsblog @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @wantingtobekorra @gazzan-a @clarinette07 @amanda-the-fangirl @im-sure-its-fine @sagechanoafterdark @heyywestman @runaway-escape @ilovesupersoldiers @unlistedpond @rayofdawnworld @badassbaker @spookyanairwin @fandom-basurero @krabby-tentacles @sassy-pelican @lizlepuffs @jaywolf840 @xoasalxo

#behind the screen #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes series #marvel series #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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louiseleblancdiggory · 4 years

Note

"I could never leave you behind." + "I know you're scared" + Rowan + Aelin = Angst Fest = Happy(?) Reader

You guys get happy with sad shit I will never understand this. I usually listen to songs while writing angst so I will attach it here. Anyways, here you go..... Enjoy I guess?

Warnings: death, blood, mentions of war, illness

La Vie en Rose

youtube

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Aelin was exhausted.

Her golden bangs were sticking to her forehead, and it didn’t matter how many times she swiped them away with the back of her hand, they always seemed to go back. She should have listened to Lysandra and not have cut them. If she hadn’t, then maybe she would have been able to tuck them into the white cloth headband holding the rest of her hair back. It was made out of the same linen as her dress and apron, but it was probably the cleanest garment she wore these days.

Before, Aelin was never seen with a speck of dirt on her, always wearing beautiful and fancy dresses. Her fashion style was commented among the elite of Terrasen, and she prided herself in her own beauty.

Beauty didn’t matter these days, she supposed. Neither did beautiful clothes, or how clean you were. No, those things seemed so far away now that Aelin felt rather like a foolish little girl when she remembered them. When this all started, the government, the people on the streets kept saying how this would change their men forever, but no one seemed to warn the women how it would affect them too.

Aelin was sitting on the floor, an old metal water bottle in front of her. She had drank until the last drop after treating one of the soldiers, the work harder than usual. It had required so many stitches, that Aelin didn’t know how she had managed to do it all without her hands trembling terribly. Usually, Elide or Lysandra did the stitches— Aelin had always been better in the calming part, in keeping the soldiers company until they got better.

Or until they passed.

But Lysandra had been transferred to a camp on the other side of Terrasen, and Elide had fallen ill five months after arriving at the camps. She had been her cousin, had been someone Aelin knew her whole life, so after she didn’t recover from the illness, Aelin became much more numb to the job. This wasn’t like the movies she had seen. No dramatic scenes, no happy ending in sight. Only death, and pain, and blood. Sometimes, Aelin looked around and wondered if Elide’s death hadn’t been a blessing to the sweet girl.

Perhaps this was Gods’ way of taking the good souls with them until they abandoned this world once and for all.

Most nights for the past years, Aelin would pray for death too.

She never died, though. She woke up everyday and made sure these men didn’t die either. She made sure that they would wake up with her in the next morning, in blinding pain but glad that they had another chance, another speck of hope of ever going back home. That is, if there was a home to go back after everything.

Despite all the death and destruction around her, Aelin had also grown rather fond of some soldiers. It was foolish, she knew, to get attached to people who walked into battlefields everyday. It was foolish to sit on the cobblestones of the little infirmary whenever no one needed her, watching the horizon and hoping they would come back. Despite its foolishness, though, Aelin supposed everyone needed some hope these days.

Hers was Rowan Whitethorn.

Rowan Whitethorn had been her hope since Elide had died and Lysandra had been taken away.

He was one of the Lieutenants around, and despite his seriousness and brooding nature, he had always been kind to Aelin. Always visited her after finishing reports, always came to drink with her after a good day.

Always came by the bad days too.

He always made sure to check in with her after coming back, just so he would let her know he was still alive. He was still there.

His friends became her friends, and now whenever Aelin looked over the horizon, she wouldn’t wait only for Rowan. Her heart also hurt whenever she thought about the Moonbeam twins, Vaughan, Gavriel or Lorcan not coming back. Always felt unbelievably afraid she would go back home alone one day.

No, getting attached was foolish but hope was needed indeed.

Aelin hoped for so many things, but also always kept all that bottled numbness around just in case.

Hope was all they had these days.

Fenrys hoped he would go back to Doranelle one day, he would always say. He had met a beautiful woman weeks short of being drafted, and although years had passed, he still hoped she had waited. Still hoped he could have a normal life after this.

Years later after the war was over, he would discover that the city of Doranelle had been attacked and the beautiful woman hadn’t made it out.

Vaughan and Connall hoped they both would survive so, once they went back home, they could get properly married. Connall would always announce to the lower ranking soldiers that they were all invited to the ceremony, a party so big it would be more memorable than this war. Vaughan would smile at him, but fear and sadness always clouded his eyes. Hope was never enough to erase fear, it seemed.

Years later after the war was over, Connall would sit alone in an empty house, mourning for a man he never had the chance to marry properly.

Lorcan had loved Elide. Although only together for five months, Aelin knew Lor had loved her cousin. After her death, Aelin believed he wished for death, wished to join Elide in a place better than this. She discovered months later that Lorcan still had hope, still had dreams. As strange as it was to imagine that man with kids, Lorcan hoped he survived enough to do what Elide had always dreamed of. A small orphanage that would treat kids right until a loving family came by— a thing Lorcan hadn’t had when younger.

Years later after the war was over, Lorcan would decide to remain in the army, too scarred from years fighting to ever go back to the normal world.

Gavriel hoped to be alive so he could see Andromeda again. His lover, he would sometimes quietly tell Aelin while she stitched him up. Beautiful like no one, a terrible dancer who loved to dance with her whole heart. Gavriel hoped he could see her dance one more time.

Years later after the war was over, Gavriel would go back home to a grave with a woman inside that he would never see dancing again. Same illness as Elide, he would discover. He never talked to Lorcan after that, as if the other man was a mirror he refused to look at.

And then there was Rowan. In the beginning, he would tell her he didn’t have anything or anyone waiting for him. That dying in this war wouldn’t be terrible, wouldn’t crush his hopes because he didn’t have any.

That had been years ago, because two weeks ago, during a summer night while they all sat around the fire, Rowan told that his mind had changed. That he had something to hope for.

“Once this war is over, Aelin Galathynius, I hope I can take you out.” He said with a small smile, whispering so no one else would hear his dreams. “Any flashy or expensive or fancy place you want to go. And then I will take you to a bar and we will dance all night , just like Gavriel says his wife likes to do. And then, only then, I will kiss you.”

Aelin had smiled, arching an eyebrow at him. “Only then?”

He nodded solemnly. “Only then.”

The thought of it always brought a smile to Aelin’s lips, a new sort of lightheartedness taking over her body. Even amidst the war, imagining a life with Rowan— a normal life— always made her see the world a soft and lovely pink.

“Galathynius.” Rolfe calls from the infirmary. “They need you at the shock ward. Sorry, sweetheart, I tried to get them to give you some rest.”

“It’s fine, Rolfe.” Aelin said, getting up. “We are all used to it by now.”

Aelin had worked all day, seeing the sun slowly set, painting the world pink and orange. It was about time for dinner, and she was just finishing talking to a boy no older than seventeen who had broken his arm when rushed steps sounded. Hell broke lose in the room as a group of men hauled another one in one of the tables, shouting things to one another and to anyone around them.

It took Aelin a whole minute to realize who was on top of the table.

She didn’t know if she should cry or laugh bitterly. Maybe the Gods hated her, maybe the Gods did hate them all.

Aelin walked calmly to the table, willing all that bottled numbness to take over the hope in her body.

“How am I doing, ma’am? I tried telling them I was ok, but apparently they wanted a nurse’s opinion.” Rowan asked, his face in a grimace. Aelin knew that Rowan knew enough about injuries to know the answer to that. She looked back at the boys, all suddenly quiet as they watched Rowan.

Aelin decided to ignore his question, smiling at him instead. “Came back to check in? It was getting late, I was worried.”

Rowan didn’t complain about her changing the subject, instead grabbing her hand. “I could never leave you behind, Fireheart.”

Her throat twisting but not a single tear appearing. “Good, you still owe me a flashy, expensive, and fancy dinner.”

“Some dancing too, if I remember correctly.”

She nodded, cupping his face in one hand and rubbing his cheek with her thumb. “And a kiss.”

He nodded too, the tears that were missing on Aelin coming out of his eyes. “I know you are scared—“

Aelin bent down to kiss him on the forehead. “You are doing just fine, sir.”

Rowan smiled at that, lovingly and through tears. “I was just confirming.”

Ten minutes.

It had taken ten minutes until he died, nothing anyone could do.

Aelin left the room without a word to anyone. She walked and walked and walked until she knew no one would find her.

And only then she cried.

Because despite having just lost another person, she was a nurse. And nurses never cried in front of their patients or patients’ families. Never in front of the soldiers.

But now she was alone. Truly and wholly alone.

And so Aelin cried.

And the pink world became gray again.

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommess-blog @yesdreamblog @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @heirofthenightcourt

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lorei-writes · 4 years

Text

IkeSen Masamune Analysis #5

I haven’t written one of those in a while. Who knows, maybe I’ll get inspired to put more posts like this together - although I’m not sure if “analysis” wasn’t too big of a word when I picked it. Oh well. It happened already, I presume? So let’s continue onward with that, even if it was a mistake.

1st part: the trauma & the grief

2nd part: discovering the new meaning to love & getting in touch with himself

3rd part: the pathos of the dramatic route

4th part: future customs & how modern their relationship is (by future standards)

#5: Flaws

It oftentimes seems to me that flaws of character tend to be overlooked on behalf of the great qualities somebody has. After all, why focus on the ugly if beauty is one step away?

Well. My personal opinion is that by doing that, a character is stripped of its complexity and ultimately loses some of its appeal, the flaws being one of the major factors contributing to their overall believability. They make them relatable, are a point of struggle, bring realness into fantasy - so honestly, personally, I lean towards enjoying imperfections.

As such, let’s look at some of Masamune’s flaws and perhaps wonder how some of them affect him. As always, it’s just my perspective on the matter. So please, if it makes you angry - take a step back. You don’t have to agree with me on that one. It’s okay.

Probably the most obvious one would be his lies - because for a honest and direct person, Masamune lies a lot, even though mostly to himself. He lies to people close to him, consequently keeping them at an arm distance, never allowing for anything possibly presenting his weakness spread to the world. He doesn’t allow himself to hurt - he must be strong. At all cost, every time and every where, and he must always push forward. That by itself, of course, is draining. Perhaps he doesn’t even consider those half-truths and white lies to be dishonest in any way? Does it influence him? It does. It was shown how scared he can be when the one person he has found courage to be vulnerable with could be taken away. It’s one of the factors driving his rather risky choices, it tires him out physically, makes it harder for him to form deeper emotional connections. Generally, I presume it would suffice to say that Masamune isn’t used to somebody taking care of him.

Similarly to the above, Masamune is merciless towards himself. I wouldn’t say he’s addicted to work, but he certainly values it more than himself and his own well-being. He works late hours, is always in the centere of the battle, is willing to accept new responsibilities despite the workload (for example: his route - taking over the impoverished territory and redistributing rice to feed people struck by hunger)... As mentioned in his eternal love route epilogue, Masamune always strove to be deserving of praise, under all conditions. However, is that humanely possible? No. People make errors - and that is okay. It doesn’t come easy for him to accept that. (For example: an event in which he and MC were tasked with finding out a culprit threatening lord Nobunaga - I believe Mitsuhide was also in the group, however, it was only our pair that visited the inn. Due to a mistake on his part, MC was almost stabbed. Almost, as Masamune stopped the knife in time. As it was shown later, he didn’t take it well, distancing himself from her and spending the night training; Does it happen outside events? Yes. It can show in many ways, but one of them would be the fact that he doesn’t like discussing his past self and his weakness from that time. He also hides tears, for very long even from the woman he fell in love with).

He’s not fluent in emotion and his entire route is lined with him discovering that the thing he feels is love (more on that in 2nd part of the analysis, linked above). He undergoes tremendous character development.

There’s also another facet to it - despite being technically a character that’s all about this “fun”, he’s disciplining himself strictly. He’s always holding himself back, pushing away all the needs and desires that interfere with who he thinks he should be. And what can interfere with it? Anything that lasts. Because for all he knows, there may be no tomorrow. Masamune doesn’t allow himself any stability.

Now, those were more of character traits. However, there’s more to Masamune that could potentially be seen as “damaged”.

This may be debatable, however, I do think that one of the reasons behind his lifestyle (not that it’s the only reason and that he doesn’t enjoy it. Only that it’s a thing that could possibly magnify it) is... Well. He tells himself he is ready to die, but for a man that made his peace with death, he clings desperately to anything good about life.

Now, I don’t doubt his motivation. I believe that if a time came and it was necessary, he would sacrifice himself without a doubt. He would live his life as to be a perfect leader, no matter the cost. But since he doesn’t know when the time will come and since he doesn’t want to regret anything, he doesn’t allow himself to live slowly. It must be fast - it may be over before it fully began.

I don’t consider this by itself to be a flaw. I think a part of him enjoys it. However, I presume that this ongoing intensity combined with little close connections (remember, he’s still a lord to his vassals) can be draining at times, almost desperate.

I’ve already talked about the trauma related to killing his father. However, I think that another traumatic event overlooked in his case is the loss of his eye - and I do dare to say that it was really bad by itself as well.

And I don’t mean just pain. Well. I’m chronically ill and I don’t think I would lie much if I said that being forced to alter your routine is really hard at first. I don’t think that it would be a lie to state that losing a part of functionality of your body can be traumatic by itself as well.

So, he lost sight in his eye first. As such, he was seen as a nuisance by his family - he was hated and this hatred was internalized. For a child to wish they were never born...? It hurts. It hurts a lot, much more when it’s the people, who should protect you, who hurt you like so. He was “defective”.

Now. He decided to take it out. To just get rid of it, to cut it out of himself, to let it be part of the past. He didn’t need to, but he did. Possibly because this eye was a part of his weakness and that he couldn’t have. And this time, it must have hurt again, this time physically.

And by the end of it? He was left with a scar on his face, another reminder of his own perceived imperfection, reminder of a flaw. The all-so-confident Masamune doesn’t generally show it to people - when they fall into the lake and he needs to take off his eyepatch, he tells MC it’s okay to look away. She doesn’t even have a chance to think about it, and he already tells her it’s not a pretty sight. Despite all the temporary lovers he had, there was never any other person before MC who he allowed to touch his scar.

Now, why to even mention all of that? Aren’t there enough positive qualities that I could talk about instead?

But even that all aside - isn’t all in the past? I don’t think so. In moments where he gets pulled away from the reality, Masamune still reaches for his missing eye and instinctively covers it with his hand.

____________________

Well, sure. Let me put it like so:

With this everything, he could have easily caved in. He could turn to pure egoism, he could fund his own whims and be a medicore ruler. He could be selfish.

But, at the end of the day, he chose for his goal to be to allow people to have a future in which they don’t have to go hungry. Where they don’t have to struggle to have this basic need met, as it wasn’t so obvious then.

Because he cares about others so much.

I don’t think this really shines through with his flaws being ignored. And sure, plenty of that stuff needs to be worked through. But... It is only that despite this struggle, he still retained his heart - and as we’ve been informed in his eternal route epilgoue, he was a really sensitive and empathetic child.

As per request, a tag for @tsubaki3192

#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series

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fieryhonesty · 3 years

Text

The life of You

[AO3]

Words: 3825

He didn't sleep much. Thinking of next day, how to delay you. He knew the moment he goes to headquarters you would disappear and go to your foster parents. Then finding out they are nowhere, finding out the house was sold and somebody else lives there. Perhaps he should have just told you the truth. Perhaps he just made it even more cruel than he needed to.

