#posts with such a narrow overlap (me)

[emiko-matsui]

guy who's only ever watched a starstruck odyssey before watching the cabinet of curiosities episode 3: getting a lot of norman skip takamori vibes from this

[vinceaddams]

Silk satin & linen waistcoat. Early 19th century according to Kerry Taylor Auctions, but to me it looks much more 1780's. That closely spaced double breasted look is a very 80's style, and in the 1790's the 2 rows of buttons get much further apart.

The slanted collar and lack of big lapels do give it a somewhat early 19th century look, but I suspect this is altered from a longer waistcoat of at least a few decades earlier. The way the front edge curves just looks "off" for this later style, and the buttonholes appear to be the earlier style that are long and only partially opened, so you can have small buttons and a long decorative buttonhole. Very clever to just sew another row of buttons onto the ends to update the look!

Also you'll notice in the last picture that the linen thread used to whip the lining down around the buttonholes is the same weight as the stuff used to sew on the buttons, but a totally different colour! The fact that the button threads are visible at all is another strong point in favour of it being altered, since the typical 18th century construction involves sewing the buttonholes and attaching the buttons before the lining is added, and we can see from the backs of the buttonholes that those were done in that order.

Anyways, the reason I wanted to post this in the first place is because I think the piecing is cool. Look at how economical they're being with their scraps! (Lots of extant garments are like this but it's no less delightful for being common.) The narrower strip at the side looks like it may have been added even later to accommodate growth, but the bit of linen that the pocket welt overlaps must have been there from the time it was cut down and updated. I love the little triangle bit of piecing on the collar lining, but the most exciting scrap is the piece of ikat on the back of the collar!

[buriedpentacles]

How to Work with Nature Spirits

Warning: Long Post under the Cut!!

Before getting into this, I want to preface that this is heavily based on my experiences and UPG. This is intended to be a helpful guide for anyone not sure on where to start but my Number 1 piece of advice will always be: Just go for it. Your experiences will be different from mine and that's a good thing! Be respectable and figure out what works best for you. With that in mind, let's get into it.

First, let's define 'nature spirits'. Nature spirits may conjure a number of associations and concepts depending on your culture, religion or practice! For the purpose of this post, 'Nature Spirits does not refer to any nature-associated deities or entities such as The Fae, Dryads/Naiads/Oceanids/etc, Elves etc - while many of these practices could be applied, each of these entities has specific cultural and religious etiquette attached that I'm not going to get into!

In this post, Nature Spirits are the spirits of all natural things, following the animistic view that everything has spirit. Plants, animals, rocks, metal, landscapes, etc. This is an incredibly broad definition, that can be narrowed or adapted however you see fit, nature is not an easily defined box. You can create your own categories or definitions, if that makes it easier to understand. For example, I may categorise certain spirits by a dominant element, or biome, or breadth, but these categories will always only ever be guidelines. (Note: at some point I want to make a post about different nature spirits along with some personal experiences. Will link here!)

Which brings us to the next point: accept that nature is not neat, and neither are the spirits. There is a level of overlap between different spirits that cannot be easily discerned - there is no clear, easily drawn line between the spirit of The Forest and the spirit of the Trees. The Spirit of that One Particular Crow is not entirely separated from the Spirit of Crow, but they are also not the same. The Spirit of the Stream will flow into the Spirit of The Ocean and you cannot pull them apart, yet you can still work with one but not the other. It is all a tightly interwoven web of spirit, it mirrors the balance and entwinement of the complex ecosystems all around us. Spirits and energies can shift and change with each meeting because of the changing seasons, the time of day, the influence of the landscape around it, or just because. Some spirits can be particularly variable, and it's important to recognise this! When working with nature spirits you must be open minded and adaptable, meet them as they are.

So how do you actually work with them?

This can largely depend on your goal, so I'll break this into two categories; A one time or "casual" relationship, or building a long-term relationship. I have both of these types of relationships - it would be impossible for me to have a long-term relationship with each individual spirit, but sometimes I want to ask them for help. My long term relationships are with Nature itself, and a handful of plant/animal/land spirits, the rest of my practice is made up of much shorter-term relationships that are made much easier by my long-term relationship with Nature. Again, figure out what works for you!

Working with Nature Spirits Once/Casually

Maybe you have a specific spell or petition that you think a nature spirit would be PERFECT to help you with. Or you want to add an extra bit of oomph to your spellwork by working with the spirit(s) of your ingredients. Or maybe, you just want to give (nature) spirit work a go. Whatever the reason, sometimes we just want a short-term relationship with a spirit. This can also be a helpful approach if you want to take something from nature* (i.e. a tree branch to be your wand, some flowers as spellworking ingredients, etc) and want to ensure it's permitted and you respect the spirit.

The best way to approach this, from my experience, is to be honest with the spirit, and respectful. Some Nature Spirits have no interest in helping someone they don't have a relationship with, and some spirits don't want to help period. Leave an offering for the spirit (expanded upon in the Offerings section further in the post), call upon them and ask them if they would be open to what you need. It really can be as simple as:

"Spirit of Oak, I ask you humbly if you would aid in my enchantment. I give you this offering and ask if I may take one of your many branches. I ask that you may allow your magic and wisdom to stay with it and empower it to be my wand. Thank you."

You may get in an answer through divination such as tarot or runes, through your clairsenses, or you can ask the spirit to provide a sign. If they say no, respect that. Thank them and leave. If you aren't willing to hear no, you should not be working with spirits.

If they say yes, but give certain requirements - i.e. "Yes, but only so much. Yes, but I want an offering of xyz in return. Etc" respect that and consider if you're willing to oblige. If not, thank them and leave. Spirits do have preferences and requests, and sometimes they change over time! I.e. in Summer, Oak may be happy for you to take one of his branches, but in Winter, when he and his wards (Oak, in my experience, is a very protective and familial spirit, often charging himself with protection of the land he lives on) are struggling, he may only allow you to take it if you agree to leave some extra bowls of water as an offering.

This doesn't just have to be a one-off, even for short-term relationships. If you are asking for quite a lot or something significant, you should leave multiple offerings over time before asking for permission - especially if the spirit you're working with might be a bit less welcoming.

*If taking something from nature, always ensure you are taking no more than you need and, if applicable, leave more than enough for that resource to survive (unless it is invasive to your area). Respecting the mundane balance of nature is the most important thing. Also, check any laws in your area regarding collecting feathers, certain plants, bones etc!!

Building a Long-Term Relationship

If you want to build a longer relationship with Nature Spirits, or connect more deeply with nature as a whole, there's a few 'steps' I would recommend:

Research and learn about your local area! What plants are you most likely to find? What animals and trees? How do the seasons change and impact the land? What patterns can you find? Do they align with your personal experiences? Join local Birdwatching or foraging groups, pick up localised wildlife books, take online courses! Learn about the world around you!

Get outside and experience it! Get a nature journal to record what you notice - when do you notice the bees coming back after Winter? What are the first plants to sprout in Spring? When do the first Autumnal leaves fall? What animals do you see most? What trees? Sit outside with no intent other than to *feel*. Sit in the forest and let your energy merge with everything around you; feel how the tree roots stretch beneath the soil, and intermingles with stretching mycelium, feel the flap of insects wings and the wind on your skin. Feel the energy of the spirits around you. Like when trying to befriend a crow or stray cat, you must give them time to adjust to your presence.

Leave offerings on a regular basis. This can be done on your altar at home, but often the most effective offerings are ones that aid the physical side of the spirits of well!

Talk to them (without necessarily expecting a response). Say good morning to the magpies on your way to work, tell the trees about your day. Even if you are trying to build a relationship with one specific spirit, it never hurts to connect to nature and its other spirits - sort of like being polite to the in-laws. All of nature is connected, if you're trying to befriend Lavender but throw litter out the car window, it's gonna be much harder to forge a connection.

Ask the spirit if they want a working relationship with you! And respect their answer if they say no. If they say yes, ask them how you've been doing so far - is there something you've been doing that they don't like? Or that they wish you would do more? Do they have any preferences? Requests? Some spirits don't like to communicate through tarot, others have specific times of day they prefer to talk. Some of this can be discerned through research (i.e. nocturnal animal spirits might prefer nighttime communication) but much of it can only be learned by *asking the spirit*.

Keep it up. This is it. This is what a relationship with spirits is: consistent communication and respect. What you choose to do with this relationship, and how it evolves and changes is entirely up to you! Nature is not a religion, these spirits are not a part of a specific tradition or culture (though you are more than welcome to incorporate your own culture/traditions/religions into your relationship with them) and so there are no pre-set prayers, offerings, rituals etc; it is up to you to build a unique and personalised relationship with them!

If you ever want to end it, be respectful and polite. Thank the spirit for everything, provide them a final offering and say goodbye.

Offerings for Nature Spirits

Here are some suggestions of offerings for Nature Spirits, but they are just suggestions and recommendations from my own experiences; come up with your own and figure it out *with* the spirit!! I've divided them into physical and non-physical offerings:

Water (a classic, hard to go wrong)

Wildlife Safe food (this will require research and will be very dependant on your area. HOWEVER, it should not be done regularly, and ideally should be in your garden rather than a public or "wild" area - bird feeders, feeding hedgehogs etc Feeding wildlife can cause more harm than help a lot of the time).

Coins, tobacco, crystals etc (some 'traditional' spirit offerings in many cultures. These are best for any indoor altars rather than outside.

Picking up Litter or other acts of service (an amazing offering, often highly appreciated)

Removing Invasive Species!

Physical touch (NOT for animals or potentially dangerous plants. Do your research. This may be a hand in the river, a hug to the tree, bare feet on the soil.)

Time (a simple, yet much appreciated offering)

A poem, artwork, prayer

Donating to their conservation/aid

Other parts of nature (laying flowers at the foot of the tree, berries for the crow spirit, dressing a fox skull in leaves)

In my experience, acts of service or creation are often much more appreciated than physical offerings! Art in their name, cleaning the local stream of litter, calling your PM to pressure more conservation policies etc are far better than leaving a - potentially disruptive and harmful - piece of food.

What NOT to Do?

This is also UPG based, but there are some things I would really NOT recommend.

Not doing your research. You wouldn't jump into a relationship with a deity without learning anything about them, why do the same for nature spirits? Just because they don't have specific religious lore surrounding them, doesn't mean you shouldn't learn. Pick up a field guide or book on local folklore.

Leaving human food outside. You baked a tasty brownie and want to share it with the Fly Agaric spirit you're building a relationship with? Great - leave it as an offering but TAKE IT BACK HOME WITH YOU. Let the spirit take the energy from it it wants/needs, and then remove it. Do not leave human food outside. If you INSIST on leaving a form of food offering, it MUST be safe for the local wildlife.

Littering. Doing a spell with Birch? Cool. Make sure you don't leave anything behind. Ideally, use compostable or wildlife safe ingredients (i.e. beeswax candles, toilet paper tubes instead of spell jars etc)

Graffiti/Carvings on trees/rocks etc. Sigils and art can be a great tool/offering but PLEASE don't graffiti or carve into trees/rocks/natural things. It does damage them. Write a with your finger in sand or on your palm or recreate it with branches instead.

Taking more than you need. Don't collect every shell you see on a beach, don't pick up every skull or bone your find in a forest, don't pick every mushroom or herb in a patch. Take what you need, ask permission, leave more than you take.

DO NOT GO INTO FORAGING/BONE COLLECTING/HIKING/LITTER PICKING WITHOUT PROPER SAFETY PRECAUTIONS. Know the laws in your area. Know the trails and paths. Have a map if the area if large enough. Know what plants are safe to touch, if you're not sure - DON'T TOUCH IT. Know what is safe to forage, ideally have an expert to confirm, if you are not 10000% certain, LEAVE IT (and I mean 100000% certain. Not 99%). Wear proper hiking boots, be aware of the weather and any risks in the area. Keep up with weather warnings. Know if there's any traps in the woods. Going litter picking? Make sure you're aware of any local vaccination attempts, as the devices used to help vaccinate wild animals may look like rubbish. Be sensible, be SAFE.

General Tips and Advice

Use common sense and critical thinking.

Notice how I kept saying "local" in this post? That's because it's ideal for a nature-based practice to be localised to your surrounding area! I live in the UK, so whats the point in me trying to build a relationship with spirit of Bald Eagle? It has no roots in my land, nor in my heritage or craft. It is much easier to connect to a nature spirit that you can actually, physically visit, or that has a deep connection to your culture/religion/heritage than one that you thought "seemed cool".

Take it slow, and take it easy. There are no strict rules besides don't be a jerk. The best expert on any particular spirit is that spirit!

However, its important to be safe. Know how to protect yourself and how to banish. Don't call on any spirit you can't get rid of. Not all nature spirits are friendly.

Nature spirits are also not a monolith. They overlap, they blur and twist together but working with Bramble is an entirely different experience to working with Lavender. Be prepared. You can typically get an idea of a spirit's personality through research - it peeks through in the science and ecology, as well as the folklore.

Practice energy work! Nature spirits, in my experience, love to communicate through energy. Sit with yourself for a while, learn what thoughts are yours, what sensations are your own, so that you can differentiate from others. Get used to the feeling of nature and its spirits - they will guide you and help you, they will teach you knowledge you cannot imagine.

You're allowed to say no, and so are they.

Do not be deterred by your circumstances. You live in a city? There's still nature spirits there, a lot of them. (Will link my post about Urban Nature Spirit Work here when posted). Struggle to get outside regularly? Get a Houseplant (will link houseplant post too) watch nature documentaries, find a way to connect to nature and it will find a way to connect to you.

Remember that YOU are a part nature. You are not an onlooker, you are not an outsider, YOU are a part of the ecosystem, apart of natural history and the complex beauty of evolution and change. YOU are an animal and you are so much more similar to the foxes and bears and flies and butterflies than you think.

I hope this post has been helpful to some! Please feel free to add any of your own points/experiences or ask questions/suggest future posts!!

Praise Mother Nature 💚🌿🪲

[tainted-heqrt]

Bread Bridge Bakery AU

The following day at the bakery dawned with an unusual stillness. Too quiet, Joel stood behind the counter, idly pretending to reorganise the pastry display—though in reality, he was sneaking bites of leftover cinnamon rolls.

“Hey Grian, is Jimmy coming in today?” he called out to his friend in the bustling kitchen, the sound of clattering pans echoing around them.

"if this is some elaborate scheme to flirt with his sister leave me out of it, I'm trying to bake macarons and its a very involved process," Grian retorted, his concentration unwavering as he whipped the delicate batter.

