#fanfics recap¬es

[cybernaght]

The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain 

As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.

This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.

Part one. Fanon.

The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe. 

Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”. 

(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)

Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours. 

And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.  

(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)

We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we? 

Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals. 

Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.

(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)

The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.

Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation. 

So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.

I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth. 

Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space. 

Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality. 

Part two. Microanalysis 

Here are my two suppositions on the matter:

1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling. 

Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season. 

Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal. 

2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.

And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal. 

Too much metaphor?

Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.

Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.

If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works. 

If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time. 

As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever. 

So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.

Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding. 

But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.

One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs. 

Part three. The Conspiracy Brain. 

If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.

So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?

One, Because We Have Been Lied To. 

All conspiracies start with distrust.

If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another. 

We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership. 

And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.

(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)

Two, Cognitive Dissonance.

The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.

Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:

A) this is not good

B) this author could not have made a mistake 

C) this must be done on purpose

D) here is why 

(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)

This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another. 

Three, Intentionality 

I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.

However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed. 

The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.

It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media. 

When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.

If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.

(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)

And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic. 

But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking. 

Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way. 

Four, Wildfire.

Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness. 

Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here. 

So where are we now?

I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all. 

All I am saying is… listen.

Do you hear that echo? 

I do. 

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 4

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter. Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. ...Well, maybe you also hated Annabel Williams as much - but you'd be damned before you let a drunk girl out in the hallway without helping her.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix doesn't make an appearance (but still mentioned), Reader is a girl's girl, Annabel has an epiphany, Michael hates everyone BUT Reader, Farleigh is Farleigh, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic. Also Oliver is barely in this chapter, but who cares about that asshat?

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the prolonged hiatus! It was not intentional! My classes have upped the ante in how much HW they gave me, and I got distracted by reading my old GOT fanfics and got ideas for it. BUT - thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

You were caught in a bit of a pickle – granted, it was a voluntary pickle, but a pickle nonetheless.

…Okay, so quick recap of the events that transpired this week:

Regularly-scheduled Annabel tormenting you

Got sexually-harassed by Catton

Had a self-pity session at Bowin

Got found by Mikey Gravy

Olly, the psychotic backstabber/bootlicker, tried to pimp you out to Felix Catton.

You almost committed aggravated homicide of said pimp before Michael dragged you away.

You went to the movies to drool over Johnny Depp.

 You and Michael decided you would crash in his dorm room for the night…leading to your current predicament.

Right now, you were dragging an unconscious Annabel, who was drunk off her ass, with one arm flung over your shoulder as you tried to make get any information of where her dorm was out of her. It was a sad picture – mascara running down her cheeks, vomit from her mouth, and lipstick messily smeared across her face. The smell of vomit mixed with cheap booze was almost enough to make you want to drop her on the ground and leave her there if you hadn’t pitied her so much.

When you realized that you weren’t going to get anything out of her that didn’t involve projectile vomiting, you just decided to bring her to rest up in your dorm.

“I still don’t understand why you’re helping her,” Michael grunted.

Oh, yeah…and Michael was helping you, too.

“Because girl code, Gavey–” you grunted, lifting Annabel’s arm higher when you felt her slipping “–no man left behind – or well, no woman left behind in this case.”

“That’s the Geneva Code.”

“Same difference,” you groaned out. Fuck, how was this girl so heavy?

Michael’s face was getting flushed from the sweat running down his forehead. “So, girl code dictates that you have to help the bitch who’s been making your term hell?”

“Girl Code,” you huffed, “wait, hang on - she’s slipping - okay, there we go. ‘Girl Code’ is more of an honor code expected to be followed by all sisters on their journey to womanhood. And one of the most sacred rules in that honor system is that – fuck, she’s heavy – that if you see a sister drunk and unconscious, you make sure she gets home safe.”

“Or your matchbox dorm room, in this circumstance,” your friend grumbled.

You tiredly nodded. “Exactly! Besides, regardless of how heinous she is, it’s the right thing to do.”

“(Y/N), you realize she won’t be getting hypothermia, right?” Michael frustratingly groaned. “It’s late spring.”

“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there who won’t take advantage of her in her current state. They’d say, ‘Oh, she was asking for it,’ or ‘she’s just imagining things, do you remember how hammered she was?’ And then it’ll be their word against hers.”

You went silent for a bit. “I don’t want that to happen to her. No one should have that happen to them – girl or guy, bully or friend.”

“Well, in any case,” Michael started as the two of you finally arrived at the beginning of your dormitory. “It’s lucky that your dorm is so close to mine. Are you sure you want her in there? There’s still the chance she’ll vomit all over your carpet if she misses the bucket or even your covers.”

You opened the door with your ID card. “I’ll just have to take that chance, I guess. Look, I’ll try to wake her up long enough to see if she remembers any of her friend’s numbers. If any of them pick up, I’ll tell them to pick her up.”

Michael looked at you with heavy doubt in his eyes. “And if they don’t? Pick up, I mean?”

“Then I guess we’ll be having a sleepover,” you sighed as you reached your room at the end of the hallway. “And then we’ll never have to see each other ever again when morning comes.”

Michael loudly snorted while you clumsily reached into your back pocket for your keys. “Don’t jinx yourself. With your bleeding heart, you’ll probably end up donating your liver to her if she doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning first.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come one. Have a bit more faith in me – SHIT!” you exclaimed after you dropped your keys.

You quickly scrambled to the floor while Michael guffawed at your misfortune. You shot a quick glare at him to get him to shut up. The bespectacled bastard didn’t stop laughing until…like, three minutes passed. In response, you dropped Annabel’s arm from your shoulder to focus on finding your room key. You chuckled to yourself when you heard Michael curse to himself as he tried to balance the drunk girl’s weight without getting her too close to him. When you finally found it, you inserted it into the lock. You sighed in relief when the door opened. You were even more relieved that your roommate had decided to spend the night at her girlfriend’s dorm. You really didn’t want to have to explain to her why you were voluntarily helping the vile witch bitch who was actively trying to make your college years hell. Meanwhile, Michael grimaced and groaned as he held Annabel away from his body at arm’s length.

“Is sluttiness contagious through touch?” he asked.

“Unless pre-Sith Anakin suddenly pops into this hallway, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that,” you snorted as you opened the door to let Michael drag the unconscious girl into the room.

Michael scoffed at your choice of Star Wars beefcake. “Bitch, please. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi was far superior.”

He went to the center of the room and released Annabel from his grip to let her unceremoniously fall on the floor, and her body made a soft ‘thump.’ You wrinkled your nose and grimaced at the pathetic nature of tonight. She looked less like the glamorous Oxford party ‘IT’ girl and more like one of those sad groupies who OD’d in their favorite rockstar’s pool from a house party. You didn’t know what the hell her story of tonight was – but it still didn’t mean she deserved to be left alone, slumped against a wall in a dirty hallway with vomit all over her.

You turned to Michael. “Okay! Off you trot!”

Your favorite bespectacled blonde nerd gave you a look of complete bewilderment.

“Seriously?” he asked. “Not even a thank you? I literally dragged her body here from my dormitory and risked being the first victim of a new STD contracted through skin contact.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics – if he weren’t such a numbers genius, he would have been the perfect theater kid.

“Don’t be such an incel,” you admonished. “It’s not a good look on you. And I carried more of her body weight than you, dumbass. If I left it up to you, we’d never get anywhere with your twiggy arms.”

You poked his arms in emphasis and snickered when he pouted. He crossed his arms and was about to leave when you pounced on him. A bit of Annabel’s “Britney Spears Fantasy” spray perfume soaked into his shirt, but other than that, he still smelled like himself. The scent of fresh laundry, freshly mowed grass, and spearmint toothpaste made you feel safe. His scent, combined with his body heat, enveloped you in comfort.

“Thanks, Mikey,” you whispered. “I know you didn’t have to help me, but you did anyway.”

Gavey wrapped his arms around you as he rested his chin on your head. He usually hated contact with anybody save his family, but you were always the exception. Michael should probably have warned you that the rotten and acidic odor from Annabel’s puke would ruin your shirt, but he just let himself replace her cheap perfume with your fragrance. The scent of your favorite honey and jasmine conditioner in your hair mostly covered the faint traces of turpentine and linseed oil on your skin.

“Of course I did,” he softly replied. “With your shit sense of direction, you would have ended up in the bottom of the ditch.”

You gasped and lightly pushed him away. “Uhhh, way to ruin the moment!”

Michael snickered at the way your jaw had dropped in shock and betrayal. You then resorted to mockingly punching him in the stomach as he did nothing to stop you. He couldn’t help but look at you in total and utter fondness as he continued to ‘beat him up.’

But in all honesty, Michael didn’t mind helping you. He loved it. He’d rather get Crucio-ed than say it, but you were his favorite person in the whole world. In a desert of fakes and masks of insincerity, you were like gentle rain with your genuine vibrance and rare honesty. He loved how endlessly kind and empathetic you were to others. He just hated it when you granted acts of kindness to the plebes unworthy of you. You’d give the benefit of the doubt to the worst of the worst on campus – Annabel being a case in point.

Remembering the drunk elephant in the room, Michael grabbed your fists and stared at you thoughtfully.

“Seriously, though,” he began, “why are you helping her? I know you told me about ‘girl code’ and all that. But is that seriously it?”

You thumped your head against his chest. “Look, I get it. Annabel is a horrible person, and with how awful she treated me – she doesn’t deserve my kindness, my help, or my pity. But that doesn’t change that it was the right thing to do. And if not us, who knows who would have picked her up? If another guy other than you ‘helped’ her…you do the math.”

A groggy voice broke the two of you apart. “Are you two going to shag? Because I can leave.”

You and Michael jumped apart as you watched Annabel lift herself from the floor and stagger to her feet. Her legs wobbled briefly before giving out, and then she fell to the floor. You turned to Michael and gave him one final hug before seeing him out. He looked disgusted at the girl sitting on the cheap carpet before turning to you, concerned. Mikey asked if you were confident you didn’t need him here to help you.

“I’ll take it from here,” you reassured him. You flexed your arm – 80s jock bully style. “I’m a tough girl. I carry my canvases and textbooks and everything, after all.”

“Okay,” he dragged out the last syllable. “But if you end up putting her down, give me a call, and I’ll help you bury the body.”

“Um,” interjected Annabel, “you know I’m right here, you arse.”

 “Hey,” you admonished, “he did help carry you here. He could have left you in that hallway alone.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed. “Probably did it so he could cop a feel, the slimy wanker.”

“Please,” Michael sneered, “as if I’d ever willingly touch someone with a higher body count than Dahmer and Bundy combined. I’m only here because I wanted to help (Y/N) – she’s the one who was worried about your sad self.”

Ugh, this was going to be a long night. You turned to Michael with apologetic eyes and reassured him that he wasn’t a wanker. You promised you’d make it up to him by buying all the Crunchie bars he wanted. Mikey’s eyes softened at your sincerity as he began to walk down the corridor to make the trek to his dorm.

You softly closed your door so as not to cause any further disturbance. When you turned around, you were startled by the dead stare Annabel was giving you. You looked down at your feet as you shifted uncomfortably in your spot. You cleared your throat to try and break the tension.

“Um, soooo…I’m glad you’re awake. You were sitting so still in that hall, I was worried you OD’d,” you nervously joked. But all she did was continue to stare at you. “So, do you have your phone with you? I figured it would be best if you called one of your friends. I’m sure they’re really worried about you. I know I’d be going out of my mind if one of my friends–”

“What kind of fucking game are you playing here?” she snarled. Her large, doe-brown eyes narrowed in anger as you stopped talking.

“Uhhh,” your mind was coming out blank. “Wait, I don’t – I don’t know what you mean?”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t play stupid. Why’d you help me? Did you want to take pictures of me drunk and unconscious?”

Your jaw fucking dropped. “What?! NO! I just–”

“I’m sure that would’ve made some fucking good blackmail material,” ignoring you and continuing, “I can see it: ‘Annabel Williams drunk in the hall after trying to shag fucking sad Ollie.’ You’re so obvious.”

You tried to explain yourself. “Okay, look- I think there’s a big misunderstanding here–”

“Or maybe you want to show the pictures to Felix, not that he’d care or anything. You got him all wrapped up in your little Yankee finger, you know that? It’s so pathetic and sick – it makes me want to–”

“HEY!” you yelled – finally making her just shut UP. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths to calm down. “Look, Michael and I were walking to his dorm when we saw you were sitting in the hallway. I tried to ask you if you had your phone on you and if you wanted me to call anyone, but you were out cold. And I couldn’t just leave you there, okay? That’s dangerous! And I didn’t know where you lived – you know, considering that you hate me–” you cut off your rambling with a deep breath “–so he and I dragged you to my dorm.”

The silence that followed was so stifling you wanted to open a window. Maybe if you let some fresh air in, it might calm the girl down. It would also help diffuse some of the puke odor stinking up your room.

“…Anyway, if you don’t have your phone on you right now, I can always call them myself. Do you remember their numbers? I know you and India are close. Do you think she’s available right now?”

More silence.

You began fidgeting. “I mean, you can stay over if no one is available? I don’t mind since my roommate is sleeping over–”

Annabel interrupted you again. “You’re so full of it. You just wanted to help me? For what? For the sake of being the goody-two-shoes kiss-ass, you’ve always been? Did you want me to bow and worship you?”

“Annabel,” you groaned, “it’s been a really long night, okay? And I don’t feel like arguing when you aren’t sober and in your right mind.”

“Oh yeah,” she bitterly laughed. “Be a pushover, and get everyone to love you. Tell everyone how much of a ‘heinous’ bitch I am. Play the victim – that’s all you’ll ever be. Just go back with your pathetic little nerd friend and be invisible and boring like the goody-goody who thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”

The quiet in the room was surprisingly loud. Shock and disbelief morphed into fury as your fists clenched so hard that your nails left red welts on your skin. Your body trembled in anger as your tongue felt too heavy to express everything you wanted to say.

‘Pushover’ she called you? ‘Play the victim,’ she said?

Who the hell was she to have any right to judge you? Did she have any idea what you’ve sacrificed? How much have you suffered and left behind? Could she even have the slightest decency to understand what you’ve been through? Of what she put you through?

…You know what? …Fuck her. Fuck Annabel Williams and all of Oxford’s elite. They were proof that Michael was right – that doing the right thing meant nothing to them.

Your voice was cold, and your eyes were numb. “…I’m going to take a shower,” you grab a towel and your shower buddy. “I want you to get the hell out of my dorm by the time I get back. Call your friend or don’t? Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

You slammed the door on your way out.

“Finally,” Annabel thought with some relief, “she’s gone.”

When you left, the room felt ten degrees colder the way the door slammed, and Annabel felt goosebumps form on her arm. This was the worst night of her life. She had never felt so humiliated.

Her mummy told her she was just born blessed because God knew she was exceptional, and she always believed that to be true. For her entire life, she was the girl every boy wanted to bed and the girl every girl wanted to be. She never had to fight for anyone’s attention. Her parents gladly bought her the latest versions of top-of-the-line technology. Her closet here and at her parent’s townhouse in Kensington was filled with designer-brand exclusives and limited-editions. She had everything.

For people like her, life was supposed to be easy. She was born at the top, so she would be there till the day she died.

So why was she losing to you?

When she came to Oxford, she figured it would be as easy as most of her life. She’d spend her time partying and networking with the right people. If she had to blackmail a nerd to take her classes or blow a teacher to give her an “A”? Who would say otherwise?

But then she met Felix Catton and finally felt she had met her match. Finally, there was someone who checked all the boxes: rich, tall, handsome, and fun. That part made Felix the golden sheep who stood above the rest of the flock – he was fun. Not only did he know how to have a good time, he knew how to properly fuck a girl, too.

She was so drunk off the taste of his lips and the feel of him around her – so much so that she broke her golden rule.

“Never fall first.”

Annabel felt herself falling hard for Felix Catton. She thought they were exclusive. He was her boyfriend, and she was his girlfriend. But then…he became distant. He stopped calling he and ignored her when they returned to campus after the break. But then he and she left the bar at Kings’ Crossing, and she was so happy! She wanted to cry when he kissed her hard and ripped her 100 quid top in half.

It didn’t matter if she wasn’t wet when he entered her. It didn’t matter that he didn’t wait for her to adjust when he started to thrust. It didn’t matter when she tried to moan his name; he would cover her mouth with his giant hand to shut her up. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t close to finishing when he came inside her. It didn’t matter when her windpipes were almost crushed when he fell on top of her after finishing.

They were together. He chose her! Annabel and Felix – Mrs. Felix Catton, she could see it now. They’d have a wedding in his house at Saltburn. She would have to meet his parents, but she wasn’t worried – all her flings’ parents loved her! They would be together forever, and nothing would ever–

“(Y/N),” Felix whispered above her – and Annabel’s world completely fell apart.

She immediately shoved his body off hers and hurriedly dressed before getting the hell out of his room. Annabel didn’t bother putting on her shoes before running with tears down her face to her dorm. And when she returned to her single, she flung herself to her bed and cried to sleep. She didn’t bother attending class that week – not when her heart broke.

Felix had been thinking about you – you. He called out your name after finishing. Was he imagining your naked body when hers was under him? Had he been imagining you every time he fucked her?

Annabel smelled Felix’s aftershave and wanted to rip the skin off her body. God, she never felt more like a whore in her entire life.

“God,” she thought, “I was so pathetic! How could I be so stupid to fall for Felix Catton? Why did I trick myself into hoping that we would be together?”

Felix wanted a good girl—like you—the American scholarship student who wanted to paint pretty pictures and was at the top of her classes. The lovely New Yorker who hung around losers and still held your head up high despite every professor thinking you were in over your head to come here. Some pushover bitch who was so pathetic and actually–

The door slammed open again, and Annabel’s pretty sure she’d scream if she weren’t so fucking tired. You came storming in with your towel and shower caddy in your hands, and your eyes were a raging storm while your lips were pursed like you had sucked a lemon. Your nostrils are flaring as you angrily breathe through your nose. Annabel was about to open her mouth, but you menacingly pointed at her with your pointer finger. It felt like forever until you finally opened your mouth.

“Look! We don’t have to be friends and I don’t expect us to be friends – but you know what? YES, I WOULD LIKE A THANK YOU! I dragged your unconscious ass across campus, and you REEKED of vomit and bad perfume! And not to body shame, but you are WAY TOO SKINNY to be healthy to be as heavy as you were when I carried you!”

“Excuse me?!” Annabel sputtered. “Who the fuck–”

“Oh! I’m not done!” you shouted. “I don’t know if you being horrible and a bitch is supposed to be some power trip or some shit, but it’s so cliché! Are we in Mean Girls? Are you Regina George? No, am I Janice from Lebanon? NO! And on that – I have a few bones to pick with you…MISSY!

I–” You pointed to yourself “–am NOT a pushover, okay? I fucking beat your stupid manwhore boy toy like it was goddamn ‘Whack o’ Mole’ for ruining my painting! Pushovers don’t do that!  FURTHERMORE – me calling you a ‘horrible person’ or ‘heinous bitch’ isn’t me ‘playing the victim’! You HAVE been a HORRIBLE person to me, alright? And what’s worse – I don’t have the slightest idea why! Was it something I said to you last term? Or were you born a spoilt princess who never had to work for anything in her life because mommy and daddy will always give you everything you want so you could forget that they would probably instead work than deal with their brat? Seriously – what is it? Because you’re driving me CRAZY!”

When you were done, Annabel sat on the floor, completely silent, and stared at you unblinkingly. She hadn’t expected you to come back so quickly – let alone to scream at her. She stared at your huffing and shallow breathing in awe and slight amazement. Your hair looked frazzled from your outburst, and your (e/c) eyes were bright with wild impulse.

Annabel felt her bottom lip quiver and stared at an ugly stain on the carpet. She didn’t want to show any more of herself than she had already. But what the hell? You already saw more of her than most of her so-called ‘friends.’ What was a little more? If she had to show more of the ugliest parts of herself, why not show it to someone she already hated?

Before she could stop herself, Annabel felt her shoulders sag and shake as sobs tore through her petite frame. Tears and snot were running down her face as she furiously tried to wipe them away – if nothing but to try and save some shred of dignity. Annabel was crying so much that she didn’t see the surprised look on your face morph to slight guilt since you thought you may gone too far with your rant. You reached out to tap her shoulder when you heard her speak.

