#< not an exaggeration. my apologies for those of you who click on that read more

[ellephlox]

audiometry

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Summary: You want to test Matt’s hearing and it becomes something of a game between the two of you.

Warnings: none, purely fluff

A/N: ahh so I’ve posted on ao3 but never on tumblr... so hello tumblr world! I’m also uploading this on my ao3 so if you’d prefer to read it there, click this link here. Thanks for reading! (trying to post this again bc the first time it didn’t show up under the tags?? idk let’s hope this works)

Testing Matt’s hearing had become something of a game.

It began unintentionally, on a gray Sunday morning. Rain hammered its tirade on the windows in Matt’s apartment, dripping downward with the neon tint supplied by the billboard beyond. Shortly after breakfast you curled up on the sofa with your book, and Matt followed suit, settling down and tucking your legs over his lap as you stretched out comfortably. His own book was new; it was a braille copy of A Game of Thrones, which you had bought for him on his birthday after insisting for a year that he read the series.

These were the kinds of days you liked best. Quiet, just you and Matt — with the important factor of him being intact, and not bleeding from a patrol — and with no errands to do.

“Where’re you going?” you asked, without glancing up from your book, as Matt suddenly stood and entered the bedroom. He didn’t answer, but wordlessly came out with a blanket. It was an expensive one, but that was to be expected of all the fabrics Matt owned; cheap blankets, he had admitted to you, felt like sandpaper on his skin.

He unfolded the blanket and gently spread it over both of your laps as he sat back down, this time closer to you. “You’re cold.”

“How’d you know? Are you sure you’re not just secretly a psychic?”

He laughed. “I could hear your goosebumps rising.”

“Seriously? What do they sound like?”

He considered your question, smiling slightly as his eyes fell on a spot somewhere a few inches from your face. “You know those disposable foam ear plugs — the sound they make when they expand in your ears? Sort of like that. Except hundreds of them at once, and at a smaller magnitude.”

“Okay. I’m imagining it. Uh, sorry you have to constantly hear my body,” you said, suddenly feeling abashed at all the times that you played with your hair, or picked at a scab, or ground your teeth. “That can’t be very enjoyable.”

Matt’s hand traced your leg under the blanket. “I like it. I like your presence.”

“Can you hear my eyeballs moving?”

“If I concentrate.”

“How about my cells? Can you hear them doing mitosis or whatever?” you said, sitting up and putting your book down. “Or, I don’t know, the mitochondria doing its powerhouse of the cell sort of thing?”

“I have no idea what that’s supposed to sound like,” Matt said, his own smile stretched out into a grin now. “If I knew what I was listening for, then maybe.”

“I refuse to believe that you can hear at a cellular level,” you said, playfully pushing him. “You’re kidding now.” You looked at him doubtfully. “Right?”

“I might be exaggerating just a little to impress a really attractive girl sitting across from me.”

“Ha. Right. Says the man who can’t actually see if I’m attractive or not.” You crawled on top of his lap and leaned into his chest, wrapping the blanket more tightly around the two of you. “On the other hand, I can inform you quite confidently that you are very handsome. And you know I’m not lying, so you have to accept that as an undeniable fact.”

“Unless you’re just a bad judge of physical features.”

You lay there for a minute, your head pressed against his chest. “Also, sorry for being loud with my heartbeat. Doesn’t it ever get annoying?”

His chest moved under you as he laughed. “Why are you apologizing for my ears?”

You tilted your head back to look at him again. It was far too easy to get lost in his eyes, and he had absolutely no idea how beautiful they were. Life just wasn’t fair. “You know what’s embarrassing?” you asked.

“I thought we established that I’m not a psychic.”

“The jury is still out on that one, Murdock.” Lawyer puns had become your new sense of humor. “But anyway. It’s embarrassing that I’m sitting here, my ear literally pressed against your chest, and yet I can’t hear your heartbeat. But you could probably hear mine banging away while I’m showering, or cooking, or—”

“And I love it.”

“That’s not the point! I’m loud, all the time! And this is my formal apology for my heartbeat.”

Matt leaned down and kissed your forehead. “You’re insane.”

And that was how it began — the conversation. Later that day, while fixing yourself a lunch made of leftover pasta and vegetables from the evening before, the sudden desire to test Matt’s hearing was too tempting to ignore. He was in the bathroom, washing blood out of the Daredevil suit, with the faucet running.

You put in your earbuds and turned the volume down so that it was hardly above silence. While the microwaving was heating up your plate, you typed in the first song that came to your head and pressed play.

Even music on the lowest volume setting of earbuds was apparently not immune to Matt’s ears. Which didn’t surprise you, really; the way his head cocked immediately was to be expected.

“You’re listening to... that song from Titanic?” he said, bewildered, emerging from the bathroom with hands stained red.

You pulled your earbuds out. “You have passed level one, Murdock,” you told him gravely.

His expression, if anything, was more baffled. “Level one of what? Recognizing bad music?”

“Celine Dion is not bad music. This song is iconic.”

“It’s campy.”

“If you dare to insult Titanic, I will not hesitate to launch an offensive against you,” you warned him. “And don’t think that your Daredevillish ways will protect you against my wrath.”

You never explained to him what exactly he had passed. Instead, you waited for an opportunity to initiate level two, which you took the time to plan out rather than thinking of something spontaneously.

This stage involved Foggy. When Matt was out doing his... well, his side job, you had taken the opportunity to fill Foggy in on your plan — which was quite simply nothing more than increasing distance every time until Matt didn’t catch the sound of “My Heart Will Go On” playing in your earbuds — and he was, as to be expected, profoundly amused by it.

Which was why, with his suggestion, you were now currently sitting on the sofa that clients sat on in the office of Nelson and Murdock. Karen was sitting at her desk, acting completely nonchalant as though you weren’t there, as per your request over the phone the night before. Foggy had texted you once Matt was safely in his office with the door closed. You could see him through the glass windows, his fingers running over the braille display and his forehead tense with focus.

So long as Matt’s door stayed shut (“because otherwise he’ll smell you,” Foggy had helpfully reminded you), and if you walked with a gait different than usual, there was no reason that he should think you were anyone other than a client waiting. That was why it was important to not draw attention to yourself as you entered; any anxious feelings would make bring Matt’s attention to your heartbeat and likely give away your identity.

Matt’s reaction was instantaneous the moment you hit play on your phone and the first few notes of the song began. His head tilted and confusion crossed his face before he stood up and exited his office.

“Level two is now passed,” you told him, standing and wrapping your arms around him. His fingers danced at your back, where your dress left a bit of skin exposed by your shoulder blades.

“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked.

“It’s good to see you too, Matt,” you said sarcastically, straightening his tie. “I’m on lunch break. I almost got hit by a car sprinting here to put you through level two.”

“Not funny. So you’re just going to keep testing me with Titanic music? That’s what this is about?”

“Perhaps. And now I have to go before my lunch break turns into precious PTO.” You gave him a peck on the cheek. “Go save the world, one legal document at a time.”

And thus the planning for level three started. This time, you wanted it to be significantly harder. The ideal setting for that was Josie’s, where the loud music, clinking of drinks, and drunken chatter of the patrons would surely drown out any tiny sounds that Celine Dion could make through the low volume of your earbuds.

You excused yourself from the table once Matt and Foggy were a few drinks into the evening, smiling to yourself as you slipped your purse over your shoulder and made your way out into the brisk night air.

The whole lie detector part of Matt Murdock made tasks like this more difficult than you would have liked. You had finally settled on telling him you had to make a quick run to the convenience store because you’d forgotten you ran out of deodorant that morning and needed to buy more — which was a truth, and though you had the chance to buy more earlier in the day, you’d held off specifically to use it as an excuse.

Matt had accepted it without question, only smiling and squeezing your hand. No doubt he’d be listening to your footsteps the whole way to ensure you were safe, despite the fact that the store was only across the street. But footsteps were a lot louder than your earbuds.

You only clicked play once you were in the back of the convenience store, standing by the slushie machine as it churned slowly. Now all you had to do was wait about a minute; if Matt didn’t show up by then, you’d assume he couldn’t hear the music.

A teen working the register was lethargically twirling a pen in the air. He glanced at you briefly, then went back to rolling the pen between his fingers. You waited patiently, growing more surprised with each moment that Matt didn’t walk through the door. The song was nearing the chorus now. Can he not hear it?

Perhaps he was too distracted by the drinks and Foggy. He’d have to be focusing specifically on you to hear the music, and even then, you weren’t sure if he could hear it from across the street with all of the noise at Josie’s drowning out everything. The chorus of the song droned on in your ears. Ten more seconds and then level three would be a bust.

But then the bell of the door rang, and in walked Matt, his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled upwards. His face was flushed slightly and his hair was askew as he turned towards you, tapping his cane rhythmically in front of him. He knocked it into the edge of a shelf full of candy, then corrected his path, sending an apologetic glance towards the teen as though to say, Sorry about that. Seriously, Matt Murdock could have been destined for the stage, you thought to yourself, watching the performance interestedly.

“Hey. I’m over here,” you finally said, covering for him before the teen could grow suspicious about the way Matt was now making a beeline towards where you were.

“You called?” he said, smirking and taking the earbuds out of your ears.

“You heard it,” you said, delighted. “I wasn’t sure about this one. Thought you weren’t going to pass.”

“I don’t think anything could block out those awful high notes.”

“That sounds like a challenge. Next level is going to be near impossible. I’m warning you now.”

He took your elbow as you exited the aisle. “Didn’t you need deodorant?”

“Oh, yeah.” You doubled back to the cosmetics section and grabbed the first stick in the brand that you like. “See? I knew not to lie to you, even about deodorant.”

“Mm. I love that deodorant,” he added, this time in a low voice so that the teen wouldn’t hear. “Smells so good on you.”

“I haven’t even taken the cap off!” You approached the counter and paid for it; only once you were back out in the cool night air did you continue. “You know what’s happening after this hearing test, then. A smelling test is in your future.”

“I can hardly wait,” he said dryly.

But first was the matter of level four. You waited at least two weeks — better to catch him off guard, now that he was just waiting for the opening notes of “My Heart Will Go On”. Now he was onto you even when you unfolded your earbuds for harmless reasons.

“I hear you,” he had said suddenly from the bathroom one day as you took out a cookbook to make a loaf of bread, untangling your earbuds at the same time to listen to a podcast as you baked.

“Good try,” you said, shaking the earbuds. “But I’m not going to be listening to music.”

The same thing had happened when you had left to go to work. Matt was shaving, foam still on his face as he leaned in to kiss you, leaving shaving cream on your face. You laughed and wiped it off as you wrapped your coat around you and headed out of his apartment. Once on the street you took out your earbuds, and before you had even gotten the left earbud in, your phone rang.

Matt’s name was on the screen. “Did I forget something?” you said anxiously, already digging through your purse to make sure you had grabbed your keys and wallet.

“No. But I hear your earbuds.” He paused. “Was this level four? Did I pass?”

“You passed a nonexistent test. Because this isn’t level four. Only Celine Dion will indicate level four,” you informed him. “And I want you to start calling me Pavlov, by the way.”

“I’m assuming that makes me one of Pavlov’s dogs?”

“You got it,” you said, grinning.

And so another week passed, now with you purposely taking out your earbuds to give him false alarms, and relishing the way he cocked his head every time, listening for the opening notes.

Level four, you had decided, was going to take place while he was out being Daredevil. The tricky part would be identifying where he actually was — seeing as the man was like a flying squirrel, moving across the rooftops with far too much alacrity. Finally, almost a month after level three, you got your chance.

“You heading out?” you asked Matt that evening.

He was already climbing into the suit, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor. “I shouldn’t be out too late. It’s been quiet lately, with the cooler weather.”

“I’ll stay up for you.”

“You don’t need to do that, sweetheart. You have work tomorrow.”

“I want to,” you insisted. But not for the reason you’re thinking, Matt. “Besides, I’ve got my book to finish. And you need someone awake back here in case you need to be stitched up again.” You got up from your spot on the couch and padded over to him. His arms pulled you in tightly, and you stood for a moment, soaking up the moment.

“Call me if you need anything,” you whispered, and then he was up the stairs, leaving through the rooftop access.

Giving him at least thirty minutes to get far away was necessary. You forced yourself to stay cool and collected, in case Matt was still able to hear your heartbeat, and settled back onto the sofa with your book.

Originally you had thought of calling him, using an excuse of just wanting to know how his evening was going in order to find out where he was. But calling Matt on his burner, which was meant for emergencies, felt like a big no-no in your mind. You had no intentions of being the girl who cried wolf, so you had discarded that idea as soon as it came into your head. The only remaining option to find Matt while he was patrolling was accidentally — by the means of a live camera positioned exactly in the direction of a street in Hell’s Kitchen.

It was a lucky find. While browsing online, you had stumbled across a website of webcams set up around the world. Bless whoever created EarthCam.com. And, fortunately, there was a camera conveniently set up at 9th and 34th, which was the very edge of Hell’s Kitchen. That meant a couple hours each night of sitting idly by your laptop, reading while keeping an eye on the rooftops for any movement.

Each night had passed by without luck until tonight. A sudden flash of movement made you look up, expecting it to be just another bird or car going by, but sure enough, there was a small figure on the roof of the building to the right, and he was standing in the way that only the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stood, listening for the sounds of the city. You were on your feet immediately, book falling onto the floor as you dashed towards the door and slipped your shoes on.

Of course it was tonight, when you had already showered and gotten into pajamas, you thought, grumbling to yourself as you hurried down the hallway. If anyone saw you, they’d think you were out of your mind; your hair was tousled and you were borrowing a large coat of Matt’s because yours was back in the closet. It hung low and you had never felt more frumpy.

Earbuds in your pocket, you made it to the sidewalk and hailed the first cab you found to head south towards 37th.

A distance of three blocks would be the fourth level, you had decided, after consulting Foggy on what an appropriate difficulty would be. The cab driver was hesitant to let you out on the street, which was deserted and dark, but you just thanked him and paid.

Besides, you had no fears of getting jumped. The Devil was near, and if anyone approached you, a shout would be all you needed to alert Matt to your location. Although that would be less than ideal because it would butcher your plan, you reflected, settling yourself in front of the open gates to a Poland Springs delivery zone. Packages of water bottles sat in crates behind you, and across the street was a tailor and parking garage.

Your fingers were cold in the night air. Fumbling for your phone, you opened Spotify, plugging in your earbuds with anticipation. You didn’t dare waste any more time checking the Earth Cam to see if Matt was still on that rooftop, because each second was one second more that he could be getting out of earshot of your earbuds — or worse, getting close enough to ruin the experiment.

Finally you typed in the song, and your thumb was a millimeter away from hitting play when strong hands grabbed you from behind, pulling you back by your shoulders. You yelped and whirled around, heart hammering in your chest, only to find yourself face-to-face with the devil.

“You scared me!” you whispered, yanking out your earbuds. “I thought you were—”

“It’s not a good idea to be out here alone at night. Someone pretty like you might get some unwanted attention,” he said, his voice coarse and even. It struck you then that this wasn’t Matt Murdock. This was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen standing in front of you.

“I didn’t get to even start level four,” you said in a small voice. “How’d you find me here?”

“You should breathe a little quieter if you want to go incognito, love.”

“I was hardly making a sound!”

“That hitch in your breath you always make when you climb out of a vehicle is hard to miss. After that it was too easy to recognize your heartbeat.”

You sighed. “Alright. Fine. I suppose that can count as beating level four, if you were able to hear me exhaling or whatev—”

You were cut off by Matt pulling you forward and ramming his lips against yours. His breath was warm in the night air and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

“I win,” he said softly. “Consider level four over.”

“Done,” you said, nearly choking on the word. “Um, you’ve passed the hearing test with flying colors, Mr. Daredevil.”

His response was a cocky grin as he leaned in and kissed you again. You closed your eyes and pressed into him. The suit wasn’t exactly snuggly to hug, but it was all strength and power, and somehow that was almost more enjoyable.

But the moment had to end, and he broke away from you, far sooner than you would have liked. “Someone’s in trouble. I can hear screaming,” he said. “I have to go. There’s a cab about a hundred meters away you can take. Are you all good to get home by yourself?”

“Yeah, of course.” You stepped away. “Please be careful?”

“Always am,” he said, and if you could hear heartbeats, you were certain that his would’ve skipped right there with what was doubtlessly a lie, but as it was, you simply frowned at him.

“And I’ll listen to make sure you get into the cab safely,” he added. “I’ll see you soon.”

You watched him scale the nearby fire escape with dexterity, admiring the way he swung himself up with ease. Smiling to yourself, you hurried to the approaching cab, casting one last look at the rooftop. Matt was already gone, and all that remained of the empty street were the twinkling, dim lights of the street lamps below.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #reader insert #marvel

[hullabalulu]

Did I Grow Up In A Cult?

While writing what may or not become a book, I began researching narcissism again. I believe my grandmother, whom I lived with for 18 years, is a narcissist, as well as possibly my mother. I’m not a psychologist or expert, but in trying to understand my childhood, the things I have read about narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) have really clicked for me.

The traits of NPD, as defined by the National Institute of Health:

Per the DSM, NPD includes:

A pervasive pattern of grandiosity (fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and with lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood, as indicated by at least five of the following:

Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements, expects to be recognized as superior without actually completing the achievements)

Is preoccupied with fantasies of success, power, brilliance, beauty, or perfect love.

Believes that they are “special” and can only be understood by or should only associate with other special people (or institutions).

Requires excessive admiration.

Has a sense of entitlement, such as an unreasonable expectation of favorable treatment or compliance with his or her expectations).

Is exploitative and takes advantage of others to achieve their own ends.

Lacks empathy and is unwilling to identify with the needs of others.

Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of them.

Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors and attitudes

Source: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK556001/

I wasn’t able to see it until I was an adult, but I’m pretty sure my grandmother, and possibly my mother, are narcissists because they have many of the traits listed above. I have listed just a few examples of how they might meet the qualifications of NPD.

My grandmother didn’t help me with my schoolwork but when I was getting good grades, she used it as “bragging rights” to show how well she was doing in raising me, especially when she thought I was going to get a doctorate degree. If I did well, it was because of her. When I struggled, it was because I was lazy.

She also needs constant admiration and attention. Even just going out in public, like to a store or restaurant, if employees didn’t give her their full attention, she would become resentful. If you’ve worked in any customer service job, you know you can’t spend a full hour just with one customer because they feel entitled to your undivided attention.

Her fantasy was being admired for being a living saint. She took in stray dogs, she fed birds, she fed stray cats every day, and she took in the child that no one wanted. Everyone she came in contact with heard about some or all of these.

