#and each of us makes a personal discovery

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 51: we’re engaged

prev

Returning to work after the most romantic vacation of your life felt… surreal. Just a few days ago, Sunghoon had proposed under the golden hues of a beach sunset, and now you were back at your desks, typing emails and attending meetings like you weren’t newly engaged.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t having fun with it.

Sunghoon, being the composed and private person he was, didn’t make a grand announcement about your engagement. Instead, he decided to let your coworkers figure it out on their own.

And the best way to do that? By subtly flaunting your rings.

—

The moment you stepped into the office together, there was already suspicion in the air.

You greeted the receptionist, casually tucking your hair behind your ear—purposefully flashing the diamond on your finger.

“Morning, Y/N,” she said before suddenly freezing mid-sentence, eyes locked on your hand.

You bit back a smile. “Something wrong?”

She blinked rapidly, clearly trying to process what she was seeing. “I—um, is that…?”

Before she could finish, Sunghoon walked up beside you, his own ring shining under the office lights.

“Morning,” he greeted, sliding a hand into his pocket—but not before tilting his fingers just enough for the band to be noticeable.

The receptionist’s mouth fell open. “Oh my god—DID YOU TWO—”

“See you at lunch!” you said quickly before walking off, leaving her gaping.

—

You and Sunghoon sat side by side during the department meeting, as usual. But today, there was a key difference—you both kept resting your hands on the table just a little too strategically.

Minseok, your coworker and notorious office gossip, narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Something is definitely up.”

“What do you mean?” Sunghoon asked innocently, leaning back in his chair while tapping his fingers on the table—each tap perfectly catching the light on his ring.

Minseok crossed his arms. “First of all, you two have been smirking at each other all morning. Second, Y/N, you never wear that much jewelry at work, yet you’ve been conveniently using your left hand for everything. Third—” He suddenly grabbed Sunghoon’s wrist, pulling his hand closer.

Sunghoon raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

Minseok ignored him, his jaw dropping when he saw the ring.

“I KNEW IT!” he shouted, making everyone in the room turn. “YOU’RE ENGAGED!”

A chorus of gasps and excited chatter erupted. Your supervisor, Heejin, clapped her hands together. “Oh my god! Is it true?”

Sunghoon smirked, finally deciding to confirm it. He reached under the table, intertwining his fingers with yours before lifting your joined hands up for everyone to see.

“Yeah,” he said smoothly. “We are.”

The entire office went wild.

—

The moment lunch break hit, your department ambushed you in the cafeteria.

“HOW DID IT HAPPEN?”

“WHEN DID HE PROPOSE?”

“Y/N, did you cry?!”

Sunghoon watched in amusement as you got bombarded with questions, casually sipping his coffee with his ring on full display.

You laughed, holding up your hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! One question at a time!”

Minseok dramatically wiped fake tears. “I feel so betrayed. I was the one who noticed Sunghoon’s hickey months ago, yet I wasn’t the first to know about this?”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Why do you remember that?”

“BECAUSE IT WAS MY PROUDEST DISCOVERY!”

You shook your head, laughing before finally relenting and telling them about the proposal.

When you got to the part where you proposed back, the entire table screamed.

“You what?!” Heejin clutched her chest. “THAT IS SO ICONIC.”

Sunghoon simply shrugged, but the proud smile on his face was undeniable.

“She likes to keep me on my toes,” he said, looking at you with that lovestruck gaze that never failed to make your heart race.

—

Later that afternoon, an email from HR arrived.

Subject: Congratulations!

“Dear Park Sunghoon and Y/N,

It has come to our attention—thanks to the rather enthusiastic celebrations within the department—that the two of you are now engaged.

First of all, congratulations! Secondly, as per company policy, we kindly ask you to fill out the attached form regarding workplace relationships.

Best wishes on this new chapter! (And yes, the entire HR team is swooning over this news.)

Warm regards,

Human Resources”

You burst out laughing as you read it. “Looks like HR found out.”

Sunghoon smirked, leaning against your desk. “Good. Now I don’t have to pretend I don’t want to kiss you every time I see you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks heated. “Just don’t be too obvious.”

“No promises.”

—

A week after your not-so-subtle engagement reveal at work, your closest colleagues insisted on celebrating properly. Despite your attempts to say it wasn’t necessary, Miseok dramatically declared, “We must commemorate this historic moment!” and planned a dinner at one of the best restaurants in the city.

Sunghoon, surprisingly, didn’t protest much—though you had a feeling he secretly liked the idea.

—

The moment you and Sunghoon arrived at the upscale restaurant, your colleagues cheered like you were celebrities.

“There they are! The office’s power couple!” Heejin waved excitedly, already holding a glass of wine.

Minseok dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “Ah, the engaged couple has finally graced us with their presence.”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “You invited us.”

“And we’re honored you came!” Miseok clapped his hands. “Now, let’s get inside before I cry from excitement.”

You shook your head, laughing, before letting Sunghoon guide you to your reserved table.

—

The dinner was filled with laughter, delicious food, and endless teasing.

At one point, Minseok stood up, clearing his throat dramatically. “A toast! To the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Park!”

The table cheered, raising their glasses.

“To Y/N, for somehow dealing with Sunghoon’s grumpy ass for this long—”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Wow. Thanks.”

“And to Sunghoon, for finally locking it down before Y/N realized she could do better.”

Sunghoon kicked Minseok under the table.

Minseok yelped but quickly recovered, grinning. “Kidding! You two are disgustingly perfect for each other.”

You laughed, squeezing Sunghoon’s hand under the table as everyone clinked glasses.

—

“Okay, okay, for the ones who haven’t heard yet—give us the full proposal story!” one of your colleagues demanded.

Sunghoon sighed, leaning back with an amused smirk. “How many times do we have to tell this?”

“As many times as necessary!” Heejin said.

You laughed before launching into the story once again—detailing how Sunghoon proposed at sunset on the yacht and how you ended up proposing right after him.

By the time you finished, your coworkers were either swooning or wiping fake tears.

“That’s it,” Minseok sniffled. “I’m boycotting dating until I find something that perfect.”

Sunghoon smirked. “You’ll be waiting a long time then.”

Minseok threw a napkin at him.

—

At one point during dinner, you caught Sunghoon just watching you with a soft smile.

You raised a brow. “What?”

He shrugged, fingers gently tracing the engagement ring on your hand. “Nothing. Just… I like seeing you happy.”

Your heart melted.

Leaning in, you whispered, “I’m always happy with you.”

Sunghoon’s ears turned pink, but he squeezed your hand tightly in response.

Miseok, unfortunately, caught the moment.

“Ew, why are you guys so cute?” he groaned. “Can you at least pretend to be a normal couple?”

Sunghoon smirked. “No.”

—

Just when you thought the night was winding down, the restaurant staff suddenly appeared with a special dessert.

The plate had “Congratulations Sunghoon & Y/N” written in chocolate, with a beautiful cake in the center.

Your coworkers cheered loudly.

“Wait… who arranged this?” you asked, surprised.

Sunghoon casually took a sip of his wine. “I did.”

You turned to him in shock. “You did?”

He simply shrugged. “Wanted to end the night properly.”

Your heart swelled with love.

Miseok dramatically wiped a fake tear. “Sunghoon, you’re so whipped.”

Sunghoon smirked. “And?”

And with that, the night ended with smiles, celebration, and the overwhelming warmth of being surrounded by people who genuinely cared about you both.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @veilstqr

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr r @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife

[calalico]

Answering for TWD dr most of these are for carl tho

1) 2

2) Carl and Jude (i scripted judith is a boy and hes basically just ryan from the boys😭)

3) idek tbh for carl maybe something to do with finding comics, judes a baby so i also havent a clue maybe when bro goes goo goo ga ga

4) Read books and comics, skip stones, mess with people

5) i feel like me when i want to be

6) probably also me🤐 i got a reading before and it basically said carl thinks the discovery of my s/o could make into a maturer person (which is ironic cuz our dad thinks the opposite🌚)

7) i sure hope its me but also i feel like its probably him just cuz i think he introduces me to alot of things due to the nature of my childhood or lack thereof

8) if we did it wouldnt last very long as i have powers but i dont think we ever will. maybe some rlly bad screaming matches

9) him. bye its him so bad.

10) me maybe

11) definitely neither of us

12) id say him unfortunately

13) well this is the dr so, me if i didnt script out his death but i did so both of us

14) me cuz i cheat lol

15) yes, not twd related but in my shadowhunter dr where im actually nephlim we're parabatai so we have a travel year which is cool

16) him probably

17) my sibling is stubborn asf anf hardheaded

18) him

19) no clew man i gotta shift💔

20) me

21) him maybe

22) me 💔

23) him

24) assault

25) him

26) jude cuz hes the only one actually being raised viewing michonne as their mom

27) i took a bullet for him so yeah

28) the adults are talking

29) friendly, basically my first friend

30) we'll always be there for each other and even tho hes annoying and very and maybe i can be too sometimes (ig🙄) it will never get in the way of our bond.

Questions To Answer As Your DRself: Sibling Edition

In honor of National Sibling Day what would be more fitting than getting to talk about them, even if they get on your nerves...

How many siblings to you have?

Really? What are their name(s)?

What is your favorite memory with your sibling(s)?

What are some things you like to do together?

Who is the more talkative sibling?

Who is the more immature sibling?

Who’s the more fun sibling?

Have you ever been in a physical fight?

Who is the more annoying (lovingly) sibling

Who’s the one who jokes around the most?

Who is a better cook?

Who is a better driver?

Who is more likely to survive a zombie apocalypse?

Who is likely to win all games on family night? (assuming you have one if you don't skip this question)

Would you ever go on a sibling trip? If yes, where?

Who is more competitive?

Complete the sentence, “My sibling is a/an ………”

Who’s likely to get stranded on an island?

What’s one memory you want to relive with them?

Who is likely to tell a lie to get out of trouble?

Who is likely to do the exact opposite of what they say?

Who is more secretive?

Who swears more?

If you got a call that your sibling was in jail, what would be the first crime that comes to mind?

Who’s likely to end up identical to Dad?

Who’s likely to end up like mom?

If they got into serious trouble, would you ever take the fall for them?

Which song would you dedicate to them?

Were yall friendly or did y'all have a lot of sibling rivalry?

Now say what you love the most about your sibling(s).

Tag: @husker-fictive

[jungkoode]

WE GREW UP SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY | 01

˗ˏˋott and capy ˎˊ˗

“Ott and Capy. Stupid nicknames, really. Which is fitting when you’re like 8? 10? and your best friend is being annoying. Now at almost 30 it’s… something alarming to be called in the middle of Tennoji Station. But then again, this is your childhood friend Hoseok who you’re talking about.”

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 4,7k

content: moving out/in, new beginnings, discovering Osaka, wondering the merits of texting your childhood best friend, 5 years no contact, reconnecting, work discoveries, dinner plans, hobi being loud on purpose, hobi being a literal golden retriever, nicknames (are we surprised this is a kiki fic), yn being black grumpy cat coded andweird feelings.

Kiki Nation’s discussion thread for this chapter.

✧ author's note ✧

HEEEEYYYYYY did ya losers miss some good ol’ Kiki-Hobi energy???? WELL GUESS WHAT. I’m back. I’m here. I’m mentally unwell. And I’m writing Hoseok as a hentai mangaka. You’re welcome.

So here's the thing: after Off Labels I thought I was done. Thought I’d said all I had to say about Hoseok and trauma and weird intimacy and shame and giggles through grief. And then this man—this stupid man with his stupid loud laugh and his stupid kind eyes—crept back into my mind and refused to leave. He's my wrecker. Shocking, I know. Please hold your gasps.

This fic came to me because I couldn’t stop listening to Kyary Pamyu Pamyu and having weird visual flashes of neon Osaka streets, vending machines, childhood nicknames, and that very specific flavor of yearning that comes from bumping into someone you used to know so well, and realizing you don’t know them at all anymore. I sat with that for a while. It festered. And then, like all things in my life, it became fiction.

This chapter… hurts. Like?? Soft and fluffy?? Kind of?? But also??? Pain?? It’s not loud pain. It’s not sobbing-in-the-rain pain. It’s quiet ache pain. It’s “do they still like lemon cake” pain. It's the psychological spiral that hits when you realize someone who once knew you like breathing is now asking you for your address like a stranger. It’s sitting across from your childhood best friend and realizing neither of you remember how to touch. How to say goodbye. How to exist in each other’s presence without flinching.

And yeah okay I know exactly why it hurts. (I’m a psychology girlie. I analyze my own trauma for breakfast and then write porn in the afternoon. Duality.)

It’s the displacement. The unspoken. The existential nausea of identity—like who are you, if the person who knew you best doesn’t recognize you anymore? It’s the phantom limb syndrome of old intimacy. You keep reaching for a version of them that doesn’t exist anymore. And maybe they’re doing the same with you.

This fic will be slow-paced. Of course it’s slow. This is a Kiki fic. We write longing so extended it loops back into erotic torment and then loops again into grief.

Anyway, I’m really proud of this chapter. Like, genuinely. I think the tone is doing something very specific that I don’t always allow myself to linger in: melancholy. It’s bittersweet but not tragic. Nostalgic but not sappy. It’s two people walking a tightrope over their shared past, too scared to look down.

I’ll stop rambling now (no I won’t). Read the chapter. Text your childhood best friend. Or don’t. Maybe just sit in it. Let the ache settle.

Thanks for reading. ~ Kiki (aka Capy in spirit, Ott in chaos)

P.S. If you're not already invested in Hoseok as a feral golden-retriever-turned-hentai-artist, I will make you. Give me three chapters. Bet.

⋆｡°✩ read on ✩°｡⋆

wattpad

ao3

Your phone's been staring at you for three hours, and you're pretty sure it's winning.

You've spent three days arranging your meager possessions in this shoebox apartment, and still, it doesn't feel like yours. 

