#like this isn’t about crazy specific things or like crazy conspiracy theories I have

[plutotheforgotten]

“talk to people who disagree with” fuck off I am SURROUNDED by people who disagree with me for the love of god I want to find someone who does fucking agree with me for once

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer — Part Nine

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, marijuana usage, sweet dirty talk and praise, fingering, oral, p in v, fluffy sex <3

if you’re uncomfortable with smut, this chapter can be skipped with no impact on the plot <3 it can also be read as a stand-alone if desired.

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist |

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was nine at night and you and Az were the only two in the house.

Rhys had made reservations for him and Feyre at an upscale restaurant half an hour away, a place where his father used to take his mother on special occasions. You'd been nosy and googled it. It was the kind of place with candlelit tables and a string quartet in the corner, where the waitstaff wore tuxedos and addressed you by title.

Mor and Cassian were out, too. The twins they’d met at Summit were staying in some house twenty minutes away and throwing a huge party. They tried to drag you and Az along, but the idea of squeezing into a crowded house with a bunch of strangers didn’t really compare to the night you had in mind. So you and Azriel had politely declined, both secretly craving something more enjoyable—smoking a fat joint and enjoying the quiet, just the two of you.

You sat on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs idly as Az finished preparing your snacks— the main thing that brought you both to the kitchen to begin with. Your mouth was still slightly dry from the joint, that earthy aftertaste still lingering in the back of your throat.

“This isn’t a conspiracy theory because it’s like, an actual thing,” you said, leaning back on your hands. “But I love the fact that so many of those sea monsters we read about were probably just whale penises.”

Azriel stilled, turning to look at you with an amused brow. “What?”

You nodded emphatically, cheeks aching from the deep smile still on your face. “People would see these giant, weird things sticking out of the water and think it was some sort of sea serpent or whatever, but it was actually just a whale showing off it’s huge dick.”

Azriel held your gaze for a moment before he burst out into laughter. The sound dissipated throughout the room and you swore it made it lighter, made the kitchen glow with a sense of life it didn't have a few moments prior. You weren't sure how it was possible, but somehow your smile grew even wider.

There was something about Azriel’s laugh that felt energizing, especially when you were high. It was something far more than just a sensory experience. You watched as he shook his head, the curls on his hair moving as his eyes found yours again. Slightly puffy, bright with amusement.

“I have to show you. It’s crazy.” You moved to grab your phone from its current place face-down on the counter next to you.

Azriel reached out and covered your hand with his. “Nooo.”

“Az, you have to.”

“Later, maybe.” His expression softened as he looked at you, the laughter fading into a tender smile. “But first, taste test time.”

You sat up straighter, looking down at the plate in front of him. “They’re ready?”

You’d had a specific craving—something sweet, gooey, and crunchy. Azriel had taken it upon himself to make your dream come true. He made do with what was in the pantry, melting down marshmallows and making a pan of small home-made rice krispy bars. He’d covered them with Nutella, rolling them up like some delicacy you’d find in a high-end bakery.

His smile widened, and without a word, he held one out for you. You eagerly accepted it, your fingers brushing against his before you brought the treat to your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed, and a moan left your lips as the sweet, rich flavors exploded on your tongue.

“How is it?”

You nodded, head bobbing as you took another gluttonous bite.

“It’s perfect,” you said, finally finding the strength to open your eyes and look at him. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He chuckled softly, watching as you took another bite. “Yeah?”

You nodded again. “You could be a chef. I would pay you to stay in the kitchen, looking all pretty and making food for me.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “So a trophy chef.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

He laughed again, bringing his hands to either side of your thighs as he leaned in closer. “What happened to me being a spy, huh?”

You shrugged lightheartedly. “That too. Honestly, Az, you could be anything you wanted.”

He narrowed his eyes, brows furrowing slightly, the corners of his lips still curved in that half-smile that made your heart skip.

“Because I can make little treats?” He asked.

You cocked your head at him, running your gaze over his face. “Because you’re so good at putting yourself to the task at hand.”

Azriel blinked, and the crease between his brows softened. You watched as something crossed through his face, something wistful and warm.

“What?” you asked when he didn't speak.

“Nothing.”

You let your thoughts wander as you finished the treat in your hand. Everyone seemed to have a clear idea of what they wanted— or, at least, an idea of where their ambitions lied. But Azriel was different. He was like you. Hesitant, unsure. Back in freshman year, he’d taken a few criminology classes he loved. He had a passion then, but as the years went by you assumed he’d switched gears, choosing to focus on his general education classes instead. Azriel understood the pressure of fitting into a mold you weren't entirely sure about.

“What do you wanna do, Az?”

Azriel’s face grew thoughtful, his gaze scanning your face as if searching for something. His eyes flickered and then a smile, slow and soft, spread across his lips. He leaned in just a fraction closer. “I want to kiss you.”

You felt a rush of heat and looked down at your lap, nervously brushing your hands together. “That’s not what I meant.”

Azriel lifted your chin with a delicate finger, bringing your gaze to his. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes playfully. “No?”

His gaze flicked to somewhere below your eyes. A second later, he brought his thumb to the corners of your lips, gently wiping away what you knew was probably excess chocolate.You inhaled sharply and felt something deep in your chest – something like a wire strung tight, ready to sing with the slightest touch. You’d been craving him for so long now. You could feel that familiar sensation, that burning desire simmering low in your gut. The way those damn grey sweatpants hung on his hips didn’t help matters either.

His touch lingered on your skin, hovering just above your bottom lip. Before he could pull his hand away, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking off the remaining chocolate.

Azriel’s breath hitched, lips parting in surprise. The low groan that left his lips next invigorated you, pushing you to bring your tongue around his thumb, swirling and sucking on it. When he met your gaze, you slowly released it, and he traced it along your bottom lip as a shaky breath escaped him.

“We have the house to ourselves."

With darkened eyes, Az ran his thumb along your lips again, swallowing hard. You traced the motion down the column of his throat. Before you could fully register the loss of his touch, his hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter. You gasped as he positioned himself between your legs, and instinctively, you wrapped them around him.

"Az.."

He closed the gap between you, lips crashing against yours as he kissed you deeply. You weren't sure if you'd ever get used to it. Perhaps it was a very strong honeymoon period, that the way Az kissed you felt magical because it had only been two weeks of this. But you felt starved, felt as if you needed more and more of him to satiate you— yet even still, you were insatiable.

You nipped at his lower lip, moved yourself to press against him further. You let him take the lead, letting out a breathy moan against his lips at the feeling of his skin pressed against yours. His kisses moved from your lips to your neck and you arched into him, welcomed him with a bared throat and a tug to his curls. His touch was everywhere at once—his hands roaming over your back, his lips trailing down your collarbone. Your body sang with every movement, with the feeling of his mouth on your skin.

You could feel the heat of his breath against you as he nipped and kissed his way to your ear.

“Do we want to go upstairs?”

You nodded before words could form. Nodded as you tangled your fingers further into his hair, nodded as you pulled him to your face, bringing him into another kiss. "Yes," you whispered between breaths. “Yes, please."

Azriel’s smile brushed against your skin as he kissed you back.

You made your way up the stairs, every step wobbly and uncoordinated as Az attempted to lead you both, lips still locked, his hands around your waist and yours around his neck.

"Shit." Azriel cursed as he bumped against the well, the pictures frames rattling with the impact. You pulled back, steadying yourself against the wall as your laughter bubbled up.

"Az," you playfully scolded through a breath, "You're going to knock everything down."

He only shushed you with a mischievous smile, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back into his orbit. Another frame tilted askew as he maneuvered you both along. You pulled away for a moment, your gaze falling to the framed photo in front of you, the one you'd come to love so dearly. It got better every time you saw it, from the pizza in Mor's braces to the nauseatingly sweet frame of awkward fifteen year old Azriel.

"I love this photo," you said, pointing to it with a delicate smile. "Look at you."

Azriel glanced at it, his face scrunching in mock horror. "That’s a horrendous photo," he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. He broke apart, shaking his head against yours. "Don’t look at it."

"But Az—"

"Don’t look!" He insisted, and you laughed into his kiss.

"I love hearing you laugh," Azriel murmured against your lips, "And that I'm the one causing it." He kissed you again. "But right now," he said, his voice dropping to a low, heated murmur, "I’d much rather be making you moan.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You melted into his touch, feeling your skin set alight as his hands roamed, his lips pressing against yours with a hunger that tasted of deep desire, something sweet and smoky like longing. The touch of a lover craving another.

You stumbled together into your room— the nearest one to the stairs, and the door slammed shut behind you. Azriel fumbled with the strings of his waistband, fingers slipping as he struggled to undo the knot.

"Ah, fuck," he said, voice still tinged with that sense of amusement, that laugh still in his tone. A few seconds later, his sweats were halfway down his leg, tangling around his ankles as he tried to kick them off.

"Careful," you warned, trying to stifle your laughter. Azriel then watched, amused, as you struggled to pull off your shirt, the fabric snagging on your earrings. And when you'd managed to free yourself, your hands were on him, slipping under his shirt, curious fingers skimming over the hard planes of his stomach. You tugged the fabric over his head, taking in the grin that played on his lips.

The shirt sailed through the air, landing haphazardly on your bedside lamp. You and Az laughed, a shared sound that he swallowed as he pulled you into another kiss. His hands were on you, guiding you back, and you were both still laughing as you fell back onto your bed in a tangle of limbs, all clothes besides his underwear long removed and thrown in a corner. Azriel leaned over you, face flushed, eyes filled with warmth.

"Hey," he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

You laughed, biting your lip as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until your noses almost touched. "Hey," you repeated, like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"I really like you."

Azriel's voice was soft, a whisper that felt as soulful as a Sunday confession. It caressed your skin, made your heart flutter and core clench.

"Good to know," you said with a dainty smile. "I like you too."

A smile broke out across Az's face and you brought a trailing hand to feel the dimples on his cheeks, tracing the smile lines etched into his skin. You were completely naked below him now. Strangely, you'd never felt this comfortable, never felt so at ease. Your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the chain necklace hanging around his neck. You played with it absentmindedly, feeling the smooth links sliding between your fingers.

You tugged at it lightly as you murmured, "And I also like this."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, still running your fingers along the chain, feeling the heat of his skin just beneath it. You weren't sure how it was possible for a piece of jewelry to be so attractive, for simple metal to make you picture the dirtiest of images. But it was. And you had been. You weren't ashamed to admit that you'd imagined how it would feel dangling in your face as Az pounded into you. You finally met his eyes and nodded, breathless despite having done nothing but trace the cool metal around his neck. "Yeah."

Azriel’s eyes darkened, the playful warmth in them shifting into something deeper, hungrier. His smile curved into a smirk. "Good," he rasped, and your breath hitched at the intensity in his voice.

His lips were on yours again. Gone was the soft, teasing rhythm from before. Now, his mouth was hot and demanding, as if he were starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy his hunger. The sudden switch from sweet to searing made your heart race. You tugged on the chain again, more forcefully this time, and he growled in response, fingers eagerly tracing the outline of your body. You shivered with each touch, with each drag of his hands across your skin.

His hand found your breast, exposed to the cool air, and you shuddered as his ridged fingers tweaked your nipple. You arched beneath him and he paused for a moment, lips hovering just above yours.

“Tell me what you like,” he whispered.

Your mind raced, the words catching in your throat as you tried to form a coherent thought. You wanted him everywhere, wanted him to explore you for hours, to ruin you for the touch of anyone else. You shook your head, breathing heavily, trying with all your might to summon an answer.

"I-I don't know."

He shook his head, leaning in to brush his lips against yours in invitation. He said something else, something quieter and alluring, a sentence probing you to answer, to think.

"Please just touch me," you managed to breathe as your gaze bounced between his eyes. "I just want you to touch me."

Azriel's lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Like this?” he asked, beginning to move down as his hand slid down your exposed stomach.

“Yes,” you said, your body reacting to his touch. “And kiss me."

"Kiss you where?"

He was beneath your navel now, the trail of his path wet with the open kisses he'd left. You took a shaky breath. "Everywhere."

He chuckled softly against the bare skin of your leg. “Everywhere, huh?”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express how much you wanted him. Your hands moved to his hair, fingers threading through the dark curls as he continued to explore. He leaned, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the very top of your thigh, just shy of where you needed him, where your body ached for him. But just as you thought he might give you what you were silently begging for, he pulled back. His lips began a slow journey upward, leaving you yearning, the frustration building with each inch he traveled.

He paused just above your mouth, sharing a breath as he looked down at you. "I've thought about this for so long," he murmured, "How I wanted to touch you first, the ways I wanted you to fall apart."

You released a sound in response, needy and pleading. You’d spent countless nights imagining what it would be like to be with Azriel, to see the side of him he reserved for only a few. You’d wondered how his touch might feel—gentle, reverent, like a lover tracing sacred ground. You'd thought of him worshiping your body like a saint, his hands gliding over your bare skin, fantasized about the way his fingers might curl inside you, delicate yet purposeful, stroking the most intimate parts of you until you unraveled beneath him.

“I want to hear all those pretty noises I know you can make,” he continued, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “Can you do that for me?”

But you hadn’t imagined this. You hadn’t expected him to be so talkative, to render you speechless with a single look. The hunger in his eyes made you feel divine, as though he was starving for you, for the taste of you, for the sound of your voice.

You nodded. It was all you could do— barely able to breathe, let alone speak. He smiled like the sun and kissed you again, one hand curving along your shoulder, sliding down your body with painful slowness, a detour around the curve of your breast, a whimper into his mouth.

It felt like hours before his palm slid down the rise of your belly, torturous and tentative. Then finally, his hand slipped between your thighs. He traced the slickness of your core and you gasped in relief, felt as he greedily accepted the sound with his tongue.

There was something profoundly intimate about the way Azriel's eyes locked with yours as he worked his fingers inside you, something about how your foreheads rested against each other as he groaned. Az was watching you, observing every reaction to the movements he made. He kissed you throughout it, rotating between staring at you, molding your lips to his, and sucking on that sensitive area of your ear lobe; kissing alongside your neck as he praised you.

"Such a pretty mess," he murmured against your ear. "Does this feel good?"

He added another finger, thumb circling your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut, a desperate moan escaping your lips as the pleasure mounted. Then he was moving, pulling away from you as he descended down your body, following the trail of kisses and marks he'd left before. Azriel shifted his body, positioning himself right before your core, pushing your legs further apart to nestle between them. Your gaze fell to his hands, slick and glistening with your desire. For a moment he stilled, focused gaze as he watched his fingers disappear inside you.

And when he pulled them out, he spread the wetness further across your folds, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown with need. He was saying your name, praising you, watching as you squirmed at his touch.

"Azriel." You moaned out.

"Yeah, beautiful?"

You couldn't respond, weren't sure what you wanted to say.

“Jesus. Look at you,” he said, his voice a low growl. “So fucking pretty. Your body is perfect.”

You were torn between begging him to keep talking, to speak more and let his words roll over you, and begging him to touch you more, to feel him inside you, to fuck you.

With his eyes still locked on yours, he brought his mouth to your cunt, groaning in approval the moment he drew your essence into his mouth. His fingers slipped back inside you, finding a deep, aching spot, and your hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Each tug on his hair elicited a low, approving groan from him, and you stored that information away, tucked it safely for a later time.

Your eyes fell shut as you neared the edge, body tensing with the imminent release. No, your mind echoed. Not yet. You let out a ragged breath, pulling at the curls on Az's head and pushing him away from your cunt. Azriel immediately loosened his hold on you, eyes shooting up to yours, brows furrowing with a growing concern.

“Not yet,” you managed, your voice breathy and urgent. “With you. On you. Please.”

The crease softened and his eyes grew dark again, hungry and blown wide. He grinned, hair tousled, lips glistening and swollen, and nodded in understanding. Az rid himself of the last piece of clothing he had, shedding his underwear as you drank in the sight of him before you. His naked form pressed against yours as he lay over you. You reached between you, wrapping your hand around him and stroking him slowly, tentatively. His answering groans were low and guttural, brows furrowing with each movement of your hand.

“Do you have—?”

He nodded toward your bedside table. “You should. Rhys’s mom was very serious about safe sex.”

His voice was rough like gravel, octaves below what he normally spoke. If you weren't already drenched by now, you would've been pooling at the sound alone. You let out a breathless laugh and Azriel managed to lean over to your left drawer— the one you’d never really used, never even bothered to check what might be in it. His fingers fumbled briefly before he pulled out a small foil packet. He ripped it open with still glistening hands, and you took it from him, rolling it over his length with careful precision. Pumping him once, twice. Savoring the sinful sounds leaving his lips.

He was bigger than you had anticipated and your mouth watered at the sight, at the fact that beyond just its size, it was pretty. You'd get your mouth on it soon, you told yourself, taste him just as he tasted you. You'd wrap your lips around his head, let him fuck your mouth the way he wanted, and taste his release with a greedy tongue. But not now.

Az maneuvered himself, a forearm near your head to hold himself as his other hand went in between you, replacing your hand with his own. You ran your freed palm along his chest, bringing it up to his shoulders.

"Are you sure?" Az asked, eyes focused on you.

You almost laughed at the question, a smile forming on your face as you nodded. "For the love of god, please," you said, and you were sure it was the hundredth time you'd muttered the word. "I want you. I-I need you."

Az’s growl reverberated through you, a primal sound you’d never heard from him before. It sent waves of need crashing over your body. Your legs instinctively locked around his back, drawing him in as his cock pressed firmly inside you, an intense surge of pleasure that made you both gasp for air. You clenched around him, welcoming him and the stretch he provided, the sensation of him as he rolled his hips, as he bottomed out with another sinful groan. Azriel kissed you again and again as he moved, as he picked up the pace and you clawed at his back— nails digging into the ink that adorned his golden skin.

His mouth explored every inch of you—your nipples, your throat, your ear—before he covered your mouth to muffle your moans once more. You dug your heels into his back, fingers tangled in his hair as he pressed you firmly into the mattress with the snap of his hips. You were lost in the rising waves of sensation—his quick, sharp thrusts, the heat and sweat of your bodies moving together.

Faintly, you heard a soft whining, a mewl of pleasure. You realized, seconds later, it had come from your own throat; desperate and babbling, repeating Az's name like a prayer. He was everything now, every thought in your mind, filling every sense, his hands, his tongue, his cock.

You were so close, on the edge of something monumental, ready to fall and fall and fall. Azriel must have seen the desperation in your eyes as he started whispering in your ear, murmuring things that you knew would later make you blush and squirm, turn red and pink and every color between.

“Holy shit, yes,” he growled, “You feel incredible, Y/n.”

You clung to him, your breath mingling with his, praying that, somehow, through this shared rhythm, you could bind him to you forever. That this moment would make him truly yours, beyond just the physical, blending every part of him with every part of you.

"Talk to me, beautiful." He nipped at your bottom lip. "Does it feel good?"

"Yes, god, yes." You moaned and pulled him closer to you. As you separated from another hungry kiss, you reveled in the way his chain dangled over your face, in the way it swung as he fucked you. It was even better than you imagined, even hotter in every way. You clenched around him, shivered at the sound he made.

He looked beautiful. Face flushed and glistening with sweat, tousled hair falling into his eyes as he gazed at you with a look of pure adoration, a look you felt too soft to be reserved for you. It was a look meant for those that did great, praise-worthy things, a look for a lover and a soulmate. You stared at him, breathing heavily, taking in all that he was, and he looked at you back, took you in just as carefully. Then he smiled, reaching up and gripping your hands in his. He pressed gentle kisses along your cheeks and entwined your fingers with his, held them above your head.

"I'm so close,” you murmured, “So close.”

Azriel's eyes darkened. He brought his bottom lip between his teeth and his cock surged into you with such force that the bed groaned beneath you. You gasped, body going slack as he drove into you with relentless speed, each thrust so intense that you were left completely immobilized. His movements grew uneven, body trembling as he strained to hold back, his fingers pressing deeply into yours.

“Azriel.” His name was all you had. “Az. Az.”

He was buried deep inside you, trembling with the force of his release. “Come on, sweetheart,” he breathed heavily. "Come with me, baby."

You clenched at the name, at the way his words caressed your skin. Azriel cried out against your shoulder, his moan wavering like he was descending from a high. You felt his entire body shudder and you pressed kisses to his ear, cheek, and neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, maybe a little too roughly, but he only whimpered and slumped against you, his full weight pressing you into the bed.

He took deep breaths and you laughed as he blew your hair out of his face. A few moments later you loosened your hold on him, bodies reluctantly untangled, condom disposed, and you both shifted onto your sides. You leaned in to kiss him. His response was tender and unhurried, his lips moving against yours with a reverent slowness. His hands roamed over your back, your hip, and the curve of your ass.

Long after you cleaned up, as you laid against Az's bare chest and he played with your hair, that feeling of falling was still there, something exciting and equally terrifying. It filled your stomach, flowed through your veins.