My grandmother lacks remorse and empathy. Not once did she ever apologize for anything she did, including her lies and abuse. The closest I ever got were “I did the best I could” and something like “I’m sorry you feel that way”. Those are not the words of someone taking accountability for their actions. She is envious, especially of people who have material possessions, while simultaneously believing that if you have any wealth, you are going to hell. She was envious of a coworker’s Jaguar. She was jealous that the neighbor’s daughter visited the hair salon often. When we bought a house, even though it wasn’t new or fancy, she refused to see it. When I told her of our planned pregnancy, her response was “oh no!” and the final discard began. I really think she knew she would be on the losing end if my attention was spread between her and my child.

I didn’t live with my mother so I don’t know her as well as I do my grandmother. My mother had fantasies that she was the best, smartest, most hard-working person at her job. She also exploited people, seesawing between me and husbands or boyfriends for “supply”. She also needed constant attention and admiration. I didn’t see it until the end, but her sense of entitlement about what she deserved, as she put it, shows that when she didn’t get her way, she had a cruel side to her personality. She never apologized, only saying in an email that she was “sorry that things bothered me”. My mother had no empathy for how she treated me as a child, how her mother treated me, or what I was experiencing as a new mother. Instead, her emailed demands added to my stress levels. While I was pregnant, she baited me, knowing I had wanted a relationship with her for 26 years and that I wanted my child to have a relationship with their grandmother. But she didn’t want the work of being involved, refusing to visit us even once. She wanted cute pictures to show her friends at work and to post on her facebook.

My mother (and father) abandoned me when I was 3 months old, or so my family told me. They all told so many lies that I don’t know what to believe. My mother was anti-abortion, but had at least two abortions that I knew about. I believe when she became pregnant with me, she was future-faking, thinking after her divorce from her first husband, she could start a picture-perfect family with this older man. They moved into a rental house, getting distance from her parents, and with this baby she was going to “fix” her broken self. This baby, me, was going to provide her with admiration and was going to need her. She was going to be the perfect parent.

I don’t know what she was like when she was pregnant, but I’m sure she enjoyed the attention. She may have used her pregnancy to hoover my grandparents into her life after the mess she made of dropping out of high school and ruining her first marriage. She may have also used pregnancy to lure the father into marrying her.

When she became a mother, it was never about me. She grew tired of motherhood in a matter of a couple of months. Family and friends often shower new mothers and babies with attention those first few weeks, but quickly the attention fades away. I cried a lot and my mother grew bored and resentful of my impact on her life.

My mother said she would come back for me when she got her life straightened out and continued future-faking. When I was a child and she remarried, at her new house she asked me to choose a paint color for my room. I was thrilled, thinking I was going to get to spend more time with her. After her divorce, when I was 12, she bought a house in our neighborhood and again, told me of her plans for my room.

Once both parents abandoned me and I lived with my grandmother, my mother and grandmother both used me as a pawn. My grandmother used me to guilt-trip my mother about not having a relationship with me. Later on, as an adult, my grandmother used me as a go-between to my mother and my mother used me to communicate with my grandmother. Each was using guilt to manipulate how I felt about the other.

I was “supply” for both of them. For my mother, it was in between boyfriends and husbands. With my grandmother, it was when I was doing anything that she could brag to her friends about. I never understood how my mother’s boyfriends never saw my absence as a red flag. There were a few that I met, early on in the relationship, so it’s possible they didn’t know she was capable of abandoning a baby.

With my grandmother especially, when I was fitting her needs, I was a golden child to her. When I wasn’t doing well in school or giving her something to use to brag to her friends, I became the “lost child” that she didn’t even care to see. As I got older and began questioning the inconsistencies in their stories, I became the scapegoat. They wanted to show the world how perfect and happy our family was, and when I ruined the fantasy, I was punished. For example, in high school I was referred to the guidance counselor for suicidal thoughts. Rather than concern, my grandmother was embarrassed and ashamed that my school called her at work.

When I had my baby, my mother wanted to be involved without any of the effort. She would email to ask for photos to share, but made excuses why she couldn’t visit during those early weeks. I had forgotten until I looked at my emails from that time where my mother and grandmother were going to visit the new baby and then backed out. When I took my baby to visit them, my grandmother told me my mother was sleeping and not to disturb her. At the time my mother questioned why I didn’t come to her house, but said she understood. Then, years later, she expressed anger, complaining that I didn’t visit her while I was in the neighborhood. Even when I explained this again, and told her why I felt the way I did, I was met with hurtful, angry emails from my mother who felt she was entitled and deserved a relationship with us. For years, she sent emails, facebook requests, voicemails and cards on my birthday.

After years of reflection, going no-contact with my mother and grandmother felt like how I imagine it must be to leave a cult or an insular religious group. I never compared my family to cults until I was listening to the “Was I in a Cult” podcast episode “Atypicult: Mental Parental”. I had a bit of a “holy shit!” moment wondering if I might have grown up in a cult-like environment. I probably wouldn’t have cut contact if not for feeling like I needed to protect my children. I would probably still be trying to do everything “right” enough for my grandmother, overextending myself between my children and my mother and grandmother, killing myself in a futile effort to prove that I am worthy. Because I left, I feel like I can finally examine my upbringing.

In both cults and in a family with a narcissist, there is a charismatic and charming leader and everything seems “perfect” from the outside. Most of us have heard of Jim Jones and the “People’s Temple”, which later infamously became known as Jonestown. The People’s Temple attracted members with ideals of racial equality and caring for those in need. A narcissistic family often looks perfect and happy to outsiders while abuse is kept secret. In both the cult and the narc family, there is a veneer of happiness and normalcy where the leaders make sure outsiders believe their version of reality.

With cults and in families with a narcissist, members experience “lovebombing”. When a person first encounters a cult, members are showered with what feels like love, attention, and affection. In narcissistic families, there is a cycle of abuse. In the first stage, there is idealization or lovebombing where a person may receive gifts, attention, or compliments. During lovebombing, these are the “good times” and either they want something or they know there’s an audience. Over time, there will be an “incident” — perhaps you set a boundary, or question the narcissist/leader, or the narc finds new “supply”. The next stage in the cycle is devaluation — insults, rage, silent treatment, or punishment. The final stage is discard or hoover — the leader/narcissist either kicks you out of the group or creates the circumstances to suck you back in, beginning again with lovebombing. You may believe that the person has changed, but most often, it’s beginning the cycle of abuse all over again. Abusers will remind you of these “good times” to hoover you back into the relationship.

In both cults and with a narcissistic family there is breadcrumbing and gaslighting. Gaslighting causes a person to question their judgment and perception of reality. Both a cult leader and narcissist try to make you believe that your thoughts are wrong and therefore you can’t make good judgments or decisions. My interactions with my family often made me question “did that really happen?” For years they told me my mother was pregnant with me when she was 16, but when I did the math I knew she didn’t have me until she was 19. Since I didn’t know at the time what year she was born, I re-did my calculations and figured she must have been born in a different year. When I found a baby book for a baby born two years before I was, my grandmother explained it away saying my mother was on painkillers and that’s why it was filled out incorrectly.

Later on, as an adult, my mother would breadcrumb me with what felt like mini-hoovers. A chain email here, a facebook friend request there. Just small “pay attention to me” interactions online. My mother also had trouble committing to plans, which according to VeryWell, also is a sign of breadcrumbing. https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-breadcrumbing-5220677 She wanted to meet me for lunch when I was around five months pregnant, but it took me weeks to set that up. Despite her claims of wanting to be an involved grandmother, she had multiple excuses as to why she couldn’t visit me or I couldn’t visit her in those early weeks and months. Breadcrumbing is leading someone on, making them question whether they care about you.

In both a cult and within narcissistic families, there is usually one person running the show, often an authority figure that is not to be questioned. They consider themselves to be like gods who can do no wrong and anyone who disobeys will be punished. If either a cult or family member speaks out, they are often shunned or met with projection. Projection is like a “no, you!” defense where if you accuse them of a wrongdoing, the narcissist turns it back around and blames you for their failures and shortcomings. If a narcissist or cult leader feels the least bit rejected, they often respond with narcissistic rage. This may result in shouting, screaming or ridiculous accusations and projection against you. If you leave the family or cult remaining members will talk about you and side with the abuser to stay in good graces with the group.For those still part of the group, this serves as a warning to others for how they will be punished should they step out of line.

There is control, domination, and indoctrination, even within a family. It’s not a requirement, but both cults and narcissistic families can have religious components. In my family, my grandmother had a Bible verse to back up her opinions. When I lived with her, I had to believe as she believed or she would lecture me on how I was going to hell. Even when I moved out, if I expressed anything other than enthusiastic agreement, I was risking a lecture over the phone about all the ways in which I was a horrible person and a disappointment to her. I knew not to question the things my grandmother did, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself. We were talking on the phone after her birthday when I was 23 or so, she told me the whole family had gotten together to celebrate. Curious, I asked why I hadn’t known about this and wasn’t invited. Her response, I now know, was narcissistic rage. She blew up, yelling and screaming at me about everything she could think of to hurt me at the time, even berating me for going to church with my mother-in-law. Step out of line and you’ll pay the price through criticism and humiliation, sometimes even in public.

Cults and families with a narcissist are secretive and members rarely discuss what goes on behind closed doors. Outside of the family or cult, members are expected to keep up the appearance of normalcy and perfection. Both narcissists and cult leaders often befriend people in power. In the worst cases, abuse is hidden or members are kept isolated from outside influences that might cause them to question the family or cult dynamic. As a child, I went to school but wasn’t allowed to go over to friends’ houses or have them over to our house. Narcissists have “flying monkeys” that report back to the leader and they may even be abusive themselves. Abuse can be physical, emotional, or psychological in nature. Often there is no privacy and interactions with others are monitored. They may even go through your belongings or use blackmail to keep you under their control.

In cults and narcissistic families, children don’t develop boundaries because they grew up trying to meet the leader’s needs. Children have no sense of self or individuality due to enmeshment with their abuser. The message they receive from the leader is “if I’m okay, you’re okay” and “if I’m not happy, you need to find a way to make me happy”. Children and even adult members are taught to ignore their needs and feelings in order not to upset the leader or narcissistic family member. Respect is defined as nothing less than total obedience. Love and acceptance is conditional if you follow their rules and meet their needs and members are always on “high alert”, walking on eggshells trying not to upset the leader. Both a narcissist and cult leader see relationships as a one way street. They demand respect but don’t respect others as individuals. Instead, they use guilt and manipulation, saying “after everything I’ve done for you!” if you step out of line in the least.

Both narcissistic families and cults have “in” and “out” groups to show expectations for behavior. Within a narcissist family, there are three categories that children often fall into, or a single child can cycle through all three. There’s the “golden” child, the scapegoat or “black sheep” and the “lost” or ignored child. The golden child is held up as the standard of perfection and receives the most adoration within a family. In a cult, there are members that are part of the inner circle or are held as examples of good behavior and are rewarded with praise. This dynamic pits people against one another through triangulation, playing people off one another. The scapegoat or those members not in favor will work even harder to earn the love and validation they crave. In my family, my cousin was usually the golden child and I was the scapegoat. I always heard about how great my cousin was and why wasn’t I more like him. When I did well in school and my grandmother could use my report card for bragging rights, for a short time I was a golden child, but my ability to stay in favor was transient. I had another cousin who probably qualifies as a “lost” child. When my grandmother flat-out told me she didn’t want to see me, or that she should have let me go into foster care, I became a lost child.

Gossip and drama, lies and secrets, and manipulation are the mechanism of communication within both cults and narcissistic families. All of these serve to create mistrust and maintain division and chaos. Unhealthy communication destroys relationships between members so that everyone comes to rely upon the leader figure for communication and directives. In my family, there was always gossip and secrets, including the real identity of my father and my grandmother’s secret will.

Most of the stories I’ve heard on podcasts about various cults come from adults who were either born into a cult or brought into the cult as children by their parents. There are some adults willing to tell their stories about how they came to join cults, but they often aren’t as forthcoming because they feel a sense of shame. For those that became part of a cult as adults or older children, they knew that life could be different. However, when you are born into a family with a narcissist, all you know is dysfunction.

What can you do if you think you are in a narcissistic family dynamic? Many who have dealt with narcissists suggest the “grey rock method” of making yourself as boring as possible and denying the narcissist a reaction from you. It’s not silent treatment or ignoring them, but rather only giving short, straightforward and unemotional responses. This approach is meant to cause the narcissist to lose interest, but may have some risks. The narcissist may try to lovebomb and hoover you. When the abuser doesn’t get what they want from an interaction with you, they may escalate, becoming more aggressive or manipulative. Grey rocking is draining on the person to the victim. It takes immense self-control to hide your emotions and the victim may feel even more isolated.

I wouldn’t say I tried gray rocking as a child, but as a teenager I realized I was stuck with my grandmother. When I was 14 or 15, I knew I needed to try to keep my head down or “gray rock” until I could move out. But because I was a teenager, I wasn’t always successful in not drawing attention to myself. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I learned about toxic family dynamics and began to understand more about my own upbringing. I began detaching myself as much as I could, often listening and observing without giving an emotional response. My grandmother often tried to “guilt trip” and bait me with highly emotion-ridden topics. I still didn’t know the term “gray rock” back then, but I tried to resist her tactics.

While I was pregnant at 26, after my grandmother’s reaction to my pregnancy, I began cutting contact, going “low contact” with my family. When I was 27, I went no-contact with my mother and grandmother in an act of self-preservation. However, this meant cutting off contact with everyone in my family, including my cousins, aunts, and uncles. I knew if I cut off my grandmother, any contact with extended family would make its way back to her or my mother, which would cause them to reach out, beginning the cycle anew. My grandmother has never reached out, which makes me believe having children caused her to discard me completely. My mother reached out many times over the years, sending birthday cards or calling me on my birthday, sending me chain emails, or requesting access to my facebook page. I never respond to these attempts for attention because I don’t think she will ever be able to be a caring mother and grandmother. It took me so many years to recognise her attempts to hoover me back in to be supply for her when she is bored. When I see people asking how to deal with a narcissist family member, or if they should break no-contact for the holidays, I advise them not to because they could get drawn back into the narcissist’s cycle of abuse. Honestly, I think it’s the only way — gray rock until you can go no contact and I imagine this applies to both cults and narcissistic families.

#family #narcissistic abuse #covert narcissism #narcissist #cult

[beauvibaby]

become a family – a.beauvillier

You hadn’t meant to keep Gia a secret from your childhood friend, really honestly, you two had just lost touch, and by the time you found out you were pregnant and her dad left, it felt wrong to reach out simply to tell him that. So you didn’t.

But when you found out you were relocating to New York, Long Island specifically. You knew you had no choice but to reach out, it only made sense, it felt wrong not too. “Mommy.” Gia whined, “play!” She demanded with a tilt of her chubby face, motioning to the Minnie Mouse tea set she had sprawled across your tiny unpacked apartment floor. “Just a second baby.” You assured her with a soft laugh, you read the message you had typed out, you let out a deep breath and pushed send before moving to join your daughter on the floor, forcing the thought of checking your phone to the back of your mind.

“Hey, Tito. I know we haven’t spoken in forever, but I’m moving to Long Island, with my daughter, I thought it’d be nice to meet up sometime. Hope all is well!”

When he got the notification from Instagram, both of you long having lost each other’s phone numbers, his heart stopped briefly, he scrambled to unlock his phone, Mat eyeing him suspiciously. Tito read the message at least five times before what you said had processed with him, he clicked on your profile, he hadn’t really paid much attention to your posts, and they were so far and few between, he scrolled to the first one that was baby related.

A picture of your sonogram in front of your crossed legs, your ready to pop stomach on display, “just me and you against the world baby girl.”

Tito’s heart clenched in his chest, guilt, curiosity and sadness running through him, he scrolled to the next, a simple black and white photo of Gia when she was born, the caption only being her date of birth. The next wasn’t for another six months or so, the two of you in a small apartment back home. “Gia and mommy’s first place!”

He went through them all quickly, up to the most recent, from just before you sent the message, you with Gia on your hip, the two and a half year old hanging on tightly to you with a giggle as you grinned at the camera, your keys hanging off your finger. “New beginnings…”

“Tito? Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Mat finally spoke up, Tito nodded, “you remember, Y/N? Right?” He questioned his friend, Mat nodded, curiously. “She’s here.” Tito whispered, Mat raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean she's here?” “She moved to Long Island.”

***

You truthfully had forgotten to check your phone that night, you ended up putting Gia to bed late and you simply passed out right after. So when you woke, the memories came flooding back, you rushed to grab your phone, seeing a response on your Instagram.

“Long Island? A kid??? We definitely need to meet up, I’m dying to know everything. Missed you.”

Your heart returned to normal at his response, thankful that he was accepting and not shutting you out.

“Missed you too, you became a big shot! I’m taking Gia to a park down the street from my apartment today, I’ll send you the address if you want to come.”

That’s how you ended up here, pushing your daughter in the swing as she shrieked excitedly. Your laughter echoed through the remotely empty park, your attention solely on her as she had a nervous look on her face as the swing went a little higher, you slowed her down and she resumed her happy shouts. “Y/N.” Tito called, your head snapping in his direction, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he looked over at you with a grin, his eyes flickering between you and Gia. “Hi.” You grinned right back at him as he walked over to you, he wrapped his arms around you in a hug as he reached you, Gia slowly coming to a stop in the child swing. “Oh god, it’s been too long.” You spoke, voice muffled by his jacket. “Definitely.” He agreed easily, pulling away as Gia began to fuss. You pulled her out of the swing and she clung to you, eyeing him suspiciously, she was always particularly wary about men. “Hello.” He spoke softly to her, giving her a soft wave. She smiled weakly, hiding her face in your neck. “Say hi, Gia.” You whispered to her, she lifted her head, looking over at Tito who was still smiling fondly at her, “hi, Gia.” She spoke, sending you both into a fit of laughter. “We’re working on it.” You assured him through your giggles, your daughter dramatically hiding again. “That’s ok.” Tito assured you, noticing all the ways Gia resembled you.

“Lunch?” She whispered to you, wiggling to get down, “yes, let’s go.” You led her over to the covered portion of the park, where you had left your things, Tito followed behind you, holding in a chuckle at the way Gia happily ran towards the table, swinging her arms for exaggeration. You sat her up on the bench, sitting beside her and Tito sat across from the two of you, watching you silently, “how have you been?” You started speaking, feeling your skin warm up under his gaze. “Good, yeah, I’ve been good.” He answered, “what about you? Been busy I see.” He joked, Gia glanced up at him as she took a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Yeah, she keeps me on my toes, in the best possible way.” You smiled at your daughter, she happily minded her own business, clueless to half the stuff you two spoke about. You told him about her dad, only using his name so she wouldn’t be confused, already learning that she didn’t have the two parents that some of her other friends have.

