#Set link to Footnote

[clockwayswrites]

(Not Exactly the Haunting of Danny Fenton)

Tim's PowerPoint

“Drake, why are we here?”

“Because Bruce told us to be,” Tim said, eyes focused on the interface set in the meeting table. Damian was like a dog, too much eye contact and he took it as a challenge.

Damian was thankfully silent for about two and a half seconds. Then, “And why is Todd here?”

Jason tossed some popcorn in his mouth, talking around it. “Cause this? This I have to see.”

Tim resisted the urge to sigh. It would just encourage them both. He went through his PowerPoint one more time. Neither of them would allow for mistakes. He didn’t give a fuck what they thought of how he provided the information, but it would have to be right.

Which was annoying with a complex concept like polyamory.

“Right, let’s get started so that we can get this over with,” Tim said as he sent the PowerPoint to the big screen. “Dick is apparently in a new relationship.”

Damian tilted his head. “He finally saw off with that that absurdly cheerful vagabond of a Speedster?”

Don’t give them the satisfaction of sighing. “No. Dick is still dating Wally. The two of them have agreed to try adding another person to their relationship. Bruce wants to make sure nothing is said to ruin the new relationship, hence this PowerPoint.”

“Adding another person?” Damian asked, nose all scrunched up. “Why?”

“Because Polyamory,” Tim said with a grand gesture to the screen where the Pac-Man ghosts were standing with heart eyes under the word.

“Are you Clyde?” Jason asked.

“What? I’m ignoring you, you’re not required to be here,” Tim said and clicked the button on the laser pointer-slash-remote to go to the next slide. It was a rather artistic shot of what Tim was ninety percent sure was a pigeon orgy. The Merriam-Webster definition was over the picture in yellow:

polyamory noun

poly·​am·​ory ˌpä-lē-ˈa-mə-rē

plural polyamories

: the state or practice of having more than one open romantic relationship at a time

“Like much of nature,” Tim started as the picture behind the definition rotated between different animals from cats to frogs to cows and more, “some humans and humanoids participate in polyamory. There are, in fact, alien humanoids that engage in polyamory or polygamy as the primary form of relationships. If you are interested in a more detailed look at these alien races, there are links in the third slide.”

The third slide was the Clipart of the classic ‘little green man’ head with several footnote citations to various Justice League files. So maybe they shouldn’t have all that information, but Tim didn’t have a back door into the Justice League system for nothing.

“Considering that Dick, Wally, and their new third are all human, we will be focusing on the typical and basic human configurations of polyamory.”

Damian’s hand shot up. Raising his hand was, thankfully, a rule that had been made after the fifth time someone had been stabbed.

“Yes, Damian?” Don’t sigh, Tim reminded himself.

“Animals have the need to produce a large numbers of offspring. They also do not possess the same emotional processing powers as humans,” Damian stated. “While, perhaps, multiple partners assist in both the amount of offspring, but also the dispersal of genetic make up for animals, modern humans do not share this need.”

“…correct,” Tim agreed warily.

Damian kept his hand up as he continued. “I was also under the impression that if one is to be with a romantic partner long term, that the partner should be someone that one is romantically interested in and emotionally invested in.”

“Oh, he’s adorable,” Jason cooed.

“Raise your hand or shut up,” Tim said. “Yes, that’s generally correct, though there some other forms of relationships that are not romantic. We will cover some of these shortly.”

Damian nodded as if actually satisfied. “Then why would someone want to share?”

“Cause sharing is caring,” Jason said with a snicker.

“Ignore him,” Tim said, “and we’ll turn back to the slides! There are a few different types of standard polyamorous relationships! The first we’re covering is open relationships.”

On the screen, the words ‘open relationships’ went around in a circle like a train.

“In an open relationship, a member or members of the relationship are free to date, or otherwise engage with, whomever they might want to.” Tim clicked the buttons a few times and the main circle connected to other circles, some that spun and others that did not. “These other relationships may also be open or may be closed—limited to only a select amount of people—depending on the other person. These open relationships may also have certain rules in place or be completely open depending on the agreement of those in it.”

Tim clicked over to a rather scrunched list of rule examples. Maybe Tim made it purposefully unreadable so that he didn’t have to answer Damian’s questions about sex. Maybe.

“Why?” Damian asked. He sounded so confused that Tim decided to answer even though Damian hadn’t raised his hand.

“Lots of reasons. A person may want to experiment with other gender combinations. Or they may have different or more emotional, romantic, or physical needs than one partner can support.” Tim hurriedly clicked ahead to his slide on asexual and aromantic individuals. The background was a loop of hundreds of bouncy balls. Tim had no reason for that, he’d been losing his mind by then. “Asexuality and aromanticism run on a spectrum of course, but at a basic level, asexuals do not experience sexual attraction. They may be sex favorable or sex avoidant. So, for example, they might have an open relationship with their partner, so that the partner can satisfy their sexual needs.

“An aromantic individual does not experience romantic attraction, so again we might see multiple partners to satisfy the diverse need of the aromantic themselves or their partner.”

Damian frowned and tilted his head, but stayed quiet. Interestingly, Jason was also frowning slightly.

Tim moved on hurriedly and backed up to his intended slide. “Now, by contrast a closed relationship either does not add new partners, or partners are added with the approval of all members of the relationship. As a major simplification, this can be thought of as a series of arrows or triangles.”

“Now with arrows, the agreement and negotiations are still there, but everyone can be dating different people!” Tim said. Green Arrow stared back at them from the next screen. Tim thought it was particularity fitting, knowing what he knew of Oliver Queen. “So A might be dating B and C. And B is dating A and D. D and A are not dating. They might not even really be friends. Their relationship is known as metamors.”

Damian nodded slowly.

A spinning graphic of the triforce came up on the screen next. “This can really be any shape, but a triangle keeps it simple. Basically every member in this format is involved with every other member. This is what Dick will be in, if everything goes well. Think of it like… so A and B both like C. It’s not about A sharing B or B sharing A, not really, it’s about them both also getting C! It’s more cake. Though that’s an ace saying, but, um, it’s like getting an ice cream with two scoops, yeah?”

“Sure,” Damian mumbled, a lost sounding agreement.

“And this can be lots of shapes, like I said! This is how it would look with four people: triangles in a square. The more people you have, the more complicated the relationship, agreements, and managing emotions can get, but if people are a really good group with each other and are willing to talk, it can work out!”

Damian almost tentatively raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“How would… something like that even start?” Damian asked.

“Oh, well… like, I guess think of it like a hero team just with romance? Sometimes you know people deeply enough that you trust them with your life and identity and everything else. In cases like that, it might not be odd for things to… for things to, um,” Tim trailed off, blinking up at the interconnected square.

“Drake…?” Damian prompted.

Jason started giggling.

“I, what? Sorry!” Tim said with a shake of his head. He continued in a rush as he flicked through various relationship set up examples. “But something like that! So um, those are your basic types but things can be combined and changed and altered. The main thing is to respect that someone who is in a polyamorous relationship wants to be in one. And that if you enter one, that you aren’t afraid to talk things out, make boundaries that you need, and talk through any changing boundaries!”

Tim flicked quickly to his last side.

“Oh, and, um, queer platonic relationships is sorta like aroace stuff, people in it dedicate themselves to a partner or partners even if they have no romantic or sexual feelings. It’s basically a way to say that a person is that important to them just as a person!” Tim said as he fumbled for his phone. “Anyways! The PowerPoint has been emailed to you. Direct any questions to myself or Bruce and be polite to Dick, Wally, and their new guy, okay? Okay. Gotta run.”

“That was odd, was it not?” Tim heard Damian ask Jason.

“Yeah…” Jason was still staring at the screen on queer platonic relationships when Tim glanced back. “Actually, I have to go too, okay? Doesn’t have to be your jam for you to be polite, got it?”

“What on earth has gotten into them,” Damian mumbled.

-

Cassie crossed her arms as soon as Tim appeared on Mount Justice. “Okay, what’s the emergency?”

“It’s, okay, so Bruce made me give this presentation to Damian because Dick and Wally added a new person to their relationship and no one want’s Damian to be an asshole—”

“Like he normally is,” Cassie muttered.

“—and ruin things before it starts, you know?”

“Please tell me it wasn’t your normal style of PowerPoints?” Kon asked.

“Of course it was,” Tim said with a dismissive wave. “But I was giving it and—just it all made sense suddenly! We are all idiots.”

“Hey!” Bart chirped. “I mean, yeah, but hey!”

“No, I mean—” Tim let out a noise of frustration and grabbed the nearest teammate, which happened to be Bart, and kissed him.

Bart made an adorable little squeak and then practically went boneless and still in a way that Tim had never seen Bart go before.

“Oh,” Kon said off to the side, sounding oddly flat. “That’s—congratulations you two.”

“Zeus, you are an idiot,” Cassie said.

Kon’s reply was muffled.

Tim pulled back, shoved the lax Bart at Cassie (who had just finished kissing Kon), and marched over to pull Kon into a quick, crushing kiss.

Kon blinked back. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Tim said. “All of us. I want… I want all of you and for all of you to want all of you and for… and for us to be together—teammates and more in all the ways. Because I trust you all, and I never don’t want to have you.”

Tim looked from Kon, who still looked stunned, and over at Cassie who was cradling a boneless looking Bart and petting his hair. She rolled her eyes. “You’re all idiots.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed breathlessly. “But you love us.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a smile and a sigh. “yeah I do.”

[zarvasace]

Description and a bit more info under the cut. 

A series of green, blue, and red graphics using a nice sans serif font and a Zelda display serif font with white and gold as accents. 

First picture. 2024 Linked Universe Fandom AO3 Wrapped, presented by Mina, @zarvasace. (That's me!) 

As a fandom, we wrote 2,273 fics in 2024

That's over 6 a day every day this year! 

In smaller text below: Counting only fics tagged with “Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda)” on AO3. Counting all fics last updated from Jan 1, 2024 to Dec 31, 2024. Data pulled by hand on Jan 1, 2024 at ~2:00 AM GMT-7. 

Next picture. Our favorite tags this year were:

1, Hurt/Comfort with 432 tags

2, Fluff with 352 tags

3, Angst with 335 tags 

4, Not Beta Read with 260 tags. Here there is also a brief exchange in two handwriting styles. One arrow points to this tag with the remark, “perfectionists, much?” Another cursive hand replies “Be nice.” to which the first says, “no”

5, Legend-centric with 251 tags

At the bottom of this image is a piece of parchment. The scratchier handwriting says, “Ha, I'm the favorite. Take that.” and the curlier handwriting replies “Not so fast, Ledge… we aren't done yet.”

Next picture. Favorite tags continued:

6, Blood and Injury with 230 tags

7, Wild-centric with 204 tags 

8, Whump with 215 tags 

9, Emotional Hurt/Comfort with 181 tags

10, Good Older Sibling Warriors with 163 tags. Legend's handwriting says “Din give me strength—” to that. 

Section break, and a bit more: An average of 7.46% fics every month were tagged Whump. Except October, which saw a spike to 29.5%.

Next picture. Our favorite Links. This info is presented in a table, with names on the left and number of tags on the right, organized from most to least. 

Warriors, 1408 (his handwriting says: HA!! I won something!)

Legend, 1398 (his handwriting says: BY TEN.)

Twilight, 1371

Time, 1323

Wild, 1217

Hyrule, 1151

Wind, 1143

Sky, 1137

Four, 1027

At the bottom is another piece of parchment. Legend says: “JUST TEN.” Warriors says: “Jealous?” Legend replies: “I don't know if being the favorite is a good thing.”

Next picture. Our favorite secondary characters were Malon (176 tags) and Racio (160 tags)

Section break. and the most popular pairings were Malon/Time (161 tags), Legend/Racio (89 tags*), Sky/Sun (66 tags).

At the bottom is the asterisk footnote: it's no secret that our fandom tags are a little wonky sometimes. This number adds together the works tagged “Legend (Linked Universe)/Ravio” and “Link/Ravio” where the work was also tagged “Linked Universe,” assuming that people would only tag one. 

Next picture. 2024’s longest fic was: This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja (linked below). 

Editor’s note: linked here!

With a total of 312,547 words. That's almost 971 a day! 

Began July 14, 2023, Finished May 30, 2024. 

Screenshot of the tag summary from AO3, showing a Mature rating, Gen, an archive warning, and complete. 

Significant tags: Time Travel, the Chain as Family, Time Loop, Multiversal Time Travel, Temporal War Crimes, Chain Meets Chain, Chronically Ill Sky, Four Splits Into the Colors, Fairy Hyrule, Hyrule Has a Blood Curse. 

At the bottom, Legend’s writing says: “That sounds like a lot of time travel…”

Next four pictures are a set titled Fandom Trends by month. Each month has, in order, a Popular Link, Popular Duos, Popular Genre, and Unique Tags, along with occasional handwritten commentary. 

January: Twilight. Twilight & Wild. Hurt/Comfort. Crack, Soft Legend. Commentary: Warriors says “aww.” and Legend responds “I'm going to poison your milk.” 

February: Warriors. Twilight & Wild, Twilight & Warriors, Legend & Warriors. Angst. Febuwhump 2024. 

March: Twilight. Twilight & Wild, Time & Twilight. Fluff. One Shot, Linked Universe Discord Server’s 5th Birthday Gift Exchange.

April: Legend. Twilight & Wild, Twilight and Warriors. (Commentary from Legend: “wow Twi”) Fluff. Humor, Canon-Typical Violence.

May: Twilight, Warriors. Hyrule & Legend, Twilight & Wild. (Commentary from Legend, circling Hyrule’s name: “Finally some good taste.”) Fluff. Other Additional Tags to be Added. 

June: Twilight. Twilight & Wild, Time & Warriors. Hurt/Comfort. June of Doom 2024, Sky-centric, Twilight-centric. (Commentary from Warriors: “Wait, doom?! Oh, there's Sky”)

Editor's note: congratulations to @somer-writes who singlehandedly got June of Doom in the top 10 tags of June. :)

July: Warriors. Hyrule & Legend, Time & Twilight. Hurt/Comfort. Twilight-centric. (Commentary from Legend: “leave some for the rest of us”)

August: Legend. Hyrule & Legend, Legend & Warriors, Time & Twilight. Hurt/Comfort. Crack, Fluff and Angst. (Commentary from Warriors: “I'm concerned.”)

September: Legend. Time & Twilight, Twilight & Wild. Hurt/Comfort. Sicktember 2024, Legend Has a Bad Time. (Commentary from Legend: “Excuse me?!” Warriors says: “I suppose your immune system is awful now.” Legend responds with: “ha ha.”)

October: Warriors. Time & Twilight, Time & Warriors. Hurt/Comfort. Whumptober 2024, Warriors Has a Bad Time. (Commentary from Warriors: “oh no…” To which Legend responds: “HAHAHAHAH”) 

November: Warriors. Time & Warriors, Hyrule & Legend. Fluff. Crack, Good Older Sibling Warriors.

December: Legend. Hyrule & Legend, Twilight & Wild, Warriors & Wind. Hurt/Comfort. Families of Choice. 

Parchment at the bottom has Warriors saying, “That's a nice note to end on.” Legend responds, “Not so bad I guess.” 

Thanks for coming along with me on this fun stats journey! It's been a privilege to add to this fandom. 

I thought about adding a section for ratings or prevalence of Gen fics, but I think you can guess that we’re a Gen- and Teen-heavy fandom. You can see my raw data and some more charts over on the Google sheet right at this link. Ha, link. :) 

[mythrilthread]

My magnum opus, the jewel of my Binderary round-up, the result of four months of hard work (that is to say, a lot of force applied over distance), the project affectionately known as The Motherfuckers (because it was rather unclear if I was going to finish these books or if they were going to be the end of me).

Force over Distance by cleanwhiteroom. It is currently also on AO3.

I was first introduced to this incredible story by a dear friend, who first sold me on actually watching SGU, and then said that they remember this fic since like 2011, which is always a promising sign. I went digging and found out I was in luck - the story was being rewritten and reuploaded on the author's blog. The next two weeks are described by the same friend as "one of the scariest moments in our cohabitation" as I'd spent literally every waking moment injecting the story directly into my eyeballs, and let me tell you, I'd not been doing a lot of sleeping at that time.

Then I gathered up my courage and reached out to CWR re: my burning desire to bind this story. And the rest, well. Let's dig into it, shall we?

This was my first time typesetting 540k words. Considering I tend to prefer larger font sizes for increased legibility, it was immediately obvious that this was going to be a multivolume project. I settled on three, as it's the relationship between three individuals that forms the core of the story.

I also knew I wanted to keep the typeset in black and white, but play around with light and dark a lot. So I did. One of the first design idea I actually had was the way I wanted to handle projected speech. Mental link between Young, Rush and Destiny is THE most vital part of the story, and I wanted to make it immediatly obvious. I also wanted to be able to take one glance at the page and tell how much of the action is actually just two guys staring each other down :) Hence the blackout effect of thoughts being represented as light over darkness.