"nooooo its just he's erm in charge of making the coffees, you know cant have a bakery without coffee and can't have coffee without Jimmy ha ha," Joel replied unconvincingly, "you know our system, you bake, Jimmy brews and I charm the customers with my amazing customer service!"

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Grian murmured, casting a distracted glance at his phone. His expression shifted to one of annoyance as he read the latest message, a groan of dismay escaping him. ��What did you do?”

Joel blinked, mid-chew. “Define ‘do.’”

“Jimmy just messaged me,” Grian hissed. “he said, and I quote, if I see that Shrek wannabe so much as glance in the direction of my sister, I'm going to end his existence”

“He’s probably just worried about the economy,” Joel replied, struggling to sound nonchalant. “Or inflation. Or, like, croissant integrity or something.”

Grian crossed his arms, skeptically raising an eyebrow. “He literally called you a Shrek wannabe and threatened your existence. Did you ask his sister out?”

Joel grinned, not bothering to deny it. “I said I might call her if, say, Jimmy suddenly went missing in a mysterious bakery-related incident.”

"Joel, mate, come on-" Before Grian could unleash his signature eye roll, the front bell jingled. Jimmy walked in, Lizzie trailing behind him, looking as effortlessly cute as ever in a lavender cardigan covered in bees. Her eyes darted around the bakery, searching for something-or, or rather, someone.

“Hey Joel,” she greeted shyly, a sweet smile lighting up her face.

“Hey, Lizzie,” he replied, feeling a flutter of nervousness mixed with excitement.

“HLEEAAHHHurkurkBLLEAAHH!” Jimmy exclaimed, feigning a dramatic retch as he clasped his stomach, his face contorting in an exaggerated expression of disgust. With a flourish, he spun on his heel to confront his beloved sister, his eyes narrowing. “We had a deal. You promised you were only coming in for coffee!”

“I am,” Lizzie replied, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “And to chat with Grian about his delightful honey lemon scones. Not everything revolves around you, James.”

“Don’t call me James,” Jimmy retorted, his voice a mix of mock exasperation and brotherly affection.

Out of nowhere, Scar popped up, casually leaning against the counter, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm, “Did someone mention honey lemon scones?”

“NO!” Grian and Jimmy both shouted in unison, their voices overlapping in a chorus of protest.

Undeterred, Scar’s face lit up with a wide smile. “Perfect! I’ll take three,” he declared, his excitement infectious.

--A/N--

another little snippet from chapter one of my bread bridge bakery au, I really need a name for this fic so if you have any ideas let me know.

its working title is 'Bros before Bakery Hoes' much to the dismay of many so I really need a title so I can post chapter one :)

also @lostgoosebe did some amazing art for this fic so pls go check them out

[coriihanniee]

Guess WHO! - boynextdoor smau

𓂃۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : When multiple leaked photos ignite a wildfire of speculation, the world is certain—BOYNEXTDOOR'S Y/N is secretly dating one of the members. But who? No one knows, and you refuse to clear the air. Instead, you turn the chaos into a game, scattering cryptic clues and half-truths while every member plays along, deepening the mystery. Every glance, every post, every moment is a riddle waiting to be solved. Is the answer hidden in plain sight, or are you leading everyone in circles? How far can a secret stretch before it unravels? And when it does—will anyone be ready for the truth?

CHAPTER 26 : the arcade duo

The arcade smelled like stale popcorn, plastic tokens, and the kind of artificial excitement only bright, flashing lights could create.

You stood near the entrance, idly scrolling through your phone as you waited. The neon glow of the sign overhead buzzed faintly, casting you in shifting shades of blue and red. You had already been standing there for ten minutes, and at this point, you weren’t sure if Woonhak was actually on his way or just spiritually manifesting himself here.

You sighed, switching apps.

Woonhak : YO. I'M HERE

Woonhak : WHERE ARE YOU

Woonhak : HELLO. WHERE IS MY GAMING PARTNER.

You barely had time to process his messages before you caught sight of him power-walking toward the entrance like he had just escaped a hostage situation. His hoodie was slightly lopsided, hair a little windblown, and he was panting like he had been running for his life.

You raised an eyebrow. “Bro, I’ve been waiting.”

Woonhak stopped in front of you, hands on his knees as if he had just completed a marathon. “I sprinted here.”

“You literally did not.”

“I mentally sprinted.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You were late.”

“Traffic.”

“We live in the same area.”

“…Moral traffic.”

You smacked his arm, earning a dramatic yelp. “Let’s just go inside.”

Instantly, his expression brightened. “Prepare yourself. We are about to bankrupt this place.”

“You’re about to bankrupt yourself,” you corrected, following him in.

The second you stepped inside, you were hit with the chaotic mess of flashing lights, overlapping game sounds, and kids shrieking at full volume.

A group of middle schoolers nearly body-checked Woonhak on their way to the racing games. He barely dodged in time, pressing himself dramatically against a claw machine.

“Damn. Is this what war feels like?” he whispered.

You sighed. “Please shut up.”

But he was already moving past his near-death experience, his eyes locking onto the claw machine like it had personally offended him. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a coin, and slid it into the slot with the confidence of a man who had never successfully won from one.

“Watch this.”

You crossed your arms. “Watching.”

The claw descended. The claw gripped. The claw lifted—

And then the claw said, sike, loser, and dropped the plush halfway.

“WHAT THE FUCK.”

You threw your head back, laughing so hard you nearly lost balance. “Nah, that was personal.”

Woonhak scowled, already shoving in another coin. “BITCH, WE GO AGAIN.”

Twenty minutes later, Woonhak was down an embarrassing amount of money. He had yelled at the machine twice, smacked it three times, and even prayed at one point.

But finally—after a struggle that could only be described as tragic—he managed to yank a stuffed snowman out of the machine like he had just conquered a kingdom.

“LET’S GOOOOOOO,” he screamed, shaking it over his head like it was a trophy.

You clapped, deadpan. “Damn. All that money just to win a plushie that looks exactly like you.”

“First of all, RUDE.”

You snatched the snowman from him and squished it. “No, ‘cause it’s soft, round, and dumb-looking. You cannot tell me this isn’t you.”

“Okay, but at least I’m huggable.”

“That’s what you got from that?”

“Yes.”

You spent the next few hours tearing through every game in sight.

You destroyed him in air hockey, sending the puck flying so fast that Woonhak physically dodged like he was in an action movie.

Woonhak obliterated you in racing, drifting so aggressively that his in-game character yeeted you off the track.

You both got banned from the basketball machines for causing “excessive violence.”

“Excessive violence is crazy,” You muttered as you were escorted away from the game.

“To be fair, that machine started it.”

“No, you started it when you dunked the ball so hard the sensor broke.”

“Details.”

By the time you hit the ticket redemption counter, Woonhak dumped a massive stack of tickets onto the counter with pride. “What can we get with this?”

The worker barely glanced up. “You can get… a pencil.”

“…Excuse me?”

You cackled. “Bro, you just spent your life savings for a pencil.”

“No. No, I refuse,” he muttered, staring at the worker like he was about to negotiate for his life. “What about that mini arcade keychain?”

“That’s 10,000 tickets.”

You both looked at your total: 342 tickets.

“…Give me the pencil.”

By the time you finally stumbled out of the arcade, the night air was crisp and cool against your sweaty skin. The neon lights reflected off the pavement, still glowing behind them as the city carried on, buzzing with life.

You stretched, rolling out your shoulders. “That was fun.”

Woonhak grinned, twirling his stupid pencil between his fingers. “Of course. I don’t take Ls when it comes to fun.”

You gave him a look. “You literally took, like, fifty Ls in there.”

“WE DON’T TALK ABOUT THAT.”

You laughed, shaking your head. But as the laughter faded, something in your expression shifted—like your mind had already drifted somewhere else.

Woonhak noticed.

You walked in silence for a moment, the weight of reality settling back in. BOYNEXTDOOR’s never-ending schedule. The relentless dating rumors. The way you had been dragged into everything, reduced to nothing more than a mystery for fans to obsess over.

It was exhausting.

Woonhak swung the snowman plush towards you, nudging your arm. “Hey.”

You glanced at him. “Hm?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Look… I know you’re going through a lot right now.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“I mean, you never say it, but we all know,” he said, kicking a loose pebble down the sidewalk. “You get dragged into our mess all the time. You’re stuck in all this idol bullshit, and half the time, it feels like people care more about who you might be dating than who you actually are.”

You stayed quiet.

Woonhak turned to you, his usual playful energy replaced by something quieter, more sincere. “I just— I admire you, YN. Like, really. You take all this shit and somehow still laugh, still deal with us—”

“‘Us’ is a lot to deal with,” you muttered.

“EXACTLY. And you do it so well.”

Your throat tightened.

“I just wanted you to have a day where you weren’t thinking about all that. Just having fun.”

You stared at him.

Then you punched him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

“Ow???”

But before he could complain more, you grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug.

Woonhak stiffened for half a second before melting into it. He didn’t say anything, just squeezed you back, letting you take whatever you needed from the moment.

“Thanks, Woon.” Your voice was quiet.

He grinned against your shoulder. “Anytime.”

As you and Woonhak finally made your way back to the BOYNEXTDOOR dorm, you were greeted by the usual chaos.

Jaehyun was lounging on the couch, phone in hand, but he didn’t look up. “Took you long enough.”

Woonhak flopped onto the couch beside him, giving Jaehyun a deadpan stare. “We were busy winning at life, okay?”

“You two are lucky the plane leaves tomorrow, or I’d drag you back to practice for a 24-hour marathon.” Sungho popped up from behind the kitchen counter with a knowing grin.

Leehan walked in from the hallway, glancing at you over his shoulder. “You both look like you’ve been through warzones. Is this really how you’re gonna show up tomorrow before the flight?”

You shot him a playful glare. “We’re fine. Totally. I’ve perfected the art of operating on no sleep.”

Riwoo, who had been quietly scrolling on his phone, looked up with a smirk. “Yeah, totally. Sure you are.”

Taesan, who had been chilling by the door, suddenly joined the conversation. “You guys really went to the arcade? I thought we were gonna take it easy before the flight.”

Woonhak leaned back, throwing his arms behind his head dramatically. “The arcade was life—it was essential. You don’t understand.”

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow, looking at him over his phone. “I don’t even know what that means, but you’re lucky I’m not your manager. You’re both going to crash hard tomorrow. I give you an hour before you fall asleep mid-conversation.”

“Worse than that,” Sungho chimed in. “I give them 20 minutes before they start fighting over who gets to nap first.”

Woonhak shot him a playful glare. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I won a plushie.”

You laughed. “You did make a dramatic scene over that. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Leehan chuckled from across the room. “The claw machine gods were clearly punishing him for all those failed attempts.”

Woonhak raised the stuffed snowman in the air like a trophy. “You’re all just jealous you didn’t come with us. You could’ve experienced greatness.”

Taesan snorted, leaning against the wall. “Yeah, but no one’s jealous of your spending habits, Woon."

Woonhak raised an eyebrow, grinning. “I can’t help that the claw machine recognized my talent, okay?”

Jaehyun smirked. “Greatness, huh? Well, let’s see how much ‘greatness’ you have left when you try to wake up early tomorrow. You’re going to need it for the flight."

You stretched out on the couch. “I’ll survive. We’ve survived worse, right?”

“Zombies would be a better description.” Sungho’s grin was as wide as ever.

“Alright, alright, you guys get some sleep.” Jaehyun stood up, stretching. “Big day tomorrow.”

As everyone started to head toward their rooms, Woonhak nudged you with his shoulder. “See? They don’t even know what it’s like to have fun.”

You leaned back against the couch, a content smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. We’re not that bad, right?”

Woonhak grinned, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Nope. We’re perfectly fine—just a couple of champions who know how to live.”

You rolled your eyes. “Champions who are definitely going to need a nap in about an hour.”

“Hey,” Woonhak shrugged, “Nap champions count, too.”

Riwoo, who had been listening to the conversation with an amused expression, shook his head. “You two are something else.”

But as you laughed along with the rest of them, you felt a small, nagging feeling in your gut. It wasn’t the same carefree excitement you’d felt earlier at the arcade. Something was off. You couldn’t quite place it, but you knew tomorrow would bring something—more—something you weren’t prepared for...

previous masterlist next

@coriihanniee 💌

taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @heeheesang @molensworld @wondoras @taesanfav @bbyinni @minfolio @mbella607 @cinnamonshuaa @defnotsanni @amarecerasus @enaile23 @nujeskz @janjoonty @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @pumpkg @cosmicwintr @mimimimiaa @hanniehq @s0shroe @slowlylefttyphoon @s1lkrabbit @missychief1404 @fae-renjun

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Chapter 9 His POV Story

Masterlist

This is posted separately because it is unlocked on a 2nd readthrough and thus contains spoilers for later developments of Victor's route

His POV Story: I Wish for Your Continued Freedom

As we were carrying out an inspection of the city, we came across a puppet show that was being set up for some children. Since we were already here, we decided to lean against a wall nearby and watch as well.

Puppeteer: A long time ago, there was once a queen.

This story felt familiar.

Puppeteer: The queen always stayed inside her castle, and almost never came out.

(I do leave sometimes for inspections like this, but I usually stay in.)

Puppeteer: And one day, a little bird flew towards the queen.

As soon as I heard the word ‘bird’, my eyes naturally turned towards Kate. In that moment, she also turned her head to look at me, and our eyes met.

Puppeteer: The queen quickly grew fond of the little robin which filled her days with happiness.

(Just like you.)

She brought happiness with her every day that she visited my office. I gave her a smile and turned my attention back to the puppet show, just in time to see the bird puppet vanish.

Puppeteer: But one day, the bird stopped visiting the queen. Puppeteer: She was worried, so she ordered all her subjects to look for the bird. But no one was able to find it.

The queen’s puppet looked down sadly.

(...It won’t be long before I won’t be able to see you anymore.)

When she returned to her old life, I wouldn’t be allowed to be close to her. All I could do would be to watch from afar.

Puppeteer: At last, the queen left the castle herself to look for the robin. She found the bird, and wanted to bring it back with her to the castle. Puppeteer: But then, the robin would not be able to fly here and there as it pleased.

The longer the story went on, the more it felt like it overlapped with our current circumstances. My eyes narrowed.

Puppeteer: Feeling sorry for it, the queen decided to let it go. But she asked it to promise that someday, if the bird wanted to, it would come to visit her again. Puppeteer: And so the bird began to fly freely around the world. Puppeteer: The end.

Kate: …Huh?

Although Kate was surprised at the abrupt conclusion, it filled me with relief.

(Looks like the queen in that story and I both feel the same way.)

I believed that the bird would be happiest if it was set free.