Jesse, you never expected him to work out long term, but you never expected to get pregnant either. Long story short, you told him and you gave him the option to not be involved, but he had to be committed to being a co parent or nothing at all. He chose the latter, and never looked back.

“That’s-“ “it’s good, I think, he wouldn’t have been able to stay committed.” You cut Tito off, not needing the apology speech again. He nodded, moving past the subject, a large grin started etching across his face as Gia tugged on your sleeve. You leaned down and smiled as she whispered to the best of her ability, “share?” She asked you, Tito cocked his head to the side as you nodded and leaned away. Gia grabbed one of her fruit gummies and held it out to Tito. “Share.” She mumbled cutely, smiling shyly with her head tilted down a little, just like you do. Tito gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart, “thank you!” He took it from her and popped it in his mouth, earning a genuine laugh from her that made his heart sore. Already so in love with your daughter and wanting nothing but the best for both of you. She tried to offer him more but he sweetly told her no, and that she should eat her lunch, she listened and continued snacking away. “Has she been to a game?” Tito asked you with a wicked grin, “no, actually, I haven’t been to a game since I had her.” You admitted, cringing as he gaped at you, muttering in French under his breath.

“I’m getting you tickets.” He spoke, already pulling his phone out, “what? No, Tito.” You rushed feeling guilty,

“Yes.” He stuck his tongue out at you, typing away on his phone before asking for your phone number to send you the info. You gave it to him, knowing he would just be stubborn anyways. “Thank you. Really. She’ll have a blast, I’m sure.” You spoke as you opened your phone to look at what he sent you, “Anthony!” You scolded, Gia jumping in her spot next to you, “Y/N!” He mimicked, giggling at your daughter who glared at him. “That’s too much, those seats are–“ “Those seats are necessary.” He cut you off, “it’s final. No take backs.” He teased, much like he did when the two of you were younger. You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile, “fine, you better win, for her.” You told him, motioning to Gia who was getting sleepier by the second. “I should take her home.” You added as she yawned, her head resting against her arms on the table. He smiled at her eyes fluttering shut, “yeah, but I’ll see you at the game, right?” He raised an eyebrow as he stood up, you nodded, moving to give him a hug goodbye.

You watched with a bursting heart as he pushed some of Gia’s hair back, leaving a feathery light kiss to her full cheek, “bye, sweetheart.” He whispered, she whined, nestling further into herself. You wiped at your eyes once he was no longer facing you, the sight before you simply pulling on your heart strings.

***

You adjusted the jerseys on yours and Gia’s bodies, the both of you wearing jeans with them. She smiled at the excitement on your face, “do you remember mommy’s friend we met yesterday, Tito?” You questioned her as you walked hand in hand to the elevator, she looked up at you curiously, “we’re going to see him do his job, you get to watch them play hockey.” You explained to her, she simply smiled, all oblivious to what you meant, but she got excited because you were excited. “Teo.” She spoke, an attempt at his name, not very good but adorable nonetheless. You whipped your phone out, squatting down in the elevator, you started recording her, “who are we going to see?” You asked her, she shook her head happily, her pigtails bouncing around, “teo!” She said proudly, clapping for herself. “Tito, good job.” You praised her before ending the clip, you sent it to him with a thumbs up before continuing to acknowledge Gia’s babbling.

He responded quicker than you thought he would, “I guess I’ve grown on her.” He sent a heart afterwards, presumably putting his phone away for the night to prepare for the game.

Gia whined as she clung to you, terrified of all the people surrounding the both of you, “it’s alright honey.” You shushed her as you slowly inched forward in the line, she nodded against you, arms wrapped around your neck and legs trying to wrap around your waist. You thanked the person as they scanned your tickets, letting you two begin the journey to your overpriced glass side seats. You were relieved to see they had already begun warm ups so she would be distracted by them, once she adjusted to her surroundings you knew she’d be fine. “Look baby, see how fast they go.” You held her up, pointing out to the ice, she instantly became mesmerized by them whizzing by. You sighed in relief as you tried to spot the oh so familiar number 18. The two of you wearing jerseys with his name, something you knew he would get a charge out of, as long as you could remember, you would wear his number to his games. And now would be no different.

You spotted him at the same time he spotted you, a bright smile coming over his face as he flicked a puck up and caught it in his hand, skating over to you. He waved at you and Gia and she grinned, recognizing him and suddenly no longer being shy as she tapped on the glass with an amused smile. “Hi!” She shrieked, earning a laugh from him. He motioned the puck in his hand and you nodded, easily catching it as he tossed it over, handing it to Gia who stared at it in amazement, “good luck.” You mouthed, fist bumping the glass like you did as a teenager, he grinned and did the same before skating off, some of his friends nudging him and asking questions as you settled into your seat for the night.

Gia enjoyed the game and the loud sounds more than you thought she would, she adjusted quickly to the slamming of the boards, if anything, you think that may have been her favorite part.

Once the game was over, you were directed by Tito to tell one of the arena employees your name and they’d bring you down to see him. Much to your surprise, it worked, Gia was antsy to be let down to run around, and thankfully the person leading you through the huge building was a sweet young girl, probably your age, who was just absolutely loving Gia. “Just go to the right, and stop at the double doors.” She explained to you as the elevator came to a stop, “thank you.” You smiled, ushering Gia onto the concrete floor, her laughter echoing as she had some room to run around and burn up some of her energy. You were speed walking behind her just to keep up with her little legs, “baby, hang on!” You called, sighing as you rushed to grab her, just in time too as the doors opened and a couple of guys walked out, thankfully Tito was one of them. “Hey.” You breathed out, Gia looked over, “teo!” She ran over to him, putting her arms up, he looked at you for approval, “oh, of course.” You gave him a look, as if you wouldn’t trust him with your daughter. He easily lifted her up, smile widening when she wrapped her little arms around him. A stark difference to her greeting yesterday. “You must be, Y/N.” One of them spoke to you as Gia began babbling to Tito who nodded along enthusiastically. “I am.” You responded, shaking his hand, “Mat.” He grinned, you nodded knowingly, “I know, I follow the sport.” You teased him, earning a snicker from Tito as he walked over to you. “Hey.” He mumbled, giving you a one armed hug as Gia refused to leave his hold. You lightly tickled your daughter as she hid in his neck from all the other guys. “You played good.” You assured him, he smiled softly in return before introducing you to some of his teammates, laughing when you became all shy, staying close to him and your daughter. You answered all the questions they threw at you, not noticing Gia was drifting off on Tito’s shoulder until she was already out like a light.

***

It’s been about 6 weeks since that game, the season kicking into full gear, Tito traveling very often but still coming over to see you guys when he wasn’t on the road, and today, he was coming over for the first time in two weeks, and Gia had no idea. The relationship between them was more than you could ever ask for, even yours and Tito’s relationship had changed, it wasn’t even spoken, it just happened, one night as he was leaving after you put Gia down. You leaned up to kiss his cheek but he turned, not knowing what you were doing. You both jumped back, muttering apologies, but you kept your hands on his chest, slowly you inched back together, your lips coming together softly.

Then it became more often, sneaking in kisses here or there, I miss you texts, phone calls. And now, now you were bouncing with excitement just to see him.

Tito knocked on the door with a wide smile, excited to see his two favorite girls, that thought running through his head the whole trip back, in his mind, he wanted to call you his, but he knew he hadn't even spoken to you about what this was.

You rushed over to open the door, Gia only just waking from her nap, “hi.” You whispered immediately being engulfed in his arms, yours going to wrap around his neck. “I missed you.” He admitted into your hair, kissing the side of your head, “I missed you too.” You assured him, leaning away to meet his eyes, something went unspoken between you two as he pulled you in for a kiss. This one was different though, more powerful than the rest had been. You sighed against him, melting into his hold as you kissed him back slowly, not wanting to rush the moment. “Tito.” You went to speak after you pulled back to breathe, “yeah, I know.” He murmured, pecking your lips again before finally stepping all the way inside. “Is she sleeping?” He frowned, wanting to see her, “she’s starting to wake up, I heard her fussing.” You explained, neither of you making any effort to untangle yourselves. “Would you want to go out with me sometime? Like a date.” Tito asked, you nodded instantly, “can’t we just count all the times you’ve stayed over here late as dates?” You teased, instantly making him relax. “Well, then I think it’s fine if I do this, as much as I want.” He joked, kissing you again, squeezing your hips.

“I think so too.” You agreed, pulling away once you heard Gia climbing out of her bed. “Gia, I have a surprise!” You called, hearing her giggle and run down the hall, she saw you and then she saw Tito standing beside you. What neither of you expected was the word about to come out of her mouth, “daddy!” You nearly passed out right there, literally swaying and having to grip Tito for stability. She hugged his legs, looking up at him with a grin. “Tito.” He corrected her gently, lifting her up once you regained your composure. “Hi, sweet girl.” He tickled her sides as he hugged her tightly, her laughter filling the room, you smiled at the sight, hoping that one day this would become a reality.

****

“Rough day?” You questioned Gia as she dramatically huffed and sat at the kitchen counter beside her sister. “Yes.” Gia spoke with a sigh, you held back your laughter, knowing that 1st grade could just be oh so difficult, Tito walked in a moment after with her backpack and lunch box, smiling at you as you held the two month old to your chest. He walked over to the girls, laughing at the bored expression on Gia’s face as she watched her two year old sister munch away on her fruit, “hi princess.” Tito greeted Sadie with a kiss to the head, before making his way over to you, kissing your lips and whispering a hello before taking the baby from you. He smiled as Cade gripped his finger tightly, looking up at his dad with the bright blue eyes that they shared. “Daddy, can we go for ice cream tonight?” Gia pouted at him, using the look she got from you that made him cave immediately. He glanced at you, who nodded, “only because it’s friday.” He pointed an accusing finger at her, watching as her annoyed expression broke into a smile. “Thank you!” She sang happily bounding to her room upstairs. You laughed at the sigh he let out, “Aw, did you have a rough day too, honey?” You teased, resting your head on his chest as he wrapped his free arm around you, Sadie coughing for attention and succeeding as you both looked over to make sure she wasn’t choking. She only smiled, Tito’s smile as she continued to eat her blueberries slowly, you glared lightly at her as she giggled. “I did have a rough day, thanks for asking.” He mused.

“My wife didn’t text me once all day.” He pouted at you, “I’m so sorry, I assumed you would be busy working and all.” You laughed at him, cupping his stubbled jaw, “how ever did you survive?” You asked with fake concern. “I’m not really sure. But I did, and I lived long enough to pick her up from school, I’ve earned my ice cream.” He quipped.

taglist: @boqvistsbabe @tortito @2manytabsopen @heybarzy @barzysreputation @yzas-stuff @iwantahockeyhimbo

#anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier #Anthony Beauvillier fic #tito beauvillier imagine #Tito Beauvillier

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 17 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Hello my loves, just a reminder that I am still on vacation so the queue is posting this! Will respond to ur taglist requests and messages ASAP love u all :) 

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: canon-typical descriptions of death, violence, drug use

wordcount: 2k

You and Aaron each read Jack a book of his choosing before tucking him into bed and heading towards Aaron’s bedroom together. Bringing your pajamas into the bathroom, you change and brush your teeth with the door closed, which feels silly, given everything, but you can’t help it.  Aaron slips into the bathroom as you step out, and you sit on top of the covers, hands folded in your lap, anxiously awaiting his return. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” he asks, clocking your anxiety immediately. 

“Nothing, I just feel bad that I got us caught by Jack,” you confessed, looking down at the comforter. 

“I couldn’t be less upset about that,” he assures you, climbing into bed beside you and taking your hand in his. “I mean, he practically told us that he already knew, even if he was a little confused.” 

“That was the other thing-- sorry that marriage and all of that got brought up. I’m sure that was---”

“I’m not upset about that, either.” He interrupts you. “Did I do something to make you think I was upset?”

“No, no,” you assured him. “It’s just kind of early for that kind of stuff, I’m sure it was uncomfortable--”

“It wasn’t uncomfortable. Apparently I’ve done a bad job of expressing how strongly I care for you, and I’m sorry for that.” You go to interrupt, but he cuts you off. “I couldn’t be happier that Jack knows how much I love you. Sharing that with our people-- my son, and our team-- is not something you need to apologize for, or something I’m ashamed of. I’m thrilled to be able to love you openly. No more apologies, okay?” 

Your breath caught just a little, but you hold it together. “No more apologies,” you agreed. “Aaron, it’s such a privilege to be loved by you,” you whispered, needing him to know how much his words meant to you but scared to ruin the moment. Aaron just shook his head, leaning to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he whispers into your hair, and you close your eyes, letting the peace of his touch overwhelm you. 

“There’s one more thing,” you said, after a moment. 

“And it’s not an apology?” Aaron checks. 

“No, it’s not an apology,” you assure him. “I wanted to thank you for sharing those pictures with Jack and me tonight. I’m sure it was emotional, but I was glad to see them. You love Haley so much. Thank you for sharing her memory with me.” 

“She was the reason I got up in the morning, from the day I met her until the day she died.” Aaron tells you, and you squeeze his hand.

“Everyone knew how much you loved her, Aaron. Even after the divorce, there wasn’t a single person at the bureau who knew a man who loved his wife that much.” You assured him.

“But it wasn’t enough. I failed her, and I could fail you too.”

“No, Aaron, no you didn’t. You promised to love her for as long as you lived, and you didn’t break that promise. You didn’t promise her you’d never change, and she never promised you that she’d never change. You both changed, but you never stopped loving each other.” You told him.

“How did you know? How did you know that I never stopped loving her? Didn’t that scare you out of loving me?’ Aaron whispered. 

“Aaron, the way you love her shows in everything you do. You never took a picture of her down, even after the divorce, when I’m sure they were painful to look at. You always let her know you were safe at night, and when she left you, you helped her move and made sure she had everything you needed.” 

“And that doesn’t scare you? That even when she left me, I still loved her?” 

“No, Aaron, it doesn’t scare me. That’s how I feel about you, so I understand.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Aaron says immediately-- how could you mean that? When Haley was so refined, so beautiful, so compassionate, and he was just a man, a man with baggage and trauma and a dark past?

“Of course I do, Aaron. I never told you this, and I might be selfish in telling you now-- but in the weeks after Haley died, I went to bed at night praying that time would move backwards and that I could take her place. I’d do anything to get her back to you, even if it meant that you and I never made it here.” 

“It’s an incredible privilege to be loved by you,” Aaron echoes your earlier statement, and you smile.

When you wake up the next morning, you realize that you’re never going to get a good night’s sleep without Aaron beside you again, and you love him and hate him for it in equal measure. Your anger is quickly forgotten when he rolls over and starts planting kisses across your face. 

“We have to get Jack to school,” you reminded him with a smile between kisses.

“We’ve got time,” he brushes you off. 

“You’ve got time, maybe. My hair is a mess from napping on your couch and I have to do my makeup,” you reminded him, planting one final kiss on his lips before rolling out of bed and heading towards the bathroom.

When you’ve gotten yourself ready for the day, you make your way out to the kitchen, were Jack is sitting in front of a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice. 

“Morning, little man,” you said, ruffling his hair and smoothing it back down as you sat in the seat next to him. Aaron crosses the kitchen with two plates, putting a piece of toast with peanut butter and banana slices in front of you, and one on his own placemat. 

“Thanks, honey,” You smile, taking a bite of your breakfast as he sits.

“Dad? Can we go to the soccer field tonight after work?” Jack asks as his father settles in.

“I can’t promise tonight, but we can definitely go this week, okay bud?” 

“Okay.” 

“Finish your breakfast, kiddo, or you’re gonna be late,” you told him, taking your plate to the sink and prepping travel mugs of coffee for you and Aaron, who shepherds Jack through the last few steps of getting out the door. You follow them down to the car and Aaron drives down the road to Jack’s school. You sit in the carpool line for a minute, listening to Jack point out his friends as they walk into the building, before Aaron pulls up to the curb and it’s Jack’s turn to get out. Aaron rolls down the window as Jack collects his things. 

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Hotchner,” a peppy brunette woman who you’re pretty sure is Jack’s teacher ducks down to make eye contact with Aaron through the window.

“Good morning, Ms. Meadows.”

‘Oh, and who’s this?” Ms. Meadows says, taking note of you for the first time. Aaron introduces the two of you, and you notice her looking you up and down, almost sizing you up. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says perfunctorily, turning her attention back to Aaron almost in an instant. “Did Jack tell you about the volunteer sign ups for the kids’ talent show?” 

“He did, I think his Aunt Jess--”

“Oh, that’s right, Jess did mention to me that she’d be here!” Ms. Meadows interrupts. “I guess I was just hoping to get some strong FBI dads in the building to help set up the stage equipment,” she pouts, and you briefly entertain the thought of leaning over the center console and wiping the pleading look across her face. 

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” Aaron says, blissfully interrupted by Jack waiting to give him and you a kiss goodbye. The two of you kiss both of his cheeks, and he hops out of the backseat and takes off towards the main entrance. 

“She was pleasant,” you note sarcastically when Aaron pulls out of the parking lot.

“What do you mean?” Aaron asked, looking over at you briefly, his nose scrunched up in confusion. 

“She’s clearly into you, Aaron.” You said, knowing it was obvious and he was just being oblivious. 

“What? No she’s not,” Aaron shook his head. 

“Oh, Mr. Hotchner, please come save me from the Woodbridge Elementary School talent show. I need your big, strong muscles to move all this heavy equipment because I’m just a docile young lady,” you mimicked Jack’s teacher in an exaggerated tone. 

“Now, if she had said that, then maybe I would have thought she was into me,” Aaron laughs at your dramatics. 

“She gave me a nasty look. She doesn’t like that she has competition.” You argue. 

“She doesn’t have competition. I mean, there is no competition. There’s just you, and that’s how I like it,” he said, taking one hand off the steering wheel to grab yours and bring it to his lips. 

Garcia is waiting for you both in Aaron’s office when you arrive at work.

“Is everything okay?” You ask her immediately, feeling Aaron shift his body towards yours.

“I finished digging up everything I could on Josh, if you want to see it.” She tells you both, and you look at Aaron. Truth be told, you don’t really want to know, but being disgusted and informed is probably better than being uninformed and caught off guard. 

“Come on, we’ll go review it in your office.” Aaron said, stepping aside to let Garcia lead the way. Once she is a few paces ahead, he leans down to whisper in your ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe, and you just tell me if you need to take a break, okay?”

You nodded, and Aaron place a comforting hand on your back as the two of you made your way down to the batcave. 