I also wanted to preserve as much of my reading experience as possible. So I saved all the chapter quotes/summaries in the TOC, and hid the chapter content warnings in the frame of the gate that marks the beginning of each chapter. For most of the chapter the warnings stay the same, so after a while you stop really noticing them, but then you open a new chapter and see that the familiar shape of the words has changed, and get this UH-OH feeling. Which, I think is very much how it works in my design, because when the warnings change there's usually another line of text added.

For flashbacks and dream sequences I switched from italics to a lighter shade of gray. I woudn't say it's more legible per say, but it's in keeping with the overall light/dark theme.

There are instances of people using handwritten notes in the story. I collected more than a dozen of assorted handwriting fonts, with each character having their own "handwriting". So when, for example, someone begins writing in someone else's hand, you immediately know it.

The most insane, labor-intensive part of the typeset, however, was the way I decided to handle the Ancient translations. CWR's gone through the trouble of setting up hover-to-discover for it, which gives you a very different reading experience than, say, having the translations in the endnotes. So, naturally, I said to myself that I want to replicate that, and footnotes just won't do the trick. So. Every instance of Ancient in the text has an underlay of light gray Ancient script. And an OVERLAY of paper vellum with the translation printed in blue. Now, not to toot my own horn too much, but if looks SICK AS FUCK. You also MAYBE SHOULD NOT LIVE LIKE THIS. For the two copies of this work I had to cut up 10 sheets of vellum into strips, and then spent from 20 minutes to an hour per volume tipping the strips in their proper places. I then had to wear kinetic tape on both my hands to help with the joint pain. (It was worth it.)

Now for the title spread. It is also paper vellum that you see as soon as you turn the first page (the half-title), and see it covering the title of the book and author's name. And then you turn it. And the shields sing the matter wave of Destiny through the black. And yeah, I think that's very, very clever of me, actually.

Then, of course, were the endpapers. All 12 of them are unique abstract paintings done on black cardstock by hand with brush pens and correction tape, I scanned a sample of each set for posterity. All of them are my interpretations of characters' midscapes. For volume 1 I went with the fire wind of Rush's thoughts. Volume 2 was for Young, and I went for the reverse blackout poetry effect (because for all the mental talking they do, the unprojected thoughts are opaque to their counterparts) and all the loops, hairpins and blocks he does. Volume 3 is for the combination - Rush's fire wind, changing its color to match the circuitry pattern of Destiny's AI.

The rest, in comparison, is easy. All volumes are stitched with 3 strands of embroidery floss, a combination of black, blue and silvery-gray. The French double-core endbands are sewn in the same color scheme (though with a different shade of blue and gray switched for white for added contrast). The edges are painted and splattered to look like space.

The covers feature my (signature at this point, I guess) half-cloth river pattern, with the base being dark blue linen and the printed parts being Spitzer telescope images of the W51 star forge, Jack-O'-Lantern Nebula and the Eagle Nebula (courtesy of NASA), waxed by hand for added sheen. The spines are foiled in silver with a foil quill.

Each set is 5 pound of solid hand-crafted book, with one set being my personal copy, and the other sent as a gift to the author.

And that's it, folks! This has been an incredible project to work on, and I'm very proud of what I achieved with it.

[magic-shop-stories]

Would you be able to write something ot7 based on how they would be in an arranged marriage (both consenting to the marriage but just maybe not super happy about it at first or maybe they are but are awkward or however you want to do it.) Maybe like a head cannon? I really love the ones that you’ve written. Maybe some angst, some fluff, cuteness, smut. It’s okay if you can’t. I look forward to reading your work in the future either way!

💌 Reply:

Hi there! 💜 Thank you so much for this brilliant request... OT7 arranged marriage? YES, my brain is already spinning with drama, reluctant pining, and chaotic bonding moments. I’ll dive into angsty tensions (looking at you, Yoongi), awkward fluff (Jin’s "worldwide handsome" wedding meltdowns), and eventual OT7 devotion... ahhh my head!!!. I hope you like it... it’s been a blast to write! Thank you for inspiring this chaos! 🖤

NOTE:IMPORTANT! Due to Tumblr’s persistent "processing error" (RIP my sanity), I couldn’t post the full OT7 arranged marriage headcanons in one go without the draft self-destructing, so I split it up not wanting to not post...

THIS POST = Hyung Line (Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi

Maknae Line (Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook) in extra post

Apologies for the hassle! Blame Tumblr’s coding demons, not your sleep depreeved girl that tried to get help from tumblr support for almsot three days (RIP)

LINK TO MAKNAE LINE POST

Warnings: themes of arranged/forced unions, dark political intrigue, family manipulation, heavy emotional distress/internal conflict, explicit content (light smut), subtle violence/domestic tension, corporate and academic power plays

Arranged Marriage Headcanons (AU) (Angst/Fluff/Smut Mix)

NAMJOON = RELUCTANT HEIR & HIS UNLIKELY MUSE

“You think I’m a disaster? Wait till you see my heart.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family owns a tech empire on the brink of collapse

Namjoon’s lineage controls a global network of libraries and academic institutions

your union merges knowledge and innovation to outmaneuver rivals

Your Reason

you agreed to protect your younger sibling from being forced into the marriage instead

Namjoon’s Reason

his father’s dying wish

“Preserve our legacy. Even if it costs you your freedom.”

THE WEDDING

= CLASH OF WORLDS

Your Attire

sleek, modern gown

holographic train (nod to your family’s tech roots)

Namjoon’s Attire

navy hanbok with a frayed hem

“It’s my grandmother’s. She… believed in love. I don’t.”

Location

library-turned-venue

books stacked into aisles

other BTS members sit in the front row:

Jin mouths “You’ll be fine!” 

discreetly flipping off a scowling uncle

Yoongi mutters, “This is dystopian.”

slips you a flask of whiskey

Jungkook frowns at his tie

Hobi adjusts it for him

Jimin squeezes your hand before you walk the aisle

Taehyung sketches the scene

captioning it “Two Strangers & A Thousand Books.”

Vows

You: “I promise not to sell your books. Even the boring ones.” Namjoon: “I… promise to try not to set the lab on fire. Again.” 

nervous smirk

crowd laughs awkwardly

Reception

you hide in a bathroom stall

Namjoon finds you

knees pulled to your chest

You: “This is a mistake. ”Namjoon: “Probably. But mistakes make the best footnotes.”

offers his hand

“Dance with me? The DJ’s playing Debussy.”

EARLY DAYS

= TENSION & TEA STAINS

Mansion

fusion of your tech (holographic walls, AI assistants)

his chaos (leaning bookshelves, half-dead bonsais)

First Fight

over the thermostat

You: “Why is it so low? Are you preserving yourself?!” Namjoon: “Cold air helps me think! And your robots keep judging me!”

glares at your hovering drone

Members’ Meddling

Jin “accidentally” sends you both to a couples’ spa

Namjoon gets mud-mask in his hair

you laugh for the first time in weeks

Yoongi leaves a playlist called “Songs for Idiots Who Can’t Communicate.”

Taehyung gifts a shared journal: 

“Write to each other. Or draw dicks. Whatever.”

Breaking Point

Namjoon works through the night, ignoring you

you snap, throwing his Plato anthology out the window

You: “Marry your books next time!” Namjoon: “I did! But they don’t yell at me!”

Silence!!!

he mumbles then

 “…But they also don’t make me want to be better.”

TURNING POINTS

= PAPERBACK ROMANCE

Storm

power outage

you find him in the dark

he's reciting Rumi to calm himself

you join in, voice shaking

he whispers: “You’re… good at this.”

Lab Incident

you collaborate on an AI project

he breaks your prototype

fixes it with a makeshift solution

it's so genius you kiss him mid-rant

Journal

you doodle a robot holding a flower

he writes back: 

“Metaphor for us? Fragile, but… growing.”

INTIMACY

= NERVOUS HANDS, BURNING PAGES

First Kiss

after he quotes Pablo Neruda at 2 a.m.

you cut him off

pressing him against a bookshelf

“Poetry later.” 

Namjoon: “I—I’ve never… I mean, I’ve read about….” You: “Let’s write about it instead.”

Smutty Moments

his clumsiness dissolves into precision when he’s focused

maps your body like a forgotten text

murmuring, “Here… you shiver. Why?”

lets you take control

surprises you with sudden confidence

pinning you to his desk, glasses askew

“I’m a quick study.”

he wraps you in his oversized sweater

reads Vonnegut aloud until you sleep

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you convert the mansion into a free tech/library hub for students

members visit often:

Jin teaches cooking classes

“Step one: don’t let Joon near the stove!”

Jungkook and Hobi build a VR poetry garden

Tae paints a mural of you and Namjoon

you as a warrior, him as a scholar, back-to-back

Namjoon’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony): “You were the footnote that became the whole story.” You: “And you’re the disaster I’d choose a thousand times.”

Final

chases your toddler through the library

both laughing

Jimin whispers: “Who knew Captain Chaos could be such a dad?”  Yoongi: “Shut up. They’re cute.”

JIN = RELUCTANT PRINCE & HIS UNEXPECTED DUET

“You think I’m just a pretty face? Sweetheart, I’m the whole damn symphony.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (old-money hotel tycoons) needed Jin’s royal-blooded lineage

= a literal prince from a dissolved monarchy

needed him to revive their global reputation

his family, in turn, craved modern wealth to fund their cultural preservation projects

Your Reason

to save your father’s empire from bankruptcy

Jin’s Reason

to protect his brother from being forced into the marriage

“He’s too soft for this shit.” 

signing the contract with a flourish

“I’ll handle it. I always do.”

THE WEDDING

= SPARKLES, SARCASM, AND SECRET TEARS

Your Attire

champagne-colored gown with a 15-foot train

= your mother’s choice

feeling more like a chandelier than a bride

Jin’s Attire

custom ivory tuxedo

actual Swarovski crystals sewn into the lapels

“If I’m a pawn, I’ll be the shiniest pawn in history.”

smirks, adjusting his cufflinks

Location

historic palace ballroom

BTS members are your reluctant bridal party:

Yoongi as the “flower guy”

chucks petals like baseballs

Hobi accidentally trips the DJ’s cord

switching the march song to “Dynamite”

Jungkook spills wine on your toxic aunt

“Oops. Gravity’s a bitch.”

Namjoon gives a rambling speech about “love as a societal construct” 

Jimin steals the mic

Taehyung photobombs every picture

Vows

You: “I vow not to murder you in your sleep. Even if you deserve it.” Jin: “I vow to keep my handsomeness at a manageable level… which is impossible, but I’ll try.” 

crowd groans

he winks

Reception

Jin drags you onto the balcony

both suffocating from the fakeness

You: “This is hell.” Jin: “Hell has a open bar and a photo booth. Lighten up.” 

plucks a rose from a centerpiece

tucking it behind your ear

“You look better when you’re not pretending to smile.”

EARLY DAYS

= EGO CLASHES & EMOTIONAL ESPRESSO MACHINES

Penthouse

luxury high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows

Jin’s side is spotless

yours looks like a tornado hit a tech conference

First Fight

over his “no carbs after 8 PM” rule

You: “You’re not my personal trainer!” Jin: “And you’re not my wife! Oh wait...”

he freezes

you slam the door

he spends the night serenading your locked room with “Epiphany” until security is called

Members’ Meddling:

Hobi forces you both into couple’s karaoke

Jin belts “Yours” with dramatic vibrato

you accidentally harmonize

Jimin gifts matching pajamas

“Argue in style, losers.”

Yoongi sends a text

“Just bang it out. Literally.”

Breaking Point

Jin hosts a lavish dinner to impress your parents

you catch him re-plating your homemade dumplings into fancy china

You: “Why? My cooking not good enough for Prince Perfect?” Jin: “No! I just… didn’t want them to criticize you.” 

his voice cracks

“I know what that feels like.”

TURNING POINTS

= FROM PAGEANTRY TO PARTNERS

Midnight Kitchen

you find him stress-baking at 3 a.m.

flour in his hair

“I… don’t know how to be real with you." 

you help him fold dumplings

hands brushing

“Start here."

Scandal

Paparazzi photos of him clubbing surface

he panics

you shut it down

“We were both there. Dancing badly. Next question.” 

he stares

“Why defend me?”  “Because you’re mine to tease. Not theirs.”

Gift

buys you a vintage gaming console after overhearing you rant about childhood nostalgia

“I’m not trying to be sweet. It was on sale.”

INTIMACY

= VANITY MELTED INTO VULNERABILITY

First Kiss

after he wins a gaming battle

gloating: “Bow to your king.” 

you yank his collar

silencing him

he melts

whispering: “Okay, you win. But I’m still prettier.”

Smutty Moments

his confidence is infuriatingly hot

undoes his shirt one button at a time

smirk never fading

“Like what you see? It’s a limited edition.”

when you trace the scar on his hip (a childhood accident), he flinches

“I don’t… show people that.” 

you kiss it

“Now it’s my favorite part.”

morning after:

cooks pancakes shaped like his face

“So you never forget who’s really in charge.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-own a Michelin-starred restaurant

him in the kitchen

you handling tech

members are “taste-testers”:

Jungkook challenges Jin to eat a ghost pepper

Jin win

then cries into your shoulder

Taehyung paints a mural of Jin as a “Grecian God of Noodles.”

Yoongi invests

muttering: “Only because the kimchi pancakes are decent.”

Jin’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“I used to think love was a performance. You taught me it’s… a really messy duet.” 

slips a ring made from a broken crystal off his wedding tux

“Perfectly imperfect. Like us.”

You: “Still a drama king.” Jin: “And you’re still my favorite audience.”

Final

carries your toddler on his shoulders through the restaurant

both wearing mini chef hats

Jimin snaps a pic for Instagram: 

“Worldwide Handsomest Appa 💜.”

YOONGI =  BROKEN MAESTRO & HIS UNLIKELY SYMPHONY

“You want my heart? Dig through the rubble first.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

merger between Seoul’s oldest underground music empire (Yoongi’s family, the Min Syndicate)

your family’s cutting-edge tech conglomerate

alliance ensures dominance over rival factions trying to monopolize the city’s cultural soul

your family gets street cred

his gets financial leverage

Your Reason

to protect your startup from being crushed by corporate sharks

Yoongi’s Reason

to shield hisolder brother and girlfriend from a life of debt and danger

“He’s a pianist, not a pawn,” 

Yoongi growls signing the contract

cigarette dangling from his lips

“I’ll be the villain. Always am.”

WEDDING

= SMOKE, SILENCE, AND A SCAR

Your Attire

black velvet gown with a high collar

designed to hide the mic transmitter sewn into the hem

= wedding gift from your engineers

Yoongi’s Attire

charcoal suit, no tie, sleeves rolled to his elbows

later (after unbuttoning his shirt) revealing a scar on his shoulder

when you ask about it, he snaps

“None of your business.”

Location

renovated warehouse in Mapo-gu

chains hang from the ceiling

draped with fairy lights

BTS members linger like shadows:

Jin heckles Yoongi: 

“You look constipated. Smile, Your Grumpiness!”

Hobi nervously rearranges the altar candles

Jimin stops him

“Hyung, they’re not Lego.”

Taehyung scribbles lyrics on the program

Jungkook pockets a steak knife (just in case)

Namjoon gives a speech quoting Kierkegaard: 

“Life isn’t a problem to be solved, but..” 

Yoongi cuts him off: 

“Save it, Plato.”

Vows

You: “I vow not to hack your studio. Unless you deserve it.” Yoongi: “I vow to… exist. That’s all you’re getting.”

Reception

he disappears

you find him on the rooftop, nursing a flask

staring at the scarred skyline

You: “Regretting this already?” Yoongi: “Regret implies I had a choice.” 

offers the flask

Yoongi: “Whiskey?” You: “I prefer soju.” Yoongi (smirking): “Figures. You’re trouble.”

EARLY DAYS

= WAR ZONE WITH A SOUNDTRACK

Loft

concrete bunker with a studio booth, neon signs

your tech sprawled across a steel desk

his side smells like smoke and espresso

yours like solder and ambition

First Fight

over noise complaints

You: “Your bass shakes the damn walls at 3 a.m.!” Yoongi: “Your robots sound like dying cats. Fix them.”

Compromise

he produces a track titled “STFU (Sweetheart, This Frequency)” 

he blasts it

you retaliate by hacking his speakers to play “Nyan Cat” on loop

Members’ Meddling

Jimin leaves a “Romance for Dummies” playlist:

Track 1: “I Need U” (acoustic)

Yoongi deletes it

you recover it

Jin sends a “Couples’ Survival Kit”

= bandaids, earplugs, and a “Worldwide Handsome” facemask

Yoongi burns the mask

Taehyung paints a mural of you both as rival superheroes

Yoongi begrudgingly hangs it in the hallway

Breaking Point

you overhear him arguing with a loan shark on the phone

“Touch my brother and I’ll end you.” 

later, he works until his hands bleed

you storm in

slamming a first-aid kit on his desk

You: “You’re not a martyr. Stop acting like one.” Yoongi: “What do you care?” You (yanking his chair around): “Because I hate wasted potential. Even yours.”