(But it looks like the children and Kate aren’t satisfied with this ending.)

…

Victor: But I think there’s something else to this tale.

The dove at my feet spread its wings and took off into the clear blue sky. Doves were a symbol of peace. This one flew as if it could go anywhere it wanted.

Victor: The queen most definitely loved that bird.

I was sure of it. The queen in that story must have loved it.

Victor: And more than just because she pitied it, it’s because she loved that bird that she let it go. Victor: I think the queen in that story knew that to be free was to be happy.

I thought the same.

Kate: What if it wasn’t love, but just affection? Would the story be different?

I tilted my head at Kate’s question, and thought about my own answer.

Victor: Hmm… Maybe she’d have locked up the bird in her castle, if that was the case.

If loving someone meant granting them freedom, then to me, affection was its opposite: wanting to lock someone away despite their wishes. Because you wanted someone to look at no one else except for you, you confined them without sparing a thought for their feelings. I knew that kind of possessiveness lurked somewhere within me.

(That’s why I can’t let these feelings of mine develop any further.)

Victor: People each show their affection in different ways. But I believe that if you love someone, you will always want for them to be free.

(You, and Crown, and every citizen of this country. I wish that all of you can live freely.)

Victor: Because you love them, you want them to see the world in all its beauty.

(I hope that only the beauty of the world will be reflected in your eyes.)

Victor: And you hope that, if they feel the same for you, that they will choose to return to you.

(But I can’t hope for that.)

My wish for everyone to live a happy and free life did not include myself. No matter how many times the robin spreads its beautiful wings, no matter how many times it chooses to return to me, I didn’t want it to end up locked in a cage. I didn’t want to seize its freedom, to make it mine and mine alone.

(And even worse, I will lead that robin down a path to its destruction.)

That path led only to an endless darkness. Your name would not be engraved in history, no trace that you ever lived would remain.

(Rather than lead you to such destruction, it’s better that I stop wanting.)

(And that’s why I must send you back after this one month.) (Because I want for you to be happy, for the rest of your days.)

Even if the sound of a light knock at my door filled me with happiness, and seeing her earnest face made me want to protect her. Even if I couldn’t stop my hand from curling around hers, even if I couldn’t forget the kindness she extended to me over and over again. I had to do everything in my power to make sure she could return to her old life, so that no shadows would cloud her brilliant smile.

(That is my responsibility.)

What she said to me in that church that day so long ago, Has continued to fill my days with light and color. Kate had been my savior, ever since that day.

(May those memories stay buried.) (Because, if you were to remember… then you may end up being captured,) (by the desires I thought ‘Victor’ had discarded.)

To lift the mood, I winked at her.

Victor: But this is all just what I think.

And then I laughed, to hide how I truly felt.

[casstheasswrites]

NO SAINTS, NO SAVIOURS (12)

pairing: frank castle x reader (female)

summary: wrong place, wrong time. he saved her life, she patched him up. that should’ve been the end of it. some nights, you survive. others, you change.

trigger warnings: canon typical violence including blood and death. ptsd, trauma, eventual smut. at times, you get soft!frank. at others, he takes no prisoners. we love the duality of man <3

chapter length: 5.1k

authors note: i'm now writing in real time and will post at the same time when chapters are ready, here and on AO3. i hope you enjoy and pls pls send me a message with your feedback or thoughts, if you have any! thanks a million.

archive of our own / feedback appreciated!

You weren’t really sure how your feet had managed to carry you the final few blocks. The time was lost, locked away in some dark, inaccessible part of your mind. But you had made it, one way or another.

Each step had been automatic— driven by instinct more than conscious thought. Like your body had been moving on muscle memory alone, tuned to the invisible pull of something you couldn’t name. Or maybe it was just hope. Raw and stubborn. The steering wheel was disengaged and the quiet, steady hum of autopilot kept you in a constant state of movement. Too long still and you would come crashing down.

The streets around the building were quiet now. Muted by the soft hush of snowfall, interrupted only by the occasional hiss of tires on wet asphalt or the distant echo of a barking dog. You took a few slow laps around the block, your eyes cast low, watching the ground like it might tell you something you needed to know.

The snow here was thin, icy. Trampled in some places, still pristine in others. Boot prints overlapped like tangled threads— some large, some small, some dragging behind like their owners had been too tired to lift their feet. People had come and gone.

But not here.

As you rounded the corner and approached the narrow alley that led to the side entrance— Frank’s entrance— you released a sharp burst of air. The snow in front of the old door was untouched. No prints. No scuffs. Just a wide, unbroken sheet of white.

A soft shiver traced the line of your spine.

No one had been in or out. Not this way. Not in hours.

You didn’t know how to feel about that— the storm of emotions inside of you waged on, pushed forward, complex and confusing.

You stood there for a long moment, staring down the cracked concrete stairwell— edges worn to nothing by time and weather. The darkness at the bottom of those stairs felt deeper tonight. Hungrier. Like it held the answer to a question you didn’t want to ask.

The wind curled around you, biting through the seams of your coat. You drew your bag closer and reached inside. The lining was slick and cold against your skin, but your fingers found the weapon without hesitation. You drew it out slowly, the metal freezing but familiar in your hand.

You wrapped your fingers tighter around the grip— and began to descend.

Each step was deliberate. Quiet. Your boots made no sound against the concrete. Your breath clouded in short, shallow bursts, each one disappearing into the shadows that waited below. The noise of the city fell away behind you like a door closing. With each step, the silence got heavier.

You eased the metal door at the bottom of the stairs open and stepped through, the hinges groaning faintly behind you before clicking shut. You took one final look over your shoulder— but the outside world was already gone.

You lifted your weapon and crept forward.

Silence greeted you first. Dense. Absolute. The kind of silence that settles in a room where something has just gone terribly wrong.

The air was stale— lingering scents of plaster, dust and wet concrete tickling the back of your throat. Somewhere above you, a broken fluorescent light buzzed in time with your pulse. The hallway flickered like a failing signal.

You moved slowly, placing your feet heel to toe. Your arms remained steady, still, but your grip was tighter than it should’ve been, and your wrists ached with the strain of the tension. You weren’t Frank. You didn’t move like him. You could only mimic what you’d seen and hope muscle memory would catch you if instinct didn’t.

You imagined, from an outside perspective, you likely looked like a woman who’d lost her mind. Eyes wild, flickering every which way in tune with the ticking of a clock. Body strained, rigid, and yet somehow still managing to tremble and flinch at any miniscule sound. The fear within you was only rivalled by sheer, unbridled determination.

In your clouded mind, Frank’s words from earlier in the night played on a steady, constant loop.

“Stop doubting yourself— I don’t, not for a second.”

You clung to his words; wrapped them around you like a protective layer.

Each hall stretched long and narrow, lined with peeling paint and half-torn flyers. A draft slithered in through a broken window at one end, moaning as it passed. You swore the shadows moved with it, even though you knew better.

You counted your breaths. Counted your steps. The gentle incline leading to the sublevel was colder still— steeper than you remembered, though perhaps it was because this time, you moved much slower. Much less steadily. There was no Frank here, in front, guiding you and protecting you. You were on your own, now. You were the only one who would keep you safe.

You could feel your pulse in your teeth. Your ears. Your fingertips. The thought hit you, sharp and unwelcome— what if someone else found this place? What if Frank wasn’t the only ghost who knew the way back in?

It was a real, palpable possibility. You steeled yourself against it, the muscles in your abdomen clenching and then releasing. Your chest ached— lungs burned— begging you to just sit, take a minute, regroup. Run, maybe.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You came to the final fork in the mass of hallways and peered around the corner, to the right, your gaze immediately settling on the green door down the way. Even when you squinted, when you tried to see, you couldn’t tell if the lock was still in place— not from this distance, at least.

And so you did what you had to do. You approached. Your footsteps were still so slow, so measured, that they didn’t make a sound. And as you closed in on that familiar green door, you realized that your silence might have been the only thing keeping you alive. 

The padlock was gone. Not broken. Not cut. Just… gone.

Unsealed.

Undone by someone who knew the combination.

Your pulse spiked. For the briefest moment, your heart leapt toward the impossible.

Maybe it was him. Maybe he’d come back. Maybe you’d step inside and find him exactly where he’d been that morning— at the desk, bent over his notes, the glow of the radio at his side. Maybe he’d stand when he heard you, weapon drawn on reflex, only to soften when he saw it was you.

Maybe he’d say your name, in that way that only he could manage. Equal parts soft and hard. Gentle and rough. Reverent and indifferent.

And everything would settle. Everything would make sense again.

But you knew better.

If it were him, he’d have found you by now. Somehow. Some way. He wouldn’t have left you like this.

It didn’t make sense, how you knew— but you just did.

Your gaze refocused on the door before you, eyes narrowing. It was just slightly ajar, the faintest hint of dim, golden light spilling out into the hall. You didn’t breathe. Not fully. Just short, shaky pulls through your nose, like too much oxygen might trigger whatever waited on the other side. You felt every inch of your body, hyperaware, your skin crawling beneath the suddenly heavy, unbearable material of your clothes.

He said this place was secure. He said no one else knew. But he’d said a lot of things— and with time, it proved only some of them were true.

So you moved closer, weapon raised, shoulders braced. Your body was locked into that half-crouch he’d taught you, every muscle tense with the promise of violence.

You were the only one who would keep you safe.

The door made no sound when you nudged it open, slow and steady. You swept the room the way he’d drilled into you the night before— center, right, left.

At first, it looked unchanged.

And then—

Your eyes fell upon a figure across the room, seated at Frank’s desk, one hand sprawled across the papers he’d left there. Like the things there fascinated them; like they had every right to scan the information, memorize it. You came to a standstill, then, lifting your gun until the front sight was directly aligned with the back of their head.

You weren’t sure what it was, exactly, that you’d been expecting— but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Because this was a woman.

She was blonde, her long hair pin straight and brushed back over a shoulder, falling down her back. Her posture was impeccable— the type to instantly awaken a sudden ache in between your shoulder blades, reminding you to do better. She was tall, her long legs tucked beneath the desk before her, crossed at the ankles. She looked a bit older than you, too, though it was hard to tell from this far, with nothing but the dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the space. Beneath those same lights, her skin appeared to almost glow— translucent in a way that had you blinking, wondering if you really had begun to lose your mind.

And then her body went impossibility more still. Like she could feel the weight of your gaze on her. Her chin tipped in your direction, sudden and sure.

Her eyes�� ocean blue, sharp despite their softness— widened slightly. Not surprise. Not panic. Just... interest.

Her lips parted, a soft breath released into the air. But she didn’t move. Just stared back.

She looked at you like she’d been waiting. Maybe for a while.

Your brain tried to catch up, tried to make sense of the absolute mess locked within, but your voice got there first. You needed control— needed to take it, just as Frank had taught you.  

So you set your jaw, tightened your grip on the gun, and faked the confidence you didn’t feel. 

“I’m only going to say this once,” your voice was low, hoarse with exhaustion, frayed at the edges. “I’m not screwing around, alright? My night’s been straight out of a Hitchcock film and I’m jumpy as fuck. So don’t test me.”

You raised the gun higher.

“You’re going to move. Slow, with your hands up. Now.”

The woman’s gaze didn’t waver. Her hands rose, measured, until her palms faced you. She began to rise from the desk chair, and your finger toyed with the rounded edge of the metal just above the trigger. You focused on the beating of your heart, desperate for anything to ground you to the moment— anything to keep you from letting the façade fall.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the woman said, her voice calm. Even. Soft in a way that had your brow furrowing— you had a gun trained on her forehead. Why was she speaking to you like you were old friends, reconnecting after years apart? “I’m looking for Frank.”

You managed to keep a hold of your expression, though it wasn’t easy. Your mind raced, thoughts jolting through you at breakneck speed. She knew him by name— no alias, no superficial title. And she said it like she really knew him, too. Knew him in perhaps a way you didn’t— and maybe never would. There was a weight there, implied in what hadn’t been said.

“My name is Karen Page.”

Her name hit you like a slap, and despite yourself, you winced. Recognition crashed through you all at once, the pieces falling into place too quickly to catch.

You’d never heard the name from Frank’s lips— he wasn’t quite so generous with his ghosts. But you’d seen it, read it. Again and again. Beneath headlines, at the bottom of op-eds that were more confession than journalism, mentioned like she was a recurring character in Frank’s story. Ever-present. And as your gaze refocused on her, studied the familiar lines of her face, you knew it was her. You’d seen her photos, the pictures of her seated with Frank’s defense team, all those years ago when he’d been on trial.

She saw the way that familiarity hit you, too. Was far too smart, too perceptive, to miss it.  

Her hands started to lower, the tension bleeding from her shoulders.

But you didn’t lower the weapon. You told yourself it was caution— necessary, rational— but deep down, it felt like something else. Like you were holding onto it because letting go meant surrendering too much at once. Felt like handing control over to her.  

You hadn’t said it out loud— Karen Page— but her name was already bitter on your tongue.

It spread through your mind, through your chest, like poison. It tainted every thought you had as it passed, sinking its teeth into the things you had been clinging to with a desperate grip.

She wasn’t just someone who knew Frank— she’d written about him. Defended him. Maybe even loved him, though you had no right to think that, no evidence to support it. Just… instinct. A gut-punch of a feeling that curled itself behind your ribs and burned slow. Made it hard to breathe.

If she knew about this place— if she knew the combination to the lock on the door—then it only stood to reason that she’d been here before. That he’d brought her here, once. Maybe more than once. Your gaze dipped from her face, unable to hold its line. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes tracked to the cot at the far end of the room.

Had she slept there? Had he climbed in behind her, too— offering quiet warmth in the cold, just like he had with you?

The thought twisted. Left something sharp behind in your chest. You pressed your lips together to keep it in, though it begged to rip free.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said again. Same tone. Calm. Controlled. Her gaze snapped back to your face. Her hands had dipped to her sides, her posture relaxed, though just slightly. “But you should probably lower that before one of us does something we can’t take back.”

You didn’t move. Your voice scraped out of your throat, hoarse and jagged.

“Why are you here, then?”

Karen blinked once. Slow. She didn’t look away.

“I’ve been looking for Frank, trying to get in touch with him for weeks. I stopped by this place a few nights ago, but no luck. Thought I’d try it again.”

That didn’t make sense. Your stomach flipped, something ice-cold sliding down your spine.

“He didn’t mention you,” you said, the words coming out sharper than intended. A defense mechanism, more bite than blade. As soon as it was out, you regretted it, the obvious show of jealousy making your stomach roll. Guilt, shame, disbelief— they all mixed together, the perfect cocktail, spreading through your veins like battery acid. Thick, with a burn. Not easy cleansed from the system. A beat passed, and you cleared your throat. “What’s the deal with you two, anyways?”