“Why doesn’t he want me?” she sobbed. “What do I have to do to get him to love me?”

If you were taken aback by her crying, you were completely caught off-guard by her questions. You walked over to your desk and grabbed a box of tissues before crouching on the ground. You handed her a few tissues from the box and waved to her face to present them. Annabel noticed how you tried hard not to see how much her hand trembled when she reached forward to grab the tissues from you.

“Who?” you softly asked her. “Are you talking about Felix?”

Annabel blew her nose into the tissue hard. “Who else?! I mean…look at me! Everyone wants me! Everyone – boys, girls, teachers! Do you know how many of my past flings gladly emptied their pockets so I might wank them? But he wants you! What do you have that I don’t?”

Concern and pity shifted to confusion before realization kicked in, and you were so done with this conversation already. Maybe you were a slightly horrible person for this, but you felt so disappointed when Annabel told you that her entire drama with you had been over Felix Catton.

“…That’s why you’ve been tormenting me this entire term so far?” you flatly asked. “Because of Felix Catton?”

“He called out your name–” she gasped a heavy sob “– while he was fucking me! Do you have any idea how that feels?”

“Okay, wow,” you thought, “that’s actually really shitty – fuck.”

“Do you know how humiliating that was for me? He was still inside me, for fucks’ sake! I felt him shrink!”

Okay – that was so much more information about Annabel’s and Felix’s sex life than you ever wanted to know.

You coughed into your hand as your face flushed red. “Oh, um–I’ve never really…done it before. So…I wouldn’t really don’t know how that feels.”

“Ugh, of course, you’re a virgin,” she groaned. “Don’t tell me you don’t drink either.”

When you remained silent, Annabel let out a bitter laugh. “Damn, you think you’re hot shit and everything. But you really are a goody-goody. What – you saving yourself for God or some shit?”

“HEY! Just because I like to keep my head down and not a party and get plastered every five minutes doesn’t make me a goody-two-shoes. I just don’t like the taste of alcohol, and increased chances of lung cancer doesn’t exactly spell out ‘fun’ for me.”

But Annabel ignores your outburst and continues to dismiss you. “Yeah, right. I bet you call your mommy and daddy every night. Do you tell them that you miss them and want to go home? Or do you wish to bake cookies with your mummy as daddy watches the telly?”

Annabel’s taunting is only responded to with silence as she grows confused by your melancholic expression.

“…I can’t call them at all,” you respond. “International calls are too expensive. The best I can do is email or Skype. And planned calls can hardly be reliable since my parents’ schedules are always all over the place with their jobs.”

“When–” Annabel’s voice cracked “– when’s the last time you saw them? In real life?”

“I was supposed to see them during Christmas Break,” you bitterly explained, “but then Felix crashed into me when I was on my way to deliver it. He ruined my painting, and I had to redo it completely, not to fail and completely flush my parents’ money down the drain.”

“I thought you were here on scholarship? Doesn’t that mean you don’t have to pay to come here?”

“I’m here on a partial scholarship,” you explained. “It covers a good part of my tuition, but not all of it – and definitely not for housing and meal plans. Travel expenses alone were so expensive, so I had to leave alone. Mom cried so much at the security checkpoint, and Dad almost didn’t want me to go. I didn’t even want to go. But they wanted me to experience more of the world while I still could.”

“…Do you miss them?” Annabel asked. She felt silly asking a question with such an obvious answer. But, hearing how you talked about your parents crying their goodbyes to you compared to the simple wave she got hers after they dropped her off campus made her feel a deep longing.

You let out a shaky sob. “More than anything. You never realize how much you miss your home and family until an entire ocean separates you.”

Annabel uncomfortably shifted in her spot as she noticed your eyes getting misty. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried over missing her parents and felt that you were being overdramatic. Annabel spent her entire break with her parents at their house, but she couldn’t remember the last time they ate at the same table unless it was for one of her dad’s dinner parties. What did it feel like – to miss and love someone so much after not seeing them for a year?

What did it feel like – to have an entire lifetime of that kind of love?

Does having that kind of love make you?

“…Why did you help me?” Annabel finally asked. She couldn’t bear the tension anymore. “You could have just left me there. Why help me and bring me here of all places?”

“…Because it was the right thing to do,” you explained and shrugged. “You were drunk and vulnerable. Maybe it was fear of being a potential bystander if someone tried to take advantage of you – but I was scared something was going to happen to you. Regardless of my feelings toward you and yours toward me, no one should ever find themselves in a position where if they’re telling the truth, it’s someone else’s word against theirs. I’ve seen it too happen many times already.”

“What do you say in response to that?” Annabel thought to herself – shocked by how genuinely you answered her question. Since you were honest with her, she figured she could at least be honest with you.

“If it were you,” she began, “I wouldn’t have done for you what you did for me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “you probably wouldn’t – but that’s neither here nor there. Because I’m me, and you’re you.”

“…Are you really not interested in Felix?” Annabel asked. She was surprised by your disgusted groan.

“Oh my god–” you put your face into your hands and loudly groaned “–I don’t understand why everyone has an obsession with this guy.”

Annabel raised her brow. “Seriously?”

“Yes! He’s so gross – I studied in an empty classroom last week. He sat next to me, basically propositioned me, and then put his hand on my thigh! Does that sound like someone I would want to date?”

“You know he’s just doing it to get your attention because he likes you, right?”

You scoffed at her input. “Pffft– and that makes it alright of him to invade my personal space via sexual harassment? I hate how everyone makes excuses for him – and why? Because he’s richer than God and has an ‘alright-looking’ face? So what?”

“Oh, believe me,” snickered Annabel, “he’s more than just ‘alright-looking’ and he fucks as good as he looks.”

You sagely shook your head. “A person like that has nothing to offer himself. He desperately clings to his family’s wealth and the benefits of his status so tightly – and he pretends not to enjoy it, but he’s the type of person to love leeching on someone’s misfortune to feel better about himself.”

You shuddered as you remembered Felix’s constant leering at you since the term began.

“He’s like a vampire – I’ve seen enough of them in high school to recognize them from miles away.”

Annabel was utterly silent at your analysis of Oxford’s Golden Boy. She never considered the possibility of someone out there who didn’t absolutely covet and revere him. She assumed that you were purposely playing ‘hard-to-get’ to get his attention, but maybe you were sincere in his disgust by him.

“Plus, he looks like the type to be absolutely shit at foreplay and only knows how to stick it in.”

Annabel was so caught off-guard by your statement that she immediately burst out laughing. You were surprised by her reaction and started to laugh, too. She was laughing so hard that tears started rolling down her cheeks, and her stomach started to hurt.

“HE IS!” she agreed while nodding. “He does the bare minimum! I’ve been giving him constant blowjobs, and I can count the number of times he’s eaten me out with one hand! The only type of prep he knows how to do is finger me!”

“Oh my god! EW!” you guffawed. “Why did you put up with him for so long?!”

Annabel shrugged. “He’s the most popular guy on campus – even the upperclassmen adore him. I was always the popular girl throughout primary and secondary prep. It just made sense.”

“My parents told me college was all about discovering new things about yourself,” you said. “Maybe…you could do that for yourself.”

Annabel looked wistful before nodding. “Yeah…you know this doesn’t mean we’re friends, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, tonight’s the last night I’m willingly dealing with a demon like you. I’ll stick to forcing Michael to watch my favorite Johnny Depp movies—thank you very much.”

Annabel watched your eyes soften at the mention of your friend…Michael Gravy? Was he the guy who left the two of you together after snarking at her?

…Oh god, it all made sense now.

“Are you and Gravy fucking?” she bluntly asked. She huffed in amusement at how red your face became as you began to sputter.

“WHAT?! No-NO! We’re friends!” you exclaimed before getting all shy.

“You were awfully protective of him a bit ago to be ‘just friends,’” Annabel countered. “Spill it – what’s going on between you two?”

“He’s my best friend,” you explained to Annabel. “He let me stay with his family after I finished repainting my assignment – which was really amazing of him.”

She watched how you smiled when continuing to talk about him.

“I know he can seem a bit odd and rude at first,” you continued. “But Michael is one of the best people on campus. He can be really sweet when you get close to him – especially when he talks about his family. His little sister, Lily, is so adorable! He’s a total nerd but a complete sweetheart when you get to know him.”

Annabel bemusedly watched as you gushed about your ‘best friend.’ It was almost sweet how gone you were for the nerd. You didn’t even realize how gone you were for him. For a bit, Annabel could see why Felix was so enamored with you.

“Well,” she interrupted as she stood up, “I guess your obliviousness to your feelings isn’t any of my business or whatever. Thanks for…helping me – it was really nice of you.”

You warmly smiled at her. “Sure! Do you have to meet anyone tomorrow morning?”

“Uh, no?”

You walked to your closet and grabbed a towel, a worn T-shirt, and old sweats. You handed them to her as Annabel looked at you in confusion.

“Since you’re here,” you began, “and it’s already like…3 a.m. – you might as well shower and stay over since tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“…Why?”

“You still have puke all over you,” you explained, “and it’s getting really hard pretending it’s not extremely gross. Plus, I can’t imagine you’re comfortable right now.”

“What’s with the clothes?”

You shrugged. “Well, I can’t exactly have you sleep in your dress and ruin my sheets! You can shower and sleep on my bed while I sleep on my roommate’s. Now, are you going to take them?”

Annabel hesitated before she took the bundle from your hands. You then opened the door. While holding it, you looked at her as if expecting her to follow you. What confused her most was the way she did exactly that.

While in the shower, she didn’t even mind that you didn’t have any of her usual hair products. Your conditioner looked like it was bought at a cheap dollar store – you didn’t even have a loofah. But when she exited the shower stall before drying herself with your towel and changing into your baggy clothes, she felt calmer than she had these past few weeks. As she crawled under your sheets and comforter, you turned off the night and wished her good night.

Annabel stared at the ceiling for about an hour before she grabbed her phone. She managed to find it while digging through her dress pockets. She was going to wash it when she got back to her dorm. Opening it, she rolled down at the dozens of messages from India and their girlfriends. Her eyes slightly widened at the soft *ping* her phone let out when she got a new message to show it was from Felix.

To her surprise, she didn’t feel anything. She didn’t care he messaged her that he had forgotten their plans. Staring at her screen, she just felt…nothing. So she did the very thing she should have done weeks ago.

She deleted Felix Catton’s number from her contact list.

Annabel slept better that night than she had all term.

After that night with Annabel, life simply went on. She and you weren’t ‘friends’ per se, but she no longer went out of her way to torment you like she had done before. She even told off some of her friends when they talked about you behind your back.

You two weren’t friends, but you hoped that there was at least some fraction of mutual respect. If you couldn’t be friends, then at least you two didn’t have to be enemies – you were happy to settle for being a ‘frenemy.’

You found yourself sitting by yourself at one of the tables in the library. Michael had to meet with one of his teachers about an essay but promised to meet with you as soon as he finished. You were repeatedly listening to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” when you heard the chair next to you being pulled out.

Fully expecting it to be Felix, you were ready to tell him to fuck off and bother some other poor soul that needed saving, but you were surprised to find that the person sitting next to you was his cousin, Farleigh Start. He introduced himself by stating his name and giving you a firm handshake. There wasn’t much you could do but reciprocate.

“Quite the save you gave our Annabel,” Farleigh grinned. “Very magnanimous of you, especially considering how she treated you.”

“What do you want from me?” you blurted out. “I’m busy, and I would appreciate it if you just left so I can continue studying.”

You weren’t normally so rude, but this was Felix Catton’s cousin – and if this was a ploy to get you in his pants, you wanted no part of it. But your skepticism only seemed to please the boy sitting beside you more. His wry grin curled into a wide Cheshire Cat smile as he continued to stare at you with eager fascination.

Farleigh started to lean toward you, and you instinctively leaned away from him. You eyed him with extreme caution as if he were a mad scientist and you were a paralyzed specimen. And his eyes looked like he couldn’t wait to cut you open.

“I like you,” he stated. “Let’s be friends.”

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz

Reblog if you liked reading this chapter and want me to continue! Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

[dragonbma]

🌲 !25 Days of Blockmas! 🌲

The holiday spirit is almost upon us! Starting December 1st, please enjoy this little board of activities I’ve cooked up for the MC:SM community. Blockmas features a handful of fun ways to partake in the fandom along with festive drawing prompts scattered in. Please note everything is optional and you do not have to complete every day to partake! Feel free to use the #25 Days of Blockmas tag so I can see your posts! Have fun and happy holidays!

✏️Day 1: Snow Day!

Toss characters into a nice chilly landscape, snowball fight, or the Icy Palace of Despair. Or perhaps just give them a nice cup of cocoa. ^^

Day 2: Scribble challenge!

Pick a character to draw using only one line. Once you lift your pen off the paper, that concludes the one line! (Feel free to color underneath the scribble!)

Day 3: Secret Admirer!

Slip an ask into the inboxes of your favorite creators and tell them how much their work means to you! Remind your beloved artists why they bring you comfort or inspiration, tell the writers how much their stories made you laugh or cry, etc.

✏️Day 4: Winter Clothes!

Wrap a character in a nice, snug sweater, puffy coat, scarf, or other festive apparel!

Day 5: Storytime!

Grab your blanket and start reading a fic you’ve been wanting to try for a while.

Day 6: The Good, ‘Ol Days…

Vibe and watch a playthrough of your favorite episodes of Minecraft: Story Mode. Alternatively, play the game yourself!

✏️Day 7: Ice Scream!

Turn a character into one of those cursed ice cream treats…

Day 8: AU Appreciation!

Send an ask to a creator about an AU they’ve crafted. You never know what may help them develop the story!

Day 9: Why is this here?

Slip some memes into a mutual’s inbox. Or many mutuals’ inboxes… Or a stranger’s inbox!

⭐️Day 10: Free Space!

Day 11: The Pen is Mightier…

Write a festive snippet about the holidays anywhere in the game! (Beacontown, Sky City, The Underneath, etc!)

Day 12: Kind Comments!

Leave appreciation on a few fanfics of your choice! Tell the authors how much they mean to you ^^

✏️Day 13: Cozy…

Time to keep warm during the snowstorm outside. Snuggle up in a blanket, sip some cocoa, or stay close to the fireplace!

Day 14: They would NOT say that—

Have fun with incorrect quotes or draw over images!

Day 15: Repetition!

Repeat any day of your choice or try one from the remaining list!

✏️Day 16: Gift Giving!

Share the holiday spirit with a few fun presents!

Day 17: Time Machine!

Revisit one of your favorite fics to enjoy the tale all over again.

Day 18: Classic Minecraft!

Have fun mining and crafting! Perhaps play with friends—

✏️Day 19: Ugh, Fine. <3

Give one of your least favorite characters appreciation. (It doesn’t have to be a lot. Just a small doodle will suffice.)

Day 20: Well-Deserved Break! Take a rest. The coming days will be rather artsy so get your pencils ready!

✏️Day 21: OC appreciation!

✏️Day 22: AU art!

✏️Day 23: Doodle a scene from a fic you enjoy!

✏️Day 24: Your choice!

^ For the prompts above, you may use OCs/AUs that belong to others!

🌲Day 25: Recap!

Sit back, relax and take a look at all you accomplished! Enjoy your holidays! If you would like, use this day as another optional Free Space!

[ofmdrecaps]

11/23-26/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Con O'Neill; Nathan Foad; Kristian Nairn; Samson Kayo; Brian Gattas & Connor Barrett; Damien Gerard; Articles; Fan Spotlight: TinyCrewBigDonations; NeverLeftPodcast; OFMD Advent Calendar; Love Notes

= David Jenkins =

David was out on Christmas Eve getting a tattoo in honor of his new baby Zosia and Kinga!

Source: David Jenkins Instagram

Also, in case you haven't seen yet, David has been writing some OFMD Fanfiction, or a Christmas Special since Christmas Eve on his Bluesky. Due to it spanning multiple days, and me not knowing when I'll get the next recap out, I'm putting in as much as I can now.

Source: David Jenkins Bluesky

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys spent the holidays in Aotearoa with the family!

Source: Rosie's IG

Another trailer for Badjelly!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Badjelly (@badjellytv)

Source: BadJellyTV

= Taika Waititi =

Taika also happened to be in Aotearoa for the holidays!

Source: VasJMorgan's Instagram / Mariana Vivanco's Instagram

= Con O'Neill =

Con had a beautiful message for everyone <3

Source: Con O'Neill's Instagram

= Nathan Foad =

Nathan's voiceover agents had fun doodling their clients! Can you find Nathan?

Source: Nathan's Instagram Stories

= Kristian Nairn =

Kristian is sending some updates on his new Spectrum playlists, Cameo's and orders from his website! Lots of love coming from our beloved Wee John <3

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Kristian Nairn (@kristiannairn)

Source: Kristian's Instagram

= Samson Kayo =

Samson got into the holiday spirit and sent a Merry Christmas to all!

Source: Samson's Instagram Stories

= Brian Gattas & Connor Barrett =

Hornberry and Siegfried wish you a silly Happy Holidays!

Source: Brian Gattas' Instagram Stories

= Damien Gerard =

More updates on where Damien is online now!

Instagram / Bsky

And a sweet holiday message from him!

Source: Damien's Bsky / Damien's bsky

== Articles ==

Thank you to our dear friends over at @adoptourcrew for ore articles featuring OFMD!

Source: Adopt Our Crew Bsky

== Fan Spotlight ==

= OFMD Buys Boats =

Last on the list for the Tiny Crew Big Raffle Donations was: World Central Kitchen - David Jenkins - $US 1,779.07, £278.69, €611.91, CAD$82.81! Well done all! I ran out of images in this recap, but the next will feature all the awesome BTS Lindsey Cantrell shared with the @ofmd-buys-boats and the rest of the crew for everyone's generosity!

Source: OFMD Buys Boats Instagram

= Never Left Podcast =

Never Left Podcast's latest episode is about Fan Fic! Check it out on their linktr.ee!

Source: Never Left Instagram

= OFMD Advent Calendar =

The OFMD Advent Calendar has come to an end, and the kind @tillychmo gave everyone some lovely treats for the last two! Including Cameos from the crew! Thank you so much dear for highlighting so many amazing artists and writers this holiday season, and spreading joy and love from our cast! You're the best!

The 24th Door features @tillychmo's artwork! A very cute piece with the full revenge crew and more!

The 25th Door has cameos from some of our awesome Cast! Damien Gerard, Erroll Shand, Ruibo Qian! Wow! What a surprise! Check it out on Bluesky / AO3!

Source: OFMD Advent Calendar

== Love Notes ==

Well Lovelies, we're coming to the end of the year here. As I write this, it's New Year's Eve. I ended up being really sick for several days so I couldn't finish these on time (so sorry for the jump scare, I legit thought I'd be gone for a long while after two docs told me what they thought it was-- but luckily, no surgery for me). I'll try to be getting the last couple of the year out tomorrow if I can <3 I did want to mention, I know the David Jenkins fanfic/OFMD Christmas special is causing a bit of contention out there. Some folks are worried it's S3, and are either upset because it doesn't meet what they were expecting so far, or worried that because it's there, we're not getting an s3 at all. These are all valid concerns! For me, I like to think of what David's doing as a little gift to keep our hope alive. Whatever reason-- whatever comes of it, David cares so much about us that he's keeping us all engaged this late into the year. How many creators can we say do that for their fandom (let alone with a newborn)? Did you feel that same tingly feeling I did as we got more and more updates? It felt like watching an episode of OFMD again, for the first time, not knowing where it was going. It was a roller coaster ride of emotions, and as usual David is perfect with timing of specific revelations for maximum affect. We get to interact with him and all of our crewmates in the wee hours of 2024, and feel that same love and excitement that brought us together in the first place-- and I really do think that's such a wonderful gift. Seeing so many folks get excited, and brains firing off a mile a minute on new meta and new headcanons has been wonderful to watch. Whatever happens, whatever comes of it, we are getting to feel that unexpected excitement again. That little flutter of uncertainty-- that spark of joy and hope. So don't despair okay? Whatever happens, we still have our S1, and S2, and we still have each other-- and if we get an s3 out of all this too-- great! Whatever happens, we still have this insanely talented, and kind, and breathtakingly creative crew, and I am so very grateful for each and every one of you. OFMD changed my life for the better. You all changed my life for the better. You all changed SO MANY lives for the better, just by being you and sharing your love of this brilliant show. OFMD is the gift that keeps on giving, and I'm grateful David's trying to give us a bit more to play with for now, to do with as we will. Happy Holidays Lovelies and Happy New Year. May you get the rest and love you deserve, and all the things you desire this year.