The walls are too thin, the floor creaks in places it shouldn't, and there's a mysterious stain on the ceiling that looks vaguely like Australia—which feels like some cosmic joke you're not in the mood to appreciate.

And it’s Sunday evening in Osaka. 

Tomorrow you start your new job at that international marketing firm—the one that hired you specifically because you can string English words together without having an aneurysm. 

Impressive skill, that.

Your phone sits on the fold-out table, screen cracked in one corner from when you dropped it while unpacking. 

The pixelated display of your Nokia mocks you with its emptiness. 

No messages. No missed calls. No one even knows you're here except your family, your new boss and the unimpressed landlady who barely looked at you when handing over the keys.

And right now you're sprawled on your sad excuse for a futon, scrolling through Mixi for the fourth time today like some digital masochist. 

There it is again—Jung Hoseok's profile, mocking you with that ridiculous peace-sign photo and his stupid orange beanie.

Osaka Life: Year Five! with a picture of manga sketches and what looks like convenience store ramen. 

Classic.

You scroll through the contacts, thumb hovering over his profile. 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤. Saved without a nickname or emoji because you're allegedly an adult now.

"This is stupid," you mutter to the empty room, tossing the phone onto your futon. It bounces pathetically, like everything else in this apartment—cheap and temporary.

Five years. Five years since you've properly seen him. 

Yeah, there was that awkward coffee when you both happened to be home visiting parents three years ago, but that barely counted. Twenty minutes of surface-level catching up before he had to run for his train. 

You both promised to keep in touch better. 

Neither of you did.

You wouldn't even know Ott was still in Osaka if you hadn't stumbled across his profile on Mixi last month while researching your move. 

The nickname forms in your head unbidden. 

Ott. 

Right. The stupid nickname. Ott. Otter.

Because he never stopped moving as a kid, always splashing around, getting into everything, making noise. 

Like an otter. 

You called him that once to piss him off, but he'd just grinned that stupid grin and started calling you Capybara—Capy for short—because you were ‘always sitting there, judging everyone, looking grumpy but actually kind of cute.’

You were not cute. You were eleven and had braces and hated everything.

Still kind of do. 

Your apartment's single window faces another building, barely six feet of space between them. Someone's laundry hangs on the opposite balcony—a man's shirts and pants, all in dark colors. You wonder idly if your neighbor is as lost in this city as you are.

You moved to Osaka because it made sense. The job offer came at the perfect time—just when your old position in Sydney had become so monotonous you were considering setting your desk on fire just to feel something. 

They needed someone who could communicate with their English-speaking clients. 

You needed a change. 

Simple math.

The fact that you knew Hoseok lived here was irrelevant. Completely irrelevant. It's not like you were expecting to run into him in a city of 2.6 million people. And it's definitely not like you were going to reach out to him.

Except now you're sitting here, stomach growling because you still haven't figured out where to buy groceries, staring at your phone like it might bite you.

You hear everything happening outside.

Distant trains, muffled voices speaking rapid Japanese you can barely follow, someone's TV playing what sounds like a game show. 

You've learned exactly seventeen useful phrases in Japanese, and fifteen of them are food-related.

Your laptop sits on the floor, ancient and struggling to connect to the building's spotty internet. The email from your new boss stares back at you: 

"Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow at 8:30. Please be punctual. Orientation materials attached."

God, you're not ready. You're not ready for any of this.

You grab your phone again, a decision forming against your better judgment. 

It's just practical, really. He knows the city. He could tell you where to get decent food that won't bankrupt you. Maybe recommend a better internet provider. That's it.

Your thumb hovers over the message button. You type, delete, type again. Finally:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙷𝚎𝚢. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚈/𝙽. 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚂𝚢𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚢. 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝙾𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔. 𝚂𝚊𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝙼𝚒𝚡𝚒. 𝙰𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜𝚗 𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝟽-𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗?

You hit send before you can overthink it, then immediately throw the phone down like it's contaminated. 

What the hell are you doing? He probably doesn't even remember you properly. Or worse, he does, and he'll think you're some desperate loser who can't make friends without dredging up people from elementary school.

Five minutes pass. 

Ten. 

You force yourself to unpack the last box, arranging toiletries in your tiny bathroom, pretending you're not listening for the message alert.

When the phone finally beeps, you nearly trip over your own feet rushing to check it.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚈?!?!? 𝙽𝙾 𝚆𝙰𝚈!!!!! 𝚈𝙾𝚄’𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝙾𝚂𝙰𝙺𝙰????

All caps. Multiple exclamation points. Some things never change.

Before you can respond, another message:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞?? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊?? 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚜! ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ

And then another:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝙾𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚊 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠?? 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙽𝙾𝚆???

You stare at the screen, a strange mixture of irritation and something warmer swirling in your chest. 

Of course he texts like an overcaffeinated teenager. Of course he uses those stupid Japanese emoticons. Of course he still calls you that ridiculous nickname.

You type back, deliberately keeping it casual:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚓𝚒. 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙽𝙾𝚆, 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝.

The reply is instant:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙽𝙾𝙹𝙸?! 𝙸’𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟷𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝚃𝙴, 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚈! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. 

Fate. More like unfortunate coincidence. 

Your stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, reminding you of the original purpose of this ill-advised communication.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚂𝚘... 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜? 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚞.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Then:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍! 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝚢𝚘𝚞! 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚓𝚒 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝟸𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜! 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝!  𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝙾𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚕!!

You stare at the message in horror. 

No. Absolutely not. 

You did not sign up for actually seeing him tonight. You're not mentally prepared. Your hair is unwashed, you're wearing your oldest t-shirt, and you haven't slept properly in three days.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚃𝙾𝙾 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴! 𝙰𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚜! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔, 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚘𝚞𝚝.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙? ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝟷𝟿 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜!

You throw your phone onto the futon with a groan. 

This is exactly why you hesitated to contact him. The man has no concept of boundaries. Never has. 

You remember how he used to climb through your bedroom window when you were thirteen because your mom said he couldn't come over until you finished your homework. He'd just sit on your floor, reading comics quietly, claiming he wasn't ‘technically’ visiting if he didn't talk.

You glance at your reflection in the small mirror above your sink. 

Dark circles under your eyes, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing sweatpants and a faded t-shirt from a concert you don't even remember attending.

"Fuck it," you mutter, grabbing a somewhat cleaner shirt from your suitcase.

You're not dressing up for him. You're just not going to give him ammunition to tease you about looking like a zombie.

As you change, you tell yourself this is purely about food. 

You're hungry. He knows places. End of story. 

It's not because some small, traitorous part of you is actually relieved to have someone familiar in this strange city. 

And it's definitely not because, despite everything, you're curious about what five years in Osaka has done to Jung Hoseok.

Sixteen minutes later, you're standing at the north exit of Tennoji Station, arms crossed over your chest, scanning the sparse Sunday evening crowd for a familiar face.

You spot him before he sees you. 

He's jogging toward the exit, still wearing that stupid orange beanie from his profile picture, a faded hoodie hanging loose on his frame. 

He looks... the same, somehow. 

Different, but the same. 

Like someone took the Hoseok you remember and just stretched him slightly, sharpened some edges, but left the core intact.

He hasn't seen you yet, and for a moment, you consider turning around and heading back to your apartment. 

Pretending you never messaged him. 

Starting fresh tomorrow without this complication.

Then he looks up, eyes scanning the area, and his entire face transforms when he spots you. 

His smile is so wide it should be physically painful, eyes crinkling at the corners, hand shooting up to wave frantically like you might miss the only person having a full-body spasm in the middle of the station.

"CAPY!" he shouts, loud enough to make several people turn and stare. "CAPYBARAAAAAA!"

You want to disappear into the concrete. 

Instead, you lift a hand in the smallest possible acknowledgment, your face already settling into the scowl that feels most natural around him.

He bounds over like an overexcited puppy, stopping just short of actually tackling you, which you half-expected him to do.

"Look at you!" he says, eyes scanning you from head to toe. "You look... exactly the same! But taller? Did you get taller? No, that's impossible, we're adults, we don't grow anymore. Maybe I shrunk? Did I shrink, Capy?"

He's talking too fast, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he can't contain the energy in his body. 

Some things really never change.

"Hello to you too, Ott," you say, the nickname slipping out before you can stop it. "And no, neither of us has experienced a height change. You're just as annoyingly tall as always."

His grin somehow gets wider at the nickname, like you've given him some kind of gift. "You remember! You still call me Ott! This is the best day!"

"It's been five years, not fifty. I haven't developed amnesia."

"Five years, three months, and approximately—" he makes a show of checking an imaginary watch, "—twelve days, but who's counting?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Apparently you are, which is concerning."

He laughs, the sound exactly as you remember it—too loud, slightly high-pitched, completely uninhibited. "Come on, I'm taking you to the best okonomiyaki place in Osaka. The owner has a daughter who speaks some English, so you can point at stuff if you need to."

Before you can protest, he's already walking, gesturing for you to follow. You hesitate for only a second before falling into step beside him.

"That's the best convenience store—they never card you for beer. That place has decent ramen but the bathroom is sketchy. Oh, and never go down that street at night unless you want to get offered 'massages' by very persistent men in suits."

You're barely listening, too busy trying to process the fact that you're walking through Osaka with Jung Hoseok, like the last five years never happened, like you're still the same people you were back in Sydney.

But you're not. You can't be. Too much has happened. Too much time has passed.

As if reading your thoughts, he glances at you sideways. "So. Marketing, huh? Always figured you'd end up doing something with all those fancy words you know."

"It's just copywriting. Nothing fancy."

"Still. International firm. Sounds impressive."

You shrug. "They just needed someone who speaks English. The bar was pretty low."

He nudges your shoulder with his. "Classic Capy. Never take a compliment when you can deflect it instead."

"It's not a compliment, it's an observation. And what about you? Still drawing?"

Something flickers across his face, too quick to catch. "Yeah. Still drawing."

"Anything I would have seen?"

He lets out a short laugh. "Uh, depends on what kind of websites you visit."

Before you can ask what the hell that means, he stops in front of a small restaurant wedged between a closed flower shop and what appears to be a tiny bar. The sign is all in Japanese, and the windows are steamed up from the heat inside.

"Here we are! Best okonomiyaki in the city, I swear."

As he slides open the door, the smell hits you—savory, slightly smoky, with hints of ginger and onion. Your stomach growls audibly, and Hoseok laughs.

"Someone's hungry! Don't worry, Capy, I'll feed you." He puts on a baby voice, reaching out like he's going to pinch your cheek. "Poor widdle Capybara, all alone in the big city with no food."

You swat his hand away. "Touch my face and lose the hand, Ott."

He clutches his chest dramatically. "Still so violent! I see Osaka hasn't softened you at all."

"I've been here three days."

"Ah, so there's still hope!"

The restaurant is small but cozy, with grill tables where customers cook their own okonomiyaki. 

An older woman greets Hoseok warmly in Japanese, exchanging a few sentences before she leads you to a table in the corner.

As you sit down across from him, the reality of the situation finally hits you. 

You're having dinner with Jung Hoseok. 

In Osaka. 

After five years of nothing but occasional likes on social media and that one awkward coffee shop meeting.

He's looking at you with a strange expression, head tilted slightly, like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"What?" you ask, immediately defensive.

"Nothing," he says, but the look lingers. "Just... it's weird, right? You being here. In my city."

"It's not your city. You just live here."

"Five years makes it mine. Three days makes you the tourist."

"I'm not a tourist. I live here now."

His eyes widen slightly. "Wait, for real? Like, permanently?"

You shift uncomfortably. "Well, the contract is for a year initially. But yeah, I moved here. Shipped all my stuff. Got an apartment. The whole thing."

"Huh." He leans back, processing this information. "A whole year of Capy in Osaka. The city won't know what hit it."

The daughter—presumably—comes over with menus, speaking in careful, slow Japanese mixed with English phrases. 

Hoseok jumps in, ordering in fluent Japanese that flows so naturally you almost forget he's half-Australian. 

His mom made sure he was bilingual from the start, but hearing it now, surrounded by the actual language and culture, makes you realize how much more connected to this place he is than you.

When the waitress leaves, you raise an eyebrow. 

“Show off."

He looks genuinely confused. "What?"

"The Japanese. You sound like you actually belong here."

"I mean, I've lived here for five years. And I am half-Japanese, remember?"

You do remember. His mom speaking to him in Japanese when you were kids, though he'd usually respond in English because it was easier around you. 

Another piece of Hoseok that feels different now, more layered than the boy you knew.

"So," he says, leaning forward on his elbows, "what made you choose Osaka? Of all the cities in all the world, you just happened to pick the one where I've been living?"

There's something in his tone—playful, but with an edge of genuine curiosity—that makes you look away.

"The job offered the best package," you say, which is true. "And I needed a change from Sydney. That's it."

"That's it? Not even a little bit because you knew your favorite childhood friend was here?"

You roll your eyes. "You weren't my favorite childhood friend. You were an annoying neighbor who wouldn't leave me alone."

"I was totally your favorite," he insists, grinning. "You let me read your diary once."

"I did not! You stole it, and I pushed you into a bush for it!"

He laughs, the sound filling the small restaurant. "Oh yeah! I had scratches for weeks. Your mom thought I'd been attacked by a cat."

"You were. A human one."

The banter feels so familiar, so easy, that for a moment you forget the five-year gap, the distance, the strangers you've become. 

For a moment, it's just you and Ott, arguing like you're thirteen again.

The waitress returns with a tray of ingredients and begins preparing the grill built into your table. Hoseok watches you, strange expression back on his face.

"What?" you ask again.

He shakes his head slightly. "Nothing. It's just... good to see you, Capy. For real."

It catches you off guard, the sincerity in his voice. 

You don't know what to do with it, so you fall back on sarcasm.

"Well, don't get used to it. I'm going to be very busy with my important marketing job."

"Of course, of course. The great Y/N, too important for old friends." He contorts his gaze in fake agony. "How will I survive the rejection?"

"The same way you've survived the last five years, I imagine. Without a single thought about me."

It comes out more bitter than you intended, and you see it land—a slight widening of his eyes, a pause in his perpetual motion. 

For a second, neither of you speaks.