She flinched, but just barely. Her gaze on you lingered just a second too long, like she saw something in your face she wasn’t expecting. Something she remembered— something so familiar she might’ve first seen in a mirror. Then she folded her arms across her chest— cautiously, deliberately, like she was trusting you not to shoot her mid-move.

“I’m not really sure anymore. We were close, once.”

The air between you shifted. Something old and sharp slipped into the silence.

“I helped him when no one else would. Gave him leads, covered for him, hid him.”

Her eyes pinned yours then. Not unkind— but unwavering. There was a weight behind her words, one you recognized. The kind that came from sleepless nights, bad decisions, and choices made in the dark. Choices that maybe, just maybe, she would go back and change, if given the chance.

“I saw him for who he was, not who he wanted the world to see,” she added, though it wasn’t for you— as you stared her down, you saw the way her gaze unfocused, the way her lips remained parted, though the words had come to a standstill. She had been transported somewhere else, perhaps to a time she’d seen the real Frank— the one beneath all those layers of rage and violence. The one you’d seen a few glimpses of, in these last few weeks.

Slowly, your grip on the weapon loosened. The tension in your body began to dissipate, fading into the air that spread between you and Karen like a safety net. It was a protective layer, the bubble wrap thrown in the box to save something fragile from splitting into two. You lowered the weapon, but didn’t let it go, or put it away.

When your gaze locked, next, something unspoken passed between you. You’d seen it on her face— and now, as she looked at you, she saw it on yours, too. Understanding trickled between the two of you, like you’d finally put a name to the thing that connected you to each other after wondering about it for ages.

You clicked on the safety of the weapon and tucked it into the pocket of your coat. Then, with your eyes still locked on Karen, you took a long, withering breath.

“Then I guess we’re on the same side,” you paused, reconsidering. “For now.”

Karen stood across from you, arms crossed, leaning against the shelving unit by the cot. Her posture was relaxed, but not loose. Not casual. She was still assessing— still watching. You sat perched on the edge of Frank’s desk chair, elbows on your knees, fingers laced together so tightly your knuckles had gone pale. The seat still held his warmth, or maybe you only imagined that part. Maybe it was just your own heat bleeding into the space he’d left behind.

The words had already left your mouth. He was supposed to pick me up at the library, after meeting with his contact. But he never showed.

You’d said it once. That was enough.

Karen hadn’t looked away from you since. Her expression had shifted only in fractions— something between concern and calculation— but there was no obvious judgment in it. She wasn’t interrogating you. She was waiting. Like she knew better than to pull at someone who was trying to hold themselves together.

Finally, you spoke again— your voice quieter now, like the words were meant for you, not her. “He told me a time, told me to stay put. So I did. But he didn’t come back. And now… he’s just gone.”

You reached into your pocket, flicked open the ancient flip phone. Still dark. Still silent. “No missed calls, no voicemail, nothing. It’s like the line just… stopped existing.”

Karen exhaled slowly through her nose. Her gaze drifted toward the desk at your side, toward the scribbled pages Frank had left behind.

“That’s not like him,” she said. Steady. Measured.

You barked out a bitter, hollow laugh— one that didn’t reach your eyes. “You think?”

Karen didn’t respond. She pushed off the shelving unit, walked slowly across the room. She didn’t look at you again, not yet. Instead, she stopped in front of the wall where Frank had started building his map of everything. The web. The evidence. Your photo was there— your name scrawled beneath it in ink. You saw the moment her eyes found it.

And your stomach dropped.

You froze in place. The sudden weight of your name in her hands— figurative or not— hit like a punch to the gut. She was a journalist, an investigator. A damn good one, if the pieces you’d read of hers were to be believed. One name was all she needed to peel you back, layer by layer. There was so much you had buried, things no one was supposed to find again. Things Frank didn’t even know.

Your pulse ticked up.

Fuck.

Karen traced her finger gently along the edge of the photo, but didn’t say anything. She moved on— eyes scanning each page, each note, each breadcrumb like she was cataloguing them. Like she’d done this before.

“How long has it been?” she asked, seemingly still keeping hold of the calm she’d worn since the moment your eyes had fallen on her. She still wasn’t looking at you. Her voice wasn’t sharp, but it was careful. Intentional. She wasn’t making small talk— she was compiling information, sorting it.

You swallowed, looked down at the black screen in your palm. “Four hours. Maybe more.”

Karen turned then, her eyes locking with yours. “And no call. No sign.”

You gave a slow nod.

She opened her mouth— hesitated. Then closed it again. Her brows knit, just slightly, and you saw her recalibrate in real time. But before she could try again, you lifted a hand.

“That’s enough about me,” you said, a little too fast, a little too sharp. The edge in your voice wasn’t intentional, but it bled through anyway— raw, defensive, like a wire pulled too tight. “Tell me why you’re really here. All of it.”

Karen didn’t flinch. She didn’t bristle or raise a brow. Instead, she stood there, arms still folded, one finger now tapping against the back of her hand in a slow, methodical rhythm. It was her tell, you realized. Her version of fidgeting— controlled, composed. A strange warmth curled low in your chest, quiet and unexpected. It didn’t rise with pride or confidence— nothing that loud. Just a hush, a low glow. The kind that said: maybe I’m not entirely out of my depth. Maybe I see more than I thought.

“I keep tabs on him,” she said finally, pulling you back to the moment. Her eyes were on yours as she spoke, nothing to hide. “Not every day. Not even every week. But… enough. We check in, just a few lines now and then. Usually, I reach out first. It’s not much. Just… a way to make sure he’s still breathing.”

There was a tightness forming beneath your ribs, low and hollow, like something beginning to stretch.

“And this time?” you asked.

Karen’s gaze dropped to the floor for a beat, then lifted. She exhaled through her nose, a slow, deliberate breath. “It’d been longer than usual, so I sent a message— just to say I was still here. That I didn’t want to find out he was dead through a headline.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the wall again. “He didn’t answer.”

You didn’t speak, but your body did. The way your jaw locked, the way your hands tightened around themselves. And Karen caught it— you knew she did. You felt the change in her— like someone who’d just confirmed a theory.

And suddenly, you understood what she must have seen: the echo of his absence stamped into your shoulders.

You weren’t just a person caught in Frank’s orbit.

You were the reason he’d been missing from hers.

Karen’s voice dropped a fraction, she her expression didn’t change. “Then I started hearing things. Not official reports— just whispers.”

She was back in her rhythm now, walking a slow path near the cot. You didn’t follow her with your eyes. You couldn’t. A sudden flash of heat settled over your back, a phantom pain, a reminder.

“Some of my old contacts in law enforcement… they started passing along rumors. A few unnamed bodies turning up. Someone resurfacing— no one said it, but I knew.” She paused, gaze resting on the makeshift bed for a beat. Two. “It felt like him.”

You didn’t mean to look, but you did. Just for a second. The cot. The blanket folded at the foot of the bed, all the memories of the night before wrapped up within it. Your body had shared that space with his, curled together in the cold like survival depended on it.

The ache of it settled deep within you. Clung on. Refused to budge.

Karen didn’t say anything, but when she spoke again, her tone had shifted. There was a cold, clinical undercurrent threaded through her words.

“The subway attack,” she said quietly. “The warehouse. And then…” Her voice faltered for the first time. She was watching you intently, waiting for your reaction. “The hospital.”

It was immediate— your reaction, the images that flashed before your eyes. Your breath caught. Your lungs didn’t fill all the way. You turned your head, just slightly, like that could protect you from the weight of it. But it couldn’t— because the reminders of it weren’t in front of you, they were inside of you. The blood dripping from the bed, creating a puddle on the floor. The slick slide of it beneath your shoes. Those dark, unseeing eyes, staring straight through you. The reminders of it buzzed beneath your skin like a live wire, the aftershock of something you hadn’t yet named.

And Karen saw it. You felt her watching you. But you couldn’t pull yourself free— couldn’t claw the hands from around your throat.

But she didn’t call it out. She didn’t lean in.

She gave you the space. The grace.

“I was trying to find him,” she continued, pushing on without much of a pause, as if she was giving you the time to pull yourself together. “And that meant following the pattern. The kind of mess only he leaves behind— controlled chaos, always with a reason. Someone was being hunted. And someone else kept walking away.”

Her words landed like footsteps in fresh snow. Clean. Soft. But deliberate. They tugged at that invisible string inside of you, slowly leading you away from the darkness in your mind. You chased after it, desperate to rid yourself of the fog that had taken up a home in your mind.

You still couldn’t speak. So you stared down at the desk instead— at his handwriting, pieces of him everywhere, the ghost of his voice embedded in every stroke of the pen. Your eyes traced his words, as if you could follow them backwards. As if they’d lead you to him.

“I read the report on you,” Karen said, her voice thinner now. “About the hospital. About the inconsistencies in your statement. The ballistics, the open questions. The fact that you survived when no one else did.”

You closed your eyes.

Not to block her out. Not even to hide. You just needed a second— one moment of darkness, of stillness, where you didn’t have to feel every part of yourself unraveling under the soft cadence of her voice.

Your chest ached like a pulled muscle. A low throb, centered beneath your ribs. Not painful, not exactly. But persistent. Familiar.

“And then I found your address,” Karen said quietly. Gently. Her voice a low hum against the silence. “Two blocks from the subway.”

A faint buzz echoed in the background— one of the lights above flickering every few seconds, casting an uneven pulse of yellow across the room. You heard the subtle creak of a pipe above your head, the slow drip of condensation rolling off metal and hitting concrete somewhere nearby. The bunker breathed around you— alive with old sounds and dust that hadn’t been disturbed in days.

You opened your eyes, turned back to face her. Some of the fog had faded, the memories crawling back to the dark pit they’d escaped from. Not gone; not even close. But put back to sleep… for now.

Karen was still watching you.

But not like a journalist waiting for a quote. Not like someone assembling a narrative to sell. No— this wasn’t about headlines.

She looked at you like she’d stumbled across the last page of a half-burned book. One with sentences missing, paragraphs scorched black, a story that hadn’t finished yet but begged to be told anyway.

“I know how Frank works,” she said, her arms still folded loosely, fingers brushing the hem of her sleeve. “He doesn’t help strangers.”

She tilted her head slightly. The barest movement. But it was enough to strip something away— some of the guarded edge in her voice, some of the distance.

Her words landed quieter this time. “Not unless they matter.”

That one hit. Square in the chest.

Your lungs drew tight all over again. You looked down at your hands again— where your knuckles had gone pale from clenching, fingernails nearly digging into the creases between them. You forced them to relax, one finger at a time. Counting them as you went.

“I came here a couple nights ago,” Karen continued, taking a few steps across the room. She didn’t come closer— just wandered past the shelving unit, her fingertips ghosting along the edge, as though she needed something to tether her to the space. “It was locked. Dark. No signs of him. So I waited for a while… thought maybe he’d come through after I left.”

She paused beside the cot again, her body still angled away from you. She didn’t touch it. Didn’t sit. Just stood there— motionless— her profile haloed in soft light from the bulbs overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete.

“I tried again today.”

A beat passed. A long one.

Your gazes met and held.

“And I found you.”

The silence that followed didn’t stumble to fill itself. It just… settled. Thick and slow, like dust in sunlight. Between the two of you. Around the lingering scent of gun oil and water-stained concrete. Around the hollow where Frank should’ve been.

Karen didn’t move.

She just stayed rooted, watching you. Holding your gaze like it was the only steady thing in the room.

“I think we both know something’s wrong,” she said softly, her voice a breath across the static. Quiet. Honest. Like the space between pages of a book you’ve read too many times. "And I think we both know the only way we're going to find him... is if we work together."

You didn’t answer.

Just watched her.

And in her expression— barely changed, but somehow fuller— you saw it. Not pity, not curiosity. No desire to pry or peel you open.

Recognition.

Her grief wasn’t yours. Not in shape, not in age. But it mirrored the same ache. Yours was still raw— still red and sharp-edged, like the sting of an open wound. Hers was older. Smoothed by time, but no less present. Faded from crimson to rust, but carried just as close.

She had survived her fire. But she remembered the burn.

You drew a breath. Slow, deliberate. Trying to quiet the tremor in your lungs.

And when your eyes met hers again— across the bunker, across the quiet— you felt it. Something small, but solid.

It wasn’t friendship. Not yet. But it was enough for now.

[indornaga]

Hey, Lets Talk About Therian Gatekeeping.

If you've ever seen my work, you know that I'm a very inclusionist therian. People & creatures who have read my work or been to one of my presentations of Therian: Dispelling the Earthen Animal Myth have been very receptive of the information and have passed it on to others in the community that havent been so fortunate as to have experienced and learned along side me. There's still a lot of work to be done in this venture, and every person & creature who shares it is a crucial part of history.

So why does the "therian = earthen animal" belief exist and persist? My favorite theory is that there's a pervasive need to be seen as legitimate. Fictional and mythical animals arent seen as real, in their therian-worldview. Not real enough for exclusionists, and that theory is constantly reinforced by exclusionists who insist that inclusionists are the ones trying to rewrite the term's history.

Let me show you what I mean.

Here's a link to where I got this screenshot. Please note the date in the upper right hand corner of the screenshot. For context, this is from a thread on the community's originating website, Alt.Horror.WereWolves. This is the thread that originates our current usage of Therian/thrope/y. (The censored info is the members' real names. You can see them uncensored at the link, unfortunately. I've censored them here for privacy.)

As I see it, therianthropy applies to *any* human/animal form, regardless of history, powers, or other attributes.

The original defining discussion thread of therianthropy includes "any human/animal form". Gatekeepers are the ones in the wrong here.

There's an argument amongst exclusionists, "if therianthropy can extend to include non-earthen animals, what's the point of therianthropy as a concept?" For those who arent aware, although therianthropy and otherkinity significantly overlap in their experiences and the way those experiences are described, the two communities developed separately, with overlap in experience and terms used, depending on which of the two a member found first. It's so deeply ingrained in these exclusionists that therians can only be real animals, that they choose a narrow inclusion or non-existence.

On top of this, it's incredibly disturbing that these people & creatures are encouraging revisionist history by completely denying original, first hand sources that tell them they're wrong. They delete messages that inclusionists reply with, giving them these primary sources. So I'm here showing you the truth.

If you've been led to believe, threatened even, that you're "not a real therian" if you believe therians can be non-earthen animals, then I'm here holding your paw, telling you that your inclusion in a term/experience doesnt hinge on how well you uphold the standards of a few.