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[lightreader1]

Fanfic idea- Supernatural Atsushi AU part 3

Note: I just want to thank @Venelona for being an awesome friend that had been entertaining my long winded ramblings and hyper fixations about their post lol. 

Venny you are awesome and your art rocks! 

Anyways technically this idea could stand alone as its own thing but for context on this Drabble please click here for part 1:  https://www.tumblr.com/lightreader1/779777145352454144/fanfic-idea-supernatural-atsushi-au-part-1-note?source=share 

Aaand here is part 2:  https://www.tumblr.com/lightreader1/779910843506769920/fanfic-idea-supernatural-atsushi-au-part-2-note?source=share 

Anyways again I hope y’all enjoy reading and leave a comment if you are so inclined! : D

Little extra note but I love comments and 99% of the time I will reply to them. =w= 

Also warning this is probably the longest ramble I have done yet. 

————————————————————————————————————

Prompt: Atsushi is a tiger yokai that had been sealed into a tree and now is in a kind of weird love triangle with two of the port mafia’s most dangerous executives. 

Actual idea- 

I fell like a quick recap is in order but Atsushi is a tiger yokai who fell in love with an Oni, they lived a rather happy and peaceful life until some cowardly yokai decided to get rid of Atsushi so he wouldn’t have Arahbahki get revenge for their cruelty to the tiger. 

This plan back fires big time so that while Atsushi was sealed into a tree in a near death state his lover went mad with rage and basically obliterated the yokai population before dying himself. 

This gave humans the chance to become the ruling species and due to the influx of magic thanks to all the dead yokai, some humans started to gain abilities. 

———————————————————————— 

Later on Atsushi was accidentally unsealed from the tree by port mafia executive “demon prodigy” Osamu Dazai. 

Feeling a mixture of joy and gratitude to the human who unsealed him from his hell Atsushi wants to repay Dazai by offering both himself and his abilities for the human to use however he wishes. 

Granted the only thing is that Atsushi refuses to do is kill Dazai or let him die, which is very annoying for Dazai since his hobby is suicide. 

(Extra note but as an effect of being sealed for so long Atsushi’s lack of magic essentially makes him a ghost unless he puts in effort to keep his body stable. Doing things like healing, transforming, and regeneration takes energy that he regains via sleeping. Though the exceptions to the ghost thing are specific ability users like Dazai and Chuuya.)

Dazai keeps getting annoyed at Atsushi and Atsushi starts to learn how much of how his savior isn’t really a good man. 

It all comes to a point where Dazai complains about another failed attempt thanks to Atsushi, Atsushi kinda loses it for a second. 

When they return home to the shipping container and Atsushi pins Dazai down to the bed.

His usually vibrant gold and violet eyes look cold and lifeless as the tiger leans down close enough to Dazai’s face that he can feel his warm breath against his lips.

Atsushi: “Do you really want to die so badly, Dazai-san? I grant you death, make it quick and painless just as you desire.”

Dazai smirks and tries to move his arms but Atsushi’s grip is iron.

Dazai: “Ohh~ Not gunna lie that sounds very tempting Atsushi-kun~”

I can imagine Atsushi’s lips trembling slightly as he leans down and puts a clawed hand agains Dazai’s neck, letting his nails scrape against his skin drawing the a few drops of blood.

And Dazai shivers at the feeling when Atsushi leans to whisper into his ear.

Atsushi: “I understand that need, that desire to let everything fall away so you can feel peace. I wished for it too while I was sealed away. But I have a condition.” 

I can imagine Atsushi leaning down to lick away the blood, healing the wound in the process and Dazai swallows looking down at his little tiger. 

Dazai: “And what’s that condition kitten?”  

Dazai’s whispers and shivers at the responding kiss to his neck before Atsushi moves up to place another kiss on Dazai’s cheek.  The tiger now has his entire weight on Dazai, but curls up so his head is right above the human’s heart, listening to his fast thump thump thump.

Atsushi: “All I want is more time. For so long I was alone, trapped in my own mind with nothing but darkness. It was horrible, a hell that I thought I would never be able to escape. But you saved me.” 

I can imagine Atsushi looking up at Dazai with tired eyes and a sad smile, and Dazai he doesn’t want to see his tiger so broken.

Atsushi: “I-I’ll give you everything. My loyalty, my body, my ability. Everything, just please please wait. You brought me back into this world of light. Don’t abandon me when just being around you makes me want to live again.”

Atsushi cuddles in closer and Dazai can feel the wetness against his shirt. 

He sighs before wrapping his arms around the broken thing resting against him.

Dazai: “Your really not playing fair Atsushi-kun being so greedy~ But fine, I’ll wait.”

Atsushi looks up to him the spark in his eyes returning again as he smiles

Atsushi: “Thank you”

Dazai: “Yes yes, you can thank me later. Now can you please get off? As….exciting as this has been I still prefer women.”

Dazai blushes slightly as Atsushi’s just smiles at him before placing another chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth and snuggling more into his chest.

Atsushi: No, you’re too comfortable. Besides if gender is the issue then I’ll just transform when I have more energy.

Dazai still blushing at the kiss before registering what Atsushi said

Dazai:……wait what?!

Atsushi just snuggles closer ignoring Dazai’s bi-panic

(And yes Dazai did think Atsushi pinning him down and licking his blood was sexy as hell. This is where he begins to question his sexuality because of his sexy tiger boy.) 

———————————————————————————————————

Over time both Atsushi and Dazai grow closer as their lives become more domestic.

He’s amused by Dazai’s childish antics.

Exasperated when the man pushes his paperwork onto him (steep learning curve given that Dazai had to teach him how to do said paperwork).

And he want to bite him whenever the man flirts with a random women in front of him.

(He does end up nipping Dazai a few times and refusing to heal him no matter how much the human complains about it. Which is a bluff Dazai learns that he does have a biting kink lol.)

He knows that Dazai can be cruel and calculating, he knows that his human probably doesn’t really care about him. That he is just using him for his abilities and the fact that Atsushi will attack anyone that harms him.

It hurts a little but Atsushi accepts this.

He finds himself loving his Dazai, faults and all and even if his feelings are unrequited he is content. 

He starts to find peace in this new life, he still mourns the loss of his old life and love but is also finding happiness in his new routines with the mafioso. 

But then Dazai gets assigned a mission by his “boss”, and Dazai brings him along and complains all about a “slug”.

——————————————————————— 

Atsushi is amused, walking along side Dazai invisibly smiling while listening to his silly human rant about his co-worker. 

It’s cute and makes Atsushi curious about who could’ve made his usually calm and composed human so irate. 

He stifles a giggle as Dazai starts talking about how he shouldn’t get too close to the “slug”.

How he is too good and that the slug shouldn’t be able to see his adorable kitten. 

Atsushi can feel himself blush at the smile that Dazai directed at him.  

Even if Dazai was just teasing him he couldn’t help but feel his heart beat faster at his beloved human’s claim.

They continue to talk about the details of the mission and how as per usual Atsushi shouldn’t reveal himself unless absolutely necessary.

It’s simple, normal for the two of them, a conversation that they’ve had many times. 

But then they turn around the corner and Atsushi stops frozen in his tracks as his entire world comes crashing down.

He see’s a familiar figure. 

The short stature, long orange hair, a beautiful face with dark blue eyes that matched the deepest of oceans. 

The presence of a man that has power and he knows it. 

Then the man turns to face them and Atsushi’s heart races cause he knows that smirk. 

He’s seen it a million times on a man who made him promises laced with love, safety, and a life together that never came to pass. 

A life that while sealed in that tree he thought was nothing but wishful thinking instead of memory

He doesn’t notice when he starts to run.

He doesn’t hear Dazai startled yell.

He doesn’t notice that the man actually see’s him even and looks just as shocked as him.

All he can feel is the magic running through his veins, giving all of his energy into making him as corporeal as possible because he needs to know. 

He needs to make sure the man isn’t an illusion.

And as he crashes into the man’s chest he feels that familiar warmth, the power once used to crush enemies so long ago surrounds him but he doesn’t feel heavy.

It’s not malicious, its welcoming, as if embracing him back.

It’s comforting in its familiarity and Atsushi can’t help but smile as tears start to spill from his eyes. 

A new warmth filling his heart as a joy rivaling when he was released from his seal.

And he snuggles closer to the stiff body underneath him, clutching onto the man like his life depends on it.

He can hear a strong heart beat and he smiles knowing that this is real.

Smell the familiar scent of flames and storms underneath the atrocious “cologne” that modern humans use. 

He is real. 

His beloved..

He smiles wide as he whispers 

Atsushi: “Arahbahki~”

He feels the man stiffen further but still doesn’t move away but instead moves closer brushing his lips against his beloved’s neck as more tears roll down his cheeks. 

Atsushi: “My dear Anata. My beloved Oni, you live. You live! My Anata! My dear love you live!” 

He’s shaking as tears start to turn to full on sobs, he can feel his grip tightening and feels his Anata flinch. But pays to mind to that as joy and pain start to mix into his chest.

Atsushi: “I’m so sorry love. I-i should have b-been stronger. T-th-they tr-ticked me. I -I was so stupid s-so so scared. I-i called! I called for you! I-i thought- hic -I wouldn’t- hic. Oh Anata!” 

He wants to feel his Anata hug him back, to hear his voice call him his beautiful Byakko once more, to have his love kiss his tears away like so long ago.

But it doesn’t happen. 

Instead he feels his Anata push against him, he looks up confused and lets out a broken whine when he doesn’t see his beloved’s usual warm playful look. 

Instead he see’s suspicion, even outright hostility.  

Cold eyes devoid of the love he so desparately craved for centuries showed no recognition.

And Atsushi could feel his heart break all over again.

Familiar arms wrap behind him and he starts to struggle, to cling onto his beloved. 

“Why’s he glaring at me? Does he hate me? Anata I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! Please don’t hate me!”

He gives a broken cry when he is finally pulled off and is ready to claw at the interrupter until he hears a  Dazai’s cold voice.

Dazai: “Slug I’m gonna need you to give me a moment.” 

He watches as his love just stand up and dusts himself off looking before glaring at Dazai. 

Chuuya: “Fine, but your gonna explain what the hell is going on!”

He feels he feels a whine build in his throat when his Anata doesn’t even look at him and then lets out a pitiful broken noise when he feels Dazai turn him around and start walking away from his beloved. 

Dazai: “Oh my poor kitten, you really do have the worst luck.”

And Atsushi can only whine, even though he feels Dazai’s arms around him his heart break still breaks as the distance between him and his Anata grows once more. 

——————————————————————————— 

After this incident we begin the DazAtsuYa!

Essentially Dazai takes Atsushi a little bit away and gives the bare basics of Chuuya’s back story to him.

How Chuuya was an expriement and is 100% human and that what he senses as “Arahbahki” is just a non-sentient power.

His love isn’t back, it’s just Chuuya. A human that has Arahbahki’s power sealed within him and nothing more.

This of course horrifies Atsushi on a lot of ways. 

The idea that humans could do that to their own.

How he can now “see” his beloved but it’s only a body similar to him, the person “Chuuya-san” is a complete stranger. 

And Atsushi just is so broken after this, because he was starting to heal. 

After being sealed away for centuries waiting for someone to release him and then seeing how long he was sealed away he accepted that Arahbahki had died. 

But now he learns that some part of his beloved is still alive just sealed away?

No thoughts, no memories, just pure rage and destruction?

It devastates him. 

So Atsushi after learning all this information assumedly while Dazai is still holding him slumps before changing his form again. 

He doesn’t want to be human, he doesn’t want to be seen, he’s too tired and too hurt to keep it up.

So he shrink’s down, shrinks, and shrinks until he’s nothing more than a tiger the size of a small cat clinging onto Dazai in his grief. 

And Dazai sighs holding his kitten closer, petting him, and telling him that he has him.

That he won’t let Atsushi go.

———————————

But moving on after that Dazai still has a job with Chuuya and he can’t just leave because of Atsushi.

So with a sigh to himself he holds a vulnerable Atsushi close to his chest making sure to cover his little ghost tiger in his jacket. Not wanting Chuuya to see him nor for Atsushi to see the slug.

And he sighs because he’s feeling so much right now.

He’s worried for his usually optimistic tiger.

Atsushi always held such joy and curiosity in the world as soon as he was unsealed, even when he told Atsushi that Yokai are nothing but legends he didn’t have such a reaction. 

Sure there was grief but also an acceptance, a gratefulness for life that Dazai couldn’t help but be jealous of. 

But now Atsushi’s eyes seem just as lifeless as his own, and its all because of that damn slug!

And that is another thing!

Apparently “Arahbahki” wasn’t always just a bunch of energy, “it” was once an extremely powerful Oni Yokai that was also apparently married to Atsushi.

Seriously! The slug has to look exactly like Atsushi’s long dead husband!

And now he has to explain what’s going on to that Slug even though he really really doesn’t want to.

He wanted to keep Atsushi’s existence a secret in the first place but now that plan has went to shit and his fierce tiger has become a depressed little kitten. 

But Dazai just sighs holding Atsushi closer when he gives another whimper feeling the tigers dig ever so slightly into his shirt. 

*”Let’s just get this over with.”*

———————————————————————

Meanwhile Chuuya is so confused when Dazai comes back. 

He was suddenly attacked by some random cosplayer who kept on calling him “Anata” and was crying nonsense to him. 

But what shocked him was that even though he commanded his ability to go around the guy his gravity didn’t change. 

His usual perfect control seemed to be lost as soon as the guy touched him. 

And when Dazai got the guy off of him he didn’t fail to notice that the moving ears and tail didn’t go anywhere either.

Was this guy also immune to Dazai’s ability? Did his ability just mess with other abilities? No, Dazai’s ability is absolute. Then what the hell?!

Then when Dazai (who looks incredibly pissed off) comes back not with the guy but instead of a little tiger cub everything gets worse. 

Dazai must have finally went mad.

Cause what do you mean he unsealed the last Yokai spirit? 

What do you mean he’s been sealed away for centuries?

What do you mean the tiger swore his loyalty and life to you to repay that debt!

And what the fuck do you mean he was married to Arahbahki and is depressed cause I look like his dead husband! 

Just the FUCK! 

———————————————————————

Dazai and Chuuya still get the job done of course. 

Atsushi briefly transforms into a giant tiger to protect Dazai.

And Chuuya is in awe because crap that is a magical fucking tiger!

The cosplayer is actually a real magical fucking tiger and Dazai wasn’t just messing with him.

…..oh shit Dazai wasn’t messing with him. 

And Dazai just watches all these emotions cross Chuuya’s face while seeing how twitchy his fingers are while looking at Atsushi. 

And he smirks pulling his sad little tiger closer to his chest. 

Dazai: What’s the matter slug? Jealous?~

 And for a moment Chuuya has the intense urge to punch Dazai in the face and grab the cat.

But instead he flips him off. 

Chuuya: Screw you, you suicidal bastard. I just feel bad for the cat you somehow tricked into liking you.

And Dazai snorts and makes a joke at Chuuya’s expense to try and cheer Atsushi up, but he end up frowning cause Atsushi doesn’t act exasperated with antics as usual.

Just his little kitten snuggling closer into his neck, like he’s trying to hide from the world. 

————————————————————————————————————

After the mission is a rough couple weeks.

Once Dazai returns home Atsushi essentially escaped under their bed, stays in tiger cub form, and essentially acts like a depressed cat. 

And Dazai tries take care of Atsushi because he doesn’t know how to comfort him. 

He brings him his favorite food. 

Gets more pillows and blankets to make him comfortable. 

Holds him and shows him pictures of places all around the world to spark that childish wonder again.

He just wants Atsushi to smile again. To walk with him, playfully nip at him, and scold him for not being careful And I just imagine Dazai just petting Atsushi while reminding him of Atsushi’s promise. That Atsushi promised him his “everything”. 

That all Dazai wants right now is to see his Tiger smile again. And maybe that little talk mixed with everything else encourages Atsushi to eat that Chazuke. ——————————————————————————— Meanwhile Chuuya actually starts to dream which freaks him the F out since he’s never had dreams before. 

And they all relates back to the tiger  (who he learns through the dreams is named “Atsushi”)

It’s so weird because he see’s a younger, thinner, and more snappy version of Atsushi wearing nothing but a thin raggedy kimono. 

He see’s the tiger come to him and try to stay by his side even when his “dream” self was an ass. 

Sometimes they eat together, joke together, laugh, and cry together. 

It’s like seeing a life time happen right before his eyes. 

He see’s himself taking Atsushi’s hand, kissing it, and watching the tiger blush.

He see’s how Atsushi would hold heal  him and then smile at him so happily before curling up to his side to snuggle up to him. 

He see’s himself taking a kiss from the tiger and how his gorgeous twighlight eyes widen in surprise before returning the kiss just as hard. 

Chuuya even has a particular dream of holding Atsushi in his arms and well lets just things get a bit *spicy*~ 

They would talk of love, of marriage, of having a family together, of Atsushi carrying a child. 

His child. 

Chuuya can admit these dreams were rather embarrassing though it did make him curious about the tiger in Dazai’s possession.

But he refrained, the tiger was already freaked out by seeing him, didn’t want to traumatize the guy even more if this wasn’t just his messed up brain imagining things cause he finds the tiger attractive.

(Side note there are a lot of sexy dreams lol)

And then the nightmare happens. 

A nightmare where he can’t find his *”beautiful Byakko”*

 He see’s himself searching, yelling out for him, and then panicking cause he can’t find him!

Why can’t he find him?

Where is he?!?

And he finds the trail and follows it.

He finds torn bloody cloth from Atsushi’s favorite kimono.

And as he goes further he finds a tree splattered with too much blood and a sickening feeling in his gut.

Because he knows his beloved is gone. 

He’s gone…

He’s gone and someone hurt him!

Someone killed his beloved!

His sweet, kind, and beautiful Byakko.

 His adorable tiger who hated fighting and killing, who would rather heal and gather herbs to impress him with. 

His beloved Atsushi who would hold him in his arms and against his chest without fear of the “monster amongst monster” ripping his heart out.

Who was the first person to give him words of love and acceptance. 

His wife, the man he had planned to spend the rest of his life with protecting and providing for, the one who was going to bear his child, is dead. 

Probably died terrified, alone, calling for him in hopes of rescue. 

All in vain. 

*“He’s sorry, oh dear beloved nonono, I should have protected you. Why wasn’t I there! How could I fail you! Who the FUCK did this to you! I’LL KILLE’M KILL’EM KILL KILL KILL!”*

Chuuya has felt pain before but nothing so intense as that all encompassing as the SORROW and HATERED that made his insides burn.

Then he wakes up and Chuuya feels like he’s going mad because this isn’t him! 

These aren’t his memories or his feelings! 

And he only has one way to get his answers and move on from all of these horrible feelings and memories. 

So in Chuuya like fashion rips the doors off of Dazai shipping container to find the bastard petting the tiger cub underneath the bed. 

Of course Dazai complains about this but Chuuya just continues on his way. 

Chuuya rolls his eyes Chuuya: Oh please you probably have a million other backup places just as shitty as this one.

 He then makes his way past Dazai and gets on the floor to see a sufficiently spooked tiny tiger underneath the bed.

 I could imagine his eye softening as he tries to speak gently.

 Chuuya: Alright so…I need to talk to you about a lot of things right now. So I would really appreciate it if you could come out Atsushi.

 And I could imagine both Dazai’s and Atsushi’s eyes widening. Because Dazai never told Chuuya Atsushi’s name.

——————————————————————————

After this I can imagine Atsushi reluctantly agree’s to talk but keeps himself behind Dazai because looking at Chuuya right now is just way too painful.

He explains his story. About how “Byakko” or a white tiger yokai were hated and hunted because they were healers and their bodies could be used for potent medicines. 

How he met Arahbahki and fell in love. 

How they had planned to have a child but it required him to store a lot of energy to change his form so it could have the baby.

How because of that when the other yokai tricked him he couldn’t truly defend himself. 

How he was sealed away until Dazai came into the picture. 

And Dazai and Chuuya are kinda horrified by how painful Atsushi’s story is. 

But Atsushi just smiles bitterly and shakes his head because there is nothing he can do and how talking about it helped with the grief somewhat. 