Then the waitress saves you by placing a bowl of batter on the table, demonstrating how to mix in the cabbage, meat, and other ingredients before pouring it onto the hot grill. 

Hoseok jumps in, taking over the cooking and flipping the pancake-like creation with surprising dexterity.

"I thought about you," he says quietly, eyes on the grill. "I just... didn't know what to say anymore. It felt like we'd gone in different directions."

You don't know how to respond to this sudden honesty, so you watch him cook instead. His hands move confidently, sprinkling bonito flakes and drizzling sauce over the okonomiyaki once it's cooked through.

"Try it," he says, cutting a piece and sliding the plate toward you. "Best thing you'll ever put in your mouth, I promise."

You take a bite, and damn it, he's right. The flavors explode on your tongue—savory, sweet, umami, with the perfect texture of crispy exterior and soft interior. You can't help the small sound of appreciation that escapes you.

Hoseok's face lights up. "See? What did I tell you! The Ott never lies about food."

"The Ott refers to himself in the third person now? That's not concerning at all."

He laughs, taking a huge bite of his own portion. "Some things change, Capy. But the important ones stay the same."

You're not sure what he means by that.

You focus on eating instead. 

The food really is incredible, and you realize just how hungry you've been, and for a few minutes, you both eat in companionable silence, the awkwardness fading under the simple pleasure of good food.

"So," he says eventually, "where's your apartment? Is it nice? Do you have roommates?"

"It's in the south part of Tennoji. It's tiny and depressing, and no, I live alone. The company arranged it."

"Alone? In Osaka? That's no fun. You should have called me before moving! I could have helped you find something better."

The idea of planning this move with Hoseok's input is so absurd you almost laugh. 

"Right, because we've been in such close contact."

He has the decency to look slightly abashed. "Yeah, well... we're fixing that now, right?"

You're not sure what to say to that either. 

Are you fixing it? Is that what this impromptu dinner means? Or is this just a one-off reunion before you both return to your separate lives in the same city?

"How's the manga going?" you ask instead, changing the subject. "I saw your blog. Looked like you were working on something."

That strange expression crosses his face again. "It's... going. It pays the bills."

"What kind of manga? Anything published?"

He coughs, suddenly very interested in arranging the remaining food on his plate. "Yeah, it's published. It's, uh... it's adult manga, actually."

It takes you a moment to process what he's saying. 

"Adult as in...?"

"As in not for kids." He meets your eyes. "Hentai, if we're being specific."

You blink. "You draw porn?"

"I draw adult-oriented manga with complex characters and narratives that happen to include explicit sexual content," he corrects, the words sounding rehearsed. "But yeah, essentially, I draw porn."

Of all the ways you imagined Hoseok's life had gone, this was not on the list. The boy who used to draw elaborate superhero comics in the margins of his school notebooks now draws hentai for a living.

You can't help it—you start laughing.

His face shifts from defiance to confusion. "What's funny?"

"Nothing, just..." You try to control your laughter. "Of course. Of course that's what you do. It's so perfectly ridiculous."

"Hey! It's legitimate art! I'll have you know I've won awards!"

This only makes you laugh harder. "Awards? For porn? Like what, 'Best Depiction of a Tentacle'?"

He rolls his eyes, but you can see the tension leaving his shoulders. "Mock all you want, but it pays well, and I'm good at it. I have a whole fan following online."

"I bet you do," you say, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. "God, Ott. Only you would somehow turn drawing dirty pictures into a career with awards."

He grins, seemingly relieved that you're not judging him. "What can I say? I found my calling."

"Does your mom know?"

"She thinks I illustrate 'romance novels,'" he says, making air quotes. "And we're both happy with that explanation."

The image of Mrs. Jung proudly telling her friends that her son illustrates romance novels while he's actually drawing explicit hentai is somehow both hilarious and oddly sweet.

As your laughter subsides, you realize something. 

This is the first time you've really laughed since arriving in Osaka. 

The first time you've felt anything close to comfortable.

Hoseok is looking at you again with that soft expression that makes something flutter in your chest. 

You quickly squash it.

"What?" you ask for the third time tonight.

"I missed that," he says simply. "Your laugh. It's still the same."

“Well, don't get used to it. I don't plan on making a habit of laughing at your poor life choices."

"But you'll have to see me again to laugh at my future poor life choices," he points out, grinning. "So that means we're hanging out again, right?"

You hesitate. 

The sensible thing would be to thank him for dinner, go home, and focus on your new job. Keep things casual. A message here and there, maybe coffee someday. 

Not jump right back into whatever intense friendship you had as kids.

But there's something about sitting across from him in this tiny restaurant, the familiar rhythm of your bickering, that feels like the first real thing since you arrived in this city.

"I start work tomorrow," you say, neither a yes nor a no.

"Perfect! You'll need dinner after your first day. I'll show you another spot."

"I didn't agree to that."

"You didn't not agree either." He reaches across the table, stealing the last bite of your okonomiyaki with lightning speed. "Come on, Capy. You missed me too."

Too. 

You narrow your eyes at the theft of your food. "I will admit no such thing. And you'll pay for taking my food."

"See? Violent as ever." He beams like your threat is the greatest compliment. "I'll pick you up after work tomorrow. Where's your office?"

Before you can protest, he's already pulling out his phone, ready to input the address. 

And somehow, against every instinct screaming at you to maintain boundaries, you find yourself telling him.

He walks you back to your apartment building later.

And it’s not because you wanted to (you said no multiple times). But he insisted on seeing you home safely, ‘because Osaka can be confusing at night.’

So now here you are, both walking, side by side whilst keeping a deliberate distance between you. 

Most shops are closed by now, and the night air is cool against your skin, makes you nuzzle your sweater a little bit.

"This is me," you say, stopping in front of your building. 

It looks even more depressing at night, the lighting in the lobby flickering slightly.

Hoseok looks up at the building, assessing. "Not bad. Kind of reminds me of my first place here."

"Let me guess, you live somewhere amazing now, with your fancy porn money?"

He laughs. "Nah, still in a pretty basic apartment. Just with more bookshelves for all my manga research." 

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at 'research.'

You roll your eyes. "Gross."

"You love it."

"I do not."

He grins, rocking back on his heels. "So, tomorrow. After work. I'll meet you at your office at... what time do you finish?"

"I don't know yet. And I didn't agree to tomorrow."

"Text me when you know," he says, completely ignoring your protest. "I'm free all evening."

You should say no. You should set boundaries now, before this becomes a thing. 

But the thought of coming back to your empty apartment after your first day at a new job in a foreign country...

"I'll text you," you concede. "But no promises."

His smile is annoyingly triumphant. "That's all I ask, Capy."

There's an awkward moment where neither of you seems to know how to say goodbye. 

In the past, you might have shoved him, or he might have ruffled your hair. 

Now, you stand a careful three feet apart, the years between you like a physical barrier.

"Well. Thanks for dinner," you say finally. "And the recommendation. It was good."

"Anytime. Seriously." There's that sincerity again, throwing you off-balance. "It's really good to see you, Y/N."

The use of your actual name instead of the nickname startles you. 

You look at him—really look at him—for the first time all night. There are new lines around his eyes when he smiles. His hair is different under that beanie, longer than he used to wear it. He's thinner than you remember, or maybe just more angular. 

But his eyes are the same, dark and warm and always, always watching you too closely.

"Yeah," you say, before you can think better of it. "You too, Hoseok."

His smile softens into something different, something that makes your stomach do a strange little flip. You quickly look away.

"Goodnight, Ott," you say, already turning toward the building entrance. "Don't get lost on your way home."

"Goodnight, Capy," he calls after you. "Sweet dreams about your first day in the big, scary office!"

You flip him off without looking back, his laughter following you as you enter the building.

Inside your apartment, you lean against the closed door, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding. 

The space feels even smaller after being out in the city, the silence more pronounced.

Your phone beeps with a message:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤; 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎! 𝙸𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 (𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎). 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠! 𝙶𝚊𝚗𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎!!! ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ"

You stare at the screen, torn between annoyance and something dangerously close to affection.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢.

Three dots appear immediately.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍. 𝙰𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚎𝚎𝚎.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢! 𝚃𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠! 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝! 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜!!

You put the phone down without responding, but there's a small smile tugging at your lips that you can't quite suppress.

Tomorrow you start your new job. Tomorrow you begin the life you came to Osaka for. Tomorrow everything gets real.

But tonight, for just a few hours, it felt like maybe you weren't completely alone in this strange new city. Like maybe there was one person who still knew you, even after all this time.

You're not sure if that's comforting or terrifying.

Probably both.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

goal: 150 notes.

if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'･ᴗ･'♡ https://ko-fi.com/jungkoode

next | index

⋆｡°✩ taglist ✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @dltyum @dailynnt @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @hobis-sprite0218 @mcflurry-220 @sashakittyct @bjoriis

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Supply & Demand: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: One car accident led to the discovery of a human trafficking ring, one that you now need to infiltrate and take down. You need to give this case your all but it's hard when the reality of your situation with Spencer rushes at you like a freight train. You're forced to look back at every bad thing that has happened to you because it has to be someone you know who's doing this. One thing you can count on? Family. Always ready to take care of you when you need it.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If any warnings exceed the normal deaths/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"And yet to every bad, there's a worse." - Thomas Hardy

It's not normal for Hotch to call you into work before the sun rises. He usually allows people to start their work day at eight, seven when it's dire. It's four in the morning, and you're sitting at the briefing table drinking your second cup of coffee. The first one you downed after looking back at the footage from your cameras.

Nothing. Not a single damn thing.

"No news is good news."

"Baby, it's been a month since we put those cameras up, and nothing has happened."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Someone left those syringes in our apartment and our lock wasn't broken which means someone has a key. I don't know about you, but the only person who has a key is JJ unless you're handing them out left and right."

"I'm not. We rekeyed the place, though."

"That doesn't make up for the fact that someone got a key in the first place. Who would do that?"

The sense that someone is watching you increased over the past month. You can't put your finger on it which is pissing you off. It's making you paranoid, and you can barely sleep as it is. It doesn't help that there is a tree right outside your window that has branches that scrape your window at night. You always say you're going to cut the damn thing down, and now you might do it.

The rest of the team comes in besides Hotch.

"Where's Hotch?" you ask.

"He'll be in soon," Rossi answers.

"I didn't get a file sent to me. Did a case go directly to him?"

"I don't know."

"When's the last time he called a meeting this early?" Ashley asks.

"Three years and eight months ago," Spencer answers.

"What happened?"

Silent befalls the team. "Gideon left."

The clock ticks on, and Hotch finally comes out of his office. "I appreciate everyone coming in early."

"What's going on?" Rossi asks.

"The Director called a meeting last night to discuss budgets."

"They skipped over Strauss?"

"She's away. The Bureau is facing a lot of changes and this unit is no exception. Over the next few weeks, each of you is going to be asked if you'd like to stay with the unit."

"Why wouldn't we?"

"There are other options for you out there. While I want the unit to stay together, I understand completely if you want to see what the alternatives are. Morgan, there's renewed interest in you from the New York office."

"Nobody has called me."

"They will."

"That doesn't mean I'm gonna go."

"I know. Y/N." You look at Hotch. "I'm not supposed to say anything but the Secret Service is asking for you after hearing about what you can do."

"The Secret Service wants me?" you ask, completely shocked. Hotch nods, and you look around the room. "You'd think I'd leave this team? This family?"

"Think about it."

"Are you staying here?" Ashley asks.

"It's my intention. All I ask is if you are contacted by another division, you let me know." His phone rings and he answers the call. "Hotchner. ... Yes. ... Right. We can be there in twenty minutes. ... Thank you." He hangs up. "Virginia State police believe they've uncovered a serial killer. They need us at Zacha Road and Route 7 as soon as possible. Morgan, you, Y/N, and Dave get out there."

"What about this?"

"We'll talk about it later."

Wow. The Secret Service wants you. You never thought about joining that team, but you understand why they would want someone like you on it. You can see things coming from a mile away, and you'd be a valuable asset to their team. Still, you don't think you can ever leave this family behind.

On Route 7, there was a crash that happened this morning. When you get to it, the road has been shut down by police. The car in question has already been towed to the road from the ditch they found it in. Not only did this guy crash, there were two dead people stashed in the trunk of his car. They thought this was an easy case but once they saw the bodies, they knew to call Hotch.

You put a hand on the wrecked car and watch as the crash happens as if you were there. The driver, Kyle, was stuck behind a concrete truck which was driving too slow for his liking. He got impatient and tried to go around him through a double yellow, only to see a car heading in the opposite way. He didn't see the car because he was coming around a curve, but Kyle managed to get back into his own lane without issue.

It's the next time he did it, he didn't see the car until it was too late. This time, he stepped on the accelerator to pass the concrete truck but ended up nearly hitting another car in the passing lane. He swerved to hit it which is when he crashed into the ditch below.

He died from his injuries before paramedics could bring him to the hospital.

"Did they get anything from the driver before he died?" you ask.

"No. Just his name. He had severe head trauma. He stopped making sense. State PD said they couldn't find any ID anywhere. They even ran his prints but nothing."

"Kyle has to have a record." You look at the bodies in the trunk. "They're both young and healthy. Look at what he did to them. This can't be his first time. What about the VIN and plates?"

"We're running them now."

"Both victims seem to have on some type of uniform. Shorts and tanks. Are we dealing with a cult?"

"That usually ends in suicide, not torture." Derek points to the man. "He was beaten and strangled."

You look at the female and gasp when you see dried blood on her inner thighs. Not to mention her throat is slashed. "She was... I think she was raped. Different injuries. It might be more than one offender."

"They can't be more than twenty. Somebody's gotta be missing them."

Derek takes out a device that looks like a phone and presses the male victim's thumb against the screen. It records his fingerprint which is then sent to Penelope so she can run it. He does the same to the female victim. While he does that, you call Penelope to see if this is something she can do.

"I got a hit for both of them. Jake Wattey has been missing since December, and Paige Hawley since February."