You looked at Az, took in his contented smile, his eyes closed and peaceful as he held you, and you wondered if you truly knew what love felt like, wondered when it was too soon to decide you could never let someone go.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹  

authors note: your honor i do believe theyre falling in love. i also, do believe, that they boutta be fuckin like rabbits

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

As always, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for calling my roommate crazy?

I (28f) live with 2 other people, a former college roommate who I’m pretty close with (29f) and 2nd roommate (28nb) who we both met when we moved in together 2 years ago.

Let me start this out by saying, this isn’t a fandom aita, it’s going to sound a bit weird at first, but bear with me.

I have a medical condition (relevant later) which stopped most of my bones from maturing past puberty (growth plates closing, cartilage not hardening into bones, ect.), so my skeleton is basically stuck somewhere between 13-19, (I look about 17-19, but the last time I tried to buy hard cider, the cashier thought I was 14, so that’s how young I can look). I also have very pale skin (unrelated to my disorder, just a ginger), and (related to my disorder) lack some liver enzymes so I need eat meat or I get sick (the same reason why cats need to eat meat), I ended up in the ER when I lived with my vegan sister for a week and ate the same veggie diet as her.

Trouble is, Roommate 2 is really into conspiracy theories and other fringe stuff. Nothing alt-right or anything, just like, (for example) they fully bought into that Mermaids: the body found show, and wouldn’t be dissuaded, even when Roommate 1 googled it and showed them solid proof that it was fictional. Wholeheartedly believes the US government preformed 9/11, does alternative medicine (homeopathy, ect), wishes there were ‘all natural’ vaccines (still isn’t an anti-vaccer though, just needs to be persuaded that Bill Gates didn’t put microchips in them).

Anyway, Roommate 1 and I have a recurring joke that I’m a vampire because of the meat thing and the pale thing and the not aging thing. Roommate 2 overheard us and laughed, but weirdly. She kinda joked along with us, but she seemed...odd. About a week later, they start asking me stuff about being a vampire. But they seemed friendly and not nervous then and I was hoping they were just joking and I also sincerely thought they were just asking me about how vampires work on one of my shows (I’m a big fan of Carmilla and the Originals), so I tried to explain, but I cited each show when I’m explaining a thing. This continued for several weeks, but getting worse and more weird every time, eventually culminating about 2 and a half months later into them asking me more stuff about life as a vampire and I really realised that they were serious. Bear in mind, Roommate 1 and I were trying to be very clear that we don’t believe in vampires this whole time because we both know how Roommate 2 is about this. As a result, this was the first time I really registered that they seriously seemed to genuinely believe I was a vampire. I firmly told them that I am not a vampire and that vampires aren’t real, they’re fun to joke about, but they aren’t real. They implored me ‘to be straight with them about being a vampire,’ and that ‘I could trust them,’ and I’m ashamed to say, I kinda freaked out at this point, cuz I was afraid that they would be scared of me and maybe try to hurt me, since they seemed kinda unstable because of this.

This is where I think I was an asshole, I am usually very sensitive to mental health issues. I have some c-PTSD myself and there are a lot of mental health issues in my family (unfortunately, I think some history with my own mentally ill father may have made me react this way, since he has very similar issues to Roommate 2 (vaccines, alternate medicines, specifically involving me in his delusions) and I had a very bad experience in my early teens where he thought I was a demon and ‘sent to destroy him’). Anyway, I got very upset and I yelled at them, I told them they were completely crazy and needed to get mental help and said I thought Roommate 1 and I needed to move out because they might try to stake my heart or something. I feel really bad for calling them crazy, especially because Roommate 2 has some very mental health issues and words like crazy make light of and stigmatise that and I’m very big into not blaming people for their mental health problems, but this was very triggering and in this moment I was very distresssed.

So, aita, all things considered here? I’m still gonna feel like the asshole no matter what, since mental health problems aren’t to be taken lightly or blamed on the person, but I’m curious what the internet thinks.

What are these acronyms?

[lingerasthesmokeoncedid]

pairing: pattinson!batman x reader

summary: When her thread on r/GothamUnsolved (claiming that Bruce Wayne is the Batman) goes viral, an amateur sleuth finds herself at odds with both the man - and the Dark Knight.

wc: 10k+

genre: a romantic comedy between two deeply strange weirdos

warnings: canon-typical violence, bruce wayne is bad at google

“After the events of the Gotham Flood, the Batman has become something of a folk hero around the streets of our “fair” city. But what if I told you that the Batman isn’t all he seems? What if I told you that the caped crusader, the man who solved the Riddler and the masked menace of Gotham’s evil-doers isn’t just some guy? What if I told you…he’s Bruce Wayne?” -Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-six part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Three years ago, after devouring a True Crime podcast about the Wayne murders, a nobody barista found her way to the r/GothamUnsolved subreddit.

It wasn't much of a hobby, just a forum dedicated to amateur sleuths attempting to piece together the perpetrators of crimes the Gotham PD was unable – or unwilling – to solve themselves. Ever since, in the hours between the dead-end job she worked to one day (hopefully) put herself through law school, she poured over the subreddit and its various threads, picking apart evidence and seeking it out herself.

Six of her own investigations had led to arrests, she was proud to say. Not that anyone knew who she was. The forum was entirely anonymous, and she wanted to keep it that way. The last thing she needed was some of Gotham’s criminal element coming after her for exposing their identities or that of their accomplices – if they did, she figured they’d definitely kill her, and considering that the Gotham PD solved fewer homicides than her favorite subreddit, her killer would likely never be found. 

But every amateur sleuth like her had a white whale – that one unsolved mystery that would haunt them for the rest of her days. In her case, however, the while whale was more of a dark knight. A Kevlar bat. 

She wasn’t the first to drive themselves basically crazy over the identity of The Batman. Many on the forum had tried, only to run into dead ends or talk themselves in circles or point the finger at plainly ridiculous candidates. ( Harvey Dent? Really? ) However, she was - she believed, anyway - the first person to get it right. 

So, after months of meticulous research, a few illegal dumpster dives outside of Wayne Enterprises, a few less-than-accidental run-ins with muggers so she could lure the Batman for closer inspection, and some incredible luck, she published her findings: a forty-six part reddit thread detailing most of her evidence, enough evidence that a jury of Bruce Wayne’s peers would have no choice to convict him, enough evidence to prove that the crown prince of Gotham was really its caped crusader, enough evidence to prove to anyone with half a brain that Bruce Wayne was unbelievably, irrevocably, incontrovertibly –

“Not the Batman. No. Definitely not.” 

All day, behind the counter of the shitty print shop where she scanned other people’s theses and endlessly shuffled corporate reports into bracketed binders, she’d had to listen and smile and push highlights while customer after customer snickered at the ridiculous theory that had gone viral last night – the “insane” “conspiracy theory” that Bruce Wayne was The Batman. Each of them totally unaware that they were talking to the woman who’d spent months of her life crafting it.  

All of that, she could have taken. But when the crackling television on the wall played a newscast with brooding Bruce Wayne snickering at the idea – staring into the camera as he said it, as if he were taunting her, specifically…that was the last straw. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Wayne, this online poster seems to have really gotten people talking. Are you sure you’re not The Batman?”

“Miss Vale, how crazy would I have to be to run around Gotham City dressed as a bat?”

Vicki Vale, GCN's resident Bruce Wayne stalker, accepted this with a giggle, allowing Bruce Wayne to disappear into his city offices so she might sum up her ambush interview for the folks at home. But the woman behind the desk at the print shop bit the inside of her cheek. 

What Bruce Wayne had just said? It wasn’t a denial. And she did think he was crazy enough to run around the city as a bat. 

In fact, she knew he was. 

Pinned Comment from Mod_GothamUnsolved: “Hey, Front Page! Due to an increase in inflammatory comments and threats against OP for this post, we are locking down our comments - approved users only for now. Sorry! Don’t be dicks next time! Keep an eye on our subreddit for more Bats-related content, though. OP claims to have more information forthcoming.”

That night when her shift was over, she tucked her keys between her knuckles, carried her umbrella in her free hand, and returned by the better-lit streets – basic operating procedure for anyone who wanted to live to see another day in Gotham – to the crappy loft in the crappier side of town where she lived. Every step was agitated agony. She knew it wasn’t literally true, but it felt as if everyone who laughed, everyone who smiled, everyone who glanced down at their phone, was making fun of her theory. 

But it wasn’t a theory. Bruce Wayne was Batman. He was. She just had to prove it–

When she slammed the door of apartment 1319B open, her blood ran cold. 

Oh, she was going to prove it alright. 

Because there, rifling through one of her cabinets as if it were his own home, was the short, gruff, stocky, suited man she’d seen in more than a dozen photographs of Bruce Wayne and his associates. 

“Oh. Mr. Pennyworth. Fancy seeing you here…” She closed the door behind her, rolling her eyes around the room to highlight just how supremely fucked up it was for him to be here. “...in my apartment.” 

For his part, Mr. Pennyworth did not seem fazed by the strangeness of his presence there.

“Hello there,” he hummed, perfectly pleasant as he finally closed a cupboard and crossed to face her in the corner of the room that served as what could generously be called kitchenette.  “I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.” 

“No,” she said, “but I bet you already know who I am. Don’t you?”

No denial. Instead, he slid a file across the grotty, coffee-stained countertop that served as her cook surface, her mail table, her desk, and her dining room. With one hesitant hand, she flicked it open to find exactly what she’d expected: pages and pages of print outs. Not just of her online post history, but of everything else.  She couldn’t help but smile. No, beam . This was confirmation. She had found The Batman. And The Batman had sent his little minion to take her off of their trail. Only a truly threatened man would uncover the identity behind her online handle, break into her home, and present her with what looked like a blackmail folder. It basically screamed, “I’m guilty. I'm the Batman.” 

“You’ve caused a bit of trouble for my boss,” Mr. Pennyworth informed her. 

“And he’s caused a lot of trouble for the city.” 

The man sniffed. “Unless you call causing a shortage of black clothing and Radiohead records trouble , we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point, Miss.” 

Her lip twitched. The butler had jokes. That delighted her in a way she hadn’t expected. Still, she played dumb. “I can’t imagine what Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer would want with little old me.” 

“This is all very embarrassing for Mr. Wayne, as I’m sure you can understand. Being associated with some kook–”

“Isn’t it more embarrassing to actually be that kook?” She mused. “Maybe if he didn’t want to be associated, he would, you know, stop being Batman?”

The slightest flash of annoyance crossed Mr. Pennyworth’s face. “–But he understands that you have a keen investigative mind and admires your tenacity. Even if it’s turned up the wrong result. He thinks he can help with that.”

And here it was. The only logical conclusion of Bruce Wayne discovering her identity. He was going to bribe her. Well, he could have her killed, but that would be so sloppy. These rich guys. Always the same. “Oh, yeah?”

“The Wayne Foundation would like to make a donation to your education,” Mr. Pennyworth said, passing another envelope across the desk, this time, sealed and check-sized. “A fully funded scholarship to Gotham University’s law program. You could train your mind. Put that tenacity to good use. Make the world a better place.”

“And stop pursuing this Bruce Wayne as Batman thing all together, I guess?”

“Well, I imagine you won’t have time,” he said, the implication clear. Her silence in exchange for this money, for her future. “What with all of that coursework you’ll be doing.” 

She picked up the check, toying with its weight in her hand. How strange that something so small could have such power to change her life. A deep breath, then: “I appreciate this. I hope you tell Mr. Wayne that.” 

“I will–”

With three easy gestures, she ripped the check into pieces and resigned them to the nearby trash can. “And you can also tell him that the next time he wants to intimidate me, he should put on his little costume and do it himself.” 

UPDATED TO ADD: Today, I had a visit from Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer (mentioned in sections 1, 2, 4, 7-45 of my investigation). He very politely invited me to cease my investigation into Bruce Wayne. And told me that if I did, the Wayne Foundation would happily pay for me to finally go to law school, something I’ve wanted to do but never have been able to afford. For anyone who still doubts my theory, I think Mr. Pennyworth pretty much proved it. Why would Bruce Wayne need to buy me off if what I said wasn’t true?  Don’t believe me? See the security camera stills below - taken inside of my apartment. That’s Alfred Pennyworth, going through my cabinets. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Pennyworth, but I’m here for the truth. Bruce Wayne’s money may be able to buy a lot of things in this town, but it’s not going to buy my silence."- Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-seven part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Every Tuesday, on her only day off, she had a little ritual. First, she went to the Gotham Public Library to sort through the public records and pick up a new smutty romance book to read before bedtime over the next week. Then, she went to the courthouse and police station to pull any reports she might have needed for her research. And finally, she would go to the deli behind the police station, order the cheapest sandwich on the menu (usually given at a discount, as she requested day-old bread instead of fresh), and sit on her favorite park bench to enjoy her paperwork, her sandwich, and - on rare days like these - the sunshine. 

However, on her walk to the bench today, a long, black coat wearing a tall, imposing man knocked her off of her path when their bodies accidentally collided. As she stumbled back from the force of him, her papers flying everywhere and her sandwich bag tumbling into the nearby grass, a brittle, soft voice reached her ears: 

“Excuse me, miss–”

Familiar. She’d heard that voice before. 

Crouched down to grab her papers, she looked up to see that the voice belonged to just the man she’d suspected – or feared. 

It was Bruce Wayne. In the flesh. Without his armor or his mask. And when their eyes met, he smiled at her. Not a big smile, not anything he might have flashed in the papers, but something softer. Almost genuine. Almost good enough to awaken a whole sea of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. 

“Oh,” he said, wincing his greeting. A little shy. A little awkward. “Hello. I'm sorry about that. Here. Can I...?” 

He crouched down to help her. For a moment, she lost her breath and every word she’d ever learned. There was nothing but him. She’d been close to him before – once. But other than that fleeting exchange, one she was sure he didn’t remember, she only knew him from photographs and archival footage. In those videos, he’d always seemed…

Well, not to be rude, but a little bit like if the sickly orphan boy in a Charles Dickens novel had been cast in a 90’s grunge band’s music video. 

In person, though, so close, he was something completely different. Sure, the basics of him were still the same, but there was an intoxicating indirectness about him – as though he didn’t understand the basics of human interaction…but something about her made him want to try. 

She shook off the feeling almost as soon as it occurred to her. 

There wasn’t anything special about her. This wasn’t a chance meeting in the park. It was another attempt to con her into dropping her Batman posts. 

“That’s cute,” she muttered, attempting to pile her papers back into some semblance of order. 

Bruce Wayne offered up stray pages as though he weren’t a billionaire crouched down in the middle of a public park. “What is?”

“This isn’t some chance meeting, Bruce Wayne . You’re pretending to run into me just a few days after your bruiser broke into my apartment.”

She glanced up to check out his reaction. A muscle in his jaw tightened and he looked anywhere but her. 

“I didn’t ask him to do that. And–” 

He stopped himself short, as though he’d caught himself almost saying something he shouldn’t have. When he handed her the last of her papers, she prodded: 

“And?”

“And he didn’t break in,” Bruce mumbled. “He said the door wasn’t locked.” 

“I notice you’re not denying the fake run-in.” 

“This isn’t fake," he protested, at last. "I don’t even know you–”

Lie. How was a man with a whole-ass double life so bad at lying?

Maybe that was why he barely made it out of Wayne Manor or his offices. Maybe he was such a bad liar that if he showed his face in public too much, the whole world would see through him. She fought to fit her folders back into her bag, her sandwich quite forgotten nearby. 

“Bruce. I discovered your super-secret identity. You’re not fooling me with this whole innocent guy act.” 

Dropping the pretense of this meeting being an accident – thank God, she was glad he didn’t see fit to insult her intelligence any longer – he leaned forward, lowering his voice as though they were sharing a confidence. “I don’t have a secret identity.” 

He’d gotten closer to her than he’d probably meant, but she could tell he wasn’t going to back down until he had his answer. So, for a moment, they shared the same air, huffing out cold puffs of powdered breath onto the frigid afternoon wind. His lips – so easily identifiable by anyone with eyes as the Batman’s lips – were pink from the cold. She dragged her gaze from them, then met his. 

“Okay, then,” she said, squaring up to him. “Prove it.” 

“Prove what, that I’m not Batman?”

“Yes. And you can do that by taking me to dinner.”

404. Batman error. 

The man blinked, apparently not expecting her to ask him that question – or, more bafflingly to her, shocked that any woman would want to go on a date with him. 

“I…” A muscle twitched between his eyes. Confusion. “I’m sorry?”

She practically sang her answer, quite pleased with herself. How wonderful to play with him this way, to tease him with a challenge she knew he would never meet…to taunt herself with a date she knew she would never get. But it was fun to pretend, just for a second. “The Batman goes out every night between eleven forty-seven and and eleven fifty-two. He doesn’t disappear until sunrise. Take me to dinner. If he’s out tonight and you’re with me, that will prove that you’re not The Batman.”

It would have been so easy for Bruce Wayne to turn on his heel and abandon her. To call a full-court press assault on her character, to degrade her as a crazy conspiracy theorist and resign her silly little theory to the pages of one of those tabloids that had gotten rich off of smearing his dead parents with horrible theories of their own. 

But he didn’t. And she wondered…

She wondered if maybe he wanted to have dinner with her.  

“Eleven forty-seven is a late dinner, don’t you think?” He asked, a cooly conspiratorial glint in his eye.  

“We’ll go to a diner.” She shrugged. “I like waffles.”

“Dinner,” he repeated, confirming. His lips tipping up again in that nearly-smile of his. “I’ll pick you up at 11:45.” 

Going for her forgotten sandwich, she rolled her eyes. It was a fun game while it lasted. But she wouldn’t be falling prey to his promises. She wasn’t a fool. “Sure you will, Batman.” 

“I’m not–”

But before he could finish that protest, she disappeared around a nearby tree, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

COMMENT FROM @ BALLCHUGGER 69: Batman is the greatest hero. I don’t care who he is. Leave him alone, whore. 

That night, she didn’t even bother to get dressed for a date. Didn’t even pretend it was a possibility. No, if anyone had come to pick her up from her shitbox apartment on the wrong side of the city, they would have found her sprawled on her couch in a pair of sweats and a sports bra, stealing internet from her next door neighbor so she could scroll reddit’s latest Bruce Wayne as Batman megathread and listen closely to a livestream of the Gotham PD scanner. 

Sure enough, about ten minutes after Bruce was supposed to meet her for dinner, crackle-voice cops informed their comrades that the Bat had just strung up three low-level mob figures up by the ankles from a lamppost. 

Ten minutes after that, a knock on the door drew her to it. But when she opened, there was only a small, weighty eggshell envelope waiting for her, taped just beneath the peep hole. When she opened it, a handwritten letter under Wayne Enterprises letterhead informed her that Bruce regretted his absence, but had been called away on an urgent matter. 

She smirked as she tossed the letter carelessly into the trash. She’d always known he wasn’t going to show up. The Batman was never going to ignore the city when it was in danger – even if it meant protecting his identity. 

She had to admit: she admired him for that. 

REPLY TO @ BALLCHUGGER69: I never said he wasn’t a hero. I think he is. In fact, I know he is. So we agree there. But as to the whore comment…if Batman is so heroic, I don’t think he would like you talking to ladies like that.

Sometime around midnight, she decided - for no particular reason - to go for a little walk down to Bowery. The Batman’s main territory. She’d seen him here more than once - and she wanted to see for herself that Bruce Wayne wasn’t at some high society dinner or in his Wayne Enterprises high-rise, but out there, on the streets. Doing what he did best - hunting. 

She stuck to the shadows, one hand on the pepper spray in her pocket and the other on the heavy handle of the umbrella she always carried for protection. But soon enough, she found him. Guiding a frightened woman to the safety of a police car, while her three assailants scrambled away. 

When Batman turned, his glazed eyes caught hers in the shadow. She smirked. He could run after the bad guys, or he could confront her. 

Again, he chose the noble thing. He ran after the criminals. 

Admirable. And fortuitous, as the mud from last night's rain left perfect copies of his boot prints behind. Boot prints that she meticulously photographed for later examination. 

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: After independently verifying recent revelations regarding Wayne Enterprise Employee Alfred Pennyworth and the reddit user who asserts that Bruce Wayne is Batman, I have agreed to cover this story for The Daily Planet. More developments to follow. 

For the next few days, after Clark Kent reached out to her anonymous account on Reddit and they set up a time to discuss her Batman finds, she went about her normal routine and tried not to think about Bruce Wayne or his dark knight counterpart. She did her job, raced home, and dove into the other outstanding amateur sleuthing cases that had been piling up during the whole Batman thing. 

But she should have known that once the Clark Kent news broke and the internet exploded over it, Bruce Wayne would not be far behind. 

One afternoon, in the print shop, she was five paragraphs into a really good sex scene in her book when a hand appeared on the desk in front of her, opening and closing into a loose fist - uncomfortable, not threatening. She glanced up to find Bruce Wayne standing there. As unbearably awkward in real life as he was confident and dangerous as Batman. 