If you would like more reading about this, I have a whole essay, linked at the beginning of the post, with dozens of citations to primary sources about this issue. If you agree that "therian = earthen animal only", I challenge you to read the essay. Read and really analyze the sources linked there. Engage with your history in it's purest form, not from others telling you things. Learning and expanding your worldview is the most powerful way to grow as a person.

[space-age-bachelor]

Accidents Yet to Be

The Batfam Babysitter Steve Harrington fic! Based on a post by @somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds (X)

When Steve moved to Gotham, he thought he'd left his babysitting days behind him, but a chance encounter at Robin's fancy-work-mixer might be just the thing he needs to get his career off the ground.

ao3

If Steve knew that he’d end up in a fancy ballroom wearing a rented suit, he’d never have suggested that Robin apply for the Wayne internship. She was much happier spending her day translating documents than she had been reading up on psychology, and had even changed her major to match her new career. Her main focuses were Russian and Spanish, but her supervisor had encouraged her to start working on Chinese since Wayne had many business partners in Beijing. And of course, their brilliant new star had to get an invite to the end of quarter mixer.

Now, Steve was a waiter and had never worked an office job before, but he was pretty sure that the most end of quarter mixers didn’t take place in beautifully decorated museum ballrooms. At least the food was good. And apparently a little munchkin thought the same.

He watched as a small hand crept up from where the tablecloths overlapped, and swiped a chocolate covered strawberry. After a minute or so, it came back again, this time going for a fancy-cake-thing. 

Steve took a look around the ballroom. He didn’t see any other children. It was a work party for one of the biggest companies in the world, and Wanye prided himself on not using child labor. Still, investigating sounded much more entertaining than trying to talk to Dilcia from finance again. 

“The cake isn’t sweet at all. Someone must’ve swapped the real cake out for a boring treat to sabotage the party.” A young voice spoke in a hushed tone, though he was still easily heard over the low music. “The prime suspect is Mr. Bradley. He hates parties and always stands in the corners with the other boring people.”

”Or he’s so boring he doesn’t like the taste of real cake.” Steve placed a strawberry on a tiny plate and slid it under the table as an offering. “The real criminal is whoever picked the music.”

Instead of remaining hidden, a young boy popped up from the other side of the table, holding the gifted treat to prove his identity. He glared at him with narrowed, ice blue eyes, scanning him from head to toe. “I don’t know you.”

Steve had to hold back a laugh. This boy was adorable, younger than he’d ever seen his kids back in Hawkins, and smaller than even Will. He had fluffy black hair that was gelled to stay out of his eyes, but it had fallen during his journey under the table. He was trying so hard to be threatening, and coming off more like an aggrieved kitten. 

“Sorry, my friend invited me to support, but she’s talking to some of her work buddies and left me alone. Figured the best use of my time was solving crime.”

The boy followed Steve’s finger to where Robin was hardcore flirting with a girl from Research and Development, Penny or Dolly or something with a -y. He studied them with the same intensity, before nodding and slipping back under the table.

The cloth by Steve’s feet was held up in invitation. “You’re allowed.”

He’d created a little nest for himself. Several tiny plates were spread around, covered in varying amounts of treats. Some had only crumbs, while others, like the cake, had only a bite removed. “I’m Steve by the way.”

”Dick.”

It probably said something about his kids back in Hawkins that Steve barely blinked at the insult. He’d been called much worse by Dustin. “Are you old enough to use that language?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “It’s my name, dummy! It’s not my fault English is weird.”

”Listen, I’ve been called worse.” Steve held up his hands in surrender. 

Dick easily believed that, which hurt, but he seemed smart, so Steve wouldn’t hold it against him. “Alright, Mr. Bradley isn’t our guy, but can I trust you with our real mission for tonight?”

He rested a hand over his heart. “I swear I’ll do whatever you need, and I’ll tell no one.”

“Good.” He peeled back the tablecloth just enough for them to get a view of the ballroom. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to gather information on Oliver Queen.” He gestured at a blonde man with the most ridiculous beard Steve had ever seen. He looked like a cartoon character.

“What did Queen do?”

The boy pulled a supremely disgusted face. “He keeps being weird around B and acting like they’re friends, but B doesn’t have any friends. He’s been fostering me for months and the only people he talks to are our butler and his doctor.”

Steve had to hold in his laughter. This poor kid’s dad was getting roasted and couldn’t even defend himself. “Alright, boss, I’m going in. Meet back here in ten minutes?”

”Stay safe out there,” he said seriously as Steve slipped back out into the ballroom.

For all Steve’s experiences, he’d never been a great spy. It’s always been ‘don’t get caught or you’ll die.’ This was unique. He had to get close to Queen to report back to Dick. It wasn’t the end of the world this time, but he was still going to take it seriously. 

He was lucky to find that Queen was at the bar. Channeling King Steve during Sophmore year, he siddled up next to the blond and ordered a drink. “So, come here often?”

Queen laughed, clearly shocked. “Does that line usually work?”

”I don’t know, I’ve never tried it before.” He smirked around the rim of his glass. “The point still stands that I haven’t seen you in Gotham.”

“No, I’m based out of Star. The host and I go way back, so I got an invite.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You came from California for a work party, for a company you don’t work for? That’s a long way to go just for a friend.” He smirked, leaning in closer. “Sure, you’re just friends.”

”I’m not one to spread gossip.” Queen’s flushed cheeks said differently. “Bruce and I just grew up around each other.”

“Childhood friends, a classic.” Thank you Robin and Family Video for teaching him about rom-com tropes. 

Fed up with this back and forth, Queen took the initiative to lean in. “You know, for a kind stranger, you’re awfully curious about if I had flings with a man. Do you have something to ask?”

Steve flashed back to a different young man who had ignored his personal boundaries and set his heart racing with potential. He’d been so unsure about the feelings that had welled up in him, but Queen clearly didn’t care. He wasn’t teasing; he was clealy flirting, and Steve wanted to flirt back. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“You were over there a long time.” Dick had come out from under the table and was stretching his legs by the wall. “Oliver Queen was giving you the same looks he gives B.” 

Steve choked on the last of his drink. “Queen’s just a flirt. Apparently he grew up with one of the hosts. Bruce. I’m guessing that’s your ‘B.’”

Dick gave him a look that would’ve looked at home on Dustin’s face. Maybe all kids just looked the same when they thought you were stupid. “You have no clue who B is, do you? Do you even work for Wayne?”

”I’m a plus one!” He argued. “My best friend works as a translator.”

”She ditched you, didn’t she?” He nodded understandingly. “It’s okay. We’re having fun together.”

The brat shot him a completely genuine smile, bright and optimistic. Steve though he’d been desensitized to kid cuteness after years of Byers, but Dick really took the cake, 

”Yeah, bud.” He gave him a quick high five. “We’ll make our own fun out of this boring party.”

Thankfully, Steve calling Queen a flirt ended that mission. Dick probably didn’t want to think about anyone having the hots for his dad. Steve didn’t mind. The blond lived too far away for them to really date anyway. 

The rest of the night passed by spying on uptight old business people, stealing sweets, and, for one daring moment, repeatedly moving someone’s champagne. It beat spending it alone or trying to mingle with the other corporate drones that Robin worked with. She had good things to say about them all, but he doubted they’d be kind once they found out he was a barista, not a coworker. 

“Guardian at 3 o’clock!” Dick whispered frantically, tucking himself behind Steve.

The ballroom was emptying out at this point, making it easy to spot a tall man making a beeline for their corner. If Queen was pretty, this man was beautiful. He was built like an old time movie star, the love interest from one of the black and white films Robin would put on in Family Video. His suit gave him a perfectly polished look, but his face was rugged, unlike the pencil pushers he and Dick had been following all night. 

“Richard,” the man, B, began, attempting to step around Steve.

Without thinking, he countered him. “I’m sorry, there’s nobody here by that name.”

Dick ruined the moment with a giggle, but it also caused his father to relax, so it balanced itself out. 

“Is there someone here by a different name?”

”Steve Harrington,” he introduced himself, figuring it was better for him to know the name of the grown man his son was playing with.

B smiled as he shook his hand, and fuck, it was devastating. “Bruce Wayne.”

Steve whipped around to face the little liar. “You didn’t tell me B was Bruce Wayne!”

”You never asked!” He defended himself, as though Steve should’ve known he was heir to the richest man in the city. 

Bruce Wayne laughed at their antics. “Thank you, Mr. Harrington, for keeping my ward entertained. I’m sorry he kept certain details from you.”

”We were playing spies. It wouldn’t make sense to tell him everything.” Dick pouted, fully coming out from behind Steve. “Besides, if he really worked for you, he’d have recognized me.”

Steve blanched at him. This little traitor. “I’m not a party crasher, sir, Mr. Wayne. My roommate, Robin, brought me as her plus one. She said it was allowed.”

”That’s a shame. I’d be happy to have someone who’s so good with Richard on my team.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Yeah, he was ignoring that. “Well, I used to work as a babysitter before I moved to Gotham. I thought about starting a business here, but it’s difficult to find clients.”

“If you pass your card along through your roommate, I’m sure there are people at WE who could use your services. I can already tell that you’re great with children.”

”B!” Dick shouted in protest, fed up at getting cut out of the conversation, “You’re making that weird face again.”

Steve watched as Wayne schooled his smile into something a little more plastic before setting his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Well, Mr. Harrington, I think it’s time I get Richard home. I hope you have a lovely rest of your evening.”

He stuttered his way through a proper goodbye, giving Dick one last fist bump as the pair disappeared into the remaining guests. He didn’t exactly have a business card yet, but he was sure as hell going to make one, as soon as he explained to Robin what the hell had just happened.

[finishwhatyoustarted-event]

Tools Tuesday - Tagging - March 18

This Tools Tuesday is all about tagging, for when you’re ready to post your finished work on Archive of Our Own or any other site that uses tags! AO3, as the most popular fic posting site, will be the focus.

To begin: what are tags? And why do we use them?

Tags are keywords used to describe a fic or post. They can serve a variety of functions, but at their core they tell a viewer what to expect when they click in. On some sites (like Tumblr), they are at the bottom of the post or in the body of the post (like bsky). On AO3, they are the third thing seen, after title and author.

As seen in this handy infographic from SummerofSpock on tumblr, tags on A03 fall into 5 rough categories: Canon, Format, Tone, Relationship, Theme.

[full image ID in ALT text. Infographic titled “Tags are Tricky…a quick and dirty guide” with tag example lists in the categories of Canon, Format, Tone, Relationship, Theme. Each box is a different pink, in a gradient. End ID.]

source: https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/698388759652319232/mostlyinthemorning-i-kind-of-suck-at-tagging-so

Not every fic might use every category, and there are certainly tags that overlap categories. There’s also what I consider a 6th category, which is Author Commentary (no beta we die like xx, character needs a hug, why did i do that much research for a single paragraph, etc).

All of that aside, why should you use tags?

They help readers find and enjoy your fic! The two main uses of tags when searching is Seeking and Avoidance.

Seeking is when a reader really wants to read a particular thing, like they want fix-its only or just Modern AUs. Once they narrow it down to fandom, these are the tags they’ll type into the search bar. If your work isn’t properly tagged, it won’t show up, even if it’s the epitome of a Coffee Shop AU and that’s the term they search. Generously tag so readers can find you!

Avoidance is excluding a fic from consideration due to a particular theme or topic. Maybe their pet just died, so any mention of Animal Death is out. Maybe they are really tired of a particular ship, or are narrowing down for a rarepair. On AO3, there’s a section in the filter bar for excluding tags (see below, boxed in blue). Readers can eliminate what they don’t want to see, which is wonderful! They can select exactly what they want; not every fic is for every reader. Generously tag, so readers can be selective!

[ID: the Archive of Our Own filter bar Exclude section. End ID.]

Still unsure how to tag your work? Or stuck on other aspects, like ratings and warnings? The Fanfic Author’s Guide to Metatext (As Used on Ao3) by Eiiri is an incredible, in-depth explanation of everything contained within the metatext (tags+warnings) block on an AO3 fic. I — this event’s mod — use this text as part of my determining for rating guidelines, and I have found it extremely helpful for tagging my own works. View in full on tumblr and AO3 at these links

full text in post:

AO3 version, from which you can download as a pdf, epub, or other format:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30986561/chapters/76535018

Additionally, this event requires certain tags be honored and present as needed, primarily common content warnings or hot topics. See the rules post for more information. These tags at least need to be present in any promo post that are applicable, though tagging the fic itself is always good practice. After all, tags are like the ingredient label of a fic.

Still not sure what to tag and want more inspiration? This post from @/insanitysilver has great links to further help, as well as an example of a tagged fake fic!

~

Have a question not answered above? Is there something important I missed? Want to see a post about tagging for Tumblr, Twitter, or another site specifically? Start a discussion in the replies and reblogs! Thanks for participating, and good luck with your wip!

-

Tools Tuesday is a weekly part of the Finish What You Started event where I share various resources I have found to help everyone complete their WIP. Have a resource you want to share? Send it in a message and I’ll take a look!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Nate Silver at Silver Bulletin:

Last night, as President Trump delivered his State of the Union address1, the Wall Street Journal reported that ABC News would lay off the remaining staff at 538 as part of broader cuts within corporate parent Disney. Having been through several rounds of this before, including two years ago when the staff was cut by more than half and my tenure expired too2, I know it’s a brutal process for everyone involved. It’s also tough being in a business while having a constant anvil over your head, as we had in pretty much every odd-numbered (non-election) year from 2017 onward at 538/FiveThirtyEight.3 I don’t know all of the staffers from the most recent iteration of the site, but the ones I have met or who I overlapped with are all extremely conscientious and hard-working people and were often forced to work double-duty as jobs were cut but frequently not replaced. My heart goes out to them, and I’m happy to provide recommendations for people I worked with there. Beyond that, I wasn’t inclined to say too much more, but it felt weirder not to say anything at all. And it’s easier to say something here than filter it through a reporter or something. For more extended thoughts on the environment at Disney — plus plenty of self-reflection/self-criticism — you can see the item at the bottom of SBSQ #12.4 But the basic issue is that Disney was never particularly interested in running FiveThirtyEight as a business, even though I think it could have been a good business. Although they were generous in maintaining the site for so long and almost never interfered in our editorial process, the sort of muscle memory a media property builds early in its tenure tends to stick. We had an incredibly talented editorial staff, but we never had enough “product” people or strategy people to help the business grow and sustain itself. It’s always an uphill battle under those conditions, particularly when it comes to recruiting and retaining staff, who were constantly being poached by outlets like the New York Times and the Washington Post.