"Are they local kids?"

"No, not even remotely. Jake is from Arizona and Paige is from Ohio."

"Was he a junior at ASU?" Derek asks.

"Yeah, how did you... Wait. We consulted on a case during Christmas, right?"

"Yeah, he was academically burned out. We thought it might be a suicide. His body was never found."

"Now he has," you sigh. "How did he end up two thousand miles away?"

"He'd been missing for four months. Why kill him now?"

After pictures are taken of the bodies, they are removed so they can go to the medical examiner's office to be inspected further. Pictures of the rest of the car inside and out are taken by both you and the CSI team. Underneath Jake and Paige's bodies is a duffel bag. You unzip it to see an array of tools inside including a chainsaw and a bat. They were probably the weapons used on the victims.

"Unsub depot. He kills them and throws them in the trunk. Why not use this wherever he's done the deed?" Rossi asks.

"It's loud and time-consuming. It'd leave a messy trail. Forensic countermeasures as well. He doesn't want to lead us to where he kills them. Maybe he was gonna bury them in the woods or dump them in the river."

Rossi looks around. "It is pretty damn secluded out here."

"We need to figure out what happened before they got in the car." You look at the tires and frown at the amount of mud on them. "When was the last time it rained out here?"

"Do I look like a weatherman?" Rossi asks, giving you a bitch face.

"Look at the tires, Rossi. There's mud caked all over them."

"That may be what was in the victims' hair. They could have been dragged through it."

"Let's find out where it was raining in the last twenty-four hours."

While Derek looks that up through Penelope, Rossi walks to the front of the car and uses the key to turn the car on. He only clicks it once so that the battery runs the radio and air conditioning unit. It also shows how full the tank is.

"The tank is three-fourths full."

This kind of car has a capacity of eighteen gallons and gets fifteen miles per gallon. He used one-fourth of a tank, so he must have fueled about seventy miles ago," you say.

"Okay, Reid," Rossi smirks.

"You say that like an insult but it's a compliment."

"What's the mileage?" Derek chuckles.

"Thirty-three thousand, eight hundred and twenty-three."

"On a 2011? What the hell's he been doing?"

"Crossing state lines," you answer. "It looks like he enjoys the long way to avoid interstates. No GPS. No cell phone. Low-tech. Nothing traceable."

"If he's working with a group and he has no phone, how's he checking in?"

Penelope calls Derek back on places that have been hit by rain in the last twenty-four hours.

"Roanoke. Big storm," she says.

"Did you run the registration?"

"Of course, I did, and it's bogus. It led me to a guy who's been dead for three years. Do you really think these bastards that are dumping bodies in the middle of nowhere would leave a paper trail?"

"Hey, are you okay?"

"No, clearly I'm not."

Derek turns away from you and Rossi. "Talk to me."

"I am sick of the sickos. There has got to be more to life than being surrounded by this."

"Okay, whoa, slow down. Since when is Penelope Garcia gonna throw in the towel?"

"Since exactly now."

"Baby girl, listen to me. I know you're upset. So am I, but what you're trying to do right now is distance yourself from any more loss, and I get it. I do the same thing."

"I am not some unsub that you can try to relate to and then break down," she says angrily.

"You have every right to be angry, but there's really nothing you can do."

"No, Derek, you do not understand me. I don't like change. I have major control issues!"

"No, say it ain't so. Not you," he says sarcastically. "I just made you smile, didn't I?"

"Maybe," she grumbles.

"Good."

"I hate you."

He knows she loves him. Nothing more can be taken from the car, so you three head to the ME's office to see what else has come up for Jake and Paige.

"When were they killed?" you ask the ME.

"My best guess is eight hours ago. Skin abrasions say he got a bare-knuckle beating before he was strangled."

"What about her?"

"The shallow cuts look like torture, but the fatal one was quick. Severed carotid. They had bruising around both of their necks, their arms, and legs. She was raped, as well but no DNA was left behind."

"Were they dragged around by the car?"

"There are no signs of other restraints."

"Look bat this." Derek hovers his hands over Jake's throat where there is a huge hand-shaped bruise. "This unsub's hands must be huge. They've got mud and dirt on them, but no signs of being held for months."

"I gotta tell you, they don't look like typical missings. I usually see malnutrition and vitamin deficiencies, but not here," the ME says.

"They were taken care of."

"Preliminary blood results confirm he's got high levels of sildenafil citrate. It's commonly used for erectile dysfunction. She has mifepristone and misoprostol in her system. They're used in medical abortions. Can I ask what's going on here?"

"We think they may be victims of a trafficking ring," Derek says.

"Evidence points there, except why would they take such good care of them and then turn around and kill them?"

You delicately run your gloved hands through Paige's hair. What she must have experienced with those... monsters. It's hard to get anywhere with trafficking because they are highly secure. It's very difficult to bust one group. It's the fact that the only reason you have this case is because of a car crash. This must have been Kyle's first time with bodies because it's risky enough to transport one body, but two?

Paige was abducted months after having Jake in captivity, and Kyle traveled with them both. That means he's criminally sophisticated. If he's involved in a trafficking ring, he has to have done this before. There are definitely more victims but it's going to be hard until you figure out who Jake and Paige were targeted.

Luckily, someone from the outside with special knowledge is helping. Her name is Andi Swan, the head of the Domestic Trafficking Task Force. Human trafficking is a growing industry, and she has half the agents she had last year so it's safe to say she's running thin. She gets notifications on body discoveries for people from eighteen to twenty-four, and she has a theory on what might have happened to Jake and Paige.

You head back to the BAU to meet with her and hear what she has to say.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[mysticalmagickial]

We're not supposed to be able to live without romance?

Ha-ha! We defy you, uptight importance of the world! We know a secret you don't. We have evil little schemes and malicious little plans and they're working.

Call us witches. Call us evil masterminds. Call us tragic; but we are not bound to the terms of this life. We've searched and experimented and found, and we continue to find, and share, and love. Just not in the way that you believe to be necessary, yet we are connected to one another in ways which some have never imagined.

Being aromantic is fucking awesome. There's this idea of some Grand Fucking Thing that is supposed to be the most important part of life, something that you apparently can't live without, and it means Absolutely Nothing to me. That's really the only way to say it. It sounds so tragic to some people but to me it's fucking amazing

[poebrey]

not going to lie as soon as Michael started talking about a first officer my mind jumped to Owosekun and Rhys and when Saru said Booker would make a good XO I was offended on their behalf because the man’s not even technically in starfleet

[whentherewerebicycles]

WORKSHOP WENT SO WELL!!!! the students got really into the activities and just did SUCH a good job in the debrief conversation at the end. one of the students also works for our office under my coworker's supervision (although i'd never met her before) and my coworker said the student messaged her after to rave about how fun the workshop was and how good the group discussions were. and at the end one of the professional staff who worked at the center just got up and spontaneously gave a little speech about how much undergrad research had meant to him and how much doing community-engaged work helped him untangle these complicated questions and feelings about his identity and his relationship to his community. it was just really nice!! good group, very good energy, and i think/hope they are going to want to invite us back to do more programming with their students this year. fingers crossed!!!

[nasa]

One Giant Leap for Mankind

Millions of people around the globe will come together for the Paris 2024 Olympic Games later this month to witness a grand event—the culmination of years of training and preparation.

Fifty-five years ago this July, the world was watching as a different history-changing event was unfolding: the Apollo 11 mission was landing humans on the surface of another world for the first time. An estimated 650 million people watched on TV as Neil Armstrong reached the bottom of the ladder of the lunar module on July 20, 1969, and spoke the words, “That’s one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind.”

While the quest to land astronauts on the Moon was born from the space race with the Soviet Union during the Cold War, this moment was an achievement for the whole of humanity. To mark the world-embracing nature of the Moon landing, several tokens of world peace were left on the Moon during the astronauts’ moonwalk.

“We came in peace for all mankind”

These words, as well as drawings of Earth’s western and eastern hemispheres, are etched on a metal plaque affixed to a leg of the Apollo 11 lunar lander. Because the base of the lander remained on the Moon after the astronauts returned, it is still there today as a permanent memorial of the historic landing.

Microscopic messages from kings, queens, and presidents

Another artifact left on the Moon by the Apollo 11 astronauts is a small silicon disc etched with goodwill messages from leaders of 74 countries around the world. Each message was reduced to be smaller than the head of a pin and micro-etched on a disc roughly 1.5 inches (3.8 cm) in diameter. Thailand’s message, translated into English, reads: "The Thai people rejoice in and support this historic achievement of Earth men, as a step towards Universal peace."

Curious to read what else was inscribed on the disk? Read the messages.

An ancient symbol

The olive branch, a symbol of peace and conciliation in ancient Greek mythology, also found its way to the Moon in July 1969. This small olive branch made of gold was left on the lunar surface during Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin’s 2.5-hour moonwalk. The olive branch also featured on the Apollo 11 mission patches sewed on the crew’s spacesuits. Designed in part by command module pilot Michael Collins, the insignia shows a bald eagle landing on the Moon holding an olive branch in its talons.

We go together

As NASA’s Artemis program prepares to again land astronauts on the Moon, including the first woman and the first person of color, this time we’re collaborating with commercial and international partners. Together we will make new scientific discoveries, establish the first long-term presence on the Moon, and inspire a new generation of explorers.

Is aerospace history your cup of tea? Be sure to check out more from NASA’s past at www.nasa.gov/history.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[gamingavickreyauction]

I think people delude themselves about how effective intellectual property is. In the pure world of intellectual property you can patent a discovery and sell it for all the value it adds, or use it to make that much profit, but in reality the value of intellectual property corresponds very loosely to how much value it adds.

It's relatively easy to read a few books and write a pop history book about a topic which makes ten times as much money as what the academic history books made, even though those books may each have taken 10 times as long by more skilled workers, and amount to the vast majority of the work that went into your book. The incentive structure is clearly wrong if you want books like your pop history book to be made about more topics.

If you do basic research that leads to an important new drug being developed 20 years down the line, you will get nothing- the organisation that actually gets the patent is the one that does the last step. And many kinds of valuable research don't lead in any immediate way to a marketable product in the first place.

The reason the neoliberal argument fails here is because people are getting patents intellectual property that doesn't just capture the value they added, but all the work others put into the idea before them, which no intellectual property was awarded for. So there is a huge incentivise to focus on the last mile, the marketable part, to the neglect of everything else, even though that's most likely to be the part that anyone could have done.

The neoliberal might reply that this is actually a problem of incomplete property rights- the neoliberal's model works if the basic research was patentable too, so that the person who brings it to market pays for the basic research, gets paid the value of the market product, and pockets the difference- the value they added. But the reason that isn't done is that a world like that would be unlivable. It would be impossible to get any research done because the web of how ideas feed into each other isn't simple, and the negotiation of how much to pay for each idea would be arduous. This is why patents cannot work in the 'ideal' way they do in economic models, and why they will inevitably have this serious flaw in the real world.

The neoliberal might argue that this is a problem solved by universities- universities can do the basic research, which becomes commons, and the researchers are paid salaries because paying them based on their value added would be impossible, and the applied research is done by businesses, who are paid their value added, because it's close enough to the market that that is possible. Aside from neoliberals cutting universities, the problem with this is that it allows private companies to capture the value of research done by universities if there are only a few ways to apply that research effectively. If a company uses X basic research to make Y product, and there are no profitable alternative ways to apply X to make a competitor product, the company hasn't just been given a monopoly on Y, they've been given a monopoly on X- they have captured a piece of the commons, created by a university researcher for the good of everyone, and they're extracting rent from it. This also creates a strong incentive for reinventing the wheel, because if you can turn X into Y in a way different enough to fall outside of that patent, you get half of that economic rent.

Additionally there is no clear delineation between basic and applied research, so there is a balance that must be struck between not letting things too basic be patented, as that would be devastating to all the research that might build on it, while allowing applied research to be patented. But it is difficult to tell early on how far an idea could be taken, and patent assessors are generally not well placed to do that, so it is easy for them to hamstring any attempts to build upon a crucial idea for the duration of the patent- 20 years in the UK. Potentially this creates an incentive to veer away from more basic lines of inquiry.

And there is no such thing as a terminal creation, that there is no point in trying to improve, so counting research as applied and giving a patent is still cutting off the possibility of future improvements being made for 20 years, except by people at that company. This is particularly devastating with arts and writing, where works want to iterate on each other rapidly. Maybe someone made some important discovery, but they're a bad writer, so you want to rewrite their article so that people will actually read it, but you can't do so because that would undermine the incentive to read the original article, the copyright of which is owned by the publisher, so it's illegal- and has to be for the intellectual property regime to function, stifling the spread of ideas.

This capturing of value added by others isn't the only problem. Monopolies are an inefficient way for industries to be organised, leading to higher prices, so less sales, meaning less people are able to actually make use of the innovations, both applied and basic. The number of people who can access a drug is slashed to make sure the value from those who do access the drug can be captured by the market. But even when there are several variations of a product, patented by different companies, this creates the same problem, because of fixed costs- the companies have to charge above the marginal cost to make back their investment, reducing the number of people who can access the product. And this is a drastic effect when the marginal cost is often near zero.

This of course exacerbates inequality, and means that there is a strong incentive to create innovations that are aimed at the affluent, not the poor. Invent Ozempic, not a cure for malaria.

And finally there's the problem of the institutional structure actual people are innovating under. In theory everyone is a lone inventor-entrepreneur who chooses what they research and gets paid by their results, and aims to maximise profit. But really people are employed by a corporation, and when they discover something the shareholders capture most of the value, not them, so after this elaborate, expensive, destructive system to create a financial incentive for innovation, a tiny fraction of it gets passed on to the actual innovators, in the form of increased chance of a promotion or pay rise. And yet the innovations still get made, so clearly this is enough, or people are motivated by the desire to make the world a better place, not just money. Either way the patent system we have is patently excessive.