She waited for him to speak first. When he finally did, it just came out: 

“...Hi.” 

“Hi,” she said in her best customer service voice. Trying to ignore how his unbroken stare made her want to melt into his stupid, sexy arms and act out one of those romance novel scenes she’d just been reading. The only thing that stopped her from doing so was the knowledge that she’d gotten him right where she wanted him. He was panicked. And panicked men always made mistakes. Mistakes that could lead to him outright confirming his real identity. “Can I help you?”

“Could I…” He swallowed, trying to strengthen his weak voice. “Can we talk?”

“As opposed to what we’re doing right now?”

“Alone, I mean.”

With a flourish, she rose from behind the printing desk and breezed past him to straighten the already-straightened display of staplers and graphic calculators. 

“If you’re here to ask me out, I’m sorry, but my schedule is all full. I don’t go on second dates with guys who stand me up, Mr. Batman.” 

“ Don’t call me that .” 

It was a growl, the closest she’d yet seen to The Batman flashing past his Bruce Wayne exterior. A thrill shot up and down her spine. Keep him talking . She didn’t want to let him go. She loved this dance that they were doing, this go away closer they played. “You saw Clark Kent’s tweet, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this–”

“Of course you don’t,” she mumbled. “You never even asked.” 

“--But please. Stop. The city needs Batman–” 

Clearly, he thought speaking faster and clearer and something approaching a big businessman voice was going to spook her. But she would not be deterred. She’d thought this through a million times. “And they need Bruce Wayne, too. I agree. I just wonder why they can’t have both at the same time.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” He still hadn’t asked her why she was doing this. And every time their eyes met, she waited for some flash of recognition that she now knew would never come. Even if she told him now what she meant by that little comment, he wouldn’t listen. Why waste her breath? “Nothing you’d be interested in hearing, anyway.” 

Rounding one of the shelves she stocked, he came face-to-face with her. The rack was the only barrier between them. 

“I am asking you to stop this,” he pleaded, low and gentle.  

“Or what? You’ll make me stop?”

“What do you want? What can I give you?”

Her lips tugged. Smug. “I told you, Mister Wayne. I want to go to dinner.” 

“That’s not possible.” 

“Well, then. I think we’re done here. As it happens, I have a meeting with Clark Kent later this week to talk about my findings.”

“You’ll be making a mistake.” 

“Why?”

“Because one day, if you do this, maybe you’ll need Batman, and I won’t be there.” 

That felt like a threat. It felt like a slap. He instantly recoiled, as if ashamed that he’d said it. But when he opened his mouth to no doubt apologize, she beat him to it. 

She’d caught him. The harder he tried to deny the truth, the more he kept showing his hand. “... You won’t be there? Sounds like an admission to me.”

Bruce adjusted his coat, drawing the collar up around his neck. He ignored her question and took to convincing her – which sounded more and more like he was convincing himself.  “This conversation is over. I’m not your Batman. Your ridiculous post is only going to get people hurt. No one will believe you. And you don’t have any proof, just conjecture and speculation and probably some very flimsy ‘evidence.’ Nothing can link me to The Batman. Nothing .” 

She could have laughed. She almost did. But she managed to stop it. Laughing would have given away her whole play. Adopting a fake serious tone, she nodded solemnly. “Of course. Yeah. Silly of me. You . Batman. It’s ridiculous. I’ll just go ahead and cancel my meeting with Clark Kent.” 

Something flashed in his expression. Relief? Gratitude? A tint of regret? “I…Thank you.” 

With that, he went for the door, but only made it two steps before she called him back. 

No proof, he’d said. Please. As if she would accuse the most powerful man in Gotham of being The Batman without any actual evidence. 

“Just one more thing, Bruce.” 

“Yes?”

When he turned back around, he found himself face-to-face with her phone screen, which flashed a perfect picture of Batman’s boot print, which she’d snapped during their last encounter. 

The blood rushed from Bruce’s face. She smirked. 

“What size shoe do you wear?”

COMMENT BY DENT4PREZ: Yo, GothamGirl, any more Batman updates?

REPLY BY TheRealGothamGirl: I’m working on another case right now. The world does not revolve around Batman!  

She wasn’t sure what made her hold back the boot print picture. Considering Bruce Wayne’s shoe size was a matter of public record thanks to some particularly freaky BW TikTok stans, it would have been a significant piece of evidence to add to the pile currently being combed over by dozens of amateur sleuths like herself. 

Maybe it was the slight panic she’d caught in his expression when she showed it to him. Perhaps it was the fact that if he did fully prove him without a shadow of a doubt…he’d have no reason to find her again, ending their brief flirtations. 

Maybe she didn’t want to lose him, something she knew would happen if she pushed the truth any further. 

It was selfish, she knew. To want to keep him. He belonged to the people, and so did the truth. 

But another day or two couldn’t hurt. Especially now that he seemed to hate her. 

One day, maybe you’ll need Batman and he won’t be there . 

It was those words ringing in her ears when her latest cold case investigation took her to The Narrows, one of Gotham’s worst neighborhoods. The evidence had led her here, to an abandoned warehouse where she believed someone had stashed the trophies of the murders they’d committed, so a bit of light breaking and entering was on the menu tonight. But she wasn’t worried. She’d done this a dozen times. Narrows or no, it was an abandoned warehouse. What were the odds that anyone would –

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in there?”

She was halfway out of the window when a man staring up at her from the street caught her. Damn. She was nearly homefree. 

Adrenaline kicking into action, she threw herself out of the window, careful not to jostle the bag slung across her body – the one containing the killer’s treasures. The man was on her in a second, lunging with everything he had. All of her self-defense training flooded back to her. She dodged him at first, then knocked him back with her umbrella. The next time he approached, though, he caught her on the back foot, and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the wall. 

Something sharp pierced her side. 

She screamed. 

The edges of her world went fuzzy. 

Fuck . Had he stabbed her?

The blood loss was swift. His rancid breath on her cheek turned her stomach. But with one last flurry of energy, she emptied her pepper spray into his eyes, and he scrambled out into the darkness. Probably convinced that she wasn’t a threat to him anymore anyway. After all, he’d stabbed her . 

When he abandoned their little drama, she crumbled down the wall, pinning her hands to her wound. She had to get out of there. Had to fix herself up. But she was…so tired. Down to her bones. The kind of exhaustion that made sleeping on the ground of a dark alleyway in The Narrows with a bag full of a serial killer’s treasures seem appealing. 

Shock, she realized vaguely. This was shock. She was in shock. That’s why the wound didn’t hurt. That’s why she wanted to sleep. That’s why she didn’t notice – not at first – when a cloaked figure stalked into her line of sight. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned, lolling onto her side at the sight of him. 

The Batman. Of all the dark alleyways in all the world, he had to walk into hers. 

“Were you following me?” He growled, eyes darting up to the warehouse, where he instantly spotted the window she’d broken to force entry not twenty minutes ago. 

“No,” she spit, tasting blood on her teeth now. 

“Then why were you–”

“I was on another case.” She followed his line of sight as it traveled from the window down to her bag, which had sprawled open during the scuffle. With those weird shades in his mask, his expression proved unreadable, but she spotted the slightest tensing of his jaw. Ah, so she hadn’t followed him and he hadn’t followed her. They’d just both been hunting the same criminal and gotten here at the same time. “It just happened to be yours, I guess.”

It was only then that he looked at her – really looked at her, not in panic, not in rage – and noticed the red blooming behind the hands clenched at her stomach. His jaw parted this time, but he made no move to approach. 

“Leave me alone. I can–I can–You already said what you would do if you found me in trouble. And I assume you’re a man with, like, a code or whatever. It’s what I deserve. Besides,” she wheezed, indicating the police sirens that had just gone off somewhere in the vicinity. “You have bad guys to catch.” 

God , she was going to die here. She was going to die here and Batman was going to leave her to do it because he had more heroic things to do and also because she’d been threatening to expose him and also he was angry with her and–

Suddenly, he was all she could see. Kneeling at her side, arms at the ready to collect her. 

“Can I touch you?”

“I bet you say that to all the criminals,” she snarked, the blood loss finally getting to her head. 

He remained still. Stoic. He would not be touching her unless she gave her consent. Slowly, very slowly, she nodded.  “Yeah. Fine. Go ahead.” 

No sooner were the words out than he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and walking her out of the alley. 

She tried not to think about the firm warmth of his chest or how right it felt to curl up in his arms. Tried not to think about the easy way he picked her up – as if she was nothing, rather than the generously curved woman she’d always been. 

When he lodged her in the back seat of what appeared to be what she’d pejoratively termed in her reddit post, “the Batmobile,” they were silent. He worked quickly, positioning her so he could withdraw a first aid kit and set to stitching up the wound gushing onto his smooth leather seats. She watched him with hazy vision – cataloging the precision with which he sank a needle into her ribcage and filled her with morphine, the way he cooed quietly when she hissed as he began stitching her up, the delicate care he took with picking the fabric of her clothes out of the gash in her side. 

“I could blow up your life tomorrow,” she muttered. Though whether she was speaking to the bat or the man behind the mask, she didn’t know. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You could.” 

“But you’re still doing this. Why?”

“You have your reasons for doing what you’re doing.” His hands were gentle. So gentle for a vigilante. She was struck by the urge to rip those gloves off and see if those hands were as gentle as Bruce Wayne’s had been when he’d first touched her. “I have mine.” 

“I hope I get to hear them someday,” she mumbled, teasing. “Maybe at dinner.” 

“Batman doesn’t do dinner,” he said, apparently still trying to engage in his little game of pretend. As if he hadn’t just as good as admitted who he was. As if this night didn’t change anything. 

The last thing she remembered, before she passed out from the drugs he’d given her, was the chuckle he rewarded her with when she replied, “Maybe not. But Bruce Wayne might.” 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Are we still on for our meeting tomorrow? I’m flying down tomorrow morning. 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Flying? It’s like an hour drive. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of environmentalist fighting Lex Luthor, Mr. Daily Planet? 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Typo. Damn autocorrect. Are we on? 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Yeah. 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Make sure to bring the documents you mentioned in your posts. 

The next morning, she woke up in her apartment. The wounds were the only proof that the night before had even happened. The Batman had saved her life. And according to the police blotter, he hadn’t stopped there. He’d taken her evidence and caught that killer – and on his way out of The Narrows after that, he’d apparently had enough time to stop two muggings.

As someone without health insurance who lived in the most dangerous city in the country, she was pretty used to attending Youtube medical school. Because of that, she had no trouble cleaning out Batman’s tidy stitches and keeping the bandages clean and dry. What she did have trouble with?  Not thinking about him every time she moved. When the pain made her twitch, when the scabs begged to be scratched, with every bandage change, she couldn’t help but think about those warm, gentle hands against her skin. The easy, uncomplicated way he’d saved her. Those quiet words they’d shared in the dark. 

It made her interview with Clark Kent, conducted in a small coffee shop off the beaten path, one where neither of them would be recognized, a little awkward. Every time she breathed too deeply, she was reminded of Batman – and the potential consequences of being here with a powerful journalist, her arms full of proof that would link him to Bruce Wayne. 

“Miss–”

She shook her head as Clark fumbled with the recording app on his phone. “I think it’s better if I don’t use my name. You know it. You’ve confirmed my identity. That should be enough. Anonymous sources are still a thing, aren’t they?”

He flashed a grin. Friendly. Wholesome. Thoroughly un-Bruce-like. “Certainly. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Anonymous.” 

The Muzak in the coffee shop stretched between them as he flipped through his pages of notes. For her part, she stared blankly into the distance past the nearby window. Her hand drifted to her ribcage, pressing past her coat and her shirt and the bandage straight to her slow-healing wound. 

“What do you think will happen?” She asked, vaguely. 

Clark adjusted his glasses. “What’s that?”

“When the people know, for sure, I mean, not just my speculation or whatever, that Bruce Wayne is Batman? What do you think will happen?”

“I can't see the future or anything, but I guess he'll be arrested. He’ll have to be, if there’s ever going to be any faith in Gotham’s institutions again. If my article has anything to say about it, that’s where he’ll end up. Isn’t that what you want? For the Batman to stop terrorizing the streets?”

No. No, it wasn’t what she’d wanted at all. She’d never wanted that. Clark Kent seemed like a decent enough guy, but… no . 

Leaping to her feet, she grabbed at the briefcase of Wayne-related documents. 

“You know – I forgot – I have a work thing.” 

Nearly choking, Clark gawked at her. “But I came all the way from Metropolis.” 

“I’m sorry, I just –”

“Leave the documents, at least.” 

He bolted up from his chair, grabbing for her.  

Too fast. Inhumanly fast. 

She tried to wrench out of his grasp. “No–”

“Wait–”

With a twist, she stumbled back. Clark remained unmovable, but his head tipped suddenly, knocking his glasses clean off of his face. Giving her a perfect look at him. 

It was just a split second, but a split second was all it took for an idea to plant in the mossy soil of her mind and take immovable root. Then, when his eyes focused on her bag, it already began to sprout. 

“Sorry. You’re right,” he said, straightening, as if he’d already gotten everything he needed from her in that single look. 

Which, she suspected, he had. 

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: Confidential sources have withdrawn from the Bruce Wayne story. However, with the help of newly uncovered documents, I will diligently follow the truth wherever it takes me. 

After Clark tweeted about her withdrawing from the story, she went home and deleted all of her threads on the Gotham Unsolved subreddit. She’d kept the evidence in a sealed locker in her house, and the digital footprint would surely live on forever, but at least she’d done something . Once she’d closed the book on Batman, she turned her attention to other matters, other cases that needed solving, other unsolved mysteries she hoped she wouldn’t screw up as royally as she had this one. 

The Batman case was the first time she’d ever regretted solving one. She needed another win, anything to remind her that she was on the good side of this city, that she was contributing to its salvation rather than its decline. 

Which is how, on a particularly snowy Tuesday afternoon, she found herself hunched over a cup of coffee (bought in place of her usual sandwich, because it was too cold to sit out here without coffee and she couldn’t afford both) and her records on her park bench when a shadow passed over her.

Not just any shadow. Bruce Wayne’s shadow. 

“Oh. Mr. Wayne. I didn’t - I didn’t think I would -” the stammering continued a minute more before she finally slammed the folder in her lap closed and tried again: “How are you?”

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” He asked, not answering her question.

No wonder. He looked like shit. The bags under his eyes had gotten darker and more bruised. His coat engulfed him. She tried to tease some life back into him – anything to stop staring at the snowflakes currently settling on his eyelashes and melting into his lips. 

“Spying on me again?” 

He shrugged, but it worked. He smiled – just barely. Like most of his smiles. “My office is just up there." He pointed to the Wayne Enterprises building towering over the northern stretch of the park. "I see you down here sometimes. Just like I saw that the Batman threads have all been taken down. And that Clark Kent lost his source. And that someone solved the Kyminsky murder.” 

This time, it was her turn to shrug.

“I just figured it out. Batman brought the guy in. I don’t deserve any credit.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But you might deserve dinner.” 

Against her better judgment, her heart fluttered. A traitorous hummingbird trying to get free and fly straight for him. “Really?”

“Really. But at eight. Not eleven-fifty. I have a lot to show you and I can’t do it in an all-night diner.” 

Intriguing. She probably should have said no. It was undoubtedly better to keep her distance from Bruce Wayne, especially after all that had transpired between them. But he had to know she couldn’t resist a good mystery. “Where, then?”

“Wayne Manor.”

APARTMENT 1319B RECENT SEARCH HISTORY:

What to do if you have weird feelings for a vigilante?

What to do if a billionaire invites you to his house?

What to wear if a billionaire invites you to his house?

Do billionaires brick their enemies up in amontillado cellars anymore?

How to escape bricked-over amontillado cellar

What do rich people serve at dinner?

How to eat lobster without looking like a poor person

Wayne Manor was everything she’d expected. A gothic mansion set out past the edges of the city, it filled in the picture of what she believed about Bruce Wayne. It was sort of a reflection of him. Locked up, crumbling, defiantly enduring, and impossibly beautiful. 

The place was so grand that the second she stepped up on the grand marble steps, she felt underdressed. A feeling that only intensified when Mr. Pennyworth opened the door and snarked at her. 

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss. I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.” 

Behind Alfred’s tuxedo-ed back, she could hear the tinkling of fine music and the pop of a champagne bottle. They’d been originally supposed to go to a diner . How was she supposed to know that Bruce wanted her to dress formally ? She flushed. “He didn’t tell me what to wear, and wouldn't you know it? All of my gowns are at the cleaner’s.”

Alfred scoffed. “You’re–”

But the arrival of his master cut him off. Bruce Wayne stepped into view, looking like an evening star wrapped up in a ten-thousand dollar suit. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of styling his hair like a normal human being, she noticed, and there were several bruises beginning to surface just beneath his collar and at the skin near his shirt cuffs, but even so –

He was so handsome. Especially when he assessed her like he did now.  

“You’re perfect,” he said simply, finishing Alfred's sentence. 

Having handed her coat to Alfred when he waved for it, she gestured down to her jeans and flannel combination. He was in a goddamn tux and she was in jeans . “I don’t feel very perfect.” 

“You are exactly who I’ve been looking for.”

That sounds like something a murderer or Batman or a guy in love would say – dear God, please be the second one. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” Alfred said. “Master Wayne doesn’t eat much, but–”

The tops of Bruce’s cheeks flushed. “– Alfred –”

“But he insisted on only the best. I’ll just be in the kitchen, preparing.”

Without another word, the man was gone. She’d done so much research into Alfred and Bruce, but none of her documents ever could have taught her this: they cared about each other. Almost like father and son.  It was cute, the way Bruce ducked his head, embarrassed, and apologized for Alfred. Domestic in a way she hadn’t expected. 

There was a lot she hadn’t expected, it turned out. The living room of Wayne Manor was well-appointed, but clearly weathered from lack of use. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet and despite the obvious attempts to spruce the place up, she couldn’t help but notice that the entire room, while it glittered from golden candle light and smelled like the fresh, home-cooking wafting from the nearby kitchen, carried with it the oppressive weight of grief. 

Suddenly, so much of Bruce made sense. He was not some playboy who masqueraded as Batman to make meaning out of his useless life. He was not doing it for the attention. He was not a man with a death wish. 

He was just…so, so sad. And so very lonely. And trying to right a wrong for the universe that had never been righted for him. Saving other people so they’d never have to know what he’d been through. 

As she leaned against a nearby window and watched him pour champagne for them both, she blinked away tears at that revelation. She’d always been on Bruce’s side. But now? Now she actually understood him. And that broke her heart a little. 

“I really am sorry about my clothes,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I thought this would be, like, a casual thing, not a–”

“A date?”

A date. Even after the tuxedos and champagne, it hadn’t even occurred to her that this was a date. 

She’d thought….

Well…

She’d thought…it was, like, a detente. A cessation of hostilities. A friendly armistice. 

But a date…?

Once more, she swept the room. Champagne. Music. Lights. A home-cooked meal. Bruce doing that almost-smile thing he did whenever she was around. Color and life back in his face, something that had been sorely missing the last time she’d seen him. 

Yeah. A date. That checked out. Heat flooded her cheeks. She stared down at her shoes. 

“Yeah.”

“I understand,” he said, handing her a champagne flute. 

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He clinked their glasses together. Sardonic and self-deprecating. “I wouldn’t want to go out with the Batman either.”

Her eyes widened. This was not a mistake. This was not a slip-up. It was purposeful. He’d invited her on a date, invited her to dinner, and was telling her the one secret he’d been trying so hard to keep. Retiring her glass to a nearby table, she repeated the word, “...Batman.” 

He nodded once. At last, a confirmation. “ Batman .”

Before she could think better of it, she charged towards him, to ask him more questions, to probe him for answers – only for the aggressive action to tug at her stitches, causing her to painfully twist and stumble…

“ Shit –”

“Careful there–”

…right into his arms. 

Suddenly, the pain in her side was the furthest thing from her mind. 

Even if he hadn’t just confessed the truth to her, she would have known it was him just from this embrace. It was the same one she’d experienced in the alley that night – the one where he saved her life. It was an awkward hold. Soft in some places and stiff in others. Close but not close enough for her liking. Unpracticed. As if he hadn’t known the non-violent touch of someone in too, too long. 

It washed her in peace from the flushed crown of her head all the way down to her untied shoelaces. 

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved. But the music from the old stereo played something soft and lovely…and before they knew that they were even doing it, as if twisted in some magical spell cast by the speakers, they were swaying. 

“Do you like to dance?” Bruce asked, his breath tickling her neck. 

“No.”

“Me either,” he agreed. 

And yet…there they were. Dancing. Each of them equally unwilling to let the other one go. 

She didn’t know what that meant. Only that it felt right, being there in his touch.

What a miracle – that her life would bring her to this place, this time, this man. All because she nearly died one night six months ago - not that he knew about that yet.   