“Okay, so, just going through the highlights,” Garcia starts, clicking at tabs and pulling them up on her assortment of monitors throughout the room.  “Starting a few weeks before you left, I noticed that Josh was calling and texting the same number a lot-- but only when you all were off fighting crime. Of course, I assumed that this absolute peach of a man had somehow conned not one but two women who had to be decidedly out of his league, but it turns out that wasn’t the case. He’s been doing coke, and the number leads to his dealer.” 

“Fuck, again?” You interrupted her.

“He was doing coke when the two of you were together?” Aaron asked, surprised. 

“Not for a while, or so I thought. The coke was what made him violent-- I told him it was the drugs or me, and when he told me that he’d picked me, I believed him.” You explained. “He must have been high when he showed up that night-- he was always an asshole but showing up like that was out of character.” 

“So, with you out of the picture, it seems like the coke usage has increased a lot. Like, from a weekly to a daily thing, a lot. He’s going out at night, racking massive credit card debt. He hasn’t purchased a firearm or anything that indicates that he might be planning something violent, but he’s definitely acting impulsive.” 

“Was he sober or high when he sent the flowers?” Aaron asks. 

“Sir, I don’t think he’s been sober since you took all of her stuff out of the apartment,” Garcia responds. 

“He’s only going to get more aggressive and out-of-touch with reality the longer this bender lasts,” you note, clinically, as if you were talking about a case halfway across the country and as if your future wasn’t hanging in the balance. 

“We’ll keep an eye on it, and we’ll be ready. Garcia, can you print out a full copy of this and get it on my desk?” 

“Are you sure? The full copy is really long, it’s got to be--” 

“I’m sure, Garcia. Thank you.”  

tagging:  @hotforhotchner11      @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @msmarvelsmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

[pinkmirth]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ (ch.1 | feenin')

—𝑶𝑵𝑬.

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER | WK: 2.8K

Frenzied cheers buzzed throughout the raving auditorium, the basketball’s reverberating bounces against the slick court floor adding onto the thrill. This match was nothing but hyped, but in a good way so.

The sports chants of the college goers sounded rather foreign to you, since it wasn’t like you attended Stohess University anyway. The fellow audience around you were at the edge of their seats, hailing their team’s basketball players as the raving shouts began to sound borderline intoxicating. So much so that you couldn’t help but clap along to another school’s anthem.

“Havin’ fun?” Marco questions, the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile that showcased his quirky dimples. You beamed right back at the freckled male, plush lips curved into a grin of your own.

It all seemed trivial, just a friendly collegiate basketball match that your friends Jean and Marco had invited you to free of charge, but it was all the break you needed from your own studies and more.

“Hell yeah I am,” you chuckled in reply, “but you know what’d make it better?”

His doe brown eyes flitted between you and the vibrant box of candy in hand, which was seemingly low in supply after you and him dipped your hands in for a bite a countless number of times.

“A refill on these, yeah?” His claims were just as what you were thinking, earning your brief nod of agreement. Marco subtly shook the snackbox within his hold, the spare pieces left beginning to rattle around with the motion.

“You read my mind, Coco,” you grinned, rising up from your reserved seat with spare cash stuffed into your back pocket. “I’ll be right back, ‘aight?” He sends you a brief smile in compliance.

“Get the sour patch this time!”

“You got sour patch money..?”

He pursed his lips momentarily, unsure as to whether you had been joking or not. “M’just messing ‘round with you, Coco,” you snickered with a teasing grin, slipping a hand into your pocket to retrieve the few bucks. “It’s on me.” Was all you said before making your way through the crowded stands, descending down stair after stair.

“It’s only the first game of the season, and our pride and joy, the Stohess Scouts, are already dominating tonight’s guest competitors!” the commentator boomed through the mic, their voice adding onto the various noises that filled the gymnasium. “We’re calling for a halftime, but let’s keep our fingers crossed that Kirschtein can pull through with a fair amount of two-pointers by the upcoming final quarter—“

The mentioned name of your close friend makes you beam with pride, content that your Jeanie was the star of the show. You set eyes on the brunette from where you stood, who was now making his way to the sidelines for a desperately needed and duly earned swig of water, his light brown hair in a disarray of stray strands fraying out from underneath the simple hairband you’d given him a while back.

You eagerly began to flit down the stands to reach him, striding past the poor row of benched players, from the injured to the water boy.

Jean eventually takes notice of your arrival and instantly beams, subtle puffs of air leaving his agape lips after all the running and dribbling and such that came with game day.

The first thing you do is taunt upon your arrival,“Y’all had better win, Jeanie.”

As always, Jean only smirks. “You doubting that I won’t bring that trophy home, Pookie?” you playfully grimaced and let out a stifled laugh over the somewhat embarrassing nickname— one that you made up when the pair of you were seven, and it's the same one that he’s been holding onto for all these years, even at nineteen.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said you aren’t lookin’ pretty damn promising out there,” your reply is genuine, the soft grin that you display causing Jean to display one of his own. It was an affable, never ending cycle— you’d tease and he’d do it right back, until the both of you would laugh over it and depart with a brief smile.

“M’getting snacks, I’ll be back before the breaktime ends, okay?” Kirschtein briefly nods in compliance, sending a few adjusting tugs to the white basketball sleeve hugging his bicep before departing with the sharp squeak of his shoes sprinting against the court floor.

Once again, you find yourself strolling past every individual seated on the benches. You’re speed-walking alongside them, anticipating to retrieve a couple snacks for you and Marco, until something— Someone catches your eye.

It was brisk and almost too sudden, but flashes of green meet your line of vision. You managed to make out the blur of thick brows, long dark hair having been thrown into the messiest attempted bun, a modest, charming smile, and a pair of turquoise irises that seemingly peered into your own with an intensity that made you take it personal. Yet, you hardly even caught a good glimpse of their face, whoever they were.

You passed by said person a good thirty seconds ago, already pushing your way past the double doors and over to the vending machines stationed along the semi-populated hallway, but that striking gaze was still heavily implanted within your mind.

Hazy green-grey eyes, you recalled, accompanied with them shooting you the briefest grin just as you whisked by. Though, as recent as it was, that was all in the past now.

You glance around to see a decent handful of people here to buy food of their own, being perched at other vending machines. The snack-wielding contrivance before you isn't drawing much attention and doesn’t have an awaiting crowd standing around for a bag of potato chips, so you withdraw the dollars from your back pocket and attempt to straighten them out a bit before inserting them into the slot.

“Wow,”

This sudden breathy gasp from a “random whoever” is something that you take notice of, but it isn’t enough to rip your attention away from your scavenge for Marco’s sour patch. To their dismay, you do nothing but continue with what you came to do. In your opinion, whoever that was had been getting a bit too close for comfort..

Albeit the evident way you choose to ignore, another whistle resounds, along with an unpleasantly suggestive hum. It sounds somewhat louder, and it seems much closer than before. You can’t help but tear your gaze away from slot E7 and look up, since it seems so directed towards you.

You've hardly turned around before being met with the abrupt presence of a stranger uninvitingly looming beside you, the man’s beaming grin seeming sickeningly sweet. Almost too approachable.

“Oh, I’m sorry to pop up out of the blue,” his apologies come out within a chuckle, and as inviting as he attempts to seem, your brows only furrow. “—but you really caught my attention!” He was greatly unfamiliar to you, some white male around your age with shaggy auburn hair and chestnut colored eyes in contrast. Despite his subtle charm, you weren't growing a liking to him and his stupid little smile.

“Oh,” You muse with a dull hum, pursing your glossed lips before releasing them with a slight pop, “Did I really?” His nod is too enthusiastic, and you hardly try to cover up the mug-like expression that overtook your features, eyes grazing across his plain face uninterestedly. You promptly slide the dollars right back into your pocket, “Nice to know. Can you mind your own now?”

“Wait! I'm not meaning to be a bother, but.. I don’t see girls like you around much..” You're instantly encased with a shiver of deep cringe, one that annoyingly scurries up your spine and makes your lip twitch into a vexed glower.

You emitted the most exaggerated huff, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, all the while glancing at the sheen glass of the vending machine to see your own reflection. It was plastered all across your face, yet this dense-ass man still couldn't get it; you were pissed-off.

Great. You internally groan, Another snow roach who thinks I’m exotic.

“I really appreciate how different you look,” Was he really still rambling on, despite knowing damn well that you were growing uncomfortable? Or maybe, he was just an utter dumbass and couldn't take the painfully obvious hints.

“You wanna know what I’d appreciate, hm?” You say sharply, taking a swift inhale through your nose, “If you left me alone.”

Your smooth, placid voice was the first thing that Eren heard when he trotted into the hallway, that of which sounded dulcet and intriguingly accentuated, but more annoyed than anything else. He turns the corner and is met with the sight of a bastard that looked too smug for his own good, and a girl, such a pretty girl, whose melanated skin even found a way to gleam under the shitty fluorescent school lights.

It then clicks in Eren’s mind, briefly but distinctively. You were the person who'd strolled by the bench that he was sitting on earlier. You were also the same one who did a double take upon seeing him, glancing once— No, twice, with those captivating eyes of yours. He remembered the way his leg started to bop along the floor with a newfound excitement that he just couldn't place. Though, more than anything else, Eren recalled that he did the exact same; hold his gaze and grin at the sight of you.

“Ah, but you can spare me a minute more, can’t you?” You respond with the swift roll of your eyes, eliciting an exasperated groan, “Nigga, I said bye.” Eren’s thick, neat brows falter into a furrowed position, looking upon the scenario that was being splayed out before him, which everyone else in that hall was seemingly content with ignoring. It couldn't have only been him that saw that this bastard was relentlessly bothering you, could it?

“Woah, no need to get aggressive,” Eren’s expression contorts into a grimace upon hearing every little word, the tips of his ears red with brewing rage. Despite his matured will to control his daily outburst of emotions, it was safe to say that he'd never exactly gotten past his trial of anger issues since he was a kid.

“Listen, this is my nice way of tellin’ you to fuck off, but I can get aggressive if you want.” Your offer sounds downright threatening, “Do you really want that?”

You’re snappy and direct, and Eren can't deny that he likes that. Though, as much as he's growing fond of your strong will and defensiveness, he knows he can't stand idly by all day, he just can't. Besides, everyone knew well— It was practically Eren Jaeger’s forte to intervene.

The green eyed male eventually begins to make his way towards the scene in the form of subtle limps, being cautious of his ankle sprain as he grows closer, which was the reasoning behind him being benched in the first place.

You were much too preoccupied with that cheeky, unrelenting bastard to notice the way that Eren was gradually coming over, anyway. What could he say? He was a fan of the element of surprise.

You halt in the middle of your opposing rant, growing aware of another’s emerging presence. You're yet again bombarded with somebody else making their way beside you with an act of stealth that you were unknowingly soon to be thankful of.

Before you get the chance to merely peer in their direction, tall, a long haired male clad in the black and grey Stohess basketball uniform is towering alongside you, his toned, burly arm slinking around your shoulder.

This sudden proximity leaves your head spinning in the best way possible, and how could it not? You don’t know a single thing about this alluring stranger, but he’s close, so close, and it gets your heart and mind racing miles in a minute. You were subtly, but instantly enraptured once the weight of his arm rests comfortably upon you.

Eren doesn’t pay the confused male not one glance, but instead tends to you and your own state of delighted shock. “Play it cool, alright? I wanna help.” Your breath instinctively hitches once he leans down to ease out his whispered plan into your ear, flashing you a consoling half smile.

You return a brief nod before dragging your eyes along the male’s face, which looks so much better up close. Your interpretation of his image was more literal and precise than you thought to be; The dark, long tresses that had been pulled back with the aid of a thin elastic scrunchie, his expressively thick brows, pink lips that upturned into a supportive smirk, and those sea-green eyes that left you feeling weak right in the knees.

Albeit Eren’s prior grin, he eventually turns his attention towards the unrelenting man for a second or two. In that moment, his expression speedily grew all the more intense, practically sharper than before, and contorted into something of a scowl. Although, you can tell he’s trying so hard to channel his temper and mask away his revulsion.

“I’ve been, ah.. waiting for you to come back to your seat!” Eren begins to improvise, flashing you a subtle gleam that made it seem as though the pair of you were familiar with each other. “S’been a while since then."

He purses his lips within a pause, nimble fingers draping along your shoulder before shooting you a reassuring squeeze, "Is it ‘cause this bastard is keeping you occupied? He’s bothering you, isn't he?”

You're damn near close to stammering over the words that were bound to leave your mouth. Though, it doesn't take much for you to regain yourself. Your lips fall slightly agape all the while you briskly dragged your line of vision along his charming features, but your response follows after in a quick manner. It was just that you couldn't help how his unnerving gaze left you mesmerized.

“—Yes. Yes he is.” You hum, accompanying the claim with your hands crossing over your chest as you leaned into his grasp, in an attempt to appear convincing. Your confession sounded assured and stern, which was the complete opposite of how girls would act around him.

Eren knew well of the doting effect that he had on females— It was hard to forget when he’d merely ask for a spare pencil and wind up with an unasked phone number in return. Though, he admired the way you saw him as any other person and played along so well.

The brown-haired male scornfully laughs, and just the sound of him leaves you feeling uncomfy, “Whaddya' mean? We were just having a small chat, isn't that right?” Your contorted expression is full-fledged disrespectful, and Eren has to stifle his chuckle over your unsmiling glare and scrunched up nose. Damn, were you entertaining.

“Small chat, huh? Well, it was real one sided..” You voice out an irked murmur, “You're over exaggerating, you just haven’t warmed up to me yet—”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Eren makes a very much intended interruption, “I’d say that she doesn’t want to mingle with a sorry bastard that should leave her alone already.” You note at the subtle flex of Eren’s clenching jaw, signifying the way his already weary patience was running rather thin.

“Bastard—? Wait, who even are you?”

“Who am I, huh?” scoffs the green eyed male alongside you, a twinge of drawled hesitance in his voice. Eren pauses momentarily, only now beginning to realize that his little hero act wasn’t as planned out as he thought to be.

What could he say that would be persuasive enough to get this sorry fucker to leave you alone other than throwing fists unnecessarily? Jaeger’s emerald-hued eyes eventually light up in the dawn of an idea. One that he’s somewhat unsure of, but it’s much better than nothing.

Besides, this plan of his had been set in stone by the very moment he had draped his bare arm around you and shot you that all-too-suggestive smile, so he might as well finish what he started.

Eren’s touch trails downwards swiftly, spreading riveting tingles from your shoulder down to your forearm, then along your wrist, and even past there. His hand is now encasing the left side of your hip as his lithe fingers press into the curve of your supple waist. He takes a light inhale, giving you a light squeeze with his large palm, as though signaling for you to brace yourself over what he was bound to say.

“—I'm her boyfriend.”

—𝑭𝑰𝑵.

#eren yeager #eren x black reader #eren yeager x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader #eren x black!reader #eren yeager x black!reader #black!reader #black reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki #shingeki no kyojin #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren aot #eren fluff #eren smut #eren angst #feenin #harmoni writes #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut

[tundrainafrica]

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?" 

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!"  Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and  man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now.  Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all,  Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

[snapdragon-mina]

Enchanted Pt. 1

Kuroo Tetsurou x GN!Reader

A/N: UHHHHH, here's my late entry for ✨the newest✨ POCuties Sever Collab Based on the movie version of Ella Enchanted

Warnings: No beta we die like men, a couple swear words here and there, mentions of death, attempted murder, and this is a Crack fic treated seriously. Part 2 will be out within a few hours of this.

Word Count: 2.8k

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

----------------❌----------------

It all starts with a baby. A beautiful baby named (y/n) was born into a comfortable family. This baby cried a lot, wanting to be held by their mother constantly. She took good care of her baby alongside kiyoko, a household fairy. Everything worked out beautifully until a particular fairy godmother appeared. As desperately as the mother and kiyoko tried, they could not hide the baby from Satori (the only fairy godfather who gave god awful gifts).

As much as Satori tried to quiet the baby's crying, it would not stop. This gave him the perfect idea for a gift. He gave the child the "gift" of obedience. (y/n) would not be able to disobey a command given to them no matter what. Kiyoko absolutely hated the gift that Satori gifted the baby and begged him to take it back but he refused.

Despite the gift they were given, (y/n) grew up to be strong willed and determined. Once they discovered a girl being bullied for something as stupid as a name, they quickly took to standing up for her. The girl introduced herself as Yachi and they became best friends very quickly.

When (y/n) discovered the gift, they asked for Kiyoko to take it away, only to be told that she couldn't. But despite this, (y/n) always fought against the gift whenever they could.

When (y/n) was still a child, their mother grew very ill. As she laid in her bed, she told (y/n) to never reveal their gift to anyone. She didn't want her child to be taken advantage of. Before she passed away, she gave them her necklace to remember her by.

----💫----

Getting dressed, (y/n) put on their mother's necklace only to be interrupted by none other than Kiyoko. "(Y/n), your father wants to speak to you." She said before taking her leave.

(y/n) walked to their father's study only to receive shocking news.

"What?! You're married??"

"Look, she has money. It was either marry her or sell the house. She has two sons, so there's no doubt she's a wonderful mother-figure." He let out a sigh before continuing. "I'm sure you'll all be the best of friends, just... give them all a chance."

The next morning, three people arrived in a carriage. They were *not* pleased at the sight of the house.

(y/n)'s father greeted the three with a warm smile and two kisses to the woman's cheeks. "Welcome, my dear. These must be your sons?"

She nodded with a fake smile. "Yes, this is my dear Tooru, and my... other son, Tobio." The brunette just stared while the black haired one did an exaggerated bow. Just as this occurred, (y/n) walks out of the house to meet the three new people who were supposedly living with them now.

"You must be (y/n)." The woman said, giving them a once over. (y/n) bowed and greeted them with a polite "pleased to meet you."

After a short, awkward pause, the woman returned her attention to the father. "You have a wonderful home, but I recall you saying that you had a castle." she hissed out.

He shook his head. "No no, you must be mistaken, I said "A man's home is his castle"."

While their father and the lady talked, (y/n) introduced themselves with a smile only to be almost completely ignored.

Inside the house, the two brothers began setting up. Tooru putting up posters of a prince while Tobio explained.

"Tooru's president of Prince Tetsu's fan club." They grinned at each other only for their faces to fall into a scowl when (y/n) spoke.

"You must be aware that Tetsurou and his uncle are responsible for the segregation of the kingdom, right?"

With a judging look, Tooru spoke. "so? He's hot."

After looking around a bit the two were getting increasingly displeased with their surroundings. A small room, damn near nonexistent closet space, etc. "This won't work." The brunette spoke in a clearly disgusted tone. "We'll use yours. Show it to us."

Unable to disobey the command, (y/n) led them towards their room. Tooru narrowed his eyes and seemed to file that bit of information for later. Upon reaching the room, He was immediately disgusted. "It looks awful. There isn't any room here either. We're throwing out some of your clothes."