And if you aren't a researcher at an existing company and you want to get any money at all for your discovery, you're going to have to found a company yourself to extract the surplus- an arduous task, and one that you might not be any good at, and that in any case will take you away from making further discoveries. To be rewarded as an engineer you must remake yourself as an entrepreneur, or accept that someone else is going to take most of your reward. And it may be half your lifetime before you get that reward.

There are additional problems with access to educational resources, incentives for black/grey markets, deadweight loss from litigation, etc. but this is more than enough to show intellectual property is very inefficient at incentivising innovation. So when alternative models are also criticised for being flawed, economically inefficient that shouldn't kill those alternatives- because it would take a lot for them to be as flawed as the existing system.

A panel of experts awarding a payment for a discovery might get its value drastically wrong- but so might investors buying a start up, so might an unwilling, untalented entrepreneur failing to price their product correctly and losing money from their creation. And at least they can go on inventing/writing/innovating instead of changing careers, and the valuation will be based on opinions of people who know what they're talking about, and based on the value of their innovation to everyone, not just the wealthy. There might be political pressure to reduce the value of payments, but there's also political pressure to cut university funding- at least it would mean there is some connection between output and compensation for university researchers, and there isn't an incentive gradient driving people out of basic research and into applied research, and at least all of the value of the payment would be going to the actual innovator.

[deykxn]

The way I like to play is all about letting sims do their own thing and following their goals, making their own stories, and kind of just seeing where the game (or rather mods) take me. It’s more fun when things happen unexpectedly, and it helps keep the game from getting boring!!

You can mix this playstyle into any challenge like Rags to Riches, 100 Babies, whatever - It’s not really a challenge on its own, just a different approach to playing The Sims 4! 🙂‍↕️ https://www.youtube.com/deykxn This list will continue to get updated over time, probably missing some rules but hopefully this makes for a good base! Recommended Mods: Coolspear's Improved Autonomy Have Some Personality Please Social Variety Wants & Fears Lumpinou Pro Library LGBTQIA+ Mod Drama Unleashed Carl's Gameplay Overhaul Sim Control Hub Romantic Extensions More Kisses Better Midlife Crisis Goals General Rules: No cheats for money No exiting without saving Try to keep most interactions autonomous - No instigated flirting/woohoo - Friendly Interactions are okay to instigate - Mod interactions for storytelling mods are okay to instigate do NOT stop your sims from being mean/arguing!! this is something i know a lot of us do but if sims don't get along let them not get along - and turn mean autonomy back on with mcc if you've turned it off!! - Everytime you add an outfit in CAS subtract -100 Simoleons from your Sim! Mindset: Before you do anything major in the game - ask yourself “would this actually happen in real life?” Does it make sense for your sim’s current situation? How would it fit into their story? Try to treat your sims like they’re real people with emotions, goals, and limitations!!

Housing: Don't purchase a fully decorated perfect little house, always move your sims into either empty lots or shells and fill them up over time! We are allowed to move If a house was built up rags to riches style we are allowed to ‘sell’ it for it’s full price If moved into a shell we won’t get money for the property from moving out Repairs must be made using the ‘repair’ interactions or hiring a service 'replacing' is not allowed For every lot challenge we can put one lot trait that brings in a positive - Simple Living lot trait has to be applied Wants & Fears: Try to complete at least one want before each refresh Fears do not have to be conquered Try to complete the heirs Bucket List - Bucket List goals have to be randomized If in a midlife crisis pay extra special attention to those goals!! Personality: Aspirations - Randomized allowed to re-roll the aspiration after each birthday! Sims 4 Aspiration Generator Traits - Randomized Personality Discoveries have to be decided by the yes or no wheel Yes No Picker Wheel - Get Yes or No Answer by Spinning

Jobs: Not allowed to take Phone Job opportunities For the heir try to pick a ‘open career’ e.g. Small Business, Freelance, etc. - Allowed to do Odd Jobs/Side Hustles/Part-time Jobs Career has to align with the sims’ personality You are allowed to apply for goverment benefits Spouses/Partners: No moving in until Sim gets the want or Partner proposes it - Partner does not bring in money from moving in!! No Engagement/Marriage until Sim gets a want or partner proposes it - If Partner proposes moving in/marriage/engagement the yes or no wheel has to be spun Yes No Picker Wheel - Get Yes or No Answer by Spinning Wicked Whims: Random Sex offers have to go through the yes or no wheel - established partners can just accept/decline Seductive Looks have to go through the yes or no wheel Pregnancy: If one, or both, Parents do not want a child the yes or no wheel has to decide Yes No Picker Wheel - Get Yes or No Answer by Spinning - If the wheel says yes to terminating the Pregnancy but we do not have money to terminate it the pregnancy will go through!

Offspring: Naming: Go down the ABC per Sim Traits: Always randomized - unless you have an established idea for the sim Heir can be whoever we vibe with the most Lumpinou Mods: Interactions have to always be decided by fate Death: If a Sim dies we are not allowed to plead for their life Cannot bring a Sim back from the dead No interactions with ghosts unless the Sim is very into the Paranormal Wheel of Drama Can be used whenever you're bored! Not needed but definetly adds a little spice to calm eras. 🙂‍↕️ https://spinthewheel.app/sims-4-wheel-of-drama Save File: Cheating for money/aspirations/etc is allowed for anyone outside of the main heir for storytelling purposes - If you need some townies make sure to check out #deytownies on the gallery!! DON'T get caught up trying to make the perfect save file - grab some builds from the Gallery, swap out EA townies for ones you like better, and let your world grow and evolve as you go. It doesn’t have to be perfect!! Our main Priority is having FUN!!

[monster-effer]

Autistic reader x LaDS headcanons

Summary: My headcanons on how the LADS men would accommodate an autistic!reader. Content: autism mention, fluff, Sylus x reader, Caleb x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader, Xavier x reader (separate), perfectionism, rigid routines, self soothing, food cycles, missing social cues, gn!reader besides gendered word mentioned in Rafayel’s part, no reader pronouns mentioned (1.3k wc) A/N: I picked these autistic traits based on my own lived experience. If you don’t see yourself represented here, I’m always open to requests. For my fellow autistic bbs <3 (Also this was my first time writing for all the LADS men, so I hope I accurately depicted everyone)

Sylus – missing social cues

Sylus first noticed that you struggle with reading between the lines during the brooch hunting debacle. You took Luke and Kieran’s teasing remarks and sarcasm as genuine advice to take him down. And this made him wonder, did you really think he could be conquered with a pair of flimsy ‘Evol sealing’ handcuffs and a ‘tranquilizer gun’?

He was initially concerned about how gullible you seemed for a hunter. Until you grew closer and shared your autism diagnosis with him, along with the many ways it affects you.

Since then, Sylus thwarts the numerous pranking attempts from Luke and Kieran. Explaining afterwards that they were either being sarcastic or purposefully feeding you false information for their own entertainment.

He has Mephisto follow you around to make sure no one tries to take advantage of you.

Sylus would thoroughly explain any social cues that happen to go over your head when you’re attending auctions and other events in the N109 Zone. He amusedly raises an eyebrow when he notices a particularly flirty auction participant trying to get your attention. As you leave the event together Sylus teasingly whispers in your ear. “Trying to replace me already sweetie? I’m hurt.”

He goes on to describe the desperate attempts the auction attendee made to get in your good graces that night. And he can’t hold in his chuckle as he watches the confused look on your face morph into embarrassment. From your perspective, you thought they were just being friendly.

Sylus never looks down on you for missing social cues. He is your number one advocate and will serve as your social cues translator anytime you need him to. Because to him, you are perfect just the way you are.

Caleb – rigid routines

Caleb and you have been around each other since childhood. You have been together through so many struggles, triumphs, and discoveries about yourselves. He is very protective of you, bordering on obsessive. But you are his pipsqueak and he will protect you at all costs.

Since you were kids, he’s noticed that you stick to a very rigid routine:

Morning Wake up around the same time everyday Get ready for 1-2 hours Start off the day with a cup of tea

Night Go to sleep around the same time every night Go through your 5-step skincare routine Relax in bed for at least an hour scrolling on your phone/reading a book

But he wasn't sure why you did this.

Caleb has learned the hard way that if either of your routines get disrupted, it can throw everything off.

During his time as a DAA fighter pilot and now as a colonel, he’s become used to following a rigid routine himself. But he does not feel the same need to stick to these routines.

Caleb was the first person you talked to about your autism diagnosis, besides granny. And since he wants to know everything about you, he made sure to research autism thoroughly after your talk. He made it his mission to find out how to accommodate you properly.

He tries his hardest to help you stick to your routines and not add anything last minute to your day.

He makes sure you are not disturbed when you get ready in the morning or settle down for the night.

He has programmed his OTTO-SHD to restock the bathrooms with your skincare products when you begin to run low.

When he has a break from his colonel duties, he makes sure to call you before you normally begin your nighttime routine. Or if he misses that time window, he’ll text you instead and await your response when you are ready.

No matter what you need from him, he will always have your back. Because you are his and he is yours.

Zayne – struggle with expressing emotions/soothing yourself

You were childhood friends with Zayne, but you lost contact for a while before you reunited as adults.

You don’t even have to mention that you’re autistic to Zayne because he can spot another autistic person from a mile away. (He also has access to all your medical records as your primary care physician.)

As your relationship grows, he notices that you struggle with expressing your emotions and knowing how to deal with them. Especially when you are feeling angry or sad.

He discreetly reaches out to a colleague who specializes in working with autistic children and adults. From their conversations Zayne acquires a handful of methods to support you and encourage self-soothing when you get into an emotional funk.

Some days engaging in parallel play helps. Which usually involves him reading while you play a video game in the same room. Or he’ll cook a meal for you both, while you rot on the couch and watch cute cat videos on your phone.

Other days you want to be alone. Zayne has no problem giving you your space. Most of the time he walks around downtown Linkon on the hunt for some sweet treat to share.

Rarely, you want to be held. At first glance, Zayne may seem like a stoic, cold person, but he is the ultimate softie for you. He will cuddle with you for hours. And once you’ve had your fill, he’ll ask if you want to take a walk outside to get your blood circulating again.

You haven’t explicitly told him about your autism diagnosis, but you don’t feel the need to. Zayne makes you feel seen, and he wholeheartedly accepts you for who you are.

Rafayel – perfectionism

Although Rafayel is an artist, he does not suffer from perfectionism when it comes to his paintings. He lets the paintbrush and whimsy guide him.

When he "accidentally" meets you again, your perfectionism sticks out to him. He recalls you almost crying during a pottery class when you notice a bump on the vase you made that was fresh out of the kiln. Or how you agonize over the most minute details when he convinces you to paint with him.

When you confide in him that you have autism, he listens intently as you explain how it influences you. After you’re done, he's already came up with a plan.

Rafayel begins by getting you to paint more with him and offering reassurance when it doesn’t turn out how you would have liked it to.

He waxes poetic about how making mistakes is just a part of the journey. He digs up recordings of Bob Ross’ Joy in Painting series for you because that painter reframes mistakes as happy accidents.

He is overly dramatic and silly with you while you create art together so he can prevent you from spiraling into perfectionist tendencies.

Once you start to worry less about messing up when you paint, it carries over into other creative activities. Rafayel hopes that this change will eventually bleed into your everyday life as well. Because you are his queen, and he would do anything to make you happy.

Xavier – food cycles/safe foods

It is no secret that Xavier enjoys eating. And luckily you two have that in common.

But the more time you spend together, the more he notices that your eating habits are cyclic.

For weeks you’ll only want chicken nuggets and broccoli, once you get tired of that you’ll switch to wanting hot pot, then you’ll transition into only wanting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal.

He’s also witnessed you burst into tears over your favorite brand of snack changing their formula or being discontinued.

At first, Xavier was confused. He settled on believing you have strong and long-lasting cravings. But when you told him that you have autism, and explained how it manifests in your life, he leaned fully into accommodating you.

When you two are paired up on a mission together, he hands over your current favorite snack when you have some downtime.

When you are both free, he comes down to your apartment to eat your current favorite meal with you.

He has a collection of stamp cards from the local restaurants you two frequent depending on the current food cycle you’re going through.

Xavier never makes you feel weird about your eating habits, because he will happily eat whatever you want. You are his partner, and he would go through great lengths to help you feel safe and happy.

[sincerlyus]

Reverse Falls!!

Soo this is my take on Reverse Falls!! I don't really know which are the original designs or which are the new personalities that each character adapts, so I made my own headcanons!! :3

It should be noted that there are characters who do not change personalities with anyone, but rather their personalities are more exaggerated or are opposite to the originals. Or (in the case of McGucket) their relationships are different so they change their way of being progressively.

EXPLANATION TIME:

This is quite long, I'm going to explain the personalities of each one and how they relate to various characters. Credits to: hours of daydreaming and Google Translate  (TW: child abuse, emotional and physical abuse, homophobia, classism. I don't know if there's anything else, just in case)

Pacifica Northwest: Outgoing and very expressive. She didn't know Gideon very well until her parents sent her to Reverse Falls. She likes to knit, draw, and has a lot of stuffed animals. She has a lot of hair, and likes to do different hairstyles every day ("to be innovative"), cries when she has to cut it. She is very affectionate with Gideon and tries to get him out of his shell. She is a little insecure, but likes to see the positive side of things. She gets along very well with Bud, although sometimes she feels he is a little weird. Symbol: Llama (on her sweater)

Gideon Gleefull: Insecure, has little self-confidence, very skittish and anxious. Has a habit of chewing when he is thinking, like OG!Dipper (chewing on pens, his shirt, etc.). He didn't really know how to talk to Paz at first since the first time they met they were very little, what was she going to say?, was a "Hello" enough?, a handshake?, a complicated handshake?, was she going to ignore him? Paz simply gave him a big hug when she got off the bus (+ gave him a sweater she made on the way). Symbol: Telepathy star (in his hat)

Bud Gleefull: Ultimate scammer. Very friendly and funny, although sometimes a little intimidating. Bye Hawaiian shirts. Very patient with Gideon. He is basically the “cool uncle/dad”. He put Paz to work the day she arrived, although he became attached very quickly and gave her family privileges (he does the same with Gideon).