TURNING POINTS

= CRACKS IN THE ARMOR

Scar Story

comes home shirtless

fresh from a fight

shoulder scar raw

you clean his wounds silently

he finally confesses

“I got it at 19. Accident, later took a knife for my brother. Worth it.”

Collab

you design a synth program for his mixtape

he grumbles: “Don’t fuck it up." 

stays up with you for 48 hours

when it’s done, he mutters, “…Not bad.” 

high praise

Nightmare

wakes screaming from a panic attack

you don’t ask

just hold him

he tenses

then collapses into your arms

“Don’t… tell anyone.” 

INTIMACY

= ROUGH EDGES, HIDDEN TENDERNESS

First Kiss

you beat him at Mario Kart

he slams his controller

“Bullshit. You cheated.”

you lean in

“Cry about it.” 

he kisses you like a man starved

all teeth and desperation

“Happy?”  “Getting there.” 

you smirk

Smutty Moments

his touch is intense

almost angry

bites your lip

grips your hips hard enough to bruise

when you trace his scar, he stills

whispering: “Careful. That’s… my weak spot.”

mornings after

= he’s gone before dawn

but leaves a coffee on your desk (creamer ratio perfect)

catches you humming his melody

“You… like it?” 

you shrug

“It’s okay.” 

he hides a smile

“Yeah. Okay.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-found SugaTech

= hybrid music-tech empire

loft is now a studio where street kids learn production

members are regulars:

Hobi teaches dance breaks

Jin judges ramen cook-offs

Jungkook films a docu-series: 

“Min Yoongi: Grump with a Gold Heart.” 

Yoongi threatens to sue

Namjoon hosts poetry slams

Yoongi “accidentally” plays trap beats over them

Yoongi’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony): 

“I don’t believe in fate. But you? You’re a glitch in the system I can’t delete.”

You: “Still a romantic, I see.” Yoongi: “Shut up. And… thanks. For not giving up.”

Final

cradles your newborn daughter

her tiny fist gripping his pinky

Jimin coos: “Uncle Yoongi’s a softie!” 

Yoongi flips him off

but kisses her forehead

“Don’t tell anyone, kid.”

J-HOPE = SUNSHINE WARRIOR & HIS SHADOWED HEART

“You want the real me? Brace yourself, it’s not all confetti and glitter.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (philanthropists rebuilding war-torn regions) needed Hobi’s family

= a dynasty of cultural ambassadors

to legitimize their global outreach

his clan was drowning in debt from funding art festivals

the marriage merges hope and hustle

Your Reason

to shield your NGO from being dismantled by corrupt officials

Hobi’s Reason

to protect his family’s dance studio from foreclosure

“We'd rather die than lose it.” 

signing the papers with a too-bright smile

“So… let’s dance through hell together, yeah?”

WEDDING

= PERFORMANCE WITH CRACKED MASK

Your Attire

fiery red gown with a detachable skirt

for “emergency escapes.”

you joke about it

Hobi’s Attire

gold-tailored suit, sequined gloves

shoes that click when he walks

“Gotta shine, even in the dark.”

his knuckles whiten around a stress ball

Location

renovated theater in Busan

BTS members are co-conspirators:

Jin hijacks the DJ booth

blasting “Chicken Noodle Soup” and "Super Tuna"

Yoongi mans the bar

slipping extra shots into Hobi’s lemonade

“Liquid courage”

Jimin choreographs the bridal party’s entranc

Taehyung trips

Jungkook backflips to cover it

Namjoon accidentally sets the floral arch on fire

“Symbolic… of passion?” 

Vows

You: “I vow to never dull your sparkle. Even when it’s blinding.” Hobi: “I vow to… keep smiling. For both of us.” 

his voice wavers

Reception

drags you into a storage closet

collapsing against the wall

You: “You’re shaking.”Hobi: “Adrenaline. I’m fine.”

he laughs, hollow

“Always fine.” 

you press a hand to his chest

his heartbeat races

“…Liar.”

EARLY DAYS

= SUNSHINE STORMS

Penthouse

minimalist space splashed with neon art

his dance studio takes up half the living room

your NGO blueprints cover the kitchen table

First Fight

over his relentless optimism

You: “Stop saying ‘It’ll work out!’ when it won’t!” Hobi: “What do you want me to do? Cry? Scream? Would that make you feel better?!”

slams the door

then returns with tea

“…Sorry. Habit.”

Members’ Meddling

Jimin signs you up for salsa classes

Hobi’s grin slips when you stumble

J-Hope: “You’re… not a dancer, huh?”  You: “Not everyone’s a prodigy.” 

you snap

he freezes

Taehyung paints a mural of you both as sun and storm clouds

Hobi stares at it for hours.

Jin sends a “Fight Clean!” kit

= boxing gloves and herbal tea

“Hit each other safely!”

Breaking Point

you find him practicing a routine at 3 a.m.

shirt soaked, eyes bloodshot

You: “You’ll collapse.” Hobi: “I have to be perfect. For Army, for the family, for y..." You (grabbing his wrists): “For who? Me? I didn’t marry perfection. I married you.” 

he crumples

TURNING POINTS

= RAINBOWS AFTER RAIN

Panic Attack

he hyperventilates before a charity gala

you drag him to a bathroom

wiping his smudged eyeliner

“Breathe. Just… be Hoseok tonight.”

Dance

teaches you a simple waltz

“Stop counting steps. Feel the music.” 

you sway, foreheads touching

“See? You’re a natural.”

Truth

confesses his family’s debts

“I’m not the hero they think I am.” 

you show him your NGO’s failures

“We’re both faking it. Let’s… fake it together.”

INTIMACY

= FIERY RHYTHMS, QUIET TRUTHS

First Kiss

after he wins an award for his charity work

he’s mid-speech, voice cracking

you pull him backstage and kiss him fiercely

“You don’t have to perform for me.”

Smutty Moments

his passion is electric

hands gripping your waist

hips moving like he’s choreographing your bodies

“Keep up” 

he smirks, but his eyes beg "Don’t let go"

he traces your scars (physical, emotional)

“Beautiful.The cracks… they let the light in.”

catches you dancing badly to his playlist

“Cute.” 

he teases you

later joining in

“But here... let me lead.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-run a community center

dance classes upstairs

crisis counseling downstairs

members are family:

Jungkook teaches parkour

Yoongi funds music therapy

Jimin and Tae host monthly “Dance Away the Pain” nights

Namjoon writes grants

Jin cooks endless kimchi stew for everyone for free

Hobi’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“I used to think love was a performance. You taught me it’s… a freestyle. Messy. Real.” 

slips a ring made from his familys old studio key

“Home is wherever we’re both… us.”

You: “Still cheesy.” Hobi (grinning through tears): “But you love it.”

Final

he spins your daughter in the studio

her giggles echoing

Jimin films it

Hobi posts it with “#DaddyHobi”

then immediately deletes it

he's blushing

“That stays in the vault!”

JIMIN/TAEHYUNG/JUNGKOOK in extra post

[maream-zaream]

Don’t know if this is still going on, but here’s a (kinda) quick drawing of Ink in that one haori in that post by @letsatomicbanana !

Additional notes under the cut (be warned though it’s a lot lol):

So when I saw the post I ended up reverse image searching the photo in order to see in what context this haori and hakama would’ve been worn in (though it didn't really matter in the end, as I just ended up drawing Ink painting on their sleeve). Just to like get an idea of what kinda thing I wanted to draw Ink doing in it and stuff, as well as just to get a better idea of how it’s supposed to look when worn. Now, for this specific one I’m not entirely sure, as since it seems to have been reposted on like a bajillion different websites, with many of the ones listed in the search not being in English. So needless to say, no clue where this thing came from!

However! My search wasn’t for naught! From the list of suggested links from the Google search, one was for a haori and hakama set from a rental clothing company called “Keio” (I think… keep in mind I’ve still been using google translate since the website was in Japanese lol). The specific outfit in question was this:

Now, this looks very similar to the one Banana posted, so I’m going with the assumption that the two outfits were probably made for similar purposes. Especially since not many adult haoris are made this these kinds of intricate designs (at least none that I could find). Anyways, this ensemble was listed under clothing one could rent for their child to wear for the Shichi-go-san (literally “seven-five-three” in English) Festival.

((Now quick disclaimer for the following: I am not Japanese nor any sort of expert on Japanese culture and history! As such, take the following with a grain of salt and I very much encourage you to look more into this festival on your own, as learning about this holiday was quite fun and informative and I would be 110% be happy being corrected for any misinfo, whether that be in the tags, reblogs, or any other method most preferred! Also, I've listed the websites I used here at the end of this post for y'all to check out after reading, apologies though for no footnotes.))

Continuing: During Shichi-go-san, parents bring their children of ages three, five, and seven to visit a Shinto shrine to celebrate the children’s growth and to wish or pray for good fortune. Why these ages? Glad you asked! It’s because three, five, and seven are considered auspicious ages in East Asian numerology, with this also making the date this festival is held— the 15th of November— especially lucky! It’s also interesting to note how the festival was originally exclusively done by the aristocracy and samurai families, though the tradition spread to the common people by the Edo period (1603-1868), though how the festival is currently held evolved from the Meiji era (1868-1912).

Now for the actual visit itself, traditionally five year old boys wear hakama and haori like the one pictured above (as traditionally this was the age that first allowed them to wear hakama in public), with seven year old girls going wearing a kimino with an obi (similar reasoning to the aforementioned boys; seven was the age where girls would traditionally begin wearing obi). For the three year olds? Girls may wear a hifu (a type of padded vest) and both genders seem to be able to wear hakama kimonos (take the three year olds dress stuff with a grain of salt though, not 100% sure on it lol). Also interesting to note is how in the past the age of three was the last year that parents kept their kid’s head shaved before allowing it to begin growing out more, though this practice of hair shaving seems to have fallen out of fashion around the 1800s.

In more modern times, many of these aspects are still upheld (except obviously the aforementioned hair shaving) during the Shichi-go-san festival, of now of course though with the modern addition of parents taking this opportunity to get lots of photos of their kids in formal attire lol. Additionally, parents also often get their kids some chitose-ame (longevity candy)—a type of sweet hard candy—after the shrine visit!

Slightly unrelated, here’s a quick sketch I drew of Ink eating this candy cause I thought it’d be funny:

He is NOT getting his rental deposit back (…is that a thing? Idk I’ve never rented clothes before lol)

ANYWAYS, I just wanted to put this stuff down cause I found learning about this festival really interesting and thought it to be relevant with the whole Japanese-attire thing lol. And again, don’t be afraid to correct me on anything and/or add your own additions to the info written above!

List of sources:

Tsukihana

Kids Web Japan: Shichi-go-san

Japan America Society of Greater Philadelphia

Wikipedia page for Shichi-Go-San

Have a great rest of your day/night if you got this far!

[story-box]

ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN ON THE INTERNET | Matthew Gray Gubler | Spencer Reid

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairings: Matthew Gray Gubler x Reader | Matthew Gray Gubler x You | Spencer Reid x Reader | Spencer Reid x You

Summary: Matthew Gray Gubler discovers a fanfiction about Spencer Reid that hits too close to home, igniting an anonymous, irresistible connection with its talented author.

-

It started innocently enough.

He was on Reddit. Just scrolling.

...which he shouldn’t have been doing, frankly, because the comments there either told him he looked like a Victorian wet cat or a “fine wine, if the wine also solved murders.”

The latter, oddly, felt a bit too specific.

Was he wearing a cape in that particular edit? Because that one definitely could have been a thirst trap — if thirst traps came with footnotes about obscure 17th-century literature.

Matthew shook his head. One fan edit titled “Matthew Gray Gubler as a vampire, but make it cute” was more confusing than anything else.

How does one even make a cute vampire? Was he going to be sipping a smoothie in a Victorian parlor while discussing existentialism? It was just a lot to process.

But then a username caught his eye. A link.

Curiosity, his lifelong and possibly most problematic trait, pushed him forward, so...he clicked.

And then he read.

And then he kept reading.

For three hours.

Without blinking.

He wasn’t even sure how he got there. One second, he was Googling whether giraffes sleep standing up (they do sometimes, it turns out), and the next he was elbows-deep in a 20k-word Criminal Minds fic titled “Late Night at Quantico (And Other Terrible Ideas)” by someone named softestsidearm.

It was an x Reader.

About Spencer Reid.

And somehow, impossibly, it felt like it got him. Not just “him” the character — but him. Like whoever wrote this had cracked open his ribcage, peeked at the neurotic little sparrow-heart inside, and whispered, “Yeah. That tracks.”

He set down his phone.

Picked it up.

Set it down again.

Laid down on the floor for a while, like a Victorian woman recovering from scandal.

Then, at 2:41 a.m., Matthew Gray Gubler created a burner account.

Username: drfactsandfeelings

Bio: “probably overthinking it”

Profile pic: A blurry owl in glasses.

He didn’t comment right away. He couldn’t. He spent a full hour typing and deleting:

“This was really great. Your Reid is so in character.”

“Hi, I’m... a fan. Of this. Not in a weird way. Unless you think it’s weird. In which case I’m not.”

“Are you a time traveler?? How do you know what he’d say in literally every situation?? I—” (he deleted that one fast.)

Finally, he settled on something safe. Casual. Normal.

“This was lovely. Beautifully written. You really captured the heart of him. Thank you for sharing.”

He hit post.

Threw his phone across the room.

Regretted everything.

-

Within twenty minutes, he saw a reply:

“OMG thank you 🥺 comments like this keep me going. I’m literally pacing my room like a regency wife who just got a letter from war rn. Thank you thank you thank you.

He reread it four times. His ears turned red.

But then… curiosity gnawed at him again.

He clicked on her profile.

And that's when he saw it.

Age: 25

25.

Matthew blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Not because she was 25, of course — that was perfectly fine — but because he was 44.

He scrolled down, slightly distracted now. So she was close(ish)…well, not really…. to his age... but still, he shouldn’t be on Reddit at 2:41 a.m., really shouldn't.

Yet here he was, spiraling down a rabbit hole of fanfic, somehow emotionally invested. He tried not to overthink it, but his brain immediately started overanalyzing everything.

What was it like being 25 in this wild world of fanfiction and anonymous fandoms? Was she a professional writer?

Or just someone with an extraordinary ability to read between the lines of a fictional character?

Was this weird?

It didn’t help that the more he read your replies, the more he realized just how you understood Spencer. It was almost eerie. He couldn’t help but feel a little… flustered?

Like he was being admired in a way that was a little too... honest.

so, naturally, instead of sleeping like a person with functioning social instincts, he went back and read all your other fics. All of them.

By sunrise, he had developed:

A deeply parasocial crush on your brain.

An aggressive respect for your metaphor usage.

And a secret favorite line that he screenshotted and saved in Notes. (It was from the fic where Spencer couldn’t sleep, and Reader said, “Then I’ll keep watch. Someone should guard the genius.”)

He paced.

He spiraled.

He made tea and forgot to drink it.

And then he did something wild.

He DM’d you.

drfactsandfeelings: Hi. This is random, but I’ve been reading your work and I think it’s… really, really special. You understand Spencer better than most writers I’ve read — like you’re not just writing him, you’re listening to him. Sorry, that’s weird. I just wanted to say thank you. For putting something like that out there. (Also, you made me cry a little with the “guard the genius” line. Rude.)

He turned his phone screen-down on his nightstand. Turned it off. Put a hoodie over it. Just in case it glowed at him in the morning light like some digital Eye of Sauron.

(Which, in Gubler Language, translated directly to: "I'm catch up on sleep and pretend it never happened.")

...

He did not sleep.

But he tried.

And somewhere around 8:02 a.m., brain still fizzing and heart still chewing on the words “i literally based it on how i think you would play it??, Matthew Gray Gubler — actor, artist, author, former Vegas magician’s assistant — fell asleep mid-spiral, dreaming of owls in glasses and fictional FBI agents who knew how to say the right thing.

[hd-junglebook]

Little Dove

Quinn Hughes x Reader

a:n Here is part 2, the only thing I could think of while writing this was 'The Gold' by Phoebe Bridgers. I think it really speaks for how y/n sees the situation and her life at the moment.

Masterlist Link

Summary: He's everything she wants. He's everything she wished she had. All she wanted was him. The hot and cold game has finally reached its limit.

Word Count - 5046

The sleek, black limo glided up the long, winding driveway, its polished exterior gleaming under the warm sunlight. As it approached the magnificent mansion, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the opulent surroundings.

The meticulously manicured lawn stretched out before her, a lush carpet of vibrant green grass that looked almost too perfect to be real.

In the center of the sprawling grounds, a grand fountain stood tall, its crystal-clear water cascading down the intricately carved stone tiers, creating a soothing symphony of gentle splashes.

As the limo came to a stop near the impressive front steps, a group of well-dressed helpers emerged from the mansion's large, ornate doors. They stood at attention, their crisp uniforms and shoes polished.