“Why did you do it?” He asked, melting into her touch. 

“Do what?”

“Try to expose me. And then stop.”

She tilted her head until their eyes met, giving him full, silent permission to survey her. When nothing sparked in him, she asked: “You really don’t remember me, do you?” 

No answer. She tucked herself back into the crook of her body, enjoying his touch while she still could. 

“I had my suspicions about you before the flood. But it seemed so impossible. Bruce Wayne, the Batman? Of course not. But then…I was in that stadium. And those things you put in your eyes when you wear that mask, the things that keep people from seeing your eyes? They shorted in the water. After all that research I’d done about you…when you pulled me out of that water, I recognized them. You have very distinctive eyes, Mr. Wayne.” 

Did he notice that he’d tightened his grip around her waist? As though he were now the one drowning and she was the only thing holding him above the swells? 

“I know you think I wanted this city to destroy you. But I don’t. I think you’re a hero.” She was digging her fingers into the soft fabric of his suit jacket now. Hopefully, he thought she was just holding onto him for support because of her injury – not for the reason that being this close to him made her knees weak and her heartbeat at a rate she considered medically unsafe. “And for awhile, I believed that if the world knew that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same guy…you could be even more of an inspiration. Someone with everything trying to do something for those who have nothing . The man everyone knows, fighting for the forgotten. The Crown Prince of Gotham saving us peasants down below.” 

She teased him with that last bit. But he was as serious as he had been the moment before. 

“And now?” He prompted, pulling away so she could no longer hide in the crook of his neck. Under his stare, she knew she couldn’t falter. 

“Now, I just want you to keep fighting - even if you have to do it in the shadows.”

Their breath intermingled. It felt like the start of something. His attention flickered down to her lips – 

“Master Wayne.”

The sound of Alfred’s voice made her twitch. She moved to step away, but Bruce held her fast, even as Alfred raised a judgmental eyebrow at their romantic clinch. 

“Dinner is served,” he said, lingering in the doorway. 

Through it all, she realized that Bruce had never looked away from her. And he didn’t when he spoke again. 

“I’m sorry, Alfred. I think we have something else to do first.”

BRUCE WAYNE RECENT SEARCH HISTORY, SCRUBBED at 7:58 PM: 

Ethics of hiring woman you’re attracted to

Can you kiss someone at a first date/job interview?

How to confirm a secret identity?

How to hide bruises from a fistfight you got into the night before a date?

Romantic Covers of Nirvana Songs

How to reveal secret location without seeming like a kid showing a girl your treehouse?

There wasn’t much Bruce Wayne cared to examine in himself. He knew, in vague strokes, that he was obsessive and driven by pain, and desperate for justice in any form it could take. He knew he didn’t want to be the monster that stalked the shadows anymore, but a hero who actually helped people.

And he knew that from the moment he met this strange woman in the park, something within him shifted. She was a threat to him, an existential one he should have done everything in his power to destroy. He was a billionaire, after all. It should have been easy to tie her up in legal battles for the rest of her life, to pay for bots to drown out her posts, to keep upping the ante of Alfred’s bribery until she had no choice but to accept.

Still. He didn’t. She was brilliant and infuriating and matched him turn-for-turn. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she dodged in the exact opposite direction. Whether she was relentlessly taunting him about his secret identity or flirting or asking him to dinner or sneaking pictures of his boot prints or crumbling under his hands as he healed her or giving up the story with Clark Kent or doing that scrunching thing with her nose she did when she was thinking too hard or fiddling with the handle of her umbrella she uselessly kept nearby for protection or flashing those intelligent, sharp eyes of hers…

He was fascinated. He couldn’t remember the last time something other than the underworld of Gotham had fascinated him. Maybe it was this new change in him, the one that had been brewing ever since The Flood. Maybe, as he returned slowly from Vengeance back to his humanity, maybe his heart was slowly awakening, too. Maybe all of those feelings he’d chained away for so long were resurfacing.

In any case…something shot straight through his heart when she stepped down the stairs into The Cave and her lips parted in a wondrous smile. Only, for the first time in his life, a sudden bolt to his chest didn’t hurt. It blossomed into something warm and unfamiliar. 

“What is this?” She breathed, eyes wide and uncertain. “Why have you brought me here?”

“It’s my headquarters,” he said, leading her down the rickety steps until he reached the floor of the spotlight-illuminated tunnel. He suddenly found it impossible to look at her. As if he were afraid she would suddenly pass judgment and he would be found wanting. He steeled himself for what was to come.  From the start, she’d known the truth. He knew she knew the truth. And she knew that he knew the truth. But this was a final confirmation. An admission of guilt, undeniable, that could not be retracted once made. “And I’m showing you because… Because I’m Batman.”

Miracle of miracles, she didn’t run out of the door. She didn’t scream and throw things at him. She didn’t even feign surprise. Instead, she chuckled. Bruce felt his own lips twitch. When was the last time anyone had laughed in this house? “Yeah, no shit. I already knew that. I mean why are you showing this to me?”

That was the question Alfred had asked about a half-dozen times since Bruce had decided to bring her here – a decision he’d made the moment he found out she’d scuttled Clark Kent’s Batman story. And the answer he’d given Alfred was the same answer he’d give her now.

But it wasn’t the whole answer, not really. The whole truth would have been you’re a damn good detective and I want an excuse to get close to you – to stay close to you . Instead, he edited the truth, tailoring it for this moment: 

“Because you’re a damn good detective. And I don’t think I can do this alone anymore.” He paused. “Or maybe I don’t want to.”

Her skepticism was immediate and apparent. “You want me to help you?”

A wash of insecurity snuck up on him all at once. “It would be a good job. I’d pay for law school. You’d have a generous salary. Benefits. The hours aren’t great, but–”

She spun around, and suddenly they were very close. He had her pinned between his desk and his body, but she didn’t seem to notice–not in the way he did, anyway. Her eyes shone. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll take the job.”

“You will?”

“But first –” A hint of exasperation and delight mingled in her tone. “I need you to tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to put your paramilitary headquarters under your own damn house , Bruce.”

Oh, she was so smug. She’d finally won, hadn’t she? She’d confirmed that Bruce Wayne was, indeed, Batman, and now she got to lord it over his head.

Bruce didn’t mind. Not if she kept smiling like that. 

“I see. So, you’re not going to stop bullying me now that we’re working together?”

“Stop? Oh, no. It’s going to get worse. So much worse.”

He liked the sound of that. 

“Are you ready to start, then?”

“I am,” she said, as confident and sure as she had been from the moment he met her. Despite the blistering lights he set up all around the cave, the work lights that broke through the oppressive darkness here, she outshone them all. “And I know exactly where I want to start.”

“And where is that?” he asked. 

She smirked mischievously, and he knew in that moment that this was the beginning of something new. Something exciting. Something like a sunrise over his long, lonely, dark night. 

“...I think I know Superman’s secret identity.” 

[tomorrowusa]

Fox News retainer Brian Kilmeade got his balls handed to him by the former president of Ukraine Petro Poroshenko. Kilmeade had tried to push a MAGA Hunter Biden conspiracy theory on live TV involving Ukraine.

At the heart of every single Republican conspiracy about both President Joe Biden and his son Hunter Biden’s activities in Ukraine is a single claim. The claim is that Joe Biden got Ukraine Prosecutor General Viktor Shokin sacked in order to protect energy company Burisma, where Hunter Biden was on the board. That was the claim former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani brought back from Ukraine, and the basis on which Donald Trump tried to blackmail Ukraine and earned his first impeachment. [ ... ] The idea that Shokin was fired to protect Burisma has been debunked so many times that de bunk is exhausted, but it has seldom gone down with as much grim satisfaction as it did on Sunday when Fox News’ Brian Kilmeade interviewed former Ukrainian President Petro Poroshenko. [ ... ] Kilmeade: Is that why he got fired? Because of the billion dollars and the former vice president, now president? Poroshenko: First of all, this is a completely crazy person. This is something wrong with him. Second, there is not one single word of truth. And third, I hate the idea to make any comments and to make any intervention in the American election. We have very much enjoyed bipartisan support. Please do not use such person like Shokin to undermine the trust between bipartisan support and Ukraine.

The Viktor Shokin thing has been debunked to death. Shokin is the "completely crazy person" Poroshenko refers to. But Republicans and far right US media have adopted the Goebbelsian strategy of endlessly repeating it in the hope that such repetition will cause it to get traction. It's the current version of "but her emails!".

Shokin’s own deputy testified that there was no active investigation into Burisma at the time of Biden’s actions. And not only was all this looked into as part of Trump’s impeachment, a Republican investigation launched in 2020 specifically to find any wrongdoing by Biden ended in an 87-page report that “contained no evidence that the elder Mr. Biden improperly manipulated American policy toward Ukraine or committed any other misdeed.” The claim that Biden did something wrong in Ukraine wasn’t true, isn’t true, and can’t be made true through repetition. Shokin was fired because he was corrupt, bad at his job, and everyone complained.

When the leader of their party is a four-times indicted, twice impeached, orange blob of mendacity, the only hope of the MAGA mob is to invest in a very dubious false equivalency.

Hunter Biden isn't Joe Biden. But if you really wish to compare presidential relatives, look to Ivanka Trump and her husband Jared Kushner who (unlike Hunter Biden) were in a position in the White House actually to influence policy. The Trump offspring and offspring-in law could conduct a clinic on corruption through capitalizing on their names.

Facts never change the minds of brainwashed cult members. But if you shout louder and longer than the Trump cult it will reduce the impact they have on others.

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

The Realm of Mirrors Trilogy, In which a group of childhood friends discover the dark secrets hiding within the wall of the old castle in their hometown. Secrets which they’re more involved in than what they ever could’ve imagined.

Current Stage - Slowly but surely working through the first draft Genre - Low fantasy  Setting - The fictional city of Grimmvik, located on the west coast of Sweden Books - A shattered heirloom | A reflection of malice | A youthful demise

Synopsis - The old is swarmed in mysteries. Some are meant to be found, some to be forgotten. And some we wish would’ve stayed hidden. 

Returning back to his hometown Emil is finally reunited with his childhood friends, and although they never lost contact it feels incredible to be back together. With no limit on their time, meaning their new adventures are about to be spectacular. Although not even their wildest child-like imagination could’ve predicted what was about to come.

Grimmvik’s castle, now a beating heart of history and the arts, seems to be infested with ghosts and strange mirrors that act on their own. Strange things only they seem to be able to see are just a handful of the many unexplainable things that have started to happen. 

The answers are found within the castle itself, revealing the dark past of its prime and the horrors lurking within its dungeons. A shrine for an old mirror rests deep below their feet, whispering for them to come; once again calling for a dreaded history to repeat itself. 

Main Characters -

Emil Nimuel-Noreen: Adventure seeker and fun lover, not the brightest but he does his best. His head is up in the clouds more often than not. He has an easy time making friends and works very well in social situations. Longs to be and do something great and to change the world for the better. Might have gotten more than he bargained for. 

Tess Lundell: The seemingly most responsible in the group, though she doesn’t mind breaking a few rules now and again. She loves the arts, painting and poetry to be specific, and can often be found far away in daydreams. She has an easy time finding beauty in mundane things and can spend hours being lost in oil paintings and shiny rocks.

Ida Brolin: Intelligent but reckless, does dumb things for the fun of it. Or because she’s simply curious, something she’s mainly driven by. Although she maintains a professional and calm demeanor most of the time, she has a wild and chaotic imagination and is not one to keep her crazy ideas to herself. Nor does she fear testing her many theories. 

Astrid Ryu: Smug bastard but also baby. Is a major tease and actively encourages their friends’ dumbassery, they’re also the cause most of the time. They adore the unexplainable and unsolved mysteries, a firm believer in Mothman and cryptids of the like. Tends to throw away logic to have fun with “fake” sightings. Isn’t one to get aggressive but will cut a bitch if they have to. 

Jake Castner: The unofficial leader of the group and professional himbo. While not too comfortable taking the lead he falls into the role naturally being the most observant of the group. He’s most in his element when he’s designing and building, something he’s been doing for most of his life. Whether miniature figurines or lego sets of all kinds. 

Tindra Hellberg: Huge literature nerd, likes to dissect different works to find hidden meanings and symbolism. Which she has an easy time with, given her tendency to connect things that might not even be connected. She may not believe in them, but she really enjoys conspiracy theories and will often ramble about the possibilities of them being true.  

Themes - Dark Academia | Morality | Sacrifice | Death | Repeating cycles | Rituals | Tragedy | Bittersweet end | Humanity | Loss of innocence

Main Theme - Shatter me : Lindsey Stirling

Warnings - Violence | Death | Death of one (1) animal | Body horror | Gore | Abuse | More May Be Added

What I Got To Offer ? ANGST, diverse cast (LGBTQ+, ethnicity, etc.), friends sharing a brain cell, healthy relationships both romantic and platonic, mirror based magic system, fucked up and morally questionable mentors

Tags - wip : Realm of Mirrors | RoM Playlist

: Taglist - @waysofink​​ @metanoiamorii @fiercely-raging-writer @zonnemaagd @writing-is-a-martial-art @writing-with-l @chazzawrites @vacantgodling :

Let me know if you want to be added !

[kyogre-blue]

But now I can’t stop thinking about my new conspiracy theory that the big story world quests have multiple writers/teams. 

The big world quests have always been a mixed bag. Sakura Cleansing was unexpectedly good, with bigger emotional impact than the archon quest. Aranyaka was a very good quest, setting aside the crazy side quest bloat in part two. Golden Slumber was also good and probably the most interesting take we’ve gotten in regard to the desert culture. But at the same time, Ruu’s quest and Zhiqiong were annoying at best. 

I figured it’s just fluctuation in quality. Even good writers can output rather meh stories. Eg, I like Higashige, but he still wrote LB1, which I think is in the bottom tier of LBs. 

Yes, Sumida was annoying as hell, but she’s basically that specific light novel referential humor that we get all over Inazuma, and yes, Ruu was comparatively too simple, but he’s also a child, and the stuff about using Ainu naming on the isolated tribe who sacrifice children is the kind of thing you can easily end up with if you don’t think about this stuff. Yes, Zhiqiong was dragged out and incoherent, but there was certainly an aim for emotional impact there, it just didn’t do anything for me. 

But Golden Slumber and Bilqis are just SO different that it’s hard to imagine they come from the same writer. 

Jeht’s characterization really is just completely different between the two quest chains (which makes her whimsical animation hilariously unsuited in Bilqis). Not only that, her interactions with Benben are a fairly big part of Slumber even though they’re not integral to the story in any way. They’re just something the writer put in because they wanted to. But in Bilqis, Benben is completely removed from the story, with only the barest of acknowledgements. It’s such a large change. 

And then you have the perspective on the desert dwellers. Slumber specifically refutes a scholar who keeps calling Deshret a cruel tyrant, emphasizing that the desert dwellers have their own, correct perspective. That guy throwing in racism like calling them all crooks and untrustworthy is wrong and everyone is pretty done with him. But when we get to Bilqis, the entire Tanit tribe is vicious, delusional killers who backstab each other and call each other traitors, Jeht goes along with all this until it’s about the Traveler specifically, and Liloupar might be a bit much when she calls them desert scum that should be enslaved but she’s our buddy, so we just kind of let it go after a while. 

I just feel like, as a writer, you wouldn’t be willing to completely dismiss and warp everything you created just a few months later? It’s too big a swerve. 

There being multiple writing teams isn’t particularly surprising, honestly. And them splitting up who writes for which patch probably makes sense too, I guess... OK, conspiracy theory is adopted. 

Anyway, the important part is that I can now blame Ruu’s quest on “second world quest team,” hehe.

[artino-c]

Hiii I have a question about The Young and Ancient Light and your headcanons about something specific-- but if you don't want to answer, just ignore it please & sorry ^^

So in Chapter 8, Kamet and Costis have this exchange:

“After the assassination attempt,” said Costis. “When the King was recovering.” He glanced up at Kamet. “My master had nothing to do with that,” said Kamet—answering Costis’ unspoken question. “He was still banished to the family estate. We only learned about the plan after it failed.”

But so, in KoA one of the assassins dies in the Attolian dungeon after naming Nahuseresh and Sounis, and though it isn't stated outright, I always assumed this man was interrogated under torture. We get more confirmation and some motive for Sounis in CoK, but Sophos only talks about the Mede ambassador and doesn't name Nahuseresh.

So is your headcanon that Nahuseresh wasn't actually involved in it, or that Kamet maybe just didn't know? Or did you want the reader to wonder and this doubt is part of the fun? I'm asking because I personally think Nahuseresh's involvement in this plot seems kind of crazy, and I have just taken to a headcanon where the assassin in question either didn't actually imply Nahuseresh by name, or that one of the interrogators prompted him with a name and he just agreed to it... Mostly because I can't imagine the brother to the heir of the Mede empire to be the kind of person who personally introduces himself to assassins... Especially assassins he's recommending for another person's use, idk. But then again maybe it WAS a blunder? I don't know, and I was wondering if you have thoughts!

HAH, well the short answer is that I was basing that theory off of the timeline we have in TAT and my much more recent reread of Conspiracy of Kings, and I forgot to check if Nahuseresh was named specifically in KoA! 😂😂

My response to this got super long so it’s under a cut:

My logic was similar to what you are saying here, though—it didn’t really make sense to me for Nahuseresh to be directly involved in the assassination attempt, particularly in the immediate aftermath of his spectacularly failed invasion, and I didn’t think the logistics worked if he was in exile on the family estate and not even in Ianna-Ir to pull strings! (In my fic specifically I was imagining this as the first sign of the emperor/Naheelid just fully going over his head because they no longer think he’s reliable…) And given that one of the threads throughout KOA is that torture (arguably??) doesn’t work and is bad, I really like your theory that perhaps the assassin who names Nahuseresh isn’t the most reliable source, because we’ve already established from Costis’ POV that people who are being tortured will say whatever they think you want to hear.

But that said, I don’t don’t see other strong evidence that readers are meant to doubt Nahuseresh as the originator of the plot, especially since back in book 3 we had far less worldbuilding about Medea and Mede politics. (Rereading the scene after Gen finds out it’s clear he believes it was Nahuseresh specifically and that is part of what upsets him!) I still don’t really think the logistics make sense, but I guess I can see N funding a half-baked, overreaching assassination plan that fails due to bad intel and underestimating the intended target (all of that screams Nahuseresh, lol)! Maybe this was his first (failed) bid to restore his reputation and get invited back to court? And it’s very, very funny if he followed up his first huge blunder in Attolia with a second, equally embarrassing failed attempt to kill the king.

In terms of Nahuseresh’s willingness to directly, recognizably involve himself in this kind of thing, Kamet talks about having to meet with “criminals” as part of his job executing Nahuseresh’s various sketchy plans in Ianna-Ir, and he is feeling out Erondites’ household in QOA (presumably to figure out how willing Erondites would be to screw over Irene/ally with the Medes), so if Nahuseresh is comfortable sending his personal secretary on that type of errand, maybe he doesn’t cover his tracks very well when he hires assassins, either?? (The part of this that still doesn’t work for me, though, is that while the assassins are hired with Mede and Sounisian gold, we have no reason to think they travelled all the way from Medea…if they were hired by Sejanus (or someone working for him), surely they only know second or third hand who else was behind the plot, no matter how unsubtle Nahuseresh was!)

All of that leaves the question of whether Kamet would have known about this. For purposes of my fic, I’m going with no, he had no idea, even though this is the kind of thing Nahuseresh would have told him about in the past, perhaps for the same (unknown???) reason he doesn’t tell Kamet about Hemsha. In the wake of their narrow escape from Attolia, I do think there was maybe some kind of breakdown in their relationship, from Nahuseresh’s perspective, too, even before the scene that starts the book.

For purposes of more general canon interpretation, tbh I still think Kamet might plausibly not have known and/or not been involved (assassination attempts don’t really seem like his kind of thing, plus he’s isolated and presumably out of the political gossip loop when he’s at Nahuseresh’s estate, so would have less ability to know if Nahuseresh is lying or hiding something). But it would also be very funny if he were involved/aware and just quietly never mentioned it to Relius or Gen, in the same way that he quietly elides other things in TAT.