Mason “Dipper” Pines: He is still very insecure but is able to feign confidence when standing on stage with his sister. He still has a lot of passion for science, he is not very affectionate, he holds back his emotions as he does not want to look vulnerable, especially in front of Stanford. He has a lot of respect for Ford (or rather, fear), being his apprentice he sees him more as a teacher, a superior figure than as an uncle; however he has very little respect for Stan, threatening him and making fun of him. He does not usually use his amulet much, only to practice tricks or in his shows. He has a very distant relationship with his sister, similar to that of the Stan twins. They have many disagreements, but they still have each other's back, especially when Ford is aggressive with one of them. The most sincere relationship he has is with F, although he still treats him like an employee, knowing that he was one of the brilliant minds behind the portal he respects him. Sometimes he discusses theories and shares discoveries with him (although he is embarrassed to think that his only "friend" is an employee of his uncle). Once he met Gideon and Paz, he was able to show his more fragile side and be himself, although he doesn't consider them completely friends (that changes post-weirdmageddon). Symbol: Pine tree (a small pin)

Mabel Pines: A spoiled brat, basically. She's very charming and friendly on stage and with guests at the Pines' many parties, but she's very whiny and selfish behind the scenes. She's not at all affectionate, to the point that she hates physical contact, especially if it's from townspeople. She resents her brother a lot for being Ford's "favorite" (he doesn't really have favorites, he's just less strict with Dipper because he's useful to him). She's Stan's spoiled child, giving her what she wants when she wants it (they have a nice relationship actually, Stan being one of the only ones who comforts her when she's sad). Instead of knitting, she likes to design her own dresses and accessories for shows and parties (her guilty pleasure is arts & crafts, since it's a very "childish" activity for a Pines). Obsessed with Paz, but learns to respect her limits throughout the story. Symbol: Shooting Star (a small pin)

Stanley Pines: He basically swaps personalities with Bud, runs the Telepathy Tent, is very friendly, and is scared of his brother and the twins. He never gets involved in Ford's experiments, having a very tense relationship with him. He loves the twins very much but knowing the power they have with those amulets he prefers to go along with them and not question too much what they ask (he knows when to be firm but the one who really has an impact on them and can make them see reason is Ford). Symbol: Oyster(?? (on a necklace)

Stanford F. Pines: Did you think OG! Ford was a jerk? Well now he's twice as much! He doesn't have an ounce of empathy in him, he's very narcissistic and only cares about his projects and his image. He doesn't care at all about the twins, only seeing them as a way to make money, demanding the most out of them, and he doesn't hesitate to use violence if any of them get out of line. He's very distant with Stanley, speaking to him very dryly (or rather, barely speaking to him at all). He's almost a hermit, living in his laboratory, not letting the townspeople get to know him; although unlike OG! Ford, he cares a lot about how he presents himself in front of the public, taking care of his image and clothing. He's very demanding with Mabel, as he feels she's nothing more than a spoiled child, the image of the Telepathy Tent along with her brother. He is a bit kinder to Dipper, as he realizes that he has a brilliant mind for his age (though not more so than his own), so he includes him in many of his experiments and research if he proves useful; but excluding that, he is just as insensitive as he is with his twin, mistreating him if he does not comply with what is due. His relationship with McGucket is kinda weird: although they were friends in college, the power that Bill/Will offered him completely consumed him, being abusive to F, forcing him to work long nights, keeping him awake by force. He only sees him for his use: his great skill with mechanics (which Ford does not have, although he hates to mention it). Although he was in love with F while he was at Backupsmore, he currently has no romantic feelings towards him, considering him an employee, his assistant, nothing more. He has internalized homophobia (a gift from Filbrick) and classism, so he hates to remember when his relationship with F was one of equals, friends. It disgusts him to think about when he would get so emotional around him. Symbol: Six Fingered Hand (the diaries)

Fiddleford H. McGucket: He is still the brilliant mind he was in his youth, but stress eats him alive. He started to age very quickly thanks to it. He invented the memory gun to try to forget all the horrible things he witnessed or that Ford made him suffer, but his boss doesn't allow him to use it too much since it can damage his mental health and erase knowledge, making him less efficient and useful. He doesn't have a very deep relationship with Stanley, since he practically lives in the lab where Ford forces him to work, but they are able to talk whenever F has a break (almost never). He can't stand the twins too much, not only because he feels that they are very annoying, but because the simple presence of children in his day to day life reminds him a lot of Tate, with whom he no longer has contact. Everyone knows about the abusive relationship he has with Stanford, they are not indifferent to it but they try not to mention it or get involved in his affairs (practically out of fear of Ford).  Throughout his stay with Stanford he started developing an emotional dependence on him: not only did he make him feel that he was useless without him, but he uses violence on him when he is not fulfilling his duty, causing F to blame himself when this happens (What did he do wrong? What can he do to improve?). This got to the point where he started to hurt himself when he did not do something right. Ex: hitting himself when he noticed that his leg was bouncing in front of his anxiety (something that bothers Ford a lot), pulling out clumps of hair in front of the stress of not being able to achieve something, biting his nails, scratching himself, hitting his head (imagine Dobby from HP). Such actions and the mixed feelings he had towards Ford, made him develop masochism, enjoying when he inflicts pain on himself and when he is the victim of Ford's physical and psychological abuse, he clearly hid this for a while since it would look very unprofessional on his part.  Eventually his boss found out and used this to his advantage, being quite sadist himself (he enjoys watching or inflicting pain and/or humiliation on others, in this case, he gets sexual pleasure). So every time Ford needs to let off some steam, vent his frustrations (or is just horny), he uses Fiddleford to fulfill his fantasies, making F's wishes come true as well. He basically uses him as a sex toy, and F doesn't complain, having suffered so much emotional manipulation, he even considers himself lucky that his boss wants to be with him like this, even if it's NOT healthy. Symbol: Spectacles

Bill Cipher: I don't like the idea of ​​changing his name, so Bill stays. He's still the same chaotic demon as in the original series, but this time he's been tricked by Ford into working for him and doing his bidding. He's also forced to do the twins' bidding. We already know that Bill can change his shape and color, so I think all of his shame and self-pity manifests itself in his appearance, turning blue over time (any strong emotion makes him change his appearance). He manipulates Gideon and Paz, making them feel sorry for him so they'll do his bidding (it doesn't work, clearly). The people he has the most contact with are Ford and Fiddleford, as they spend most of their time in the basement where he's locked up.

So that's it. I don't really know how this timeline would work, considering the portal and the journals, but I just wanted to have fun with the character designs and relationships (I feel like the weirdmageddon would happen sooner than in the original timeline). If you want me to go deeper into certain relationships or characters, let me know!!(≧▽≦) I'll see if I can go deeper into the relationship between Ford and Fiddleford that you guys liked so much (you guys really like toxic yaoi, huh??). I'm thinking of making a fanfic or smt to explain their day to day life in the lab and how Ford invited F to work with him (SPOILER: it didn't go well...).

That's it ig, LIKE AND SUSCRIBE!!!1!!1!Σ(°ロ°)

[supernatural-bias]

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: alastor being a bit egotistical

↳ song: si j'étais blanche—joséphine baker

↳ notes: got any ideas for stuff i should do next? reblogs are appreciated

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It wasn’t your fault you’ve always had a messed up sleep schedule

• Even while living, nighttime had never been able to tame you. It was just your luck that the habit carried on into hell. Figures that the world wouldn’t give you a break even in death

• You weren’t exactly an insomniac, per se. It was quite the opposite in fact. Just a simple case of falling victim to spontaneous naps in the most random of places. Yet never at night

• Narcoleptic & nocturnal were the terms that your friends used to use for you. With grins, they’d compared you to an owl; always up at night wandering aimlessly. Sometimes for days on end you’d carry on doing this and that, only to curl into a ball the next day and remain that way

• The habit never was anything more than a nuisance until you’d started living at the hotel. The place was just so big, with so many places for you to lie down before the thought of your bedroom even crossed your mind

• Angel Dust was the first person to find you passed out. He had been strolling into the kitchen, looking for something to consume that wasn’t drugs for once, when he spied you hunched over the counter snoring softly

• In your hand was a wooden spoon covered in a creamy batter of some sort, a bowl beneath it with the same concoction. Almost as if you had been making something before passing out

• Briefly checking his phone, the spider confirmed that it was only two in the afternoon, and approached you with a sly smile

• You were promptly startled awake by a loud shout directly next to your ear

• “I’m sorry—“ Angel laughed wildly as you fumed, not sounding sorry at all. “—but you should have seen your face.” He clutched his stomach as he fell into another laughing fit

• “Hey! Watch it!”

• He ducked with a frown as you sent the spoon flying at his head, just barely missing the porn star’s styled hair

• Everyone quickly made their own discovery about your weird sleeping habits soon after. Each in their own embarrassing ways

• Vaggie witnessed you lying on the stairs looking positively drained one morning, and Charlie even found you face first on the bar counter while Husk wiped away at a cocktail glass

• “Too much to drink?” She asked the cat, lifting up one of your arms between her thumb and forefinger carefully, almost as if you’d wake if she pressed to hard

• Husk laughed to himself at the question, remembering how he had turned to make you a shot before coming back to the sight before him now

• “Not exactly.” He huffed

• Perhaps best example of just how bad your timing was came in the form of an impromptu staff meeting

• Alastor had called everyone— more like demanded them —into the main parlor for an announcement one day. A mere week after the kitchen incident with Angel, in fact

• With a flourish of shadowy magic and a twirl of his hands, the overlord presented some sort of home made commercial on the age old TV the place had, looking very amused with himself as he did so

• You tried to pay attention, you really did. But at one point the actors and stray blood splatters started to look like the back of your eyelids

• By the time it was over, Alastor was tapping his fingers along the top of the picture box rhythmically while everyone looked at him with awkward smiles

• But you? Well—

• “So!” Alastor cheered with a cheesy grin as he spun on his heel. The rest of the members in the room watched him awkwardly, not noticing that your head had hit the back of the couch at a rough angle. “What do you all thi— are they asleep.”

• Static bled into the demons voice at an alarming rate as you let out a half jolt at the shift in mood, falling off the couch with a yelp in your wake

• You took a moment to swipe at your face wildly before blanching at Alastor towering over you nervously

• “Uh, my bad?”

• Alastor’s smile strained itself so thin, you thought it would split his face in half

• “Glad to know I’m keeping you entertained.” He all but laughed happily. But the white knuckled grip on his microphone told you otherwise

• You recall Charlie telling you something about ignorance being one of Alastor’s least favorite things. Especially when it came to his little spectacles

• “Maybe we’ve had enough peer feedback for today—“ Vaggie cut in cautiously

• “I concur.” Came your quick agreement

• You made sure to avoid Alastor for a few days after that

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Return to office and dying on the job

Denise Prudhomme's bosses at Wells Fargo insisted that the in-person camaraderie of their offices warranted a mandatory return-to-office policy, but when she died at her desk in her Tempe, AZ office, no one noticed for four days.

That was in August. Now, Wells Fargo United has published a statement on her death, one that vibrates with anger at the callously selective surveillance that Wells Fargo inflicts on its workforce:

https://www.reddit.com/r/WellsFargoUnited/comments/1fnp9fa/please_print_and_take_to_your_managersite_leader/

The union points out that Wells Fargo workers are subjected to continuous, fine-grained on-the-job surveillance from a variety of bossware tools that count their keystrokes and create tables of the distancess their mice cross each day:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Wells Fargo's message to its workforce is, "You can't be trusted," a policy that Wells Fargo doubled down on with its Return to Office mandate. Return to Office is often pitched as a chance to improve teamwork, communication, and human connection with your co-workers, and there's no arguing with the idea that spending some time in person with people can help improve working relationships (I attended a week-long, all-hands, staff retreat for EFF earlier this month and it was fantastic, primarily due to its in-person nature).

But our bosses don't want us back in the office because they enjoy our company, nor because they're so excited about having hired such a swell bunch of folks and can't wait to see how we all get along together. As John Quiggin writes, the biggest reason to force us back to the office is to get a bunch of us to quit:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/sep/26/in-their-plaintive-call-for-a-return-to-the-office-ceos-reveal-how-little-they-are-needed

As one of Musk's toadies put it in a private message before the Twitter takeover, "Sharpen your blades boys. 2 day a week Office requirement = 20% voluntary departures":

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

The other reason to spy on us is because they don't trust us. Remember all the panic about "quiet quitting" and "no one wants to work"? Bosses' hypothesis was that eking out a bare minimum living on from a couple of small-dollar covid stimulus checks was preferable to working for them for a full paycheck.

Every accusation is a a confession. When your boss tells you that he thinks that you can't be trusted to do a good job without total, constant surveillance, he's really saying, "I only bother to do my CEO job when I'm afraid of getting fired':

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

As Wells Fargo United notes, Wells Fargo employees like Denise Prudhomme are spied on from the moment they set foot in the building until the moment they clock out (and sometimes the spying continues when you're off the clock):

Wells Fargo monitors our every move and keystroke using remote, electronic technologies—purportedly to evaluate our productivity—and will fire us if we are caught not making enough keystrokes on our computers.

The Arizona Republic coverage notes further that Prudhomme had to log her comings and goings from the Wells Fargo offices with a badge, so Wells Fargo could see that Prudhomme had entered the premises four days before, but hadn't left:

https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/tempe-breaking/2024/09/23/wells-fargo-employees-union-responds-death-tempe-woman/75352015007/

Wells Fargo has mandated in-person working, even when that means crossing a state line to be closer to the office. They've created "hub cities" where workers are supposed to turn up. This may sound convivial, but Prudhomme was the only member of her team working out of the Tempe hub, so she was being asked to leave her home, travel long distances, and spend her days in a distant corner of the building where no one ventured for periods of (at least) four days at a time.