"what?! No. Get out of my closet." They went to attempt to force him away only for him to immediately demand that you get away from him.

As they backed up, He noticed the necklace and demanded that it be given to him. Unfortunately, (y/n) was forced to hand over the necklace.

Not a moment later, (y/n)'s father announced his business trip. They needed money and his work was the only thing keeping them afloat.

----💫----

During a heated debate in class is when Tooru figured it out. They'd been debating on whether king Kei had been a fair ruler or not. (y/n) was vehemently arguing in favor that he was not. He'd enslaved every other race and forced them to work in little stereotyped boxes. He'd made laborers and entertainers out of anyone non human. (y/n) *hated* it.

Tooru, on the other hand, thought that he was a wonderful ruler. He gave us free enterprises, humans don't have to work hard at things that *they* should be doing. They disagreed and when (y/n) insulted the prince. Tooru demanded that they apologize and admit they're wrong and when (y/n) did, it all clicked. (Y/n) couldn't obey a single command they were given.

----⭐----

"Do I really have to go to this mall opening?" Tetsurou asked his uncle as they sat inaide of an extremely expensive looking carriage.

"As heir to the throne, it's your responsibility. You're a public figure. You have to be seen." Kei told him simply.

"Yeah but you're the one in charge."

"Not for long. Your coronation is next week and you need to be out there with your people, Tetsu."

Seated next to Kei was Tadashi, who was something like Kei's closest companion. You would rarely ever see Kei without Tadashi.

Kei advised Tetsurou that keeping a good public image builds trust within a kingdom before telling him of the things that where apparently going on within the kingdom.

Of giants and ogres wanting to rebel against them and take them down but none of this sounded right to him.

"The giants have always been peaceful." Tetsurou said, confused as to why he was being told otherwise.

"The ogres were once peaceful as well. Until they killed your father in cold blood." His voice held a certain edge to it. "Before your father's gruesome death, I promised him that if anything happened to him, I would take care of you and the kingdom." Pushing up his glasses, a glare formed on the glass, shielding his eyes from view. "I have kept my promise, haven't I?"

Tetsurou remained silent for the rest of the ride, turning to face the window instead of his uncle.

----💫----

(Y/n) sat in the crowd next to Yachi, surrounded by hundreds of adoring fans of the prince as king Kei made an announcement.

"Thank you. It's wonderful to be in your... charming town of... Frell. Prince Tetsurou and I-" He was immediately cut off by the sounds of hundreds of people screaming at the mere mention of the prince's name. Kei decided to get the announcement done and over with. "And now it's with great pleasure that I introduce Prince Tetsurou."

Screams broke out again as the prince stepped into view. He waved as he walked out.

This was their cue.

Immediately, (y/n) and Yachi stood up on a fountain holding banners that read Say No To Ogrecide! and Stop Giant Land Grab!. The began chanting these words at the prince, catching his attention.

Tooru did not like this. He immediately ran over to the two protesting. "You're embarrassing us!" he hissed. "Go Home. Now."

Immediately, (y/n) began apologizing to Yachi as they left her there.

----⭐----

"Prince Tetsu, are you a fast runner?" A girl in the front asked him. He shook his head with a smile.

"Not really, why?" He immediately regretted those words. Because as soon as they left his mouth, the crowd charged at him; forcing him to flee.

He ran as quickly as he could until he ran into someone walking down a pathway. Quickly, he pulled them down and behind a stone wall.

"Prince Tetsurou."

"Please, call me Tetsu..." He trailed off, looking at the person he had just pulled down. "Sorry about that." He attempted to help them up, only to immediately be shot down.

"I don't need your chivalry and I definitely don't intend on bowing to you, either." They dusted themselves off and began walking away.

"Bow or not, that's your choice. Can't really do much about that other than have you beheaded, but that's a bit too much" he joked.

"Charming. Why don't you do what your people usually do? Steal my land and destroy my livelihood. Now if you'll excuse me." They continued walking away only to be forcefully stopped by him commanding them to wait and come back.

Groaning, (y/n) turned around and walked back to him, standing directly in front of him.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"(Y/n) of Frell."

"(Y/n)... You're one of the first people I've met that hasn't immediately melted at the sight of me." He sounded astonished.

"It might've done you some good." They rolled their eyes and went to turn around and leave again.

Tetsurou paused and looked offended. "Wait, I've never stolen anyone's land nor their livelihood. I want peace in the kingdom as much as anyone."

(y/n) turned around with a scowl on their face. "So you have a new plan once you take the crown?"

"Well... Sorta... I can't reveal it though."

They scoffed in his face. "Yeah, thought so. Y'know you're all the same. You care more about your fancy club and next jousting tournament."

"I- well I've never been comfortable with having a fanclub. In fact... Your obvious hatred of me is kinda refreshing." He grinned.

"Obvious? I was trying so hard to hide it." They rolled their eyes and continued on their walk home. As they were walking they suddenly remembered leaving their bag. Any attempt to go retrieve it was immediately stopped by a simple "wait right there."

They were stuck in place as Tetsu rushed back to get it. Unfortunately, a carriage was rushing towards them. They called out his name but was only saved as they were inches away from getting hit.

"Are you insane?! Why didn't you move?" Tetsurou asked.

"Yeah... I would've... were it not for your apparent fascination with knocking me to the ground." They sat up. "This is the second time today."

"Yeah well I'll try to be more considerate next time you're about to get ran over."

"What makes you think we'll see each other again?" They raised an eyebrow.

"Won't we?" he asked.

"Nope."

Before much else could be said, Tooru stood in the middle of the path, seething. "Get over here."

Immediately, (y/n) got up and walked over.

"Shouldn't you be at home cleaning the fireplace?" Tooru let out a forced laugh before whispering to them. "Stop flirting. I'm going to be at his coronation."

"Yeah in the center of the table with an apple in your mouth." They muttered in response.

"Go back to the mall with Tobio."

(y/n) stormed off with Tobio in tow as Tooru stayed back to try to flirt with his royal highness.

----💫----

At the mall, (y/n) met back up with Yachi. "Where were you?" the girl asked. (y/n) explained their meeting with the prince and went on to say that Tobio and Tooru were there.

"Why do you always do what Tooru tells you to?" She asked.

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Tell the truth."

"Guess I do..."

A moment later the two were spotted by Tobio and Tooru. "(Y/n). take that for me." Tooru asked, pointing towards something on a stand. The moment they took it, something lit up in Tobio's eyes. It quickly devolved into demanding them to steal various items against their will until they got caught taking a pair of glass slippers.

It resulted in (y/n) getting chased throughout the mall by a guard.

----💫----

The moment their new step mother learned that (y/n) had been arrested for theft, she flew into exaggerated hysterics. "A felon in my own home!" she cried.

Kiyoko immediately came to their defense. "They were probably put up to it. The (y/n) I know, would never do this." She glared at the brothers. However, as Tooru looked out the window, He got an idea.

"Kiyoko's right, we were there. They were forced to and it isn't poor (y/n)'s fault at all." He sighed to his mother, leaving (y/n) and kiyoko confused.

"So, Who put you up to it?" The woman demanded as she looked away.

A devious smirk graced Tooru's face. "Tell her it was Yachi." He whispered.

"Y-" They quickly covered their mouth but that wasn't enough. "Yachi."

Kiyoko closed her eyes and let out a sigh. The woman immediately forbade (y/n) from ever speaking to them again.

It was then that Yachi approached the door with the intent to ask (y/n) about what had happened at the mall. (y/n) was forced to answer the door and tell their best and only friend that they never want to see her again.

Later that day, (y/n) cried to Kiyoko about how awful the experience was until they came to the conclusion that they absolutely had to find the fairy that cursed them and Kiyoko offered something that would help them.

She held a book in her hands and present it to to them.

"I'm not... The most talented fairy... But this book is my boyfriend, Ryuu..."

The book was a light pink and gold with a magic mirror in the center. It showed a face in it and the moment he was revealed, he greeted (y/n).

"I've never seen anyone like it."

"Well, It was an accident. I wanted to practice a spell that would trim his hair since it had grown out, but it... didn't go well. So now he's in a book." Kiyoko explained.

Kiyoko allowed (y/n) to take Ryuu along with them on their journey.

----💫----

They walked through a forest, holding Ryuu in their hands when they heard screams. An elf was stuck to a spinning wheel as a couple of people threw darts at him. The elf told them to kick their asses and they did just that.

He began commentating as they fought off the guys and eventually, they won the fight with the men retreating.

Immediately (y/n) helped the elf down and checked on them quickly. Fortunately, the elf was completely uninjured.

"I'm Shoyo!"

"I'm (y/n). Nice to meet you. Now if you're okay, it was nice to meet you but I have to leave."

That didn't sit well with Shoyo. He immediately began arguing and trying to convince them to eat with him until he succeeded. Convinced that (y/n) wouldn't make it through the woods alone.

Eventually they made it to a bar in an Shoyo's home town with only a minor distraction.

Inside of the bar, they both sat down to eat and so (y/n) decided to ask a question. "Why don't you like music?"

"Right because all Elves are supposed to love singing and dancing. I wanna be an athlete, not an singer or dancer."

(Y/n) nodded sympathetically. "Yeah I understand that. I'd forgotten all about the laws that restrict elves from being anything other than singers and other occupations like that."

----💫----

After convincing Shoyo to come with them, (y/n) walked alongside him calmly until they were caught up with a couple of ogres. (y/n) tried to convince the ogres that that they were on their side only for that to backfire horribly and end up with them being steadily lowered into a pot with Shoyo tied to a tree.

Extremely conveniently, Prince Tetsurou found them and fought off the ogres, freeing (y/n) and Shoyo. He backed one of them against a tree with a sword pointed at the ogre's neck. "Are you one of the monsters that killed my father?"

The ogre looked confused. "What? No no, you've got it all wrong. King Koutarou was a good man! We lived in peace during his reign, why would we ever want to kill him?"

Tetsurou pulled the sword away from the ogre but didn't seem to believe his words. "Leave. Find breakfast somewhere else."

The ogres agreed and quickly left the area. Tetsurou turned towards (y/n). "What are you doing here w with an elf for protection? Do you get off to near death experiences or something?"

"No. I had things under control." They lied.

"Yeah, sure you did. I see the score stands Chivalry: 2, Gratitude: 0." He said, back facing them.

They apologized and thanked him for the help before cleaning dressing a wound he'd gotten from protecting them.

"So... Where are you heading?"

"A giant's wedding. I have to meet my godfather."

"That's on the way back to me home, I'll come with."

"No thanks."

"Too bad."

#anime x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x gn reader #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyū!! #haikyu x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo fluff #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo tetsurou #ella enchanted #movie au #haikyuu royal au #oikawa tooru #kageyama tobio #hinata shouyou #haikyuu kiyoko #tanaka ryunosuke #satori tendou #kei tsukishima #tsukki #yamaguchi tadashi #fantasy #fantasy au #pocuties server collab #pocuties movie collab

[gallickingun]

ding, dong, the witch is dead!

honestly, who didn’t see this coming? lol. but, anyway. i guess this is goodbye! i’ll ramble more below the cut, but just know that over the next couple of days, i’ll be exporting my blog so i can keep what i want, and then this will be the only post left here.

thank you to everyone who i’ve had the privilege of meeting, and those of you who have been so kind as to leave lovely notes on my works, and interact with me over our silly anime crushes. i really appreciate all the kindness i’ve been shown in the anime fandom. some of my best friends i’ve met through this stupid app, but overall, it’s just not a healthy space for me. i’m not blaming anyone else for what this has become, at the end of the day, i created a hell for myself. i’m just tired of trying to rebuild, rebrand, whatever. i’m just tired.

that being said, obviously not everything can always be so lovely. i don’t care about the discourse or the drama or the whatever, but i’m just hoping this post will bring me some closure, and maybe some for those i’ve hurt, whether accidentally or intentionally. if you click read more and you’re upset with what you see, well, idk what to tell you, friend.

i hate that tumblr can be so insignificant, and yet so all encompassing all at once. yes, it’s “just tumblr” and “it’s not that deep” because at the end of the day, it’s just an app. but, unfortunately, behind this app and these blogs are human beings. which means you create real bonds and real friendships, and real feelings get hurt.

i came back to tumblr during a really sad, dark time in my life. and that was honestly my first mistake. i latched on to whoever would pay attention to me, craving some sort of friendship that i never needed before because i always had someone in real life. but i had just moved away from my family, and was starting the process of what would end up being a notsogreat divorce. i felt alone, and was struggling a lot with my self worth, so instead of choosing to be kind, i chose to lash out. regardless of whether or not that was in private dm’s of those whom, at the time, i’d considered friends, it was still inconsiderate and childish of me. i thought i had to be some hateful version of myself in order to prove to other people that i wasn’t as sad about myself as i truly was. the words i said in private were rude, nasty, and just... not who i want to be? and, without going into immense detail, some of those things i wanted to move on from and no longer felt, were then used as weapons and spread around to others who i never intended to see what i’d said.

please, please, PLEASE — be careful what you say. you really never know who is watching, who is going to manipulate you, etc. what you say holds weight, and even if you don’t intend for it to hurt anyone, even if it’s just venting.. i dunno. just, be careful, okay? check yourself from time to time, friend. make sure that you’re not allowing the overall negativity of the world, of your own mind, of others, to affect you to the point that you don’t recognize yourself.

if you don’t know about my lovely little exposed blog, well, you’d probably be the last to know. at least, it feels that way. although in the beginning maybe it was justified? in some right? i’m not sure anymore, really, but regardless—it turned into some sort of stalking experience. at one point in time, i received 35+ messages telling me how horrible i was, telling me to off myself, telling me that my ex did the right thing by leaving me “on the curb”, etc. my full legal name was being released, with the intent to doxx me i’m assuming? i was being told i was “being watched”, which i fully believe was happening, with the consistency of the updates. people who claim to hate me, still followed me with the intent of watching my every move to “see if i’d changed”. i only have received updates through friends, because to be perfectly honest with you, seeing your worst mistakes splayed on the internet and turning you into some shounen villain is NOT the best thing for your mental health. that, and some of the “truths” were half-honesties twisted because i’d be a hypocrite to post private dm’s debunking these things when i was upset with the very same people for posting such things. i’ve addressed some things, such as the racism, so i won’t go into that again, but some of these other instances are stretches, to say the least.

the irony of the whole thing is not lost on me. the very same people who say i only do things for notes/recognition, are doing those very things. those who say i only care about tumblr, are proving that by running a blog dedicated to exposing some twenty three year old idiot on the internet. those who say i use my friends are the same ones who literally lied to my face so they could collect receipts behind my back and then leave me when it got convenient. those who say i talk to “insignificant” blogs to appear invested are the ones calling those blogs insignificant, i never once believed anyone i’ve interacted with was insignificant, contrary to popular belief. everything they focus on ends up being nothing but hypocrisy in the end.

that being said, obviously i truly hurt whoever all is behind this blog. intentionally, or otherwise. and i know that sometimes what you do/say isn’t meant to hurt anyone, however, you don’t get to control how what you’ve done effects others. all you can do is apologize. but, i know a few of them, because based on the “receipts” they’ve pulled together, the stories are too specific to be anything but those people i’m thinking of. i don’t enjoy blanket apologies, but i’m leaving this hellsite, so it’s all i’ve got left.

i’m sorry for giving you the fuel to your fire for this petty agenda, i’m sorry for creating the monster of myself that allowed you to string along this storyline for what seems to be the better part of a year. i’m sorry that i gave you material to fixate upon, rather than providing you with friendship and something better to focus on. i truly hope you can move on now that i’m gone from tumblr, and honestly i don’t plan on coming back, lol. i genuinely, truly, deeply feel sorry for you, and pray that you can turn this obsessive focus from me to something more productive, something healthier.

the angry part of me wants everyone to realize that the start of this, the matchups/refunds situation, was born from this stalkerish behavior. it has taken me months to put the pieces together, because i truly didn’t think someone who i’d called my friend once would ever string together such a lie, or rather an exaggerated, adulterated truth, but i guess it’s what happened, in the end.

there are a lot of, uh, conveniently timed “releases” of receipts even though they were months after the initial occurrence of the offense. i can’t go into each one, because, frankly, there are too many. i just hope that in the wake of all of these horrible exposes of things i’ve done, others are able to reflect on their actions. telling me one thing while currently speaking to another individual and telling them another, blatantly LYING, etc. are all things that i’ve been accused of, and yet they’ve also been done to me. doesn’t justify what i’ve done, nor am i seeking some sort of absolution, however i just hope that these individuals can see their hypocrisy and move forward.

which leads me to my final point — regardless of how shitty someone is, disallowing them the room to grow, stunting their moral/mental growth, is truly the issue. i am not going to sit here and play holier than thou. i know i fucked up. i was a nasty bitch because i was angry at the world, and then that anger was fueled further by consistent situations where i made the wrong friends at the wrong times in my life. but the fact that this exposed nonsense has been dragging on since... july? august? i’m not really sure, but whatever. since it’s been going on, i have been battling with myself and my ability to do the things i love, talk to those i care about, etc. all because i’m afraid of saying the wrong thing, hurting the wrong person, etc. and in trying to avoid it, i’ve been doing the very same thing i hoped to keep from doing.

i never felt like i could apologize to those i wanted to apologize to because it might be received as disingenuous due to the nature of the exposed blog’s very existence “forcing” me to apologize. don’t get me wrong, some of those who the blog tried to coerce me into apologizing to can suck a dick, because there are people that i truly do not feel deserve my apologies, and therefore, will never get them. but, i do feel bad for those i didn’t get the chance to apologize to that i really wanted to. the last thing i’d want is for my apology to be turned into something it’s not, but hopefully everyone who has been affected by my actions can move on with my absence.

and to those of you who feel the need to make public denounces of my name, i hope it provides you the closure you’ve been seeking. truly, i do. but know that i never did anything i’ve ever done with the intent to get ahead or buy someone’s friendship or take advantage of anyone else. if i truly only cared about the things people say i cared about, i would have never made this blog in the first place. i would have leeched off the popularity of my main blog if popularity was all i cared about. i was searching for a home, which, in the end, i burned down myself. me, joking around about follower count and notes, was literally nothing but sarcastic banter that’s been taken out of context. but, i digress.

i am very thankful for those who i can still call my friends, who are willing and ready to have honest discussions with me about the things i’ve said/done and analyze them and help me move forward. therapy, medication, life choices, etc. all have been rolled into me deciding that i’m done letting a silly little app stunt my growth. if the internet was unplugged tomorrow, i know who i’d have and what would matter. i have REAL LIFE to focus on. i am in love and i have beautiful friendships that i want to foster with honesty and kindness. i can only hope that you all have the opportunity to have those very same things.

will i stop writing? nah, dude. no way. i’m just getting started. in my absence, in choosing to stay away from a place that makes me sick to my stomach with anxiety, i’ve delved into my original characters and i’ve written thousands of words that i haven’t felt the pressure to post about. i’ve learned that just because i’m doing something i love, i don’t have to do it for anyone else.

the internet is a funky place, folks. just be careful who your friends are, okay?

anyway. peace out, girl scouts. i wish you all the best 💖

#morgan.txt #tw mental health #tw suicide mention #tw discourse #tw drama #THAT’S ALL FOLKS! signing off xx

[vcg73]

FIC: Kurt Birthday Drabbles

Earlier this week @elledelajoie left a comment on something I wrote all the way back in 2014.  I had genuinely forgotten I ever started it, but the original idea was to write 21 Kurt Hummel birthday drabbles. I had written just 7 of them, but after we chatted about it, I decided to go ahead and finish.  