Just then, the front doors swung open, and Y/N's grandmother stepped out, a vision of elegance and grace. She was dressed in an all-white ensemble, the flowing fabric of her dress billowing gently in the breeze.

Her delicate hands were adorned with pristine white gloves, and a strand of exquisite pearls rested against her neck, catching the light and adding to her air of sophistication.

The driver swiftly exited the limo and rushed to Y/N's side, opening the door with a practiced flourish. He offered his hand, assisting Y/N and her mother out of the vehicle with the utmost care and reverence.

As they walked closer to the steps, Y/N's grandmother's face lit up with a warm, genuine smile. "Oh, darling, how I've longed to see you," she exclaimed, her voice filled with affection. "Come here, little dove."

Y/N couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion as she stepped into her grandmother's embrace. The older woman's arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in a comforting warmth that seemed to chase away all the stress and disappointment she had been carrying. It had been so long since anyone in her family had shown her such pure, unconditional love and acceptance.

Y/N breathed in the sweet, familiar scent of her grandmother's perfume, a delicate blend of chamomile and sugar.

The softness of her grandmother's gloves against her skin was a soothing contrast to the cold, impersonal interactions she was used to with her parents.

Around them, the grandeur of the mansion seemed to fade into the background, the lavish furnishings and priceless works of art becoming mere footnotes in the presence of Y/N and her grandmother.

Once they separated Y/N's grandmother cupped her face with her gloved hands, her eyes shining with pride and adoration. "Let me look at you, my dear," she said softly, taking in every detail of Y/N's appearance. "You've grown into such a beautiful young woman."

…

The posse entered the sun room, Y/N was struck by the sheer elegance of the space. The room was flooded with natural light, the sun's rays filtering through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the meticulously landscaped gardens beyond.

In the center of the room, a grand table was set with the finest china and silverware, each place setting arranged with precision and care. The aroma of freshly prepared delicacies filled the air, making Y/N's mouth water in anticipation.

As they took their seats, the conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses. However, after a while, Cherise turned to Y/N with a knowing smile and asked her to accompany her for a walk in the garden.

Arm in arm, the two women strolled through the lush, meticulously maintained grounds. The garden was a true work of art, with winding paths that led through a maze of fragrant rose bushes, towering topiaries, and bubbling fountains.

Cherise broached the subject that had been weighing on her mind. "Tell me, dear, when will you settle down?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "It hurts me to see you alone."

Y/N shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. "I'm not alone, grandmother," she replied, her voice soft but filled with contentment. "I am with someone. Nothing serious, but things are going smoothly now. He makes me happy."

The steady click of their heels against the pavement punctuated their words. Cherise listened intently, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Then give me a grandbaby already, if you're so happy," she teased, her laughter ringing out like a bell in the garden. Y/N couldn't help but join in, their laughter mingling with the chirping of the birds and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Y/N smiled softly as her grandmother continued, her words filled with wisdom and understanding. "I'm only joking, little dove. I would like to meet him, maybe when things get 'serious,' I guess. I want you to feel love like I have with your grandfather. You deserve that, not some beneficial marriage like your mother and father. I don't know where I went wrong with her."

Y/N nodded along, finding no reason to disagree with her grandmother's sentiment. She knew that her parents' relationship was one of convenience and status, lacking the warmth and genuine connection she craved. "I think you'd like him," she said, a hint of hope in her voice.

As they neared the house, Dedra rushed down the stairs, her face tight with impatience. "Let's go, we have to get back to work," she demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

…

Y/N stepped into her bedroom, exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. She slipped out of her clothes and into a comfortable robe, the soft fabric caressing her skin. Settling down at her vanity, she began removing her makeup, the process of wiping away the day's mask a soothing ritual.

As she reached for her phone, she noticed a message from Quinn. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the conversation, eager to connect with him after the emotionally draining day.

Y/N: I wish you were here with me. Today was intense.

Quinn: I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?

Y/N: It's just family stuff. They have all these expectations, and I feel like I'm constantly disappointing them.

They texted back and forth, Y/N continued getting ready, applying her makeup with practiced precision. Once she finished her base, she stood up and slipped into the red dress she had chosen for their date. The fabric hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating her figure in all the right places.

She admired her reflection in the mirror, a small smile playing on her lips as she imagined Quinn's reaction. Just then, her phone buzzed with another message.

Quinn: I'm outside.

Y/N felt a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves as she grabbed her purse and made her way to the front door. She stepped outside, the cool evening air kissing her skin as she walked towards Quinn's car.

He had his windows rolled down, a smile on his face as he watched her approach. His eyes roamed over her body appreciatively, taking in the sight of her in the stunning red dress.

"Looking good," he said, his voice smooth and filled with admiration.

Y/N felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, a mixture of pleasure and uncertainty swirling within her. “Thanks hottie.” she said as she slid into the passenger seat. She knew that her feelings for Quinn were growing stronger each day, but the fear of him not wanting her scared beyond comprehension.

Quinn pulled out of Y/N's driveway, he glanced over at her, his gaze lingering for a few seconds. The curiosity in his eyes was evident. "So where is this restaurant you were telling me about or is it some kind of surprise?" she asked, leaning over the middle console.

He smiled mysteriously, enjoying the playful anticipation that hung in the air between them. "You'll just have to wait and see," he teased. Quinn chuckled at her betrayed expression, shaking his head in amusement as he focused on the road ahead.

conversation flowed easily between them, filled with laughter and the occasional playful jab. Even though they talked about nothing of great importance, Y/N found herself thoroughly enjoying the simple pleasure of Quinn's company.

city lights flashed by the windows, painting the interior of the car with a kaleidoscope of colors. Y/N leaned back in her seat, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her.

As they continued driving, y/n’s curiosity got the better of her once more. "Come on, Y/N, give me a hint," she pleaded, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm dying to know where you're taking me."

Quinn laughed, the sound filled with genuine joy. "Patience, dear," he chided gently, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

…

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine as Quinn's strong hands grasped her waist, his touch both thrilling and comforting. She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and saw a glimmer of affection and excitement reflected back at her.

"Lead the way," she said softly, a smile playing on her lips as she allowed him to guide her towards the restaurant.

As they approached the entrance, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur of the establishment. The facade was a masterpiece of modern architecture. The name of the restaurant was emblazoned above the doors in elegant, golden script.

Quinn's arm remained securely around her waist as they stepped through the doors. The interior of the restaurant was just as breathtaking as the exterior, with plush carpets, glittering chandeliers, and rich, velvet draperies.

The hostess led them to their table, she glanced at Quinn, taking in the way his suit hugged his athletic frame and the confident, easy smile that played on his lips. When they were seated, Quinn reached across the table and took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining with hers. She squeezed his hand in return.

They perused the menu, discussing the various options and sharing bites of each other's dishes. Quinn enthusiastically shared his plans for preparing his hockey team for the upcoming season. He spoke about new training regimens, team-building exercises, and strategies he hoped to implement.

Y/N listened intently, her eyes focused on Quinn as he passionately described his goals and aspirations.

However, at one point, Quinn glanced over at Y/N, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. He wondered if she was truly interested in the intricacies of his hockey career or if he was boring her with the details. Y/N, sensing his uncertainty, quickly broke into a smile and laughed, hoping to ease his worries.

"Everything about you interests me, Quinn," she said earnestly, reaching across the table to take his hand in hers. "I could never get bored of you. Being around you makes me happy, ya know?"

The sincerity in her voice was evident, but Quinn's reaction was not what Y/N had expected. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hand stiffening under her touch. An awkward silence fell between them, the air thick with tension.

Quinn cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the restaurant as if searching for an escape. "Y/N," he began, his voice strained, "I... I think we need to talk."

Y/N felt her heart sink, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She withdrew her hand from his, folding her arms across her chest as if to protect herself from the words she knew were coming.

"I care about you, Y/N. I really do," Quinn continued, his gaze finally settling on her face. "But I need you to understand that I'm not looking for anything too serious right now. I thought we were on the same page about that."

Y/N nodded slowly, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. She knew Quinn had been clear about his intentions from the start, but somewhere along the way, she had allowed herself to hope for more.

"I know," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to pressure you."

Quinn sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not your fault, Y/N. I should have been more clear. I just... I don't want to hurt you."

The words hung heavy in the air between them, a reminder of the fragility of their connection. Y/N forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's okay, Quinn. We can take things slow. I'm just happy to be here with you." Quinn returned her smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. The rest of the evening was spent in polite conversation, but the earlier ease and warmth between them had dissipated.

…

The pulsing rhythms of the music filled the crowded nightclub, the bass thumping through the floor and vibrating in Y/N's chest as she carefully navigated her way back to the booth where her friends were waiting. In her hands, she balanced a tray laden with six colorful cocktails, each one adorned with a tiny umbrella and a slice of fruit.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the sight of her five best friends, all dressed to the nines and ready for a night of fun and laughter. She shimmied into the booth, sliding in next to Raven, her closest confidante.

"Ladies, I present to you six drinks for six beautiful women," Y/N announced, her voice rising above the din of the club. She passed out the cocktails, each one met with a chorus of excited cheers and appreciative nods.

The women wasted no time in downing their drinks, the sweet, fruity flavors masking the potent alcohol within. As they finished, they let out exaggerated gasps and howls of delight, the alcohol already beginning to work its magic and loosen their inhibitions.

Raven leaned in close to Y/N, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, see anyone you like?" she drawled out, her voice low and conspiratorial.

Y/N surveyed the dance floor, her gaze roving over the writhing bodies and the flashing lights. She had to admit, there were plenty of attractive men in the club tonight, their bodies moving in perfect sync with the pulsing beat.

"A few," she admitted, a sly smile playing on her lips. "But no one interesting enough to take home, that's for sure."

Raven giggled at Y/N's response, her laughter infectious and carefree. She scanned the room herself, her eyes suddenly widening as she spotted someone across the way.

"Well, I see one eyeing you up over there," she said, pointing discreetly in the direction of the bar.

Y/N followed Raven's finger, her gaze landing on a devastatingly handsome man with curly black hair and a chiseled jawline. He was leaning against the bar, his back pressed against the polished wood, and his eyes were locked on Y/N, a smoldering intensity in his gaze.

Y/N felt a flush of heat rush through her body as she met his stare, her heart skipping a beat in her chest. She raised her hand in a small wave, a coy smile playing on her lips.

But even as she flirted with the stranger across the room, Y/N couldn't shake the nagging feeling of guilt that tugged at the back of her mind. She thought of Quinn and the uncertain status of their relationship.

"I don't know, Raven," she said, her voice tinged with hesitation. "I haven't ended things with Quinn yet. It would feel wrong to pursue someone else."

A collective groan sounded from the table, as her friends all chimed in with their opinions.

"Girl, you're single. Do what you want," one said, her voice firm and encouraging.

"Quinn's not here tonight. What he doesn't know won't hurt him," another added, her tone mischievous and daring.

Y/N bit her lip, torn between her desire to let loose and have fun and her loyalty to the man she cared for.

She knew things with Quinn were complicated, that he had been distant and evasive in recent days. But still, the thought of betraying his trust, even in a moment of drunken weakness, made her stomach churn.

As she sat there, surrounded by the pulsing energy of the club and the encouraging words of her friends, Y/N knew she had a decision to make. She could play it safe, go home alone and wait for Quinn to come around. Or she could take a chance, let herself get swept up in the moment and see where the night might lead her.

With a deep breath and a final glance at the handsome stranger across the room, Y/N made her choice.

…

The heat of the crowded dance floor was almost unbearable as Y/N swayed to the pulsing beat, her body moving in perfect sync with the mysterious man from the bar. His hands were on her hips, his touch searing through the thin fabric of her dress and setting her skin ablaze.

The dance floor was a sea of moving bodies, gyrating and swaying to the music as the multicolored lights flashed and swirled overhead, casting a kaleidoscope of hues across the sweat-slicked skin of the dancers.

Y/N felt the heat rising from the packed bodies around her, the air thick with the scent of perfume, alcohol, and pheromones. She moved in perfect rhythm with the mysterious man from the bar, their bodies impossibly close as they lost themselves in the primal, sensual flow of the music.

His hands roamed over her curves, his touch both electrifying and possessive as he pulled her flush against his muscular frame. Y/N could feel the hard planes of his chest pressing against her back, his hips grinding against hers in a way that sent shivers of desire racing down her spine.

Clinking glasses and raucous laughter from the nearby bar mixed with the pounding bass, creating a heady cocktail of sensory overload.

Y/N felt dizzy with the rush of it all, her head spinning from the alcohol and the intoxicating presence of the man behind her. As the song reached its crescendo, he leaned in close, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck as he mumbled something in her ear, his words almost lost in the pounding music.

Y/N turned in his hold, pressing her back against his chest and feigning ignorance. "Sorry, the music is really loud. I can't hear you," she shouted over the din, a coy smile playing on her lips.

She felt his chest rumble with laughter, the vibrations sending shivers down her spine. He tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

"I said, come home with me," he repeated, his voice low and husky, filled with unmistakable desire. Y/N's heart raced at his bold suggestion. She knew she should say no, that leaving with a stranger was a dangerous game. But the alcohol in her system and the electric chemistry between them made it hard to think straight.

She turned to face him, a playful shrug on her shoulders. "I can't leave my friends alone tonight," she said, her voice apologetic. "But how about I give you my number instead?"

The man's face hardened, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. He scoffed, as if offended by her suggestion, and shook his head in disbelief.

"Fine," he said, his tone clipped as he extended his phone towards her. "Put it in."

Y/N took the device, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed in a fake number, purposely transposing the digits. She couldn't risk giving him her real contact information, not when she was still unsure of her feelings for Quinn.

She handed the phone back and fixed him with a stern look. "Now, shut up and dance," she said, her voice firm and unyielding. The man's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger burning in their depths. He grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and possessive.

"You think you can just tease me like that and walk away?" he growled, his face inches from hers. "I don't take kindly to being led on." Y/N's heart hammered in her chest, fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins. She tried to pull away, but his hold was too strong.

"Let go of me," she said, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. "I don't owe you anything."

Around them, the other dancers continued to move, oblivious to the drama unfolding in their midst. Y/N's friends were nowhere to be seen, lost in the sea of writhing bodies and flashing lights.

The man's grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. "No one rejects me!”

With a sudden burst of strength, Y/N wrenched her arm free, stumbling backwards and nearly losing her balance. She turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd as she desperately searched for her friends.

Her heart was racing, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

…

Y/N stumbled out of the nightclub, her heart pounding and her head spinning from the encounter. The cool night air hit her skin, providing a momentary relief from the stifling heat of the dance floor.

She leaned against the rough brick wall, her hands shaking as she fumbled with her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found Quinn's name.

She hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over the call button. Things between her and Quinn had been strained lately, and she wasn't sure if he would even answer. But as a wave of nausea washed over her, the severity of the situation hit her, and she knew she needed help.

Y/N pressed the button, holding the phone to her ear as she tried to steady her breathing. The line rang once, twice, and then a third time before Quinn's voice finally filled her ear.

"Hello?" he answered, the sound of music and laughter echoing in the background.

"Quinn," Y/N said, her voice trembling. "I... I need you."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Y/N feared he would hang up on her. But then Quinn's voice returned, this time laced with concern.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Where are you?"

She took a shuddering breath, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "I'm at Taipei," she said, her words coming out in a rush. "I... I was dancing with this guy, and he... he tried to... I don't know, I just... I need you to come get me. Please."

There was another pause, and Y/N could hear the sound of Quinn moving, the background noise fading as he stepped away from wherever he was. "I'm on my way," he said, his voice firm and reassuring. "Stay where you are, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can."

Y/N nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat.

As the call ended, Y/N slid down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest as the tears finally spilled over. She felt sick to her stomach.

…

"Y/N!"

She looked up, her vision blurry with tears, to see Quinn running towards her, his face etched with worry. He dropped to his knees beside her, his arms instinctively wrapping around her trembling frame.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing.

Y/N clung to him, burying her face in his chest as the emotions she had been holding back finally broke free. She sobbed openly, her body shaking with the force of her tears as Quinn held her close, his hands rubbing gentle circles on her back.

Y/N's voice trembled as she spoke, her words laced with a mixture of sadness and desperation. "What have you been doing? It's been days, Quinn. Days without a single word from you."

Quinn froze, caught off guard by her sudden questioning. He stumbled over his words, trying to find the right response. "I... I've been busy, Y/N. You know how it is."

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "No, I don't know how it is. You don't want to talk to me? Is that what this is?" Her voice cracked, the pain in her heart spilling out into her words. "I don't want to do this with you anymore if you don't want to be with me eventually, Quinn. I can't keep going on like this."

Quinn reached out to her, his eyes pleading. "Y/N, please. Let's not do this now. We'll talk in the morning, okay? When we've both had a chance to clear our mind, and we’re home in bed."