Bosses are so convinced that they themselves would goof off if they could that they fixate on forcing employees to spend their days in the office, no matter what the cost. Back in March 2020, Charter CEO Tom Rutledge – then the highest-paid CEO in America – instituted a policy that every back office staffer had to work in person at his call centers. This was the most deadly phase of the pandemic, there was no PPE to speak of, we didn't understand transmission very well, and vaccines didn't exist yet. Charter is a telecommunications company and it was booming as workers across America upgraded their broadband so they could work from home, and the CEO's response was to ban remote work. His customer service centers were superspreading charnel houses:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/18/diy-tp/#sociopathy

That Wells Fargo would leave a dead employee at her desk for four days is par for the course for the third-largest commercial bank in America. This is Wells Fargo, remember, the company that forced its low-level bank staff to open two million fake accounts in order to steal from their customers and defraud their shareholders, then fired and blackballed staff who complained:

https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/09/26/495454165/ex-wells-fargo-employees-sue-allege-they-were-punished-for-not-breaking-law

The executive who ran that swindle got a $125 million bonus:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2016/09/wells-fargo-ceos-teflon-don-act-backfires-at-senate-hearing-i-take-full-responsibility-means-anything-but.html

And the CEO got $200 million:

https://money.cnn.com/2016/09/21/investing/wells-fargo-fired-workers-retaliation-fake-accounts/index.html

It's not like Wells Fargo treats its workers badly but does well by everyone else. Remember, those fake accounts existed as part of a fraud on the company's investors. The company went on to steal $76m from its customers on currency conversions. They also foreclosed on customers who were up to date on their mortgages, seizing and selling off all their possessions. They argued that when bosses pressured tellers into forging customers on fraudulent account-opening paperwork, that those customers had lost their right to sue, since the fraudulent paperwork had a binding arbitration clause. When they finally agreed to pay restitution to their victims, they made the payments opt-in, ensuring that most of the millions of people they stole from would never get their money back.

They stole millions with fraudulent "home warranties." They stole millions from small businesses with fake credit-card fees. They defrauded 800,000 customers through an insurance scam, and stole 25,000 customers' cars with illegal repos. They led the pre-2008 pack on mis-selling deceptive mortgages that blew up and triggered the foreclosure epidemic. They loaned vast sums to Trump, who slashed their taxes, and then they fired 26.000 workers and did a $40.6B stock buyback. They stole 525 homes from mortgage borrowers and blamed it on a "computer glitch":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#too-big-to-jail

Given all this, two things are obvious: first, if anyone is going to be monitored for crimes, fraud and scams, it should be Wells Fargo, not its workers. Second, Wells Fargo's surveillance system exists solely to terrorize workers, not to help them. As Wells Fargo United writes:

We demand improved safety precautions that are not punitive or cause further stress for employees. The solution is not more monitoring, but ensuring that we are all connected to a supportive work environment instead of warehoused away in a back office.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/27/sharpen-your-blades-boys/#disciplinary-technology

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR VIII

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.2k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I'll be honest this wasn't my favourite chapter to write since not much goes on, but I'm thinking of it more like a filler chapter that needed to be written.

UNKNOWN LOCATION

Joker had trashed another one of his safe houses.

The bastard was getting closer—closer to him, and closer to the formula he never should’ve helped create.

With a hollow thud, his head hit the concrete wall behind him. He exhaled hard through his nose, eyes burning with frustration. His pulse roared in his ears, but it wasn’t the fear that gnawed at him—it was the guilt. That relentless, festering guilt.

She’d warned him. Over and over again, she warned him that the nature of his unethical research would have consequences. And God, was hindsight a bitch.

He should’ve listened to his sister. She’d tried everything to pull him back—pleaded, reasoned, even threatened to expose him if he didn’t stop. But he was too far gone by then. Too enticed by the promise of discovery, of power, of being needed by the wrong people.

And once someone was in, there was no such thing as getting out—not really. He thought he could. After years of working with Gotham’s worst, he’d been foolish enough to believe he could slip away unnoticed, sever his ties, and walk free.

He had tried to leave—and that was how he ended up in this mess.

He should’ve known the Joker would never keep his word. Trusting a lunatic to honour a deal was like handing a lit match to a pyromaniac and hoping he wouldn’t strike it.

Stealing the formula back had been the only move he had left—the only way to try and make amends for the damage he’d done. But he’d underestimated just how badly the Joker wanted it.

He was running out of options.

He was brilliant enough to create a weaponized toxin—yes. But crafting an antidote? That had never been his strength. His genius lay in design, not repair. And this toxin, twisted using the strands of the newest Joker venom, was the worst thing he’d ever created.

Joke venom was notorious precisely because it had no cure. No antidote. Yet, there was only one person he knew who’d ever come close to breaking that fact.

You.

You had cracked Scarecrow’s fear toxin. You’d neutralized half a dozen of Poison Ivy’s most lethal poisons. You’d even managed to stall the effects of early-stage Joker venom—something the best minds in Gotham had written off as impossible. 

He had hoped—foolishly—that he’d be the one to fix it. That he could undo the damage he’d done without dragging anyone else into the fallout. Especially not you. He hadn’t wanted to involve you because that risked putting you in Joker’s sights.

But he was out of time. Out of places to run. And deep in his bones, he knew the truth he’d been avoiding:

You were his last chance.

And more than that—you were the city’s best hope.

BATCAVE

It only took Dick a day to decide that if Jason wasn’t going to play fair then neither was he. If Jason was going to use Tim as an accomplice then Dick would build his own damn team to help him with the case and the girl. 

He kicked a protesting Tim out of the Batcave with little ceremony—ignoring every muttered complaint and dramatic sigh—and pulled out his comm to make a few calls. 

It didn’t take long for his backup to arrive.

Now, Dick stood at the helm of it—arms crossed, one ankle hooked over the other, posture deceptively casual, like it was a casual meet-up and not, in fact, the beginning of his carefully orchestrated campaign to absolutely destroy his younger brother in the world’s most passive-aggressive war over a woman. 

He wasn’t in uniform tonight. Just dark jeans and a Henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows.

The soft whir of wheels broke the silence as Barbara was the first to arrive, her auburn hair damp, twisted up in a lazy clip. She rolled out of the elevator with one brow arched high and a tablet tucked under one arm, her other hand dragging down her face.

“This better be good,” she said, her voice dry. “You dragged me out of a bath and three episodes deep into a murder docuseries.”

Stephanie trailed behind her, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, nursing a cold brew like it was the only thing keeping her upright. The hoodie read Crime-Fighter, Coffee First in bold black letters.

Damian, on the other hand appeared from the shadows from god knows where, his posture stiff with irritation and a frown tugging at his mouth, as if simply being summoned here was an inconvenience to him.

“This better not be another attempt to make us play game night again, Grayson,” Damian warned, arms folded. “I will not pretend Monopoly is a viable training exercise.”

Dick rolled his eyes and nodded toward the glowing holoscreen behind him. “It’s about the Joker case.”

Stephanie squinted. “Then… where are the others?”

“And why is the girl I set you up with on the screen?” Barbara asked, already suspicious.

Damian whirled to face her. “You set him up with the only lead we have?”

“Lead?” Barbara repeated, eyes narrowing. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Grayson was assigned to extract intel from her,” Damian stated before Dick could speak. “She’s the sister of the target Joker has been pursuing—and the individual we’ve all been trying to locate.”

“Wait, what?” Stephanie yelped, nearly sloshing her coffee. “This is the woman Tim was telling me about? The one you and Jason are fighting over?”

Dick exhaled hard through his nose, jaw flexing. “We’re not f��”

“She’s pretty,” Stephanie cut off, squinting at the projection as she leaned forward. “No wonder you’re both acting like idiots.”

“Can we please go back to the part where the woman I matched you with on a dating app is now a lead in an active Joker case?” Barbara said sharply, pointing an accusing finger at Dick.

“It’s not like I knew who she was when you set me up!” Dick snapped, voice rising in defence.

“You could’ve called!”

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair, fingers dragging roughly across his scalp. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But can we please focus on why I called you all here?”

Stephanie didn’t miss a beat. “You want our help sabotaging Jason.”

“No!” Dick said too quickly, then paused. His mouth tugged into a grimace. “Okay—maybe slightly.”

Barbara groaned.

“I’m serious,” he said, the humour draining from his voice. “I need your help to figure her out. Get closer to her. Her brother’s the only thread we’ve got in this whole mess, and she might be the only one who knows where he is. But she’s not going to tell me a thing unless she trusts me.”

He glanced back at the projected image, something unreadable flickering across his face—frustration, maybe. Or guilt.

“So I need intel,” he continued, voice lower now. “What she likes. What she hates. What makes her laugh. What pisses her off. I don’t care how small—anything that gives me an edge.”

“And if that intel just so happens to give you an edge over Jason…” Stephanie prompted, eyebrow raised.

Dick didn’t even try to look innocent. He shrugged one shoulder. “Then that’s just a bonus.”

Barbara narrowed her eyes. “You do realize if she finds out about this, she’s going to hate you.”

“Good thing Jason and I are in complete agreement that she won’t,” he said, far too confident for someone with a growing list of poor decisions.

“Steph’s right. You two are idiots,” Barbara muttered, dragging her palm down her face.

Dick exhaled slowly. “Look, I’m not trying to manipulate her. I just need to understand her. If we figure that out, we get closer to the brother. That’s the mission. And yeah—if it happens to help me one-up Jason in the process…” He gave a lopsided smile. “Well, I’m not going to lose sleep over that.”

Barbara stared at him for a long moment, like she was trying to calculate just how much of this was about the case—and how much was pure, unfiltered ego. Then, with a sigh that carried the weight of years of dealing with these boys, she flicked open her tablet.

“Fine,” Barbara said, already typing as her eyes scanned the screen. “I’ll start hacking into her communications—look for any mention of her brother and flag any unknown calls or suspicious messages.” She didn’t even bother looking up. “Just so we’re clear—I’m doing this for the case. Not to help you win whatever stupid romantic grudge match you and Jason have going.”

“It’s not a grudge match,” he insisted. “It’s… a strategic lead acquisition initiative. That just happens to come with some personal incentives.”

Stephanie nearly choked on her cold brew. “That’s the prettiest way I’ve ever heard someone say, ‘I’m losing and I hate it.’”

“I’m not losing,” Dick muttered, jaw tightening.

“Uh-huh,” Stephanie said, dragging out the sound, clearly not believing him. “Sure. Denial looks great on you.” She leaned back in her chair, sipping noisily from her drink. “Alright, boss. What do I need to do?”

Dick straightened, grateful for the shift back to business—even if it was steeped in sarcasm. “I want you to build a psychological profile on her. Dig through her digital footprint. Socials, archived forums, anything public. Old blog posts, research articles, maybe even school club bulletins.”

Stephanie grinned. “So… you want me to cyberstalk her.”

“It’s not stalking. It’s remote behavioural analysis,” Dick corrected.

“Sure.” She gave him a knowing look. “You want me to find out what kind of coffee she drinks, which books she reads, and whether her Goodreads account is a shrine to tragic vampire romances or slow-burn academia smut.”

Dick opened his mouth, thought better of it, then sighed. “I have no idea what that even means. Just stay focused. If she has any habits or preferences—or mentions Jason—flag it.”

Stephanie’s fingers were already flying across the screen. “I’ll compile a profile. Interests, habits, emotional cues, digital presence.”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding. “The more we know, the better.”

“And if I stumble across her dating history?” Stephanie asked sweetly without looking up.

Dick hesitated. “Only if it’s… relevant.”

“To you or the case?” she teased, flashing him a grin that danced at the edges of mischief. But she didn’t give him the chance to answer. She was already turning away, her voice trailing over her shoulder as she shot him a wink. “Don’t worry, Boy Wonder—I’ll be discreet.”

Damian made a noise that sounded suspiciously like disgust. “You’re all embarrassing.”

Dick ignored him. “You’re tailing her. Quietly. No interaction unless absolutely necessary. I want to know if she’s meeting anyone connected to her brother or Joker’s network…Or Jason.”

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose, the kind of sound that somehow conveyed the full weight of his disdain for everyone in the room. It was the sigh of a boy who believed he was surrounded by fools.

“Tt. Fine,” he muttered, arms crossing stiffly. “I’ll tail her. Discreetly. No contact. No interference. Happy?”

He didn’t sound happy.

Dick gave a short nod. “Good. Just remember—this doesn’t mean you can skip school.”

That earned a visible twitch in Damian’s jaw. He crossed his arms tighter, glaring like Dick had personally insulted his lineage. “I am engaged in tactical surveillance on a high-priority target.”

“And you’re also twelve,” Dick replied, entirely unfazed. “If Alfred catches wind of another all-nighter and hears you slept through algebra again, I’m not covering for you.”

“I do not sleep through algebra.”

“Sure,” Stephanie muttered. “You meditated aggressively with your eyes closed and your hood up.”

Damian shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass.

“Anyways,” he said, raising his voice just enough to halt the impending bickering. “Glad we’re all on the same page. But remember—most importantly…”

He paused, gaze sweeping across the room.

“She, Alfred, and Bruce cannot find out.”

MEANWHILE...

Tim hadn’t meant to overhear. Not really.

But the cave echoed, and Dick’s voice—especially when wound up in righteous competitiveness—carried. Loudly. And Tim had lingered—just a moment too long—behind the server banks, just long enough to catch the important bits

“…You want our help sabotaging Jason…”

“…if she ends up being a better match for Jason, I’m not lying to you…”

“…we get that, we get closer to the brother. That’s the mission. And yeah, if it helps me beat Jason…”

Tim blinked, deadpan.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

It wasn’t the fact that Dick was crushing on a girl. Or that Jason was too. That brand of drama barely registered anymore—not after years of rooftop arguments, near-death team-ups, and family dinners that often ended in batarangs embedded in walls. Honestly, it ranked somewhere between mildly irritating and background noise on the Wayne household disaster scale.

It wasn’t even the part where they were turning a high-priority Joker lead into some twisted rom-com disaster.