[back-to-louis]

Hey, I’m the anti who asked you how u would react if the larries are right. First of all, I just called them crazies because it makes me SOO furious that they don’t see how harmful and blatantly stupid it is to ignore everyone occurrence of Louis(and Eleanor’s) life just because there’s one clip of Louis leaning into harrys touch and a couple “matching” tattoos that don’t match anymore than Harry and zayns(who are very much not together, you get what I mean). Plus, they’re the same people who keep changing the theory that Freddie isn’t his kid just because god forbid Louis was with a woman, yk? Even though, like I said, I think it’s near impossible that they’re right about everything being a coverup; it’s such an interesting scenario to think about. I just wanted to know how you think us antis (the respectful level headed bunch of this fandom who don’t make baseless conspiracies) would react IF Harry and Louis have been secretly together and forced to hide that by fake dating other women this entire time. And also like you said, share mutual friends, family relationships, private occurrences, etc, with those girlfriends; and even somehow managed to build a very real relationship with a child that isn’t his. In a world where conspiracies with no logic behind them could come true, how would you react? In a world where one of the many absurd babygate theories is correct, how do u think we’d react? But specifically, in a world where somehow Sony/Syco/Columbia forced them to build this whole “narrative” ,as they call it, just to cover up that relationship, how would you react? Would you feel that you were in the wrong this whole time? Would you think it’s a Ricky Martin/Elton John situation(because I have read about them, it’s what made me realize how blind larries are to the possibility of being queer ☂ and still having kids/past opposite sex lovers)? Or would you simply not care too much and go “good for them, hope they’re happy”? I personally would just think the last one, like I said, because I’ve never been the type to get too involved with this conspiracy until recently(even if at one point I did think the concept of that ship was cute, very cute, I was never a tinhat thank god). I don’t even think it’s far fetched at all to think it’s possible that Louis can be part of the LGBT community. But since he’s said he’s not, I’m going to respect that and not try to “prove” otherwise with clips from 2012. I do think the other scenarios are near impossible though, because of all the reasons you’ve stated here on this blog. Which btw, I love your blog <3 Thanks for the reply lol 💜

Thank you, thank you, for coming back and clearing this up! I am sorry I sometimes feel I have to respond to asks like yours with an "I'm taking this in good faith.... OR AM I???" approach because in many cases, the person never comes back and I feel like I have to make my response for the readers I have rather than the ones who never really return to see what I had to say. Thanks for the kind words about my blog and thanks for being a reader!

I kind of (?) addressed a similar question to this in this post , aka, if we were in an alternate universe where all of these impossible things were possible. In that post, I concluded (?) that it's hard to define what "supporting Louis" would look like, but also noted that in this universe where Larries are correct about what's happening, they are by definition making things harder for Louis.

I'm so sorry, I can't give this a "yes or no" kind of answer because I'm me and that's probably going to be annoying. I TRIED! I was lying there in bed the other morning, giving this real thought, thinking, "right, okay, so, in this world larries were right about this whole situation. So, how do I find out that they're right?"

Wait. How do I find out that they're right? We have to start there, don't we?

Some morning, in the near or distant future, I'll wake up, and check my phone even though that shouldn't be the first thing I do when I wake up, and since I live in the US I'd probably have a ton of messages from one of my UK or EU friends due to time zones, and they would be telling me... what would they be telling me?

That there's an article in the SUN or TMZ or Hello! where Louis and Harry came out and told their whole story? Louis wrote a twitlong? Briana posted a confession to her instagram stories? Like, what would that LOOK like? What would finding out Larries were right look like? Because from what I last saw, Larries think the "story" will break in phases:

a) Either with a story about how Louis just found out his child isn't his, followed by breaking up with Eleanor over his devastation (or that order reversed)

b) followed by some stories about how Harry reached out to support Louis and they renewed their "friendship" so start to be seen interacting online and in person (I guess there's some element to take care of HARRY's current relationship with a woman as well by now, who knows)

c) followed by them "officially" becoming a couple, and then a very public and activist couple, which will result in

d) them blacklisting any questions about any prior girlfriends or children which will "make clear" to the public that those elements of the past were all fake anyway and the "true believers" will of course know and keep dear the fact that "they have loved each other since they were 16 and 18" etc.

* So I guess for the sake of brevity (too late), I'll say that if I read an article (well-sourced, not a tabloid, ofc) in the near or distant future that Louis just found out Freddie isn't his son, so he's not going to have anything to do with him any longer, I'd first take that at face value and think he's an ass, lose a ton of respect for him, and I don't really see myself being interested in what he has to offer as an artist because at least part of my interest in him as an artist is the persona he has as a generally caring person who tries to do his best.

* But if the article was about how Louis admitted that he engaged in the pantomime of being a father, signed a birth certificate, involved his family, etc., because of (?) contracts (?), I think the shock of realizing he just killed his own career would have me reaching for the popcorn.

Like, can you IMAGINE the press around that? Can you even see that being the story and TMZ being like "yeah, wow, record labels, huh, they sure do be making people make their moms pretend to be grandmothers on their death beds sometimes. Bad record labels! Poor oppressed boybanders!" Can you IMAGINE twitter and YouTube drama commentary in the wake of an announcement like that?

* I will entertain a third option! In the event that one day in the near or distant future, Louis and Harry either break contract and are sued by "[entity]" or initiate a suit against "[entity]" or press charges (?) for doing these things to them despite the fact that they're unenforceable and illegal, so basically saying "these entities are the mob and terrorized us and our families for a decade and we are taking them to court to air our grievances" which, to be sure, would probably be an ideal scenario for Larrie vindication, no? Then, yes, I would be like "wow, that's really fucked up, and I'm really glad they got to go public with all of this and "[entity]" receives the full penalty the law allows."

In that case I can imagine myself still being interested in Louis as an artist, and I would have no issue with whatever relationship(s) he's in, with Harry or otherwise, although I'd probably feel like he'd need uh, therapy. Like, I don't think he'd be ok. That would be like them admitting they were in an oppressive cult of two, for ten years.

And also, larries would have still have made all of that harder for both Harry and Louis. So.

[eisforeidolon]

to what extent do you think the writers/actors/other people related to the show expected this insane reaction to the finale? i know someone said only 30% of the fans would love the finale, and looking at the general audience i think that's actually lowballing it (although, of course, looking at twitter gives you a much different story.) however, the harrassment of the cast has skyrocketed in the last few months along with suicide baiting of fans. do you think hellers will ever get tired of it?

Dabb was the one that made the 30% joke, and I really don' t think he was actually serious. I might be wrong, but my impression is he was being facetious and just wanted to try and sound cool and edgy by making a sarcastic GoT comparison.

I think they realized certain loud parts of the Very Online fandom were going to go absolutely apeshit - given their past behavior of going apeshit pretty much every even numbered Tuesday over nothing. I also think they expected the brother-centric finale to be popular with the general audience and wincest shippers, which is why they wrote a brother-centric finale.

My questions revolve around what they expected out of 15x18. See, the thing is, the hellers expected the writers to take their side because of all the bleating they've done to each other about how they're the majority/real fans and making their ship canon is the Only Correct Choice. The writers, on the other hand, know it's a big divided fandom plus the casual viewing audience. Why would they do something that's going to baffle the general audience and piss off a large portion of non-shippers and other ship shippers ... just to please a different specific subset of particularly loud shippers of one ship? So I think their expectations when writing the ending they did after 15x18 probably fell into one of two categories:

They really were dumb enough to think throwing such an ambiguous, unrequited bone to the D/C shippers would be enough to appease them and balance out the finale. These are the shippers who can find a totes amazing lurve story in wallpaper and flannel shirts, this is more textual than all that so they'll be happy, right?! We're talking about older nerd-dude writers whose understanding of fans' expectations for what constitutes satisfying fan service may not be the most up-to-date. Writers who have had those shippers blowing smoke up their asses for years now, praising their every choice to the heavens. Someone who isn't very self-aware could actually mistake that for real adulation rather than the desperate sucking up in hopes of a payoff it was. Furthermore, I think Dabb is an appeaser who is happiest riding a fence and I've written off Berens particularly as a moronic putz since the Wayward debacle. If this was the case, I suspect that they have been baffled and dismayed by the volume of the negative reaction and all the conspiracy theories and whatnot that came with.

The alternative is they decided to hand the crazies a metaphorical book of trick matches to make them spontaneously combust in rage on purpose. The knew the scene in 15x18 was ambiguous enough that those portions of the audience who didn't like the ship or remained blissfully unaware of its existence would, even if initially baffled or dismayed by it? Ultimately largely see it as platonic or irrelevant given the entire lack of any kind of follow up, let alone interest shown by Dean, afterward. The normal well-adjusted shippers of that ship would take it and run with it in fanfic, writing fix-it heaven reunions. The crazies, on the other hand? Would work themselves up into an absolute frenzy of expectations only to be violently dashed off a cliff when the last two episodes were entirely Castiel-free and gloriously Sam&Dean-centric. In between the pretty transparent ass-kissing, they've been harassed for years by these fans claiming to be "owed" the payoff they want and been slandered and called names every time it didn't materialize. I think most of them know from SM and declining ratings that they're not well loved, and Dabb & Berens in particular have shown an insane amount of butthurt there wasn't enough buzz over their hoped cash cow Wayward to get it to air. By the time the final episodes were airing, Dabb and Co. had long since collected their last SPN paychecks and Dabb personally already had a new IP lined up to ruin. Why should they care if they left only flaming wreckage of a fandom in their wake as the hellers melted the fuck down all over everything yet again? I doubt they expected the fandom to still be wanking itself raw eight months later, but if they did this on purpose, I'd bet they wouldn't care or would find it funny. They won't be tied to it in perpetuity the way actors tend to be.

At some point, the hellers will largely move on though there may be a few lingering crazies for a very long time. Some fandoms don't die, but they all lose momentum over time, especially when a canon closes (which is why I rather hope all spin-off ideas remain in limbo indefinitely). There's only so many times they'll be able to convince themselves it's satisfying to RP fanfic on twitter or pay Misha hoping he'll talk about their ship when there are literally no more episodes in which someone can force Jensen to act out their fantasies. I can't say how soon it will be, but some have already wandered off. Over time more and more are going to either get bored, tire themselves out, realize what a laughingstock they are, or at least fixate on some other canon (Amara help those poor fandoms).

[themonkeycabal]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Episode 1 SPOILERS

If you need to blacklist, I will be tagging all things as #tfatws and/or #tfatws spoilers

My roommate keeps calling this The Falcon and the Snowman. I'm not entirely sure it's accidental.

I was going to watch at midnight and then fell asleep. Betrayal. I will not forgive this, brain.

Bucky Barnes character development. Sam Wilson character development. Six full episodes of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson. When we watched Civil War, did we think we'd actually be lucky enough to get a buddy idiot cop movie? Let alone six hours of it? #blessed

What are we expecting here? I have no idea, honestly. I think all the clips we've been seeing are from the first couple episodes, so they've hidden any sort of plot from us. We know Baron Zemo's around with his stupid purple ski mask and burning hatred for superheroes and probably specifically for Bucky who he tried (and honestly kind of succeeded, before then ultimately failing dramatically) to set up. And Sharon Carter will turn up at some point. OMG guys, Sharon Carter character development!

I'm just here for the buddy bickering and badassery.

SPOILERS BELOW

New World Order: Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes realize that their futures are anything but normal. *Realize*? lol

Also, it's tagged as "science fiction, action-adventure, buddy" Awww.

Aww, Sam looks sad as he gazes at The Shield.

"How's it feel?" "Like it's someone else's." "It isn't."

That's right, Sam! Listen to that voice. That's yours now, baby.

We're just going to roll right into a mission. Rescuing a Captain Vassant, whose plane fell out of contact shortly after take off, from the ridiculously named group LAF, somewhere over Tunisia. Sam's got to keep LAF from doing bad things and the US Military can't be seen doing anything blah blah blah, violation of treaties, yada yada. And Sam's all "blah blah got it". We're on the same page, Sam and me. Nobody wants to hear it, Briefing Exposition Guy.

We will have a Lt. Torres on the ground following along and offering helpful commentary as they go.

Sam is warned to be subtle as he falls backwards out of the cargo plane in very dramatic fashion and then swoops off on his brightly colored wings. lol

Sam gets to the captain's plane but the pilot is dead and a shady LAF guy is piloting. Oh no. Hey, it's Batroc. Last seen getting his ass kicked by Captain America in "CA: The Winter Soldier". He makes some jokes about their prisoner - presumably Captain Vassant. Awful cocky for a guy with a history of getting stomped on, you know.

Anyway, he's about to get his ass kicked by a Captain America again as Sam breaks into the plane. You might just be using wing shields now, Sam, but you're Captain America in my heart. Also, hey, dumb bad guys, don't open fire with an automatic weapon inside a plane or the ricochets might kill your pilot. And his body will slump forward and put the plane into a steep dive.

Batroc distracts Sam while the bad guys gather up Vassant and jump out of the plane with him. They have wingsuits, but Sam has, you know, wings. And like a jet pack. Don't hit the canyon walls, Sam!

Somehow the bad guys have waiting gunships. Did they expect to jump out of the plane over this canyon? I can only assume. Red Wing takes care of one of the helicopters. Man these guys are a pain in the ass. They wing suit into one of the many many helicopters that just happen to be right in the right spot. They're racing for the Libyan border. Then Sam shows up, they throw Vassant out the copter again — this guy is having the worst day — and glide into another chopper.

Man ANOTHER gunship? The hell? They're causing serious ecological damage to this canyon, what with all the zillionty missiles they're firing at Sam. How strapped is this thing?

LT Torres is trying to keep up, and you know, trying to get Sam to not fly into Libyan territory and cause an international incident or some such. Sam is struck by inspiration and not by a missile. But, the missiles are following Sam and Sam is following Batroc's chopper. Sam zooms through the open doors of the chopper, knocks poor Vassant out of the chopper AGAIN (but then catches him), and LAF blows up their own helicopter. Alas, Batroc escaped.

Sam saves the day and LT Torres is like super excited. Don't break your humvee, Torres.

Torres and Sam stop by a tea shop in Tunis, or somewhere. Sam's trying to fix his tech that got a little shot up and Torres buys the tea. A man comes up and thanks Sam for saving his wife. It's sweet. And then Torres gets up and wanders about a bit with his phone as he exposits about LAF. Is Torres about to become a pin cushion? Only instead of pins it'll be bullets? I'm not feeling good about his continued health. He's too cute and earnest.

Oh, he's looking for some sort of hidden, augmented reality tag on the walls. A red handprint, id'ing some group that calls themselves the Flag Smashers. Bad guys are really scraping the bottom of the evil name barrel. Anyway, they think the world was better during the blip. Nothing says better like mass failure of infrastructure and probably world wide famine. They want a unified world without borders. I have big doubts the world would be a borderless utopia during a blip-like event. Power vacuums invite trouble, seldom unity.

Anyhoo. Sam kind of agrees with me, "every time something gets better for one group, it gets worse for another".

Torres will track the 'online chatter'. But he's also heard some wacky things about Steve Rogers, conspiracy theory stuff, "they think that he's in a secret base on the moon, looking down over us". LOL. What? Is Steve a moon angel now? or Santa Claus? "You didn't like fly him to the moon?" Sam assures him that's all very much silly foolishness. Steve's in Boca working on his tan.

Sam's back in D.C. giving a talk about Steve at the Smithsonian's National Air & Space museum. "And he mastered posing stoically". Hey, I have that picture. Also, RHODEY! Hi Rhodey!

"A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after 5 years away. Sending the world into turmoil." Again. I know this was meant to come out before WandaVision, but timeline-wise this works better.

"We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we're in. Symbols are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning." Sam holds up The Shield. "I don't know if there's been a greater symbol." Aww, he's retiring the shield. He hands it off to museum people and they put it in a display case. I think Rhodey has some thoughts about this. I suspect Rhodey maybe doesn't agree.

Sam and Rhodey wander through the Cap exhibit and Sam's talking about how when he left (or got snapped, it's not like you had a choice about that, Sam), his nephews were babies and now they're little men. Awww. Rhodey says Sam should bring them to D.C., he'll teach them how to fly, "the right way". lol.

Rhodey says it's crazy to think nobody will be carrying the shield. Sam points out they went 70 years without, so like …

Rhodey wants to know why Sam didn't take up the mantle. BTW, this is a cool exhibit, marvel peeps. Sam says it feels like it belongs to someone else … Steve. Rhodey says everything's broken. Allies are enemies, things are torn apart. People are looking for somebody to make it better. Having made his pitch, Rhodey leaves Sam to stare mournfully at the shield. I think you're afraid to pick up the shield, Sam. Afraid you won't measure up. But, you can do it. I have faith. Also, Steve was kind of a disaster in his own way. He wasn't perfect, which was the point of Steve as a hero. Pick up the shield, Sam.

A fancy hotel, chatting people in the lobby, up to a mezzanine, a group of very Russian oligarch looking dudes and their security. And lo! A metal arm punches through a wall and the Winter Soldier, looking very Winter Soldiery appears and stabs some dudes in the neck. This has a sepia, dream/nightmareness to it. Oh yeah, it's his old shiny silver arm. Totally a nightmare/very bad memory. "Hail Hydra" and he kills the head Russian guy. The poor dude who was just chatting in the lobby is caught trying to get into his door. He swears he didn't see anything, begs for his life and the Winter Soldier shoots him. Bucky wakes up, breathing heavily. Poor Bucky.

Glad he's in therapy. I'm sure goat herding in Wakanda was good and peaceful and all, but, goats will only get you so far. Also glad we've skipped the "wanted terrorist" part and gone on to traumatized hero.

I get the feeling he's not the best patient. He lies to his therapist straight off. Twice. lol. "You're a civilian now. With your history the government needs to know, you're not gonna … [therapist makes stabby motion]." lol (I love this actress by the way. She's been in everything for ages. She's great). "It's a condition of your pardon. So tell me about your most recent nightmare." "I didn't have a nightmare." She starts writing, Bucky objects and tells her she's being passive-aggressive, but he gives in.  

He has a list of amends to make and three rules to follow. He crossed a name off. There's a Hydra pawn who's a senator, he helped her get into office. "After Hydra disbanded, she continued to use the power I gave her." Hmm. He tracks her car and listens in on her plotting to have a congressman killed.

* Rule number one: Can't do anything illegal.

He's hijacked the Senator's car and is remote controlling it, making it drive all out of control and freaking her out. He says he was collecting intel to give to an aide to convict her. Absolutely only did that. Not one illegal thing about that at all, no ma'am.

"Rule number two?" "Hmm. What was rule number two?" "Nobody gets hurt. It's a big one." "Then why isn't it rule number one?" Oh, Bucky, you're a jackass.

* Rule number two: Nobody gets hurt.

"I didn't hurt anybody. Promise." He totally broke a dude's hand and then punched him in the face, knocking him out. I mean, there's levels of 'hurt' I suppose.

"The whole point of making amends is to fulfill rule number three." "Of course I completed rule number three."

* Rule number three: "I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James 'Bucky' Barnes. And you're part of my efforts to make amends." He says to the corrupt senator he's just been terrifying. And then he walks away as a tac team pulls up. lol.

What I'm getting from this therapy session is that Bucky is a big fat fibber.

Also he's got a little black book full of names. Including, I see, H. Zemo. That's not going to go as smoothly as taking down a shady government fatcat, I think.

"So you did it all right, but it didn't help with the nightmares?" "Well, like I said, I didn't have any." Fibber.

People wanna help you Bucky and you can trust them. "I trust people," he mutters grumpily. She asks for his phone and he hands it over. Look, lady! Trust! Probably government mandated trust, but still!

"You don't have ten phone numbers on this thing." … I don't have ten phone numbers on my phone. :( "Oh, and you've been ignoring texts from Sam." Well …

"I am the only person you have called all week. That is so sad." lol. Tough love from the therapist. I'm feeling a little judged myself, though. "You're alone." ALRIGHT DON'T RUB IT IN!

"You're a hundred years old. You have no history. No family—" "Are you lashing out at me, doc? Because that's really unprofessional." I love you Bucky, but you are a disaster patient.

Bucky relents. "I'm trying. This is new for me. I didn't have a moment to deal with anything. I had a little calm in Wakanda. And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for 90 years." Get this man a goat farm!

"So now that you've stopped fighting, what do you want?" "Peace." A goat farm. "That is utter bullshit." lol "You're a terrible shrink." "I was an excellent soldier, so I saw a lot of dead bodies and I know how that can shut you down. And if you are alone, that is the quietest, most personal hell." Get some friends, Bucky. "I know you've been through a lot. But, you've got your mind back. You're being pardoned. These are good things. You're free." "To do what?"

On the streets of Brooklyn. Bucky breaks up an argument between neighbors about trashcans. Hey, Bucky has a friend! Yori Nakajima who's probably like 80+. Did you babysit him back in the day, Buck? har har. They were going to meet for lunch, but some punk named Unique was putting his trash into Mr. Nakajima's trash can and just derailed the whole day. The horror. No joke, though, people get so nutted up about that. It's weird to me. Of course, I did also have a neighbor who never put out his trash for pickup and just snuck out at night before trash day and distributed his garbage into in other people's bins. Cheapass.

"Hey man, I'm Unique. Like Monique but it's got a 'u' in there for uniqueness." Yeah, you should have let Yori smack him, Buck.

Well now Yori is just not in the mood for lunch. Bucky tries to persuade him, but one grumpy old man out grumps the other. "But Izzy. We always go to Izzy on Wednesday. What if I buy?" "Fine. But no talking." lol. BFFs!