“Data journalism” has a bad name but a bright future

It also doesn’t quite feel like the end, exactly. “Data journalism” may have been a dumb name for what we were doing — that one’s on me — and Fivey Fox aside, the FiveThirtyEight brand was never warm and cuddly. But it always found a huge audience, and coverage of polls and political data is now much smarter. Compare the extremely analytical polling deep dives that Nate Cohn is doing at the New York Times, for instance, to the vibes-based coverage of the Boys on the Bus era. That trend may get even more entrenched as former 538ers form a diaspora that filters out to the rest of the media.

Also, I’d like to think we’re carrying a piece of the FiveThirtyEight torch here at Silver Bulletin. So, just two more quick beats. One about our near-term plans here — in slightly awkward timing, we’re launching our Trump approval ratings dashboard tomorrow. But first, a shout-out to one of the extremely valuable functions that FiveThirtyEight provided. Collecting and maintaining a database of public polls is a lot of work, requiring diligence, meticulousness, and dealing with constant complaints about edge cases from readers and pollsters. But it’s also a public service. Polling has its challenges, but I believe it’s vital in a democracy. People only get to vote every two to four years — if they’re lucky enough to live in a state where their vote even matters. While being too “poll-driven” has pitfalls, the alternative isn’t necessarily enlightened governance. Rather, left to their own devices, elected officials are often inclined to follow some combination of (i) narrow self-interest, (ii) the loudest voices in the room, and (iii) elite opinion, which often doesn’t match broader public opinion. FiveThirtyEight had long made its data publicly available through APIs and other tools. At Silver Bulletin, I hope we’re upholding that tradition too — although admittedly with a twist. For instance, not only are our pollster ratings (which apply the methodology I originally developed for FiveThirtyEight5) publicly available, but so is the underlying database of more than 12,000 polls that populates them. And for our presidential election forecast last year, our polling averages were free for everyone — though, here’s the twist, of course — the probabilities that the model spat out were paywalled. Even so, there were literally dozens of data visualizations and downloadable files just beyond that paywall — we’re not giving away the cow (the model code), but you’re getting basically everything else.

Nate Silver, the creator behind FiveThirtyEight, touches on ABC News’s shutting down of the venerable data site on the same night as 47’s address to the nation. Seeing a poll aggregator like 538 going away is sad in many ways (just like HuffPost eliminating Pollster).

[dingodad]

Re: that one Equius analyst post, Ive taken to calling people who interprete/analyze like that 'character literalists', as in, they need to consider the existence of the character as if they are real flesh n blood as the crux of their thought, which like. I don't disagree with it from that viewpoint but also they aren't real & won't be. Ppl who kin tend to love this type of analyze tho. I think your style of thought is more productive to hs as a story/work. Anyways 👍 love ur thoughts keep it up

i don't want to come across like i think this is an 'incorrect' lens to interpret the fiction through by any means it just overlaps with the allegorical approach a lot more than people like to imagine. it's like when someone asked me if considered myself "a Doylist" or "a Watsonian". a complete understanding should be willing to at least consider seemingly contradictory concerns

i think certain types of readers are also just unrealistically narrow in terms of what they consider to be "real flesh and blood" motivations and behaviours. like, if they can't personally understand eridan and equius' justifications for their behaviours then they must be false justifications. it's a willful ignorance of the personality archetypes that exist in the world which homestuck deliberately satires

[tsuiioku]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 ₊˚⊹

pairing: osamu dazai (bungou stray dogs) x fem!reader

content warning(s): not-safe for work content, semi-public, dacryphilia, alcohol consumption, fingering, associations of gluttony with love, teasing, mutual praise, hickies, nicknames (belladonna, baby, good girl, love)

word count: 1.4k

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

The heat at a company holiday party turns up as a certain brunette decides he wants to have a little fun. Let's hope that no one hears you two.

Snowflakes wore from overlapping clouds, drizzling down onto those that wandered the darkening streets, only aided by flickering street lamps as they made their way between parties and dinners. For many, it was the last day of the work season until the upcoming year, which had to be celebrated with a round of drinks and laughter between co-workers.

The members of the Armed Detective Agency were no different. While they would be on call throughout the festive season, most gifted criminals tended to take the period to rest and refresh themselves. But in celebration of their brief break, the ADA decided to partake in a couple of typical organization shenanigans — specifically booze and screaming.

Yosano was slurring the lyrics of a popular love song, her voice hoarse with the spicy whiskey, leaning against a rigged Kunikida, who screamed at the over-affectionate siblings canoodling in the corner. Kyoka was sitting atop a desk, drinking her non-alcoholic juice while dealing cards in a game with Atsushi and Kenji, who were both squinting at the lengthy rule sheet about the game. Ranpo attempted to explain it to them but quickly gave up as it went over their heads. And Fukuzawa was in the center of it all, drinking a simple saki as he enjoyed the buzzing life of his agency.

But instead of engaging with your other co-workers, you were trapped in a corner, entangled in the arms of the agency's resident suicidal maniac. He was hot despite the frost growing outside. His breath against your skin made the hair on your neck stand up, his nimble fingers trailing dangerously near the hem of your shirt.

You muffled a gasp as he pressed his lips against the start of your spine — he was acting as sloppish as a drunk, but his glass remained filled. It seemed he was intoxicated by something much more sensual this winter evening.

"Dazai," you scolded in a whisper, hands squeezing his own to prevent them from traveling further. 

"Shh, belladonna," he whined, resting his chin against your shoulder as he stared up with a pouted lip. "You're being too loud. We'll get caught."

"We wouldn't get caught if you would stop."

He raised a brow. "Do you want me to stop?"

You froze as his fingers drew circles into the sensitive dips of your waist, knowing the shot of sweet liqueur in your system wasn't the cause for the warmth pooling between your legs. His large hands cupped your hips as you ceased resistance to his advances, melting into his saccharine kisses with little shame.

"Hmm," he hummed, his teeth teasing your skin, eyes narrowing with the mischievousness of a cat as you squeezed his fingers in a tremouring grip, the whispers of a whimper swallowed down your throat. 

The detective interrupted your sensual cuddling as he stood up. You stared from below with a tilted frown, only for him to hush you with a smirk as he dragged you into the storage room.

"You don't wanna get caught, do ya', bella?" the brunette mumbled in your ear, his thumb circling your clit as his long fingers thrusted into your pussy. You whimpered against him, caged with his arms, hoisting your legs from behind as he toyed with your body. 

"Sweet girl," he hummed, his sweetened breath catching against your ear. "You're squeezing my fingers, love. You like that idea, don'tcha?"

You whimpered as he deliberated with deepened strokes, open mouth moving across the expanse of your naked shoulder, trailing blazing kisses across your skin as he reveled in your reactions.

"You want them to hear ya', don'tcha, baby? Want them to know how good I make you feel."

You trembled as he trailed his tongue against your collarbone, breath escaping your lips in pants as your chest coiled. "P-Please—Dazai!"

"Need'ta cum, baby? You wanna cum, hm?"

You nodded, gasping for air. "Mhm—Dazai, I-I-"

You whined at the sudden absence of his fingers, watching as he licked the slick with a gratified groan. "Fucking delicious."

"W-Why—Dazai, why did you-"

"Shh, baby." His fingers circled your clit once more, drawing forth a tangle of unrestrained cries from your throat. "I'll let you cum. But I have one question."

"Wha-what is it?"

He tilted your chin to look into his eyes, and for a moment, you couldn't help but stare at their striking almond color. They continuously swirled with darkness, a mixture of felt and inflicted pain skimming the surface. A drizzle of melancholy stirred within, beckoning you with promises of mystery and paradox. But there was so much more to him, a kindness that rarely sparkled, one that remained hidden behind his walls.

At the end of the day, that was his true allure.

He smirked and, with the upturn of his lips, brought forth a toil of recognizable emotions — lust, desire, possessiveness, yearning. But much like his kindness, something remained hidden. A sense of devotion and tenderness, concealed with the gentleness of his touch despite the inferno smoldering your skin.

"Be my present for the holidays."

Those simple words brought a soft smile from your dewy skin, kissing his cheek as you led his face to yours with a guiding hand. Your fingers brushed his scarred skin, tracing from the nicks on his jaw to the lengthened scar connected to his ear.

"Of course I am, Dazai." His eyes widened. "I've always been yours."

And for a moment, only a brief moment — he smiled.

"Good."

He devoured your lips like his last meal, but the boiling lust had been replaced with a softer sentiment. You melded into one another, your body willfully laid onto the ground. It was like you were two melting candles in the night, burning your wicks until you married into one. Your fingers twirled his chocolate locks, twisting his curled tresses as you pulled him in.

You barely minded the slight zip sound from underneath you, though your eyes couldn't help but wander downward, practically salivating at the sight of his cock resting between his hands. Your body trembled in response to your raging thoughts, anticipating the moment it would be inside you. The brunette chuckled as he leaned up, popping you onto his lap as he used his lithe fingers to slip off your panties, his cock rubbing against your folds.

It seemed that neither of you could take another moment of teasing, Dazai swallowing your moans as he borderline split you in half through shallow thrust, inching in until he was sat at the hilt. He groaned as your walls squeezed him, the bliss more than he had ever dreamed of. His hands traced your shaking spine as you moaned into his mouth, adjusting to the feeling of being so full.

"S-So good, bella—fuck."

His brows furrowed, nipping at your neck with pleasured groans as he rammed his cock up into your aching pussy. His nails dug into the exposed skin of your hip, holding you to him with a bruising grip. His other hand stretched across the crown of your head, muffling your moans in the tense muscle of his shoulder as you lost the ability to restrain your lust-filled pleas for more.

"You feel good, too, don'tcha, baby?"

You fluttered around him, tears streaming down your face as he made deliberate, deep thrusts into your pussy. Your body quivered in his grasp, softly chanting his name like a mantra as he scarred the delicate curve of your neck with gluttonous bites.

"You were fuckin' made f'me, I swear—f-fuck-"

He released a muffled cry as you abruptly came around his cock, mewling hushed praises into his skin as your nails carved into his back. Without a moment to lose, he bucked into you a couple more times as you rode out your high, finding his own release with a groan as he suckled on the heated wounds of your neck.

"Good girl. Such a good fuckin' girl."

You panted, beating a weak fist against his back. "God damn it, Osamu."

"Already callin' me by my first name, bella?" He smiled, his tone not matching his expression. "You're already so in love with—"

You placed your mouth on his, practically pinning the towering man against the ground with an unceremonious thud, rolling your hips with a smirk as he let out a strained whimper. It ceased with a quick peck, and you stared softly at the exposed, love-smitten grin on his face.

"Uh-huh. Love you, too, Osamu."

TAGLIST: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @hauntedsol @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @aquigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @sillyspookycat

© MUSAMORA 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[galeorderbride]

Intimacy Prompt: #43!

43: falling asleep with their head in your lap

Thank you sm for the prompt request!!

I like the idea of post game Professor!Gale when he first starts teaching. Maybe full of self doubt over whether he’s a good teacher, feeling frustrated that his pupils aren’t understanding concepts right away (mostly blaming himself). And Tav just comforting him at their home. 

A shortie ft. Gale x tav (uses she/her pronouns but no physical descriptions). Fluffy cuteness, comfort and nothing more 😊 

Rating: T

Count: 1337 

…

Gale was always a man to pour over documents with immense detail, but tonight, he seemed to be studying the same page on repeat. Pen scratching against the paper to the point of tearing, the sound of him mumbling to himself. Gale usually took so much pleasure in hours of research, absorbed in the material, but not this time. He mumbled, perturbed by his own work as he’d scold himself under his breath. 

For the first few hours, Tav left him to his work, knowing he wouldn’t feel better until he completed the task. Until he missed dinner, even when she called for him. No matter how much work he had to do, he’d made a habit of joining Tav at the table. She watched the clock tick, waiting for his steps down the stairs as the plate of chicken and vegetable stew grew colder. She should’ve checked on him already, but ever the people pleaser, she didn’t wish to bother him while in focus. 

Finally, she got up from the table and took his bowl in hand, travelling up the narrow stairwell. If he didn’t come out to eat, she would go to him. 

The wooden door was closed tight, but unlocked. Tav knocked a few times before entering, saying, “Gale, my love, are you alright? Your soup is getting cold. I know my cooking isn’t quite as good as yours, but it can’t be that scary.” 

He replied through the door, voice muffled but obviously exhausted, “Sorry, Tav, would you mind putting it away for me and I can reheat it later? Forgive me, dear, I have more to do than I anticipated.” 

Unsatisfied with his response, Tav sighed and entered his study. His back faced her, seated at his desk by a large window, fresh snow tapping against the glass as the evening turned to night. Candlelight illuminated piles of parchment around him, dotted with ink smudges and overlapping line edits. A mug of green tea sat on the end, untouched and cold. At the centre of it all was Gale, her loving fiance, slumped over the cherrywood surface with his head in his hands. 

Tav approached him, standing behind his chair as she placed the bowl on the desk and brought her hands to his shoulders. Velveteen fabric softened against her touch, lowering herself down to kiss the crane of his neck. The tension in his muscles was palpable, yielding even to the lightest rub. His tired eyes met hers, nothing but tenderness in those dark, chestnut eyes in desperate need of nutrients. 

“Gale, what’s wrong? You look as though you’ve just discovered the darkest secret of Nessus,” Tav asked. 

“Perhaps I’d feel a little better if I did,” he said, voice husky from tiredness. “At least then I’d provide a bit of value somewhere.” 

Tav looked over at his work, deciphering the multiple revisions to see he wasn’t doing research, he was strategizing classroom discussion. Private tutoring sessions, patterns of abbreviations for illusory spells, even planned workshops focusing on specific incantations. All the ideas were scratched out, or little comments written on them like ‘stupid’, ‘no’ and ‘absolutely not’.

“Are you doing lesson plans?” She asked, unable to conceal the confusion in her voice. 

“Failing lesson plans,” he said. “My students aren’t responding well to my current teaching style. They aren’t understanding concepts, their spell performance is mediocre at best, and I can see their eyes glazing over when I give my lectures on the ethics of phantasmal casting.” 

Riveting stuff, truly. His fixations on magical concepts that could get him going for hours if one wasn’t careful. Part of why Tav fell so deeply in love with him, rare to find such passion for subjects. She remembered nights at camp, taking peace in listening to his current fascination at the time. The only solace to such a deadly adventure. But perhaps a bunch of young apprentices weren’t as rose-coloured. 

“Well, you’ve only just begun teaching, love. Maybe you just need to get to know your students a little more, see what they want to get out of the class before you write the next manual on workshopping,” Tav said. 