(After hearing all this Chuuya doesn’t ask more about the dreams since he doesn’t want to hurt the tiger even more)

From there on Atsushi leans against Dazai before apologizing to Chuuya, for treating him like someone else. That if possibly he would like to become friends and if that is too much then at least get along since Dazai and Chuuya are work partners. 

You know just being sweet. 

And Chuuya, well Chuuya is sufficiently charmed by this sweet little tiger and Dazai starts getting jealous. 

Because like hell is he letting the slug steal his tiger!

———————————————————————————————

The rest of the story would be about Atsushi and Chuuya slowly befriending each other.

(Granted Chuuya is constantly fighting the urge to kiss, hug, and even bite the tiger amongst other things lol) 

And a part of Atsushi does fall in love with Chuuya as well but denies himself because he promised his all to Dazai

Meanwhile Dazai gets closer of their budding relationship and constantly tries to separate them as much as possible. 

It all comes to ahead when Dazai and Chuuya get sent to a mission where “Corruption would have to be used. 

Dazai specifically told Atsushi he wasn’t allowed to join but still does anyways because he doesn’t want to see his two precious people hurt. 

Then he see’s Chuuya’s corrupted form and moves without a second of hesitation.

I can imagine Atsushi running towards a corrupted Chuuya who is screaming in pain and rage.

 Of Dazai trying to stop him because he doesn't want the gravitons to destroy his tiger. 

But then Atsushi embraces Chuuya, and this corrupted Chuuya doesn't move away. Still out of his mind Atsushi lifts Chuuya's face and those pupiless eyes are crying as if something deep inside of Chuuya's corrupted state recognizes the tiger.

 And Atsushi smiles gently cupping Chuuya's cheek in his hand, he's crying but his expression is so full of love and sadness. And Chuuya, still in his corrupted state, hugs Atsushi for dear life bites him in the neck which hurts but thats fine to Atsushi. It’s familiar and in a way comforting and Atsushi cradles him while using his power to heal Chuuya's body. 

In the end Atsushi is just holding a peacfully sleeping Chuuya while Dazai is left flabbergasted about what he had just witnessed.

——————————————————————————

Dazai and Chuuya still get jealous of each other and of course fuck up trying to force Atsushi to choose.

Chuuya wants him but Atsushi is adamant on not betraying Dazai.

And Dazai says some particular horrible things about “never should’ve released you in the first place if I knew you were going to be so much trouble.” 

(Which he regrets immediately after seeing how heartbroken Atsushi looks before running away from him. )

It all ends up with Dazai and Chuuya compromising because they love Atsushi and don’t want him to constantly feel miserable because of their feelings for him. 

Atsushi is their tiger, and they are his humans~ 

What more can I say?

——————————————————

And that’s all folks! I might make separate dribbles on my head cannons for this relationship and characters later! Hope you enjoyed this and please leave a comment or ask questions because my gosh their is so so sooooo much more to this au that I’ve discussed with @venelona lol. 

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

People are really out here saying “they’re only bringing Tommy back to KILL HIM!!” with the subtext being that people should…stop caring about him, I guess?

Babes. Be so for real. Let’s do a quick recap of fandoms I have been in/am currently reading fanfic for:

Joe/Nicky: Canon as hell, been together forever, are immortal (until they aren’t!). The fic was (and still is) fuck-off good. Cannot wait for 2old2guard.

Harringrove: Billy’s been dead AF since the end of season 3, and people are very much still out here shipping them. Also, as a side note, I was waist-deep in this fandom when Dacre gave multiple interviews about how straight he thought Billy was, and I don’t think anyone even sent him any death threats? At least in my corner of the fandom, no one thought Netflix Stranger Things was actually going to have two teenage boys kissing, so everyone just shrugged and went about their business.

Stucky: Steve did not get killed off (unless you count the egregious character assassination!), but he did fuck off to the past! Leaving Bucky to…become a congressman? Unclear, at least to me, since I simply do not care what marvel is up to these days (I did watch Agatha All Along and it was great). The Endgame fix-it fic was generally outstanding, and there are several great Stucky WIPs updating right now!

Sterek: Derek got sent to turbo hell, though this was the “no one stays dead” show, so I’m not sure it really counts? Anyway, the post-movie fix-it fics were very fun and I enjoyed them. Also, that kid is obviously both of theirs, like come ON.

Even IF Timothy is bringing Tommy back solely for an emotional death scene (gross, but I wouldn’t put it past him), it isn’t going to make me like the pairing any less? For one thing, this is the medical inaccuracies show, so they could drop that firefighter pilot right off that very tall building, and then the coma dream/Buck at his bedside in the hospital fic would slap. They could have him fly his helicopter off into the sunset after telling Buck it would never work between them, and then the future fics would be great. That’s romantic as hell—then he’s Buck’s what-if FOREVER.

Truly, I cannot lose. Canon will do what it wants, and then we’ll go to work building on it, or filling in the cracks, or fixing the hell out of it if we have to. Shit, that’s a big part of what fandom is for.

[dawnisdreamlanding]

CHAPTER 2

Ghost x Reader x Konig

Neighbor! and Roommate!au hehe

About me | Masterlist |

Author's note: Happy Hanukkah! I'd like to say THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT FOR THE FIRST PART AAAA!! I've been wanting to write fanfics for agess but I was always too nervous to hahahdsf so all the support means so much to me, especially for it being my first fic. But less talk, more story, I hope you enjoy part 2! <3

‘Why am I meeting so many tall, buff guys today? Well, not that I’m complaining,’ you chuckle inwardly. Konig’s so tall that when he greets you, he bends down slightly. Talk about being short. You mentally shake that thought away before smiling and telling him to follow you to your apartment.

Everything goes smoothly, and he ends up moving into your apartment the following week. It takes him a couple of days and a little head-banging on the door frame due to his height for him to get used to your shared apartment.

It’s been a month since then. You learn he’s from Austria, and he starts to call you ‘Maus’ which was self-explanatory. But you never really learned anything else other than that. So, to recap, both your neighbor and roommate are both silent and secretive. And they’re hot. You quickly shake that thought away. You shouldn’t be thinking about them like that!

Speaking of Simon, you haven’t seen him for a couple of days. You wonder what he’s doing. After a few extra moments of silence, you realized you’ve spaced out from doing your work. Your gaze lands on the long list of emails you’ll be needing to respond to by tonight, followed by the time on your computer on the bottom right of the screen. ‘7.43 pm’. Ugh, this looks like you’ll be staying back late in the office tonight.

It’s already been a few hours since the last of your coworkers said goodbye to you, and the office lights has been turned off except for your section of the office. The darkness surrounding the office was a little unsettling if you were being honest, but you pressed on with answering those emails. Your phone buzzing makes you jump in your seat and the bright screen in contrast to the surroundings makes you squint a little.

Oh, Konig’s calling. You pick up the call and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t relieved to hear someone’s voice after hours of overtime. The line’s a little staticky, but his voice comes through the phone. “Hello, Maus? Where are you?” Konig sounds worried. “Hey Konig!” You try to sound a little upbeat, but your exhaustion comes through nonetheless. “I’m working overtime tonight; I’ll be coming home late.”

Home. You don’t know when you started referring to your apartment as ‘home’, since you’ve always thought your apartment felt so soulless since you moved in. If you think hard about it, the emptiness of your apartment only ever seemed to disappear when Konig’s large frame started to fill in the empty space in your apartment. Despite not knowing much about Konig’s life, the two of you spend quality time together, bonding over shows on Netflix ranging from ‘The Good Place’ to ‘Emily In Paris’. Though you’d have to admit, the more mind-numbing the show is, the more entertaining it is when you hear all Konig’s quips and comments while the two of you watch it. God, you wish you were hanging out at home with Konig now.

“Maus?” Konig calls me once again, snapping me out of my train of thought. “H-huh? Sorry could you repeat that?” I reply. “It’s looks like its about to rain hard tonight, do you need me to bring you home?” his voice gets a little more staticky by the second, and you’re only able to get out a “it’s fine” before the power in the office shuts down.

“Oh hell no,” you say out loud to yourself. You watched enough horror game playthroughs to know that you’re not staying a second longer in office if you want to see another day. Your line gets cut off and you groan. If this isn’t the start of a horror movie.

You managed to exit the office without tripping in the darkness with being little on edge. Little droplets of rain start to fall to the ground, slowly painting the pavement a darker shade of grey with each drop. Your line comes back and you were seconds away from calling Konig to ask him to drive you back home but then a hulking figure leaving the nearby grocery store enters your field of vision.

You are quick to look at this guy because who the hell is he and why is he dressed in all black at night, looking like a robber? Oh my god is he a robber? Oh, it’s your neighbor, Simon. You should really stop bumping into him in such shady situations.

---

Simon ends up driving you back to your apartment complex. This time around, you try to talk to him the car ride there. In between the awkward silences, the two of you managed to bond over some shared bands playing on the radio and you learn that he’s from the military.

“’s not fair that they’re makin you work overtime like this.” Simon grumbles out. “Yeah well, what can I do? Besides, they pay me quite well.” You reply. It was true; the company you worked is quite taxing at times, but the benefits and pay holds you back from quitting.

“Well,” he inhales as he puts his car into park. “If you ever need a lift home, just let me know.” His offer puts a smile on your lips. For someone who you’ve gotten to really know in the span of a 20 minute car ride, he has a heart of gold. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

He has the manners to walk you back all the way to your apartment — you ignore the fact he lives literally right next to you — and makes sure you enter your apartment safely before unlocking his own door.

 You sigh and drop your bag onto the floor. Your eyelids feel really dry and the constant urge to get some shut eye makes the tasks of getting ready for bed seem to stretch on for far too long. Part of you debates on sacrificing dinner so you can sleep a little earlier but that’s when you hear Konig call out for you in the kitchen.

“Eat.” He speaks. “I cooked dinner for the both of us, but I didn’t know you were staying in the office.” A slight pang of guilt shoots through you at the thought of Konig waiting alone at the dinner table for you to come home. “Thanks, Konig.” I smile at him. “I’m glad to be home.”

Konig tries to ignore the warmth that creeps up on him during moments like these. His eyes naturally drink in the sight of you sitting across the table, happily munching on the food he’s cooked you. Fuck, maybe being a househusband wouldn’t be so bad, especially if its for you. He quickly shakes off that thought. He kills. He likes to kill. What was he even thinking?

“Emily in Paris?” he suggests when you finish your dinner. You sigh and shake your head. “Sorry, too tired, Ko.” The nickname slips out of your mouth so easily that you don’t notice it, but he does. His body freezes up and his brain short circuits. He’s so focused on the nickname you used for him that he doesn’t even feel sadness when you rejected his suggestion. He hums in acknowledgement.

“Maybe this weekend?” You say and he nods, watching you turn to head into your room. He decides not to tell you he’s leaving for work that weekend. Leaving to kill people. “Next weekend.” He confirms. You smile tiredly at him and the warm yellow light illuminates your features. “Goodnight, Konig.” God, he wishes you could call him Ko again. “Goodnight, Maus.”

Taglist! @gojo-mochi

[teaspoonnebula]

VALL Chapter 1 - The Warning

So as a recap - yes I run this substack. No, I haven't read this novel. I'm really looking forwards to getting to experience new (to me) canonical Sherlock Holmes for the very last time in my life... and I'm going to write a bunch about it, so hold on tight.

“I am inclined to think—” said I. “I should do so,” Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently. I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption.

LOL I love how we jump right into Holmes and Watson banter. Watson's understated "“you are a little trying at times" reminds me of his reaction to Holmes shooting holes in the walls at Baker Street being "I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it."

Of course we don't get any indication of the tone in which he says these things, but I think we can guess Watson is countering with a little acerbic wit of his own.

So, Holmes has received a letter from a mysterious figure known as 'Porlock'

Picture to yourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal with the lion—anything that is insignificant in companionship with what is formidable:

This idea of the pilot fish is a very cool metaphor. Unfortunately it is entirely ruined for me because it was also used in the Christmas Invasion episode of Doctor Who to describe these things and that's always where my brain is going to go:

Porlock is one of Moriarty's henchmen or representatives! Which makes me interested in the fact that I've never come across this character in pastiches or adaptations or fanfic - why not?

(Also it makes no sense for Watson to know all about Moriarty but that's a Continuity Thing and we all know Arthur Conan Doyle didn't let that sort of thing get in the way of telling his story - more power to him, honestly.)

“You are developing a certain unexpected vein of pawky humour, Watson, against which I must learn to guard myself.

I JUST SAID THAT, HOLMES.

“May I be there to see!” I exclaimed devoutly.

Well THAT is a sucker punch of a line. No, Watson, you won't be there to see, I'm afraid. See, there will be this Swiss boy... anyway, we're getting off track.

Turns out Porlock is a bit of a mole (I wouldn't quite go so far as to say 'double agent'), and has been giving Holmes information provided he is paid enough. This includes a secret cipher which relates to a particular book, which Holmes assumes will arrive in the second post.

GUTTED I didn't read this book when I was 11, I loved ciphers and would have lapped this up.

“Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunning which is the delight of your friends...

"your friends" Lol Holmes just say "Me" we know that's what you mean - and gosh, he's being so sarcastic with Watson!

Billy the page shows up with the second post and readers, I CHEERED at Billy. Does he say anything? No. But BILLY!!! Alas the letter from Porlock says that he just had an unpleasant encounter with Moriarty (with an envelope addressed to 221b in his possession, whoops!) and so so he won't be sending along the key to the cypher.

I love that Holmes' reaction to this isn't frustration at not getting his cypher, but worry for Fred Porlock, and hope that Moriarty doesn't actually suspect him. THIS is why I love Canon Holmes - I think he is fundamentally kind...

“Perhaps there are points which have escaped your Machiavellian intellect.

Holmes points out that they might be able to work out which book is required for the cypher, and guides Watson through his deductive process - which is adorable. And I loved following along with it too - with my knowledge of Victorian ephemera I was hoping it was going to be a Bradshaw, but as Holmes notes to both Watson and me, the range of vocabulary needs to be broader!

It's a Whitaker's Almanac! But not the new edition - the old one. This is a fun little reversal which gives us a moment of Holmes thinking he's 'failed'.

The message suggests that someone called Douglas who lives at Birlstone House, Birlstone, is in danger.

(Clearly this is a totally different house to Hurlstone, from Musgrave Ritual....)

After deciphering the message, Holmes and Watson get a visit from an Inspector MacDonald. I was a little sorry this isn't one of the familiar Yarders (Hopkins, my beloved...) but I'm going to be interested to get to know him. Alas, Holmes is too late to save Douglas - he has already been murdered.

***

So, uh, I'm having the time of my life reading this, honestly. It's such incredibly good fun. I'm intrigued that whatever has happened to Douglas must somehow be linked to Moriarty.

There's a lot of banter about Watson's intellect which I feel should frustrate me more, a lot of the dialogue feels like it's bordering on being quite patronising to Watson, but I think his reactions suggest this is comfortable back and forth done from a place of security in each other.

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 5

summary: first night of Friday fun...and it's definitely FUN.

author's note: HI SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG LIFE HAS BEEN INSANE (the fanfic writers curse is real lol) BUT I WILL UPLOAD QUICKLY TO MAKE UP FOR IT STAY TUNED ILY THANKS FOR READING

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

Saturday morning came after a sleep that was only moderately restful. After giving up on REM as the sun started to peek through her floor to ceiling windows, Evie rolled out of the nest of covers to brew a pot of coffee. As it bubbled to life, she opened her phone and dialed. Jade picked up on the second ring. 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite center of a Super Soldier sandwich.”

Evie rolled her eyes but chuckled, putting Jade on speaker as she pulled the quarter-full pot of coffee out mid-brew, too impatient to wait for it to finish. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Oh, spill! I’m dying to hear everything.”

Evie recapped her week, flopping down on the couch in a particularly cozy sunbeam. To Jade’s credit, she was just as interested in the tedious work details as she was in the salacious ones she hoped to hear. “And then Tony came up to the lab tonight, but it was just to kick me out and drag me to the bar for drinks.”

“Classic Evie, landing a job where the smoking hot boss forces you to leave work and go have fun with his equally hot coworkers. You poor thing. As a matter or fact, let me call up my Grandma and see if she can add you to her prayer list!” Jade laughed at her own joke.”But seriously, consulting on a mission? Already? That’s insane, Eves. I’m so proud of you.”

Thanks, J. It’s been…surreal. In the best way. You have to come visit soon, wait until you see this place. It makes my college place look like it should have been condemned.”

“Babes, I say this with love, but that place absolutely should have been condemned. Consider this my official RSVP, I’ll make it down in a couple weekends once you’re more settled in. Gotta give you time to scope out the nightlife, prepare to show your favorite Boston girl a Manhattan good time.”

“Will do,” Evie giggled. “I’ll make sure to get higher thread count sheets for the guest bedroom.”

“My sugar momma,” Jade cooed, despite them both knowing she came from more money than she ever acknowledged. “Now, enough about linens and saving the world. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes? Tell me everything. What are they like? Does Steve really have America’s ass?”

Evie laughed before pausing, thinking about how to describe them. “Steve is...exactly what you’d expect. Polite, charming, genuinely nice. He’s an All-American guy. And Bucky, he’s got this…brooding, mysterious vibe going on, but he’s surprisingly funny. When he speaks, that is. They’re both...let’s just say they both surpass the version of them I had in my head from all my Grandma’s stories.”

“As if this wasn’t already made-for-tv enough,” Jade said through a full mouth of whatever breakfast she was scarfing down. “I forgot they knew your Grandma. Are you going to bring it up?”

“I thought about it, but not yet.” Evie paused. “I don’t want them thinking I’m a kid, you know? Something tells me that calling attention to the fact that they were childhood besties with my grandmother won’t bode well for that.”

Jade’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because you’re into one of them, aren’t you?”

Evie laughed, rubbing her forehead even though Jade couldn’t see her. “No, I mean, I wouldn’t say anything is out of the question, but I just met them this week and I haven’t hardly spoken to either of them.”

“Oh. My. God.” A fork clanged onto the plate on Jade’s end. “You’re into both of them! Evie! You slut!” 

“I never said that!” 

“You didn’t have to. I felt it in my soul when I saw that picture. Even with your drunk eyes, I know when you have your mind set on someone. Or two someones.” 

Evie was quiet for a minute, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “Hypothetically…what if I was?”

“Hypothetically, what’s stopping you? Go for it, or I’ll hop on the highway right now and offer myself up instead!”

Evie stood, pacing around the living room and thinking out loud. “I mean, really, would it be so bad? I don’t work for the Avengers, I work for Stark Industries. There’s no rule against consultants and team members fraternizing. I’m a grown, adult woman. Age differences are antiquated anyways. Why choose if I can have both?”

Jade was momentarily speechless before bursting into laughter. “Damn, girl! I didn’t see that coming, but so I’m here for it. You’ve always been bold, but this is next level. I’ve been saying for years that you needed to make up for all the getting laid you didn’t do in college, and getting railed by two legendary Super Soldiers would probably do the trick.”

“Jade!” Evie blushed despite being more than accustomed to her crass personality by now.

“I said it, you’re definitely thinking it. All I’m asking for is a comprehensive report with no detail spared.” She paused. “Maybe a tape, if you can be discreet about it.”

“You are a heathen,” She grinned, shaking her head. 

“You love me.”

“I do. I miss you, J.” 

“I miss you, Eves. I’ll be there before you know it. Come up with something juicy for us to talk about.”

Monday Morning | Avengers’ Tower

Evie didn’t require much to get her out of bed when there was a state of the art lab at her disposal, but that didn’t stop her from stopping at the coffee shop that had become her staple on the way into work. The caffeine flowing through her veins was working overtime as she stepped into the lobby of Avengers Tower, scrolling through the latest Stark tech reports on her tablet. She had almost managed to push Friday night from her mind—almost.

The elevator doors slid open just as she reached them, and suddenly, forgetting wasn’t an option.

Steve and Bucky stepped out, dressed for a morning run, the cool air of the lobby doing little to keep the back of her neck from heating. Steve looked bright-eyed and effortlessly composed, the kind of thing Evie would usually hate to see from someone headed out for a run on a Monday morning. But on him? Anything but obnoxiously productive. Bucky, on the other hand, had a rougher edge to him—dark hair pushed back haphazardly, jaw set, tension in his shoulders like he wasn’t fully at ease.