Yori is looking at the obituaries. "Look, nobody made it past 90 this week." Bucky tsks "So young, such a shame."

Bucky kind of smiles at the girl behind the counter at the sushi joint, Yori tells him he should ask her out. Bucky makes a "are you nuts, shut up" face. That doesn't stop Yori. "He would like to take you out on a date. Maybe to bingo or a night of pinochle." You're a wild man, Yori!

She's down by it, though, and she and Yori hammer out the details while Bucky's like uh, okay, so wow, that's happening. "There's a dance to these things. You can't … you gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943."

Yori sees something and suddenly gets sad. His son loves red bean mochi. His son was a consultant, working abroad and he was killed. Oh. Oh Bucky, why you gotta … Yori's son was the innocent witness he killed at the hotel in his nightmare/memory. "I will never know what really happened to him." Brutal.

Delacroix, Louisana

Sam's on his way home. Wilson Family Seafood. Aww. His nephews are helping mom with the catch. "Blue for the snapper, orange for the white fish," Sam calls out. The boys run over to him. They do look like fine gentlemen. It's weird, Sam, I get it. I recently realized my oldest nephew will be 13 in May and it's like "no, he's only in kindergarten, what are you talking about?"

His sister greets him then tells him he's looking all sneaky. Sam deflects. Their boat has seen better days. The Paul & Darlene. Aww. Is that his parents names? "Baby being held together by duct tape and prayers." Just needs to float long enough for his sister to sell it. But Sam's all, uh I thought we were going to *discuss* that. Uh oh, family drama. "We did, and then you were off fighting Dr Space Cape or whatever (lol), while I was holding it together for five long years." Ouch.

Sam is not down by this selling the boat thing. His sister doesn't seem to think they're in a position to hold on to it. Also, she'd really like to not hash this out on the pier with like twenty other people around, Sam.

They get into more of an argument on the boat. The family biz is not doing well financially. Sarah won't let Sam help for some reason, and he makes some comment about the house and loans and she punches him in the chest. lol "I forgot how hard you hit."

Sam insists they can turn it around, consolidate loans. And she's all, been there done that, I've come to terms with this. He's a persistent little jerk. This is such a perfectly sibling argument. Notably he has moved himself out of punching range.

Aww, she wants to believe he can save the boat, but she has DOUBTS.

Back in Brooklyn. Bucky attempts his date. He turns up at the end of the sushi girl's shift and gives her flowers. "Well, if that's not the most adorably old-fashioned thing anyone's ever done."

They chat while she tidies. He tried online dating oh lol. It didn't take. She tells him "You sound like my dad. Wait how old are you?" "Hundred and six." Oh yeah, what a funny joke. Next she wants to know why he's wearing gloves. "I have … um … poor circulation." He grimaces at himself and glances out the window. Smooth as silk, Bucky. Smoooooth.

"Let's play a game." Now, I'm thinking like some weird dating word/get-to-know-each-other game or something. I don't know. But, nope, she means Battleship. lol. I like her.

The drinking game version of battleship. Bucky sucks at it. "You sure can drink." "Yeah, well." Super assassin, unfair advantage.

We're just going to rub in this whole The Winter Soldier killed Yori's son thing, as she says it's nice that he's spending time with the old man. Since he was all messed up after his son was murdered and how it was extra hard because he didn't know what happened. I'm not sure this is healthy, Bucky.

"There's no word for someone whose kids die." Okay, ouch, lady, jeez. Bucky looks like he wants to puke. Or crawl into a deep dark hole. Or something. "Because it's the worst thing that can happen." Bucky nopes right out the front door. So, maybe they should have played pinochle instead.

Bucky goes to Yori. Are you really going to tell this man you murdered his son when you were a brain-washed Hydra assassin? Yori asks how the date was, and Bucky sees a shrine to the man's son in the apartment. Poor Bucky. He makes some excuse about owing Yori for lunch and leaves. Yori's name is in his book of amends. :(

Back in Louisiana. Sam and the kids are packing up meals. His sister maybe wants to sell meals in addition to fish. Sam says they've got to get going to their appointment at the bank. She's says it's in an hour. Sam must be just the worst brother to live with "There's no such thing as on time. You're either early or late. Pick one." Man, no wonder he gets punched.

Switzerland

Lt Torres is walking down a street with an unusually large number of people just sort of milling around in the middle of the street looking at their phones. He's got his kind of hidden, recording. He stops a guy and asks if he knows what they're supposed to be doing. Oh it's the flag munchers, or whatever. There's a weird phony bird whistle and then people gather around a person handing out masks with red handprints on them. His decoy bad guy phone chirps and gives the order to run. A guy jumps out of a nearby building with two huge duffle bags (of money it seems) and walks off while the previously milling people become a seemingly panicked mob, distracting police and whatnot.

Torres tries to arrest the jumper guy, who appears to have some super strength as he kicks a policeman halfway across the street. Torres, you're cute, but not super bright. Torres gets body slammed and then stomped. He survives again, however, defying the odds.

At the bank. The account manager keeps giving Sam the side-eye as he goes through their paperwork. "Do I know you from somewhere." Sam's all modest, "I don't know. Do you?" And then he makes a little wing flappy move with his hands. lol. What a nerd. "Falcon!" Then he takes a selfie with Sam. Sarah is very done with all this. She tries to get them back on track. Account guy wants to know how Avengers make a living. Probably not looking good for your loan, Sam.

"Is there some kind of fund for heroes? Or did Stark pay you when he was around? My condolences, by the way."

Yeah, financially this is looking bad, my dude. "You have no income over the last five years." Well, but, he was blipped. I mean …

Alas, shot down for the loan.

Sam and Sarah argue on the street. Ah, Sam ran off to the Air Force and didn't deal with what was going on at home. Oh my, this is getting ugly. Speaking as someone who got disowned on account of a family business, let me just say, they're not easy. Nuh-uh.

"Half the boat's mine and so is the house. We're not selling our family's legacy." "You gonna do me like what when you know I'm right?"

I get it might be awkward to ask, but I bet you could have asked Pepper for a loan, Sam, and she would have given it to you gladly. Come on, man.

Later. Sam's working on the boat's engine, and it's not cooperating. In the cabin he looks at the family pictures on all the walls. He's having a rough day. About as rough as Torres who texts him to find a secure line and call him along with a selfie of his bruised and battered face. #important (lol, really?)

Sam watches the footage Torres caught and they chat about how Torres was supposed to be doing that stuff online and not getting his face kicked in in Switzerland.

Sarah interrupts and turns on the TV. Some guy is giving a speech about how everybody needs a hero. "We need someone who can inspire us again. Someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero." hmm, no comment. Except, you should have taken up the shield, Sam. Now it's Sam's turn to look like he's going to puke. What did I say about power vacuums? Somebody will fill them, whether you want them to or not. 

This new guy looks like a goober. There, I said it.

credits

So … lots of setup. And very clear on the two guys trying to figure out where they fit in this world post blip and big wars. Both of them trying to fix broken families.

Plus a goober in a Cap suit.

So far so good. 

[ornamental-coral]

Do you have houses combos you love besides Snake Bird ?

Hi sorry it’s take me so long to get to you ‘nonnie human you. I promise if anyone sends me questions, I will get to them eventually! It just takes a while for me thinking about them, researching about them (doing Birdy Bird things with even a one-sentence question...), forgetting I have a sort-hat-chats centered tumblr account (which is... can sort of a Bird thing but also a me thing), and then coming back so we are here (there. somewhere)

I myself am a Snake-Bird. I think I’m pretty neat. Birds are usually very good at entertaining themselves. I think. And I’m lucky I like myself enough because I spend a lot of time with me haha.

I’m a little in love with a remarkable amount of Lion primaries, Snake secondaries and Bird primaries (especially with a Snake secondary to make them extra hard to hold onto *rolls eyes) and apparently I love writing Badger Primaries? I guess I find the challenge of building an “ideal” society that is willing to address the current failings of our timeline a worthwhile challenge and my ink-children rise from the ether to meet me.

I’ve expanded below bar because this is actually a really interesting concept to me - how does a particular house combination react to the others. Below is just my meandering through how specifically My Snake Primary Bird secondary might react on a surface level to the other house types. This doesn’t mean I’m right. There are as many ways of acting within the house system as there are human beings and keep in mind, this is all in good fun.

____________________

Lions

The Idealism of the Lion Primary is something that I find admirable. I posted a more extended musing on the position of Snake Birds within media here. I think the Snake in me understands that when you pick up a person the way Snakes do, you pick up a lot of their wants and regrets too. Snakes pick up People, so that means the whole package. A Lion with a worthy cause can be a very attractive thing to a Snake, who will follow and support them in a very specific kind of way. 

With Double Lions, and Lion Snakes there’s that urge to run after them with a fire-extinguisher in one hand and a big stick in the other - one to put out the fires a Double Lion inevitably lights and the Lion Snake may try purposefully to stoke, and the other to beat off anyone who dares to tell your Lion that they cannot Be A Lion. That’s something only the Snake can do, and that’s only because no matter what the Snake says, the Lion is still Their Person warts and all and the Snake Bird knows damn well what they were getting into, or at least thought they did.

Lion Birds house-match secondaries with Snake Birds but can have explosively different moral codes, largely because they method match. I personally find some Lion Bird characters a little grating because as the audience, I feel I’m getting the same information as the Lion, but as a Snake I have a little too much self-preservation to imagine myself doing anything much about it - at least not the way a majority of Lion Bird characters act - or I come to different conclusion. I also hate conspiracy theories because they require leaps of logic the my Bird model typically just can’t tolerate but the felt-house Lion will participate in. However, Lion Birds can also be the hard-boiled PIs, the Best-at-their-Job secret agents (hi Agent Coulson), the one who has Seen the World and Still Believes It Can Be Saved. So that’s admirable and fun.

Lion Badgers are sweet but my Snake Bird goes “fires, fires everywhere”. And like, not the kind your Lion Snake might think is funny when the Snake Bird tries to put them out. Think Steve Rodgers. MCU Steve has a really strong Snake Performance though when it comes to Bucky which MY Snake finds really confusing because it is So Strong I’d be willing to be money he would have at least tried to find a better way to get rid of the Tesseract if Bucky hadn’t fallen from that train and been declared KIA. I think that particular type of Snake performance also confuses Tony, which is part of why Civil War was the way it was.

But yeah, a fire that a Lion Badger wants to light? it’s not going to go out. For a Snake, having that as Your Person means you either really ride or die for them - and might actually literally have to die, or you are keeping them from burning themselves out before they accomplish whatever they’re doing. For a Snake Bird? this is alarming as hell and it’s a fight between the Secondaries to make sure the Lion takes care of themselves as part of the Lion’s “hard work” Badger, if they’re your person.

Birds

Bird primaries will “build” the people they love into the way they see the world. As a Snake, I think this is just really appealing to me? Snakes are loyal, and older Snakes have the life experience to realize that - painful as it is - this loyalty will not always be reciprocated in the way you hope for (this is the stereotypical bone of contention between Lions, Badgers and Snakes. Lions are focused on their cause and if the Snake’s protective instincts get in the way of that, that causes problems It also hurts when a Lion’s mission supersedes their affection for their Snake people. Badgers’ concerns are for their communities and the split of attention can drive the individually focused Snake crazy). If you get built into the Bird’s world, that always felt like something special and something that took hard work, which made it all the more valuable.

My Snake Birds also likes to imagine it’s equipped to learn to the things that a Bird variety believes in and address those things. It’s the kind of relationship that has the potential to go very wrong, and I do realize that. I think Snake Birds have the tendency to want to be everything for Their Person (or people) and our powers of observation mean that we take it a little personally when we’ve missed something. I’m tempted to call Kaz Brekker of Six of Crows a Snake Bird and it drives him to distraction that he can’t be everything, everywhere, all at once to the handful of a people he truly and deeply cares about.

The Bird Snake in particular house matches in a way that can be particularly challenging and attractive to a Snake Bird? A Snake Bird’s tool is, well, the Bird, and the whole persona can feel ridiculously pleased by being able to “pin down” the Bird Snake, which does not necessarily lend itself to being pinned. There’s also this strong urge to understand the Bird Snake. 

So there’s the Snake secondary who delights in finding new ways to be, and a Bird Secondary delights in learning new things. The discovery element in that relationship can, as long as the Bird Secondary is not stifled by the Snake Primary’s concern, actually be really rewarding. Birds, and Bird Snakes in particular are also often really unique. They think differently, act differently, can be off putting to certain types of house combinations because their moral code can come off is so blue-orange, and is Built on top of that. Snakes take great pride in being very “this is my Person and their brand of weirdness is just another thing I love about them. And on top of that, I Know them.” with their people in any situation, and if a Snake can eventually prove to their Bird Primary that that feeling is unwavering, that’s a relationship that becomes central to both Snake and Bird.

That isn’t to say Birds can’t go dark, but usually they learn to be that way given Birds are evidence-gatherers. Unfortunately, this means I love them too because people of my generation and all generations before and hence have a thing for characters with trauma (see Loki, greasy prince extraordinaire).  It’s -- it’s never not been a thing. Take a look at freaking Gilgamesh, which is the oldest things that we know of, look at Enkidu, and tell me he wasn’t your favorite. Gilgamesh is kind an arschloch of highest proportions. As a more palatable example of this Bird-villain thing, I sort of suspect Bucky Barnes is a Bird of some flavor. If he killed one person as the Winter Soldier, he’d feel bad but probably admit it was the brain washing - but he did it dozens of times. He wonders what does this say about him? He is possibly a Badger, but even pre-winter-soldier he doesn’t seem to care on as wide a scale as a Badger typically does. Steve is Built into the fabric of his world, and he doesn’t react to Steve’s death the way I expect a Snake to either. Maybe a really Old Seasoned Snake and I mean technically he’s old? but the cryogenics thing sort of means he’s not old enough to just let it go. He also doesn’t follow the boy from Brooklyn for reasons I would expect from a fellow Snake but I guess the new show might give more insight on that once I actually watch it.

Badgers

Okay, I like writing Badgers. [Leans back on chaise lounge] this probably has something to do with my mother.

Really though. I model Badger because my mother, although I love her and I’m really lucky to have her, is a teeny tiny bit horrified by Snake tendencies and drilled into me the morality that it is okay and it is above all Good to care about other people (for other Snakes, read Yes Even Strangers). To be fair, the prioritizing that Snakes do (which can get as focused as ”My people first, even if someone else far away is in trouble and I am acutely aware of it”) can seem pretty horrific to a Badger. They don’t necessarily get how you could believe everyone is a person and just... not care. And it’s hard to convince a Badger (for whom not acting can = they are not worth it) that you know exactly what you’re doing but are also aware that if you try to help everyone your head will explode because you can’t keep that many People up there. It’s why Snakes have their rings of caring.

But the result is that for me, Badgers are usually the ones left standing at the end of the story. If they’re done dirty, I like to try and fix it.

I don’t like how media treats Badger primaries generally though? There’s often something “goofy” or the Badger is treated as soft in a really unpalatable way. I mean, and to be fair this directly comes from the way a Snake can sort of be flummoxed with the way Badgers just do things for strangers, yes Badgers irl may be considered gentle. On an individual level, they are often the hearts and hearths of groups and homes.  But there’s this weird place where The State is supposed to be a Badger-shaped institution, so that uneasy balance comes out in weird ways.

I don’t remember who said it, but the difference with Badgers and Snakes is that, with a Snake, you start out at Zero. You’re human, but you’re not the Snake’s human, so I will treat you like a human, but there are My People above you. And with a Badger, you sort of start out at like 85-100%? At least this is my perception. Badgers need-base and that off-balances Snakes.

A Snake with a Badger in my opinion needs to be “eyes open” in a different way than even a Snake with a Bird does, because the Snake needs to understand that the Badger is going to look and act similar - until they don’t, and then the Snake needs to be able to put aside the part of them that was attracted to the mirrored morality and actually work with the Badger to figure out what the Snake needs and how the Snake can in turn support the Badger.

Anyways though, I’m writing a thing where a Badger Bird-modeling-Badger is the last woman standing, committed to fixing a broken type of organization that her Snake, Bird, and Lion companions are Tired of. Lady Badger is nothing if not resilient. I’m writing another thing where a really really Burnt Badger man gets a safe place to learn to be part of a community that is meant to be mutually protective again (he dies because this is a fan work and that’s what happened in cannon, and this is arguably because he’s still unburning at that stage and doesn’t Have a proper community, but I hope to show him having at least Some happy times because in the sh**show show he didn’t have any at all). I’ve got a slightly less developed thing where a number of Badger performing princes learn to work together to fix their kingdom and unbury the history that created it. 

Aaand It’s nearing midnight, I have clearly lost the thread of the thread or whatever

Goodniiight to all my houses. Love you all even if I didn’t write about you here.

-Ornamental

[snekdood]

i think some of ya’ll under estimates the JQ’s ability to subtly infect people, esp when they’re not aware of the dogwhistles (most people) 

it starts innocently- you’re a kid or an adult unable to detect manipulation, you pick up a new interest, and then you watch some videos about it, you find a video that somehow suggests there’s a “hidden secret” going on, obviously intriguing, you go on to learn about those secrets. if you watched new age stuff like me, there were a lot of “secrets” about aliens, i thought the aliens were cool and wanted to learn more, but apparently the aliens too are connected to this weird government secret, i try to learn more and essentially leave w the impression i cant trust my govt for shit (but maybe the aliens would save me, and yes i considered all of them bc i didn’t wanna believe all the aliens were just genetically evil) and they probably have child sex rings or something (which is intuitively true to me bc the govt’s fucked and run by christians who would be likely to have child sex rings, given how many priests are pedophiles, and all the ritual stuff seemed like something a christian kkk member would do). that was the only information i had and that’s all i extracted from reading that stuff at 14, and all it did was give me paranoia. i never looked into things further, i never went to those weird forums, but the baseline is already there now. i was more focused on the whole *spirituality* thing in new age beliefs, and the aliens were cool to me and i often doubted if the bad ones were really all that bad. NONE of those websites at the time mentioned ANYTHING about jewish people, i’d also specifically avoid websites that mentioned god w an uppercase g bc i knew they were christians, and christians are my enemy in this, so i knew that christians were trying to co opt “the truth” and inject a different message that was more sinister so i’d avoid literally anything like that. im already a failed and bad candidate for nazis lol bc i failed to apparently digest the final bit that it’s supposed to be *jewish people*, i guess because i wasn’t a christian back then so i didn’t have a hate boner for other abrahamic religions that were different from mine. so i just never got that last bit- but you can see how easy it is to decent into-- and id argue a lot of new age spirituality is a gateway and an entrance to the alt right pipeline and to JQ conspiracy theories. maybe the spirit science guy wasn’t intending to demonize jewish people in his “history of the world” video, but the othering of them doesnt help, acting like they’re a separate alien species that’s just smarter and gooder still isn’t exactly a great narrative bc you’re still dehumanizing them. and im sure for ppl more inclined to believe jewish ppl are evil will digest the thought that jewish people are not human like everyone else and then take it further when they learn about the conspiracy theories. 

anyways, I think acting like everyone who’s fallen into these conspiracy theories or even new age beliefs “should have known better” or “probably knew but didn’t resist it” is pretty unfair when on the outside new age stuff seems pretty fuckin innocent and happy and fun and ✨magical✨ and how, at least back in 2012/2013/etc, hardly any of that stuff mentioned jewish people specifically as being the source of evil, you’re supposed to have some sort of belief before that that leads you to that conclusion and im reeaaalllly leaning on the idea that it’s just being christian and hating other abrahamic religions that are different. 

also to me the freemasons seemed like a cover up for/a nicer looking kkk back in the day when i believed crazy conspiracies, idk, but thats just me 🤷‍♂️ i’ve been pretty staunchly anti christian my whole life so ig that’s where my mind naturally went.

[lesbianlotties]

(i swear) i thought i dreamed her

Andromaquynh Secret Santa gift for @aw-hawkeye-no​ Merry Christmas!!! 🎄❤⚔

(you suggested AUs, "modern, fake dating," and i just ignored the comma and did both lol i really hope you like it!!)

and a lot of love to @thirst-teenth for organizing this event and just being great ❤

Do I know about "fashion stuff"? nope. Do I know about "CIA stuff"? not really. did i completely ignore both just to bring you fake dating fluff and humor, quynh bullying andy, and andy being a complete mess for her? absolutely!!! so here it goes

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 5975

“Did you hire me to play the part of your fucking bodyguard?”

“No… I’m a humble fashion designer, I’m not meant to know the very best secret agent the world has to offer... I hired you to play the part of my fucking wife.”

Quynh is an Intelligence agent suddenly on the receiving end of some serious threats that demand the presence of one particular special agent. Andy isn't thrilled to play bodyguard, but soon she will find out it might be the very best job of her entire life.