But Y/N couldn't hold back the flood of emotions any longer. She looked at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of the affection she so desperately craved. "Do you feel anything for me, Quinn? Even just a little?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Of course I do Y/N..."

"Please," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just be honest with me then. Am I not good enough? Is that why you've been pulling away?"

Quinn's heart ached at the sight of her pain, but he couldn't find the words to comfort her. He knew that his own doubts and fears had been holding him back, preventing him from fully committing to their relationship.

"It's not that, Y/N. It's just... complicated."

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the cool night air. "Complicated. Right. That's what it always is with you, isn't it?"

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling incredibly small and vulnerable. She looked up at the sky, the stars blurring together through her tears. "I can't keep doing this, Quinn. I can't keep going on dates and sleeping with you, only to be pushed away. It hurts too much."

Quinn's voice wavered as he spoke, his words laced with a deep, aching sadness. "Y/N, please just let me explain at a better time."

But Y/N couldn't hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume her. She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with tears that refused to fall.

"If I could go back to the night we met, I would never have agreed to this," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. "You make me feel so loved and like you care about me, then you ignore me when I say anything that sounds like I care about you."

The night seemed to grow colder around them, the stars fading into the inky blackness of the sky.

Quinn took a step towards her, his hand outstretched. "I don't mean to hurt you. At all," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

"What I want is complicated, Y/N. You're so good to me. If I allowed myself to ruin it, I would never forgive myself." Quinn felt his own heart constrict, the depth of her pain hitting him like a physical blow.

Y/N shook her head, a single tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek. "But don't you see? You're already ruining it. By pushing me away, by refusing to let yourself feel what I know is there."

He wanted so badly to take her in his arms, to promise her that everything would be okay. But he knew that he couldn't make that promise, not when he was still so unsure of his own heart.

Y/N's shoulders shook with silent sobs, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if to hold the pieces of her shattered heart together. "I don't need you to be perfect, Quinn. I just need you to be honest with me. To stop running away from what we both know is true."

She turned to walk away, Quinn reached out and grabbed her hand. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his chest, his arms instinctively wrapping around her trembling frame. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Quinn's lips brushed against her forehead.

Quinn inhaled deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his own. Before Y/N had a chance to protest, to pull away from his embrace, Quinn gently guided her towards his car.

He opened the passenger side door, his hand resting on the small of her back as he helped her inside. With a tender touch, he reached over and clipped her seatbelt, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of her neck for just a moment longer than necessary.

As Quinn slid into the driver's seat, he could feel the weight of Y/N's gaze on him but he couldn't find the words to reassure her, couldn't find the courage to voice the depths of his own feelings.

Instead, he put the car in drive, the engine humming to life as they pulled away from the curb. Y/N turned her head towards the window, her eyes fixed on the expanse of the city that stretched out before them. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, the glittering lights of the skyline blurring together through her watery vision.

The drive was silent, the only sound the steady thrum of the engine and the distant wail of sirens in the night. Quinn's hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension as he navigated the familiar streets that led to Y/N's home.

The sight of her own front door, the promise of solitude and comfort, was a balm to her aching heart. Quinn cut the engine, the sudden silence deafening in the confines of the car.

He moved quickly, exiting the driver's side and rounding the front of the car to open Y/N's door. She stumbled slightly as she stepped out, her legs unsteady beneath her. Quinn's hand found the small of her back once more, his touch a gentle guide as they walked together towards her front door.

With a sense of déjà vu, Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out the spare key Y/N had given him months ago, he slid the key into the lock, the click of the tumblers echoing loudly in the stillness of the night.

As the door swung open, Y/N stepped inside, the familiar scent of home enveloping her like a warm embrace. She turned to face Quinn, her eyes searching his face for any sign of the love and affection she so desperately craved.

But his expression was unreadable, his own emotions carefully guarded behind a mask of stoic resolve.

…

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[ladyloveandjustice]

My Favorite Books I Read in 2024

I read a ton of good novels last year- 32 in all (and uh, 82 manga/graphic novels, but we’ll examine that in another post). Here’s a link to my Goodreads year in books (the manga is at the beginning, the novels start with Red, White & Royal Blue) and my storygraph wrap up.  

Read my posts on my favorite anime of 2024 here and on my favorite manga/graphic novels of 2024 here.

I got to have fun reading some classics like The Odyssey and The Wizard of Oz, but I also read a lot of notable newer books! Let's take a look!

The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White

The story follows Silas, a trans guy in an alternate 1883 where violet-eyed people have the power to talk to spirits. If someone is perceived as a man by society, this power is treated as useful. But for anyone society perceives as a woman, it's a different story. There's this idea that the power to speak to the dead causes women to "go mad". Silas is diagnosed with this "sickness" and gets thrown in a horrible sanatorium that forces patients to become obedient wives. But this school has some dark things going on under the surface, and Silas might not even make it out of this alive...

This is a horror that keeps you on the edge of your seat the whole way though. The setting is vivid and creative, the characters who suffer under the weight of oppression are varied and complex, and the protagonist is easy to root for. It's very spooky, pretty relentless, pretty gory and pretty twisty. It's very hard to figure out who you can actually trust! It's also a fascinating exploration of transphobia and misogyny. It obviously draws on real things women and trans people struggled with in the 1800s (accusations of having "hysteria" and other "illnesses" just for existing) but also talks about ableism too, as the main character is autistic. It really makes you consider how terrifying and isolating it would be to live in a time with so few resources and such limited knowledge, but of course, this still persists in a lot of places today.

 It's not all horror though, there is some catharsis and nice moments of Silas finding solace and support in other trans people and it leads to some really touching scenes and relationships. There's also satisfaction in seeing marginalized people banding together and doing all they can to fight back.

Emily Wilde’s Encyclopedia of Faeries and Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands by Heather Fawcett

This fantasy series follows Emily, a professor and dedicated researcher of the mysterious and often dangerous fae. Emily is out to make an encyclopedia of fae lore, and she has no interest in socializing with others when there's faeries to find. Unfortunately for her, her scholarly rival, Wendell, show up and decides to be all insufferably social and charming and interested in her. He might secretly be a faerie though, and Emily is interested in that, so, ugh, maybe she has to put up with him.

 These books are a ton of fun. It's a cozy adventure the creatively draws on some cool fae lore. It's biggest charm is our protagonist, who is wonderfully grumpy and stubborn and clever and only wants to bury herself in researching this thing she likes She's the kind of person who puts footnotes in their own journal, and it's delightful.

Even when she starts catching feelings for Wendell, her research is always her number one priority. And Wendell, who is very obviously smitten with her the second he appears, is okay with that! In fact, her stubbornness and fearless, unshakeable commitment to her research is pretty much exactly why Wendell is so down bad for her, which makes him a really relatable love interest. He's obnoxious in a genuinely charming way and the teasing banter between Wendell and Emily is very entertaining.

Lonely Castle in the Mirror by Mizuki Tsujimura

Kokoro has been unable to go outside her house ever since she dropped out of school due to horrible bullying. One day, her mirror glows, and she enters it to find herself in a castle with six other students. A little girl in a wolf mask tells all of them that there's a room in the castle that can grant one single wish, but only for one person, so whoever finds the room first gets the wish. They'll have an opportunity to hang out in the castle every day until the deadline, after which the castle will disappear. But as the kids get to know each other, things get more complicated.

This is such a lovely, healing story I'm glad I finally got around to reading it. While the story goes into the causes behind the epidemic of hikikomori and futoku in Japanese students, it's also a universally relatable story about the ways bullying, grief and trauma can affect a child and lead to severe anxiety. Kokoro's slow journey of recovery is touching and feels realistic, despite the fantastical elements. The book shows how brave and hard it is to take these small steps, and how Kokoro struggles to even talk about what happened. The focus of the book is the connections the kids make with each other. It explores the secrets they carry, how they accidentally hurt each other, but also how they ultimately are able to empathize with and support each other. Each character is interesting and achingly human in their own right. The whimsical fairy tale elements of the story complement the themes well, and the book delivers some really solid plot twists that serve to make its themes stronger too.

One thing to warn for is we learn that a fourteen year old girl has entered a relationship with a man in his 20s. This isn't shown to be healthy or good for her though, and the reason she does this is heartbreaking. There's also some (non graphic) attempted SA. With that in mind, this is just a really cool tale, and I full recommend it!

First Light by Liz Kerin

This is the second part of a duology that began with Night’s Edge, which I recommended last year, and honestly, this book is even better than the first one, which was already pretty great. The book continues to use vampirism to explore the cycle of abuse effectively. This time, Mia is seeking vengeance on her mother's abusive ex-boyfriend, who was responsible for turning her Mom into a vampire. But when she finds the ex-boyfriend and infiltrates his little cult (with her kinda-girlfriend, who actually genuinely wants to join), she gets manipulated by him the way her mother did, her trauma and past making it easy to fall into a cycle that's familiar. She starts to understand her mother, and vampires in general, more than she ever thought she would. It's just a really interesting take on vampires, and this one actually addressed some of the thing I thought were a little iffy in the first book. It's dark, but there's also a lot of catharsis.

I think these books are easily among the top of my list of favorite vampire media. Content warning for abuse, and the vampire bites having a hint of a metaphor for sexual violence like they often do.

Bright Young Women by Jessica Knoll

 Bright Young Women follows a young woman in the aftermath of a serial killer breaking into her sorority and killing several of her friends. The media and police are all too willing to question her testimony and distort the details to fit their narrative. Another woman suspects her girlfriend was murdered by the same killer, and they team up to find the truth.

Bright Young Women is a page-turner, and I honestly didn't realize it was so heavily based on the Ted Bundy murders until I read the reviews, because I didn't know much about him (or most real life serial killers, a fact which I am very okay with). But the book is here to dunk on Ted Bundy and the ways his "intelligence and charisma" were greatly exaggerated by the media and even the judge at his actual trial, rage about the ways the victims stories are erased in favor of the killers who are glamorized and fawned over, point out the ways the police constantly fail victims, and to set the record straight to those who idolize serial killers.

The story centers the survivors and victims, talking about their lives and triumphs and the goals they were working toward and what could have been. It's depressing, but it also shines the light on the bravery of the women whose testimonies got the killer convicted even when the rest of the world was dismissive of them.

This book is a really tough read, and obviously there's a huge content warning for sexual violence, the graphic aftermath of horrific deaths...the method of one rape and murder actually really disturbed me (mentioned in the aftermath, the book never shows the actual acts), it was so gross and horrible (and unfortunately, happened in real life). Read with caution. But it's a book that will definitely stick with me for a while.

The Rise of Kyoshi and the Shadow of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee

I never got around to the Kyoshi novels because there's been a lot of mediocre Avatar the Last Airbender spin-off media...but I should not have hesitated, because these were actually really good. They follow the life of Kyoshi, the famously badass Earth Kingdom Avatar, and shows how she became how she is.

Yee does a great job capturing the world of Avatar, while also expanding on it in interesting ways. I really liked a lot of the little details that deepened the world--for instance, it's mentioned that Firebenders shave their heads when they lose an Agni Kai because of the disgrace, which gives context to Zuko's initial hairstyle and actually makes the fact he actively kept his hair from growing back for three years extremely sad, since it implies he thought he would only be worthy of that once his father approved of him again. It was something I think Yee definitely came up with himself, but it made a lot of sense with the show in a way that felt natural.

The novels were definitely darker than the show, but not in a Netflix Avatar let's-watch-a-bunch-of-people-we-don't-care-about-burn-to-death way, but in a way that felt natural to Kyoshi's circumstances. I found I usually did care a lot when a character died because they were often likeable. I found the death of one character in particular near the end of book one genuinely heartbreaking.

The books did a good job explaining why Kyoshi became more severe later on, and in how she wrestles with how far she can go with her role as the Avatar, what justice is, and whether killing people solves anything. The second book was not quite as good as the first, with its decision to switch out the cast of the characters for entirely new people and just being more meandering in general, but it was still a good read. I definitely rec if you're an Avatar fan, odds are you'll really enjoy them!

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White

In the country of Concordia, each province has one heir who has a "Blessing"--basically a unique magic power. Ganymedes (a.k.a Dee)'s dad cheated on his wife a bunch, and one of the children from those affairs must have inherited the Blessing rather than Dee. To keep this a secret, Dee's dad makes him pretend to have a Blessing. Now Dee has to go on a voyage with the other Blessed and, sick of the charade, he's decided he's going to make them all hate him so he gets kicked out of the group. But that plan is extremely interrupted when his shipmates start getting murdered one by one.

Voyage of Damned is just a really good time. A queer murder mystery romp with a ton of suspicious and varied characters vying for power, a fun lead with a distinctive voice, tragic romance, cute friendships, and even some touching exploration of prejudice, suicidal ideation and self loathing. It was just extremely readable and I was entertained the whole way though, but it also made me feel things sometimes. It also delivered a ton of solid plot twists, including a big and satisfying one that made me want to go back and read through a bunch of scenes knowing the truth (and I did).

Dee and his distinctive glib narration probably won't be for everyone but I liked him and vibed with him. He goes through a lot, including finding out his boyfriend he'd been separated from for five years is now engaged to a girl and acting super cold to him. The tension between Dee and Ravi and how it affects all his relationships is a real emotional hook, and his banter and dynamics with the people he likes (or even some people he doesn't) are generally fun to read. If all I've said sounds cool to you, give it a try, you might like it!

Bonus Rec: Someone You Can Build a Nest In by John Wiswell

Shesheshen is a blob monster who dines on the humans (mostly those who try to kill her). She can look human with some effort, and go into town to feed sometimes. But the she falls in love with a kind woman named Homily. This clearly means she needs to do the proper romantic thing and lay some eggs in Homily so their little monster kids can be born by devouring Homily for the inside out. Wait, humans aren't into that? That's awkward. And despite her biological impulse she doesn't really want Homily to die? Even more awkward. Oh, and Homily's family are monster hunters and it turns out that was Homily's brother Shesheshen ate a while back? Super mega awkward. What's a monster to do...

 I'm a lover of actually monstrous monster women, so I was hyped for this one, especially with the great cover by @jmfenner91! While it disappointed me in some areas, it was still fun and heartwarming enough I'd recommend it.

Our monster lady is a great character, and her unique point of view where she's nonchalant, cynical and often hilariously baffled by humans is a joy to read. Her personality, her super gross biology, and how she sees the world...she's so charming and her romance with Homily is very cute. I also really like that the book focused on healing from abuse and finding a way to move forward with each other's support. I also liked the romantic climax, and the discussion of finding kissing weird, because that made me feel seen.

There were quite a few things that kept it from being a five star review in my heart though--Sheshesen is completely disconnected from people, has just spent her life alone in her cave, but she knows what an abuser is and exactly how abusive people operate in a weirdly modern way. Abusers are also only portrayed one way: openly cruel and evil with zero sympathetic qualities to every single person they interact with. There is no cycle of abuse with these people, they never act nice to to draw their victims back in, we don't see more subtle, manipulative emotional abuse, almost no claims of caring about people. Obviously cartoonishly abusive rich people exist in real life, and I don't necessarily need abusers to be humanized. Still...it just felt like the nuance of most real life abuse was being ignored. And because these people were so one dimensional, it was pretty tedious to spend SO much time with them.

Still, the book was very monstrously sweet, and it was overall a good read. I wish it could have been a little more, but what we got was pretty nice.

[curiouspupsicle]

Fics That Made Me LOL - Fan Fic Friday

Surely, I'm not the only person in need of a laugh, right? So here are some links to fics that made me giggle, laugh, or guffaw. Some have been around for a while. But at the top of my list for humor. A Little Time to Choose (Teen) - In which Aziraphale decides to grow facial hair. Delightful one-shot, post season 1 with witty banter by HotCrossPigeon. Also by HotCrossPigeon is Fancy Patter on the Telephone (General), set during the Covid lockdown. Features the phone conversations between our favorite angel and demon. Can I Have Your Number (General) - AppleSeeds crafts a cute little story where Aziraphale makes an ass of himself when that cute bartender asks for his number. Or does he?

I had to edit this list to add AppleSeeds' hilarious Keep Digging (Teen). I read it shortly after compiling this post thanks to a rec from @di-42. Human AU in which a nervous Crowley wants to ask Aziraphale out. But every time he humiliates himself in the attempt, he creates another web of lies to keep from looking even more stupid. And no, it doesn't work. I have never laughed harder at a fic. How to Win a Lifetime Achievement Award for Services to Television (and how not to) (Teen) by GaryOldman - Human AU in which Crowley is a late-nite talk show host who gives a lifetime achievement award to Aziraphale, a morning show host. An ill-advised flirty comment on camera gets Crowley in trouble. But the "angelic" Aziraphale gives as good as he gets. I wrote this one. But one line in particular made me snicker. In Will You Ever Stop Surprising Me (Mature), Crowley wonders if he'll get bored after foiling the end times yet again. But watching his favorite angel in their local sex shop has him realizing Aziraphale is still full of surprises. Fluff, just fluff. And finally, a WIP I'm really enjoying, Waveslengths & Frequencies (Explicit) by @impostersyndromee & @shadesofecclescakes. In the last chapter, the banter between the writers is as funny (ok, even funnier) than the banter between our heroes. Human AU about rival DJs at a radio station. And yes, you have to read the footnotes. They're hilarious! Reblog to share the laughs.