And yet, despite whatever internal war he was fighting, his blue eyes locked onto her the second she appeared across the elevator threshold.

Interesting.

Evie smiled as she slowed to a stop, tilting her head in faux consideration. “Early morning training or just running from your problems?”

Steve chuckled, easygoing as ever. “Keeping up the routine.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but there was something in the way his gaze flickered over her that made heat curl in her stomach. “Some of us just like to stay sharp,” he said, voice even, almost dismissive.

Ah. So that’s how we’re playing it.

She raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “Would you like me to applaud?”

Steve gave a small laugh, ever the diplomat. “Applause is welcome but not necessary. You’re here early too, big day ahead?”

Evie tapped a manicured nail against her coffee cup, flicking her eyes from him to Bucky. “Oh, you know. Just trying to stay sharp.”

Bucky just looked at her, expression unreadable, but his metal fingers flexed briefly at his side—just enough for her to notice.

Evie let the silence stretch for a second longer than necessary before flashing a knowing smile. “But hey, don’t let me keep you from training. I’m sure I’ll see you around the Tower, but if not, Friday’s just a few days away.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly, but there was a flicker of something else behind his amusement. Something… contemplative. “You’re serious about that?”

“Oh, dead serious.” She took another sip of her coffee, looking between the two of them. “I expect you both to have some solid ideas for our inaugural Friday Night of Fun.”

Steve gave a small nod, like he was already making a mental list. “We’ll come up with something good.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, shifting his weight like he wanted to be anywhere else—but instead of leaving, he glanced at her again. “You sure you’re not just using us for a free ride?” The words were clipped, a little gruff, but…was this version of humor?

Evie’s smile widened just a fraction. There it is.

She lifted her cup in a little mock toast. “I’ll take all the free rides you two are willing to give.”

And with that, she stepped past them and into the elevator, letting the doors close behind her before she let herself breathe. As much as she’d wanted to see the look on their faces with her double entendre, it was probably better to let it hang in the air. Well, no one ever accused me of subtlety. 

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

Wednesday Afternoon | Avengers’ Tower

The week had more idle time than Evie would have liked. The mission with Orpheus, which was supposed to take place today, had been pushed back a week. New intel had revealed that the vibranium used to make weapons, otherwise known as the entire reason for the mission, wouldn’t be shipped in until the following week. Although Evie loved being proactive, it’s impossible to intercept a shipment a week early. She spent the week double and triple checking her algorithms and then writing a new one to counter it, trying to find any weak spots or flaws in her program. 

There weren’t any. 

She oscillated between other engineers, offering help but trying to still grant them the autonomy of their own projects despite knowing she could knock all of them out by the end of the week. Finally, Wednesday afternoon rolled around. The follow up briefing was more of a formality than anything, meant to keep the team up to date on the details of the mission and the new developments. Not much had changed on Evie’s end, but she was still thrilled to be included, both for the prestige of working with the Avengers and for the present company. 

Although her heart pounded when Maria had given Evie the floor to speak, it was significantly easier than her first briefing. Maybe it was something about the way she’d seen Sam singing with a bachelorette party and Wanda taking lemon drop shots with Natasha that made them seem more…human. Plus, after her extensive reviews and re-reviews, she couldn’t be more confident in the tech she was presenting. The briefing had gone flawlessly—her plan to bypass Orpheus’ security had been airtight, and Tony had given her a rare, approving nod. Nat had smirked, muttered something about not bad, rookie, and Bucky had—well, Bucky hadn’t scowled, which was basically a standing ovation.

She was dismissed by Maria, closing her laptop and leaving to a chorus of “Thanks Evie,” from the team, which she acknowledged with a mock salute before slipping out the door. Now, as she made her way down the halls of the Tower, she barely suppressed a grin. It had been a hell of a few weeks, but moments like this reminded her exactly why she was here.

Calling the elevator, Evie heard footsteps echoing down the hallway, and turned—only to find Steve jogging towards her.

Slowing to a stop, he folded his arms across his chest, that easy, golden-boy charm written all over his face. “You did good in there,” he said, nodding. “That was great, both the tech you presented and the way you held your own. Usually the newer consultants are too nervous to get through the information and we have to have Tony catch us up afterwards. I’m impressed.”

Evie smirked, adjusting the strap of her tablet bag. “What, you thought I was just here for my looks?”

Steve chuckled. “Didn’t say that.” His voice was warm, teasing, but there was something else in his gaze—thoughtful, like he was taking her in, piece by piece.

She raised an eyebrow, smiling. “So…did you have a question about the polymorphic encryption?”

Steve grinned, shaking his head. “I was actually going to tell you we have an idea for Friday.”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Oh? Let’s hear it.”

Before Steve could answer, another presence turned around the corner and joined them—Bucky.

He came up alongside Steve, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, jaw set like he’d been debating whether or not to approach at all. His eyes flicked to Evie, then to Steve, and then back to Evie, something unreadable behind them.

Evie’s amusement doubled. Oh, this just keeps getting better.

Steve, ever the picture of composure, didn’t miss a beat. “I was just telling Evie we’ve got an idea for Friday.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, gaze unreadable. “Yeah?”

Steve nodded. “I was thinking we do something fun but low-key—an escape room, maybe? Something where we actually have to work together without any real stakes.”

“Interesting.” Evie tapped a finger against her chin. “Brainpower over brawn. I like it.”

Bucky made a noncommittal noise, finally looking directly at her. “I had something different in mind.”

She tilted her head, smirking. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

Bucky’s lips pressed together for half a second, like he regretted speaking at all. But then he exhaled, clearly committing. “Shooting range. Something real.”

Evie blinked, caught between intrigue and oh, that’s hot.

Steve turned to his friend, eyebrows raised. “Shooting range?”

Bucky shrugged, shifting his weight. “If we’re gonna do something together, might as well be something useful.” His gaze flicked to Evie again, sharper now. “Unless you’re more of a puzzle girl.”

Evie felt the corners of her mouth twitch. “Oh, Barnes,” she said smoothly, “I had heard you didn’t cooperate with others, but here I was thinking Steve and I could be the exception.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed—just for a second—before he gave her a look that sent heat curling up her spine. “Careful what you wish for.”

Steve cleared his throat, watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and something harder to place. “Well,” he said lightly, “we can let her decide.”

Evie crossed her arms, making a show of considering both options. “Hmm. Getting locked in a room full of riddles with you two or seeing which one of you is actually a better shot?” She grinned. “Tough choice.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. Bucky just studied her, quiet and unreadable.

Evie took a step backward, stepping into the elevator as she shot them a knowing look. “Guess you two will just have to wait and see.”

The doors slid shut, leaving them standing there.

And if she happened to hear Steve mutter this is gonna be interesting and Bucky let out a low breath after she left?

Well. That was just an added bonus.

Friday Morning |  Avengers Gym

Evie stepped onto the training mats, stretching out her arms as the familiar sounds of controlled violence filled the air—gloves smacking against punching bags, the rhythmic clash of fists meeting targets, the occasional grunt of exertion. The Avengers gym was in full swing, but she wasn’t here to train.

She had business to attend to.

Her eyes locked onto Steve and Bucky, both deep into their respective routines across the sprawling room.

Steve was on the far side of the gym, effortlessly delivering precise punches to a heavy bag. He looked infuriatingly composed, like he wasn’t absolutely pummeling the thing.

Bucky, meanwhile, was taking out some kind of frustration on a sparring dummy. His metal arm whirred slightly with each devastating hit, jaw tight, posture coiled. Whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t light.

Well. That wasn’t concerning at all.

Evie, fully aware she was about to make their day very interesting, strolled up with an easy smirk, holding her tablet in the crook of her arm and a coffee in the other. “Alright, boys. After careful deliberation, I’ve made my ruling on tonight’s game plan.”

Steve turned first, wiping his hands on a towel draped over his shoulder. “Oh yeah?”

Bucky took an extra second before acknowledging her, exhaling through his nose as he finally stepped back from his sparring dummy. “Let’s hear it.”

Evie let the silence stretch just a fraction longer than necessary, relishing their anticipation before flashing a wicked grin.

“We’re going to a vintage arcade.”

Bucky blinked..

Steve… processed. “Like… with pinball and Pac-Man?”

“Oh, exactly like that,” Evie confirmed, crossing her arms. “Figured you two would feel right at home, given your…considerable life experience.”

Steve’s lips pressed together in what was almost a smile. “You really never get tired of the old-man jokes, do you?”

“It’s not a joke if it’s a fact.” she cooed, tilting her head. 

Bucky finally scoffed, running a hand through his slightly damp hair. “An arcade.” His tone was as flat as a dead monitor.

Evie smirked. “Not just an arcade. A competition.” She let the word settle, watching their reactions. “You two pride yourselves on your combat skills, your strategies, your precision—but can you handle classic gaming warfare? We’re talking air hockey, racing sims, Street Fighter.” She raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking between them. “Unless you’re scared?”

Steve exhaled a quiet laugh, arms crossed, looking genuinely entertained. “I think we can handle it.”

Bucky, still looking deeply unamused, muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely ridiculous,” Evie agreed easily. “That’s the point.” She shrugged. “But hey, if you’d rather sit this one out…”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to hers, sharp, challenging.

Yeah. That did it.

She watched as his jaw tightened slightly before he huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’ll go.”

Evie’s grin widened. “That’s the spirit, Barnes.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, logistics. You two can pick me up at my place tonight.”

Steve raised a brow. “You sure?”

“Well, considering you both already know where I live…” She let the implication linger, taking a sip of her coffee. “Might as well capitalize on those free rides.”

Bucky, who had been very pointedly not reacting, made a small noise in the back of his throat.

Steve nodded. “Alright. We’ll see you tonight.”

Evie gave them both a little mock salute before turning on her heel.

____________

Miraculously, the rest of the day flew by. 

Evie barely registered the passage of time between the morning briefing and the end of the workday. She had spent the afternoon buried in the latest iteraation of the Iron Man suit, tuning out everything else as she dismantled, rebuilt, and improved the schematics Tony had thought were perfect. (They weren’t.)

By the time she actually glanced at the clock, it was already pushing six, and her hair (and overall appearance) was still an absolute disaster.

Well. That wasn’t ideal.

____________

“…so let me get this straight,” Jade’s voice crackled over speakerphone, amused and way too invested. “You’re spending your Friday night at an arcade—”

Evie shoved her foot into a boot, hopping slightly as she yanked the zipper up. “Vintage arcade.”

“Excuse me—” Jade continued, her tone dripping with mock reverence, “a vintage arcade… with two of the most absurdly attractive men on the planet, and you don’t think anything will happen tonight?”

Smirking, Evie reached for her other boot. “Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Jade scoffed. “Oh, babe. We sped past ‘ahead of ourselves’ when you invited them to pick you up at your apartment.”

Evie paused for half a second—damn, Jade had a point—before shaking it off and yanking her second boot into place. “Look, it’s casual. They’re picking me up in the lobby, not in my bedroom.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t be dropping you off there later..”

“Who am I to control fate if that’s where the night is destined to go,” Evie teased.

“Damn. You’re really not processing this fully, are you?”

“There’s nothing to process. We can joke, but the three of us made this plans in a group setting to keep ourselves from being boring workaholics. It’s platonic. It’s…fun. That’s all.”

Jade hummed like she didn’t believe her for a second. “Alright, fine, let’s pretend you’re totally right. What’s the actual plan here? You just gonna flirt your way through the night and hope the choice is made for you, or are we taking bets on which super soldier loses his mind first?”

Evie grabbed her phone off the vanity, laughing. “Please. If anyone is losing their mind, it’s me. I’m trying to play it cool, but I had a Steve Rogers poster hanging in my bedroom until I was thirteen. Plus, I got fined for drawing hearts around their faces in my sixth grade textbook during the Howling Commandos unit.”

“Finally, some honesty!” Jade cheered. “You’re into them, Evie. Both of them. Admit it.”

Evie hesitated.

Because, yeah. She was.

Steve, with his easy charm and steady, grounding presence. Bucky, with his quiet intensity and sharp, dry humor.

They were polar opposites, and yet… not. And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about what it meant to be caught between them.

But she wasn’t going to overthink it.

At least… not yet.

Before she could respond, a sharp bzzzzt interrupted her thoughts.

Her doorman’s voice came through the intercom. “Miss Evie, you have… two gentlemen waiting for you in the lobby.”

Jade screamed.

Evie winced, holding the phone away from her ear. “Jade!”

“Oh my GOD!” Jade cackled. “It’s happening. It’s literally happening.”

Evie bit back a grin, smoothing her top as she crossed the room. “Yeah, yeah, contain yourself.”

“Nope, sorry, absolutely losing it,” Jade said, her voice breathless with glee. “Babe, you are about to step into the greatest rom-com of all time. Or a very hot disaster. Either way, I’m living for it.”

Evie rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the thrill running through her. “I’ll call you later.”

“You better!”

Evie laughed, hitting the end button before she could get dragged into more chaotic speculation. Taking one last glance in the mirror, she exhaled. She’d settled on jeans over her favorite pair of boots, a white tank top that was just a smidge too low cut, and a vintage jacket from one of her most frequented stores back in Boston. Casual, but still flattering. She swiped on the kind of gloss that made her lips tingle and strode towards the door.

Showtime.

In the hall, she pressed the elevator button with the kind of confidence that only barely covered the very real excitement buzzing beneath her skin.

Because downstairs, two super soldiers were waiting.

And tonight?

Tonight was going to be fun.

Evie wasn’t nervous.

She refused to be nervous.

That would imply that tonight was something more than a casual outing between teammates, and she wasn’t the one making it complicated.

…Right?

Shaking off the thought, she stepped into the elevator, sliding her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She had gone for casual—but calculated casual. A little effort, but not too much. Her hair was loose, falling in waves over her shoulders, and those trusty boots gave her an extra inch of confidence. It was nice to give her hair a break from the ponytails she favored so heavily in the lab.

The elevator doors slid open—and instantly, she spotted them.

Steve and Bucky were waiting. They had been mid-conversation, standing near the glass entry doors—but the second she stepped out, they both stopped. Looked at her.

At the exact same time.

Evie slowed slightly, tilting her head as she took them in. Steve, predictably, looked like the picture of All-American charm—wearing a fitted blue sweater, dark jeans, that effortlessly boyish look that should have felt unfair but instead just made him more Steve.

Bucky, standing just a little more stiffly beside him, was dressed in his usual dark layers—black henley, leather jacket, hands in his pockets like he was already bracing himself for this night.

And the way they were both looking at her now?

Unfair.

Evie let the silence stretch for half a second before breaking it herself. “Well,” she drawled, grinning as she strode forward, “at least one of you dressed for fun.”

Steve smirked, relaxed. “I take it you’re not referring to me?”

Evie hooked an arm through each of theirs, boldly stepping between them like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Barnes, you do own something that isn’t black, right?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, but didn’t move away. “It’s grey.”

Evie shot him a knowing look. “Oh, wow. Revolutionary.”

Steve chuckled, but Bucky just shook his head as they started walking toward the doors. They stepped outside, and parked at the curb was Steve’s Jeep. He let go of her arm first, stepping forward to open the passenger door. “After you.”

Evie grinned, shook her head, and bypassed him entirely.

She opened the back door instead, sliding into the middle seat before leaning forward between their seats with a smirk.

“Sorry, boys,” she said breezily, tapping her fingers against Steve’s headrest. “Sitting in the back makes me feel important. Like I have my own personal security team.”

Steve let out a laugh as he crossed to the driver’s side. “You’re impossible.”

Bucky, already climbing into the front seat, rolled his eyes. “You’re something, alright.”

Evie just grinned wider,  leaning back and spreading her arms across the back seats. The Jeep rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the evening as they pulled away from her building. Steve glanced at her in the rearview mirror, an easy smile playing at his lips. “So, how was your week, Evie?”

Bucky didn’t react outright, but Evie caught the slight twitch of his fingers where they rested on his knee. He was listening.

She grinned, brushing her hand through her hair. “Oh, you know. Same old. Rewrote one of Stark’s suit protocols because it was, frankly, a mess. Bypassed an AI lockout one of the other engineers swore was unbreakable. Tested the mission tech about a trillion ways to make sure it’s solid, and for the record, it is.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Well, that’s good to hear.”

“I’m not sure how you thanked your previous technology consultants,” she drawled. “But my shoe size is 8, I like red roses, and Italian food is my favorite. Just a few ideas.”

Bucky’s voice, dry as ever, finally cut in. “Let’s get through the mission before we start the pandering.”

Evie tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “That’s fine. I can be patient. Plus, when this mission is over, it’ll give me some time to work on a few more fun projects.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Great. We’ll probably find out when we get back that you’ve unlocked nuclear codes just to see if you could.”

Evie grinned. “Please. Like I haven’t already gone down that road.”

Steve shot her a look in the mirror, half amused, half genuinely wary. “I feel like we should be more concerned.”

She shrugged. “Nah. Just trust that I’ve made sure that if Orpheus or anyone else tries to screw with us, I know exactly where the weak spots are.”

That got a reaction.

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward her, something more calculating beneath his usual skepticism. Steve’s grip on the wheel tightened just a fraction.

“Wow. Look at you two. So serious.” She exhaled dramatically, sinking back against the seat. “But no more work talk, that violates a cardinal rule of Friday night outings.”

Steve chuckled. “Oh, there’s rules now?”

“Only where necessary to ensure we’re successful. We’re here to have fun and not be workaholics, right? We made it, oh…” She checked the clock on the dashboard. “Less than ten minutes. We can try for a new record next week.”

Bucky, arms crossed now, just muttered, “Lovely.”

Evie grinned, ignoring him. “Fine. Let’s talk about you two instead. How do you feel about being historically accurate tonight?”

Steve glanced at her again, confused. “Historically accurate?”

She gestured at the windshield. “I mean, it is a vintage arcade. You two should feel right at home.”

Bucky’s head tipped back against the seat. “Oh my God.”

Steve sighed, shaking his head as if resigned to his fate. “Here we go.”

Evie leaned forward again, grinning. “Did they even have arcades when you were young? Or was it all, like, hoop-and-stick? Were you two pioneers of the pinball era?”

Steve exhaled a laugh, playing along. “I hate to break it to you, but I wasn’t that old when I went under.”

Bucky, however, just looked out the window and deadpanned, “We actually missed the invention of electricity by a few years. My first arm was wooden.”

Evie snorted. “I knew it.”

Steve shook his head, grinning now. “You know, you could try going one day without an old-man joke.”

Evie gasped, hand over her heart. “I could. But joking about either of your biceps or perfect hair just doesn’t hit the same.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand down his face, but she caught the way his mouth twitched—like he was fighting a smile.

Good.

Evie settled back into her seat, satisfied. “So,” she said, tapping her fingers against Steve’s headrest again, “I hope you boys are ready to be absolutely humbled tonight.”

Steve grinned. “Confident, huh?”

Evie winked. “It’s the only way to be. I want to win big. I’m speaking it into existence.”

Bucky, still looking out the window, muttered, “We’ll see.”

Oh. That sounded like a challenge. Evie’s smirk widened as they pulled into the parking lot.

This night just kept getting better and better.

The Jeep rolled to a stopt, neon lights from the arcade spilling onto the pavement like something out of an 80s movie. Evie practically bounced as she hopped out, taking in the flashing signs, the hum of old speakers, the chaotic mix of electronic bleeps and victory jingles filtering through the glass doors. Then, without missing a beat, she turned back to Steve and Bucky and grinned.

“Wow,” she said, placing a hand over her heart. “This must be deeply emotional for you two.”

Steve sighed, already shaking his head. “Here we go again.”

Bucky, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. “You really think we were hanging out in arcades before the war?”

Evie tilted her head. “Weren’t you?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “You do realize pinball didn’t even exist until the 1940s, right?”

“Between saving Steve from picking fights, there wasn’t much time for games.” Bucky grumbled. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Evie gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. You mean to tell me neither of you ever experienced the pure joy of stuffing a dollar into a rigged claw machine? Or—” she turned to Bucky, delighting in the way his gaze narrowed in anticipation of whatever was coming next—“gunning down zombies in a terribly pixelated first-person shooter?”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “Jesus Christ.”

Steve just gave her an entertained look. “You’re having fun already, aren’t you?”

Evie beamed. “Absolutely.” With that, she grabbed Steve’s sleeve and dragged him toward the entrance. “Come on, Cap,” she said, leading the way. “I’ve got so much to teach you.”