Most times, when Andy had to visit James Copley’s office, she found it amusing. She would tease him for the walls covered in what she called conspiracy theories, and she’d think he looked so small behind his big desk. This time, however, she found the space suffocating, and his presence was nothing short of annoying.

“I don’t work like this, Copley,” she shook her head at him, “I don’t work with Intelligence, I don’t do undercover missions, and especially, I don’t play bodyguard for the rich ones.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he tried to insist. Copley was pretty much squirming in his seat. Andy was sitting on a chair on the other side of the desk, tense and angry, but she was as confident as he was uncomfortable. “Listen, Andy,” he tried again, “This is the kind of job you need after… you know. It’ll be good for you to stay out of high-risk missions for a while. And, anyway, it’s all I can get for you for the time being.”

She scowled at him, “Is it CIA?”

“Not exactly. Outside work. We call it freelance now.”

“Sure,” Andy rolled her eyes, “What exactly will it be then?”

“I think it’s best if she tells you in person,” Copley had the nerve to smile at her, as if Andy wasn’t going through one of the worst moments of her career and settling for a job she didn’t even want in the first place. Her frown must have conveyed that exact emotion, because the man in front of her had the decency to look a bit embarrassed, if only to cover his amusement. “She asked for you specifically.”

Andy frowned all the way back to her apartment, and her expression only eased when she settled down on her couch, ready to skim through the pages of her new employer’s file. However, she found herself completely engrossed in every bit of confidential information she managed to learn about Quynh. An agent of International Intelligence, linked to every major organization but not committed to any, with an interesting and impressive cover job as a fashion designer turned CEO of her own company with headquarters in Vietnam. The woman was a lethal weapon in designer clothes, designed by herself also, and just the thought of her threatened to drive Andy crazy. Thinking of how she could possibly hold a meeting with the head of the CIA right before a fashion show, and why exactly would she need Andy, a special agent with war experience who rarely wore clothes that weren’t some type of uniform.

Andy could admit she was intrigued by this job and maybe even Quynh in specific. What she wouldn’t ever admit to anybody, was the way that night her mind decided to craft a beautiful, breathtaking, completely unexpected, and detailed dream about Quynh.

--

Andy wasn’t nervous, she would have strongly denied that to anybody who asked. As she stood alone in the elevator that would take her to Quynh’s office at the top of a building that surveyed everything about the woman’s fashion company, Andy swore she was feeling just… uneasy. She wasn’t used to working without a team. She wasn’t used to working in any way that wasn’t direct action against a threat. Worst of all, Copley hadn’t explained much more to her before she left her office. The conversation she was about to have could change everything.

When Andy entered the office, she noticed two things. One, the space was beautiful, elegant, but surprisingly welcoming. Two, she was all alone.

“Hello?” she said, and cleared her throat.

Suddenly, a door at the side of the room opened and from it came out the most beautiful woman Andy had ever seen and wouldn’t admit to that very fact. Quynh was wearing a perfectly tailored white suit and she looked nothing short of magnificent.

“Welcome,” Quynh stepped forward and offered her hand in greeting, “Andromache, right?”

“You can call me Andy,” the taller woman replied, feeling a sense of pride at the way Quynh stared at their joined hands, held for a moment longer than necessary, and took a deep breath when she finally stepped back.

“Andromache, please sit.”

Although she did as asked, Andy had to hold back a frown. “What’s through there?” she nodded at the door from which the other woman had come out of.

“You’re not meant to know,” Quynh replied, sitting down on her own chair. She leaned in forward and rested her elbows on the desk in front of her, then rested her chin on her folded hands.

Andy met her eyes, dark and beautiful, and took a deep breath herself. “Okay. What sort of Intelligence you work for?” she asked.

“Also not meant to know.”

The answer made Andy grit her teeth, but she refused to look away from the other woman’s smug smile. “Fine. What’s my mission then?”

Quynh leaned back on her chest and smiled, “Your goal would be to fall madly in love with me.”

“Okay, you know what-”

“Hey, no, no, I’m sorry!” Quynh allowed herself one chuckle but then trained her face to seriousness when she noticed the other woman’s hand on the chair’s armrests, ready to flee the building. She stood up and walked around her desk to lean against it and stare at Andy. “I’m sorry. Listen, do you… did Copley tell you I asked for you specifically?” she tilted her head in wonder.

“Yes,” Andy nodded, and attempted to relax again on her seat, “Why is that?”

“Because I saw you in a dream,” Quynh grinned.

“Fucking…” Andy mumbled to herself and jumped out of her seat, determined to escape before she said something she could get in trouble for.

“Okay! No! Please… listen,” Quynh reached out and wrapped her fingers around Andy’s wrist, stopping her in place and soothing her temper. They were both standing up then, leaning against Quynh’s desk. Quynh took a deep breath, and talked to Andy with sincerity in her voice for what looked like the first time in the entire conversation. “I heard what happened to you. Betrayal. I can relate,” she met Andy’s eyes, and saw at once how guarded the other woman was, and how intently she was listening, “I got a death threat. A dozen of them, whatever. I believe it comes from someone in my inner circle. Someone that wants me to stop playing with the big names of the CIA and friends. But someone close enough to know where to follow me during my day job.”

When she was done, Quynh had allowed only a hint of fear to show on her eyes, but it had been enough to ease the tension from Andy’s shoulders. She knew, at once, that she couldn’t have refused the job, not even if she had actually wanted to say no.

“Did you hire me to play the part of your fucking bodyguard?” Andy said, calmly, amusement just barely there, but enough for Quynh to notice and relax too.

“No… I’m a humble fashion designer, I’m not meant to know the very best secret agent the world has to offer,” Quynh replied, sending a smile in Andy’s way. Then she sat down on one of the chairs on that side of the desk, nodding her head, inviting Andy to take the other chair. Quynh added, imitating Andy’s words back to her with a teasing grin she couldn’t hold back, “I hired you to play the part of my fucking wife.”

--

“Why can’t I wear my own suit?” Andy called out from inside the bathroom of Quynh’s bedroom. She had silently marveled at absolutely everything about the other woman’s home. Quynh didn’t hold back on elegance and comfort but, just as her office, it surprised Andy with how genuinely serene and practical most of it felt, nothing exaggerated but just a very beautiful place to live. Quynh might play the part of a wealthy CEO, and she might have more power than Andy could imagine, but she remained an intriguing woman.

“Because your suit makes you look like a waiter, Andromache!”

Quynh was also, by Andy’s standards, a little shit.

In response, Andy made it a point to kick the bathroom door. “I said you can call me Andy,” she grumbled, fixing the collar of the very expensive, very unique suit Quynh had chosen for her to wear to whatever event the woman was dragging her to as a grand introduction to the woman she had secretly married during a romantic spur of the moment kind of situation, as they would tell the press.

“You are playing the role of my wife, Andromache, you will have to wear the best of the best I’ve ever designed!”

Sighing in defeat, Andy walked out of the bathroom, feeling personally attacked by the number of buttons her shirt simply didn’t have for her to cover the better part of her torso. However, she stopped in her tracks, a victim of a much more aggressive attack, the sight of Quynh’s exposed back as the woman just finished pulling up her backless red dress. There was a tattoo there that all at once made Andy thankful for her mostly open shirt since she started to feel a little too warm in her clothes.

“Oh,” Quynh sighed when she turned around and stared at Andy. Andy, who made herself believe Quynh was looking her up and down so intently just because she was studying the clothes she had created and already knew perfectly, except for how well they’d fit a tall, irritable, professional, and unfairly gorgeous type of soldier with earnest green eyes that made Quynh feel just a little unsteady on her feet. “You look good,” she finally added, purposefully looking away, very professionally.

“You too,” Andy nodded, looking the opposite way, very seriously too.

It would have been easy for any kind of onlooker to determine that both women were thinking the exact same thing. This job would be entirely much more difficult than they had anticipated.

--

There was a red carpet and a small army of photographers ahead of them. The unfamiliar territory made Andy uneasy, that’s why she was standing so goddamned tense, and not at all for the way Quynh was holding her arm and standing so close, getting ready to step into the spotlight.

“Why a movie?” Andy whispered, genuinely curious and also trying to distract the other woman from the big event ahead of them.

Quynh sighed and turned to look at her with a smile, “I’m a woman of many talents.”

“You produced this?” Andy frowned.

“I did,” Quynh grinned, stood taller, and tugged Andy forward, “Now hush, we are about to go out. Look pretty for the cameras, alright? Do you think you can smile?”

“No.”

Her blunt answer made Quynh laugh wholeheartedly. The result was both women stepping on the red carpet smiling much more genuinely than they would have expected.

All things considered, Andy thought she did a decent enough job playing a fake wife. Although she also tried to play undercover bodyguard and kept an eye out for any remote threat to Quynh’s safety, she could hardly keep her eyes off her own fake wife. She listened intently when Quynh talked about her job, and she smiled when Quynh talked about them. It was difficult to complain about any of it when Quynh looked at her with that perfect smile of hers. She held Quynh’s hand as often as possible too, for safety reasons, obviously.

--

Back in Quynh’s apartment, as both women got ready to sleep, they reflected on the events of the night. The premiere of a movie was an event completely new and strange for Andy, who entertained herself by sharing a constant commentary about everything around her. The cameras captured about a dozen shots of Andy whispering in Quynh's ear, while she laughed happily at whatever the taller woman was criticizing. Even during the movie, they talked to each other enough to be shushed by a stranger halfway through.

Sitting on her bed, Quynh wanted to be embarrassed by how easily she had grown comfortable with Andy, of how much she had enjoyed a little company. But her thoughts were interrupted by the same women they were filled with. Andy came out of Quynh’s bathroom looking almost completely normal, with sweatpants, a t-shirt, and holding her suit folded on her hands, but there was a gun lying on top of the suit. The sight of it was an unpleasant reminder of the one and only reason Andy had been there with Quynh the entire night.

“That was a nice first date,” Quynh smirked, trying to shove down the feeling of disappointment upon remembering she was paying Andy for all of this.

“It was fun,” Andy replied softly, a little distracted by the sight of Quynh sitting on her bed, wearing silk pajamas, and her hair a little messy. The reminder that they had failed to discuss sleeping arrangements startled Andy like a bucket of cold water falling on top of her. “I’ll take the couch,” she blurted out.

“Are you sure?” Quynh sent a small frown her way.

Andy, already starting to walk away, granted her a smile, “Yes, your couch is unnecessarily large, it’s almost a bed for two.”

“Andromache, is that an invitation?”

“Uh,” Andy turned hastily away from Quynh’s teasing smile, making a beeline for the couch and stumbling a little on her way, enough to drop her gun and whisper “Fuck,” while the beautiful woman making a mess of her thoughts only laughed at her a short distance away.

--

Andy had traveled in the best and worst planes the world had to offer, anything to get to a mission, even if it was at the end of the world. That didn’t mean she liked planes though. The private plane flying Quynh, her fake wife, and her team overseas was impressive, but wasn’t the exception. And, apparently, Andy wasn’t the only one that disliked it.

After Andy took her time making sure the plane and its staff were completely safe, they were getting ready for taking off when Quynh stood in front of Andy’s seat, pointed at the window seat beside her, and asked, “Can I sit there?”

Andy looked at her very seriously for a moment that would have been longer if she wanted to tease the woman that had been teasing her nonstop since they first met but, she noticed the genuine and unusual apprehension in the other woman’s face.

“Haven’t we been married for a full week already?” she answered with a playful smirk, “You don’t have to ask.” She nodded to the place beside her in invitation. There was a part of Andy’s brain overthinking why Quynh, who had known her only a week, would sit beside her, instead of literally next to anybody else in the entire plane filled with people she knew and trusted and had worked with for years. A matter of safety, purely logical and professional reasons, Andy’s mind decided, shutting off the insistent little questions that her mind had about every little thing Quynh did. The problem was, now Quynh’s hand was gripping the armrest between them, and it took everything in Andy not to reach out to her.

“I hate planes,” Quynh confessed, breaking the silence, “I mean, I’m a little fascinated by them but, it just doesn’t feel right to be so far away from the ground, you know?”

“I know,” Andy replied, doing an almost inhumane effort to keep her voice steady even though the plane was starting to move, “If it were up to me we’d still travel on horses.”

That got her a laugh from Quynh. “Okay, that might be going too far,” Quynh said, meeting her eyes for the briefest of moments. She looked down at her lap quickly though, afraid that the other woman would be able to read in her eyes the answer to the question Quynh couldn’t stop asking herself, Why did she feel the need to sit beside Andy?

However, then the plane was leaving the ground behind, and Andy was as tense as Quynh, her chest tight and her logical thoughts nowhere to be found. She reached out in instinct and, without any of them acknowledging it, they held hands tightly the entire time until they were well past the worst of it.

The rest of the trip ended up being uneventful, technically, even if Andy’s heart got little to no rest. She got to witness Quynh glued to her laptop and talking to members of her team, as busy as if the whole world depended on her, and as confident as if she could fit all of it in the palm of her hand. If that wasn’t enough to make Andy’s chest tighten in a whole new way, then she got to watch the adorable way in which Quynh fell asleep for the second half of the trip. Nose wrinkled and little sighs escaping her now and then. The only thing Andy was sure of was that she was in some serious trouble if Quynh didn’t stop being so perfect at everything she did.

When they arrived at their destination, Andy was taken by surprise when Quynh approached her with a shy smile. “I’m sorry, I must be terrible company,” she said, looking up at Andy.

“Not at all,” the taller woman replied sincerely. She was delighted to see Quynh’s smile grow but, when she took a step forward to leave the plane, Andy had to reach out and carefully grab her wrist, stopping her. “I should go first,” she said as an explanation.

“But the cameras,” Quynh frowned, apparently an expert at walking down from planes while being a famous woman, because of fashion, surely not because of her involvement with the CIA and company.

“I always go first,” Andy insisted, but managed a reassuring smile, “for your safety.”

Quynh sighed, accepting the logic. But then, the least she could do was help a little. She reached out and stole Andy’s sunglasses from where they hung by the collar of her black t-shirt. Then she gently put them on Andy’s face, smiling at the result and holding back from moving Andy’s hair off her forehead. Except, she failed at holding back, and her fingers did brush Andy’s hair away, sending electricity up both their bodies.

“Okay,” Andy mumbled, turning away and putting all her effort in not shaking as she walked to the door of the plane, where she was ambushed by flashing lights. She scowled at them, and surveyed the scene, careless of how odd she might look up there, until she remembered she did this for Quynh’s safety. Quynh. Quynh, who had an image to keep. So, Andy turned around and offered her hand to her wife, putting on a smile for her. Quynh was surprised, but didn’t hesitate with the offer and, as she descended from the plane, her smile was more than a little effortless.

--

The next days passed by flying. They were in America, and Andy expected their days to be filled with all the interviews and movies and fashion shows that are included with one half of Quynh’s life. And they were, all of those things happened, but there was so much more too.

In the most random of moments, without consulting anyone but Andy, Quynh would pull the two of them into a different room of the hotel they had checked into, or into a fancy restaurant as often as into an unassuming cafe. There, men in suits would be waiting for them, with questions, answers, new instructions, orders, apologies, or gratitude and respect for whatever Quynh had succeeded at pulling off secretly and while keeping up a whole different life too. A few times, they were men that had actually given jobs to Andy before, even Copley showed up at one point. Once, it was a man Andy had fought against, and it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable meeting any of them had experienced in their lives.

Surprisingly, the other things were more difficult. It was Andy’s job to make sure that movies’ premiers were safe and that no one dangerous could sneak into one of Quynh’s fashion shows. The death threats continued to come just as often, and Andy was getting closer to figuring them out, but she wasn’t there yet. In the meantime, she had to dress up following Quynhs instructions, she had to hold her hand in public, and she didn’t have to put too much effort in smiling whenever their eyes met.

It was mesmerizing, to say the least, watching Quynh work. She was professional, and passionate, a little too honest, but fun and caring and charismatic. She was talented and challenging and so outstandingly beautiful that it was getting increasingly difficult for Andy to deny she may or may not have accidentally caught feelings for her. The soldier attempted to cope by reminding Quynh, at every chance she got, that she didn’t want to be there, hated the fancy clothes, the cameras, and the pretending. The problem was, not all of it was pretending, and the few times Quynh let a little bit of hurt show because of Andy’s words, then Andy had to pretend she didn’t notice it.

There were some things Andy genuinely didn’t notice though. She hadn’t yet learned to see past Quynh’s teasing and humor and find the sincerity hiding under the surface. She still called her Andromache, not so much because she had asked to be called Andy, but because it was an excuse to say her name, to watch her reaction, to be the only one who called her that. When they were in public she called her “wife” as often as possible, not to play some part for the cameras, just because she loved to watch Andy blush. Andy, who was supposed to be an intimidating special soldier but lighted up like a kid whenever Quynh surprised her with the best pastries each city had to offer. Andy was hilariously uncomfortable with the fancy clothes, and adorably clumsy when talking to Quynh’s acquaintances, it never failed to make Quynh’s eyes go soft with endearment. And Andy had no way of knowing some of her clothes were things Quynh had stayed up late to design especially thinking of her.

Two moments stood out from the rest. Two times both women got maddingly close to absolute honesty, to crossing a beautiful line they were both dying to cross but stupidly waiting for the other one to take the final step.

First, there was one special interview in Vietnamese where Quynh felt so comfortable it was a little too easy for her to let down her guard. The interviewer, unsurprisingly, asked her about her unexpected marriage and her mysterious wife. Quynh gave the usual, prepared answer but, with a little bit more prompting, she kept talking.

“What I love about her? Everything of course. Um, the unexpected things, mostly. She makes me laugh like nobody else, mostly without even trying, I just like making fun of her,” Quynh laughed, and her eyes moved around the room for a moment, searching. She found Andy’s face, mostly inexpressive at the moment but still breathtaking, and the language barrier was enough to kick down the last of Quynh’s hesitation. “There’s more too. There’s no one like her, really. She… she’s beautiful, intelligent, so thoughtful, and inspiring, and… she makes me feel safe.”

The interviewer then asked her what she’d like to say to her wife, but Quynh almost didn’t hear him. She was too preoccupied with sudden panic burning inside her because, right at the last sentence she spoke, she stared again at Andy’s face, no longer expressionless, but quite the opposite. Eyes big, lips slightly parted, too many emotions, too much understanding. Quynh wanted to scream at herself for not thinking about the chances that the world’s best special agent would obviously happen to be fluent in a dozen languages that happened to include Vietnamese.

“I’d want to tell her, um,” Quynh stuttered, looking for the right words, the perfect fake smile and laugh to hide behind, “that I don’t completely regret our marriage.” She chuckled along with the interviewer, she went on with the interview, and not once she dared to look back at Andy again.

Then there was the second big moment, save for a hundred little moments, when Andy and Quynh’s little act of pretending was almost brought to a sudden ending. It was a special night after an extremely long and busy day, not just for Quynh, but also Andy, who was closer than ever to uncovering the source threatening Quynh. The result was Andy looking about ten times more exhausted than Quynh had ever seen her, dragging her feet across the hotel suite with her hair messy and bags under her eyes.

“Andromache,” Quynh called her from her place already in bed, “We can share the bed, you know?” She suggested, willing her voice to remain steady even under the stare of Andy’s green eyes filled with surprise. “I can tell you’re exhausted,” she managed a chuckle to lighten the situation, downplay her suggestion, hide her hope, “It’s not a big deal, come on.”

To her surprise and delight, Andy nodded once. The taller woman walked to the bed and nearly let herself fall face first on it, groaning in pleasure at the comfort of the bed and making Quynh laugh adoringly.

They got comfortable in the bed that was luckily big enough to not make it too difficult to keep their distance from each other. Andy was pretty much asleep already, her eyes closed, her features relaxed, and the filter in her mind basically nonexistent. When Quynh wished her a good night, she simply blurted out, “This has been my favorite mission ever.”

Andy’s voice was slurred and deep with sleep, making Quynh’s heart flutter pleasantly. “Why?” she asked with a smile, staring at the gorgeous woman on the other side of the bed. There was a great spark of excitement, adrenaline, and expectation for whatever Andy’s answer might reveal. But she couldn’t deny a sense of comfort, and peace, that covered them both at the moment. Andy could fall asleep without saying anything else at all, and still, it would be a moment Quynh would treasure forever.

“You know, being-” Andy was interrupted by a yawn, which she took as an opportunity to turn around in bed, giving her back to Quynh and finding the courage to finish her sentence before falling asleep. “Pretending to be madly in love with you, that’s easy enough to accomplish.”

Andy was asleep before she got to hear Quynh whisper her name a few moments later. She didn’t say anything else, but just by the way she pronounced her name, so tenderly, adoringly, softly, it would have been enough for anyone to figure out what her real feelings were.