Waking up was hell, he never felt so broken before. Was he even sleeping? This felt like fighting nonstop for hours. When he got out of his room he noticed the light coming out of the kitchen. Still half asleep moving towards the light. Meeting up with you who were running around the kitchen. Asking what's going on to which you just answered 'making breakfast or at least trying to'.

Perhaps if he paid more attention to trying to he could avert the catastrophe in the form of burned eggs. He didn't know what was more surprising, the fact he had eggs at home or that you can't cook well. Took him several minutes to calm you down and assure it's fine. You can fetch some stuff at the bakery later.

"Meh, I wanted to make you a surprise for letting me sleep here..."

"For last time. It's fine. Look, you made amazing coffee and that's all I need in morning to wake up." Putting his index finger on your lips. "Shh."

Once you bought some pastry and ate it on your way, Kaeya noticed how you looked towards the direction where you used to live. In hopes you won't run off, saying you should come with him. To meet with some old acquaintance which you just shrugged at and agreed with. In fact he was not sure how much you and Jean knew each other. But hey he had to try it.

His entire plan is based on improvisation. Keep you busy until evening, take you to the tavern and leave it to the right person. If there was somebody who should tell you about their father's passing away. It should be his rightful son.

When you two arrived at the headquarters, knights already greeted him as a captain. Cursing for himself. At least he could tell you that Diluc is no longer with the Knights of Favonius. Glancing over at you, noticing you didn’t seem surprised or anything. Instead giving him a confused 'huh?'.

Excusing himself as he disappeared to the acting Grand Master's office. Quickly explaining his situation. She stared at him trying to take it all in.

"So, you want my help to keep the miss y/n occupied until evening. Also expecting your plan will work out perfectly considering your relationship with Diluc?" Jean rubbed her temples. It wasn't everyday when somebody came to her office asking for help like this.

She knew about that specific incident. About two adventurers taking it too far in the mountains and never coming back. Being found weeks later frozen to bones. "Fine. I guess it wouldn't hurt to get acquainted. I don't remember much more than her name and that she was with you guys all the time."

"See? That's enough to get known with somebody. I will take over your work and you will have a day off." Kaeya had to control his voice not to be too loud in case you could hear it through the door.

It was one awkward day for the acting Grand Master yet full of fun. At first Jean was a little anxious about literally knowing nothing about you but that quickly changed. Especially after taking you to the local library where you guys meet up with Lisa.

She might be librarian but she is more than that, she could also work as a professional advice giver and love guide. It didn’t take long until you all felt like knowing each other for a long time. Talking about all kinds of things, it even ended up Lisa making you sign up for library membership. So you could borrow a book sometime. Making Jean forget about what Kaeya said to her earlier.

"Just keep y/n busy until evening, we are not the right people to tell her the truth. If there's anyone it's him. In the end the only one who will come bad out of it is me. Which I fully deserve." Kaeya's last words didn't make sense to Jean but that was probably all tied to their ill brother relationship.

As it was about the time for you and Jean to return back, bidding your farewells to the librarian.

"See you next time, miss y/n~"

"Oh please Lisa stop calling me miss. I think we are acquainted enough." Rolling your eyes and laughing afterwards.

"I know, I know. It's just really fitting to your name. Knowing that you are a business woman, one has to treat you as one." Lisa was clearly teasing you more than anything.

----

As you arrived back to knights headquarters you wanted to drop off. Explaining you really should check on them. Luckily Jean didn't have to come up with some lie as Kaeya suddenly appeared. Like he could hear you talking. Convincing you to tag along with him as an apologize for burned eggs.

Making you pout but nonetheless you agreed to come. Noticing an envelope in his hand, coming to a conclusion he will have to deliver it personally. To your surprise you two crashed at Angel's Share. The same tavern where your little reunion happened. The tavern was still nearly empty, it was short after opening.

‘So Diluc is working as a bartender here now?’ Thinking to yourself upon seeing the scarlet man behind the bar again. Noticing his glare. But it was not meant for you, his eyes locked on Kaeya. Locked like he was his prey. Just what was going on?! Kaeya’s no longer living at winery, their relationship feels odd and this death giving aura all focused on the said man.

Diluc was scary. It was far too different from the kind lad you remember. Making you nearly turn around and leave but when he looked at you, his expression softened. He was not smiling but also not giving you the same look as he gave to his brother.

"Um, hi?" Your voice was nervous all of sudden. Cursing in your mind, trying to calm down.

"How are you? I hope he didn't do anything to you." Ignoring Kaeya's remark about he is there and he can hear it.

"Ah, no! It's the opposite actually! After he offered me a place to sleep at, all I did was burn his breakfast..." Diluc had a hard time not to laugh or change his usual expression. All he could do is think that liar actually deserved it. Noticing you were wearing something different than the other day. At least two or maybe three sizes bigger than a woman of your size would wear. Resisting the urge to question Kaeya what he has done with your clothes.

He could not trust that man with anything. Not even with the letter he received earlier. A letter full of nonsense, it was not his style. Kaeya would plot and scheme something not indirectly come and beg for help. Diluc would burn the letter and do like nothing happened if the context of whole writing wasn't about their childhood friend. Shooting an icy glare at Kaeya.

"Well?" Rising an eyebrow at the bluenette.

"Oho, I thought I'm a frequent customer. That you would know what I want. One death after noon~" Diluc was amazed how well the other male can act. Doing like nothing is going on, trying to be funny. He was disgusting. Looking back at you.

"What about you, y/n?"

"Hmm, surprise me. Wait actually... that thing from yesterday. Not the wine, the other red thing."

Giving you a nod and pouring the drinks. He actually couldn't help himself but to give Kaeya just grape juice. He knew he shouldn't let his personal feelings slide into work but knowing how much the man despises the juice.

The temptation was too strong for him to resist. Kaeya looked at the glass and at Diluc, back at the glass. It was like he knew it's not wine even before smelling it. Not saying anything but also not taking a single sip.

"Y/n." Diluc spoke to you who already drank the entire glass of juice. "I'd like to talk to you. We need to... catch up."

"Ah, sure. I actually wanted to talk with you too!" Your voice was much less tense than before.

"Although that has to wait for a bit. Waiting for the other bartender to arrive. Until then, please do enjoy your drink." As he said he gave you another glass. Receiving a gentle smile in return.

It didn't take long until Charles, the other bartender, arrived and could take the bar from Diluc. As you were about to pay for all those glasses he just shook his head to leave it be. Receiving a protest about one has to pay for their drinks. Turning you down with 'It's on the house, now shush.' Clearly a few glasses of juice won't hurt his business. Wishing Charles a calm shift and leaving the tavern followed by you.

You two made a little stroll around the city, as time was passing by it was slowly getting darker and darker. You remembered you wanted to stop by your home. Looking at Diluc with a smile.

"Hey Diluc, how about we first check on dad and mom? It won't take long I promise! I just want to let them know I'm back. I can't barge in at midnight and give them a heart attack."

Diluc pressed his lips together. No matter how he does this or what he says it will end up the same. You noticed his pained expression, looking to the side. This was odd. Smile slowly retreating from your face. Why does both Kaeya and Diluc have the same expression whenever you mention your old people? Then it hits you, like a cold shower. Making you shiver, a wave of denial and anger trying to take over.

"What are you hiding..." You snapped at him.

How could you be so dumb until now. Thinking of it, Kaeya did successfully keep you in the dark for the whole day and night. Growing impatient with Diluc's silence. Turning around to run to your home but he grabs your arm.

"Let go-!" Diluc sighed, he never was good with words. Or at least when it came to telling the sad truth.

"If I let you. Are you ready to face whatever lies up ahead?"

"Just let me go! For fucks sake!" Yanking off his grip and making a run for it.

Not caring about your surroundings, barely bothering enough to avoid to crash with somebody. Ignoring the angered shouts coming at you. Your mind was locked at only one thing. Deep down wishing your assumption was wrong. Maybe they are just in a bad financial situation or sick but not...

Sharp pain in calves didn't make you stop not until you arrived at the destination. The house looked a bit different. It no longer had flowers on windowsills and it no longer was giving the warm homecoming aura. Lights were on, your last hope. Dashing to the door, violently knocking on them. When they opened it was not your old man greeting you but somebody you had never seen.

Blankly staring at the man with wide eyes. Still in denial. This can't be! No! Slowly backing off, knocking over a stone. Landing hard on the ground, feeling how tears were forming in corners of your eyes. A little boy popped out from behind the man, asking if the aunt lady is alright.

Reality was too harsh. Looking forward to share your adventures, troubles and findings with them. But they were not here. What happened? Why did this man open up the door? Perhaps you just jumped into a quick conclusion, perhaps they just moved. But. Something was telling you that's not the case. The pained expression Diluc had just a moment ago before you ran off.

Getting up on foot, murmuring a quiet apology and walking away. You had no strength to run anymore. Everything was spinning. Why has nobody told you about this? Why has nobody been straight with you? Where are you? Where should you go? This is not how your homecoming was supposed to be.

----

Not knowing where your legs were carrying you. Already outside of the city's gates. Moon was already up, illuminating the road ahead. Lost in your own world, not noticing how shadows were moving. Only because of your sixth sense you built up during those years you managed to avoid the ambush.

Dodging the swing from mitachurl's axe. Your movement was swift but lacked the will to bother. Yet you found yourself agitated enough. Just the fact something had the audacity to attack you was enough. Feeling presence of something stronger than the oversized churl. It was disgusting and suffocating feeling. Fitting to the Abyss.

Mitachurl charged with high speed, swinging its axe at you one more time. Only being blocked by an icy wall. The angered beast roared and slammed the ice into pieces. You were already behind it, a sword in hand. Slashing the beast's rear, getting distance. It followed you with a single leap. Avoiding all of its attacks, sometimes putting a wall of ice between you and the beast. If you were interested enough the battle wouldn’t go this way. It would be done in a matter of seconds.

The anger you felt, the pain which was irritating. The last thing you wanted to do was bother with this thing. But what other options do you have? One last dodge. Before the monster could attack once more it got staggered by several cryo blades attacking its weak spots. Making it yowl in pain. The blades then returned back to your side.

Air was getting colder every passing second. Jumping over the mitachurl, swinging blade, sending icicles which shattered upon contact. Sharp as swords they were digging deep into the beast’s body. Upon landing you begin assaulting the beast with quick attacks. Slash after slash. The cryo blades copied your attacks. When you were done they returned back to your side.

To finish the thing off you summoned an ice spear in the sky. With a single motion of your hand it landed. Piercing the beast through. Freezing everything around in a small radius. Knowing the spear can reach the absolute zero, nobody at low skill level as monsters in the wild could survive this.

"I hate this..." Murmuring to yourself. The evil presence was still lingering in the air. Where is it hiding? Eyes darting everywhere. Unfortunately clouds were covering the moon and there was really low visibility. An attack could come out of everywhere. Hearing a low whisper in language you could not understand.

Abyss mage's incantation! Just in time avoiding a shower of icicles. ‘Cryo?! Are you kidding me?’ You cursed while taking cover behind your cryo wall. What you can do? Fighting ice with ice is ridiculous.

Mage was laughing in amusement, it could toy with you as long as it wanted to. You can't hurt it, not with your vision. Luck was on its side today! Its Queen would reward it for bringing her yet another trophy. Especially if it's somebody who's already on their list.

It knew who you are. Description of h/c and e/c, cryo vision and one handed sword. That's definitely the same woman who blasted one of their important hideouts in Liyue.

Enjoying the view of your futile attempts to get lost from its sight. Showering you with more and more icicles. It couldn't tell why but it felt like you seemed down, weaker. A perfect opportunity to take you down. Following your tracks was worth the time!

Another laugh escaping its lips. But then something felt off. Before realizing what caused the intense change in air, the heat slammed it down. The perfect and unbreakable shield, covering it from any kind of attack was gone! Only one thing could cause this. Rising its head up and noticing a tall figure coming closer. Holding a fiery weapon. Just when it thought today was its lucky day this man must have appeared!

Using its ability to teleport away, however the man wielding the flame sword was quick on his feet. Slamming it again into the ground. There was no escape, not from the notoriously known man, Diluc Ragnvindr. He is the most hated and focused man by the entire Abyss Order. Destroying all of their plans. The abyss mage perished in flames. Screaming this will cost him.

Diluc stood there, eyes locked at slowly dying flames. He tried to keep his emotions in control. However there were many things pissing him off. One of them being cowardly Kaeya. His mixed up feelings about you. Abyss Order daring to disturb tonight. His inability to find proper words.

Hearing footsteps behind him closing the distance. Hearing the blade cutting through air. Blocking it with his claymore. Eyes to eyes facing you. There was no longer anger in them. In fact it was hard to tell what you were thinking. A few more attacks. All he did was parry each of them. Your attacks grew weaker and weaker until your hand holding sword froze mid air. Looking at your friend with watery eyes. Confused. Hurt. Angry. Letting go of the sword, before it could land on ground it disappeared. Falling on knees and sobbing. Feeling defeated. Crushed. Helpless.

Diluc let go of his own weapon. Considering what to do next. He could just throw everything at his friend. At least you would know the truth but he was not a man of sugar honey covered words. Being aware it could make everything worse. He is not really fit into this role. But at least he could relate to your pain, to your feelings or so he thought.

Hesitantly kneeling next to you, putting hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Just what was he doing? Is this how you comfort people? If it were him he would just shut himself in bedroom, not caring about anything else. You were no longer a little kid where you used to cry a lot over tiny things. And even then comforting was something completely different to him than it is now.

What should he say? What should he do? Would it be too bold or stupid to do it like when you were kids? But this time you were not hurt, at least not physically. It's not like falling and hitting your head, crying aloud. Where he could just blow at the ouchie and say the pain will go away soon.

"What... what happened? Tell me the truth... everything... please!" You managed to whisper between sobs. Looking into Diluc's fiery orbs, finding empathy in them.

Listening to everything what he said. How things slowly unfolded. How your parents decided to go on an expedition into mountains, underestimating the cold climate. Only being found frozen to death. And since nobody knew about your exact whereabouts there was no way to inform you or ask what to do with the house.

The house was unoccupied for three years, just recently somebody moved in. A young couple with their son. Maybe if you wanted to and were heartless enough you could get the house back. But that wouldn't be right thinking to yourself.

Diluc also told you about him no longer being with knights and practically despises them now. From that point it was really hard for him to speak with a clear throat. He will never forget the pain of losing somebody close to him. Even before he got to the part how his father passed away, you crawled over, now sobbing into fabrics of his attire. Holding tightly to him.

For a brief moment he closed his eyes, trying to chase away those bothersome tears which were forming in his eyes. This was a hard topic for him. Except the traitor and his personnel, nobody really knew what happened. He didn't trust anybody since that day, or at least not enough to share this.

Perhaps he was feeling sentimental and emotional enough. At first he planned to skip details and just tell you his old man died. But somehow he felt like he could trust you. In the end it all seemed like you were the one who cried for both of you. He cried enough back then, yet holding back some tears was impossible. It will always hurt.

None of you knew how long had passed or what time it was. When your cries slowly fell quiet, when there were no more tears to cry.

"I don't know what to do now... Where to go. I have no home and I don't want to go to Liyue..." Whispering into night air.

Feeling how Diluc let out a deep breath. Probably wanting to say something. Releasing from his arms, suddenly feeling cold.