The second they stepped inside, Evie sighed happily. “Ahhh. The sound of capitalism.”

Steve, taking it all in with an almost nostalgic smile, shook his head. “So this is what we fought for, huh?”

Bucky, deadpan, replied, “Feels like a mistake.”

Evie grinned, ignoring them. Instead, she took one quick scan of the place before spotting exactly where she wanted to start. “Oh,” she breathed, eyes lighting up. “Steve. Steve.”

Steve blinked, immediately wary. “…Yes?”

Evie grabbed his wrist, already pulling him toward the air hockey tables. “Let’s go,” she said. “It’s time.”

Bucky, leaning casually against the machine next to them, watched with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion as Evie and Steve squared up.

“I hope you’re ready to have your ass handed to you, Rogers,” Evie said, rolling her shoulders.

Steve just smiled, rolling a puck between his fingers. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “That’s what they all say.”

Bucky, watching this unfold like it was a sporting event, muttered, “This is gonna be stupid.”

Evie pointed at him without looking away from Steve. “You’re next.” Bucky exhaled sharply but didn’t argue.

Steve just laughed, dropping the puck onto the table. “Alright. Let’s see what you got.”

Evie started strong. She was fast, aggressive, and absolutely not above playing dirty. Steve, ever the strategist, took his time reading her moves, adapting as he went. The result? Chaos.

By mid-game, Steve had flipped the script, catching up point by point, and Evie was swearing under her breath, jacket discarded on a barstool, hair slightly wild, and smirking like a woman on the edge.

Steve scored a goal, tying the game, and grinned at her as he stood up and rolled his shoulders. “I’m closing in on you.”

Evie, grinning back, leaned over the table. “I know.”

Then, before Steve could react, she launched a sneak attack—a perfectly timed shot while he was still catching his breath.

The puck slammed into his goal.

Victory.

Evie threw her arms up. “And that’s how it’s done!”

Steve, blinking, let out a startled laugh. “That was cheap.”

Bucky, who had actually chuckled, said, “You let your guard down, Rogers. Rookie move.”

Evie beamed, stepping away from the table. “Alright, Barnes. You’re up.”

Bucky raised a brow as he took a sip of his beer. “Pass.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. What’s the matter? Scared you won’t be as tough of a competitor as Steve?”

Bucky’s jaw tensed.

Hook, line, and sinker.

He let out a slow breath, pushed off the table, and tilted his head at her. “Fine.”

Evie grinned. “Good choice.”

Bucky, unsurprisingly, didn’t pick air hockey.

No.

He walked straight to the shooting games.

Evie, bemused, followed. “Oh wow. This is the most predictable thing you could’ve done.”

Bucky grabbed one of the plastic guns, barely reacting. “You wanted me to play.”

Evie smirked, crossing her arms. “That’s true. I did.”

They watched as Bucky nonchalantly selected the hardest difficulty. Evie, still watching him like he was a line of code she couldn’t wait to crack, raised a brow. “You don’t even want to warm up first?”

Bucky gave her a look. “I think I’ll manage.”

And then? He absolutely annihilated the game. Every single shot perfect. No misses. No wasted movements. By the time he finished the level—top score flashing on the screen—Steve was smirking and Evie was dumbstruck. 

Bucky casually put the gun back and turned to her. “Happy now?”

Evie, definitely enjoying herself too much, shrugged. “Yeah, actually.”

And then she turned back to Steve—like she hadn’t just mentally saved the image of Bucky effortlessly wrecking a shooting game forever—and smiled.

“Alright, Cap. Back to you.”

Evie lost track of time after that. Laughing with Steve. Playing through different games. Brushing arms with him here and there, caught up in the moment. But then—in between games, as the screen went dark for a second—

She saw the reflection.

Bucky.

Watching her.

The second the screen lit up again, it was gone.

But she felt it.

Low in her stomach.

And suddenly, the night didn’t feel so simple anymore.

Hours later, Evie, still buzzing from the last game, spun on her heel, hands on her hips as she surveyed the arcade. She was winning tonight, in more ways than one. Steve? He was all in on the fun, easygoing and competitive but never taking anything too seriously. Bucky? He was pretending this whole thing bored him—but she knew better now.

Now she was going to push just a little more.

Evie spotted the dartboard on the far side of the room and smirked.

She turned back to the guys, tilting her head. “Alright, boys. Final game. Winner gets to pick next week’s activity, and I promise not to veto it. Unless it’s horrible. Then I reserve the right.”

Steve, ever the good sport, grinned. “Darts?”

Evie flashed him a look. “It’s a classic. The ultimate old-man sport. It’s been around since the Dark Ages, probably. I figured you two would thrive.”

Bucky, who had been in the process of taking a sip from beer, rolled his eyes.

Steve just sighed, smiling despite himself. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

Evie beamed. “Not a chance.”

She strolled over to the dartboard, plucking a set of red darts from the shelf.

“Alright,” she said, offering them out to the two men. “Let’s see what you fossils can do.”

Steve went first.

He lined up his shot, perfectly focused, and— a near bullseye.

Evie sighed dramatically. “Ugh. Predictable.”

Bucky smirked slightly, shaking his head.

Then it was his turn.

He barely even hesitated, throwing the dart with effortless precision.

Another near- bullseye, hitting the board on the opposite side of the center.

Evie crossed her arms, pouting. “Oh, come on.”

Steve chuckled, nudging her shoulder. “Told you we’d be fine.”

Bucky, still looking at his dart the board, grumbled, “You wanted participation. If you didn’t want to lose, you shouldn’t have challenged us.” He turned to face her. “Time for you to back up all the shit-talking.”

Evie’s eyebrows shot up. Oh. Oh, really?

“Well,” she said, tapping her chin, “I would throw, but it’s obviously not fair. I don’t have an Olympic-level arm or a vibranium-enhanced one.”

Steve laughed. “Excuses already?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Wow. That’s gotta be against one of the rules.”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Okay, Barnes. If you’re so confident you can win, then helping me level the playing field shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yeah? And how do we do that?”

Evie grinned, stepping into the spot in front of the board. “Teach me.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

Bucky stared at her, immediately suspicious. “No.”

Evie ignored him, turning to Steve. “C’mon, Cap. You’re the world’s best teacher, right? Give me the proper form.”

Steve conceded with a smile. “Alright.”

He stepped behind her, lifting her arm slightly, adjusting the way she held the dart.

“Grip it a little lighter,” he said, his voice even and instructive. “Relax your wrist.”

Evie felt the warmth of his hand against hers, his touch gentle, careful. She was fully aware of how close he was. Then—a second later—

Bucky sighed. “Jesus Christ.”

Evie barely had time to register it before he moved behind her. One hand on her hip, the other adjusting her stance. “Widen your legs here,” his boot nudged the inside of her shoe and she obeyed. His hands rotated her hips ever so slightly, opening her up to the board.

Oh.

Oh, this was a mistake.

His fingers pressed lightly against her side, his voice gruff but quiet. “You’re stiff. Drop your shoulder.”

Evie swallowed.

The two of them had her completely caged in now.

Steve’s touch warm and steady on her hand as his fingers remained around her wrist.

Bucky’s presence solid and grounding behind her as his hands lingered on her hips.

Evie took a breath, focused on the board. She threw. The dart sank right into the bullseye.

She blinked, a little breathless, taking a moment to steady herself before grinning and stepping back from them.

“Well. Looks like I’m the winner.”

Steve exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Bucky, watching her closely now, muttered, “Unbelievable.”

Evie just smiled, grabbing her jacket.

“I think the rules say the loser has to pay the tab,” she said, grinning. “I’ll let you two decide that part amongst yourselves.”

Bucky snorted. “You’re unbearable.”

Evie winked. “And yet, here you are.”

Steve sighed, but he was smiling. “Alright. Let’s get you home.”

______

The drive back was easy, relaxed, and filled with the kind of effortless camaraderie that had been building between them. Steve drove, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other wrapped around the edge of the seat as he glanced between the road and Evie. Bucky sat in his usual way—legs spread, arm resting against the door, occasionally glancing toward the backseat where Evie sat leaning between them, chin propped on her hand.

The teasing had been nonstop.

"You know," Steve started, grinning as he shifted lanes, "I still think you got lucky with that shot."

Evie let out a mock gasp, clutching her chest. "Oh? You don’t think it’s because of my incredible instructors?"

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

Bucky let out a short huff of amusement, muttering, "Since when?"

Evie grinned at him through the mirror before refocusing on Steve. "Come on," she nudged, leaning forward just a little more, brushing against his shoulder. "You have to admit, that was better than a night sitting at the Tower with Sam. Your couch is comfortable, but not that comfortable."

Steve let out a long-suffering sigh, as if admitting defeat physically pained him. "Alright, you win. It was fun."

Evie beamed, victorious.

Steve glanced sideways at Bucky. “Don’t you agree, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged, staring straight ahead, deadpan. "Had a blast."

Evie snickered, nudging Bucky’s seat with her knee. "Oh, don’t let the excitement overwhelm you, Barnes."

Steve smirked. "Yeah, careful, Buck. You might actually sound like you enjoyed yourself."

Bucky’s mouth twitched, but he stayed resolutely blank. "If I say I had fun, you two are just gonna bring it up every five minutes for the next month."

Evie nodded sagely. "Smart man. It would probably be closer to two."

They reached the entrance to her building, laughter still lingering between them, the buzz of the evening refusing to fade even as they stepped inside. The lobby was quiet at this late hour, the sound of their footsteps muffled against the polished floors. The air smelled faintly of clean linen and expensive cologne, something Evie had loved ever since she first toured the building.

They walked toward the elevator, still loose, still light.

"And to think," Evie mused, swinging her keys around her finger, "we could all be screaming at each other in an escape room right about now."

Steve huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Okay, fine, your idea was better."

"That was almost the worst decision of our lives," Bucky muttered.

"Speak for yourselves," Evie shot back. "I love escape rooms. I just love winning more."

"Yeah, well, we have plenty of Friday’s to plan. I’m sure we’ll get there eventually.," Steve shook his head..

Bucky snorted. "Don’t count on it.."

They stopped in front of the elevator, the night’s energy still playful, still fun when Evie paused. She turned back to them, her smile just a little too sweet. It was subtle—barely a shift, but they both caught it.

Steve and Bucky straightened slightly, instincts kicking in.

Evie stepped inside the elevator, not breaking eye contact, her expression unreadable but decidedly smug. Steve's eyebrows lifted, Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

"I should probably confess something," she said smoothly.

The doors started to close.

Steve's fingers twitched at his side, as if readying for a curveball.

Bucky's jaw tensed. "What?"

Evie let the silence hang—just for a second, just enough to watch the intrigue sharpen in their eyes. Then she flashed them a grin.

"I’ve been playing darts with my dad since I was ten."

Silence.

The sound of the elevator humming softly around them. Steve blinked. Bucky's brows snapped together. Evie’s grin widened.

"I could hit a bullseye blindfolded."

The elevator doors began to slide shut. Steve's mouth parted slightly, a slow realization dawning. Bucky’s entire expression shifted—eyes narrowing, lips pressing into a thin line.

Evie beamed.

"Goodnight, boys."

The doors shut with a finality that left them standing there, staring at the closed elevator, silent.

For several beats, neither of them spoke.

Bucky finally exhaled.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Steve dragged a slow hand down his face.

"…We’re so screwed."

[writing-for-life]

2024 Roundup

Thank you all for being here!

It’s that time of year again—the recaps are flooding in. Ruuuuuun! 🤣

First of all: Thank you everyone who connected this year—you are all so appreciated, no matter if we are mutuals or not 🖤

I’ll give you a little selection of the posts that people loved most in 2024, plus a few related thoughts about what happened during the fandom year (I always do, so if that’s not your thing, you know what to do 😉)

And what a year it’s been for the Sandman fandom—lots of complicated feelings. For me, they start straight off the bat with this (I’ll get to why later)…

So let’s have a little look at:

Art

Here are the art posts you enjoyed most in 2024:

1. Dream by Vince Locke

2. Dream by Frank Quitely

3. Dream and Death by Mindy Lee

March Mania

My partner in crime @tickldpnk8 and I ran our first fandom event: March Mania. In a Tumblr fandom mostly interested in the show and shipping, it was so much fun to reconnect with the source material and feature the amazing original artists, and I still want to send the biggest “Thank You” to everyone who took part—you know who you are! 🖤

If that’s still not enough art for you:

You can find all my art curation posts via the #sandman art (all art, including my own somewhere) and #sandman x art (official artists only) tags on my blog.

[Speaking of art: I post art for all Sandman characters. However, if you look at the top posts squares on my blog, you’d think it’s only Dream. It’s both funny and a bit sad. You can use my character library to get started, but please, please support all the amazing artists and writers on here who create for more characters than just “the two” by checking character tags on main. You’ll only find the underappreciated characters if you go into the weeds yourself].

Fics & Poetry

I’m a professional writer. However, I’d never written fanfic before 2022. But I had a Sandman idea that wouldn’t leave me alone, and I clobbered it all together during NaNo ‘22 and published on a weekly schedule in 2023. It was a slow start (people on Tumblr are apparently a bit weird about OCs), but it’s really picked up since. I’m grateful for the little community I built around The Light of Stars, and writing its sequel “The Pillars of Creation” also kept me busy in 2024. It still has me in a tight grip right now (if all goes well, I’ll finally start publishing in January/February, yay!). But my writing in 2024 mostly belonged to canon characters, and these fics/poems were what you liked most:

1. Lupē (short vignette, Calliope x Morpheus)

2. Requiem (poem, Death & Dream)

3. Ode to Death (poem, Death)

Honorary mention: Dream’s Therapist [a fun little project I started just because I honestly think he needs one. Many of you seemed to agree, because you liked it more than all the other fics and poems of ‘24. This is the episode you liked most, but I personally don’t think it’s the best one—it’s just the first 🙈]

And again, if you’d like to read more, you can find all my fics and poetry here.

[Another annoying side note 🤣: The work of fic-writers gets shared so much less than that of artists and meta-writers. Even less if you don’t write reader fics, smut or for one of the big ships. I had this conversation with many other writers, and it’s the same for most of us, to the degree that people will ask us for the next chapter and tell us how much they like our fics, but never, ever share them. So maybe that’s something we can all improve on in 2025: If we like something, we’ll share it?]

Meta-Analysis

The Sandman is one of the few stories that hasn’t left me alone since my teenage years, despite having books and bookshelves clogging up literally every available space of my house. I find something new in this work all the time, and I just love taking the fine tooth comb to it.

And the next one is tricky for me, because in 2024, three of my metas took off a bit for certain reasons:

1. The Endless are not their Opposite—they only define it

2. The Truth of Mankind is also Dream’s

3. Only Hope calls you out like that

And at the time, the creator reading and acknowledging my thoughts meant something, simply because the story always meant so much to me—I’m not particularly susceptible to parasocial relationships or putting people on pedestals. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel a sense of anger and disgust on…

July 3rd

The Tumblr Sandman fandom has been limping for some time now because it’s mostly a show fandom. After such a long time with hardly any news, many people simply move on and get their shipping needs met somewhere else. As someone who is mostly interested in the source material/comics and literary/meta-analysis, it never worked like that for me because neither characters nor stories are replaceable for me. But NG turning out to be a piece of shit was definitely the death knell for an already dying fandom—I could actually show you stats to make a point, but I won’t because I want to keep the demarcation lines clean here: None of this should ever be mostly about fans being disappointed or “losing their comfort show”, or whatever. We didn’t lose anything. Those women did. And I personally think every new fan should know about what he did so it doesn’t happen again. Plus, the structures that enable the abuse of power and, more importantly, keep people like this in power, will never be brought down if we pretend they don’t exist. But whether someone can separate the art from the artist is entirely up to them, and no one owes anyone an explanation. Emotional processing is hard, not every personal thought needs to be aired publicly, and our actions matter far more than our words. That’s all I’m going to say about it—my first post on the matter still stands.

Community: The Sandman Book Club

The news awkwardly coincided with having just founded the meanwhile biggest Sandman community on here. And despite everything: I love what my co-admin @tickldpnk8 and I have put together to reconnect people with the source material. We’re always happy if new people join and participate (it’s a community, not a blog 😉).

Fandom Thoughts

There was a lot of stuff in between (we got a S2 sneak peak!)—the same old fandom discourse is one of them. But if I have one goal for 2025, it’s that I want to maintain creating the space I’d like to see.

So in that vein, I’ll be honest and tell you what I lament most: It’s the transition of fandom into a consumer space. As someone who is more of a creator and sharer, I want to keep doing my bit because I love doing it. But I’d lie if I didn’t admit that my well felt fairly empty at times, and that my energy is a bit drained at this point. Investing energy into a limping fandom while others openly stated they would “only come back when S2 starts because there’ll be more engagement” felt strange, and I freely admit it annoyed me at times. It’s just a way of thinking I don’t get—are we primarily fans, or are we primarily chasing clout?

And speaking of engagement:

I often see beautiful art and wonderful poetry that has under 10, or even 0, notes. And it breaks my heart a little that so many people don’t share/reblog anymore. Because every time I reblog someone’s underappreciated art, I see the notes of those posts go up because my blog is connected enough to kick off a chain of engagement, even if it’s not always earth-shattering. You can do that, too. But it won’t happen if you only like. Reblogging is not for social clout—I personally believe that’s a fundamental misunderstanding when it comes to fandom. I see it more as saying Thank You for a gift someone gave us, and to make sure that more people also receive that gift.

Because artists/writers give their gift to fandom. Making others happy and connecting over it is the whole point!

And I’d love to see fandom turning into more of a gifting culture again. These pockets exist, so I’m not saying it��s not a thing anymore. But I also see a growing culture in which people only consume and at best engage in a TikTok/Insta-type manner by giving a like that holds no real thought. I get not everyone is a creator. But if you’re not, your gift could be to share and engage more thoughtfully. It doesn’t have to be with everything—it already makes a difference if it’s only the stuff you’d like to see more of. That’s my fandom wish for 2025…

I’ll see you all on the other side—much love to you, and may only the best come your way 🖤

[maineshewrote]

My idea for Oliretta for seasons to come. It most definitely will not go this way in canon, but this was too little (or too much) to turn into an actual fanfic, so I’m just putting the draft out here.

Oliretta spend season 5 battling the cons of their long distance relationship (with some heart-warming moments, too, from time to time) and by the end of the season Loretta returns home. She either quits her show for Oliver (which would leave Oliver feeling guilty) or for some other reason (something unacceptable about the production, and Oliver remains guilt-free) or the show moves to New York because the algorithm has picked up that that city is hot right now.

The closer the trio get to solving Lester’s murder, the more there is half-concerned-half-joking talk about who the next body in the building will be, with Oliver getting increasingly irritated at the prospect of his wife being the one. By this time the fans would either be convinced that all this teasing could not possibly lead anywhere or that it’s a massive bad omen.

If the Arconia stalker is caught this season, too, then there should be a joke about the trio finally being able to live their lives without people watching/recording them and what would ever happen in their apartments that anyone would want to take another look at anyway. Which in hindsight is going to be poignant because, obviously, this is the murder building.

Right after the trio catches Lester’s killer, they want to retire to Oliver’s place to recap, record and celebrate, only when they get there the door is open and there’s blood. Oliver, immediately horrified and convinced that his wife has been killed, is petrified with fright while Charles and Mabel rush inside. They find Loretta all covered in blood, staggering towards them, looking equally terrified (cue a chance for Meryl to showcase her immaculate dramatic acting) but there’s another dead body behind her. (This theory does not include who the victim will be, for I haven’t decided yet. I’d like it to be someone less known this time around, because we’ve lost too many friends lately.)

Side note: This would be a great opportunity for the soundtrack to include a darker, dramatic version of Loretta’s theme, starting from the trio entering the elevator to ride to the 10th floor, so that the audience would get to experience some beforehand angst, and culminating at the end with the trio finding Loretta.

Anyway, this gruesome cliffhanger is explained at the start of season 6, after a year of fretting and frantic theorizing for the fans. Loretta found the victim dying in their apartment and tried to help them, but they died anyway. Loretta herself is physically completely unharmed, and she is not the killer either, although the trio pause on that theory for like half a minute.