“Perhaps I’m just not as good a teacher as I thought,” he said, voice lowering into a sombre tone as he sighed, throwing the quill pen across the desk. 

Tav ran her hands from his shoulders up to the nape of his neck, beginning to play with his hair. She gave a cheeky grin,“Last time we talked about students, I recall you thinking it was all their fault for not understanding.” 

He chuckled, “I blame you. Showing me love and humility. Now all I can do is think I’m the problem.” 

“I’ll venture to feed your ego more,” she joked, “Come, let’s take a rest for a moment.” 

Hand-in-hand, Gale followed her to their shared bedroom. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, the scent of balsam and mint enlivening the room from a scented candle on the mantle. Snow fell harder now, forming into a windy current that would surely become a blizzard by bedtime. A perfect environment for calming comfort, as Tav helped Gale remove his shirt, leaving him in nothing but lounge pants. After Tav put her own nightgown on, they crawled into bed. 

Gale rested his head on Tav’s lap, tracing his fingertips across the bare skin of her legs. Meanwhile, her hands ran through his hair again, brushing through the fine strands of beautiful, brown hair speckled with streaks of grey. Tav nestled in the pleasant bliss of hearing his even breath, calming with every stroke across the side of his head. The beat of his heart against her skin, so gloriously alive. There was once a time when he was willing to let that human beat expire, and how far he’d come, now absorbed in her embrace, filled with endless love and compassion. Even if that meant there wasn’t much power. There was no need for it in a caring household like this. 

Little kisses tickled the top of her thighs, mixed with the graze of his beard sending her into a sleepy comfort. She could play with his hair all night if he asked, such a simple, delicate pastime that reminded her of just how much she adored him. 

“Hmm, if you keep doing that, I may just fall asleep, my love,” he said, voice already trailing. His words slowed every time he was fighting sleep, mind always on overdrive but his body couldn’t always keep up. 

“Rest on me, Gale. I don’t mind,” she said, in a gentle whisper. 

He adjusted his position, wrapping his arms around the leg he rested on as if her thigh was a teddy bear. Her other leg crossed over his bare back, their bodies tangled within each other. Tav hummed a light lullaby, her voice like medicine to Gale’s ears as all his stress washed away. All that remained was the sensation of smooth skin, her nurturing voice, and the peace of being enveloped in the embrace of his greatest, most cherished love. 

As she sang, his eyes grew heavy, muscles loosening to the magic of her compassionate hands. That irresistible weightlessness began to overtake him, every thought of self doubt beginning to fade to a tiny smile. The lure of her song was so strong, she might’ve been one of the harpies they encountered back at the Emerald Grove. Their life had changed so much since then. His personal songstress caressing him in their queen sized bed, downy sheets and feather pillows as their shelter rather than tents and rocky ground.  

“Tav…I love you,” he said, lulling slowly into a peaceful sleep. The tapping of snow against the window, the snap of flame, her voice, all sending him into a comforting slumber. 

“I love you Gale Dekarios,” she said, moving a final piece of hair behind his ears before he fell into a deep sleep, making her laugh as he let out a small, adorable snore.

[freyascoffee]

You always come to the party

College!Ellie Williams x reader

Summary: 3 months after your breakup, you and Ellie have been seeing each other around more recently. Do you think she deserves a second chance to prove her love?

Author's note: this is my first time writing one of these so bare with me :) Also posting this late because I've been meaning to write this for ages now

December 12th

The silence of entering your dormitory after boring lectures was probably the worst part of your day. You and Ellie broke up to 'focus on yourselves' yet it was hard to focus at all when the polaroid pictures of the two of you hang upon the golden fairylights above your desk. That stupid dinosaur keyring she won for you during your date at the arcade jingled every time you grabbed your keys. The guitar pick she accidentally left on your window sill collected dust; nonetheless, it was left untouched, as if waiting to be picked up again.

Everything reminded you of her. You procrastinated the decision of putting yourself out there because you didn't want anyone else. A distraction would be useful- hell- it was a need. The need to forget about that internal conflict and question what you did to deserve the sudden cold shoulder from Ellie. She was in the wrong. She chose to be dismissive of your feelings the few weeks before your breakup. It was nothing like the Ellie you knew, but you had to put yourself first.

Repetitive and monotonous cycles of talking stages chased you throughout the next 3 months. 'What's your favourite colour?' 'What's your favourite food?' The questions were so vague, only reminding you of the silly conspiracies you and Ellie made up during your smoking sessions, or when you gazed at the stars from a grassy hill close to the campus. The philosophical questions you'd debate just for shits and giggles overlapped the strangers' voices when they asked the generic 'what superpower would you want to have?'.

You only wondered if Ellie felt some sense of remorse for her neglect in the end, or if she was too busy hanging out with Dina, who seemed to cut contact with you after the breakup, and Jesse, who still reached out to you every couple weeks.

"Earth to Yn!" Jesse waved his hand in front of your face.

"Sorry, you were saying?" You asked, tilting your head to face him reluctantly.

"..The party" Jesse raised an eyebrow, implying that you should catch on what he was talking about, if you were listening.

"Absolutely not" You mirrored his raised eyebrow in a 'Are you serious' way.

"Come on, you'll meet some new people. Show yourself off a little, maybe make certain individuals jealous. " he nudged your elbow at the last word. He was completely aware of what happened between you and Ellie, having most definitely hearing both sides of the story.

A narrow glare from you, shot up at him before averting to your textbook, which looked brand new, despite owning it since the beginning of the school year. The spine wasn't even cracked, knowing Ellie, she would've begged you to let her crack it for you. "...I'll think about it"

"Don't give me that," he insisted, leaning forward as he covered the pages of your textbook with his hands. "How long has it been since you got a little drunk? A little cray-cray?"

"Euh, never say that again" you groaned, dropping your head into the palms of your sweating hands. "I might just never go to a party again out of spite"

"I'm just saying, you should go. I'll take you there and we'll will leave any time you feel like it" he pursed his lips into a thin line, mocking your dad's convincing expression.

"Is she gonna there?" You mumbled, gently pushing his hands away from the book and flicking through to the next page, a soft crackling sound cutting through the short silence between the two of you.

"Who?..ohh- nah, she said she'd rather stay in and judge people's instagram pics from the party" Jesse shrugged. "Dina will probably stay with her"

"Right" you rubbed your temples in circular motions, easing the aching sensation of your head.

"Do you want her to go?" He smirked, grabbing his phone from his brown leather jacket, a loud zip of his pocket cutting through the quiet library. "Because I can get that sort-"

"Shut up- I was just asking" you hushed, looking around awkwardly to ensure nobody was giving the judgemental look of disapproval.

"And I was just offering" Jesse was annoyingly quick with comebacks, and you were often reminded of that. "So, the partys December 18th, Margaret's beach house, there's gonna be food, drinks, music, you know, basic party stuff..and a pool"

"Anyone willing to swim in a pool in December?" You winced "..whatever- and what if the cops come because of complaints?" You added. A criminal record was not on your Christmas wishlist whatsoever.

"you were on the track team for a reason" he laughed, looking back up at you from his phone. "If anyone knows how to run away from problems, it's you"

"Was that seriously a secret diss? That's low, Jesse." You scoffed with a goofy smile, propping one leg up on your chair and fiddling with the chain of your locket.

December 16th

The party was only two days away and you had no idea what to wear, you thought as you stood in front of your wardrobe full of clothes. Point was, none of it was essentially party-worthy, basic tees and jeans were all you had since your sister decided she wanted her clothes back. In that case, she should consider that her Christmas gift.

You mindlessly walked through stores, looking for a simple dress, but a lot of the racks were stuffed with outfits that were rave-appropriate at most. You eventually left the mall, and decided to go to your favourite store, TJ Maxx, it had all anyone ever needed.

The glass doors slid open, and the faint echo of a 2010s pop song rang through the building. You made your way towards the dress section and you only found silver sequen dresses which went down to your ankles, so that's a no. You pulled your phone out from your pocket and opened Pinterest, typing 'Christmas party outfit simple'.

You scrolled for a moment before finding a cute top and skirt combination. TJ Maxx definitely had this. It was a skirt and a fitted sparkly long-sleeved top along with tights with patterns. After a couple laps through the aisles, you found everything you needed and made your way to the checkout.

As you exited the store, you were notified of 2 missed calls. Jesse. You audibly sighed and clicked the green telephone icon. It rung once before the other line immediately picked up. "Listen, oh my gosh, okay, so come to my dorm right now, we're trying to build a gingerbread house and I thought, who'd be better to help than Yn? Get your ass here right now"

You heard Ellie's voice in the background, talking, you weren't sure whether it was to Jesse or someone else but you weren't sure if you were ready to see her again. "Uhh..who's with you?" You asked, knowing the answer, but just seeking confirmation to emotionally prepare yourself.

"Ellie and Dina" his voice cut of between syllables. Probably just your data running low again, why did your renewal always have to be at the end of the month?

"Oh I'll try and-" you spoke, before the call ended. Shit. Now you're gonna have to go because it seems like you agreed. You weren't opposed to the idea of building gingerbread houses, but you were definitely against the inevitable tension you'd face when you got there.

After reaching your room, you dropped your shopping bag onto the bed and checked yourself out in the mirror. Fixing your eyebrows and reapplying vaseline onto your lips, winter dryness was the worst. You looked yourself up and down one more time before slipping on your sliders and taking the stairs of the flat down to Jesse's dorm.

You knock quietly, a swift and recognisable pattern you always made against the door of room 47. You heard Christmas music from the other side of the wall and chuckling as the sound of footsteps drew nearer. You twirl a lock of your hair awkwardly whilst waiting for someone to answer.

Oh.

"..hey" the freckled auburn mumbles between the cookie she looks like she just stuffed in her mouth.

"..hi" you smile awkwardly, not moving any closer towards the room, as if hesitating to even enter. You were already regretting coming at all, the sound of Dina's voice further in the room intimidated you.

"You coming in, or are you stopping by to sing Christmas carols?" Jesse called out from his seated position on the floor. "You're letting the warm air out"

"Right- sorry" you nodded once, slipping under Ellie's arm which was propped against the door frame. "So what did you need help with exactly? This looks fine"

"We needed a fourth contestant to make a poll on instagram, you know, see who's gingerbread house looks the best and all" he grinned "come on, it'll be fun"

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly, realising Ellie already shut the door and sat beside Dina. "Okay okay" you reluctantly sit beside Jesse, crossing your legs and scanning the ingredients. "Shit, where'd you get all this?"

"My mom got it for us, she wanted us to keep the Christmas tradition while I'm away" Dina admitted. Her tone was calm and neutral, maybe that secret amnesty you thought she felt towards you was just overthinking. You nod slightly, a loud silence growing in the dorm. Only the music from Jesse's phone brang a sense of ease to the group of you.

"Let's get started, I'm starving" Ellie groans. "I like the outfit, by the way" she nods in acknowledgement in your direction.

What was supposed to be a subtle smile unfortunately turned into a wide grin, you quickly mask it with a light chuckle. "Thanks" you meet her gaze, it felt more genuine and nostalgic since the last time your eyes locked..months ago. You knew better than that, though.

The day was filled with laughter and 'remember when' stories. You and Ellie spoke frequently within the group, yet direct interactions between the two of you were strictly Ellie asking for you to pass the icing...and also a significant number of exchanged glances, and catching each other looking longingly at the other.

"..kay, mines done" Jesse announced, his country accent slipping slightly. "When are you losers gonna finish?"

You suppress a laugh, avoiding eyecontact with him. The house looked like a five year old made it. The icing was dripping on the sides, the windows were crumbling off, and the roof was asymmetrical. "Is that it?" Your voice trembles. He looks up at you with a confused expression, gesturing his hands at it. He picks it up, as if to pretend he's going to drop it on purpose.

"N-no it's nice..oh..it's so nice" your voice shook with hidden laughs. You look at Dina, who's covering her mouth with her hand, giving you a thousand yard stare. Ellie bursts out into laughter. "Isn't your dad an architect?" You ask, trying to distract yourself.

"What about it?" He frowned, also seemingly holding back a smile. He placed the gingerbread house down on the floor again, the sweet roof collapsed inwards as he did. "..yeah okay."

"It's fantastic, babe" Dina mumbled, tears swelling in her eyes from laughter. "..so beautiful I could cry.." a muffled chuckle escapes from her lips.

"Oh okay I see how it is" Jesse rolls his eyes, taking a piece of the roof and shoving it into his mouth. It made his mouth look rectangular which only brought another round of giggles.

December 18th

Red Solo cups were scattered across the wooden crates and sands. The flickering of strobe lights painted the trees and fences of the backyard with splashes of color. You lost Jesse in the large groups of people and chose to make the most of it. You were drunk, you didn't know anyone, nor did you have to, just make the most of it.

Strangers you danced with flashed into fragments of a familiar girl's face, the fast rhythm of the bass guiding your heart to race along with it. The ginger girl you laughed with as you jumped to the music momentarily twitched into an image of a short-haired auburn, before morphing back into her usual state. The rays of lights illuminated a plaid pattern on her jacket, imitating a recognizable flannel.

"Cannon ball!" A guy, pretty sure his name was Tyler, jumped into the freezing pool. A group of students around you cheered and pushed past you, causing you to accidentally tug along with them before finding your balance. Dropping cans and sliding their shoves off, they sprinted into the water, are they stupid? You slowly made your way to sit on a nearby decorative rock, and watched them in their pre-hypothermic states.

Your gaze shifted to the group of girls singing along to a Shakira song by the campfire. They swayed their hips and lifted their green bottles of booze, followed by a loud cheer for a girl taking chugs from her drink. She then threw the bottle to the side and squealed, good for her.

A cold sensation splashed against your face. You looked up, alarmed, only to see some jock shaking his wet hair like a dog, that was completely unnecessary. Although, it had minimally sobered you up, you stood up and instinctively reached to adjust your locket, it was a habit of yours to awkwardly play with your necklace.

...Where was your necklace? That familiar weight of your golden locket was missing. Your fingers fumbled at the fabric of your jacket, to your hair, to your shoes. It had felt like time slowed down, just for a split second. Your gaze flickered around the rock you were sitting on. The locket was something precious to you. You couldn't lose it, not like this.

You heart raced as panic set in. You had to find Jesse. You frantically pushed through the crowd, trying to stay calm, you were always a collected person but this was unknown. You didn't know where to begin looking, he could be anywhere, the lake was packed. People blended together like blurry smears, faces lost in your clouded vision of alcohol.

"Woah there, you okay?" Your breath hitched, looking up at the familiar voice. It was Ellie. This was a bad time. You were too panicked to let her see you like this. Her and that dark green winter coat. You weren't ready to talk to her.