"Damn, I should have taken more mora with me. But who would have known I would need enough to pay rent, huh." You tried to lighten the mood. Not sounding so dreadful.

Diluc stood up and offered you his hand. "Manor has open doors for you. Unless... You'd like to spend another night on somebody's sofa." He didn't tell you about Kaeya. Feeling like it's his responsibility. All he said was that their opinions are different way too much to remain the same.

Not sure if you were mad at that man but he would have preferred if you kept distance. Kaeya can't be trusted, not anymore. However, telling you what to do is not his business anymore.

"Ah, well. I... I would need to scold him first for being such a chicken. Leaving the bad news sharing to you. Anyway we are not done with bad news and stuff, but how about we leave it for later?" Giving him a weak smile.

"Oh! Does Adelinde still work as a head maid?"

"Yes. She's very loyal. Considering she already worked for my father." Diluc dusted off his coat and then taking it off, pulling it over your shoulders. You were shocked to say anything, feeling blood rushing to your face.

"Well then. We better be on our way."

Walking silently towards the winery. One thing was sure, things won't be the same as before. But with some work around you could restore your friendship.

Sharing your own secrets and story behind the vision. The thing about business heritage and in general what took you so long. Diluc valued your honesty and trust. You can be sure he will be there for you if you need.

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#genshin impact #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin diluc #genshin kaeya #f!reader #genshin #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact kaeya #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #fiery series #homecoming #writing tags or anything is hell #my hand is bandaged yikes

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fordarkisthesuede · 3 years

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The Tolls of Justice: the Tarot, Name Meanings, and More!

Gentlepeople…

BEHOLD!

All the tarot-aligned hints! All the future foretellings! All the silly references! :) Everything you might have overlooked is here for you easy-to-read pleasure!

Naturally, there be spoilers a-plenty ahead for Batman the TellTale Series: The Tolls of Justice, so if you haven't read it (or maybe you're thinking about reading it, or this is your first time hearing about it), I'd advise waiting until you're done with each chapter to read through the sections. You can either click the link and be redirected to Ao3, or look through my tumblr tag #ttoj!

*One forwarding note: the tarot references build slowly in this story, and I only use the traditional Major & Minor Arcana. You'll see a lot of jokes and name-type references before we get to the tarot. I also simplified the numerics, but they're often displayed as roman numerals on cards, hint hint.

Prologue

gang member "Four Ears" - a very very off-the-collar reference to the line "Listen up, four-ears!" from J-Men Forever; in context, it was an off-shoot of the insult "four-eyes" but for music taste, also implying the person's taste was "square".

gang member "Muddy Nye" - his name can be boiled down to "muddy river". It works as an allusion to the messy, unclear case ahead of Bruce and the Batfam, but also as a hint to Clayface, who acted as Muddy in his first sighting of the story.

"Sunset" - a reference to everyone's favorite vampire series to pick on, the Twilight series; back when it was at the height of it's popularity, some drug dealers sold heroin marketed towards the crowd based off it's terrible and unfortunately iconic(?) line from Edward Cullen, "You're my own personal brand of heroin"…hence why the drug of choice BM is shipping here is heroin. Essentially, this plot setup is one big joke.

"FIGS" - a reference to POP! vinyls, hence the capitalized name and spiky word balloon on the packages.

"Gray Ghost [memorabilia]" - one of my (and everyone else's) favorite BtAS episodes, which proves definitively that Bruce Wayne | Batman is not only a Huge Nerd™, but also a massive collector of normal fandom things. (Do you think he troughs through blogs and fanwikis…? What am I saying, of course he does. He edits them.)

gang members "Jack Whendleham and Kirby Noltz" - nod to Jack Kirby, comic artist extraordinaire!

Ch.1: A Different Ceiling

[chapter title] - John does not wake up in Arkham at the start of the story, hence waking up to a different ceiling. He also hits different limitations on what he can do, so it's also a different kind of "ceiling". (Like the term "the glass ceiling", the invisible barrier a demographic hits in a hierarchy.)

St. Dymphna New Life Home - named after Saint Dymphna, the patron saint of mental illness. There's no "'s" at the end because I saw other clinics named after Saints didn't use the possessive form when referencing them.

The Lucky Hotel - an oxymoron, really; the unluckiest place to get stuck at with it's seedy history, but also the place where John "gets lucky"…in a couple of different ways!

Stitched Up Alterations - a heavy nod to the wonderful batjokesy line from S2, "We're two threads in the same stitch". It's pretty deeply ingrained in fanon (and technically canon, if you go with The Dark Knight) that Joker makes his own clothes, hence Batman rarely finding him through his tailor. Since John's thrifty and clearly made his original Joker outfit(s), I piggybacked off it as a legit skill to give him. I mean, come on, the guy is always so stylish! And you're really going to look at me and say he didn't alter his thrifted shirts and vests to fit his sleek frame? Puh-leeease.

13th Street - 13 is a traditionally unlucky number in western culture; hence the "Lucky Hotel" there having a bloody history, along with a failed, closed casino nearby.

Corazón gang - okay, I admit…I'm still a weeb at heart. It's a One Piece reference. Corazon was one of the few post-timeskip new characters I really liked; his name is Spanish for "heart", and he sported a heart motif. Like the gang in this story, he also died before the start of the main storyline.

Ch. 2: Face Values

[chapter title] - A reference to the phrase "not taking things at face value", which is very evident in this story. Also doubles as a rather loose reference to the upcoming Tarot cards.

Sebastian Overfield - The name Sebastian means "from Sebaste", as is derived from the Greek word sebastos ("venerable", someone who has a lot of respect). Overfield of course is "over" and "field", implying the family is on a high hill overlooking/overseeing/maintaining a certain field. As Seb is a reverend, this name is well-fit for him.

orange rose [gift from John] - means "passion" in the language of flowers, and can allude to fascination; this can be taken platonically or romantically…but it's definitely romantic when it's coming from John.

blue iris [gift from John] - means "faith and hope" in the language of flowers, and sometimes are associated with royalty; an allusion to Batman/Bruce's overall symbolism in the eyes of Gotham…and John.

Chandis [ship, circa Prologue] - A reference to Chandi | Chandika, the Hindu deity; the short version of their story is that they are a demon slayer, known to be angry and passionate, wield multiple weapons, and ride a lion. And who was on the ship? Hmm…

Ch. 3: Ink Trails

[chapter title] - A reference to the Alterations' claim slip John finds, which ends up leading back to the Court of Owls. It doubles as a reference to the mask tattoo/clue on Ian 'Nito'.

Faith Ackart - "Ackart" is a variant of "ackhart", derived from "ekkehard", which we can say roughly means "brave/hardy". The name "faith" and "hardy" together is another very subtle clue for the audience towards the villains' motives. (Well, I say that, but it was really more of a joke-clue for me to giggle at. And it makes a good reporter name!)

Lou Monger - the guy's a fish monger…with the last name Monger. It's-a joke! ;D

Ian 'Nito' Coggs - first mentioned without his real last name, but "Ian Coggs, Nito", is a pun on the word "incognito"…which is what Clayface is here.

FriendBook/Chirp/bloggr/uBox - takes on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and YouTube respectively. (This started back in my 'Season 3' story, At the Brink of Midnight, though I've since learned that bloggr was a real thing. :T) The 'uBox' is meant to be a play on 'jumping box'/'the box' as other terms for TV, like 'the tube'.

"whole tomato of pins" - the supposed history of tomato-shaped pincushions is that tomatoes placed on mantels repelled evil spirits and guaranteed prosperity, but I really wanted to just allude to the common pin-cushion shape. (My mom once had a whole little basket of strawberry shaped pin-cushions. I remember "borrowing" them a lot as a kid to play with. And then "losing" them.)

"sock and buskin masks" - these are a reference to the "comedic sock" and "tragic buskin (i.e. boot)" of the Greek comedy-tragedy theatre masks. I figured something like them would be a good logo for the "false faces", as BM is obsessed with masks. It also doubles as a natural callback to the "your relationship with x has changed" feature of TT games.

Ch. 4: Suite of Cups

[chapter title] - the first chapter to be a reference to the Tarot, in specific the Minor Arcana of Cups; rather than specifying the card at play outright, this title is a pun on the aforementioned arcana "suite", as the main location of events this chapter are in a casino's hotel suite. One can interpret many Cups cards at play here, but...

○ Specifically, in the Casino's suite/crime scene, there are 8 visible seats, but 7 cups on the table. The 7 of Cups refers to choices, fantasy, and illusion, an indicates there are multiple opportunities or many paths you can take, but they should be chosen carefully; when reversed, it can mean confusion, diversion, and temptation, and indicate a lack of choice or failure to choose.

○ The upright version is definitely in play, with the overall root of TellTale games being choices, and some "the player" makes this chapter will move your relationships with Tiffany and John in different ways, which can strengthen your relationships with them. If "the player" has chosen to be a more violent Batman, the way the Talon - and later, the Court - treats Batman is different.

○ The Reversed reading can be interpreted for the Court's complete disregard for the mere notion of choice.

Bauta - a Venetian carnival mask, meant to represent 'anonymous decisions' via it's original design of protecting identities. It's quite common in carnivals.

Melpomene-Thalia - the Venetian masks for comedy and tragedy, a la 'sock and buskin', the masks used as a general symbol for theatre. You can practically taste the irony, given who's shown wearing it...

Volto - a Venetian mask, meant to represent 'anonymity, quiet exit' for it's blank face. It's also known as the "Citizen Mask" because of it's worn by the common folk (in comparison to the more elaborate masks).

The Lot [casino] - named for "drawing lots", like drawing straws or matches to pick a person to do a task (usually with the shortest straw having to do the task, but it varies). This is both a pun on the fact that it's a casino - where you try your luck at gambling - and corresponds with the theme of foretelling the future that's woven throughout much of the story.

The Wednesday Nighters gang - this doesn't mean anything in particular. I'm a big fan of Midsomer Murders, and there's an episode ("Death in a Chocolate Box") where it references a few dirty cops who frequently took the Friday night shift at a station for episode-plot-reasons, who called themselves The Friday Nighters. It's an off-shoot reference to it, hence the corrupt cops on the gang in this story. :)

[John's voicemail] - Another BtAS episode I love is "the terrible secret of Bruce Wayne". In particular, I loved Joker's voicemail when Dr. Strange calls in ("Boy, do YOU have the wrong number!") and I wanted to do something like that. But, y'know, way less murdery.

"F85H4ND" - l33t-written "Fate's Hand", for…well, the hand of fate, supposedly guiding you through life/events. Another correspondent to the foretelling the future theme.

Michael Hodgson - not all of the names I pick for characters mean anything. Sometimes their names are just loose references to things I like. This is a silly mish-mashup of the original hosts of Mystery Science Theater 3000, Michael [Nelson] and [Joel] Hodgeson. (Joel was the first host + show creator, and Mike was the second host who closed out the original series run.)

"40F5WRD5" [Batcomputer archive] - l33t for the 4 of Swords, a card in the Minor Arcana for rest and restoration; since the archives and file names are randomly generated when not prompted otherwise with manual input, an otherworldly force seems to be saying 'get some damn sleep Bruce'.

[John's ringtone] - I know, TT always has everyone's phone on silent. I don't care. Bruce's ringtone for John is "Mack the Knife", a song about a violent mobster, played on a carnival organ. Chosen because 1) John probably loves that song, 2) I thought it was funny that it has the line "the shark bites - with his teeth, dear - when he shows them pearly whites" and how well that goes with John's A+ dental care... 3) TeamFourStar made jokes in their BtTTS S2 playthrough about having "a special ringtone whenever John calls [them]"…why would I not carry that through? They did get me to where we are now, you know. ;)

Ryde - the in-game stand-in for Lyft, the not-a-taxi service.

Ch. 5: The Wheel Still Spins on the Upturned Chariot

[chapter title] - a reference to 2 tarot cards in the Major Arcana. 1) "The Wheel"/"The Wheel of Fortune", which is a sign for continuous cycles, inevitable fate, and usually indicates good fortune and pre-destiny when the card is presented upright. When reversed, it can signify bad luck and an unfavorable fate. 2) "The Chariot", symbolizing a path forward to success, confidence, and overcoming obstacles; when reversed, it's stands for recklessness and lack of direction/control. 3) As the Chariot is upside down, John's original plans have been upended and everything goes out of his control in a chaotic situation. He’s essentially "not at the driver’s seat" for a little while. "The player" decides which direction to take the wheel in - either letting him lash out violently and send him on more solitary and dangerous path, or satisfy his need for stability by embracing his new relationships. The Chariot is always upturned here, but whether the wheel spins forward or backward is up to "the player's" decisions.

511 N. Blade Street - this one's a bit messy. 511 = V I I, or VII in roman numerals, which =7. The tarot cards are traditionally numbered in roman numerals. North, for pointing upright, and "blade" is synonymous with "sword". So it’s the "7 of Swords", in the upright position – referring to deception and trickery, which is of course what's going on in regards to who Ian 'Nito' Coggs really is…

Apt 1005 - even muddier, but this is referring to the 10 of Swords, which is for betrayal and backstabbing, hinting at the true motives of "Ian" | Clayface. 10-0-5, so 10 and the l33t for "OS" = 10-o-S.

900 Wanda Way - Both a pun on the phrase “wander away” and the 9 of Wands in the Minor Arcana, which alludes to pushing forward to achieve victory. A good allusion for a clinic, me-thought.

400 Wanda Way - The 4 of Wands in the Minor Arcana stands for community, another good allusion for a clinic.

Karen McCarthy - named after the most stereotypically uptight narcissistic asshole the masses have agreed to call 'Karen', and both McCarthyism and another famous lady with the surname McCarthy. Because I wanted you to know the second you see her name that she is *horrible*. (Funny, though, there's 2 senators named McCarthy that are pieces of shit and one infamous quasi-celeb who's the face of the anti-vax scene. Is it just a cursed family name?)

Ch. 6: The Tips of Our Swords

[chapter title] - Refers to the 4 of Swords card in the Minor Arcana, as the "swords" are alluding to the four active members in the Batfam - Bruce, John, Tiffany, and Iman - who work together on the case[s]; you can infer this title to a presentation not unlike the Musketeers joining swords to affirm themselves as a team, as they all gather together. The reversed reading of the card is for restlessness/stress in Bruce's case, and the clear signal of the universe to tell him to relax, and the reading when presented right-side up is for the break it gives to "the player", with the homey atmosphere of the Batfam spending time together. Either reading is completely valid here.

○ BUT, as Alfred is a non-active member of the Batfam, we could also say that 5 of Swords is also at play, right-side-up for the fighting and resentment with Alfred, and John's hinted budding conflict with him; and 5 reversed for Bruce's attempts at making up with Tiffany. If one illustrated the gathering of our four heroes joining swords like the musketeers over a breakfast table, then Alfred would be sitting drinking tea, standing as a symbol of the Ace of Cups, signifying new emotions or stirrings of feelings.

○ If we stretch the metaphor eeeven further, the title can also be a loose reference to the Sword of Damocles; threats always hang above the heads of powerful people, and in this case the looming threat of Black Mask and the mysterious assassin, ever-present in Batman's world…

Dr. Brandi September - literally "Sword" and "Seventh Month", alluding to the 7 of Swords, hinting to deception and manipulation at play.

"I was tired of the soup du jour" - a shameless Devo reference; a tiring of the routine/everyday. "I'm tired of the soup du jour - I want to end this prophylactic tour - ain't nobody around me - understands my potato - I'm only a spud boy - lookin' for a real tomato" - DEVO, "Mr DNA/Smart Patrol".