Loretta spends the season battling the trauma that this experience has left her with and hiding the fact from Oliver, who she thinks has enough on his plate with the investigation. Also, she feels ridiculous for reacting so strongly when the podcast trio have seen so much more death and all seem relatively fine. She confides in Dickie, which strengthens her bond with her son, and Dickie tries relentlessly to encourage her to open up to Oliver about how much the Arconia has started to terrify her (so much so that she’s staying late at work to avoid spending time at the Arconia, which in turn unsettles Oliver). Mabel also tries to ask Loretta if she’s okay, knowing all too well what it’s like to have someone die, basically, in her arms, but Loretta easily brushes off her concern because confiding in Mabel would be guaranteed to get back to Oliver.

The trio include Loretta in the investigation as far as her moments with the victim call for and Loretta tries not to meddle too much, in the process distancing herself from Oliver, too.

By the end of the season Oliver opens up to Loretta about his concern for her safety at the Arconia and Loretta, in turn, finally reveals how much the case has been weighing on her. They end up promising each other to be more open with each other about their emotions, especially the negative ones that they have been trying to spare each other up to now.

Wholesome side detail: Loretta spends the season knitting little clothes for Oliver’s grandchildren, which helps her calm her nerves, prompts sweet family-themed conversations with Oliver and gets Loretta to bond with Mabel over their love for knitting.

[1800-fight-me]

Thunderstorms & Heartache Part Two

Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

You can find part one here!

Rating: E (Explicit) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending of course - wink wink), oral sex (f receiving), and PiV sex

Word count: About 3.8k

Synopsis: After a tumultuous reunion with Aemond, will one lie be all it takes to push you apart for good?

Author’s note: Here's part two! Sorry it took me literally a million years - I hope y'all enjoy! P.S. Comments will make my entire day and earn you a kiss on the forehead!

I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

Recap from Part One:

“I must tell you that I was not completely honest with you before,” he said, his voice low and vulnerable. 

“About what?” you asked carefully. 

“I do know who my brother intends to betroth you to,” he replied. 

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, wordlessly asking him to explain, even as you extricated yourself from his grasp and crossed your arms. 

He pressed his lips together. 

“You are to marry me,” he said finally. 

“What?” you gasped. 

Part Two:

You already yelled at him and called him a liar. There was nothing else to say. 

You felt empty, numb. When the anger was released you weren’t sure what else was there. 

He hadn’t defended himself when you raged at him like you expected him too. 

Aemond took the verbal lashing with guilt and understanding in his eyes, and it took the wind and the anger out of you. 

He helped you settle into Vhagar’s saddle in silence. 

You rode in that same heavy silence, and soon the sky overhead broke and rain poured. 

The raging storm matched your mood so you could not bring yourself to complain. 

Besides, the rain hid and washed away your quiet tears at his betrayal. Of course he lied to you about something as important as your future and your duty. 

You thought he knew how much fear revolved around your future, so for him to keep such vital information from you was gutting. 

Though if you were truly honest with yourself, a future with Aemond inspired significantly less dread than your former betrothed. And it was nothing compared to the ice cold terror you felt when you had no idea who you would be wed to. You knew the kind of man that Aemond is, and you cared for him deeply. Even still, you were hurt. 

You could sense that he wanted to talk and attempted to get himself to say something several times, but your sullen quiet kept him from trying to start a conversation. 

Hours passed and soon you could see that you were near King’s Landing. 

“We shall be there within the hour,” he said as he leaned close enough to your ear in order for you to hear him that you could feel his breath caress your skin. 

You felt a spark of anger at yourself that your body reacted so strongly to him as you shivered.

Your back was fully pressed into his chest and there was a part of you, and not a small part, that wished to forget what happened between the two of you and relax into his body and allow him to fully embrace you. 

You nodded curtly but said nothing else. 

The rain did not let up and neither did your mood. 

As Vhagar landed on the outskirts of the city, you allowed Aemond to once again grasp hold of your waist and help you off the massive dragon. 

It was unfortunate that anger did nothing to dispel desire, though you supposed that was the story of your life. 

He said your name softly as your feet reached the ground and you were pressed against him. 

“What?” you asked, your voice broken. 

He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. 

“Aemond, what is there to say? I am exhausted and filthy. Can we not just allow this wretched trip to end without another fight?” 

He pursed his lips and nodded. 

He helped you onto the back of yet another horse after he had done the same. 

He reminded you that while you rode through the city it was important to still be as discreet as possible, so you both pulled up the hoods of your cloaks. 

You sat behind him and tentatively wrapped your arms around his trim waist. 

You gave into the desire for comfort and pressed yourself against him fully and buried your face in his back as the horse began a light trot. 

He placed his hand over yours and ran his thumb back over your skin and you relaxed immediately. 

You knew it wasn’t fair to seek his comfort when you had been so angry with him, but you could not choose your feelings for him.  

Besides, you were covered in mud and remnants of blood, traumatized, and tired beyond belief. 

You actually began to doze off, glad for your tight grip on Aemond that prevented you from falling, and were nearly startled when Aemond pulled the horse to a stop. 

There were hands on you that helped you off the horse, as you realized it was a king’s guard and not Aemond, you stiffened and pulled back. 

Aemond chuckled at your befuddled expression and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

Queen Alicent was suddenly there and she looked at you and Aemond in concern, placing a hand on both your faces. 

“Are you alright?” she asked somewhat breathlessly as if she had raced across the Red Keep to greet her son. 

“Still in one piece,” Aemond replied. 

She sighed in relief and ordered you to be escorted to your new chambers. 

With one last look back at Aemond, you allowed a king’s guard to guide you then complied when the maids within undressed and bathed you. 

You tumbled into the large four poster bed, slid between satin sheets, and allowed sleep to pull you under. 

_______________

Your hands were covered in blood. You stared at them in horror, recognizing the hands before you as your own but also not comprehending that fact, as you turned them palm up. 

Blood pooled in your palms and dripped down onto the grass before you. You looked up and saw that you were in a meadow filled with flowers of the most violent bright red. Your breathing quickened as panic threatened to consume you. 

You turned around, hoping to escape the horror, but stopped short when you saw an enormous mirror with intricate gold details that decorated the frame. 

In the mirror you saw yourself, hands still coated in now drying blood, but to your terror, there was a large dragon behind you. 

A dragon with blood coating its teeth and maw as it snarled. You trembled where you stood, unable to do anything but stare into the mirror. 

The dragon had snow white scales, piercing eyes of sapphire blue, and sharp claws that were dark with the coppery color of dried blood. 

You were petrified, and yet…. 

The dragon cocked his head in a motion that felt all too familiar. You turned around slowly and made full eye contact with the dragon who slowly laid his head down at your feet, showing you complete loyalty. 

A sudden feeling of comfort and safety filled you. 

Your name was being called, though it sounded far away. You began blinking rapidly and soon your location changed. 

You were dreaming, you realized as you blinked your eyes open to find yourself in the bed you had tumbled into the night prior. 

And for the first time in days, the person that woke you was not Aemond. 

There was a pang of something that felt dangerously close to disappointment at the realization that the person that woke you was a lady’s maid. 

“My lady, it is nearly midday and the prince is here and has requested you meet him for lunch,” the kind woman said. 

You nodded and began to rise, even as your heart skipped a beat. 

After dressing and being fussed over enough, you stepped out of your chambers and smiled as you saw him. 

He breathed out a sigh of relief as he smiled at you warm enough to melt your heart. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked with concern.  You took the half step forward and hugged him tightly, and after a moment of surprise, he hugged you back. 

He chuckled softly. “I came here to beg your forgiveness, I did not expect to obtain it so easily.” 

You laughed, the sound thick with unshed tears. 

“I am sorry that I was not honest with you,” he said as you pulled back and stared up at him. 

“I would be more willing to let you completely off the hook if you explained yourself,” you said with a smirk. 

He smirked right back at you and said, “I would be happy to, my lady, would you allow me to escort you to lunch while I do so?” 

You nodded and took his offered arm. 

You walked through the halls of the Red Keep and into the beautiful gardens full of blooming flowers of purple and white. 

“I thought you understood me. That you understood…”

“Understood?” 

“The amount of fear and dread that I have felt about my future, my duty.” you said as you looked down at the ground. 

“You did not always feel that way though,” he said, clearly thinking back to your shared childhood. 

You felt a stray tear fall down your cheek. 

“I was certainly more carefree when we were young. And also…also I had deluded myself into thinking I would be wed to you, before we fell apart that is, and a future with you did not seem so scary,” you confessed. 

“It is unfortunate that we had such a deep misunderstanding and became so angry with one another, for that was my wish as well,” he said. 

“Childish dreams I suppose,” you said and he chuckled. 

“Not anymore. I was certain due to your disdain towards me that the news that we were to be betrothed would not be well received. I found myself acting cowardly by not telling you,” Aemond said gently. 

You sighed softly. 

“I have to be honest with you,” you said, nerves making your voice breathy and high. 

“Yes?” 

“I have never once hated you. In fact I am almost certain I have loved you for my entire life,” you said. 

And under the willow tree with a picnic set up beneath it, Aemond pulled you to a stop. 

He cupped your cheek and led you to look up and meet his gaze. 

“How fortunate it is that we feel the same way,” he purred. 

You grinned, even as you rolled your eyes at him, and pulled him in for a life shattering kiss. As much as you liked to pretend, you were clearly not immune to his charms. 

He consumed you and you melted into him, became one with him as his lips moved against yours and your tongues tangled. 

He gripped your waist as you plunged a hand in his silken white hair that you have so long admired. He backed you up enough that your back hit the trunk of the tree. You groaned. 

He was moments away from using the tree behind you as leverage to lift and hold you up, when a cleared throat interrupted your passionate embrace. 

“So I take it you are on board with this marriage?” Aegon drawled. 

You pulled back from Aemond and glared at your king. He smirked in traditional Targaryen smugness that made your blood boil. 

You pointed a finger at him and Aemond pulled you back against his chest before you could lunge at Aegon the way you would when you were all children. 

“You are an absolute imbecile-” 

“Careful, my beloved, he is your king. Even if that was the worst kidnapping you’ve ever been a part of,” Aemond said and his joke managed to cut through your anger. 

You huffed a reluctant laugh even as Aegon smirked. 

“The wedding will be this afternoon,” Aegon ordered as he turned away. 

You looked back at Aemond, your eyes huge and he held up his hands. 

“This is news to me as well,” he said. 

You sighed and rested your head on his chest. 

“You better pray this dumbass plan of your brother’s concoction works,” you mumbled. 

He rubbed his hand up and down your spine in reassurance. 

“Whatever the outcome, my love, we will be together,” he said. 

You grinned and he kissed you once more. 

_______________

The ceremony was small and quick. 

All that mattered were your vows, that he was yours and you were his. 

He kissed you with such emotion that your heart threatened to burst. 

There was an intimate family feast scheduled for directly after, but Aemond led you away, claiming he needed only a moment of your time before you met up with the others. 

“Aemond!” you said with a giggle as he pulled you into his chambers and shut the door behind you. 

“Hush, wife, I have a gift for you,” he said as he planted a firm kiss on your lips. 

A shiver went down your spine as you smiled against his lips. 

You kissed him more fervently and he pulled back with a signature smirk and chuckle that used to enrage you, but now filled you with a different kind of warmth. 

“I was not using innuendo, my beloved, I truly do have a gift for you,” he said as he extricated himself from your grasp and guided you towards his desk with a hand on your lower back. 

You giggled as you followed him. 

He presented you with a small box. You looked up at him with lust filled eyes, tempted to toss the box to the side and throw yourself at him and allow yourself to be consumed by your dragon’s flames. 

“Open it,” he ordered. 

You opened it at the promise you saw in his eye to fulfill your desires. 

You gasped at the necklace with a delicate silver chain and beautiful sapphire that winked at you in the firelight. You looked back at your new husband, and saw that the gem on your necklace was an exact match to the one that graced his wounded eye. 

“You once told me that sapphires are your favorite,” he said. 

Your laugh was choked up by a sob at his obvious thoughtfulness and love for you. He was not lying that he has loved and cared for you for the entirety of your lives. 

You thought about your young heartbroken friend who loved you despite the hurt and chose a sapphire to replace his lost eye with some hope that you would approve. 

“Will you put it on for me?” you ask shyly as you wipe away the tears. 

He smiles, a genuine breathtaking smile. You laugh and cry at the same time again. 

Aemond took the necklace from you, then placed his hands on your waist and turned you around gently so you faced away from him. Your breath caught as he grazed his fingers across your collarbone then brushed against your neck. 

You shivered. 

You waited patiently as he clasped the chain around your neck. You’d never felt lighter, in fact, you felt like you were floating- high up in the air on dragonback. 

He turned you back around and continued to adjust the necklace around your throat, a gleam in his eye as you smiled prettily at him- proudly displaying his claim on you. 

His lips crashed against yours and you willingly, gleefully succumbed to the storm of him. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, held him tighter. The feeling of his strong warm body against yours had you melting. 

As his tongue grazed yours, you tangled your fingers in his hair. 

He kissed you thoroughly and completely as he claimed your mouth. You whimpered with desire and it only spurred him on more. 

He gripped your waist tighter as he guided you to walk backwards until your legs bumped into the bed. 

He led you to sit on the edge of the bed and you whined as he pulled his lips away from yours. He smirked cockily and then surprised you when he didn’t kiss you again, he didn’t guide you to lay back or crawl on top of you, no- he kneeled in front of you. 

He slowly removed your shoes and stockings before he ran his hands up your now bare legs, pushing your skirt up, up, up until his hands rested on your thighs. 

He placed your ankles on his shoulders and you took a shuddering breath. 

He ran his nose against your calf as his hands inched higher up your thighs. 

He groaned with desire. 

“You’re mine, aren’t you, gorgeous?” he purred. 

You nodded your head and but your lip as you watched him, and a second heartbeat throbbed in your core. 

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice soft as his nose grazed up to the middle of your thigh. Your breath caught as he pushed your skirt up high enough that your panties were exposed to him. 

“I’m yours,” you breathed out. 

“Mhm,” he hummed as he pressed soft opened mouth kisses to the sensitive skin of the inside of your thighs. 

His lips moved higher and higher as did his hands until he gripped your hips and his face was level with your core. 

His eye flickered to the wet patch in your panties and he hummed his approval. 

The sight of him between your legs was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen and your breaths came fast and quick. 

He buried his nose in your still clothed pussy, took in a deep breath, and groaned with desire as he exhaled. 

You whimpered. 

His gaze met yours and he smiled at the sight of you shuddering with desire for him. 

The anticipation was more than you could take. 

“Please, Aemond,” you whined. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he teased and hooked a finger in your panties and pulled them slowly down and off before he dropped them on the floor. 

He moaned as he took in your glistening pussy, wet just for him. 

Before you could finish whining the word please again, his mouth was on you. 

He licked a long stripe up your core and groaned once more. 

“Nectar of the gods,” he murmured before he devoured you. 

He licked and licked and licked you and made you feel a way you’d never felt before. 

You moaned wantonly as he sucked at the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs and you gave you a pleasure unlike any before. 

He slipped a finger inside you and you squeaked at the intrusion, but soon moaned as he crooked his finger and rubbed against a spot you’d never found yourself. 

You felt something build inside you as he continued to move his tongue on your clit in a perfect rhythmic action. 

He slipped another finger inside you, stretching you a bit, but you couldn’t be bothered as your release became impending. 

“Aemond,” you whimpered and he groaned into your pussy. 

“Give it to me, my love,” he ordered. 

Your release shattered through you with a moan loud enough to echo through his chambers. You couldn’t bring yourself to care or be embarrassed. Not when your new husband looked beyond pleased with you. 

“You are utter perfection,” he breathed out as he stared at you, his mouth slightly open and his pupil dilated with desire. 

He stood from his kneeling position before you and your eyes fell to the obvious evidence of his arousal. Your mouth watered. 

He kissed you deeply before pulling back once again. 

He quickly and efficiently removed his clothes and then yours. 

Your breath quickened once again as you took in the glorious sight of Aemond completely bare before you. You’d dreamed of this many times, but nothing could have prepared you for when he laid you down and slotted himself between your legs. 

As your eyes met his, all of the nerves fell away. You were ready for him and felt completely secure in his arms as he kissed you gently, sweetly, in preparation for what was to come. 

“I love you,” you said as his lips trailed down your neck. 

“You, my beloved, are the love of my life,” he imprinted onto your skin as he trailed his lips down to your breasts. 

He licked and sucked at the peaks of your breasts and you moaned as you tangled your fingers into his hair and urged him on. 

You somehow became even wetter and your slick coated his cock as he slid it through your folds. 

“I need you,” you breathed out and he grunted in agreement. 

He leaned up and kissed your lips once more before he slotted himself against your entrance and slowly began to push inside you. 

You gasped at the intrusion and he murmured sweet words and pressed soft kisses to any of your skin that he can reach. 

He pressed in and in and in. There was some discomfort but he had readied you thoroughly so there was not the pain you had anticipated. 

Once he was seated fully inside you, you wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him. 

His lips moved against yours with such gentleness that despite the fact that you’d loved him nearly all your life, you somehow fell in love with him even more. 

He pulled back with a hand on the side of your face, a question in his expression, and as you nodded he began to move inside you. 

He pulled nearly all the way out of you before he slid back in. 

You moaned breathlessly and he moaned along with you. 

So slow, his pace was nearly excruciatingly slow as he pulled out and pressed back deep deep inside you and reached a place that had never been reached before. 

Over and over again until your patience was lost. 

“Faster,” you urged and with a groan that showed how frayed his self control was, he complied. 

And you learned how truly full of fire the blood of the dragon was. 

Aemond pulled out before snapping his hips back in against yours. The pace quick and the thrusts deep. 

He gave you a pleasure unlike any you had ever experienced before. You felt so full, a feeling you had never thought you would be so desirable. 

You felt complete as your husband filled you and you clenched around him. 

You pulled his face down to kiss him messily and his thrusts became frantic. 

He twirled his tongue with yours and you gripped his back and held him as close to you as was possible. 

The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room and only increased your desire for him. 

His pleasure was your pleasure as he held you tight and moaned your name into your mouth as he came and filled you with his seed. 

He kissed you once more, twice more, three times before he pulled out of you and rolled to lie next to you on the bed, giving you both time and space to catch your breath. 

You turned to look at him and trailed your fingers down his cheek, then across his chiseled chest and stomach. 

“When can we try that again?” you asked, still a bit breathlessly. 

He chuckled and took your hand in his. He pressed a kiss to your palm. 

“Whenever you want, my gorgeous wife, but at least give me a few moments to recollect myself,” he replied with a smile. 

Later, you strode into your own wedding feast arm in arm with your new husband, more than fashionably late, a smile on your lips and the sapphire necklace around your throat glittering in the light the same as Aemond’s matching eye. 

You were unafraid of your father’s reaction, certain you were of his impending arrival once he received the news. 

The truth is, you’d never felt more secure. Your heart healed, your future one of promise and love rather than fear and hurt, and the love of your life by your side to weather life’s storms with. 

[eelviraly]

The Hidden Pages - Gravity Falls Fanfiction by me!!! (eelviralyyy)

Summary:

WARNING: There will be spoilers in the recap description for Gravity Falls. A small, sleepy and seemingly boring town in the middle of Oregon called Gravity Falls, where two preteen twins Mabel and Dipper from the Pines family spend their summer before technically turning into official teens. Throughout their summer spent there that year, they encountered many mysteries unlike anything they had ever experienced in California. They also made friends, foes, and unraveled secrets of Gravity Falls, the infamous Bill Cipher, even their own family. When returning back to their home, Dipper opens a letter from everyone in Gravity Falls. "See you next summer". 𖠰 Almost a whole year later, the now-officially-teen twins return to the town up north and reside with their great-uncles, Stanley and Stanford, who had returned from a long trip. Reuniting with their family and friends, everything seems to have gone back to normal just as it was the previous year. Same creatures, same people, same weird old mailman. That is, until a knock at the door disrupts the family on a Friday morning.

Notes:

This fanfiction will be a fan-made prequel & sequel to the show, also including different point of views. Credit to Alex Hirsch for making this story! I am not in affiliation with Alex or anyone else who worked on Gravity Falls. This is simply a fanfic with new fan-made characters (some not mine, credits will be given at the end of whatever chapter's they are used in!), designs, stories, and lore (with connections + references to canon). Updates may be slow! I will be working on this continuously. If anything happens, I will be writing an author's note and deleting it once I continue working on the series again. Story will be including codes and shifts from past to present. Enjoy!!! Also, don't print my fanfiction(s) out. I don't like when people do that with anyone, it makes me uncomfortable and I'm pretty sure it's illegal. Don't use my works, art, or story without permission please. Thank you. ◬

chapters 1-3 are posted already !!! here's some teasers if ur interested ^_^ each chapter is about 1k-2k words, usually depending on how important the chapter is (or if i just got carried away LMAO). also the fic is on ao3 or wattpad just so its more accessible to anyone who wants to read it.