No. The true offence—the unforgivable part—was that Dick didn’t include him.

Tim pulled out his comm, thumb hovering over the screen as he debated just how petty he wanted to be. The answer came quickly.

Very.

He tapped the name with a smug flick.

Jason picked up after one ring. “What?” He grumbled.

Tim didn’t waste time. “Dick’s building a team to spy on your future girlfriend.”

There was a pause on the other end. A beat of stunned silence.

“…You wanna say that again?”

“I said,” Tim repeated, already turning down the side tunnel toward the garage, “Dick dragged Steph, Barbara, and Damian into a secret meeting in the cave. He’s using the Joker case as cover—but it’s very clearly a dick-measuring contest over Y/N.”

On the other end of the line, Jason exhaled slowly, “That little—”

“Yep.”

Tim could practically hear the scowl forming on Jason’s face.

“It’s just the three of them?”

“Barbara’s hacking the communications. Stephanie’s building a profile on her. Damian’s tailing her.”

There was a pause on the other end. 

“…And you?” Jason asked, his voice slower now. 

Tim’s jaw tightened. He kicked a loose bolt across the garage floor with the heel of his boot, the metallic clink skipping into silence. “I wasn’t invited.”

Jason snorted. “Ouch.”

“I know, right?” Tim muttered, irritation bleeding through the sarcasm. It wasn’t about the girl. It wasn’t even about the case. It was the exclusion—the assumption that he’d pick sides without even being asked.

Jason’s voice came back cool and sharp. “Alright. Then we build our own damn team.”

Tim’s steps slowed, a grin tugging at his lips. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Cass?”

“Told her to head to your place.”

“Duke?”

“I’m sending him the same thing.”

“So that I guess this means you’re now my tech guy,” Jason stated.. 

Tim grinned. “Obviously.”

The amusement didn’t last. Jason’s tone shifted to something more serious. “This is still about her brother. Joker’s not finished. If she’s in the middle of this, she’s a target—maybe the only one who can figure out an antidote to that damn toxin.”

Tim’s smile faded. He nodded to himself, already flipping through the mental file he’d started building the second her name crossed his screen. “We’ll figure out what she knows. Piece it together.”

“Whatever happens, we protect her,” Jason said firmly. “and during all of this, if we happen to beat Dick in the process?”

Tim shrugged. “Then that’s just a bonus.”

JASON'S APARTMENT

The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the open window where the city glowed in quiet pulses. It smelled faintly of gun oil and leather, and the TV was playing some old movie on mute. Jason stood at the kitchen counter, arms braced against the surface, fuming quietly.

Across the room, Tim sat perched on the arm of the couch like he owned the place, sipping a soda with far too much smug satisfaction. He didn’t say anything, but the occasional sound of his slurping straw was loud enough to be irritating—If the twitching of Jason’s left eye indicated anything.

There was a knock—two short, one sharp.

Jason pushed off the counter and crossed the room, unlocking the door in a single motion. Duke stood on the other side, a backpack slung over one shoulder and confusion etched into his brow.

Behind him, Cass stood in silence. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were scanning the space like she was preparing for a fight.

Duke stepped inside, gaze bouncing between Jason and Tim. “Okay, what’s the emergency?” he asked, frowning. “Tim said it was important.”

Cass didn’t say a word. She just drifted toward the window and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

Jason nodded at both of them. “Glad you came. We’ve got a situation.”

Tim tossed a chip into his mouth. “A tactical situation,” he said dryly, voice laced with sarcasm.

Jason threw him a look. “Shut up.”

Duke glanced between them, eyebrows raised. “So… are we talking Joker, or—?”

Jason held up his phone to show a picture of you.

Duke blinked, squinting at your image. “…Is this not Dick’s date?”

Cass tilted her head, lips twitching in something that might have been curiosity.

Jason didn’t answer.

Duke’s eyes widened slowly. “Oh my God. This is about a girl.”

“It’s about a lead,” Jason corrected flatly, lowering the phone.

“A lead Dick did in fact go on a date with,” Tim added helpfully, not even pretending to hide the amusement in his voice.

Jason shot him another warning glare.

“This is the emergency?” Duke asked, incredulous. “You said it was important. I thought someone died.”

Jason huffed, the sound tight with frustration. “Someone could die. Her brother’s the lead we’ve been chasing for months—the one Joker’s gunning for. And she’s the only real shot we’ve got at finding him before he does.”

Duke gave him a long, slow look. “So this isn’t about stealing Dick’s girl?”

Tim snorted. “Oh, it totally is.”

Jason bristled. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter, jaw tight. “She’s not Dick’s. Yet. She hasn’t chosen.”

Duke blinked. His frown deepened. “Wait—she’s dating both of you?”

Jason looked away, suddenly very interested in a spot on the wall. “She… doesn’t know it.”

There was a pause.

Duke stared, mouth parting slightly. His voice, when it came, was flat with disbelief. “…How the hell doesn’t she—?”

“Look,” Jason cut in, rubbing a tired hand down his face. His fingers dragged across the stubble on his jaw, like he could scrape off the weight of the conversation. “Me and Dick agreed not to tell her we know each other. It’s a… gentleman’s agreement. No interference. Let her choose without pressure.”

Duke blinked. Then squinted. “You both agreed to lie to her?”

“It’s not lying,” Jason muttered defensively. “It’s withholding a minor detail.”

He pushed on. “Anyway, Dick broke the spirit of the deal. He’s already called in backup—Stephanie, Barbara, and Damian are all running surveillance for him now.”

“Wait—what?!” Duke’s voice pitched up, shocked indignation blooming across his face. “He didn’t even ask us?”

Cass, who had been silently watching, gave a small nod—her lips drawn into a frown, the betrayal practically radiating off her.

“I talked to him this morning,” Duke muttered. “We had breakfast. He said nothing.”

Jason leaned back against the counter. “Exactly. He’s building his team. So now I’m building mine.”

Duke threw his hands into the air, exasperated. “Unbelievable.”

Cass tilted her head toward the picture of you still lit up on Jason’s phone, then looked back at Jason. “You care about her,” she said quietly, but it wasn’t a question. It was a statement

Jason met her gaze. “Yeah. I do.”

Cass nodded once, decisive. That was all she needed.

Duke stared at them both, then slumped into a chair with a dramatic groan. “Fine. Count me in. But when this ends with her hating both of you and ghosting the entire family, I want it on record that I saw it coming.”

Tim, still sitting smugly on the arm of the couch, raised his soda can in salute. “Duly noted.”

Jason pushed off the counter and started pacing, the natural commander emerging. “Tim, you’re on tech. I want to know everything. Her schedule, her habits, what makes her laugh, what makes her cry—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim cut in, waving a hand, “you want a list of guys she’s slept with too?”

Jason hesitated. 

Tim blinked, staring at him over the rim of his soda can. “Oh my God. You do.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jason muttered, scowling.

“You didn’t not say it.”

Duke groaned into his hands. “This is gonna end so badly.”

Jason ignored them, jaw tightening. “Just… get me the information,” he gritted out. Then he turned to Cass, tone shifting again. “Cass, you’re tailing her. No contact and don’t let her know about your presence. If Joker’s anywhere near her, I want you between them first.”

Cass sent him a two fingered salute.

He nodded once, then pivoted to Duke. “And you’ve got surveillance. I want everything—traffic cams, building feeds, street-level activity. If Joker’s people show up… or if Dick so much as breathes near her, I want eyes on it.”

Duke, still half-lounging in his chair with a faint scowl tugging at his brow, straightened slowly. “So just to be clear—I’m tracking a girl, her possibly homicidal brother, the actual Joker, and the Nightwing himself?”

He let out a long, exhausted breath and grabbed his bag off the floor, slinging it over one shoulder. “This is either going to be brilliant… or the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

Tim raised his soda can in lazy salute. “I vote both.”

Jason ignored the jab. “I’ll handle the direct approach. I’ll find out what she knows about her brother,” he said, his voice calm but hardening at the edges. “The rest of you—watch her. I want everything. If she’s hiding something, I want to know. Who she trusts. Family, best friends. Any unusual changed in routines.”

He glanced around the room, making sure every pair of eyes was on him.

“If she mentions Joker—or if Dick starts getting too bold—I want a full report.”

His voice dipped slightly, “But most importantly… she can’t find out. Alfred can’t find out. And definitely not Bruce.”

YOUR APARTMENT

You came home after a long day at the research lab, the key turning in the lock with a soft click before the door swung shut behind you. The heels came off first—kicked lazily into the corner with the kind of relief that only came after hours on your feet—and were quickly replaced by a pair of fuzzy socks. You peeled off your work clothes and slipped into your favourite oversized sweater and loose shorts.

Your phone buzzed once against the table, screen lighting up with an incoming call—but you didn’t check it. You were off the clock. Whoever it was could wait.

Padding into the kitchen, you flicked on the stove and poured a bag of popcorn into a pot, humming the chorus of a catchy pop song under your breath. It wasn’t long before the music took over completely. With no one to hear and the apartment walls blessedly thick, you gave in, singing freely and swaying your hips with every beat.

You didn’t notice the flicker of movement in the shadows behind you.

The glow of the television lit up the living room as you scrolled through movie options, finally settling on an action flick with gratuitous explosions and an absurdly high body count—just the way you liked it. The title screen illuminated the apartment in soft bursts of light as you turned back toward the kitchen to check on your snack.

Behind you, a figure stepped silently out of the darkness.

Jason moved like a phantom, his eyes scanning your living space. He paused at the bookshelf, fingers brushing the edge of a vintage car figurine, seems you had an interest in cars.

You were still humming, still lost in your own rhythm and oblivious to the intruders in your home, as you disappeared into the bathroom.

The second shadow emerged from the stairwell.

Dick moved lower to the ground, planting a bug inside the hollow base of a decorative lamp. He lingered just long enough to glance at the painting on your wall and the artist who painted it.

By the time you stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying your hands, Dick had already melted back into the dark.

Jason, meanwhile, was at your laptop. The screen’s soft glow reflected in his eyes as he skimmed through your recent work—notes from the Charity Gala, advocacy for underserved kids in the city, a half-written proposal aimed at funding science programs in rougher neighbourhoods.

Dick had moved to the living room, eyes catching on the paused screen. The sequel was releasing in a few days—he remembered the trailer.

The sound of your footsteps pulled them both into motion.

By the time you re-entered the room, popcorn in hand and still humming softly, they were already gone

You had no idea that your apartment was now a surveillance web. Microphones tucked inside air vents. Cameras disguised in houseplants. Motion sensors hidden in innocuous corners. Only your bedroom and bathroom had been spared—barely. That was the one line they both agreed not to cross with their teams.

But even then, microphones had been installed just outside the doors.

Just in case they could pick up something about your brother.

← Previous Chapter ✯ Next Chapter →

Taglist: @mei-simp, @sept3mberchild, @a-brilliante-mariposa, @feralwolfkat, @mercuryathens, @beepboopcowboy, @lordbugs, @coffeemin, @nikkeora, @yuyuti02, @oooof-ifellforyou, @neogogori, @thatoneloser8371, @rtyuy1346, @nkryuki, @tinybrie, @smithieandy, @yuhhh03, @kazuuhali, @saturnalya, @mrbrightsides25-blog, @kimm4710, @diseasedclitoris, @nutella-hitler, @saltyelise, @justheretochillabitlowkey, @sproutytoad, @uselessnewt, @itsmekalou, @whorrorbellee, @starstruckkenobi, @corpsedogs, @yan-love-reader, @alishii, @sugugori, @gojosnutgobbler, @petalbcrnes, @tremendousstarlighttragedy, @whiteghostlyclouds, @krys0210, @raiyuxa

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Worldbuilding and Magic Systems: Things to Consider

Have a magic system in mind for your fantasy world? Here's a list of things to consider to help you tie this system into the rest of your worldbuilding, so that it feels more believable and realistic.

Source

What is the source of magic? Is it natural or man-made? Can humans use magic or is it a force of nature that only animals or other races can use?

Does magic originate from inside a person or does it require external items to use? If it comes from items, can the items be made? How long does it take to make the items?

Does the magic cost anything- money, stamina, health, etc.?

Can a person be cut off from being able to use magic? If so, how?

Prevalence

How common is magic in your world? Is it so common that everyone has seen it or is it a subject of myths and rumors?

How long have the people in your world known about magic? Has it always been there or is it a new discovery?

How much does the average person know about magic? How much do experts know? What do people not understand about this magic? Are there any common misconceptions? Myths?

Is magic revered or feared? Or if it's common, is it taken for granted? Are there any taboos surrounding magic?

How many types of magic are there? Are some more common than others?

Are there dedicated schools of thought surrounding the study of magic? Is it taught about in schools? If so, is it taught to children or only at the college (or equivalent) level?

Accessibility

Who can use magic? Who can't? Is it something that only the rich and powerful can use? Why? Or do genetics determine who can use it? Wealth?

Are there any physical limitations that might restrict who can use magic? For instance, maybe old or sickly people can't use magic because it requires a lot of physical effort. Does your society provide accommodations for people who can't use magic? Is a lack of magic ability considered a disability?

Does education level determine capacity for magic?

How easy is it to gain access to magic? How easy is it to learn about magic?

Power/Usefulness

How powerful or useful is magic for different parts of society? Military? Medicine? Entertainment? Art? Childcare? Government? Communication? Business?

How does magic affect the politics of your world? How does it shape the economy? Are there feuds over the use of magic? Do powerful groups in your world have an incentive to limit the use and accessibility of magic? Why?

What happens when people no longer have access to magic? Does this cripple their ability to go through their daily lives? How?

Mix, match, and cross-reference these with other elements of your worldbuilding to form a believable magic system that lives and breaths just as the rest of your world does. For every answer you give to the questions above, consider and build upon the implications of what that might mean for your world. A worldbuilder's best skill is the ability to ask "How will this affect ___?" So make sure you're always considering the ripple effects of each element you add to your world.

Happy worldbuilding y'all!