Motel 11, Augury Road - "augury" is another word for crows; as a gathering of crows can be a method of fortune-telling, this a reference to a gathering of 11 crows, which when seen is supposed to be indicative of disguising or revealing secrets.

Ch. 7: Drawing the Strings

[chapter title] - meant to allude to John aligning the strings connecting the people and crimes together, like an old-fashioned way of mapping clues; can be interpreted as these crime-strings on the proverbial board being drawn closer together, marking the center of the "web" as the Court of Owls

Frieda Baast - Frieda, an allusion to the Norse goddess Freya, who rode on a chariot driven by cats, and Baast, the Egyptian goddess who had the form of a cat. It makes it really obvious who was staying at the Motel 11, huh?

room 14 [Selina Kyle's motel room] - a reference to the 14th tarot card, "Temperance", which when upright is meant for choosing the middle path between choices. This is meant to reference Selina herself, currently at a secret, personal crossroads and being in "the middle"; John can influence her hidden choice by either making her think about what her potential job's employers are really aligning themselves with, or taunting her into how she can't leave her old life behind. (Whether John is violent or not doesn't completely impact her choice, but it does impact how they interact later if Selina winds up in the hands of our villains.)

Oracle, Spoiler, Batgirl, Spectrum - Batman's had a lot of non-Robin sidekicks in comics, including Batgirl (originally Barbara Gordon), Oracle (Barbara Gordon, post-Batgirl-forced-retirement and computer hacker extraordinaire), and Spoiler (Stephanie Brown, who "spoiled" crimes). As a fan of Ao3/tumblr's @fractualized 's own Telltale Bat-verse fics (the "Release John Doe" series), I added in the reference to "Spectrum", which Tiffany became in lieu of "Robin". A wink from one fan-writer to another! ;)

"I'm steppin' out, my dear - to breathe an atmosphere […] - that simply reeks […] with class" - John's singing a classic Fred Astaire hit, "Top Hat, White Tie, and Tails".

Eric, Jerome, Jeremiah, Jack [John's "Normal name" ideas] - As this story allows "the player" to pick a name for John to use in place of his own, you can pick between some classic and modern references to Joker's alternate personas over the years. Eric White Border (edit: goddang it that's what i get for looking at White Knight while writing this up and never double-checking), Joker's regular persona in the New 52 Batman comic line; Jerome or Jeremiah of the Gotham TV series, both of which are different aspects of Joker's personality through media, with a more modern gritty version in Jerome (think Heath Ledger's Joker) and a more modern take on Joker's sociopathy in Jeremiah; and last but not least Jack Napier, the first official name of Joker circa Tim Burton's Batman (1989), and the one most popularly used (BtAS and other comics throughout the years since use this name). "The player"'s choice doesn't impact the story or the way John acts, but it does give a surprise feature later. ;)

Matt Chaney - Aka, "Clayface", Matt has both new and old elements in his name alone. Matt, for Matt Hagen, the most well-known/used of the Clayface personas, and Chaney, for classic film actor Lon Chaney, AKA the man of a thousand faces. This Clayface is an aspiring actor who is psychologically dependent on Moddy to keep him handsome after a terrible car accident left his face marred. He uses his excellent makeup skills and acting to infiltrate the False Face Society, and double-plays them and the Court of Owls.

Root / MuSec - stand-ins for Vine and TikTok, respectively. "MuSec" is both a play on the word "musac" (the word for 'elevator music' and generic produced music you hear in fake stores and the like) and the mish-mash of the words "music" and "second", referencing the short length of the videos. "Root" was used in a prior story (At the Brink of Midnight), and acts as another "natural network" type name akin to Vine; though I do recognize "Vine" might have come along as part of the phrase "I heard it through the grape-vine". I have a feeling some Aussie fans might find the fake-Vine name funny...or just awkward.

Ch. 8: It Had to Be You

[chapter title] - A reference to the classic crooner song, "It Had to Be You"; specifically, the one that flows through the first scene is a cover done by Frank Sinatra, meant to align with other Bat-media's use of Sinatra where Joker and Batman are concerned. The Arkham games got his famous "Under My Skin", and another crooner's "Only You". Batjokes fans/content creators have also used "Strangers in the Night" for their relationship. I wanted to present one that would feel at-home in the TellTale universe regardless of what route you end up with, and what's more perfect than a song about finally discovering the love of your life? The song fits them to a tee, in my humble opinion…

Estella Art Gallery - Selina's art gallery, mentioned previously to have been the site of a Talon attack. "Estella" translates to "star", for the tarot card "The Star". When presented upright, it means hope and rebirth; this card can be presented after a disaster, such as an event like "The Tower". Normally, it can be interpreted as a card to show a phase where you have trust and faith in yourself and the universe. Selina was turning over a new leaf and enjoying her new life until the Owls found out who she was.

Mrs. Bollard - "bald-headed person"…this poor woman got her wig snatched as John stole Bruce from her on the dance floor. xD

"I knew today's horoscope was bullshit" - a nod to earlier, where Roman mentioned his horoscope when visiting Bruce; "a friend will help you out of a tight bind." Not that it was mentioned like that... still! I wonder what today's was? "You will be fortunate in your business endeavors"? Ha ha ha! But really, the horoscope is another nod to the theme of foretelling the future, as it's a popular method to try and see how your day, month, season, or year will be. Not that I know what sign Roman is… *thinking face*

[Achievement Unlocked: Batman Who Laughs] - John showing up in the Batman cowl was not only funny, but a direct nod to the Batman Who Laughs. The TT games had Batman comic titles often used as Achievements, so I figured I'd put in some…

[Achievement Unlocked: Batwoman Rises] - Iman helping the team out in the spare Batman suit is naturally a nod to Batwoman, and something I wanted to do for a while. ;D

Brighella - a Venetian mask taken from a play now used to depict a cunning and mischievous servant. Originally the mask was used to depict a greedy villain character.

The Two Gilded Cups - A restaurant in-story that references "The Two of Cups" tarot card, a card representing unity, partnership, and two becoming one. When upright, it's a card that can reference lovers or a new relationship; when reversed, it can represent broken communication, imbalance, or tension. As such, the couple who were seen at the restaurant - Sonja Townsend and her husband - are established lovers who work together for the Court of Owls, but those who were really there are Jackie Lant and Matt Chaney, who are in an imbalanced relationship. "Gilded" implies that "The Cups" are covered unnecessarily with gold - this is both in reference to Jackie and Matt's disguise of the Townsends and the truth about their relationship. Matt's lies are covering for his narcissism and selfishness, and ultimately is the only thing holding him and Jackie's relationship together.

Moddy - A fictional body modification clay-mud-putty that's a product of Janus Industries, this makeup is the favorite of Matt Chaney and the reason we can call him "Clayface". Like the traditional Clayface, Matt is in dire need to have his fix of the makeup, despite what it does to him - as John notes, it leaves a weird burn-like sensation, and since Matt has deep scar tissue he covers every minute of every day, it's made the skin damage worse.

"You’re really committed to drowning in that river" - A riff on the old joke "denial ("de Nile") isn't just a river in Egypt".

"Your words are honey in my ears, but my brain always turns it into bitter wax" - In Futurama, Fry has a silly line of “Sweet words! Sweet words that turn into bitter wax in my ears!”. It always had the potential to be a great metaphor if the words were twisted around! :) Plus, I mean, come on, this is a totally On Brand™ thing for John to say!

Ch. 9: Strength in Numbers

[chapter title] - Referencing the Strength card, for bravery, compassion, and inner strength; the title also doubles as a play on “different kinds of strengths”. Strength is the will the expose your truths. Strength is finding compassion to help others. Strength is staying true to your convictions in the face of opposition. We see all different kinds of strength on display here.

○ It can also a reference to the different partnerships going on, with Jackie joining the team (unofficially), Bruce and Tiffany going off to tackle the other half of our case, and John and Iman’s team-up. :)

"[John] could barely hear it over the tinny electronic whistling tune emitting from his own phone, telling him the person on the other end was a mystery" - this is referencing an old tumblr joke! Yes, John has the “It is a mystery” tone on his phone for unknown calls…complete with the little (:o) ghost icon.

CUP5K1NG [license plate] - Referring to the King of Cups card, a card portraying emotional balance and compassion. As it's not written as "K1NGCUP5", it implies it's a reversed card, signifying there's manipulation and instability at work. Even though Matt doesn't own the car this license plate belongs to, it's definitely tied to him since it's his getaway ride, and thus hints at what's to be revealed in his and Jackie's hotel room.

Aylin Street - the name "Alyin" translates into “moon halo; one that belongs to the moon”, thereby being a reference to the Moon card, representing mysteries and illusions. An investigation is afoot!

“Looks like I’ve got the red light, kiddo.” - In stage acts, the red light is to indicate to the performer their time on stage is up. Generally, it’s reserved for comedians who either overrun their time or are losing the audience. John's joking that he's been given the red light to exit stage left (but not persued by bear).

"What’s the ‘G’ for?” - Iman's 'Gotham Construction' jumpsuit has a G different from John's - it's shaped more like a gear. This is another Mystery Science Theater reference, in particular the logo for Gizmonic Institute, the company/labs that "employed" original host Joel and the mad scientist Dr. Forrester (and his assistant, TV's Frank), who started the experiments of forcing a guy and his robot friends to watch reeeally bad movies. The result was 12 (soon to be 13!) seasons of some guys making hilarious and very memorable jokes at said bad movies' expense. Does this reference mean that Bruce is just as huge a dork as I am, or does it mean that MST3K is real in this universe?! You make the call! ;D

○ …if you read 'What's the 'G' for?' in Invader Zim's voice, that's also valid. Especially if you followed it with “I dON’t know!” in GIR's. (There is no cringing here! We openly embrace our childhood silliness!)

MasterOfClayFace / #IdW3arThat [Matt Chaney's social media login] - naturally Matt is so far up on his high horse that he considers himself a master of clay work…and of course his nickname is ClayFace! His password is a joke in and out of canon, being a riff on Lemon Demon song: “A mask of my own face – I’d wear that” ~ Lemon Demon, “Mask of My Own Face” [Nature Tapes].

3055 [Jackie Lant's InstaPic followers] - According to research, the average Instagram following is about 1000, so Jackie is above average popularity. Anything above 10k is usually(?) celeb status. The number 3055 is meant to be broken up and turned partially into l33t, to make 3-O-S-S, or 3 of Sword[s]. The 3 of Swords card in the tarot signifies heartbreak and grief, stemming from betrayal, loneliness, and rejection. Jackie experienced all three of these heart-piercing swords during her return to Gotham, with Matt basically forcing her into isolation, betraying her trust, and rejecting her input and values in favor of his own; but she didn't really know it until the truth was exposed.

8055 [Matt Chaney's InstaPic followers] - similarly, Matt's follower count is meant to be 8-O-S-S, or the 8 of Swords card. It signifies self-victimization and imprisonment. In particular, the card shows a person restrained and trapped, but their helplessness is a show…they could choose to get out, if they got over themselves. Matt is incredibly selfish, so it comes as no surprise that he will play the victim card.

#OnlyInGotham - Another tumblr reference! I love the @hashtagonlyingotham blog! ( ^3^)

The Herold Rite's Theatre - A play on the word "Hierophant": Herold, like “herald (ruler/champion)” and Rites, like “sacred rites”. In the tarot, the Hierophant card represents following tradition and values, which for the Owls is their very core. This is basically a big ol' hint that Iman and John are heading into Owl territory, but also foreshadows the religious undercut of The Court and Reverend Sebastian Overfield's role.

"a familiar red-pyramid-and-floating-eyeball" [graffiti] - A reference to my icon! ;D You think I can't self-promo?

trading cards [found in theatre storage] - In the Theatre, John finds "old promotional trading cards for an old sci-fi film with big-brained aliens". This is a shameless and loving reference to Tim Burton's 1996 film Mars Attacks!, of which my AO3/tumblr icon and username is lifted - the movie was based on a series of Topps trading cards from the 1960's, and had it's own set of cards with movie scenes and behind-the-scenes pictures (and summaries of events) printed for the movie! They also used them as promotional tools, and if you get very lucky purchasing a copy of the old single-issue comic books from the 1995 Mars Attacks run from Image Comics, you can get a promo card.

https://bit.gt.gd/S3272019F?=RO - Originally "gd" stood for a derivative of Google Drive, but I can’t look at it and not see “get good”. The "S3272019F?" is meant to stand for "Started: March 27, 2019 Finished: ?". I can't believe I started uploading the story in March of 2019! Man, 2020 really messed with my sense of time…

Ch. 10: Tantara Bounces Off of Moonlit Walls

[chapter title] - "Tantara" is defined as "the blare of a trumpet or horn", as seen in the Judgement card, which stands for self-reflection as well as reckoning, and can indicate rebirth. There's of course another reference to the Moon card, for intuitions and the unconscious being. Then what are the "[Moonlit] Walls"? Well, they're the part of the only Major Arcana tarot card to represent a building - they are the walls of the Tower, symbolizing destruction and disaster. When all the cards' meanings are put all together, this alludes to a time of discovery among absolute disaster.

○ Expanded, the whole title is a reference to both forms of Judgement occurring – self-reflection and change are happening with Bruce and John as their mysteries and anxieties are finally put to rest: John is undergoing his final "rebirth", seeing his reality clearly in Arkham’s padded cell; Bruce seems to finally come to terms with working with Tiffany, as his fear of not being able to protect her comes through with her showing she's able take care of herself and prove she's a true asset to the team; and the Court of Owls finally comes to light, with Matt Chaney, the Talon Adam, and the Talon Sonja Townsend finally showing their real motivations.

○ We can also interpret the title as a reckoning coming for the Owls, who have long been obscuring the truth of their deeds and whose true motives have been murky. They've built their own tower of disaster with bricks of delusion, and judgement's horn is blaring a warning through their hallways…

"X-Sharp Manufacturing" - a reference to the 10 of Swords (hence the "sharp"), the tarot card for betrayal, backstabbing, and defeat. For Bruce, there is disaster here beyond his control that ends in a [temporary] defeat. For Roman Sionis, owner of the small factory as part of Janus Inc., he's unwittingly walked into his own betrayal.

"Merlin's Flower Arrangements" - Merlin, a famous wizard, is a reference to The Magician card, who defines “as above, so below”… And as John is taken to a secondary location, so is Bruce. :)

"La Luna Painting" - La Luna, aka The Moon; remember, shadows can play tricks on your eye, so something’s afoot here… Aka "HEY GUYS THIS TOTALLY ISN’T SUSPICIOUS OR ANYTHING NO SIR"

Yelsnia Theater - Yelsnia is…actually a name. But searching for it shows my true hint, as it's "Ainsley" backwards. "Ainsley" derives from Scottish words meaning “alone, solitary” or “hermitage”. This is a reference to the Hermit card – in this case, it's blatantly upside down, referring to loneliness, isolation, and a general disconnection with mankind. AKA, the path Matt is on.

"the looming pillar tower" [Arkham] - A blatant representation of The Tower. It stands for impending disaster and "an upheaval of a foundation of reality". Of course, this can be taken in two ways. 1) That John has overcome/avoided the disaster of another mental breakdown. 2) That John’s foundation of his delusions - that he’ll wake up in or get sent back to Arkham for his sickness - was wrong in a realistic sense, as he’s made serious progress in managing his emotional issues, and right in an unrealistic one, where the only way he could be sent back was through an outside force, i.e. the Owls.