I'll be back next Friday with more great Good Omens fan fics on a new theme. In the meantime, check out my other favorite fics on this pinned post of weekly Good Omens fan fiction recommendations.

[thydungeongal]

relative rpg noob, more experience with wargams here with not really a recommednations question but just a "whats out there" question. You mentioned getting into dnd from mordheim and I was wondering, are there any ttrpg systems that also explicitly use wargams style ground scale movement and terrain rules for their combat? Sort of the link from wargames with rpg elements like munda and heim as the mainstream examples and into rpgs with skirmish elements?

Sadly I haven't quite found anything exactly like that! In my experience most TTRPGs end up using a grid these days and opting for terrain rules that translate easily onto the grid instead of trying to translate actual physical terrain pieces into the fiction. Back in the day even D&D measured things in table inches.

Anyway the closest I have found are skirmish scale wargames that sometimes implement more RPG elements than one would expect. My current unhealthy obsession in that genre is Bladestorm: it's a skirmish wargame set in the world of Rolemaster's Shadow World campaign setting and it was originally published by Iron Crown Enterprises, creators of Rolemaster, but a new second edition has been licensed out to some German company and released within the last decade. Bladestorm is for the most part just a footnote in the history of Iron Crown but having recently gotten the second edition it has some ideas that make it genuinely interesting.

The game assumes a campaign mode of play where each player creates their own band and players play through scenarios against each other and in between scenarios players can use experience gained by their band to advance their units and money to purchase better equipment for them. But that's not where the RPG comparisons end: the game refers to the players' warbands as "adventuring parties" so the fictional framing is less "little armies fighting a war against each other" and more like "rival bands of adventurers competing for riches." In a way it's doing the same thing that D&D did but in reverse! Whereas D&D was like "what if there was a wargame where you only control one guy," Bladestorm is like "what if there was a D&D where you control a whole party of guys."

Besides that it also has professions (classes) that players can buy on their units to further customize them, and while the mechanics are nowhere near as deep as in most RPGs there is a surprising level of customization available. And the final RPG element: unlike most modern wargames that have moved away from refereed play, Bladestorm very much assumes that many of its scenarios will be played with multiple players, each in control of their own adventuring party, with a single gamemaster type of player in control of the various NPCs present on the battlefield.

But yeah, that's not really what you were asking for, but it's sort of like a step further towards RPGs from games like Mordheim and Necromunda. But it's pretty neat! :)

[perfectwitchcrown]

Make the Exorcist Fall in Love – Witches Part One

Ok, I finally finished this meta! I've broken it into two posts because it was getting a little too long. I’m covering some of the literary and historical references that Ekuoto plays with in regards to its witches hehe.. Regardless of whether Arima Aruma and Fukuyama Masuku are engaging with the actual history of witchcraft beliefs or the way it’s been filtered down into the contemporary cultural consciousness, I think it’ll be fun to present the real-life inspirations behind these ideas. Scholarly sources are cited so you can feel free to check out the information I discuss, and links are provided occasionally when I got lazy. All citations are in MLA form at the end of the second part because I didn’t feel Chicago footnote format would function well on Tumblr, so I apologize for any issues with the citations as I’m rusty with MLA. Take this all with a grain of salt, as I’m not an expert and also had to cover a lot of regions/periods of time. Hope you enjoy!

Content warnings for discussion of sexual violence, execution, images of cartoon nudity and violence (all Ekuoto panels), also major spoilers for Ekuoto and minor spoilers for Berserk, the movie Perfect Blue, and the movie The Craft

Link to Part Two of the meta (including works cited)

Witches – what did it mean to be a witch? Demonic Pacts, witch marks, and more

First off—what is a witch? This question is actually deceptively difficult to answer. For example, you can’t simply say that a witch is someone who practices magic: that’s too broad. “In September 1398 the theology faculty at the University of Paris approved a set of twenty-eight articles condemning the practice of ritual magic”—the targets of this were largely clerics (Levack 49), and there seems to have been a decent number of them (Apps and Gow 126). Those accused of witchcraft were considered distinct from these magic using priests for whom “this magic was practiced with grimoires or books of learned enchantments” (not that this was approved of by the church either) (Mackay 30-31).

What a “witch” was, is also something that could be wildly different depending on time and place. There was, however, a coalescence of ideas during the 15th century in Europe, followed by the “witch craze” of the Early Modern period (16th-18th centuries), in which there were an uptick in witch trials, provides an answer to what a witch is that has had a lasting impact in our present cultural consciousness (Witch Trials in Early Modern Europe and New England). This definition of witchcraft, then, I think, is the most relevant one to consider in this meta, although it will require a bit of generalization.

Essential to understanding this coalescence of ideas about witches is a book known as the Malleus Maleficarum, or “The Hammer of Witches,” a text on witchcraft published in 1486 by two Dominican friars, an order that focused on heresy (Mackay 1-2). Please note that mention of heresy, as it will be relevant later. How, then, did it imagine witches?

Christopher S. Mackay, in the introduction to his translation of the Malleus Maleficarum, calls this construction of witchcraft “the elaborated concept of witchcraft,” and defines it as follows (this is a direct quotation I just can't format it right on Tumblr LMFAO):

A pact entered into with the Devil (and concomitant apostasy from Christianity)

Sexual relations with the Devil

Aerial flight for the purpose of attending:

An assembly presided by Satan himself (at which initiates entered into the pact, and incest and promiscuous sex were engaged in by the attendees),

The practice of maleficent magic

The slaughter of babies. (Mackay 19)

The Malleus’s construction of witchcraft “represented a special form of heresy that played an important part in Satan’s plans for the Final Days” (Mackay 33) and borrowed elements from accusations made against earlier heretical groups (Saunders 85-86). It focused on women from the lower classes as opposed to priests who were practicing magic (Mackay 30-31). Heresy is key then to understanding witchcraft in this period. The Malleus’s construction of witchcraft also had a sexual focus, repeatedly bringing up the impact of demons on the genitals (Garrett 38). For example, there’s a whole section that details whether or not witches can take your penis away. The Malleus’s findings? No, but they can cast an illusion that makes it appear as though your penis is gone (Mackay 323-329). Breathtaking.

In Ekuoto, we see that the what makes someone a witch is a demonic convent, which involves erasing their names from the book of life and writing it in the demon lord’s book of death (which I will go further into depth on in the section on Sabbaths!), receiving a seal on their body, and merging bodily fluids through kissing or sex.

This process actually is pretty faithful to early modern beliefs about how one became a witch. The Malleus describes the process as involving a “sacrilegious avowal,” in which witches either make this vow to serve the demon ceremonially “when the sorceresses come to a certain assembly on a fixed day and see the demon in the assumed guise of a human as he urges them to keep their faith to him, which would be accompanied by prosperity in temporal matters and longevity of life.” While there, a new witch-to-be would be presented, and if determined to be “ready to renounce the Most Christian Faith and Worship,” signs themselves over (as in with a literal signature) (Mackay 281, 283). Non-ceremonially, a demon might just pop up when someone is in trouble and promise to help them if they help him (Mackay 286-287). So, here we see the idea of witchcraft granting long life and a physical signing over of the self to a demon.

But, witchcraft beliefs weren’t only constructed by books like the Malleus Maleficarum—those accused of witchcraft also contributed to these beliefs in their confessions (Roper Witch Craze 117).  As historian Lyndal Roper in her book Witch Craze describes of Early Modern witch confessions from Germany, “Intercourse with the Devil was the physical counterpart of the pact with him—and it was sex with the Devil which many accused witches talked about at length, rather than the pact which, according to demonological theory, actually made them Satan’s own” (Roper Witch Craze 85). Roper speculates that a large reason for this that many accused during this time period were illiterate, and so in their confessions, sex as the form of pact appears far in confessions than physical signatures (Roper Witch Craze 85). Regardless, we can see this as where Ekuoto borrows the idea of sex or kissing as a part of the demonic convent.

Sometimes, in these confessions, we also saw that the Devil would “give the witch a special diabolical name” as a sort of reversion of the baptismal process where a Christian name would be gained (Roper Witch Craze 116). Vergilius taking a new name as a part of his demonic pact then is completely in line with historical views of witchcraft, which I think is very fun of Arima Aruma.

Another idea of that shows up regarding people becoming witches is the idea of witch’s marks and devil’s marks, which were pretty significant in English witch trials. A Devil’s mark was a mark that was believed to have been left by the Devil when the witch becomes his, while the witch’s mark was believed to be a teat that the witch would use to nurse familiars their blood, although the terms were often conflated (Garrett 49-50). In England, searching for these marks was a major part of trials, and the experience was violating, the marks often being found near women’s genitals after they had been stripped of all their clothes, and pricked repeatedly on any mark that might be a witch’s or devil’s mark (Garrett 37).

Devil’s marks have been mentioned in Ekuoto, as seen in the earlier image, although we have not had any specifically pointed out. Vergilius’s heart under his right eye is likely a devil’s mark in my opinion, as he did not have it as a child when he was not a witch. I’ll be interested in seeing if it comes up and if there’s any significance to its shape. I could totally be wrong and it could just be like make up or a tattoo or something. This under the eye heart mark isn’t original to Ekuoto—heart patches for facial application have existed at least since the 17th century (not citing out of laziness but look up beauty patches), and under the eye heart make up was like a trend back in 2019 on Tiktok—but hilariously, 2012, when Marina and the Diamonds released Electra Heart, featuring MARINA with a heart mark under her eye, is also is presumably the year Vergilius became a witch (based on Daniel’s statement in one of the chapters that he’s been active for a decade). Maybe he’s just a really big Electra Heart fan lol.

The Witch’s Sabbath

A witches Sabbath was “where witches gathered to worship the Devil, dance, feast, indulge in sexual orgies, and practice cannibalism and infanticide” (Apps and Gow 120). As previously mentioned, the book Malleus Maleficarum set the stage for a lot of early modern witch beliefs within Western Europe. This text was written within a school known as demonology, “Commonly viewed as a branch of theology, philosophy and metaphysics” (Roper “Witchcraft and the Western Imagination” 119). Demonological descriptions of the witches Sabbath are an example of elite construction of witchcraft beliefs, and they focused on Christianity inverted: “The witches were bent double, candles in their anus, and in the place of the kiss of peace in the Mass, they had to kiss the Devil’s anus (Roper Witch Craze 113).

Of course, as also has been mentioned before, Early Modern witchcraft beliefs were also shaped by those accused of witchcraft drawing from their own experience in confessions. The dance, an element of the witch’s Sabbath, appeared in Witch’s confessions as an inversion of their village dances (Roper Witch Craze 107-108, 111, 116). At these dances it was said that music might be played on the fiddle and the bagpipes (Roper “Witchcraft and the Western Imagination” 128).

Make the Exorcist Fall in Love both presents the witches Sabbaths using ideas of inversion of Christian doctrine and of social gatherings with dance and music. For one, the witches set up shop in an abandoned church in France, where they place a statue representing Beelzebub in the sanctuary. Symbolically, then, they’ve inverted the worship of God to the worship of a demon.

Additionally, you can see the Witches lined up to kiss the statue on what seems to be a phallic protrusion. They’re inverting, then, the kiss of peace the same way historically witches were thought to kiss the Devil’s anus. Roper has a description of a woodcut that bears similarity to this image, describing it like so: “At the centre of the image, witches perform the anal kiss on a giant goat, while long lines of assorted pairs of Devils and witches wind their way in a snake like spiral around the picture, playing phallic-looking bagpipes and horns” (Roper “Witchcraft and the Western Imagination” 137-138). Now, traditionally this kiss is delivered on the anus rather than the phallus, but I’m not an expert so I can’t speak to whether there were regional descriptions of Witch’s Sabbaths that varied that Make the Exorcist Fall in Love is drawing from. I can say, though, that Berserk’s portrayal of a witch’s Sabbath, which imagery-wise definitely seems to draw from woodblock representations, does feature the diabolic kiss being received on the phallus rather than the anus. It is possible that this scene was visual inspiration for Ekuoto’s witch’s Sabbath. For those who are interested in independently checking what I’m talking about, it’s in chapter 139 of Berserk.

Now, in the same above panel in Ekuoto, we also see that the witches are singing a song. This song is an inversion of the Anglican hymn “Holy Holy Holy”—the original lyrics, that the witch’s invert, are “Holy, Holy, Holy! Though the darkness hide Thee, Though the eye of sinful man, thy glory may not see: Only Thou art holy, there is none beside Thee, Perfect in power in love, and purity.” The hymn is originally about the trinitarian god, so this inverted version becomes a worship of Beelzebub.

If you want to give the original song a listen, here’s a link to a recording:

This song later also appears in the flashback to the 2011 Beelzebub fight (where, interestingly enough, an eclipse is featured very prominently. Eclipses are pretty common “ooh spooky eek” imagery but it also made me wonder if there’s potential visual influence from Berserk). This also further establishes it as a song associated with Beelzebub.

Inversion also shows up outside of the Sabbaths in Ekuoto. Dante in the below images is invoking the Trinitarian formula: “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” which is from Matthew 28:19 in the Bible. Verge, and other witches in Ekuoto, invert the Trinitarian formula: “in the name of the mother, the daughter, and the evil spirit.” Not only is this an example of inversion, but it also aligns with a neopagan concept, the Triple Goddess (although usually the triple Goddess is expressed as the Mother, the Daughter, and the Crone). I’m not going to cite this because I’m lazy, but if you want you can check this one out on Wikipedia. The Triple Goddess in neopagan beliefs harkens back to older religious forms where goddesses appeared in groups of three—one of these, from Hellenistic religious beliefs, is associated with witchcraft: Hecate was associated with magic, and often depicted in a triple form (Also too lazy to cite this but you can check this out also on Wikipedia in both the Triple Goddess (Neopaganism) page and the Hecate page. You can also check it out on Encyclopedia Brittanica). Interestingly, and as I’ll touch on later, Baba Yaga also sometimes appears in three forms in folklore (Forrester xxxiv).

Walpurgisnacht

Now, the description of the woodblock of a witch’s Sabbath mentioned in the previous section wasn’t of just any Sabbath—it was a Sabbath on the Brocken, where according to legend witches would have a Sabbath every year on Walpurgisnacht (Roper “Witchcraft and the Western Imagination” 137-138).

Walpurgisnacht is on April 30 into May 1st, and is an actual real life religious holiday, celebrating the canonization of Saint Walpurga. It’s celebrated through festivals, some of which involve dancing around bonfires. In the 17th century, a book written by Johannes Praetorius cited the peak of the Harz mountains in Germany, the Brocken, as a site in which witches would meet for a Sabbath on the eve of May 1st (Weishaupt). It was this book, the Blockesberges Verrichtung, that features the woodblock mentioned in the Sabbath section, and would inspire some of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s drama of the mind, Faust (Roper “Witchcraft and the Western Imagination” 135-138). Faust also has a famous presentation of Walpurgisnacht on the Brocken (Weishaupt).

So yeah, Ekuoto’s mention of Walpurgisnacht is in reference to this! Moving on to what they’ve also mentioned in conjunction to Walpurgisnacht:

Baba Yaga

First and foremost, Baba Yaga has nothing to do with Walpurgisnacht in folklore, this is an invention of Ekuoto. The Harz mountains are in Germany, whereas Baba Yaga is a figure in Slavic folklore.  

Stories in which Baba Yaga appears often have several themes: “she lives in the forest, which is her domain” (Zipes VIII); that her house has chicken legs (Forrester XXVII); that her “house may be surrounded with a fence of bones, perhaps topped with skulls (Forrester XXVIII). She sometimes also has a black cat (Forrester XXVIII). Jack Zipes, in the foreword to Baba Yaga: The Wild Witch of the East in Russian Fairy Tales, describes her as “not just a dangerous witch but also a maternal benefactress, probably related to a pagan goddess” and “inscrutable and so powerful that she does not owe an allegiance to the Devil or God or even to her storytellers” (Zipes VIII). Sibelan Forrester, in that same book, describes her as “both a cannibal and a kind of innkeeper, a woman who threatens but also often rewards” (Forrester XXXV). Skulls with light coming out of their eye sockets shows up in the fairy tale Vasilia the Beautiful—“the eyes of all the skulls on the fence lit up, and the whole clearing became light as midday” (Forrester XXXVIII, XLIV, 175).

Now, so far in Make the Exorcist Fall in Love, we’ve been presented with Baba Yaga as a witch who Satan calls different from the other witches, who tried purifying the angry souls of those killed by the church until she became corrupted by their rage and desired the power to kill god, and has at least three contracts with Satan, Asmodeus, and Beelzebub (but not Leviathan). She also appears as a black cat.