If you’re not familiar, a drabble is a scene of exactly 100 words, not counting title headers. Since Chris Colfer and Kurt Hummel’s co-birthday (May 27) is coming up this Thursday, here they are. This goes definite AU at Birthday #19. Because you know I would never sentence my beloved Kurt to a life of being a doormat to people who did not appreciate and value him.

Never underestimate the power of feedback!

~*~*~*~*~

Birthday #1

Kurt’s blue eyes went wide as a frosted cupcake was set upon his high-chair tray, a single candle ablaze on its surface.  

When Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Andy, Grandpa Curtis and Grandma Eileen started singing to him, he smiled and clapped both hands hard around the tempting pile of frosting.

Kurt laughed when the sugary topping went flying and a big splatter of white abruptly decorated Daddy’s surprised face.

Everyone else started laughed too, including the startled father, who retaliated by giving his birthday boy a sticky peck on the cheek and then helped him to blow out a new candle.

Birthday #2

Kurt looked between his presents, confused.

Mommy had given him the pretty dolly he had begged for at the store. Daddy had given him a truck, not big enough to ride but too big to live with the little cars Daddy gave him at Christmas.

His parents seemed to be mad at each other.

Kurt looked at the doll, then at the truck. He smiled and placed Dolly inside the truck and began to drive her around the carpet.

Mommy and Daddy seemed surprised by his actions, but then they laughed, and Kurt knew he had figured out the puzzle.

 Birthday #3

His shoes were black and shiny, buckles on the sides and 1-inch heels on the base. He clomped over the hardwood floors, listening to the click-tap-click-tap in delight. They went perfectly with his dove gray coveralls with “Kurt” sewn on the pocket in black sequins. Mommy had made the outfit for him.

Spotting Daddy watching him, Kurt threw himself into waiting arms. Daddy’s smile looked like he had an owie but was trying to be a big boy and not cry.

Kurt hugged him. “It’s okay, Daddy.”

Burt looked surprised but hugged him back. “Yeah, buddy. I think it is.”

 Birthday #4

Ballet girls were nice. When they heard it was his birthday today, they threw him a party. Kurt puffed up with pleasure when presented with cookies, a sparkly wand and a tiara that read ‘Happy Birthday’ in shiny letters. He was not as fond of the kisses they gave, but four was very grown up, so he screwed up his face and allowed it. The teacher even let him wear the special puffy pink tutu over his little black leotard! 

 He saw Mommy and Daddy up in the gallery taking pictures, so he waved.

Kurt hoped today would last forever.

  Birthday #5

“Can I have cupcakes?”

Kurt’s mother looked up from her book. “I don’t think we have any, sweetheart.”

“Can we have some Thursday?  My birthday is the last day of preschool.”

“It is?” she said, looking surprised. “Is it your birthday already?”

He nodded seriously. “Don’t you remember, Mommy? You were there.”

She laughed. “Well, you have me there.  What kind of cupcakes would you like, sweetie? And don’t say cheesecake. Those are two completely different kinds of dessert.”

Kurt’s hopeful expression fell. “Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed. Then his face brightened again. “Chocolate?”

She nodded. “That we can do.”

   Birthday #6

“Daddy!”

Burt sat up just in time to catch the little body that launched at him. “What’s wrong, slugger?”

“It’s my birthday!”

Grinning despite the way his heart was hammering at the abrupt awakening, Burt asked, “Yeah? I like birthdays. Do I get a present?”

“No,” the boy scoffed. “I get presents!”

 Burt squinted at the clock. 3:15am. “Not until morning, you don’t.”

Kurt pouted and tried, “It’s almost morning.”

“Not close enough, kid. C’mere,” Burt pulled him into the warm bed between himself and his wife.

Kurt snuggled down and went right back to sleep.  

Burt was less lucky.

 Birthday #7

Kids had started treating him funny this year. He was too fancy, too girly, holding hands was weird.

Nobody was coming.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“Am I too late?”

They jumped as a little black girl with pom-pom hair popped out of nowhere.

“I’m Mercedes,” she greeted. “We just moved here. Mom said you would have invited me if you’d known.”

“I’m Kurt.” He smiled. “Do you like tea parties?”

“Is there cake?”

Mrs. Hummel beamed. “Cake, ice cream, and Kool-Aid.”

Kurt shrugged. “Nobody else came.”

She grabbed his hand like she’d known him forever. “More for us!  Happy Birthday, Kurt.”

 Birthday #8

Kurt took a deep breath, thought for a moment, and carefully blew out the candles. All but the extra one that his parents always put on his cake.

“Aren’t you gonna finish, bud?”

He looked from Daddy over to his mother, home again, but so frail he was sometimes afraid to hug her, worried she might pop like a fragile soap bubble. He offered her the candle. “Here, Mommy. Blow it out. Maybe you’ll get another year to grow on.”

The eyes of the two adults met, then Mommy nodded. The three of them blew out the final candle together.

 Birthday #9

Barely daring to hope, Kurt came down the stairs.  Birthday cakes and presents had been Mommy’s specialty.  Daddy had forgotten his own birthday and had nearly forgotten Christmas.

Kurt gasped when he saw it, waiting, shining and spectacular against the front door.

“A bike!”

Bright green, sissy bars with foil streamers, and a banana seat. Perfect!

Burt smiled. He had scoffed a such a “girly” bike when Kurt spotted it at the toy store. But now, looking at the all-too-rare joy in his son’s eyes and feeling the approving smile his wife would have given, he nodded. It was perfect.

 Birthday #10

Buying gifts was tough when your kid always clammed up on you. A dad had to be observant.

Ten years old. A landmark like that needed something special, but the only thing Kurt seemed into was clothes. He had enough of those for ten kids.  

He’d probably like a Barbie he could change in and out of different outfits, but Burt cringed at the thought.

He did doodle pretty good though. Sure, it was mostly pictures of clothes, but that was a start.

A fancy sketchpad with a case and a hundred different colored pencils. Yeah, that was the ticket.

 Birthday #11

“Dad, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Kurt sighed with exaggerated impatience. He had come home from school to find Dad waiting at the truck, ordering him to get in, then not saying another word. The suspense was killing him.

“Ta-Dahhhh!”

They had pulled up in front of a nondescript brick building. “Columbus Culinary Arts?”

“You like to cook right?  Well, we’re gonna fix your birthday dinner this year with the help of a real chef. Lessons are once a week for the next couple months.”

Gourmet cooking lessons!

“Oh wow. Dad, this is amazing!”

Burt grinned. “Happy Birthday, kid.”

 Birthday #12

Last year’s surprise had gone so well that Burt had decided on a repeat. But when he saw the excitement on Kurt’s face at finding a pair of tickets inside his birthday card turn to disappointment and horror, quickly masked with a fake smile, he knew he’d goofed.

“I know baseball isn’t your thing,” he said, almost pleading. “But you’ve never seen a live game before. It’s a whole different experience. It’s a home game. We can yell and scream, and cheer our team on with thousands of other fans.”

The stiff not-smile never wavered. “Sounds . . . fun.”

 Birthday #13

Dad had bought out one of the partners at the garage this spring and now owned a majority share of the renamed “Hummel Tires & Lube”. Kurt wanted to snicker at that name, but he was proud too.

His birthday this year coincided with Friday Night Dinner. Dad had invited all the mechanics over for a potluck. They’d had Mary’s special fried chicken, Cassius’s homemade cornbread, and Davy’s mac’n’cheese. Now Dad brought out the cake.

Kurt laughed. A sheet-cake with a tow-truck and two little plastic mechanics for decoration.

“You and me kid. Partners.”

The mechanics cheered and everybody dug in.

  Birthday #14

Kurt froze when he saw tickets peeping out of his card. Not again. Noise, sunburn, unhealthy food, tacky uniforms, and Dad trying so hard to make a boring sport seem like fun.

He sighed and pasted on a smile, which quickly transformed into shock.

“Wicked?” he squeaked, staring hard at the little papers as if the printing might change if he dared to look away.

“Embassy Theater is giving regional business owners a discount this year,” Burt said apologetically. “It’s just a traveling production, not real Broadway, but I …”

His apology was cut off by a joyful teenaged hug.

 Birthday #15

“Don’t worry, son, you got this.  Just remember everything I taught you.  You got a whole year to get ready for the practical test.”

“I know.”

“And it’s okay if you don’t get it right the first time. Not everybody does.”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“I’ll be right here waiting for you when you’re through.”

“I know that, Dad. I’ll be okay, really.”

At that moment, Kurt’s name was called and he sprang from his hard green plastic chair. His dad’s repeated reassurances were making him jumpy.

Twenty minutes later, a brightly grinning Kurt was waving his freshly minted driver’s permit.

 Birthday #16

Burt patted the giant blue bow the dealership had provided over the hood of the shining black Lincoln Navigator.  

Kurt was gonna flip! He’d passed his DMV test with flying colors and was no doubt showing off his shiny new license to all his friends at school.  

He paused. Did Kurt have any friends to share this accomplishment with? He always seemed so alone.

Maybe that’s why he had decided to spoil his son with a huge birthday gift.

It wasn’t right for such a good kid to be all alone. Maybe having his own ride would help change that.

  Birthday #17

A dozen teens gathered in Kurt’s basement to celebrate the end-of-school, non-disbanding of Glee, and Kurt’s birthday, all in one.

“Not like ten years ago,” Mercedes said to Kurt, as they watched Mike and Brittany dance.

“Ten years?”

“Your seventh? It was just you, me, your mom, and lots of chocolate cake.”

Kurt was astounded. “That was you?”

“You forgot?”

“I remember a little girl who showed up and invited herself to my party.”

“And I remember a little boy who needed a friend as much as I did.”

He squeezed her hand. “Thanks for coming.”

She squeezed back. “Always.”

 Birthday #18

Kurt stared at his birthday cake, unable to think of anything to wish for.

He was 18-years-old today, a legal adult. He had new family in Carole and Finn, his dad was on the mend, he would be back at McKinley for senior year, he had made his first visit to New York City, and he had a boyfriend! One who had just told Kurt that he loved him for the very first time.

‘I wish for next year to be as good as this,” he thought, taking a deep breath and blowing.

The flames flickered out, all except one.

 Birthday #19

Senior year had been a disaster, and now he had not gotten into NYADA, despite his well-praised audition.

“Blaine wants me to spend another year here,” he whispered. “I just can’t.”

Burt’s callused hand squeezed his neck. “Then don’t. You’re 19 now, a man. You got talents galore, work experience from the garage, enough drive for ten kids, and your mom’s life insurance money to give you a start.”

“But…”

“No buts,” Burt said firmly. “You go on to New York and grab life by the balls.”

Kurt felt his optimism rise. “Help me look for apartments?”

“You got it.”

 Birthday #20

What a difference a year made.

He’d dumped Blaine after being cheated on less than a month after leaving Lima.  He was enrolled at FIT and sharing a shoebox apartment with a fellow design student and a Broadway hopeful, but both were young gay men from small towns, and they had a lot in common.

“Happy Birthday!” Elliott shouted, tossing a handful of glittery sequins at him.

Adam came in playing the birthday song on a kazoo he had gotten from who-knows-where. “Ready for Callbacks? $20 on who gets the first hot guy’s number!”

“I already have yours. I win!”

 Birthday #21

“I have the honor of presenting your first official grown-up drink,” Adam said, smiling lovingly at his grinning boyfriend of nearly a year. He set down a martini glass with a cherry floating on top. “A Manhattan seemed appropriate.”

Kurt beamed and gave him a kiss, then took an experimental sip. “I’ve had alcohol before,” he admitted. “Mostly wine, though.  Mm, this is good!”

“I thought you’d like it. Happy Birthday, my love.  May the future bring every good thing you wish for, and never more heartache than you can handle.”

Kurt could not have asked for a better sentiment.

THE END

#birthday drabbles #Kurt and Burt #Kurt and Mercedes #Kurt and Adam

[kae-karo]

"Are you labeling me? And not in the metaphorical fashion, you are literally putting a label on me." 

venti or zhongli?

hi i hope u know this gave me so many opportunities to write fun things and i must thank u so very kindly for this prompt dear!!!!

[send me a dialogue prompt from this list and a genshin character!]

tags: modern au but it’s in teyvat? TARTALI, osial and azhdaha make an appearance, also college professor au lmaoooo

----

“I simply do not understand these mortals’ newfangled technology…” 

Zhongli turns to find Osial tapping absently at his label maker, and he jumps when it begins to print whatever nonsense he’s typed. Zhongli exhales a long breath.

“While I do greatly appreciate your visit, could this not be done elsewhere?” Osial blinks up at him, pale ocean-blue eyes wide and innocent. “Somewhere that isn’t my office?”

Osial glances around as though surprised to find himself here. As though he and Azhdaha hadn’t purposely tracked down his office in this wing of the university building, determined his standard office hours, and arrived precisely when they knew he’d be here.

“You’re hard to find, Morax.” Zhongli glances over at where Azhdaha’s pulling books from his shelf at random, flipping through a few pages before returning them to their proper locations. From behind him, he hears the mechanical whirr of the label maker.

“I am not hard to find to those who know me.” He waves pointedly when Azhdaha glances up, orange-gold eyes flicking to meet his. A genuine smile touches his lips.

“No, but you did make us work for it,” Osial whines from behind him, and Zhongli glances over his shoulder. Ah, the ever-familiar pout and framed by a river of blue-white hair. Zhongli’s lip ticks up at the corner.

“I would never hide from you intentionally. You know my situation well enough.”

“No, we really don’t,” Osial says with a hint of amusement. “What could you possibly find so fascinating about...teaching?” His lip ticks up in an elegant grimace, then he turns to tap again at the label maker. He must find it fascinating in its own right, Zhongli supposes as he glances down at the pile of labels accruing on his desk.

“It makes perfect sense, actually.” Azhdaha, ever the one who knew his heart. “He’s always cared to pass our history on to mortals.” 

Osial hums at this, then takes a freshly printed label and peels off the back. Frowns at Zhongli, then takes his hand from where it hangs at his side. Presses a feather-light kiss to the back of it, then presses the label to the sleeve of his jacket.

"Are you labeling me?” Zhongli asks with raised brows. “And...not in the metaphorical fashion,” he adds at Osial’s soft, wide grin. “You are literally putting a label on me."

Zhongli huffs out an amused breath, reads the upside-down text. Boring Professor. He shakes his head, removes the label and tosses it in the trash. Osial gasps, and Zhongli glances up to find his hand over his heart. 

“You would so carelessly toss aside a hand-made gift from your-”

“Osial,” Azhdaha chides with a hint of amusement. “Really, Morax. It’s good to see you.” He steps away from the bookshelf, places a hand on Zhongli’s arm. Squeezes gently, so very gently for this mortal form he’s chosen to take. Really, he’s as tall as Zhongli and twice as broad. Zhongli nods his agreement.

“Forgive my impertinence, I am truly thrilled to see you,” he adds, to which Azhdaha only smiles. “And Osial,” he says as he turns. Osial quickly pulls his hand back, a label still stuck to one slender finger. Zhongli huffs out an amused breath as he tucks his hand behind his back. “I am equally glad to see you again as well.”

Osial’s eyes narrow, lips pursed in a pout, but he relents after hardly a moment and huffs out an exaggerated breath.

“Oh, fine.” Without warning, he sweeps Zhongli into an embrace, warm and smelling of the ocean. Zhongli lets his arms rest gently at his back. “I’ve missed you quite dearly, Rexy.” Zhongli shakes his head, but allows the abhorrent nickname. Osial will not change his ways anytime soon.

The door handle turns quite suddenly, then, and Osial pulls away, and Zhongli turns with a slightly forced expression of neutrality as-

“Xiansheng? Are we still- ah, am I interrupting a meeting?” Childe. A soft smile touches Zhongli’s lips, and it requires no force whatsoever.

“Professor Tartaglia, not at all.” Childe’s raised brows and wide eyes relax, and he offers a bright smile to Osial and Azhdaha. And to Zhongli.

“‘Professor Tartaglia’, such formality! Are you sure this isn’t a bad-”

“Please, forgive our intrusion,” Azhdaha interrupts with a gentle warmth to his tone. “We were just on our way out.” Zhongli turns just in time to catch his unsubtle smile, though he must hide it well enough from Childe. “Professor Zhongli,” he adds with a dip of his head before turning toward the door. “And Professor Tartaglia. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Childe nods with earnest, though his gaze flicks back to Zhongli and it speaks of the confusion beneath his polite exterior. Osial, however, presses a hand to Zhongli’s shoulder before stepping between him and Childe, and Zhongli winces when he pulls Childe into a sudden embrace.

“Dear Tartaglia,” Osial starts, and Childe stares with wide, panicked eyes at Zhongli. Zhongli mouths my apologies as clearly as he can manage. “It is a great pleasure indeed, we are truly blessed to have encountered each other.” 

And with that, he sweeps away and past Childe, and the door clicks shut behind him.

“That was, ah...interesting,” Childe says with a tip of his head. Zhongli hums.

“They are interesting friends indeed,” he says with a laugh. “But I am glad for the good fortune that allowed you to meet them.” He leans back against his desk, and Childe takes a step closer. Tips his head, and frowns down at Zhongli’s arm…

Where a label seems to have gotten itself stuck, or rather...Osial. Zhongli shakes his head, lifts a hand.

Before it reaches his arm, Childe’s is already there. He pulls the label away, lifts it with a smirk.

“Ancient History. Did you get attacked whilst labeling?” he asks with a glance around the office, voice filled with a laughter that makes Zhongli’s heart soar.

“Something of the sort.” He shakes his head - he’d hardly noticed the brush of Osial’s hand evidently placing that particular label on him. He probably thought himself rather humorous, though Zhongli can’t quite say he isn’t amused himself.