10210475 [inmate number] - When separated for the numeric cipher, we get 10-21-4-7-5, or J-U-D-G-E

13051420 [inmate number] - When separated for the numeric cipher, we get 13-5-14-20, or M-E-N-T

○ When put together, the inmate numbers read "Judgement", the tarot card is shown here for John's choices and character arc on display throughout this chapter. When the card is reversed, it implies a lack of self-awareness, which we can also attribute to "the player's" choices for John if they make Bad Decisions. If you simply take the word "judgement" at face-value (without involving the tarot) it also works wonderfully, applying to John's entire situation as being a trial/judgement set by a higher force.

"The prince returned to the tower" dialogue [the prophetic cell mate] - Whether the person speaking is physical or not, John notes he can hear the scratching of pencil on paper within the cell, implying a person is writing their words down like a story… “The prince,” (John Doe, alias Joker, traditionally the ‘Clown Prince’ of Gotham) “having returned to the tower” (Arkham Asylum, the foundations of John's issues) “to reclaim his crown,” (assurance in himself and his reality; the completion of John's "self" with his final choices and becoming Vigilante!Joker for good) “trails after the fiend” (confronts the Talon Adam, alias Owl-man) “who's flying on wings of retribution” (core beliefs, perceived sense of justice). “The fiend’s wings are big, but the bones are brittle” (the Owl-man is imposing and persistent, but his physical "wings" are his weakness).

○ If you couple the Court of Owl's belief that G*d has written down the destinies of everyone in the world [as they are each born] with the knowledge that someone was writing down a short version of John's events at Arkham…hmmm.....

Room 11 [Iman's cell room] - The 11th card in the Major Arcana is "Justice". This can reference either 1) The just-desserts coming for Talon Adam/"The Owlman", or 2) The outcome of the player’s choice to take Iman with them or not.

11 minutes + 16 seconds [remaining time on bomb timer] - 11:16. 11/16, aka my birthday! :) I only wish I had finished Chapter 10 in time for the chapter's publishing year (2020), lol~

"Our Faith brings Perseverance, and Our Perseverance guides Justice, for Mercy to God." - The Court of Owls' beliefs circle around 3 principles bringing people closer to G*d: Faith, Perseverance, and Justice. Their belief hardens their persistence in their actions (as they are written and not guided by "Evil"), and their goals are ultimately to deliver justice where the human system failed and "Evil" prevailed in "escaping", hence the guiding of one principle to another. "Mercy to God" is what is granted by righting the injustices of the world; as G*d wrote your future down exactly, Evil can corrupt it, and once corrupted this does G*d a harmful injustice. The Court considers themselves close to G*d by "mercifully" stopping further corruption via eliminating "Evil" in all it's worldly forms…

Speaking of the 3 principles, our main Owls are meant to be "embodiments" of these in the story.

○ Talon Sonja Townsend represents Faith, driving home her belief in G*d's absolute destiny. She is corrupted by her own selfish goal of eliminating her son-in-law, but is also so by-the-book she does not think to look at the obvious double-standards of the Court, and doesn't think her underlying actions are guided by "Evil".

○ Talon Adam represents Perseverance, having fought Joker to unconsciousness, and was willing to blow up Arkham with himself still inside just to eliminate it; he is the most brainwashed, but the least corrupt in motivations, only striving to get what he feels is "justice". On the flip side of Adam is Talon Evan, who despite serious injury still appeared in Court and jumped at the chance to kill Joker and Batman, despite the Court's general appreciation of Batman; he is corrupt in personal selfishness, as he possesses no "real" faith in the Court's belief system and doesn't like others getting credit by stealing his targets.

§ ...it's also worth mentioning that the names for Adam and Evan are meant to be derivative of "Adam and Eve". In this way, it can also be seen as a parallel to The Lovers card, which one can attribute to Bruce and John. While Bruce + John are oddly harmonious and undeniably have a strong bond regardless of story paths, Adam + Evan are discontent rivals, with Adam "stealing" Evan's target and good graces with the Court, and Evan very pointedly beating up and kidnapping Batman (who Adam admires) to set up Batman's eventual Judgement.

○ Reverend Sebastian Overfield is the main representation of Justice, though he embodies all 3 principles. The Court’s belief is that their pursuit of justice – stopping Evil/chaos via deaths of criminals – overrides their own traditional sins. Because they are being helpful to G*d, granting Them mercy by righting the injustices of Evil and putting G*d’s Word back on the right path, they are in G*d’s favor. Therefore, as the leader of the Court and the one who organized everything by handing down "God's word", he is the carrier of Justice; without him, the Court would be nowhere and G*d would be shedding more tears over their ruined work…at least, in his mind. Naturally, he is the exact opposite of what justice should be. He is biased and unwavering in strict faith, as much a carrier of chaos as he doesn't want to be…

○ Of course, this is all also up to interpretation. One can interpret Adam as "justice", Evan as "perseverance", and Sebastian as the stand-in for "God", as he is the Court's ruler and is the sole person to hand down "the word of God".

"[…]if two people you normally count on for one reason or another" - Alfred made a subtle dig at John being Bruce's boy-toy. Ouch, Al'…

"[…]given it's your pet project, and all" - Even though Selina is talking about Arkham, she's making a dig at former-Arkham-resident John being Bruce's "pet", who in her eyes was Bruce's main reason for getting Arkham revitalized. :\ Man, everybody's picking on their relationship…

petrichor - The smell proceeding rain. Because it's not a climactic fight scene in Gotham city without rain.

Ch. 11: The Tolls of Justice

[chapter title] - Naturally referring to the Justice card of the tarot, this title is the same as the story title. Funnily enough, this is the 11th chapter, and the 11th card in the tarot deck. (I guarantee you I did not plan this bit… Funny how these things play out, ain't it?) The Justice card naturally stands for cause and effect, clarity, or truth; ultimately, it's a representation of karmic retribution, and what the Owls are in dire need of facing. The title overall is referring to both the [para]phrase "do not ask for whom the bell tolls, for it tolls for thee" (in the original context: a grievance over death for all out of love for community/mankind, not just one person) and the "toll" - as in cost or damage - of enacting justice. What Bruce has put himself through to become and keep being Batman, the enactor of vengeance for all those wronged in the city of Gotham, and what ultimately the Court of Owls has sacrificed - either wittingly or unwittingly - in the name of justice. It also extends to John, who for the sake of "justice" is routinely stuck in Arkham, in one way or another, and has never had a conceivably just or fair life at all - thus paying the unwilling toll opposing Bruce and the Owls. We can also extend it to Tiffany, who is making good on her work with Bruce to "pay her toll" for her own crime, with her toll being seen in a positive light as Robin, compared to what life sentence she might have been paying otherwise.

[the sword in the pulpit] - a symbolic reference to The Justice card, as the Justice card in the major arcana often depicts a sword, either alone or in someone's hand. This can also be interpreted as a reference to the Ace of Swords in the minor arcana, which is normally pointing upwards, referring to victory, truth, or ideas; when flipped, as it would be when looking at the initial depiction of the sword as a "cross", it stands for lies and confusion. The sword in the story itself is a symbol of justice, and uses snakes as the stand-in for the forces of Evil, which are destroyed by the owl making up the handle and supposedly wielding the blade.

"the skull peeking out of the knight’s helmet" [card in the box on Reverend's desk] - A very clear reference to the Death card, famous in the tarot deck. It signifies change, inevitable cycles, and new beginnings/directions. Depending on the reading, it can be interpreted as an actual death, but more often than not it’s merely showing of a life change. As this is the Reverend’s deck, it seems the last card he drew was Death… The viewer can interpret this as a reading from the Reverend into the Arkham plot, where Death is representing John’s own changes, the end of Talon Adam’s latest “cycle”, or the actual deaths that had occurred (no matter how many there are in the end). The viewer can also read this as the Reverend trying to find his own fate, the fate of Roman Sionis for his trial, or Batman’s fate. All of them are quite valid, but I feel the most accurate interpretation is that the Rev' was trying to read the future of the Court of Owls.

○ …as mentioned above, the Death card is the most overt reference to the Tarot. This way, if someone didn't piece together the weird chapter titles, the specified numbers and number-letter strings, and/or the odd names of people and places, they'd be able to double-back and see them as clues. They are put there purely as a storytelling clue for the audience. As you can tell, the tarot references increased with each chapter…almost like someone is trying to get your attention…

[the framed painting] - a reference to The High Priestess, aka card II of the tarot. This card is indicative of intuition and looking within, and can signal to mysteries at hand or a higher power at work. The pillars on the card are (hilariously enough) marked with a B and J, and are in black and white, respectively. They stand for Boaz (Strength) and Jachin (Establishment), and are meant to represent the duality of nature, good/evil, masculine/femine, etc. Naturally, both pillars are equal. In this depiction, it is both relating to “the player’s” own duality, with the ability to be flexible as Bruce and John and have both good and bad decisions play through the story, and as a strong hint to a higher power being present.

8-9-6-3 [candle puzzle] - It takes a bit to work out by sorting through the alphabetic values to each number, but it doesn’t make a complete word. On ye olde phone keypad, 1 is always null in value, so it’s always unlit in the candle sequence, and since there are 4 other numbers present we know it doesn’t count as part of the string. (If there were only 3, you could guess a year from your notes.) My idea for the “game” specs of this part would be that the key-code would be somewhat randomized, either using a specific year (if Tiffany and/or Iman are not present, this is *always* the case, as you have to utilize your background notes and the candles by yourself), a few translated letter combinations just for fun, or an occasional number-card type combo, as presented here. (In some lucky scenarios, “the player” doesn’t have to solve the candle puzzle, since Tiffany can figure out the year by herself and just call you over when she opens the door. You still have the option of looking around, though!) In this case, the values are another tarot-themed hint, using the card number first: 8-w-n-d, for the 8 of Wands, which alludes to quick actions. AKA “Get ready for quick-time events!!!”

"looking more like the king on the throne than a judge" - Meant to allude to The Emperor card, the ultimate royal symbol in the major arcana and always depicted with a king. Traditionally this symbolizes power, authority, control, etc., but when reversed it alludes to overbearingness, arrogance, and chaos. For the Owls, they would likely see themselves as the upright depictions, even when presented upside down before the person doing their reading… And here is no better example, with the Reverend Overfield taking place as the ultimate authority over the Court.

"like [Sonja] had a say in commanding the room" - Alluding to The Empress, in conjunction with Rev’s position, this card alludes to femininity, motherhood, nurturing, creativity, and/or abundance. When reversed, it stands for neglect, creative blocks, overbearing, and/or uncaring. Sonja is a good example of an overbearing mother, trying to make decisions for her child because she thinks she knows best - thus fits the reversed reading well.

[Courtroom layout] - How curious is it that I haven't referenced The Devil when we have so many opportunities? That's because I strove to show this card rather than reference it overtly. The Devil card depicts El Diablo in the upper middle, lording over the card, with two souls chained to him at the bottom. The classic depiction shows a female demon-like human on one side and a male demon-like human on the other. As such, Rev. Sebastian sits on the high bench as the judge, overlooking the courtroom, and Sonja and Evan sit beneath him, one embedded on each side of the lower bench, sitting before him rather than beside him. Naturally, The Devil card represents temptation, manipulation, and materialism (though not necessarily of physical things). There is nothing more suited to The Devil card than the Reverend Sebastian Overfield and the Talons.

Circe | Cindy Peterson - Circe was the original Black Mask's downfall, or at least serious decent into who would be Black Mask. In her origin, she was a model who seduced Roman and ended up being blamed for his poor business choices, as he completely revolved Janus Inc.'s new direction around her image, somewhat at her insistence. Roman seemed to love her, but grew vengeful when she dumped him. She was named Circe, after the witch who lured men to their doom. In this story, she plays a much less active role but ultimately still serves as Roman's downfall, though in a very different way. : she does seem to care about Roman, going so far as to hide him on her yacht, not rat him out for his overt gang activities, and even leave Gotham with him for good to run from Batman despite not being in a relationship with him for long. But Bruce is able to spin this to his advantage, openly lying that she was working for him undercover and twisting Roman's affection for her into paranoid doubt, which he eventually lashed out with and ended up being caught because of. Circe never got a ~proper~ name in the original canon, so I dubbed her Cindy. The name "Cindy" can be boiled down to “person from Kynthos” and since Circe is Greek… Well, it fits well enough!

"[…]waltzing into the danger-zone without his wingman" - It’s Top Gun's “You can be my wingman anytime”, but with ALL the homoerotic implications!

"the Degnah Club" - The Degnah Club can be inferred to be one of Roman Sionis’ clubs, or just one his False-Face Society visited on occasion, but the event that happened there is implied to have taken place before the start of the story. “Degnah” when written backwards is “hanged”, referencing the Hanged Man card. When upright, this card means sacrifice and selfless acts. When reversed, as very much implied here, it’s an unnecessary sacrifice. This is both a play on what Roman’s implying – which is likely a very violent event – being an “unnecessary sacrifice” as part of Matt Chaney’s greater scheme for the Court of Owls, and as an allusion to Matt’s fate, where his morals/good choices/old law-abiding life were thrown away for an inevitably failed pursuit.

"[Tiffany | Robin's] personal count of 13" - The 13th card in the tarot is Death, bringer of change and ender of cycles. It’s also a traditionally unlucky number. This number is the “body-count” of Tiffany’s run through the Court so far. Does it reference the end of the Court's latest cycle, or something else…?

Accompanying the Tarot, as mentioned earlier I also tied in other fortune-telling methods, with the counting of crows and reference to the zodiacal horoscope. I also threw in allusions to luck, with The Lucky Hotel and The Lot (in both name and the fact that it's a casino). This is all tied entirely around the concept of fate and being able to change it with the choices you have made or currently make as "the player". Luck itself has nothing to do with your choices and the fates you guide Bruce and John to, and it's not something "the player" can control - it's an illusion, with things seemingly lucky for our heroes having already been written in on purpose to lead to the next event. It's essentially a long, drawn-out joke.

Talons/Reverend's Owl Masks - I wanted the Talons to be set apart from the rest of the Court and have special owl faces. The Court's owl masks are as follows:

○ Talon Adam - Great Horned Owl; chosen for the owl's large size and hunting ability, as well as the protruding "horn" feathers mimicking Batman's cowl. This is the most common owl used in media. The "horns" are meant to clue the reader into the culprit early on. Adam's a Batman-fan, so he mimicked Bats' style.

○ Talon Sonja - Snowy Owl; chosen for the owl's fairly elegant feather pattern and Sonja's ~colder~ personality. Sonja had a masquerade one to show her "humane" side to prospective Owls, but always wears a full-faced mask for the rest of the Court.

○ Talon Evan - Barn Owl; chosen for it's ghost-like face and screeching call, and it's hunting skills. They sometimes are seen as bad omens. While Adam was a mysterious stalker, Evan is overtly dangerous upon appearance, in no due part to his temper.

○ Reverend Sebastian Overfield - Eastern Screech Owl; this owl is smaller than the other, but has similar "horn" feathers to the Great Horned, and a gray face. The "horns" are meant to be another a mirror to Batman, but can be considered another allusion to The Devil. It isn't the largest or flashiest owl of the bunch, but Sebastian has the most power of all the Court members.