The parts that most clearly draw upon traditional Baba Yaga folklore are the skulls, the chicken legged house in the middle of the woods, and the idea of her being a total wildcard. As far as I can tell, the backstory they’ve given her about purifying souls killed by the church is completely original to Ekuoto, although it could be in reference to either some piece of folklore or literature that I’m not familiar with. Traditionally, the bones and skulls in Baba Yaga’s home are presumably a threat that the hero might next be a victim of hers (Forrester XXIX). Here, they are victims of the church.

The closest thing I have been able to find is the invented backstory is from Dubravka Ugrešić’s book, Baba Yaga Laid an Egg, published as part of the Canongate Myth Series (themed around reinterpreting international mythology): “That they would finally stop bowing down to men with bloodshot eyes, men who are guilty of killing millions of people, and who still have not had enough. For they are the ones who leave a trail of human skills behind them, yet people’s torpid imaginations stick those skulls on the fence of a solitary old woman who lives on the edge of the forest” (Ugrešić’ 243). Here also the skulls are affiliated not with her cannibalism but the killings of patriarchal power. The book was originally published in Croatian and has several different languages it is available in translation, although, as far as I can tell, Japanese is not one of them, so I don’t know how familiar Arima Aruma would be with it.

I’m also fascinated by the beheaded, veiled skeletal figure with the large stomach wound we see who points towards Baba Yaga’s house. Baba Yaga is sometimes presented as a mother (Forrester XXXVIII) and the large stomach opening to me almost looks like the surgical removal of a child from the womb, although that may be a stretch.

Contemporary c-sections are also often horizontal, although historically in Europe and the Americas, up until developments in surgery and gynecology in the nineteenth century, they were only performed when the mother was dead or had no hope for survival. The images I’ve seen depicting c-sections in the 15th and 16th centuries seem to depict vertical incisions though, which lines up more with this figure’s wound. (I’m not citing these but will provide links: https://www.webmd.com/baby/what-happens-during-c-section; https://www.nlm.nih.gov/exhibition/cesarean/part1.html ). I think it would also line up with some of the other imagery that’s been established in series, such as the wound/vagina/pregnancy image combo we got in the first chapter with Asmodeus.

It's also been implied that she had something to do with binding Beelzebub from entering Germany:

That file really closely follows the contours of a Baba Yaga fairy tale—getting lost in the forest, the flaming bone torch like in Vasilia the Beautiful. I’m extremely fascinated by the way in which Baba Yaga is being presented in Ekuoto and can’t wait to see more about her motivations.

Continued in Part Two

[reimenaashelyee]

Alexander, The Servant & The Water of Life Chapter 8.03 (July 17 2024)

He left when the world needed him most.

I wouldn't recommend doing such a big ambitious webcomic while doing your Masters.....

The footnotes are juicy for the first page in this set of updates! Head on to the Alex Comic site (link below) for the historical artefacts that were referenced.

About the comic

2 pages (or 2 double pages). If you’re interested in the research footnotes, click the link in the header text to go to the webcomic site! See the art in glorious full-size too.

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[firelxdykatara]

I too ship Zutara and think they should have been canon. Although for me it's important to know how such a rewrite would go down. I tried to think, and I'm lost.

After Mai betrayed Azula for him, will he just go "sorry, not interested"? He isn't obligated to date her because of this, but her redemption hinges on Zuko and I don't see it being satisfying if he ends up rejecting her after this.

I thought the solution would be to rewrite her arc in boiling rock to make her have a moral realization, but then the problem with Maiko is practically solved. Their relationship wasn't salvaged by her redemption because last time they talked, Mai still didn't understand what's wrong with the Fire Nation and only changed because she loved Zuko. So how do you make it both satisfying & logical?

With Kataang the problem is the Chakras. The problem with the original (in my opinion) is that after he opened his chakra, letting go of his attachment to Katara, he's still attached (forcing a kiss on eip). Should TCoD get rewritten so that Azula shoots him before he opens it? Then why wouldn't he just open it later? Maybe the chakra would be locked so he feels as though he doesn't need to overcome his attachment just yet. In that situation, how would his chakra even unlock? The stone thing felt like nonsense, so how would I do it?

So yeah I have no idea how to approach this. How would you? (Thanks)

I've been rotating this ask in the back of my head like a rotisserie chicken for a few days--it's interesting because I don't generally stop to think like, how would I write them out of these relationships, I either ignore the relationships completely (which isn't hard, they were barely footnotes in the cartoon) or play a little bit with jealous exes or something. Thinking about like, In A Perfect World where Bryke wasn't in charge of ATLA post-canon (because if zutara had been canon, you can be sure they would've made us regret it) is interesting, and I do have thoughts on how I'd handle their relationships in a rewrite.

(this got long, so the rest is beneath the cut)

Assuming you mostly want to keep canon intact, I think maiko would be the easiest to work around, given how little relevance their relationship has in canon. The problem with maiko as an endgame ship is that it was not set up that way--if it had been, it would not have begun entirely off-screen and their whole relationship would not have been a study in misery and utter inability to connect emotionally. His relationship with Mai was there to showcase just how much he had changed and how little he fit into the life he had been so sure he wanted more than anything since his banishment. It worked very well to highlight Zuko's growth--how that contrasted to Mai's lack of it and why she could not understand him even at his most open and vulnerable--and did not work nearly so well when she was shoved back with him in the epilogue, after he'd quite literally forgotten her existence (he never mentions her again after Boiling Rock, not even to say a word of mourning, considering he'd have every reason to believe she was killed for defying his sister).

I don't think you can fix this by giving Mai some moral realization, because there simply is no room for it. As @araeph says in the essay I linked:

As a character, Mai is very useful to the story during Zuko’s return, because she represents everything that Zuko gains by sticking by his father. A girl who cares about him; the ability to indulge her; the authority he has over others at the palace; we see it all in his interactions with Mai. But this makes Mai a tether to a life he has long outgrown. Her function is not to advance Zuko’s character development, but to obstruct it, which also unfortunately means that Mai gaining a full understanding of Zuko’s trials would be disadvantageous to the story. If she knew everything about him and still wanted him to stay, it would give Zuko more cause than he should have to remain in the Fire Nation, but if she knew and encouraged him to leave and join the Avatar, it would rob Zuko of the triumph of making this decision on his own. In other words, there are good narrative reasons for keeping Mai in the dark; it just doesn’t make their relationship any stronger.

The seeds of a genuine redemption arc (one that includes some sort of moral realization and change to her moral framework) for Mai would have to have been planted far earlier than five episodes from the end of the series, but doing so would have of necessity detracted from Zuko's own character arc and the realizations that he makes despite his attachment to Mai (or more specifically to their relationship, which I feel like he was clinging to more out of a sense of abject loneliness he couldn't shake rather than genuine feelings and emotional connection).

So, in my mind, since we're tackling this with an eye towards getting rid of maiko with the fewest ripples to the overall story anyway, the easiest way to do this would be make one slight change to the end of the Boiling Rock two-parter--have Ty Lee (who had always been the least gung-ho of the trio about bowing to Azula's whims and had to be textually threatened into joining her in the first place) save Zuko's life, and then have Mai (who showed the most genuine affection for Ty Lee anyway) save Ty Lee. I love Zuko more than I fear you always fell flat for me as some epic declaration of love, anyway, since a) Zuko is not around to hear it, and b) unlike Ty Lee, she never showed much fear of Azula to begin with, so it wasn't a very high bar to clear. It was a cool line that was entirely unearned, and I don't think it would be missed, there would be some cute mailee crumbs this way, and a throwaway line of getting them released from the prison after the war ended could wrap up their presence in the story pretty nicely.

Now, kataang is a little trickier, if only because the last leg of Aang's character arc is almost completely derailed by his refusal to let go of his possessive attachment to Katara, to the point where he never naturally reopens his chakras, he has to have the Rock of Destiny hit him in just the right place, and the deus ex lionturtle there to give him a way out of having to make a hard moral choice. (I've maintained for years that if you work the final act of your main character's overall arc in such a way that it could have been solved by one good session with a chiropractor, something got fucked along the way.)

The thing about Aang's chakras is that, narratively, his whole thing with Guru Pathik and leaving his training early to save his friends was basically his version of Luke running away from his training with Yoda on Degobah because of his Force vision, only to find out that his friends were in the process of rescuing themselves and then losing his hand because he hadn't completed the most crucial part of his training. What's missing, therefore, from the last act of Aang's character arc, is the return.

See, in Star Wars, Luke pretty explicitly makes the wrong choice when he chooses to prioritize saving his friends over attaining enlightenment and fully mastering the Force. It was the only choice he could have made, but it was still the wrong one--because, like Aang, his friends did not actually need him to save them, he actually almost makes it harder for them to get away by requiring them to save him because, like Aang, he loses a battle in a very critical way. This was a lesson he desperately needed to learn, and it is clear he has learned it by the time he makes it back to Degobah and witnesses the end of Yoda's life, his own enlightenment having already been reached.

But Aang never goes back to the Guru.

And the text refuses to allow us to sit with the fact that he made the wrong choice in prioritizing his attachment to Katara over his ability to master the Avatar State. He is actually narratively vindicated about it, because the plot bends itself into a pretzel so that he doesn't have to spend any time during the last book trying to reopen his chakras and regain access to the Avatar State, handed both in the final battle with no excess effort on his part, and handed the girl into the bargain. (The girl who never even wanted him, so far as we can tell from all the lack of cues she gave him that she actually returned his feelings.)

And I think this could have been solved with a few scattered scenes. Let Katara actually have some agency in her own romantic relationship (or lack thereof), insofar as noticing Aang's advances and clueing the audience in to how she actually feels. Let Aang struggle with the fact that he can't reach the Avatar State, that his mastery of the elements is in limbo because he can't access his full power, rather than ignoring all of this until the end of the show. If we're trying to keep the shape of the last season roughly the same, let Katara confront Aang about the invasion kiss.

This would have been the perfect time to establish that Katara actually does feel some type of way about Aang prior to the epilogue, and it could have saved us from the exceedingly cringey EIP kiss that Aang never apologized for. How it comes across now, of course, is that Katara basically pretends it never even happened, to the point where she doesn't even know what Aang is talking about during EIP until he reminds her--the death knell for any shot their relationship had at looking requited, because I can tell you, as someone who's been a teenage girl, if someone I had conflicted but burgeoning romantic feelings for had kissed me, I would not have completely forgotten about it only a few weeks later--and we never get any indication as to what she actually felt about the kiss (which was not mutual, despite what Aang's dialogue in the EIP scene implies) except for the fact that she looked away and frowned afterwards. (A change mandated by Bryke, who wanted to leave her feelings completely ambiguous; the original storyboards had her smiling to herself.)

So, with an eye towards wrapping up Aang's puppy love crush and establishing Katara's distinct lack of romantic feelings for him, have her talk to him about the kiss. A good frame of reference for this would be Meng's conversation with Aang in "The Fortuneteller", where she finally realizes that he doesn't like her in the same way she likes him. Katara and Aang's conversation about the invasion kiss could be a callback to this, with Aang having some important realizations--that just because Katara doesn't share his feelings doesn't mean she loves him any less, and just because he can't have her the way he wanted doesn't mean he has to love her any less, that she doesn't belong to him but that's ok, because she's still his family and they'll always have each other's backs. Which could have functioned well in helping him take another step towards unblocking his chakras. Going back to the Guru directly may not have worked, since by this point in the story we're hurtling towards the final confrontation and Sozin's Comet, but let Aang reflect on what the Guru told him with new understanding granted him by his experiences throughout the first half of the season.

To keep the stakes high and up the suspense, obviously, he shouldn't have fully unlocked his chakras and the AS before the final fight, but the seeds could be planted--little moments like a talk with Katara about the invasion kiss, maybe a little more empathy and understanding from him about why Katara needs closure in TSR, etc--and then, during the final fight, rather than hand him all the answers on a silver platter, have him almost lose. He still can't go full Avatar, he's out of time, he still doesn't know exactly what to do about Ozai given his own pacifism and desire to preserve that part of his culture--he tries to fight but he's pretty quickly overpowered. Idk how I would've animated this, and maybe it wouldn't have looked as cool for the final fight, but the true climax of the finale was the Zuko and Azula agni kai anyway, so it hardly matters--I'm picturing him doing the rock-shield thing and going into a brief meditative state, where he finally achieves the enlightenment necessary to unlock the AS on his own, no rock of chiropracty necessary. And at this point, I'd give Ozai a Disney Death, since leaving him alive causes more problems than it solves and it's not necessary for Aang to kill him for him to die--they're fighting on a mountain ffs--but if you don't want to change that part then him figuring out energy bending as part of becoming a fully realized Avatar would at least feel more earned than the lionturtle just handing it to him. (And that could've been foreshadowed better by seeding the idea for it earlier in the season.)

After all of that, particularly if you up the emotions during the agni kai and have Zuko and Katara kiss there (or something less explicitly romantic but still tender, like a brief forehead touch), it'd feel pretty natural to have a just friends ending for Aang and Katara. Maybe a brief, slightly awkward but ultimately amiable conversation if Zuko and Katara had a ~thing at their final fight, and then the final shot of the series could be the gaang all together, maybe zutara holding hands or Katara resting her head on his shoulder or something, but since they already kissed there wouldn't feel like a need to end the whole show on romance, something which I've always felt missed the point of the series.

And then, y'know, after that, the world's your oyster! This is how I'd do it if I were trying to keep the bulk of the final season intact. Of course, breaking it all down to its component pieces and rebuilding from the ground up is also an option, but that'd probably be a longer post lol.

[anderstrevelyan]

I’m interested in your theory of what Gortash was a counsellor of? Or what department of high ranking official of the city he was working for?

Oooh thank you for the opportunity to talk about Baldurian politics 🙏 (somehow this developed footnotes) (and got really long, whoops)

I don't think I'm settled on who initially hired him—it could be one of the five officers of the city* who typically hire bureaucrats, or a duke (since it seems Florrick works primarily with Ravengard and the Fist).

I think most likely would be Earl Namorran (the Harbormaster circa 1482) or Thalamra Vanthampur** (either while she was Master of Drains and Underways or after becoming a duke), though I do picture some leeway in who the counsellors advise once they're in place, more about where their advice is needed than necessarily being tied to a particular area.

(I was trying to source back where I got that impression, and I think it's Wyll describing Gortash as trying to be an advisor to "the peers" in general:)

(He's thinking back to 1485 and before, when he still lived in the Gate—the "bit player" part became less true the closer you get to 1492, I imagine, especially with the narrator line that attributes the title counsellor to Gortash describing him as having considerable influence on industry and politics)

Some areas I could see Gortash being a fit to advise on would be a) weaponry (but we know the Watch marshal is skeptical of his ideas in 1492, and Ulder Ravengard certainly doesn't like his advice, so I can't picture him spending much time advising the Watch or the Fist despite any overtures), b) the flow of goods in and out of the city, and c) technology.

(Technology is why I'm imagining Vanthampur as a possible entrypoint: the drains and underways porfolio is prestigious because it's so technically demanding in a way that's beyond most patriars.)

And speaking of technology, personally I see him working a lot with the Gondians and the ways they interface with the city!

After Duke Torlin Silvershield's death, the high artificer of Gond becomes Andar Beech, who oversaw the temple's day-to-day under Silvershield and was critical of his involvement in politics—so I think that leaves an opening for someone outside of Gond's church to step in and do some of that liaising. Because the city really, really cares about the Gondians—they maintain those giant cranes that move all the goods at the docks and keep trade flowing, relevant to Namorran's work, and they repair plumbing in patriars' homes, relevant to Vanthampur's—and I could see him advising parliament and the dukes on how they might best get more use out of the Gondians and their inventions. (While at the same time using them as jumping-off points for his own.)

We know the Gondians likely had a lot of secret projects going on (I don't have a link, but the rumour's from Descent into Avernus!), and Gortash eventually takes their Foundry through fraud and blackmail, so I can picture him using his role as counsellor to twist his way in to learn more for leverage and to start to legitimize a partnership between him and the Gondians in the public's eye: setting himself up to take direct, forceful control like we see him having in 1492.

-----

*those five officer positions being: Harbormaster, High Constable and Master of Walls, Master of Drains and Underways, Master of Cobbles, and the Purse Master, per Murder in Baldur's Gate

**Follower-of-Zariel and owner-of-a-bathhouse-that-by-1492-has-a-bane-bhaal-and-mrykul-temple-under-it Thalamra Vanthampur!

[salty-tang]

For the Record 2: Cover Stories (multi-chapter series)

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Congresswoman!Reader (mostly canon compliant)

Chapter Summary: Back in DC, the work piles up—and so do the cracks. As missed votes, late nights, and hallway coffees start to blur the line between partnership and pretense, it's clear Bucky is keeping secrets, and you are starting to notice.

⁕⁕⁕

a canon compliant congressman bucky x congresswoman reader fic set somewhere between tfatws and thunderbolts, chronicling congressman barnes' first term as a representative.