Chapter 1 - A Project

Chapter 2 - An Uneventful Morning

Chapter 3 - It's Been a Long, Long Time

okayyy thank you for reading! have a great day/night !!! ٩(＾◡＾)۶

[ofmdrecaps]

01/15-17/2025 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Darby Family Cats; Kristian Nairn; Samson Kayo; Madeleine Sami; Lindsey Cantrell; Andrew Deyoung Damien Gerard; Dominic Burgess; Articles; Fan Weeks: Sprizzy (Jan 20-26), and OFMD Aro/Ace Week (March 23-29); Love Notes;

Hey Crew. There's been a lot of heavy stuff happening lately. I spent a bunch of time working on backing up some tiktok vids from the crew, and then they brought it back so it's available again yay! But if you are interested in downloading any of the copies because you don't have a tiktok account you can do so here.

= David Jenkins =

Sad days, the legend David Lynch passed away on Jan 15th. So many of our cast & crew put together lovely dedications for him. I'll try to add more to the repo, but I'm running out of image room here. He made a huge impact in so many lives and will be greatly missed. David shared this photo of him with the words "Goodbye King". RIP sir.

Source: David Jenkins Instagram

Chaos Dad was sharing his friends go fund me again, and it's at 94% fulfilled! If you have the capability and would like to donate to help them reach their goal you can visit Carolyn & Jamie's Gofundme

Source: David's IG

= Rhys Darby =

The real video (not the old one I linked last time, sorry yall!) from Rhys' recent interview with The Project in AONZ is up on youtube!

Source: The Project TV Youtube

Rhys is promoting the movie Love Hurts that he plays in with Ke Huy Quan-- premiering on Feb 7th!

Source: Rhys Darby's Facebook

= Darby Family Cats =

Gizmo is getting some snuggles from the new kitten!

Source: Rosie's IG Stories

= Kristian Nairn =

Kristiant tried to get us a Wee John Wednesday going, but poor Nathan ended up being too sick to join. Kristian shared some cool gifts he's gotten from fans over the years, discussed plans about his upcoming projects (more jewelry and gear that is affordable and people want to wear!).

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A post shared by Kristian Nairn (@kristiannairn)

Source: Kristian Nairn's IG

= Samson Kayo =

Samson was in Queensland starting his work for the new Voltron show!

Source: Samson's Ig Stories

= Madeleine Sami =

Our dear Archie was out partying with friends!

Source: Madeleine's IG Stories

= Andrew DeYoung =

Andrew Deyoung, one of our directors has been doing so much to help the people of LA, and his brother in law is a lawyer who works in Disaster Claims. He shared this very helpful free class incase you need the information!

Source: Andrew Deyoung's IG Stories

= Lindsey Cantrell =

Our dear Lindsey Cantrell, set decorator for OFMD S2, has been pivotal in sharing so much information and support of cast & crew and so many others affected by the LA fires. She put together a beautiful dedication filled with hope I just wanted to share with you. She continues to be a beacon of kindness.

Source: Lindsey's Instagram

= Damien Gerard =

Damien had his 10 year anniversary of moving to the US! Lots of memories there-- on a later date he mentioned he is officially off all other socials, so if you'd like to keep up to date with him, you can follow him on his Bluesky!

Source: Damien's Bsky

= Dominic Burgess =

Dominic is keeping our spirits up with cat pics!

Source: Dominic's Bsky

== Articles ==

Kind of amazing just how many articles continue to feature out beloved show! Thank you to @adoptourcrew for sharing them!

Pride.com Article

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Bsky

Out ranked the 25 best queer TV shows of the century so far

Source: Adopt Our Crew Bsky

The 20 Best Misfit Comedies

Source: Adopt Our Crew Bsky

== Fan Weeks ==

= Sprizzy Week =

It's Sprizzy Week (Jan 20-26) for all you Lucius x Izzy Fans out there! Follow them on Bluesky! They've got their prompts and bingo cards up if you'd like to participate or just check it out!

Source: SprizzyWeek Bsky

= OFMD Aro/Ace Week 2025 =

There's a fabulous week coming up March 23-29, 2025! "OFMD Aro/Ace Week is fan event for creation & sharing of fanfic & art focused on asexual and aromantic identities. This is a week to celebrate the beautiful spectrum of a-spec identities and experiences in the OFMD community!" Socials: Bsky

Source: OFMD Aro / Ace Week

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies. Been a bit of a time huh? So much has happened in just a weeks time... David Lynch passed, The Gaza Ceasefire was announced, the inauguration in the US happened (I'm about a week late on this edition which is why there's a time discrepancy.

It has been a complete shit show everywhere, and I've seen a lot of different emotions bouncing around. First and foremost, grief, sadness, fear, but also hope, and perseverance.

Whatever big feels you're feeling right now, please know that they are so incredibly valid. This shit is hard to live through, so take a break, cope how you need to cope okay? You take care of you, and let us know if we can help somehow. I wanted to share this here because I wrote this the other day as kind of a love note that couldn't wait for a recap, and a way for me to express myself with all the muddled feelings I was experiencing, it's about community and your individual impact. If you'd like to read it, you can do so on my main blog, here.

If not, no worries-- here's some love notes for all our siblings who need them today. So much love to all our LGBTQ+ Family, but huge hugs to our trans and non binary sibs who are going through it real hard at the moment. We love you, you are valid. We are here for you okay?

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Abprallen (@abprallenuk)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Spiritual Asylum (@spiritualasylum)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rochester LGBTQ+ Together (@roclgbtqtogether)

[blorbologist]

Feeding a Flying City

[Aeor, by Pretty Useful Co.]

This started as a little exercise in my worldbuilding thoughts for some off-hand stuff mentioned in my current fic, but I uh. Got Into It. So enjoy, if you're into two thousand words of nerding out about fantasy economics and agriculture and spells. For the sake of context, this is specifically looking at Exandria's flying cities in the Age of Arcanum, working off D&D 5E's rules as written (so I'm avoiding inventing spells).

When tackling the Age of Arcanum in my fanfic, I knew going in that I wanted to use this space to stretch my worldbuilding muscles and fill in some of the space left by Matthew Mercer and Brennan Lee Mulligan with reasonably plausible meat and bones.

One thing I was excited to squint at was the issue of how the hell flying cites feed their populations. 

The ‘lonely city’ is a common fantasy trope, especially in visual media. Your towering bastion of civilization (or spire of evil) on the open plains, or beside a river, or deep in the mountains certainly makes for a great symbol. A flying city is really the ultimate version of this, completely disconnected from the petty ground below… and the farmland that usually would surround any metropolis. 

See, in medieval times, you only had so much time to transport good until they spoiled. Some could be more forgiving than others - however, given a city often aggregates political and financial elite, there is an expectation that they can get their fresh fruits, and decadent game. Even beyond freshness, if you have a lot of people in one place who are not actively growing their own crops, a lot of more-or-less processed food needs to get into the city daily. And though you could station your acres of farmland just over the hill so they don’t ruin the ~scenic approach~, that will cost more to transport. The fact is, having a lot of people - poor and rich - in one place requires a lot of food, every day, to feed them. And it has to come from somewhere.

(Off-topic note, medieval castles (not necessarily cities) were also there to, y’know, defend the populace. So they had to be both near enough to their peasants to respond to aggression, and near enough for the people to get to the castle for shelter when needed. Which is not relevant to this point.)

Magic, like refrigeration, greenhouses and GMO crops, allows a society to sidestep some of these issues. Which is great! But how the flying cities could use the resources they have to feed their population is half the fun in theorizing. 

To quickly recap what we know to be common to flying cities of the time:

Limited to the city only, usually a location with ground dense with brumestone (i.e., no farmland). 

Their limited ‘undergrounds’ are often fairly dense with more structures (Aeor’s many levels; the labyrinth and tons of administrative locations inside Avalir).

They are nomadic and engage in trade (both with eachother and grounded cities, like Vasselheim).

… but they all likely came from landed roots, and potentially were once perfectly normal cities. 

So. How do you feed your people while flying a path that might take years to travel (ex: Avalir’s 7-year trek), especially between trade stops?

The last surviving flying city is Draconia, which is really fragments of a larger nomadic city that decided to remain fairly sedentary compared to its predecessors. Its answer was probably pretty simple: given that Draconia hovered within Dreemoth Ravine, the tailed dragonborn could just… collect a tithe of crops from the enslaved ravenites. It’s already canon that they were put to work in the mines, so working the land also unfortunately makes sense. It’s unclear how the food then got up to the city (skyships, given they have ready brumestone access?), but given Draconia seems to be an exception to the rules I can (mostly) confidently rule out ‘the Age of Arcanum was built on abusing the grounded cities and towns, potentially requiring an age of magically-enhanced farming to provide for the people above and/or risking the farmers going hungry in favor of the mageocracies’. 

Here’s where magic offers numerous solutions, and just as many weird problems! 

First of all, the stupidly isolated nature of flying cities means that any method of bringing food in has to be extremely structured. Mom and pop can’t just bring the donkey to the farmer’s market to sell their goods in Avalir; to get there you need to fly (more scheduled) or teleport (requires a mage, and limited quantities of goods). So from the getgo a lot of financial control is likely in the cities’ hands. Which… is not all too dissimilar from history, but the lack of flexibility is probably more striking here. Shit, I was hoping to get away from Draconia’s grim worldbuilding.

It also places flying cities in a role very similar to an advancing army, requiring food as they march to be drawn from the surrounding lands. While soldiers can break off and loot towns they pass through, a flying city probably can’t just dock in the middle of farmland, grab all the corn and bolt. So the need for a more organized food transport likely helps protect towns from that exploitation. (Though, with the military posturing of Avalir and Aeor, I could see flying cities strong-arming support from grounded ones in exchange for promised protection/aid if they needed it.)

Of course, when docked at another city (Avalir stayed at Vasselheim for ten days in the weeks before the Calamity), they can fairly easily trade with the surrounding towns there… who are also providing for the existing city. Hosting a flying city must be a huge logistics nightmare, but economically worth the headache. 

(Vasselheim likely has a leg up in that it has both a sitting population of mages, such as Vespin pre-fuckup, and the likes of Clerics, who I’ll get to soonish.)

In EXU: Calamity, skyships (and an offhand mention of something called an ornithopter) already exist, which could facilitate the bulk transport of goods. Based on the speed of the Silver Sun in Campaign 3 (4-5 days to cover ~700 miles translates to a speed of ~5-6.5 knots; for context that seems to be about the middling range for a medieval tradeship), this seems like an excellent way of transporting goods that do not spoil easily. Or use arcane equivalents to the canon Bag of Colding to help keep things fresh longer. However, as noted above, this would require a lot of community organization to get crops together when the skyship shows up for harvest.

The tricky thing is that Avalir, at least, follows leylines as it travels. So if there was intent to line up its passes over farmland with their harvest season - to minimize transport distance - it might be difficult to coordinate. Moreover, with an implied many flying cities, and no clear territorial delimitations between their routes (especially if they’re all following leylines; but Avalir at least made stops in Issylra, Gwessar/Tal’Dorei, and Dorumas/the Shattered Teeth at least), I wonder if there would be economic conflict over which cities could be highest bidder for the freshest crops. Which could be Interesting. 

(I wonder if sky piracy, or sky privateering, was a thing in the Age of Arcanum. Nydas is said to have been a pirate on the actual seas, so aquatic trade is still going strong, but given the flying cities are so reliant on limited methods to get food… you could put a lot of pressure on a rival city by capturing a few key skyships full of the last harvests before winter.)

Another option is teleportation. Avalir, after all, has an entire guild devoted to teleporting people around, so critical to its functioning that part of the Betrayers’ plan was to leave them without leadership when they struck. However, teleportation is very much a creature-oriented form of transportation; perhaps you could bring up a herd of cattle for slaughter, but that’s a pretty damn high spell slot for beef.

Avalir is in a fortuitous situation, in that it has a longstanding relationship with the Gau Drashari; druids, well-known masters of plant and animal life. In theory, this could mean Plant Growth casts to increase harvests… but at this time the Gau Drashari specifically only live in Caithmoira, guarding this holy site. So hopping from one druid-boosted farmland to another is unlikely. 

Well, if transporting food to the cities is such an issue, why not produce food in the cities?

While magical greenhouses must account for some luxury fresh goods for sure, I really don’t think the cities as illustrated have enough real estate to actually support their whole populations like this. Like I noted above, of the two cities we know really well, their insides are already full of labs and labyrinths and all sorts of things probably best kept away from your food supply. 

D&D 5E spells offer another answer, and another piece of potentially complicated worldbuilding: Create Food and Water. Per the spell description, it creates enough food to feed 15 people for 24 hours, which seems to neatly solve all our problems! Until you realize the food is explicitly bland (bet you the mages turn up their noses at it), vanishes if not consumed after 24 hours (so that’s a daily 3rd level spell slot from some poor schmuck), and is mostly limited to Paladins and Clerics. You know, godly people, who are so fondly looked upon by the mageocracies. Artificers, at least, are more in line with the Age of Arcanum attitude - but we don’t see any in Calamity, so it’s unclear if the class ‘exists’ per say in the time period. Reducing powerful Paladins and Clerics to food dispensaries - and not even good food, probably for the lower class - would fit in neatly with how the powers of the divine are seen as lesser. Goodberry falls into a similar role: useful, but probably something mages would avoid.

Speaking of spells, let’s get a little fucked up, hm? Who is to say a mage couldn’t just. Summon some pigs to be served up as bacon tomorrow? Well. Conjure Animals specifically says the animals are actually fey, and vanish when their HP reaches 0. Summon Beasts? Same thing. Find Steed? You guessed it. So magic can help us grow food, and transport it, and preserve it, but not actually make it out of nothing. (If there’s a spell I’m missing that completely solves this, please let me know, but I can’t really find one.)

My final little thought came watching geese migrate some time ago. The passenger pigeon has been extinct for… a hundred and ten years, now. But in its hayday, flocks of the birds would literally cloud the sky. Exandria is home to far more stunning beasts than pigeons, and hunting flying game is likely a lot easier when you yourself are flying too. 

Sure, you can apply this to actual fishing when the cities are over the seas, but! Imagine fishing boats but for birds and all manner of winged beasts in great flocks, netting and catching them to haul in. Maybe the magical equivalent of those helicopter boar hunts to deal with invasive populations, but landing at all introduces a whole lot more hassle. Big net and flying device = fresh meat, with an arcane twist.

So: how do you feed a flying city? Especially one with a lavish lifestyle as seen in Avalir, or a hard research focus as in Aeor?

Have an extremely regimented relationship with the towns on your path (likely in competition with other flying cities using these leylines when you are) or that otherwise have food you need. Make sure skyships arrive in time for the harvests. Miss that and things get dicey. 

Supplement this with trade, both with other flying cities and grounded ones when docked. However, docked time has to be limited to not risk starving out the countryside surrounding the city hosting you.

Small deliveries, especially of fresh livestock, can be accomplished through Porter’s Guild or equivalent.

Magically preserve food thus obtained to survive until your schedule and harvests of X Y z goods next align. 

City-based organizations can ‘fish’ for birds as the city flies (or potentially even actually fish as they fly over the ocean) for fresh meat.

Hope to gods (but without hoping to the gods because they’re schmucks) that you time your pick-ups right, that there are no famines, or early frosts, that no one steals your fucking skyships our outbids you on a key agricultural contract, or casts Dispel Magic and makes your food all spoil.

When the carefully-scheduled management of the city’s resources fails, turn to your diviners or healers and have them feed the masses with bland crackers while the Somnovem or Ring of Gold continue eating honeyed lamb and figs. 

If you read this far, I'm super flattered you shifted through my rambles! I'll gladly discuss any glaring mistakes or things I've overlooked; this is only what I considered in worldbuilding for a fic, and I don't pretend to be an expert on medieval agriculture or economic practices.

This was still very fun to (over)think about <3

(Water, of course, would be a similar limiting factor, but is easy enough to magically purify, and would not be too bland when made by Create Food and Water, so I didn’t bring it up.)

[argentior]

Headshots of the apathy adoring guys.

Sketch ver

apathy adoring is a self-indulgent rewrite of redo of healer that is probably at least a little influenced by the way too many manhwa/manga with dubious relationships I've read. Which is to say for some reason I looked at Redo of Healer and thought "I can make a messed-up Josei story out of this" and ended up doing it. Still has dark themes though so like. Careful before you click.

Anyway. Notes on the guys as of Ch 11 and general apathy adoring notes/spoilerish recap if anyone cares to read that I suppose. Random summary stuff and fun facts.

The Boy | Keyaru

Protagonist of Redo of Healer. The premise of that thing is that this guy at 14 years old was abused physically and sexually for 2 years because his semen can raise the level cap of others. It be one of those magic with numbers and a limited slot of skills fantasy worlds. He goes back in time and carries out a long rape revenge seinen fantasy thing. I did not like that. I don't know why the fic got into my brain so much.

Still out for revenge in the fanfic. He ran away from Alban and managed to eat a couple more poisonous plants and fungi relative to canon before he was caught this time, so his immunity to drugs and poison kicked in sooner.

Was still caught, healed Kureha, allows himself to be abused for the revenge plan, that whole deal.

Interested in the maid because of previous timeline memories. Infatuated by the Maid/reader in this current timeline due to the chain of events that occurred that resulted in more interactions. (Came in later, she was assigned to clean him up, and it just went on and on)

A notable differences from the source material includes him playing along and "getting better" at healing publicly so he gets to stay out of the dungeon some days. I was getting tired of writing scenes in the dungeon.

Has introduced himself to the Maid/reader character. So she knows his name. She just refuses to acknowledge it.

The weirdest thing he's done in the story so far: used healing magic to kind of transform his hand into being like the Maid's wounded one and kissed it.

Main aim when writing him: Pitiful enough to make you help but there's something wrong with him that makes you regret it. Or maybe you're just being paranoid.

The Knight | Bako

Appears in the light novel/manga and is killed shortly after. Was used by Keyaru and his group because Bako was the "most sane of the knights" whatever that means. In the novel it was murder after his aid because he was involved in the attack on Keyaru's village and could have spread knowledge of Keyaru's party, in the manga it was because he attacked Keyaru's group in revenge for killing Renard. Renard had taken him in. He's vice captain of Princess Flare (first/main abuser of Keyaru)'s knights.

In the fic he's a coward who is aware of Renard's atrocities but is too attached to his father figure to really do anything about it.

Infatuated with the maid due to projecting. He is very aware of what the kingdom does to the boy in the dungeon but you know. Coward.

Savior Complex.

I hate his hair why are you so spiky.

Has no colored version in the manga. Was that insignificant. Chose blond hair for the "knight in shining armor pretty gold good and righteous" imagery and steel blue eyes and something dull and different from the red eyes of the other guys. Also. Similar to Renard.

Main aim when writing him: physically strong/imposing but kind of pathetic if you're not in a fight-or-flight headspace.

Yukito | Harris | The Rabbit

An oc I made to balance out the cast. What's a josei without 3 guys amirite haha

No but like sincerely. A character to balance out whatever freak stuff is happening with the other two. Also probably delves into the idea of free will and consent somewhat.

Is a rabbit demi-human (basically a rabbit boy). Escaped slave, gave his "true name" to the Maid/Reader after they met by chance, which by source material lore means that he is bound to her mind and heart, body and soul. She is Not Happy about this.

Has chopped his ears and tail off and is blending in as the "human" Harris surprisingly well. Being albino tends to answer the question of why he hides his face for most people.

Main aim when writing him: a decent, sweet person in unfortunate circumstances. Kind of the physical manifestation of the idea of running away, which even if possible the maid thinks of too much of a dream than actual choice.

Bonus

The Maid | The Reader

Low level low magic horrible stats. Instead of being a competent warrior like the other staff in the palace, she is just good at cleaning.

Very tired, very paranoid. Violent intrusive thoughts.

Wary of all the boys. No attraction to any of them lol.

But if pressed. And had to stick to any of them. It would be Yukito.