[The "Justice" bell-toll] - traditionally, a church bell tolls to signify someone passing into death. In the Court/Church of Mercy's case, they use a bell rung at midnight to signify a complete "trial" and a carry-out of their own brand of "justice"…which also culminates in death. The "trial" shown in this chapter is a rarity, as the offenders are actually present to get a talking-to before their sentencing - generally, the Church will hold a mock-trial to decide the fates of the perpetrators…after some previous counseling with Talons and select older members. (Think of the Trial like a ceremonial conference for the majority of the time.)

Chapter 12: Ten Cheers to the World!

[title] - The act of cheering, aka toasting, is to raise a cup and drink towards someone or something in celebration or tribute. Here, it's referring to the tarot's Ten (X) of Cups, which is pretty much the best card you could pull in a reading - when upright, as it is here, it means celebration, fulfillment, and happiness! The World card is the final card in the Major Arcana, encapsulating completion, accomplishment, and harmony, all from inner and outer sources. It might seem redundant at first, but the Cups suite in the Minor Arcana is all in regards to emotions, relationships, and love; in comparison, the Major Arcana represents a journey from innocence and ignorance to wisdom and completion. So you have an emotional celebration with fulfilling relationships, and the story's path marked as complete in both a literal and figurative sense.

"An accident at Ace Chemicals" [Iman & John's convo] - Referencing the majority of Joker origins, wherein pre-Joker fell into the vat of chemicals at Ace Chemicals and survived, leading to a psychotic breakdown due to his changed appearance and/or the circumstances around to what led him to Ace Chemicals in the first place.

"the string of deaths in the Velestra mafia" [Iman & John's convo] - a ref to the former mafia/main antagonists in Batman: Mask of the Phantom that kept getting killed off one by one by the Phantom. Whether The Phantom exists in this world…we'll have to wait and see, I guess!

"an unrecoverable ‘data loss’ at the Agency" [Iman & John's convo] - not a reference to canon, but my own theory on a potential background for John being a former Agent…(see further below)

"Et tu, Peeps?" - a riff on "Et tu, Brute?", Julius Ceasar's last words as he was betrayed and stabbed to death.

"Maybe I was someone in the wrong place at the wrong time" / "someone at the right place at the wrong time" [John monologue] - Another reference to the most popular background choice, the Ace Chemical origin story, and it’s variations. Though probably lacking Batsy’s involvement, considering the timeframe…

"Maybe I was some experiment gone wrong" [John monologue] - A reference to a different author's Season 3 replacement fanfic, where John ended up being a genetically modified human/test tube baby. Unfortunately the work got deleted from Ao3??? And my bookmark is gone, so I can't name the fic… But I still remember you, Unknown Author!!! It was a fun story and I've never forgotten that twist!!!! \( >o< )/

"Maybe I was even an Agent, like you" [John monologue] - My own little theory as to why the Agency was so keen on getting him for the Suicide Squad – and why he was considered a dangerous part of the gang despite not doing too much of interest in Season 1 (even if you consider the theory that he was helping Lady Arkham get her chemicals/drugs) – was that he was part of the Agency somehow. Either an agent who screwed up on the job, a rogue agent that escaped death via Agency trap…or maybe a guy who knew too much! But it's a fun, fresh idea to bring to Joker's multi-choice past, right? (( ;w;)) <(please say yes)

hippocampus - The region(s) of the brain that primarily deals with memory.

[the photo] - I wanted to leave it up to the reader/"player" to decide what kind of pre-Arkham past the TellTale!Joker has… So whether you think the picture Iman has is a "real" photo of him or not is entirely up to you.

"[…]'you're the moon to my sun'" [John, 'paraphrasing' Bruce] - In Tarot terms, this is a reference to the Sun card, representing joy, success, and masculinity, as well as another reference to the Moon card. One can also interpret the Sun card as "success in overcoming your obstacles or fears". As the Moon card can represent inner fears and femininity, it's a fitting opposite for interpreting this romantic line. While Bruce doesn't exactly embody the "positivity" and "joy" that this card represents, he brings that feeling into John's life, and Bruce is more traditionally masculine in contrast to John. This is also an overt use of the phrase "[they're] the moon to their sun" - a romantic notion that one person, though the opposite to the other, is completely complementary, like a One True Love. TeamFourStar's playthrough of TellTale Batman: The Enemy Within had not one, but TWO mentions of the "moon to [their] sun" line, the second of which was referring to John and Bruce. This one's for you, fellas!!! ( ^3^)

○ Funnily enough, The Moon is a very broadly interpreted card. Sometimes it's not a good card to have because deception, manipulation, illusion, and mystery/confusion are all potentially at work in your life. Sometimes it's an excellent card, because it tells you examine your feelings to resolve a problem, or tells you that you aren't seeing the whole picture. The reversed of the card is often attributed to avoidance of one's problems and further confusion, but also clarity, truth, and the full view of what's going on. If John is the embodiment of The Moon in the upright position, then I say Bruce is that of the Reversed Moon…

"[…] two lovers against the world" - Another classic romantic phrase that can be turned into a Tarot reference. The original phrase is meaning two romantic partners are pitted against "the world"/external forces that threaten to tear them apart, but they are committed to each other regardless. You can't really pit cards against each other in a reading, but you can read Past-Present-Future. In which case, in story terms, The Fool is always the Past, The Lovers is the Present here, and The World is the Future. As mentioned earlier, The World represents harmony and completion - if reversed, it would mean incompletion and chaos. The Lovers card is representing a strong union being forged between two people, very often romantic in terms of the Tarot. The meaning is usually attributed to decisions in a relationship being made (whether to start a new one, or to deepen the one you have), but it can also represent people outright, as well as an indication that a new partnership/relationship is on the way. When reversed, Lovers represents disharmony, imbalance, or a loss of relationship. In our story, of course, our two lovers are representing the upright reading of the card in the Present, showing as a strong couple. As it's "against", it implies that The World is something that will be a challenge, so it's likely Reversed. Which is a pretty good representation of Gotham in general, isn't it? lol~

○ The Lovers can also be seen symbolically in chapters 8 and 9, when Bruce and John are laying opposite each other and linking pinkies/holding hands at the hotel. :)

○ John uses the romantic line regardless of whether he's a vigilante or not! If you didn't get the Best Ending, aka our Sleepover Ending, Bruce would wind up back in the parlor with John as usual, and once the rest of the fam are gone (if they were there at all), he uses it to describe themselves. In the villain route, Bruce and John converse in the Batmobile on the way back to Arkham, and John uses the line there, too. ;3c

○ Naturally, you don't really get this complete scene if "your" Bruce is with Selina in the vigilante route.

Ending Type - …it's not a tarot reference or anything specific. I just wanted to let you know that you can ONLY get the Sleepover Ending if you have Tiffany and John in Bruce's party on good terms with each other AND with Bruce.

○ You can drive Tiffy away from Bruce by saying she shouldn't be with them at the Court Battle, but also by generally not believing in her/being mean and giving a neutral reaction to her staying during Battle; she won't go back to the cave with Bruce, so you don't get a chance to speak to her directly afterwards as either character. (John can still have his conversation with her via text, and they can still end on the same terms.)

○ If you don't have vigilante!John, there's no one else to help lift the things, so Tiffy's idea is never brought up.

○ John is always simping desperate for Bruce's attention, so even if you don't treat him as well in a platonic relationship, he'll still be there for this Ending type. ;_;

○ If you have a Romanced!Selina in your party, Selina will join you in both Court Battle and the Ending as seen in this story. It'll either cause her to take Iman's place (if she is not present) or to have extra spot suddenly appear above the rest of the group. Like Tiffy, she overheats and needs more space too cool off.

§ You can also talk to her as John, and sort of makeup/say your part of the team now. (But John will still be somewhat jealous of the attention she gets.)

§ John doesn't get the emotional hug with Bruce if Selina is around - especially since she doesn't temporarily leave with Tiffany and Iman - but the conversation is almost the same.

§ Naturally you can talk to her as Bruce, too. I don't think on her options too much, but they'll likely talk about change and what it means to have this "job" and internalizing too much of their emotions/themselves.

§ If you and Selina are only friends, Selina can join you in the Court Battle, but will text you instead of sticking around.

1:06 A.M & [Clock time on Belltower in Chapter 11] - Bruce's sense of time is off, which is why he's surprised it's after 1AM and not closer to 2AM. (Can't blame him, he was unconscious for a while and a whole bunch of stuff happened.) I figured if Bruce broke out of his kidnapping ropes at 10PM sharp, and drove all the way to the GCPD, that's about 20-30 minutes in his supercharged car, if not a little less, plus with 5 minutes to escape proper. If we think GCPD is sort of a halfway point to Old Gotham/The Coventry district, it's another 15 minutes to there. So he'd arrive at the Church of Mercy before 11PM, and wait John for around another 10-15 minutes, including with all the investigating inside. The "trial" scene probably took another 10 minutes until Batman crashed it, and fight scenes seem long because of all the action going on, but by the time Bruce and co' leave, it's not 12AM yet. The bell-tower in the Church of Mercy is actually off by about 20 minutes… And what do you know, card XX (20) of the tarot's Major Arcana is Judgement, alluding to karma at work! It can also be attributed to a life change. ;D

"11:43:20PM" - this wasn't deliberately meant to allude to anything. It took the batfam about 2 minutes from the last toll to leave the church. Bells' tolling speed is varying between clocks and towers, but you can estimate about 30-45 seconds for a full twelve. If it rang at 11:40 exactly, then…ugh, this is sounding like math homework.

Epilogue:

[Still a WIP, so will be updated after it's uploaded! Shouldn't have much, though! Saay, isn't there a Major Arcana card missing? (9v9) I wonder what that iiiiis~]

So that was [just about] all of them! I had a lot of fun weaving them throughout the story this time, especially with the story's themes! AtBoM didn't have as nearly as many, so they weren't really worth mentioning before.

I hope this was helpful to those of you who were interested in diving beneath the surface of BtTTS: TToJ~!

#ttoj #ttoj reference guide #telltale batman #batman the telltale series #tarot cards #I made it a goal to use all the Major Arcana!#fortune-telling #it took me a month to compile this whole guide #I had notes scattered between my Word doc and google doc #hopefully this wasn't too hard to read #even if no one got any of these i'm satisfied!#they were really fun to write!!#edit: corrected Eric's last name (my bad)

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Triumphs & Tribulations

A JSE Fanfic

This turned out surprisingly long for being written in the middle of my midterms. Probably goes to show where my priorities are when I’m writing during downtimes in class. But hey, it’s here, and at no expense to my grades! This is a big one, as Marvin’s hearing finally wraps up, Chase goes to visit someone and finds things have changed, and JJ? Well, it’s Halloween and his birthday, something’s bound to happen. Hope you enjoy it!

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

The entryway of the courthouse was busy, many people milling about. Marvin wasn’t actually surprised, after all, this was a big case for the city. But that didn’t mean he liked it. He sat on one of the benches, playing anxiously with a Rubik’s cube in his lap. Not to solve it, just to do something. His lawyer, Aja, sat next to him, looking through her files.

Someone pushed through the crowd, coming to a stop nearby. “Marvin!” she called. “Am I late?”

“Huh? Oh!” It took Marvin a moment to recognize Dr. Laurens. “No, uh, you’re fine. We’re on recess, you don’t actually go on until later.”

Laurens sighed, relieved. “Sorry, traffic. I-I went slow, too, because. Well.” She gestured to her arm, no longer in a sling but still in a cast. “Much more mobility, and my wrist is better, but I’m still supposed to be careful. When does the recess end?”

“Uhh...” Marvin checked his phone for the time. “Just a few minutes. But it’ll still be a few minutes after that before you need to testify. Right, Ms. Bakshi?”

“Right.” Aja nodded. “Don’t worry, just head into that side room. All the people called to testify are waiting in there.”

“Oh.” Laurens followed Aja’s point towards the door. “So, this is a proper trial now and everything? I was told this was just a hearing.”

“Yes, but due to the sensationalism of the case, the hearing is being treated as a trial,” Aja explained.

“It’s stupid,” Marvin muttered. “I mean, I guess I’m glad that it’s getting attention, but I think maybe it’s a bit too much.”

“Look at it this way, now that it’s televised, public pressure will be up, and on our side,” Aja said.

“Well...good luck,” Laurens said. “I guess I’ll see you after this trial?”

“Yeah, sure,” Marvin shrugged.

That wasn’t very encouraging. “Uh...yeah. See you then.” Laurens awkwardly backed up, then turned and hurried towards the side room door.

The small side room looked a bit like a combination parlor and waiting room, so of course Laurens was right at home. The furniture was in shades of red and brown, contrasting with the green potted plants in the corner. One of the tables against the wall had a TV on it, showing a view of the courtroom. There was another door on the opposite wall that led to said courtroom. And surprisingly, there were already two people in there.

“Oh, Dr. Laurens, I see they’ve called you to testify.”

“Ah, hello. You’re those...detectives,” Laurens recalled. “Nix, and...I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

The other detective bristled, but before he could say something snappy, Nix raised a hand and quieted him down with a gesture. “This is Hooper, don’t mind him,” he said. “How have you been? I see your arm has been healing well.”

“Yeah.” Laurens rolled up her sleeve to reveal the cast on her arm. “No sling anymore, and the doctor says I might be able to lose it entirely in another week or two, though I might still need a wrist brace.” She sighed, and rolled it back down. “A-anyway, why are you two here? Are you testifying, too?”

Nix nodded. “Yes. They wanted a statement from us reassuring the court that Henrik von Schneeplestein is not dangerous.”

“He’s not.”

“Well, we know that, but the public doesn’t,” Nix explained. “For a long time, he was our only suspect in these killings.”

“Nix, he still helped,” Hooper protested.

“Under threat, while he wasn’t in his right mind,” Nix said sternly. “Is that correct, Dr. Laurens?”

“Right.” Laurens nodded faintly. She could still remember her short time with Anti and Jackie as if it was just recently. And she didn’t think anyone could last long in those conditions.

“Not to mention his original disappearance turned out to be a kidnapping,” Nix muttered, side-eyeing Hooper before turning back to Laurens. “You know, I thought it was...strange, when we finally found him. You received the report on the arrest, right?” He waited for Laurens to nod again before continuing. “Yes, the house’s doors were all locked, and they all required the use of a key on both sides in order to unlock. Yet Henrik didn’t have a key. The real killer, this Anti, must have left him behind to take the fall, possibly fleeing the scene seconds before we arrived. Henrik got convicted anyway due to all the security footage and his fingerprints being at every crime scene, but personally, I think those would be easy to manipulate.”

Before Laurens could reply—though she didn’t know what she would have said anyway—there was movement on the TV, the one showing the courtroom. It appeared as though people were entering the area, settling down in their seats. Curious, she walked over, noticing a pair of volume buttons. Turning the sound on led to a bunch of chatter.

“Looks like they’re getting ready to start again,” Hooper commented.

“Yes, it seems so,” Nix agreed. “This must be to let us know when we’re being called to testify.”

Hooper shook his head. “We could’ve refused to come in,” he muttered unhappily. “We already gave them all the relevant case files.”

“Oh come now, this would be stronger for the prosecution,” Nix said. “We just have to confirm what’s in the files and clarify any questions.”

Feeling nerves start to crawl up her stomach, Laurens took a seat in the chair closest to the TV, anxiously waiting for her cue.

It wasn’t long before the time. The hearing proceeded with statements of the charges against Newson, and her lawyer attempted to counter said charges. Marvin’s lawyer responded, and announced they had someone to testify about Newson’s malpractice. The judge called for this testimony, and Laurens stood up, just in time for one of the courtroom’s employees (she wasn’t sure what his actual job was) opened the door. She nodded at him, and hurried out.