Warnings/ tags: Slow Burn, Political Drama, Light Angst with a happy ending, Mutual Pining, Bucky Doesn't Think He Deserves Good Things, Hurt/Comfort But Make It Legislative, Secret Missions with Legislative Consequences, The Interns Have Theories, Canon-Typical Violence, Congressman Bucky Barnes, Congresswoman Reader, author is not american and barely gets american politics, no use of y/n, this is the plot heavy long form fic

ps: ao3 is my main platform for this work, tumblr is getting the reupload

Word count: 3.4k

For the Record masterpost || AO3 || congressman bucky masterpost

March drifts in on the shoulders of soft light and slow warmth, and as the frost lifts from the city’s stone edges, something in you begins to defrost too. You find, grudgingly, that your opinion of Bucky has started to soften. Quietly, almost against your will. And impossibly, it feels like he’s thawing too.

As a new committee cycle begins, you notice that he shows up to briefings a little more prepared, a little more alert. He still doesn’t quite fit the Hill mould – too stiff in hearings, too blunt in interviews – but he's trying, and you see it. You find yourself handing him annotated packets without hesitation. He starts bringing his own notes, scribbled in small, blocky handwriting that you suspect he’s still getting used to.

You’ve stopped second-guessing his judgment. He’s stopped treating yours like an anomaly. Bucky listens more in committee now, leans in when you speak. Starts offering thoughtful additions instead of sitting around like a sullen statue.

You haven’t officially become allies – but something’s shifting. A kind of tentative rhythm, unspoken but building, moment by moment.

It’s during a subcommittee hearing on Blip-related housing policy that the shift crystallises for him. The smarmy corporate redevelopment lobbyist tries to gaslight the floor into thinking that low-income zoning is fundamentally unworkable. Bucky’s fingers twitch around his pen, halfway to forming an objection himself, when you strike first, cool, calm and with surgical precision.

Not with volume or theatrics other Representatives might have defaulted to, just a litany of precise, policy-backed questions linked like barbs in a snare. The man tries to stammer out a rebuttal, but you neatly close the gate on each one of them until he’s cornered on all sides by his own words. You don’t raise your voice – you don’t need to when you have facts and fury, and you wield both with lethal grace.

At the far end of the dais, Bucky doesn’t interrupt. His pen is frozen mid-sentence and he watches the entire exchange with the sharp, shuttered look of a man seeing something he doesn’t quite have the words for.

But later that night, he watches the C-SPAN replay. Just once, all the way through.

⁕⁕⁕

When you think Bucky’s finally getting his act together, he disappears again.

It’s the morning of a markup meeting for the Aid and Funding for Traumatized Evacuees in Regions of Metahuman Activity, Turmoil, and Harm (AFTERMATH) Act – your pet bill that you’ve painstakingly nurtured from draft to debate – and he’s nowhere to be found. Not in the hallway, not in committee, not even in his suite. You think he’s not even in the building.

You know this for a fact because you had asked one of your interns, Mills, to run a cross-referenced amendment packet you stayed up too late tailoring for him – color-coded tabs, margin notes, even footnotes adjusted to his working style. She returns ten minutes later, packet still in hand.

“Lights are off and the door’s shut,” she says with professional neutrality. But then, in a lower tone, “one of the other interns said he left early last night. Took almost everything off his desk with him.”

The folder sits on the corner of your desk now, a too-neat bundle of wasted effort and grace. It doesn’t glare – it’s too quiet for that – but it hums with a kind of quiet mockery. As if asking what you expected. As if to say that this is what happens when you bet on ghosts.

You don’t even bother sending an email. You’ve developed a sixth sense about him, the kind that comes from weeks of watching someone closely without ever admitting you’re watching them at all. You can tell when he’s late because he doesn’t know how to extract himself from a never-ending conversation with the interns over lunch, and you can tell when he’s truly gone.

Today is the latter.

You open his calendar anyway, and an entry that wasn’t there in the morning blinks at the top:

INTL TRAVEL PREP – SE ASIA ROSTER

You blink. That’s not just a flimsy excuse – it’s a bold one.

First-year Representatives don’t get floated for international trips, not unless they’re political celebrities or someone’s pet project. And even if this one were real – and not just a strategic line of camouflage – you’d be on the same prep list, given that you are a front-runner for the Jakarta delegation. If a session were happening, your office would know.

You scroll again, just to be sure. Nothing.

“Nice try,” you mutter, reaching for your red pen. It’s a dry, familiar motion – like scoring an old scar. A sideways line streaks across your planner beside today’s markup. It’s not a cancellation per se, but a contingency.

Twenty minutes later, a suggestion to update the committee calendar drops into your inbox – courtesy of Mike. The markup time has shifted. Barely, just enough to move it past the morning’s original schedule, just far enough to protect someone who might still walk through the door. Of course you notice, and you let it go with more grace than you think he deserves. Your own records are adjusted to match the fiction.

Derek says nothing, but he watches you do it. When you look up, his eyebrow is raised in the way that means he knows exactly what it is you’re doing.

You wave it off. “If he misses the vote, it won’t be because I didn’t give him the chance.”

You don’t say the rest out loud – that you shouldn’t care, that it really isn’t your job to give him runway, that this will be the last time.

Probably.

(It has to be)

⁕⁕⁕

This warehouse in Louisiana smells like rust and salt and rot.

Somewhere in the distant back, ship horns groan and metal machinery clangs. Overhead, a pipe leaks in a slow, rhythmic drip. The ventilation fans hum, lounder than they should be. Maybe someone forgot to turn the fans off, or more likely, they were intentionally left on for additional layer of noise to cover the sound of bodies moving in the dark.

Bucky moves like he was built for this kind of silence – deliberate, coiled, almost feral in his stillness. He adjusts the grip on his combat knife. The weight is familiar – balanced, close, meant for quick, quiet work.

The flooring beneath his black combat boots – rotted, peeling, stained – creaks faintly as he steps forward, every movement slow and controlled. Even in the low light, his frame carries a brutal elegance, all lean muscle and lethal calm, the kind of body built not for display but for devastation.

Again, he’s alone. No comms in his ear, no spotter at his back. Just him, the damp cold, and whatever bastards who thought re-routing Stark-grade plasma rounds through this forgotten fishing port was a clever idea.

Just how he prefers it.

This work is not sanctioned. Not officially. No eyes, no oversight – just a short list of leads and a longer list of wrongs to make right.

He could’ve gone through the proper channels. Drafted a memo, briefed the committee, waited six weeks for inter-agency clearance and another four for a useless security escort that would’ve arrived too late to matter. The kind of process that he’s supposed to champion now.

Instead, he breaks protocol, again. Goes in solo, again.

(He promises to himself it’s the last time, again)

There’s no paperwork trail because there’s no one he trusts to read it right.

The irony is not lost on him. A sitting Congressman waging war behind a mask, voting on transparency by day and breaking into cargo holds by night. He gave a speech last month about rebuilding public trust. He thinks about that sometimes. Not often. The hypocrisy would be unbearable if he let it get too close.

As he plugs his USB stick into a rusted generator on the far wall, he allows himself, for just a breath, to slow down. Not to rest, just to recalculate.

He watches the download bar flicker to life, blinking green against rusted metal, and lets his mind run the numbers – time to exfil, distance to extraction, margins for error. Always narrow. Always shifting.

He doesn’t think about redemption; he’s long since made peace with the fact that that kind of language doesn’t belong to people like him. He just takes comfort in the fact that the work will be done.

What he does think about – against his better judgment – is the vote he’s going to miss.

The one he promised, if only to himself, that he’s going to show up for.

Because you asked without asking. Because he knows what it means to you.

It’s not guilt, exactly. He knew what the mission demanded when he took it, but it gnaws at him all the same.

You’d made room for him. Not openly, not obviously – but deliberately. You’d passed him a packet, not an olive branch. Left the door ajar and let him decide whether to walk through. And now he’s walking away from it, even if just for now.

Still, something in him lingers, caught on the question of whether you’ll notice his absence.

Or worse, whether you already expected it.

⁕

The opening attack comes from his left. Bucky ducks without thinking, instinct hardwired into every fibre of his being. Metal hits flesh, and then he twists, catches the attacker’s wrist, and snaps it clean all in one fluid motion.

The man screams, and Bucky moves on.

The second guy is a bit smarter – he has a gun and uses it to shoot Bucky mid stride. His aim is terrible, and the bullet glances off his left shoulder with a metallic ping. Pain blooms dull and distant, but he’s already onto him. One punch. Then another. The man crumples.

This isn’t justice or due process. It’s just cleanup.

They’re using NGO manifests. Valentina’s network is nothing if not creative – now laundering weapon shipments through charities meant to rebuild the very places they helped destroy. He found a logo stencilled onto a shipment crate once: Aid Without Borders. It’s the same name he once saw on your bill drafts.

He puts his fist through it.

Another man lunges at him from the shadows. Bucky spins low, sweeps his leg out, sends the attacker sprawling into a steel drum.

His breath hitches. The download pings with completion and he pulls the stick free with practiced motion, already tucking it away into his pockets. Just for a moment, the adrenaline recedes.

And that’s when it happens – your voice, from memory, reading into the Congressional record. Calm, clear, but quietly brutal in its delivery.

“The evac shelter had no structural shielding. His son was gone in under sixty seconds. The official compensation was seven hundred dollars.”

You had stood tall behind the mic, steady despite the weight of the story. Bucky remembers the sharpness in your gaze, the way your chin sticks out when you have a point to make, and how your knuckles whiten around the printout.

He thinks about that man, and about the son who’s never coming home. Seven hundred dollars and a form letter. It’s barely enough for a funeral.

The AFTERMATH Act that has your name on it should be bigger, louder, passed into law years ago. But nothing in this place moves clean, or fast.

A metal drum crashes nearby. One of the smugglers stirs.

It jerks Bucky out of his thoughts too late – a boot drives hard into his ribs. He staggers, hits the wall with a grunt, metal arm slamming out just in time to catch his fall.

It isn’t skill. Not really. And it isn’t foresight, either. Just muscle memory and a lifetime of surviving the hard way.

People still call it an advantage. A gift.

But Bucky knows better.

It’s not precision or control – it’s inertia. The instinct to endure, even when there’s nothing left to prove. And some days, even that feels like cheating.

He moves without thought, without urgency. Elbow, jab, knee. Each hit lands exactly where it does the most damage. He doesn’t stop until the man drops, quiet and unmoving, and the noise in the warehouse fades back into rust and breath.

He rolls his shoulders out, breath steady but sharp at the edges. The blood on his knuckles is already drying, sticky and hot in the chill of the air.

He should be on a plane back to DC. He knows the markup’s been moved – Mike texted, one word: “Handled.” But still. He wants to make it back. Needs to.

Not just to vote. But because you’ll notice. Because if he’s late, you’ll know.

The thought lingers, sharper than the bruises. Bucky rubs a hand down his face, breath fogging in the cold, and then picks his pace and jogs toward the extraction point.

⁕⁕⁕

The chamber hums with movement – soft murmurs, the rustle of suits, the muted tap of heels against marble. Beneath it all, there’s a strange current of suspended stillness, where the room itself is holding its breath, or maybe you’re just nervous.

Your nameplate is already in place. Your vote sheet is already filled. The packet you prepared for him sits beside your own, crisp and untouched. You’ve triple-checked the time. You okay-ed the change, let it be shifted enough to offer grace.

You told no one. Mike noticed. Derek said nothing. You told yourself it wasn’t for him.

And yet –

You glance toward the chamber doors. Again.

They remain firmly shut.

There’s still time. Barely. But there is.

You busy your hands – straighten your notes, uncap a pen you don’t need, flip through the briefing packet like every line hasn’t already been burned into your memory. As if rereading it might summon him. Whatever you do, you don’t let yourself look at the clock, and certainly not towards his empty seat.

And then, as the minute hand sweeps into place, the vote is called.

You keep your gaze fixed forward and your expression neutral, but your whole body is listening now.

The board flickers to life overhead. One by one, names appear. Aye. Nay. Aye. Aye.

Still nothing.

You tap your foot once, sharp against the floor, and then restrain yourself. The silence inside you is louder than the chamber.

He’s coming.

He has to.

This is the vote.

To be fair, you didn’t ask him to come. Not exactly. Not in words.

But you’d passed him the folder. Shifted the time. Left space beside your name like it meant something. Like he might see it and understand, without having to be told, that this matters.

Because if he’d been paying attention, the same way that you’ve been to him, he should have known.

So no, you didn’t ask.

But he should have come anyway.

The tally climbs. The moment stretches.

Still no sign of him.

You watch the screen update – ABSTAINED.

His name blinks once and holds.

And then, at the top of the board:

Motion failed.

By three votes.

You stare at the numbers, unmoving. You’re not surprised – you'd done the math as the votes were coming in – but the confirmation still lands like a slow, clean punch to the ribs. It’s the kind that you’ll only allow yourself to feel later, in the privacy of your own office.

A few heads turn, subtle but unmistakable. Someone glances toward the empty seat beside you. Someone else exhales, sharp through their nose. You hear a low mutter, the kind that never makes it into the transcript but lives forever in the room.

There are no dramatics. Just a blank space where a promise should’ve been – and now, a bill that won’t see daylight.

You stare at the board for a moment longer than necessary, the rest of the room blurring at the edges. Your hands are still. Your expression doesn’t change. But something behind your ribs folds in on itself, tight and clean. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last.

You don’t look toward the chamber doors again. You don’t gather the packet you made for him. You mark the silence, the choices that led up to this moment, and now, also the cost.

And when the gavel sounds and the chamber begins to shift, you rise and leave without looking back.

⁕

It’s late when you finally emerge from the last meeting of the day.

Your staff have all gone home, even the most enthusiastic of interns have packed up and called it a day. The office suite is dim and quiet, lit only by the warm desk lamp over your stack of unread budget proposals and a flat, tepid can of energy drink.

You rub your temples, scan your planner for the thousandth time, and try to decide if you deserve to eat dinner.

You don’t think about the failed vote. You don’t let yourself, because that way lies a madness that spirals, slow and exacting. It catalogues your every mistake, every what-if, every inch of slack you gave him that he didn’t bother to pull. But it hums under everything – your pulse, your posture, your silence.

The knock is soft. Measured.

You look up.

Bucky’s standing just inside the doorway – no suit, no tie – just a black sweater, combat boots, and a faint bruise rising along his jaw like a shadow trying to be seen. You don’t know when he got back. You certainly didn’t hear him arrive.

He doesn’t speak. Just holds out a manila folder, creased at the edges and suspiciously damp. Your name is written across the top in surprisingly neat block letters.

You rise to take it.

He nods – barely.

And then he leaves.

You don’t say anything. You don’t ask where he was. That window closed hours ago.

You sink back behind your desk, caught in that strange state where exhaustion feels both distant and crushing at once. You sit for a second, folder still unopened in your hands.

Your fingers brush over the cover. It’s still warm from when it was in his hands. This gesture should count for something – you desperately wish it did.

You push sentimentality aside and flip it open.

Inside are surveillance stills – mostly blurry, some sharp. Several facility blueprints and a few maps have handwritten notes in the margins – tight, efficient, unmistakably his. It’s useful. It’s good work. It wants to be enough.

One of the maps is tagged Jakarta Transit Port – Atlas Hub. You don’t recognise the facility, but the name rings familiar. A logistics shell, flagged and dismissed in a footnote weeks ago, ultimately passed over because it came up clean and ordinary. Now it’s circled in black ink.

And at the very back, tucked beneath a printed draft of your AFTERMATH Act, is a yellow sticky tab.

Funding line 14. Check the NGO address cross-listed under Atlas Relief. –B

You stare at the dash and letter for a long moment, the kind of moment that stretches so long, it turns inwards and sharp.

It’s just a letter. Just a note. It probably means Barnes – the Congressman. The colleague. The one who misses markups and drops folders like landmines and never quite explains where he’s been. The one who doesn’t show up when it counts.

That’s what it means.

That’s what it has to mean.

And yet – here it is. Intelligence, detail, strategy. It’s the closest thing to an explanation you’re likely to get.

It doesn’t change what he didn’t do.

But you’re tired. Too many hours on the floor, with too many nights rewriting amendments with the lights off and your pulse too loud in your ears. And in the glow of cold computer light, it’s in that moment of weakness – and god, you hope it’s just that – that you read the signature again and think: Bucky.

And something in your chest constricts.

You hate that you even entertain the thought. Hate that there’s a version of him in your mind now, built not from facts but from all the spaces in between – quiet gestures, unspoken debts, looks that linger longer than they should.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. That he probably meant it as formality. Efficiency. Habit.

Still, you don’t tear off the note. You don’t fold it up or toss it or laugh at the audacity of your own projection.

You leave it there.

Because part of you, not the sharp and strategic part, but the worn-thin, running-on-empty, idiosyncratically irrational part – wants to believe there’s a difference between Barnes and Bucky.

Either way, you close the folder and press your hand over the tab like you’re steadying something that shouldn’t move.

⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕

A/N: btw i aim to updated every 7-10 days! there's also an associated outtake in off the record

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