"Have you seen Jesse anywhere?" You said, just loud enough for Ellie to understand your words above the booming sounds from the speakers. "Is he still here?"

"What wrong?" She asked softly. She gently placed her subtly calloused hands on your forearms to stop you from anxiously fidgeting. You averted your gaze to Dina, who was sipping juice from a silly straw.

"Nothing- I just need to find him, okay?" You hissed. Flickering your gaze back to her, a pleading glimmer in your eyes.

She nodded at Dina before guiding you inside the building. The music was muffled, or at least less painful to listen to. She occasionally looked back at you to ensure you were still following her in the busy hallway.

Jesse was sat on the sofa, laughing with a group of unfamiliar faces. As soon as he noticed the two of you, he stood up and approached you. "You alright?"

"No you are all left" a guy from behind you chuckled, placing hands on yours and Ellies shoulders and peeking between your heads.

"Dude, get outta here" Jesse sighed, pushing him away by his forehead. "You okay?"

"This is really inconvenient, I know, but I-I lost my locket and I can't find it, can you help me? Please?" You bit your bottom lip anxiously, awaiting a response.

"Okay..take a deep breath" he inhaled deeply, gesturing you to mirror him "..and out..is this the locket you always wear? The little gold heart, right?" He smiled reassuringly. You nodded quickly.

"Listen, it's nice n chill in here, look, you can stay right here until I'm back, and I promise we'll find it. You don't leave until I come back because we both know how that's gonna end. If you feel sick, just go to the sink, it's right behind you, alright?" He patted your back. Your gaze followed him until he reached a pair of girls, fuck drunk vision.

It felt like ages had passed, your dizziness had thankfully faded, but the pit in your stomach suggested you weren't going to find that locket. Ellie and Dina walked past you, giving small sympathetic smiles as they went down the hallway and to the front porch. Ellie's clothes were drenched and a scent of chlorine followed behind her.

You closed your eyes for a moment, fiddling with the hem of your top, praying that Jesse would return soon. Your locket dangled in front of your dazed expression. You looked up at the raven-haired male. "Thank you so much." You stood up and hugged him tightly. You pulled away and took hold of the locket, clipping it back around your neck. The locket was cold, and droplets of water trickled along your collarbone from the chain.

"Come on, let's get you back" Jesse mumbled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to support your swaying legs. He guided you to his jeep.

December 19th

You extended your legs as far as you could in the comfort of your warm, morning mattress. Memories from last night flashing through your mind, remembering how pretty Ellie looked. The freezing feeling of the locket around you. The slight shivering of Ellie's lips when she smiled at you last night. Dots slowly connected in your exhausted brain and a sudden realisation hit you like a brick.

Ellie was the one that found your locket. The moment you saw Jesse speak to two girls, was the imaginary picture comparison of the colours they were wearing. Although you couldn't depict their faces, one was wearing all black, and the other was wearing dark green and dark blue; this matched Dina and Ellie' outfits from your previous interaction.

Ellie's hair and jeans were drenched from what you could remember when she was leaving. Her coat was dry, she must have taken it off, implying she looked in the pool. Plus, the necklace was wet when Jesse gave it back to you. Stop it, you're spiralling and overthinking it. You could only ask Ellie to find out the truth.

So there you were, standing in front of room 51, with a warm smile and handful of questions, knowing your signature pattern. Why were you doing this? You and Ellie were over. She stopped caring in the end. It was too late to turn back when the door had creaked open, revealing a pale Ellie with a weighted blanket draped over her shoulders.

"...this looks like a bad time. I can come back la-" you reassured awkwardly, stammering over your words as your gaze struggled to hold hers. She just stood there, intently watching you.

"Shut up, it's fine, come in" she cut you off. She opened the door wider, exposing the messy dormitory, and softly lit salt lamp which brightened the dark room. "Make yourself comfortable"

How was she being so casual right now? Was it casual? Were the feelings one-sided now? Stop analysing, just talk. "..hey..so..I figured maybe.. we could talk?...if I knew you were sick, I wouldn'tve bothered you"

"What do you wanna talk about?" She dropped onto the bed, resting her head against the bedframe to face you. "This isn't about the gingerbread house dm right? Because that was Dina, she took my phone when I was in the bathroom"

"I didn't see it..I came to ask about.. everything that happened..before.. and stuff " you pursed your lips to the side, twisting the golden chain which rested on your neck.

"..right right.." she nodded "I've been meaning to reach out and all, I was gonna talk to you last night" she scratched her lip "then I saw you super panicked and drunk so I..didn't"

"And between the 3 months of not talking either?" You raised an eyebrow, provoking her to continue.

"Listen, ever since we got together, you were so kind..and funny and cool. It made me so..afraid of losing that. It was selfish, I know. I just didn't want you to go, not like everyone else in my life, not you" she admitted "..that day..when we argued, like- for real argued- I hated every second of it. I hated facing the consequences of my own actions. I still hate that I was stupid enough to leave you like that"

Your eyes were wide in surprise. "...and you didn't think to try and tell me?" You were being reasonably confused, communication is key to a relationship.

"I felt too guilty, I didn't want to make you feel obliged to stay with me out of pity" her hand trembled subtly as it lay on her lap. She leaned her head on your shoulder.

"It still made me feel guilty" you murmur, resting your head on hers.

"I know, and I'm so sorry for that. Uhh...I- I'll do whatever you ask me to, just to prove my remorse. I'll post something really embarrassing if you really want me to." She muttered, lifting her head from your shoulder to look at you. "I'd do anything"

"..are you sick?" You asked, scanning her face. You noticed the darker circles under her eyes, and the box of painkillers on her bedside table. "Did you go in the pool, you idiot?"

"Hey-hey now- I was actually in the pool for you, idiot" she mocked your insult. "Your locket was at the bottom for whatever reason...so..yeah"

"What did you get fucking hypothermia looking for my stupid necklace? Are you serious?" Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but the smile on your face couldn't be restrained. "You're kidding"

"Does the medicine receipt on my desk look like a joke to you?" She grinned "it was no big deal, it was whatever"

"Not to me it wasn't. You found my locket. How'd you even know it would be there?" You let out a half-laugh.

"Guessed" she shrugged with a stoic tone, but the glimmer in her eyes said otherwise. "Well I guess I kinda saw it glowing under the lights in the pool. This is gonna sound corny as hell, but that locket kinda made me realise how much I needed to fix...so I I'll say it again, I'm really sorry."

"I forgive you, I do, just please promise that if you ever have a problem like that again, you talk to me. You're my best friend and I don't want to lose that." You stutter "you have a lot to make up for, you know" you smile softly.

"Can I start my redemption now?" Her smirk deepens, those green eyes meeting yours again. "Just a small head start?" You let out a deep breath and nod, eyes flickering down to her lips before returning to her eyes.

You adjusted slightly to face her. She leaned closer. Her lips brushed against yours, ghosting a soft kiss. She pulled away slightly, your stupid smiles mirroring each other's. "Chat is this rizz?" You mumbled shyly, a pink hue tinting your cheeks.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 15 (2/2)

Utaru lands

While making my way down the mountain, I spotted another of Regalla's rebel outposts nestled into its side, clearly set up to monitor Plainsong. Three Chargers, two sentinels, a few warriors on the ground, and their leader—huge, shielded, and armed with a Deathbringer gun.

I climbed around the side of the rock face, dropping down with my shield wing while hidden behind a large wooden tower. I took out a few unhelmeted Tenakth from a distance with my sharpshot bow, then went for the nearest machine.

I snuck up on the camp's leader, putting my spear up through his guts, then finishing him off with another few strikes before he could raise his gun against me. Then I picked it up and fired on the remaining rebels, one mounted on another Charger.

The last sentinel remained at their post, and as they started shooting at me I snuck around and climbed above them, taking them out on the descent while they remained clueless.

After looting the camp, including a necklace of small, engraved metal plates from its leader, I headed on toward Plainsong.

The dark carcasses of Hephaestus' machines still littered the fields, but the Utaru corpses had been cleared away. No signs of damage to the walls or structures of Plainsong itself. It looks like we made it to Hephaestus in time.

Utaru were gathered in groups on raised rocks in the fields, keeping as clear as they could of the blight and its noxious haze. They sung prayers over the dead, and over the failing crops. Something like the Nora hymn of atonement, begging for help from gods that can't listen. Not anymore.

Maybe again, some day soon.

Inside the city, I made the climb to the one dish I had yet to visit, seeking to trade in some of my salvage from the rebel camp. On the way there, crowds of children chased one another up and down the narrow ramps, with deathly drops either side. They were scolded for running, but I suppose children will do what they please. I wonder if any have ever fallen. Morbid thought.

There were many injured in the machine attack being tended to around the place. I noticed on my way in that none of the machine parts were salvaged—Utaru use very little metal, after all. That aversion doesn't seem to come from the same place as the Nora's, a place of fear, but rather a sort of worship. They see themselves as entirely separate from the machines, caught in distinct yet parallel cycles, overlapping through the works of the land gods.

At the peak of the structure, I traded with a herbalist, purchasing some Utaru remedies. I also bought a set of Utaru clothing from a weaver. Its tight grass weaving is surprisingly strong as armour, and flexible, though I worry how it will fair against flames.

Back on the lower levels, I met a dyer named Gana who offered to put some colour in my new Utaru clothes. They were a little plain on purchase, so I guess most Utaru dye them. The process didn't take too long. I hung around in the hollow in the meantime, going through some of the data Gaia had given me on Hephaestus and the extinction signal. Though she left me plenty of annotations and diagrams, I'll admit that most of it went right over my head. Maybe she thinks I'm as tech-savvy as Elisabet was. Sorry Gaia, you've got me instead.

I got some face and body paint done as well. I like it, and the colours came out great from Gana's dyes. The hat is a great too; no more burnt ears, no more white hot Focus.

Wandering back toward the central dish, I passed an argument I couldn't ignore. Two that I recognised as Chorus members were telling another Utaru man of a search party that had returned to the settlement finding no sign of a missing person, but the man was desperate. Already being thoroughly distrustful of the Chorus members, now speaking with callus indifference, I stepped in.

The man was named Bree, and his wife, Kalae, had never returned from her pilgrimage to the promontory overlooking Plainsong from the north east. A search party sent after her had found her instrument by the river at the base of a long drop. They suspected that the fall had killed her, then the river had washed her away. That was all the investigation the Chorus were willing to authorise, though I could tell from the way they spoke that the pair held no great love for Kalae.

Bree explained that she'd been a voice for political change in the community, garnering a following large enough that the Chorus were forced to listen to her ideas and grant her a place among their ranks. She was meant to be the seventh member of the Chorus, the one whose absence I'd noted when meeting with them.

Kel in particular spoke harshly of Kalae, who had advocated for the Utaru leaving Plainsong to escape the blight. Kel dismissed Bree's concerns and called the matter closed, but the whole situation raised my suspicions. I offered to climb to the promontory myself and search for more signs of Kalae. Not only do I have my Focus to guide me, but I'd wager that the Chorus' search party never searched all that thoroughly to begin with. If there really is something more to Kalae's disappearance, it'll not only bring closure to Bree, it could undermine the Chorus' deadly policies as well. I swear I don't go looking to sow political discord—the opportunities come to me.

I climbed through to the Chorus' meeting place, asking around about Kalae. Like Bree, those who knew her said she was a strong and experienced climber, yet she apparently fell to her death from the promontory path. Some saw it as a tragedy, but there were others who shared my suspicions, not that they'd ever dare raise them with the Chorus. A people who can't trust their leaders...the Utaru's long harmony will soon fall apart if things continue this way.

Worshippers placed offerings of ornamental pots filled with vibrant flowers on the altar shelves. They prayed for the dead, and for Fa. I wonder what Zo will tell them. Maybe best to say nothing at all.

There was a woman regaling some sort of creation myth to a group of children. It wasn't quite as in-depth as other stories I'd heard, but I get the impression that the Utaru as a whole are culturally incurious. Basically it all boiled down to their idea of an eternal cycle. The world has no beginning nor end, and no one knows what drives this cycle onward, nor is there any point in asking, so be good little children and do what your elders say until you're elderly yourself, and ignorant enough to pass this message on. I grew a little bitter hearing it, I'll admit. It reminded me too much of old Nora fables, though at least those centred an exciting battle between good and evil.

That bitterness quickly fled when a man showed me his bird made of leaves.

A little more socialising, which I called reconnaissance. There are definitely more rebels in the area; the Utaru are afraid to travel between settlements at present. I was right, Hephaestus' attack was taken as an opportunity by the Tenakth to close in and pillage fringe settlements. I also met up with Daen again for a late meal.

Standing on the north-most lookout, an woman named Nel called me over begging for help. She hailed from Riverhymn, the second largest Utaru settlement that looked down over the lands from the north.

Over the last few days, Tenakth rebels had been attacking the settlement, though their attacks were not yet coordinated enough to consist of more than scouts and sparse groups of raiders. The Utaru had fought them off so far, but not without many casualties, and Nel feared that a mounted attack could soon take out the village, leaving its spoils for the Tenakth. Nel had come here to petition the Chorus for hunters to defend Riverhymn, but they would not listen. Apparently, they'd already written off the fringe settlements as lost in these dire times.

As bad as that was, if the situation was so hopeless I didn't understand why the Utaru couldn't just leave and take refuge in Plainsong. Nel explained, and predictably, they were superstitious reasons, though imagining I believed as they do in the worldly cycle, I could see the logic in it. All Utaru carry seed pouches with them, enclosed in a woven wooden ball on their breasts. The seeds are chosen as children and carried throughout life. Upon death, they are planted and tended by the living, allowing the deceased's life to stretch on through the roots in the soil and stems in the sky. A beautiful sentiment, but not worth losing human life over, surely. Nel was dismissive; Riverhymn held a place called the Grove, the largest collection of planted seeds. An Utaru graveyard, housing the life force of all those returned to the earth during the Red Raids, which the Utaru call 'the Buried Times'.

They weren't going to leave, and no one from Plainsong was going to help them. Any fight against Regalla's rebels is my fight too, considering who arms them. I agreed to scope out the area and take down any rebels I came across. Hopefully that will be enough to deter further raids.

I found a place to bed down after that. Somewhere quiet, not drowning in the moans of the wounded. It was a warm night—too warm, I think. A pleasant reminder of the decaying terraforming system. I looked through Gaia's data, now annotated in more dumbed-down detail, until I fell asleep.

However skilled I am with bow and spear, if I can't get my head around Gaia's technical realm, I won't be much help to her. There's just not enough time to learn.