Laurens had never been in a courtroom before, and she was surprised that it was exactly how she pictured it to be. A grand room, some tall windows, a spot for the judge and the two parties. The only difference was the camera crew set up in the aisle: about four people dressed in dark professional attire, a table with a computer and some equipment, and a large camera. There was even a boom mic, being held by one of the people. Laurens tried not to look directly into the camera as she walked across the courtroom floor and took a seat at the table the judge was pointing her to.

“Dr. Laurens.” The lawyer sitting at Marvin’s table stood up, walking around to stand close to Laurens’ table. What was her name? Bakshi? “Please state your name and occupation.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I’m Dr. Rya Laurens, I’m a psychiatrist at Silver Hills Mental Hospital,” Laurens said.

“And what exactly do you do at Silver Hills?”

“Well, uh...I-I help people, um...who have checked in. My specialty is forms of psychosis and dissociative disorders. Currently my only patient is...um, the one in question. Henrik von Schneeplestein.” Her eyes couldn’t help but drift over to look at Newson as she talked. But Newson was very deliberately not looking at her.

“I see. And your relationship with the defendant?” Bakshi waved her hand in Newson’s direction.

“She’s—she was my boss, head of the hospital,” Laurens explained.

“And how involved was she, as your boss, in your patient cases?”

“Oh, uh...normally not very. But this one was different, she got...pretty involved,” Laurens admitted.

“Can you give an example?”

“W-well, uh...” Laurens swallowed nervously. “At first she offered to take the case from me, and one time when I was sick, she took over that day’s session with Schn—the, uh, the patient. Which resulted in one of the orderlies being injured.”

“I understand that was not the only time she did this, correct?” Bakshi prompted.

“No. When I was, uh...” Laurens paused. “...unavailable for a few months, she took over the case entirely.”

Bakshi nodded. “Tell us about what happened during this period.”

Laurens took a deep breath. This was easy. She just had to...just had to do it. “Well, obviously I wasn’t there, so I don’t know the specifics of what happened in the sessions and such. I guess, uh, you could ask the orderly on duty for that. But I do know that when I returned, Schn—Henrik, the patient, had his mental health severely degraded, and had lost all progress we’d made before. He was...very upset, and his hallucinations had gotten worse. A-and also, I checked the medication records, and Newson had prescribed large doses and—and unnecessary sedatives, both of which would have an—an effect on Henrik’s physical and mental well-being.”

“And would you say she did so deliberately?” Bakshi asked.

Laurens hesitated for just a moment. “Yes, I would say so. Definitely. It was clear that Dr. Newson harbored...um, ill feelings for Henrik.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Laurens.” Bakshi looked at the judge. “The prosecution rests our case.”

“Very well,” the judge said in a deep voice. “The defense may proceed.”

Newson’s lawyer looked uncertain, but stood up, and cleared his throat. “Dr. Laurens, would you say that...that at any point, Dr. Newson broke the regulations of Silver Hills?”

“I, uh...don’t understand the question,” Laurens said quietly.

“I mean, is it against the regulations for Dr. Newson, in her position as head of the hospital, to be involved in other cases, prescribe medicine, or take over a doctor’s case when unavailable?”

“Well, no, not technically,” Laurens said slowly. “The head doctor may do all that, though it’s not very common, as she has her own patients.”

“So at no point did Dr. Newson do anything against the rules?” The lawyer stressed.

“Wha—no, I didn’t say that,” Laurens denied. “I mean, we have a policy against taking patients you are personally involved with, and I...I understand that Dr. Newson was personally involved.” Laurens said this last part quietly. “And she didn’t tell anyone.” Then she cleared her throat. “Furthermore, the medication prescribed was dangerous and unnecessary, and qualifies as misuse. The ethics committee has a strict restriction against misuse or abuse of any kind.” Her voice became stronger. “And even furthermore, I can confirm that the sessions she had with Henrik worsened his issues. And I didn’t know it at the time, but the hospital requires all patients to be let out of their rooms at least once per day for one hour, which Henrik was denied on Newson’s orders.”

The lawyer appeared to be at a loss for words. Laurens let out a long, long breath, and ended up glancing towards Newson. She still wasn’t looking at her, and Laurens wasn’t sure if she was relieved or hurt. “Well, ah.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Laurens. The defense rests, Your Honour.”

“Yes, I see.” The judge nodded. “The witness may leave. Though I advise you to stay near court, in case we need to hear your testimony again.”

“Ah, thank you, Your Honour.” Laurens stood up again and hurried back into the side room. That didn’t take long at all. Hopefully, this will be over sooner than she thought.

——————

Unfortunately, the hearing would drag on for some time. Marvin zoned out halfway through, playing games on his phone, while Aja did most of the talking and legal details. At one point, the judge asked him about his relation to his case, and so he put away the phone and quickly explained how he was friends with Schneep. But then he went immediately back to his phone. He knew he should probably be more engaged, as the one who started all this, but he just couldn’t help it.

Eventually the court called for a recess while the final decision was debated. “It’s looking up for us, Marvin,” Aja said with a small smile. “Though be prepared, just in case.”

“Yep, mentally ready for anything,” Marvin said absentmindedly.

Aja’s smile faded. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, trust me. I mean, I know I don’t look it, but I’m ready.”

“Hmm, alright. Just be sure.” Aja straightened her papers into a single stack.

A few minutes passed. And suddenly, Marvin got a text from Chase, letting off a loud ding! sound in the middle of the mostly-quiet room. Marv i have some big news! Im on my way to meet the kids rn but im gonna call you after to tell you.

“Huh?” Marvin said out loud, blinking in confusion. He sent a message in reply: What do you mean? Is it good or bad?

Before Chase could reply, the hearing quickly reconvened, everyone returning to their spots. Marvin put his phone down, watching the judge stand up to deliver the court’s decision. “After much deliberation, we find Dr. Jennifer Newson guilty of malpractice. As of right now, her license to practice is to be revoked, and a fine of £70,000 is to be paid to Silver Hills Mental Hospital. However, the prosecuting party Marvin Maher was in the wrong to trespass and take information from Silver Hills, and thus must pay a fine of £25,000 to that establishment.”

Marvin raised his eyebrows, visibly surprised. That was...a lot. But he could probably scrape it up. While the judge continued with the particulars, he leaned over to look at Dr. Newson. Her expression...was utterly devastated, but resigned. She knew something like this was coming. Marvin stifled his urge to give her a smug grin; no need to add insult to injury.

The hearing adjourned immediately after. Marvin and Aja headed outside quickly, so as to avoid the television crew that was now anxiously looking for people to interview. “Whoa, it’s like evening,” Marvin gasped, looking up at the twilight sky.

“It was, uh, certainly pretty long.” Laurens appeared nearby.

“Aah! Oh, it’s just you.” Marvin relaxed.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Laurens mumbled. “But, um. Congratulations!”

“Ah, yes, thank you for your congratulations. It means a lot, considering I just got your boss permanently fired,” Marvin said, unable to keep a hint of a smile off his face.

“Well, um...I guess it was really her own fault,” Laurens said. “I mean, it’s...bad for her, but I think it was the right thing to do. If this was how she reacted with one patient, she could’ve been doing this for others, too. A-and I don’t think they would’ve revoked her license on just the first incident.”

“Well, this was a very well-known case,” Aja pointed out.

“Oh yeah, by the way, thanks for your help,” Marvin said to her. “I’ll send you the check.”

“No problem. If you’re ever in any similar trouble, let me know. You still have my card.” Aja nodded, then turned away. “I’ll be heading off now.”

“Yeah, see you. Again, thanks!” Marvin waved as Aja slowly headed off. Then he looked at Laurens. “Uh...need a ride or anything?”

“No, I drove here, but thanks,” Laurens said.

“Oh good.” Marvin paused awkwardly. “Because, uh. I didn’t. Could you, uh, drive me over to my house please?”

Laurens thought about it, then shrugged. “Sure. I don’t think it’s too far away. My car is this way.”

“Thanks so much.” Marvin hurried after her as he headed to a parking lot.

“No problem!”

And so they headed off. Marvin breathed a sigh of relief. This whole ordeal had been on his mind for so long, he was glad it was all over with. Maybe things could slowly start to return to normal soon. Or at least some semblance thereof.

——————

“So, Happy Halloween. It’s that time of year again. Pretty nice outside, too, like that sort of fall day where everything is just like, crisp and cool, y’know? Usually it’s just all foggy and cloudy and cold here. Honestly that’s one of the downsides of this part of the world, there were a lot of fall days like that when I was a kid. Or maybe that’s climate change, ha ha.”

Chase smiled a bit, leaning back in the hospital chair as he looked over at Jack. Of course, there wasn’t much of a response. But he talked anyway, as always.

“Anyway, I’m taking the kids trick-or-treating this year. That’s gonna be later, thought I’d stop by first. Stacy sent me pictures of their costumes. Nick’s a bat, and Sophie’s a cowgirl. She really likes horses lately, we were talking about having a horse-themed party for their birthday, but Stacy said that wouldn’t be fair to Nick. I dunno, he likes cowboy stuff well enough, and I think when you’re four-turning-five you don’t really have strong opinions except for a few things. Or maybe that was just me.”

Jack’s hand moved a bit, inching closer to the edge of the bed. That was happening more and more recently, which was apparently a good sign, according to Dr. Emerson. But Chase still jumped a bit as his arm and shoulder shifted position.

“Oh hey, do you remember like, two years ago when you did that, like, game thing with the videos on your channel? With all the glitchy stuff that Jackie edited? That was fun.” Chase chuckled. “Man, the community really liked that, huh? I-I tried to do a couple game things similar to that, but I’ve left all the glitchy stuff for you, don’t want to steal your thing. Nothing for Halloween, though. But I did record another pumpkin video, that’ll be going up later. If you don’t keep doing this every year once you’re better then I’ll just move it to my channel, it’s pretty fun.”

There was another twitch. Chase stopped talking for a moment as Jack’s head slowly lulled to the side, so that his face was now partially facing him. That one was new. Should he tell someone? Maybe move his head back? After a moment, Chase stood up and looked over the oxygen supply and cannula system, and concluding the movement hadn’t upset or anything, he figured it was probably fine. “Be careful, bro, don’t want to unplug shit, you need that.” No answer, but it felt a lot more personal when Jack was actually looking towards him.

Slowly sitting back down, Chase continued talking. “Oh yeah, a couple more things happening today. JJ’s birthday. I want to go visit him, but y’know. Kids. I didn’t see them last year, so.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Also about a year since we met him, so it’s kinda special. I dunno, maybe I’ll drop by real quick on the way back home. But Marvin won’t be able to visit until later, either, maybe I’ll wait. That’s the other thing, he’s in, uhhh, court, y’know? That thing about suing Schneep’s old doctor, the one who was a dick. He’s pretty confident, so I hope it’s going well right now.” He paused. “Maybe I should go see Schneep later. I mean, I can’t, visiting hours and all that, but Laurens, the good doctor, told me last week that’ll be changing soon, maybe I should stop by anyway to check, later tonight before going to see JJ.”

“Mmmmhnn.”

“But I don’t know, would that be too annoying? I don’t want to be one of those people, the ones who...wait.” Chase had been staring blankly at the opposite wall, but now he looked back over at Jack. “Did...was that...did I hear...?”

Jack’s other hand raised up briefly into the air before flopping back down. “Mmnnh. Nnnnhh.” Then his mouth opened. Just a little bit. “Uuuhhhn. Aauhh.”

“Holy shit.” For a moment, Chase just stared, in total disbelief. Then, he kept staring, unsure what to do. “Can you...do that again?”

A pause. And then some more mumbled, incoherent sounds. It might have been a coincidence that it happened after Chase asked him to do it again, but the fact remained that those were sounds. That was Jack’s voice.

“Holy shit!” Chase shot to his feet. “Hang on, I—shit—I have to get somebody!” He rushed over to the room’s closed door, throwing it open and leaning out into the hallway. “Hello?! Anyone?! There’s something—th-there’s a—he’s—!”

“Hhaaaay.” Chase whirled around as Jack made another sound. “Eeeee...?” His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, as if he couldn’t get it to form the right letters. “Ssssaaay?”

“Say? Say what?” Chase gave up on the door and hurried back over. “Are you actually trying to say something, or is this just—I-I don’t know, just—god, I don-don’t know.”

“Saayys...eeeelluh?” It sounded like a question, the way Jack’s voice was rising at the end. His hand raised and fell again, and his body turned a bit more in Chase’s direction. Wait...was doing this on purpose? Like, these movements weren’t just random muscle spasms? “Saayss...weeeluh?”

“I-I can’t understand you, bro,” Chase whispered urgently. “What’s ‘saays’?” It was only after saying it out loud that he realized. The sound Jack was making...it was almost like his name. “Are you trying to say ‘Chase’? Is that it?”

“Sss...Ssshhhaays,” Jack mumbled. “Weel? Ww...w...weellyy hhhewh?”

“Wheel? No, that can’t be it, can it? Wheely? Hewuh?” Chase shook his head. “I’m sorry, I still don’t get it.”

“Is everything alright in here?” A nurse poked her head into the room, looking worried.

Chase glanced back over towards her. “He’s speaking, h-he’s trying to say something! I—this is—he hasn’t—”

The nurse nodded, immediately grasping the situation. “Wait right here, sir, I’ll go get a doctor.”

“Dr. Emerson is in charge, if you can,” Chase called after her as she left. Then he immediately turned back to Jack. “Can you say that again?”

“Weeel...ehssss...weeeel?” The corner of Jack’s eye twitched, then he blinked. “Shhhaays?”

“Ehs wheel,” Chase repeated. “Ehs...Ihs...is? Is wheel? Is...real?” That sounded right. “Of course I’m real, Jack. You’re awake now, right?”

“Nnn...nahhh...” Another blink. “Naahh...ffff...ffffff...fffffayy?”

“Nah fay? No fey? Like fairies?”

“Nnnah. Nnauuhh...fffffaay...ffffay...ffffay—” Jack made a strange harsh breathing sound. He seemed to be having trouble with that word, but Chase was pretty sure the repetition meant he was really trying to communicate.

“Take it easy, bro.” Chase reached up and took hold of Jack’s arms on either side, gently. He glanced over towards the vitals monitors. They seemed increased in activity, but not to dangerous levels. “Okay, that’s nauh...maybe it’s not ‘no’, it’s ‘not’? Not fay? Fay fay fay...fffate. Faith. Fail. Fade. Fake. Not fake?” Chase smiled a bit. “What, is there a fake Chase running around?”

Jack groaned quietly. “Ffff...ffayy Shh...Shhaaaysss. Ffayy Shhayss. Ffayy mmm...mmmahhffnn.”

“Muffin? No, that makes no sense,” Chase muttered. Maybe it was another name? After all, it would make sense in the context of Jack saying Chase’s own name.

“Ffaay Shaayys. Fffay mmm...Mmahfffvfnn.”

Chase’s expression fell, cold dread filling his heart. “Fake Marvin,” he realized. “That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it? Fake Chase, Fake Marvin. Jack, was...was there someone here pretending to be us? Do you...remember that?”

“Fffayy Shaaayss. Ffaaay Mmahffn.” Jack’s head listed slowly to the side. His eyes remained staring straight, causing his gaze to shift. “Ffaay Shayyss. Fffayy Mmahffnnn. Ffayy ahhhshee? Ffaaay shnnneee?”