--

Andy hated London. She’d had mostly bad experiences there and still, her dislike for the city was far from her biggest problems at the moment. She was backstage on one of Quynh’s fashion shows and she was scowling at everyone that dared look her way. Quynh was busy, and the models demanded a lot of her time, and Andy, who was totally not jealous of the way that a young and beautiful Nile Freeman who would be the star of the evening stole Quynh’s attention, was getting restless.

It was nearly time to begin the show when Andy managed to drag Quynh to an empty hallway and whisper, with possibly too much force, “We have a problem.”

“Yeah, she’s tall and pretty but she’s been scaring my models with her angry frown.”

In response, the aforementioned frown on Andy’s face deepened. “I told you. I’m almost there with figuring out who’s after you. If something happens tonight, which might happen, I’ll know for sure.”

“Well… great. Can I go now?”

“Quynh,” Andy insisted, “I mean it. Tonight’s dangerous.”

“There have been death threats on almost every city, tonight’s not different,” Quynh sighed gravely, didn’t roll her eyes, but her expression of boredom was enough to set off Andy’s temper.

Worst of all, Quynh tried to step away, which prompted Andy to reach out and hold her wrist to stop her. “I’m saying, I’m not letting you go out there,” Andy said with finality. She was still gentle as always, but there was a new urgency in her hold, it was just proof of Andy’s genuine worry but, at the moment, to Quynh, it looked just a little too aggressive. She frowned when she looked up at Andy.

“You cannot decide that for me, Andromache,” Quynh seethed, “You’re here to protect me if something goes wrong, and I expect you’ll do your job correctly. That’s it, that’s the only reason you’re here, and not to tell me what to do.”

After a short moment that felt like an eternity, Andy replied coldly, “You’re right. That’s the only reason I’m here. Just doing my job.”

It wasn’t until somebody else walked into the hallway to let Quynh know it was time to go, that both women realized how close they had been standing, how hard they were both breathing, how badly they had just hurt each other. Quynh glanced at her assistant and nodded, then she turned back quickly to look at Andy, an apology on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t get a chance. Andy had a perfectly cold expression on her face, the worst part being the fake smile on her lips.

“Good luck,” Andy whispered to her, then leaned in and kissed Quynh’s cheek. It was, by far, the worst thing she could have done to her right then. It was the first time she did it, and the fact that the small kiss was so cold, almost carrying venom with it, it broke Quynh’s heart more than she could have put into words.

Quynh had to leave Andy there, and she had to pretend she wasn’t on the verge of tears as the show started. It proved to be a good enough distraction, but it never quite took her mind off the hurt in Andy’s precious green eyes when she had brought up the purely-work-related argument on their discussion. Quynh thought it couldn’t have been worse, and then came the ending of the show. There she was standing alone on the runway, the models walking away, she was trying to smile for the cameras while the seat reserved for her wife on the first row was devastatingly empty. Andy had left, Quynh blamed herself and, for an instant, she didn’t think it could get worse.

Maybe it was the light, maybe there were tears in her eyes, but everything was a little bit blurry, and Quynh was completely caught off guard when a strong arm came around her shoulders, quickly pushed her down and away from where she had been standing. Then, there were shots. Quickly, one after another, loud, frightening. People started screaming, jumping out of their seats, and running, it was all chaos. However, from her safe place on the floor of the runaway and out of danger, Quynh couldn’t focus on any of it. How could she, when standing in front of her was Andy in all her glory, still holding a gun and staring a little too proudly at the lifeless body of the person that had been hired to kill Quynh, hired by someone Andy had already tracked down and ordered to take down while this all played out.

“Let’s go,” Andy said, offering her hand out to Quynh, and it all felt a little like a familiar dream.

The world was still going mad around them, but once again Andy was able to hold her hand firmly and pull her away from it all, pull her right back to the empty hallway where they almost broke each other’s hearts beyond mending. As soon as they were safe and alone, Quynh threw her arms around Andy, who eagerly reciprocated, holding her as closely as possible.

“I’m sorry,” Quynh mumbled again and again against Andy’s neck until they finally pulled back enough to look at each other like they were dying to do. Quynh still looked worried, but Andy’s face was a perfect reflection of joy.

“Don’t be,” Andy answered softly, daring to touch Quynh again, this time, placing her hand delicately against her cheek, and smiling when she felt the shorter woman lean into her touch. “We got him. Everything is fine now. You’re safe.”

Quynh sighed, “I said some things I regret.”

“It’s okay,” Andy promised, “I was paranoid, and overprotective. I’ve lost people I care about during missions before, but I can’t lose you…”

The earnest look in Andy’s eyes, her sweet words, her tender touch, it was all too much. Quynh didn’t trust words to express what she was feeling for the incredible woman standing right in front of her. As naturally as if she had done it for years and years, she leaned in, and she kissed Andromache, pouring all her feelings, everything she had been holding back for weeks, into that kiss.

Andy kissed her back with matching emotions, and when she pulled back, a small sigh escaped her. She glanced quickly at the chaos still going on beyond the end of the hallway and promptly ignored it all. She rested her forehead against Quynh’s and whispered, “There’s no one watching.” There was no need to act, to pretend, to do anything, or be anything beyond their truest selves.

“I know,” was all Quynh answered before pulling Andy down for another kiss.

--

After all the acting and all the pretending was done, letting down their guard and being honest with each other came really easily for Andy and Quynh. After her safety was restored, Quynh decided to take a small break. One of her jobs, under the spotlight, often required small breaks in some beautiful place. Her other job, under the weight of the entire world, often required her to maybe disappear for a little while. That’s how she found herself in a remote place, in a mostly isolated charming little house, sharing her bed, her life, and her heart, with Andy. They were starting to lose count of the days, just focused on enjoying and getting to know each other.

They were in bed, sitting side by side, their arms intertwined. Andy was finishing off whatever dessert she had brought from the kitchen back to bed with her. Quynh was teasing her for her sweet-tooth, complaining about leaving crumbs on their bed, and leaving little kisses on Andy’s shoulder.

After a while of silently holding each other, Andy broke the silence, humor obvious in her tone as she asked, “So, do I get to keep the job?”

Quynh laughed wholeheartedly and cuddled even closer. “My heart, I am not paying you for this,” she answered.

“Why not?” Andy scoffed, bringing them both to laughs, that eventually turned into kisses, that they wished would never stop.

Eventually though, Quynh pulled back, she looked lovingly at Andy and smiled. “Andromache, I did dream of you,” she confessed, “The day we met, I said-”

Andy couldn’t help but interrupt her with a kiss. She meant to say I know, I was there, I had the same dream, I was yours since before we met, I’ll be yours forever. She might say the words someday, but for the moment, she kissed her. She might confess she looked forward to maybe calling Quynh her wife again some day soon, for real, but, for the moment, she kissed Quynh with all the love she had in her, all the love she had for her.

[serinemolecule]

Not to harp on the obvious, but the discussion feels hollow without it: the only reason some people - not all, maybe not most, but definitely some - push for "equality" and "inclusiveness" and etc. in tech is because it's seen as a desirable and powerful position. No one's been belly-aching about it back when it was fashionable to tell nerds to stop being fat and ugly and what a bunch of losers they are. It's only up for discussion now that there's something to be gained from it. It's hypocrisy.

(context: a lot of women-in-tech discourse)

I mean, I was belly-aching about it.

I like to say I was a feminist until I met other feminists. I definitely saw plenty of things nerds could be doing better for equality. But then the first time I met other feminists, they were harassing nerds and writing long essays about how nerds were even worse than average men (which still seems to me like an absolutely insane position).

That was... a really big crisis of faith there. I spent years reading feminist literature, trying to understand their point. And the crazy thing was, a lot of the principles and concepts do appeal to me. But then the way they’d apply it, talking about how privileged nerds were, or just using it as an excuse to be assholes to people, that’s always seemed wrong to me.

My approach at the time was just to try to understand it better in private, and never talk about it in public. This lasted until I read the SSC essays on social justice which I entirely agreed on, then I joined Tumblr to hit on Scott, and since then I started getting more comfortable with writing out my thoughts, but also the really bad SJ of the early 2010s just mostly faded away from the spaces I’m in. I still hear insane stories from other places (like the New York Times! wtf!) but it no longer feels like a crisis afflicting my own community, so I never wrote anything out.

Part of it’s that my community is the rats, now. SJWs may still exist here, but they don’t have a social power to turn us against each other. Whatever effect Topher’s tweet had on the rest of the world, it means he’s no longer welcome among rats anymore. We dismiss them with equanimity using the ancient proverb, “Haters gonna hate”.

Anyway, I suppose now’s as good a time as any for me to talk about what I think about feminist theory.

I get the impression that Scott is embarrassed by his old posts on gender politics, but I still endorse every word. Even the words people like to criticize the most, I endorse as an angry expression of “Why don’t you care about how many people your ideology is hurting?” That said:

Privilege theory – I remember encountering privilege theory and thinking “yes, this totally fits the model that normies are privileged and nerds are marginalized”, until I got to the part where they started talking about how privileged nerds were. I think the theory is still pretty good, and of course the practice about writing privilege checklists and using it to silence people is incredibly fucked up.

Patriarchy theory – Fortunately, no one talks about patriarchy theory anymore. It came from the radfems and it always seemed horrible to me. It's uncontroversially true that ruling class is mostly male, but patriarchy theory seems to just equivocate between that and insane conspiracy theories.

For example, “culture is built for the benefit of men at the expense of women” requires you to just dismiss everything that hurts men and helps women, to excuse that fashion policing is nearly solely perpetuated by other women, and even if it’s true, the fact that it is perpetuated by everyone means pointing the finger at a specific group will not help fix the problem. Did Kamala Harris exercise “girl power” when she kept black prisoners in jail past their release date? 

Cultural appropriation – The usual steelman I hear for this is “it sucks when white people take your culture for themselves, and yet still call it cringe when you practice your own culture” – but the only objectionable part is the latter! Stop objecting to the former part! There’s nothing wrong with culture mixing and it is in fact one of the most beautiful things in the world!

Part of it’s that I’m a first-gen immigrant, and cultural appropriation attitudes often come from insecurities second-gen immigrants have. Cultural appropriation just means I’m now an expert on your new culture and you’re not allowed to stop me from infodumping on it.

The other steelman is “misusing religious artifacts is bad” and I think to the extent that it’s bad, it’s bad whether you’re doing it to your own culture or to other cultures.

In general I think Halloween was, among other things, a great celebration of diversity that did not need to be cancelled, and I don’t think any costume was offensive to the majority of any culture.

Intersectionality – This word confused me for so long. People kept explaining it as “black women often have problems specific to their group that neither women’s groups nor black groups themselves are equipped to fight” which just seemed obviously true and didn’t seem like we needed a word for it.

Over the years, I’ve seen it be used as a reminder of “don’t forget how your activism affects other marginalized groups”, so it’s probably a useful concept to keep around.

Microaggressions – I think being oblivious to microaggressions is an autism thing, but I still think it’s insane to make them a political issue. Sure, you can vent about them, but acting like they’re on par with actual aggressions just seems like a losing cause.

On second thought, I don’t think I have a problem with making them a political issue in general. I think the whole tactic of SJWs being a hateful harassment mob makes the microaggressions thing just come off as especially petty.

I also think there’s a lot of competing access needs here. I actually really like infodumping about what kind of Asian I am to anyone willing to listen, and I think acting like the question is the root of all evil is really unfair, especially since literally everyone who’s ever asked has been happy to learn about the finer points about Chinese ethnic groups.

Isms as prejudice + power – People have mostly stopped discoursing about this, which is good. Language policing always seemed bad to me.

Objectification – SSC says everything I feel on the topic: https://slatestarcodex.com/2013/03/17/my-objections-to-objectification/

The last time this came up in Discord, people said that objectification is more than the straw-man being criticized in this article, that it’s about people being entitled to your body or whatever. But I think the article does address that: “This is obviously a legitimate complaint. It’s just not a complaint about objectification.”

I got exposed to objectification as a criticism of hot girls in video games. And I just can’t see hot girls in video games as a bad thing.

Rape culture – [cw rape] This is an incredibly sensitive subject so I’m going to give you some time to stop reading here.

Our culture has a serious problem with rape. I think it’s important to understand that it’s usually committed by friends and family, that it’s depressingly common and has nearly definitely happened to people you know, that it’s usually committed by people who don’t think of what they’re doing as rape, and that all the discourse on it is really fucked up.

I also think that calling this “rape culture” entirely misses the point. I’m sympathetic that SSC doesn’t understand it: https://slatestarcodex.com/2013/04/19/i-do-not-understand-rape-culture/

Our problem isn’t that we glorify rape. Our problem is that we consider it a special kind of evil so bad that of course no normal person would ever do it, and this makes it easy to rationalize that whatever this normal person did couldn’t have been rape, which causes huge harms.

I don’t have answers, but I think it’s incredibly clear that calling it “rape culture” doesn’t help.

In general, I don’t think feminist activism on the topic of rape goes in the right direction. The smug “consent is like tea” video has the exact same problem. People don’t need to hear more “normal people would never rape” messaging.

[clockworkouroboros]

I’m in a The Amazing Devil Discord server and have been going wild with crazy insane theories about just about everything, drawing connections that probably don’t actually exist, and generally losing my mind over both Love Run and The Horror and the Wild. That being said, I do have a theory about THatW that, if it’s not true, at least merits me a tinfoil hat, I think. Just be warned, this post will be long, and yes, I will include receipts.

So here’s this theory and Joey, if you read this, just know that I’m impressed either at how much thought was put into this, or the sheer number of coincidences that make this work if it wasn’t planned. It’s turned me into a conspiracy theorist for the past four days or so? And it’s severely affected the amount of sleep I’ve been getting.

My basic theory here is that Joey and Madeleine aren’t singing as themselves throughout this album, they’re playing characters, and those characters are old gods. Joey is the Wild, Madeleine is Time. (Alternatively, she’s Horror, fitting with the album title, but as she’s never explicitly referred to as such, I’m not insisting on that point.)

Now, where am I getting this silly idea from? None other than the title track, of course, in which Joey sings, “witness me, old man, I am the Wild, and Madeleine sings, “And I am Time itself.” And yes, they are both capitalized like that in the lyrics.

So they explicitly refer to themselves as such. But Emily, you might be saying (or not, depending on how much you care), that’s one song! This is hardly an album’s worth of proof! Sure, they might be gods in this song, but what about the other eight? To which I say, hoo boy, I’m just getting started.

Before I continue, I’d like to add something about how their characters are depicted throughout the album: Joey is more cheerful, Madeleine is not. (see: Wild Blue Yonder, Marbles, Battle Cries.) Joey is whimsical, Madeleine is practical. (See Battle Cries especially, but you can also see this in Wild Blue Yonder.) Madeleine is referred to multiple times as being stronger than Joey, and appears to assume a more protective role over Joey’s childlike. This fits in with my theory, by the way, in a roundabout sort of way that involves some squinting. Joey is the Wild, which is...well, wild. Think of little kids: cheerful, whimsical, in need of protection. Madeleine is Time. She knows what has been, what is, and what will be. Of course she’s going to be more mature, practical, and pessimistic.

And why is this important? Well, it’s kind of how I’m tying together a lot of the rest of the album. (Not all of it; Farewell Wanderlust is a notable outlier in many ways, and some of my connections are tenuous at best, but we’re going to ignore that and pretend it’s all rock-solid. Rockrose-solid. I’m sorry, I’m very tired.) I’m ignoring The Rockrose and the Thistle a little bit in this post, not because I dislike it (it’s gorgeous), but because it’s stubbornly eluding my attempts to tie it into anything other than Elsa’s Song, which isn’t even part of this album.

The vast majority of what you need to know about these two characters is in The Horror and the Wild (the song), so I’m gonna copy/paste some lyrics, and go through them. (Actually, the copy/pasting is nonexistent, these lyrics are imprinted on my brain at this point. That being said, if there are errors, lmk and I will edit the post and fix them!)

So we’ve got Madeleine starting, singing about Joey, with “You were raised by wolves and voices, every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed, they said it all comes down to you.” Aside from the fact that I have no clue why “it all” comes down to Joey, or anything with that last bit, maybe a few more late nights with a tinfoil hat will do the trick. That being said, the first line of the song references childhood specifically in relation to Joey. Notice also how wolves are referenced in Wild Blue Yonder (“we don’t know what’s out there/could be wolves”) and That Unwanted Animal (“‘What’s the time, Mr. Wolf,’ but you, you’re blind, you bleat, you bear your claws”). The whole “howling” thing and “deep beneath your bed” both pop up in That Unwanted Animal, too: “and on the wind it howls,” for one. And for the other, there’s “you [presumably Joey] make the bed up silent on the floor so no one hears us,” later followed later in the song by “and the door below us splinters, and the creature creeps inside.”

Following this, Joey sings about Madeleine: “you’re the daughter of silent watching stones, you watch the stars hurl all their fundaments, in wonderment at you and yours, forever asking more.” First of all, I’m gonna say that this is Joey’s point of view; later on, Madeleine will refute the daughter thing (“I’m not a drunkard, a daughter, a preacher”.) Anyway, “silent watching stones” could reference Wild Blue Yonder: “every stone you threw, I stood on to better see the view.” The view being the stars hurling all their fundaments?

(Incidentally, I knew vaguely what “fundament” meant, but I looked it up to make sure I had it right, and learned that, among its other meanings, “fundament” can mean “butt.” But I don’t think that’s what Joey had in mind with this. I just think y’all should appreciate it.)

Anyway, we’ve also got in Battle Cries, “With you I could summon the gods and the stars, make them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart, and we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears,” with Madeleine singing, “Come on, love, please don’t start, sing your notes play your part,” and then the part that gets me every time: M: “we were gods,” J: “we were kids.” Which is a whole other can of worms involving their personalities, which I’ve already briefly outlined. My point is the whole “gods and the stars” bit.

I could (and have, on Discord) done a full, in-depth analysis of this track, and I don’t want to go all over it again, but “I promise you, they’ll sing of every Time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child, witness me, old man, I am the Wild” has both Time and Wild as proper nouns in the lyrics, plus reinforces Time’s view of the Wild as a child. No clue who the old man is, though.

In verse two, Madeleine sings, “you [Joey] are the son of every dressing-up box, and I am Time itself, I slow and let you play, I steal the hours, and turn the night into day.” Again, this reinforces Joey’s childlike aspects (which will later be hinted at in That Unwanted Animal, with the “god-child,” who’s clearly Joey), but also shows, as in the refrain, the fact that Time has a sense of protectiveness over the Wild, at least sometimes.

That being said, although I’ve obviously referenced other songs, I still have mostly focused on the title track. So. I’m going to go through some of the other songs real quick.

The songs on the album (again, excepting Rockrose, because my attempts to tie it in have been frustrating and not gone anywhere, Mr. Batey please explain) can be grouped into categories: songs outright referencing gods (THatW, Farewell Wanderlust, That Unwanted Animal, Battle Cries), songs about their relationship, (arguably all of them, although Welly Boots is a bit confusing), and songs that refuse to allow me to classify them (Rockrose).

I would argue that this entire album is about the relationship of two old gods, but I’m not quite sure what the chronology is of the album, because it seems like it can’t be straightforward. (Farewell Wanderlust, although its placement makes sense in the setup of the album, doesn’t make sense in the chronology of this theory.) Another important note in some way is that every song on the album, with the exception of Farewell Wanderlust, is about being there for someone, or steadfastness in some capacity, while Farewell Wanderlust is about abandonment. It’s an outlier in a lot of ways. (Though not as many ways as frickin Rockrose.)

I have been talking about this at great length (and almost incessantly) on Discord, so unless you want this post to get even longer, I’m going to run by some lyrics real quick to try and show a little bit my thought process.

- “He watches her get dressed as though she’s hurtling through time” (Fair)

- “And she is stronger than he has ever been, he knows” (Fair) versus “Without you, I’m stronger, I’m no longer filled with wonder. How wrong you were” (Wild Blue Yonder, Welly Boots)

- J: “Place your hand in mine” M: “Hold the hand of the god-child, they said, as he falls from the sky” (That Unwanted Animal)

- “I’m the saint of the paint that was left in the pot, I’m your angel ellipsis, your devil of dots” (Farewell Wanderlust)

- “the fluttering of all your wings” (The Horror and the Wild) versus “when you think about him, my wings start to flap” (Farewell Wanderlust)

- “come, devil, come, she sang, call out my name. Let’s take this outside, ‘cos we’re one and the same. Our gods have abandoned us, left us, instead, take up arms, take my hand, let us waltz for the dead” (Farewell Wanderlust)

There are even more lyrics, and I’m going to be completely honest with you, I’ve gone totally insane with all of this, but this post is way too long already, so just let me know if you want any clarification or something.

Tldr: The Amazing Devil’s album The Horror and the Wild is about two old gods, one being Time, and the other being the Wild, or the god-child. The album is primarily about their relationship and steadfastness they show each other, even in tumultuous circumstances.

Now go excuse me while I attempt to take off this tinfoil hat that appears to be stuck on my head.