“Well, I think it belongs there.” Zhongli laughs, shakes his head. He does not remove the label when Childe replaces it, when he pats Zhongli’s arm for good measure. Far be it for him to throw away such a gift. “Are we still on for lunch today?” Childe adds, waving a hand toward the door. 

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” Zhongli says as he brushes past and out the door. “The new Snezhnayan restaurant you speak so highly of?” Childe hums his agreement, steps out behind him.

“That’s the- oh.” 

Zhongli hums, glances back to find Childe standing especially close, his hand at Zhongli’s shoulder.

“Something the matter- ah.” He coughs out a breath of laughter as Childe pulls away another label. Osial, the menace. “And what does that one say, then?”

Childe stares at it for a remarkably long time, and Zhongli’s brows lift. What could that ocean-devil have written to make Childe-

“It’s nothing,” Childe chirps suddenly, sticks his hand - and the label - in his pocket. Zhongli’s brows lift at the sudden splash of pale pink on Childe’s cheeks. “We’d best be going, don’t want to miss our reservation, do we?” 

With that, he loops an arm through Zhongli’s and heads off down the hall, and Zhongli stares with mild amusement - and curiosity - at the grin that seems to take up permanent residence on Childe’s lips.

#genshin #genshin impact #tartali #chili #zhongli #tartaglia #childe #osial and azhdaha make an appearance #anon #ask

[playlistmusings]

I am sick of the chase But I'm stupid in love (And there's nothing I can do)

 1,571 words

Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Response to a prompt from @charrise :  “ Do you accept fanfic prompts? Because I got an idea it’s post TWK and Cardan’s wondering why Jude won’t come back and then he begins to reevaluate how he treated Jude in the past? And he realizes he treated Nicasia like a queen and Jude like dirt and he begins to wonder if Jude’s not coming back because of him and he begins to regret how he treated her?”

Cardan was pacing. It was an unfortunate habit he had picked up since becoming king, the actual king that is, one without a meddling seneschal secretly working behind the scenes. It had started at some point while Jude had been held captive by Queen Orlagh, when his days bled together because of repetitive meetings and his nights bled together because of the worry that had filled the pit of his stomach. It felt odd to be alone with his thoughts, usually when things got bad, Cardan made a point to surround himself with people and vices, in an effort to escape his mind. But those days, where all he could think about was Jude and getting her back safely, it felt wrong to surround himself with people he knew she would hate, doing things that would cause her to look at him with disdain. So, he paced.

He had hoped that the habit would be forgotten when he got her back. When he slipped the ring on her finger and proclaimed her his queen, hoping that meant that instead of pacing at night he would hold her body to his and never worry about her safety again. But then she had killed Balekin and Queen Orlagh had demanded a punishment and he had exiled her.

It had been far too long since then, far too long since Cardan had heard her voice or saw her face, and, yet she still filled his mind. He felt like when he was younger, writing Jude, Jude, Jude over and over again on paper before hiding it away in books, as if he could stop his thoughts from controlling him by forcing them onto paper. He had tried that since her exile. Writing long winded prose explaining that she should come back, that she should come home. He had not-so-subtly hinted at the loophole he had left, writing until such time as she is pardoned by the crown with such emphasis on the last word of the phrase, that he knew that lest she had, somehow, never received a single letter, then she had to understand his meaning. So he was forced to assume that she understood his meaning and chose to ignore it, chose to ignore him.

That fact hurt him more than he would admit. Throughout the whole time he had known Jude, he didn’t mind that she hated him, in fact, it usually made it easier for him, knowing that she thought of him at all, even if her thoughts were colored with anger and hatred. This time though, when he had, for once, been trying to help her, when he thought she should finally see through the cruelty and understand he didn’t want to hurt her, he just wanted her. Jude. The High Queen. His queen.

So he paced. And contemplated writing another letter.

Eventually he decided against it, less so because he thought it'd be best not to, but because the sun was slowly moving up in the sky and he knew he only had a few short hours until he’d be forced to go to a meeting and then another and end the evening with a revel. Slipping under the spider silk sheets, Cardan forced thoughts of Jude out of his mind and focused on ignoring the way his bed felt too big and cold and lonely.

-----

Cardan felt his crown tipping precariously off the edge of his head as he sat haphazardly on his throne. He was aware that he should be smiling, laughing, dancing, something other than frowning on his throne, wishing he could get drunk without seeing Jude every time he closed his eyes. To be fair, Jude was usually hidden behind his eyelids, but when he was less than sober, his mind muddy with alcohol and his inhibitions lowered, he found that her face was more vivid, that he could feel the intensity of her glare as if she were right next to him. So he didn’t drink.

He was slightly aware of Locke and Taryn and Nicasia off to his side, walking towards him with drinks in their hands and mischief in their eyes. As they approached the throne, Cardan saw Locke’s eyes catch on a faerie walking past, clearly enamored and lust driven, despite his wife’s presence at his side. It was no surprise that Locke split from the trio, leaving Taryn to wander away pretending that she wasn’t hurt by his actions. So only Nicasia was left to approach his throne, nodding her head in a small acknowledgement of his position before speaking.

“My King, wouldn’t you rather be dancing or doing something more enjoyable than sitting on your throne all alone?”

Cardan could feel a part of himself come to the surface, the other side of him reserved for his school friends and members of the court that reeked of self-importance, yet polite in the way only someone raised from birth to be a part of the gentry could master. The frown slipped from his face as he replied, “Of course, but, alas, a king must make time for his subjects to come to him with their problems.”

Cardan refused to acknowledge that when Jude was seneschal times like these were secretly one of his favorites. He would put on airs while drinking and laughing, all the while knowing Jude would always be by his side, whispering into his ear exactly what he should say and do. Now, it felt like a slap in the face to only have Nicasia by his side, someone he couldn’t banter with or insult or antagonize. The thought shot a painful jolt through his heart. Imagining the rest of his life like this: lonely, boring, sad, and all because of his actions. It was something he was loath to admit, that it was his words that caused Jude to leave, even if a part of him knew that it was a risk when he said those words on the beach, a bigger part of him hoped it wouldn’t be true. And he was wrong, so instead he was left alone with Nicasia and her pretty smiles and flirtatious words, all the while wishing she were someone else.

Something about the moment reminded him of all the revels before this mess, before the bloody coronation and Jude’s secret plot and everything, when him, Nicasia, Locke, and Valerian would walk through these same rooms, demanding respect and hurting those who refused to give it. It almost felt nice to be lost in those memories, of trysts and teenage foolishness, until Jude’s face worked its way into the memories. For every moment of satisfaction he got, there was a memory of Jude’s frown or hate shooting from her eyes, burning into his heart. It was enough for him to mumble some half-hearted apology to the direction of Nicasia as he slipped from the room into the halls that led to his chambers.

His mind felt too full, as he thought through all the times he had antagonized or hurt Jude. Flashes of her face stubbornly refusing to show weakness as he watched Valerian force faerie fruit into her mouth, glimpses of her saving Taryn from drowning in the river, all of it clicking into place in a horrid montage of his misdeeds. What struck him the hardest is that for every memory of the pain he caused Jude, there was Nicasia, standing by his side laughing or smiling, perfectly happy. Even as she toyed with his heart, leaving him for Locke, he had shown Nicasia respect and knew that she would be there as a friend— regardless of how messed up his definition of the word was. It hurt, finally acknowledging that while he only saw the kind gestures, he gave Jude, pricking her so she would stop suffering from the faerie fruit induced madness, offering her an out from his antagonizing, she must only remember the pain that he had caused, all the while treating someone half as deserving of his love and compassion more kindness than her.

It suddenly made sense why she didn’t respond to his letters or come back to him. Because even if he had thought he made his loophole clear, even if he had exaggerated the point in his letters time and time again, Jude was used to seeing the worst parts of him, of being blinded by the pain and unaware of the miniscule efforts he had made to help her.

Every memory stung like an arrow lodging its way into his skin, knowing that all of his actions were horrible, that he was horrible and cruel. Knowing that Jude must think of him as horrible and cruel, and that she was right to believe it. But the realization that right when he had earned her trust, right when Jude had seemed to let go of the memories of Cardan’s cruelty, he had exiled her, had denied her as his queen, in front of Orlagh and Nicasia, struck his heart like a dagger. And now she wasn’t coming back, because of him. Because he was everything she must think him to be, a wicked king, undeserving of love or respect, least of all from her.

So, when he arrived back in his room, thinking of all his regrets, refusing to let himself remember anything but the truth of how he hurt the one woman he would do anything for, he paced.

————

So, I lied, and I wrote this all in one sitting instead of starting my school work. Which means that I am apparently better at getting things written in a timely matter than I thought I was, but I am also apologetic if this isn’t the best because I should probably edit it more, but oh well. Anyways, I hope you liked it and that it was sort of what you had in mind, I feel like I’m not that good at writing angst but I tried my best :)  (Title from Killer by Phoebe Bridgers, which side note I feel like is such a Jude and Cardan song but that may just be because I listened to Stranger In The Alps while reading this series oops)

#cardan greenbriar #prince cardan #jude x cardan #cardan duarte #jude duarte #jude greenbriar #high queen jude #the folk of the air #the wicked king #the cruel prince #tfota fanfic #post the wicked king #post twk #some angst #angst #fanfic #1k words #nicasia #queen orlagh #balekin greenbriar #taryn x locke #taryn duarte #the queen of nothing #canon compliant

[waitimcomingtoo]

Hi I’m back!💗 I was wondering (if it’s not too big of a hassle) if you could do a Plank All Over Me but they do a relationship test. Like the one Meghan Trainor and her husband did for buzzfeed? Love you tons!-✨

Plank All Over Me - Couples Tag Edition

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

AN: you do NOT have to have read the others to understand this. Enjoy :)

Masterlist

Plank All Over Me 1 & Yoga Edition

“Hi, I’m Tom Holland.” Tom smiled widely at the camera.

“And I’m actually excited to be in this video.” You nodded in approval now that you and Tom were doing a normal video that didn’t require either of you to get into painful positions.

“You never say your name when we do these. You always say something else.” Tom looked at you as he realized the pattern with the intros of the videos you did together. “This is my girlfriend Y/n L/n by the way, everyone. Please pardon her manners.” He cracked a smile. 

“Yeah, but I do it on purpose. Its like my thing for these kinds of videos.” You explained yourself to Tom.

“Oh.” He deadpanned, pretending not to care about your explanation. You laughed at his serious expression.

“I can’t believe this video turned into our breakup.” You said to the camera and he laughed beside you.

“Can we both cry so they have something for the thumbnail?” He suggested to the camera crew.

“Or, better idea, hear me out.” You looked between Tom and the camera. “We start the video.”

“That’s a great idea.” Tom pulled your chair closer to his and slung an arm around you. “I’m Tom, this is Y/n, and we’re doing the Buzzfeed Couples Tag.”

“So first we have to check off what we know about each other.” You said as you scanned the list of questions while Tom kissed the side of your head. “Do you want to just do a back and forth?”

“Sure. I’ll go first.” Tom pulled the completed closer to himself. “When’s my birthday?”

“June 1st 1862.” You answered confidently.

“Perfect.” Tom player along. “Your turn.”

“My age?” You read off the screen.

“Trick question, you’re timeless.” Tom smiled and you gushed. “Just kidding guys, shes 53.” He said to the camera.

“I’m just not but okay.” You muttered.

“What’s my zodiac sign?” Tom read.

“Little bitch?” You asked.

“You got it.” Tom nodded. You laughed and kissed his cheek.

“What’s my favorite movie?” You asked.

“That’s easy. It’s a tie between Spiderman: Homecoming, Spiderman: Far From Home and Spies in Disguise, out this Christmas.” Tom winked at the camera after he listed off his own films.

“You were close.” You pointed at him. “It’s actually a tie between Deadpool, Definitely Maybe, and The Proposal.”

“But…” Tom faltered. “But those are all Ryan Reynolds movie.”

“Yea, but that’s just because I wish he was my boyfriend instead of you.” You said with fake seriousness.

“Oh, okay.” Tom nodded as he went along with your joke. “It’s funny though, I haven’t seen any videos of you planking over Ryan Reynolds so…” ,he clicked his tongue.

“Thats because Ryan and I like to keep those videos private, don’t we baby?” You shot a wink at the camera.

“Okay, okay. That’s enough before I actually get mad.” Tom laughed. “And you have never seen Definitely Maybe.”

“Yes I have.” You defended. “That’s the one where they’re British and the little boy from Nanny McPhee plays the drum.”

“That’s Love Actually, and you gave the worst possible description of it, so congratulations.” Tom commemorated you as you laughed.

“We just got so off topic. Who even asked the last question?” You wondered.

“I’ll go.” He looked at the computer for the next question. “What’s my coffee order?”

“Here we go.” You roll your eyes at the ceiling. “Tom doesn’t drink coffee. He drinks sugar with a few spoonfuls of tea in it.”

“Yes, I do.” Tom confirmed. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s gonna be something wrong with that when all your teeth fall out. Do you want to be bald and have no teeth? Is that what you want?” You pretended to heckle him.

“That’s weird, I don’t see that question on the computer.” Tom said as he squinted at the computer, pretending to inspect the quiz.

“That’s because I made it up.” You said.

“That’s because I made it up.” Tom mimicked. Your eyes went wide and he bent over laughing. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean that.”

“The title of this video is gonna be Couples Tag leads to a break up?” You did an over exaggerated shrug. “With pictures!”

“And then “shocking!” in parenthesis.” Tom added on, poking fun at the youtube titles you were so used to seeing.

“Emotional!” You put your hand over your heart.

“Can we keep going?” Tom asked through his laughter.

“Yes, sorry.” You laughed and looked at the computer. Oh now it’s generic questions. Does your significant other have any bad habits?”

“No.” Tom said after thinking for a moment. “I’m perfect.”

“Oh, I know. His bad habit is that when he gets scared, he goes like this,” you pull your arm back and make a fist, “as if he’s about to deck someone.”

“That’s just my flight or fight response, darling. I won’t apologize for it.” Tom quipped.

“But you always choose fight!” You laugh. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen him about to punch a clump of hair?” You said to the camera.

“It looks like a spider! Your hair is all over the damn flat and it looks like a spider.” Tom brought up a common argument you two had.

“Okay, but why are you trying to punch a spider?” You defended.

“That’s an excellent question, my love, that I do not know the answer to.” Tom said with a smile and you double over laughing at the stupid argument. “Can you imagine walking into our home and seeing me about to punch a spider?” He chokes out through his laughter.

“Wait,” you wipe your eyes and try to compose yourself before giggling again, “remember that one time with the wind-“

“Don’t mention the wind chimes!” He cuts you off, which makes you laugh harder. “We swore to never speak of that day.”

“You swore.” You pointed out. “I just kept apologizing to the man.”

“Next question.” Tom said quickly. “When and where did we meet?”

“We met on the set of BBC Radio 1, in the studio when we filmed the Plank All Over Me challenge last year.” You recalled with a fond smile.

“Awww. I remember that.” Tom smiled at the memory and leaned over to kiss you. “Look at us now.”

“I know. You’re bald and I’m cheating on you with Ryan Reynolds.” You said with a dreamy expression.

“What was that?” Tom pretended not to hear you.

“I said where was our first date?” You read the next question.

“Oh, we went to that ice cream shop in Soho and got milkshakes.” Tom remembered the first time you’d gone out together.

“Tom told me he wanted to take me out for a drink but didn’t want me to think he was trying to get me drunk, so he took me out for milkshakes.” You recalled to the camera with a fond smile. “I thought that was so cute when you told me.”

“I’m glad you thought me being a massive nerd was cute.” Tom chuckled and you kissed his cheek repeatedly.

“It worked didn’t it? You got me.” You cooed.

“That’s right. I got you.” He smiled proudly and kissed you again, pulling you close. You rested your head on Toms shoulder for the remainder of the video.

“Where and when was our first kiss?” He asked.

“Our first kiss was in your bedroom after I beat you in a game of Wii tennis.” You said proudly.

“That’s right.” He grinned. “The first of many.”

“Just kidding. We’ve been together ten months and have not kissed since that day.” You deadpanned to the camera.

“We kissed twice in this video alone.” Tom pointed out.

“Sounds false.” You shrugged and felt his shoulders move under your head as he laughed.

“Anyway, Y/n was going crazy over winning and rubbing it in my face and I just grabbed her and kissed her.” Tom reminisced about the moment you had first kissed.

“I still don’t know if he actually wanted to kiss me or he just wanted to shut me up.” You joked.

“I don’t know that either darling.” Tom chuckled.

“Thank God.” You laughed. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“I did, about four weeks in.” Tom nodded as he did the math in his head. “But I knew I loved you long before that.”

“Aw.” You beamed. “I still haven’t said it.” You deadpanned to the camera.

“She’s just kidding.” Tom assured the camera. You shook your head and mouthed “no.” Tom caught your reaction and pretended to tear up.

“I’m kidding.” You giggled and pulled him into a hug. “I love you.”

“Okay.” Tom let out a pretend breath of relief. “I was worried for a minute there.”

“Aw, no.” You bit your tongue between your teeth. “What’s the next question?”

“What’s my shoe size?” He asked.

“Huge. What’s my favorite song lyric?” You continued.

“So we’re gonna ignore that last answer?” Tom looked at the camera in fear. “Okay. You love the lyrics “so why don’t we go somewhere only we know?” and they always make you cry.”

“Do you remember why I love that song?” You asked him. “I told you on our first date.”

“Because it makes you think of Bridge to Terabithia.” He knew the answer immediately.

“Yes.” You smiled warmly at the thought of your favorite childhood movie. “Nothing crushes us.” You quoted.

“I haven’t seen that in so long.” Tom realized. “Can we watch it when we get home?”

“Of course we can. I’m always down to see Josh Hutcherson.” You wiggled your eyebrows. “Ask your next question.”

“Do you think Josh Hutcherson is better than me?” Tom pretended to read the question off the screen.

“Well, he survived the Hunger Games with nothing but baking skills and you died when some dude snapped his fingers, so I think the question answers itself.” You said.

“It wasn’t some dude, it was a titan.” Tom defended. “And Peeta was lying on the floor for half the Games. I actually fought.”

“Look at the material.” You shrugged.

“I can’t stand you. Ask your question.” Tom laughed.

“What did I wear on our first date?” You read. “Who remembers that?” You asked the camera.

“You had on a dark red turtleneck and a little black skirt.” Tom recalled and you looked impressed. “Your hair was half up half down and curled and you had a little black ribbon in it.” He smiled.

“I guess Tom remembers that.” You said with an approving nod.

“How could I forget? You were the prettiest girl in that ice cream shop.” He complimented you.

“I was also the only girl who wasn’t 7.” You pointed out.