Footsteps pounded against the floor, and Chase looked back to see the nurse returned, Dr. Emerson in tow. “Mr. Brody!” Emerson looked flushed, as if he’d run all the way here. “Is it true?”

“Y-yeah.” Chase nodded. “Yeah, it’s—”

“Mmmmn.” Jack’s head rolled back around, falling forward. The force of the motion caused the rest of his body to lean forward, too, until his head hit Chase’s chest. “Sshhaays. Fffff...ffffffeh...”

“My god,” Emerson said, stunned. He gestured to the nurse, who hurried around the side of the bed to look at the readings from the equipment. “When did this start? Has he said anything clearly?”

“Uh, about a minute ago.” Chase lifted Jack’s head up and gently pushed him back into place. Jack groaned, and his hand shook irregularly. “I-I don’t know what you mean by ‘clear,’ I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s trying to say something, but there are, uh...n-no words that you can just hear. It’s all mumbled and slurry.”

“I see, I see.” Emerson hurried over, quickly looking over the equipment as well before leaving that to the nurse. “What about movements? Gaze?”

“He’s just looking straight ahead, but his eyes are staying open. Moving is, uh, random, but I think it’s deliberate? He just can’t make it happen.”

“Alright, I understand.” Emerson leaned over Chase’s shoulder. “Jack, this is very important. If you can hear me, try to say something. Try to say your name.”

Jack blinked slowly. “Eeuhh...aaaah...aaa—aaa—” Another harsh exhale. His mouth moved silently for a few seconds. “Zzzhh...zzhaah—aa—” And yet another harsh breath.

“That certainly sounded like an attempt, it had the ‘aah’ sound in the middle.” Emerson nodded. “Alright, then. Can you raise your hand, Jack? Either one of them.”

“Hhhh...” Jack’s right hand trembled for a bit, then slowly lifted up a few inches before falling back down.

“This is good, this is very very good.” Emerson backed up. “Nurse, has there been any change?”

“No sir, everything’s stable.”

“Hey, uh, Dr. Emerson?” Chase looked up. “I—I might have to go now.” He wanted to stay, he really did, but he couldn’t just abandon Stacy and the kids.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Brody,” Emerson said reassuringly. “We have everything under control.”

“Nnnnih—!” Jack’s head turned. “Sshhaays. Shaaayyss.”

“I know, Jack, but it’s okay.” Chase reached over and squeezed Jack’s hand. “These guys know what they’re doing. And I’ll be back tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“Nnnnmm.” Jack blinked, and squeezed back.

“Okay.” Chase reluctantly let go, and stood up. “Take care of him, doc.”

“We will, Mr. Brody,” Emerson said. “Count on it. You go have fun on this holiday.”

“Yeah. Well, bye.” Slowly, Chase turned around and left the hospital room, leaving the business behind. His head felt a bit full with everything that happened, and as he walked to the elevator he tried to process it all.

Good news, Jack was definitely awake again, and somewhat coherent. What would happen next was unsure, but even getting to this point after over a year was a weight off everyone’s shoulders. But those comments he made still lingered in Chase’s mind. Was he really interpreting them correctly? Did Jack really have some memory of...fakes?

Maybe he shouldn’t really take any of that at face value. He’d read somewhere that people in comas often took nearby stimuli, like sound and voices, and turned that into dreams. Well, he’d also read that some remembered nothing and others remembered everything. It must depend on the specifics of what happened to them. But, on the off chance that Jack had been in that last kind of coma, and he remembered everything that happened...if that was the case, then Chase knew one person who might be able to explain the “fakes.” After all, he knew that Anti has visited the hospital at least once, pretending to be Chase himself.

He pressed the button to call the elevator, and the doors opened almost immediately. Stepping inside, he took out his phone and unlocked the screen, staring at his messages. Should he tell the others about that? Well, of course, but should he tell them now? After all, Marvin was probably still in court, and JJ didn’t even know Jack. After a moment, he decided to send a quick text to Marvin, telling him that he had big news and that he’ll call him later. And so, typing out the message and then putting his phone back into his pocket, he pressed the down button, and the elevator started to descend.

——————

The sky was twilight through the window. JJ stared out at the street below, then closed the curtains and sat down on the sofa, letting out a long sigh. Evening on his twenty-seventh birthday. It hadn’t been a very eventful day, if he was being honest, but he actually quite liked that. Some peace and quiet after things being rather stressful lately. The celebration could come later. Though, if he remembered correctly, ‘later’ might actually be quickly approaching. After all, if the televised hearing was any indication, his friends’ all-day business would probably be wrapping up soon.

As if on cue, the intercom system let out the ding! sound that meant someone was in the lobby, asking to be buzzed into the apartment building. Standing up, he walked over and pressed the button, making a whistling sound.

“JJ? It’s me! Buzz me in.” Only Marvin could say ‘it’s me’ and immediately expect everyone else to be on the same page. JJ pressed the button to let him into the apartments.

The knocking on the door came a few moments later. JJ hurried over to open it, revealing Marvin standing on the threshold and bouncing anxiously. “Hey!” Marvin smiled. “I brought cupcakes. Just store-bought, but you know.” He held up a plastic container of six cupcakes, chocolate with blue frosting. In addition to those, he also had a bag slung over his shoulder.

JJ smiled. Hey, anything is good, especially when it’s chocolate. He stood aside, letting Marvin walk into the apartment. I was watching the hearing on TV. Congratulations.

“Still can’t believe they filmed it,” Marvin said, setting the cupcakes down on the counter. “But yeah, right? I mean, finally. They just dragged this whole thing on and on, and it’s like ‘was my evidence not enough for you’?”

Well, you did sneak into the building and steal some of it, JJ pointed out.

“And?” Marvin chuckled. “Anyway, more important things to talk about. Happy birthday, JJ! You’re finally catching up to the rest of us! How’s it feel to finally be 27?”

Exactly the same, in all honesty. JJ opened the cupcake container and pulled one out. He paused, then set it down on the counter so he could sign. Though twenty-six was a good year in my life, if I must say. After all, it’s when I meant you.

“I—” Marvin stammered. “Well—that’s just—”

JJ smiled. I see I’ve flustered you.

Well you can’t just say something like that without warning, Marvin signed. That’s too sweet, I wasn’t prepared.

It’s fine, take a moment. JJ picked up the cupcake again, carefully peeling away the paper. He ate slowly, careful to not get any frosting on his mustache.

“So, uh...what were you thinking for tonight?” Marvin looked around the apartment. “You didn’t really have any decorations, I see. Not even any balloons?”

Oh, I’m not a balloon person, I don’t like it when they pop. JJ walked over to the trash can and dropped the paper inside.

Marvin raised an eyebrow. “You ate that fast.”

Shush, it was a really good cupcake. JJ shrugged. Anyway, as for what I had planned...not much. I just wanted to hang out. I was thinking we could play Minecraft or something, I’ve been doing a lot of that recently. Did you bring your laptop?

“Oh. No, I didn’t. Should I have?” As if to double-check, Marvin looked inside his back. “Shit, I forgot to stop by my house and pick up your present, I just rushed straight over here.”

It’s fine, it was just an idea. And you didn’t need to bring a present today, either, JJ assured him. Then he paused. Is that a new bag?

“No, it’s an old one, I couldn’t find my normal one this morning,” Marvin explained. “Uh...yeah I got nothing in here. Sorry.”

Well, at least you brought cupcakes. JJ tapped the plastic container. Did you want one, too?

Marvin hesitated. “No, it’s fine. I mean, not right now. Later. We have all night, right?”

That’s true. But are you sure? You must be hungry, after being at that trial all day.

“I had snacks, it’s fine.” Marvin shrugged it off. “Well, anyway, back to the topic at hand, is there anything you really want to do? You’re the birthday boy.”

JJ pursed his lips, thinking. Well, I think I have some multiplayer games kicking around somewhere. Let me check.

It took them a while to find something. Marvin didn’t give that many suggestions, insisting that JJ choose since it was his birthday. Which, while Jameson really appreciated the gesture, seemed a bit...odd. Marvin always had something to say about group activities. But maybe after such a long day, he didn’t really have the energy to think much about it.

Eventually, JJ settled on rigging his computer up to a pair of controllers, and projecting the image on screen to the television. That took about fifteen minutes to do alone, but from there, he just had to select Stick Fight from Steam and it was ready to go.

“Hmm, is it really fair to play a fighting game against someone who can’t return any trash-talking comments?” Marvin wondered.

Well, that’s never stopped you or Chase before, JJ joked. Though do you think we should wait for him? I know he likes this game, and I’m sure he’ll be done with his kids soon. How long does trick-or-treating take?

“I don’t know. A couple hours?” Marvin bit his lip, considering. “Why are you asking me? You’ve been trick-or-treating, right?”

I think I went once as a kid, JJ recalled. And...once later, but it doesn’t really count when you’re a teenager, does it?

“Well, I think it counts,” Marvin said softly.

JJ shrugged, and looked away. One year, he went out on Halloween with Anti; the year he was sixteen. That first year was pretty fun at the time, but it was different looking back on it. Thinking about it just made him feel...well, it was a big mix of emotions in there, positive and negative. As were a lot of emotions attached to doing fun things with Anti. He’d been working on figuring them out and accepting him in his therapy sessions, but this wasn’t the time to get into thinking about that. It was his birthday. He was going to have fun. Didn’t you go trick-or-treating? Why don’t you know how long it takes?

“Well, uh...no,” Marvin admitted. “Once. But like you, I was already pretty old. Eighteen, that’s even an adult. I guess the time you’re allowed to stay out late will vary between kids and teenagers, so we’re not really good judges for when Chase will be done.”

It can’t be that long. The kids are only four, after all, no matter how energetic they are.

“Well, in that case, I think Chase will forgive us for starting a little early.” Marvin smiled. “C’mon, I’m excited.”

They played a few rounds—which went really fast in this particular game, so honestly, they played through practically all the levels—but as time went on, Jameson found it difficult to concentrate. His thoughts started to drift...and become a little foggy. He blinked slowly, and yawned. Why was he so sleepy all of a sudden?

“That’s the tenth time you’ve lost in a row,” Marvin pointed out, as his yellow stick figure destroyed Jameson’s blue one. “Are you feeling okay?”

JJ put down the controller and signed, I’m just a little tired, it’s okay.

“Ah. Did you have a long day?”

No, not really. I didn’t have work, so I just stayed in all day. I suppose I could’ve gone out for lunch or something, but...he hesitated.

“But?” Marvin prompted.

Well, there was something that happened last week, Jameson signed slowly. Someone followed me home.

“Really? Are you sure?”

JJ nodded slowly, stifling another yawn. Positive. I didn’t recognize him, but it scared me, so I’ve been inside since then.

“That’s probably not a good thing,” Marvin muttered. “Do you want to go out tonight for dinner or something? If there’s two of us, then nothing will happen.”

Jameson shook his head. No, it’s fine. I’m too tired to go out anyway. Strange, though. I...not...don’t know why. His signs slowly fell apart as his train of thought got lost in the brain fog.

“Maybe you should take a nap, then,” Marvin suggested.

No. No, maybe it’s just dark or something, that can make you sleepy. JJ knew on some level that logic didn’t fully make sense, but he didn’t care. He stood up, swayed for a bit, then walked over to the nearest lamp. But just before switching it on, a strange, powerful wave of drowsiness overcame him, and he stumbled, and ended up holding onto the lamp for support.

“Are you alright? Don’t fall.” Marvin stood up as well and hurried over to join him.

Fine, Jameson signed loosely. He managed to flip on the light switch before losing his balance again. His muscles felt so weak all of a sudden, barely able to hold him up. What was...what was going on? This wasn’t...normal.

The lamp started swaying. “Be careful there.” Marvin grabbed JJ as he fell again, but the lamp toppled with him. Its lampshade tilted, directing the light from the bulb directly at Marvin’s face. “Aak! God damn it, just—hang on a moment, that went right in my eyes.”

Jameson frowned. Was...was it just him, or was something...wrong, there? In Marvin’s eyes. He felt a bit bad about looking directly into them, knowing how Marvin felt about eye contact, but...something was off. What was it? What...was it?

Marvin pushed the lamp away, only for it to tilt back. “Fuck this lamp,” he said under his breath, squinting against the light that was once again too close to his face. The...light? The light, the light...

There. There was the problem. It wasn’t anything wrong with Marvin’s eyes themselves, it was the way they were reacting to the light. One was reflecting an image of the lightbulb that was a little too perfect, a little too much like a mirror. The right eye, in fact. Also, the way Marvin’s head was turned, the lamp was shining right into his right eye, but he didn’t really squint until he turned slightly and caused the light to be more visible in his left eye. Almost like...he couldn’t see out of the right one.

Jameson let out a fearful squeak, and wriggled away from ‘Marvin’s’ grip. He fell directly onto the floor, not reacting fast enough to catch himself, but immediately tried to get up again. Yet his head was too clouded, movements...slowing...

“Hey, what’s wrong?” ‘Marvin’ reached down to help Jameson up, only to have his hand swatted away. “What’s—” He stopped. Jameson’s eyes were scanning the right side of his face, as well as his neck. And slowly, he grinned. “Oh, you figured it out, huh? Well, you were always pretty smart, Jamie.”

And with that, Jameson’s fears were confirmed. Nobody else called him that. He backed up until he hit the back of one of the chairs, then tried to grab onto that and use it to pull himself to his feet. There wasn’t much success, but...but he had to...to...what was wrong with him? Why...was he so...so...tired?

Anti didn’t look too concerned with Jameson’s reaction. He didn’t even chase after him. Instead he reached up to his face, and—“It’s pretty good, right?” The fake right eye came out cleanly, and Anti held it up. The glass eye wasn’t a sphere, but more of an irregular dome-like shape. Anti slipped it into his pocket. “His eye color is actually a bit different from mine, you know? A bit lighter. I debated if I should just use the one that matched my natural color, but I thought it would be better if I just went all the way and got the actual shade, then used a contact for the one...left.” He laughed at his own joke.

Jameson gave up on trying to stand up, and instead started fumbling with his pocket. If he could...could get his phone out, he could...text someone...get help...

“What’re you doing?” Anti quickly walked over, kneeling next to Jameson. He easily got through Jameson’s small attempts to push him away, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Oh. No, you can’t have that.” Anti tossed the phone across the room, hitting the wall by the door. “Sorry.”

JJ looked after it with a sinking heart. He couldn’t possibly...move to the door...or somewhere. He could barely move. Maybe he could...call for help? But as always, his voice didn’t cooperate with what his...what his mind wanted.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Anti said, oddly reassuringly. “The effects will wear off after a while, you’re not dying or anything. Just going to sleep for a bit. Sorry about that, too, but I thought you wouldn’t come with me if you knew who I was. And this shows I was right.” He gestured vaguely at Jameson’s continued attempts to get away from him. “I know your recent impression of me hasn’t been...favorable.”

Jameson could barely keep his eyes open, but he kept trying to inch away from Anti. This...couldn’t be...happening...

“Do you know what this feels like?” Anti whispered. “I thought you were dead, Jamie. For years. And once I find you, you’re just...here? In your own little world? Forgotten me?” He reached under his shirt and grabbed something tightly. And he smiled wide. “Well, no more. Now we’re together again. I know you’re a bit freaked out now, but trust me. It’ll be fine. Just like it used to be.”

The last thing Jameson did was shake his head, before finally closing his eyes and slumping over. Just like it used to be. Nothing scared him more.

#jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticeye #jacksepticegos #septic egos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos au #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #brigid writes fanfiction #pwtimeline

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