“Wait, I think that was our last question.” Tom realized as he tried to scroll down but couldn’t anymore. “I guess that’s it. Thanks for watching our Couples Tag with Buzzfeed.” Tom smiled at the camera.

“Can we go home and watch Bridge to Terabithia now?” You asked as you rubbed his arm.

“Yes, lets go home.” He grinned.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona @sunrise-shawn @foreverxholland @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @theolwebshooter @autumnlyholland @andreasworlsboring101 @guksmyfav @waiting-to-be-myself @letsloveimagines @ho-ho-holland @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @m19friend @justcallmehitgirl @iamanerdot @averyfosterthoughts @jackiehollanderr @tiny-friggin-human @celestial-skylines

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #plank all over me #spiderman #iron man #peter parker fluff #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction

[neokids]

Fortune's Fool: Act X

Masterlist (read previous and future ones here!)

Act X

Tw: Lots of blood, character death, violence, murder, guns, knives, weapons, foul language, self-inflicted wounds, suicide, overall graphic content

“Watch out,” Yeji warned Karina and Lia as they stood outside another opium den, it was 1929 and opium was the only substance capable of distracting people from what was truly happening. The three of them were at the entrance of Viper-owned territory so they shouldn’t have to worry about anything, but Karina couldn’t help the bubbling emotion of anxiety in her stomach.

“Stay close to me,” Yeji continued as she and her cousins stepped inside the establishment. The establishment looked very unkempt, you could hear the uneven floorboards creaking each step they took. Some of the lights were flickering, and they could see the discoloration of the walls. The walls were a shade of smokey gray, possibly from all the dust and smoke accumulated all these years. What once was a shade of pure and innocent white, had now turned into dark gray. Soon enough, it would be black. “Be careful, there may be hostile assassins working here.”

“What? Assassins?” Karina asked, placing her hands on her waist as she felt her weapons pressed underneath the rich fabric of her clothing. “I thought we were here to collect petty rent money?”

“We are,” Yeji parted the old beaded curtains, revealing the main entrance to the den. “Never hurts to be careful.”

The smell of the place can be compared to a burning rose, it was truly sad how a smell so nice can be linked to addiction and other vices. The more they went in, the more faint the smell of roses lingered in their noses. The previous scent of burning roses were now replaced by the smell of gasoline and fire. Just as they reached the last door in the hallway, a group of women came out from one of the doors. Judging by their lack of fabric used for their clothes and their skirt riding up their thighs, they were courtesans.

“How may I help you?”

Yeji turned around to look for the source of the cheery voice, a woman in her thirties stood before them. Yeji eyed her clothes as she saw stains of black and loose threads hanging, causing her to unconsciously scrunch her nose. The lady took notice and stepped forward towards the younger, this time examining her closely.

“Oh my,” the woman said as she brought a hand to her chest, “Yeji Hwang, the last time I saw you, you couldn’t even pick up a gun.”

Yeji raised her brow, “Forgive me, but have we met before?”

The woman let out a warm chuckle as she placed her hands on her waist, “How dare you forget your favorite Aunt Sandara?”

“Who the hell is Aunt Sandara?” Lia asked in a whispered tone as she nudged her sister, Karina only shrugged flippantly. “I didn’t even know we had an ‘Aunt Sandara’”

“Uh-huh, sure.” This caused Sandara to purse her lips into a thin line. “I assume you aren’t here for chitchat then,” Sandara paused as she eyed the twins behind Yeji. “I take your silence as a no, follow me.”

Sandara led them deeper into the building, taking many turns and stairs to finally reach her office. She opened the door to reveal a room decorated with a Moroccan theme, there were no other chairs, just some soft cushions placed on the ground. Sandara beckoned the girls to sit, but they all just opted to stand.

“You look just like your mother,” Sandara blurted as she lit her pipe. “I was friends with your mother long ago actually.”

“You were?” Yeji asked, she couldn’t remember a single time her mother had mentioned an ‘Aunt Sandara’

“Yes…” She paused to inhale a long drag of whatever she was smoking, “Until someone had accused me of being too friendly with the Neos, it was all bullshit of course. I hate the Neos just as much as you do.”

“I don’t hate the Neos,” Yeji dejected quickly, way too quickly. “I hate the people who hurt the ones I love, most of the time those people are Neos. There’s a difference.”

“I see, don’t let them hear it though.” Sandara said as she looked at Yeji, Yeji noticed a different glimmer in her eyes.

“Or else they might think you’re getting friendly with them.” Yeji gulped, her throat suddenly feeling dry.

“You’re not though, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I should be asking you that question, Aunt Sandara.” Yeji said, her name rolling off her lips in a mocking manner. She shifted her attention to look at Lia, suddenly grabbing her wrist. “Oh I know you, you are Lia Yoo right? I knew your father as well, he has such precious children. I was so upset when you were sent to Canada, but thankfully they brought you back here.” Her eyes turned to Karina, a beat passed.

Yeji cleared her throat.

“My appa sent us here to collect–” She cut in to try and lead her attention away from Karina, but to her dismay the older was too focused on the latter.

“But who are you?” Sandara asked, interrupting Yeji to address Karina.

Karina narrowed her eyes at Sandara, through grit teeth she replied, “My name is Karina.”

Sandara had exaggerated her trying to remember Karina.

“Oh! I remember! Yes of course, forgive me. You were the one who– Never mind.”

Yeji thinned her lips as Lia crossed her arms. But Karina only looked at Sandara with the flattest look in her eyes. “I was the one who what?”

Sandara blinked, not sure to answer truthfully or not, she decided on the first. “You were the one who got sent to a different school when you arrived here, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Karina answered as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What about it, Sandara?”

Yeji and Lia exchanged glances, they could feel the tension rising in the room. “Nothing really, I understand how hard it is to adjust when you grew up in foreign lands. You were always so rude when you were young, always sticking your tongue out when you see me. I see nothing has changed.” Sandara replied as she leaned back.

Karina feigned a laugh, “Old habits die hard,”

“Don’t worry Karina, I too had several remedial classes to aid with my slow learning–”

“Enough,” There was no way they would listen to this stranger go on and on with what she had to say. This went on for far too long. “May we talk somewhere else? Privately?”

“Yeji,” Karina said as she tapped Yeji on the shoulder, “We’ll go ahead.”

It was only Yeji and Sandara now, “I have your rent money.” The older said as she pulled out a bag of coins from underneath her desk. She placed the coins on her palm, counting each coin with a sour expression on her face.

“Actually,” Sandara looked up at Yeji, confused as to why Yeji suddenly interrupted her counting. “Keep it. There is something I would gladly prefer.”

Sandara looked at her, and then at the door. She placed the coins back into the bag as she turned towards Yeji once again, “And that would be?”

“Information about the Rovers.”

The once calm expression of Sandara had disappeared entirely, “I beg your pardon?”

“I know you led them into this place as common meeting grounds, so tell me. What role do the Rovers play regarding the madness sweeping across Seoul this very moment?”

Sandara barked a laugh, she couldn’t believe what the girl in front of her was asking. “I’m sorry dear, but I have yet the slightest clue what you are talking about.” Sandara said as she wiped a nonexistent tear from her cheek, “I stay out of their business.”

There must be a reason why Sandara never appeared in one of the many Viper Gang meetings, she was Viper-associated, but has never really contributed to the name. Was it fear or was it loyalty? One of those two could be the reason why she’s not talking.

“Of course. How rude of me to assume.” Yeji fished a glittering diamond necklace from her pocket, Sandara eyeing the jewel like a vulture who hasn't eaten in days. “Allow me a gift to make up for my surmise.”

Yeji walked behind Sandara before she could even protest, who would refuse a diamond necklace?

If only it were a diamond necklace.

Sandara let out a choked yelp as Yeji tightened the wire around her throat. Sandara desperately tried to claw Yeji’s hands away from her neck but to her dismay, she would only tighten her grip.

“Stop! Stop!” Sandara pleaded, “I speak!”

“Then speak,”

“The Rovers take no responsibility in this madness, nor do they associate themselves with whatever is causing it. As a political party, they stay absolutely resolute that this is not their doing. However, they do speculate privately.”

“Who?”

When Sandara seemed to hesitate, Yeji tightened the wire again, causing the older to gag. There were already tiny droplets of blood seeping from her once smooth skin, the microblades in the wire doing its job. Yeji, voice remaining as calm as the morning tide, said “Give me a name.”

“Jinyoung Park, secretary-general of the Rovers.”

Upon hearing the name, Yeji immediately let go of the wire causing Sandara to let out a breath of relief. Yeji took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the wire until it was glittering again, no traces of blood and trauma whatsoever. When she was done wiping the weapon, she tucked it back into her pocket and approached the shaking Sandara. Sandara could not react when Yeji had loosely tied the handkerchief across her neck to seep the line of blood.

“I apologize for your troubles,” Yeji said, giving Sandara, who was now as pale as her dress, a tap on the shoulder. “You’ll keep this between us won’t you, Aunt Sandara?”

Sandara nodded blankly, still unable to move and recover from what had happened. Yeji tossed a bundle of cash on her desk and made her way out of the door. Her heels clicked and echoed all throughout the hallway, she remained as calm and confident like nothing had happened. Once she was outside, she only saw Lia enjoying a cone of ice cream.

“Where’s Karina?” Yeji asked, Lia turned to her and nodded towards Karina’s familiar figure approaching them. “Where were you?”

“Went to get you one,” Karina said as she handed Yeji a serving of ice cream. “Here.”

Yeji looked at Karina and back at the ice cream, “Thanks.”

“So can we go? I have a shift at the Poculum exactly 30 minutes from now.” Lia said as she tossed her unfinished ice cream in a bin. “We’re going.”

...

As soon as they had dropped off Lia at the club, Yeji immediately snapped at Karina. “What?”

Karina blinked. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Oh, I didn’t know you noticed.” She replied as she slouched on the back seat. “Do you doubt my eyes, Kar?” Yeji then motioned to her face. “Anywhere, do I have ice cream stains anywhere?”

“No, you don’t.” Karina said as she crossed her legs, engines of the car revving once again. “Then what is it?” Yeji asked as she saw Karina hesitate, deciding carefully on the words she chooses to say.

“Nothing, just wondering when we can go shopping again.” Karina said nonchalantly.

“You suck at lying, do you know that?” Yeji asked, not content with the obvious lie for an answer her cousin gave her.

“Okay, okay, fine. The den earlier, that was in Viper grounds right?” Yeji looked at her as she raised her brow. “Viper-associated, but yes. Why did you ask?”

Karina turned her attention back to the window as gazed at the scenery. “Nothing, just thought I saw someone who should not be seen here.”

“Foreigners leave and enter Seoul all the time,” Yeji said, unsure of who Karina saw. “I know, must be another foreigner I hope I could marry someday.”

As soon as they arrived back in their Mansion, a sudden shriek had made its way to their ears. Yeji and Karina immediately sprinted towards the living room to find the maid currently clawing her throat.

“What is wrong with you?!” Yeji shrieked as she tried to get a hold of the maid’s hands. “Karina get help!”

Yeji and the gardener who thankfully came into the scene tried to bound the maid to stop her actions, the maid violently twisting and shaking as she tried to fight for her life.

Just as Yeji was about to shout for Karina’s name, Karina had beat her to it.

“Yeji!” A terrified Karina screamed, “Come here! Now!”

Yeji quickly went to the kitchen to find Karina trying her hardest to muffle her terrified screams. They saw their cook writhing in pain on the floor as he continued to tear at his own throat.

Death had knocked on their doorstep

Just as they were about to act, Yeji and Karina heard another scream from a maid entering the kitchen, she was already collapsing and tearing her own throat.

The maids and the cook stilled, they were gone. Yeji and Karina stayed frozen, shock overcoming their bodies. Karina then immediately bolted as she approached the dead maid.

The madness could be contagious

“Stop!” Yeji shouted towards her cousin causing Karina to back away from the scene.

“Send men to clean this mess,” Yeji said as she turned around to see her horrified family members, “And tell them to wear gloves.”

A/N: Sorry for not updating in a while, please do let me know your thoughts and theories!

#nct mafia au #nct mafia #nct dream mafia au #jeno mafia au #jeno mafia #itzy mafia au #itzy mafia #yeji mafia #yeji mafia au #aespa mafia au #aespa mafia #karina mafia #yeji au #jeno imagines #jeno smut #jeno angst

[1-800-roflmao]

Wash Day Delight Pt. 4

Rating:  General Audiences

WARNINGS:  None

Fandom:  Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships:  Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader,  Papyrus (Underfell) & Reader, Papyrus (FSG) & Reader, Papyrus (Swapfell) & Reader

Characters:  Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Edge (UF Pap), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

Additional Tags:  Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), reader is poc, Reader has curly hair,  Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Friendship, Wholesome, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I'm Bad At Summaries, Not Beta Read, Romance if you squint, Subtext, Let Papyrus be Sassy, Edge Is The Unwilling Dad Friend, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life, Teasing Edge Is Fun, Papy is Best Boi

*Split this chapter into two. Will be posting both today. Morning thoughts and Papy has a great idea! Tried avoiding using y/n as much as I could, but had to this chapter.

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She would say morning came too quickly, but in all honesty, this was technically her second time waking up that morning.  Somehow, in spite of the tireless workout she had been put through the night before, she had woken up at the usual time right before her alarm--that was NOT set cause she turned that off with plans to sleep in today--would have gone off.  She’d spared a single, groggy glance at her phone’s clock.  The notifications lining the screen not even registering in her mind.  No, she’d get her well earned sleep in had been and without further adieu, she had put the phone back down, rolled over, and snuggled back in for another few hours of sleep.  

    That had been earlier.  Now, she blinked awake as light from the mid-morning sun sneaked through the slim openings of the curtains just behind her bed.  Blearily, her eyes followed the rays path across her form, her bed, and eventually over the floor where it seemed to highlight her shed clothes along with the open bathroom.  Right… she had forgotten to brush her teeth in her haste to sleep.  Rolling her tongue and opening and closing her mouth, she winced as she felt her cheek move against the now very cold wet spot on her pillow.  Well, at least that second round of sleep was apparently heavy and content.  

“Eugth…” Not that it made waking up in your drool anymore pleasant.  Trying to sit up resulted in even more groans as her muscles protested.  Yup, there were those core muscles that had been oddly silent yesterday acting up today.  Her arm she had tried to push up on had not been too much trouble, but her shoulder had twinged and she had gone back down.  She had managed to at least roll on her back and away from the drool pool though.  Positives.  Focus on the positives.  For a few moments, she just let herself completely relax into the mattress and pillows, just breathing--in and out, slow and even, again and again until all her tension dispersed. 

“They really did me in,” she mumbled as she began to roll her wrists, “But I’ve got too much to get done to be lyin’ around here all day feelin’ miserable.”  Too much considering her now very awake mind realized she had forgotten to wrap her hair, but thankfully she had splurged on satin sheets and pillowcases, so it shouldn’t be too bad.  Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, she didn’t get her wrap sweaty… “Still gonna wash it.”  By now, she had started stretching and working her shoulders with careful, slow rolls and reaches.  The more she moves, the more she’ll loosen up and actually be able to function.  She just couldn’t overdue it.

As she moved onto her legs, she couldn’t stifle a little moan of discomfort as she lifted one limb at time to carefully draw her knee in towards her stomach before extending again.  It took time, but eventually she was able to push herself up into a sitting position.  Muscles in her back, abdomen, and surprising what felt like her butt that she hadn’t been aware of protested, but a few more deep breathes calmed them.  Seeing her phone laying on the sheets near her, she guessed earlier that morning she hadn’t bothered to put the phone back where it went exactly, but current her was very thankful for her sleepy self’s carelessness.

Picking up the device, she decided to take a moment to rest before continuing her war against her body.  Besides, she could remember that she had messages to reply to.  Tapping the screen, she input her pattern and tapped on the messages app.  The first one she opened was Coffee’s.  “Oooh,” she cooed as she looked over the drawing once again with fresh eyes.  Last night, she remembered thinking the hairstyle was cute, but now she could see the little details he included, like his choice of including a custom undercut design.  Could her barber achieve that?  She’d have to ask, but for now.

(to JavaBoi)

Flooffie:  Good morning! 

Flooffie:  Sorry about not replying last night

Flooffie:  This hairstyle is so cute

Flooffie:  And the undercut design is SICK!

Flooffie:  In a good way 

Flooffie:  I’d love to wear it, but I’ll have to check in with my barber about the undercut.

She waited a moment to see if he’d answer, but no little dots popped up so she guessed he was possibly still sleeping or he was busy.  Most likely the former.  Leaving that conversation, she sent a quick message to her barber asking how complicated a design he would be willing to do on an undercut.  She hadn’t expected an answer, but no sooner had she went to click the back button, his answer popped up.  His answer surmised that he had done more complicated pieces, but it all depends on the design.  “Makes sense…” she mumbled before forwarding the doodle to him.   It took him a moment longer to reply this time, but his answer had her beaming: “Sure, just get a better reference.  Bigger too.” 

(to JavaBoi)

Flooffie:  I feel like I’m spamming you.  Sorry!

Flooffie: But I got with my barber and he said he could do it

Flooffie:  Just he needs a better ref

Flooffie:  Could you draw it bigger?  

Flooffie:  I’ll treat you!

        She included some pleading and heart emojis for good measure, even though she was sure he wouldn’t mind one bit.  Moving on, she opened up a certain someone’s convo, eager to see how he reacted to her last text.  A little laugh bubbled past her smile as she saw his reply, full of exclamation marks and a little pause between two of the replies.

(11:33 PM) Papaya:  ….

(11:40 PM) Papaya:  !!!!!!!

Papaya:  TOUCHE! ALTHOUGH I HAD TO GOOGLE WHAT YOU HAD MEANT

Papaya:  MY SKILLS AT PICKING UP THESE IDIOMS IS IMPROVING

Papaya:  WHO CAME UP WITH THESE THINGS?  WHY? WHY NOT JUST SAY WHAT YOU MEAN?!

(11:45 PM) Papaya:  YOUR LACK OF RESPONSE MUST MEAN YOU HAVE FINALLY GONE TO  BED

Papaya:  GOOD

(12:01 AM) Papaya:  SWEET DREAMS, (Y/N)

    Her amusement at how Papyrus could continue a conversation with no one there was overshadowed by the warmth the last text brought.  It was such a simple little thing.  It’s not like he had even called her a pet name, but it still had her flushing and turning her face away from the phone like that would somehow ease the heat.  Maybe it was because she could see the timestamp and knew he had taken the time to pick up the phone again after setting it down for a while just to send that message.  Was it narcissistic to think she was his last thought before he fell asleep?  “It’s too early to be this flustered!” she whined, the fingers of her free hand playing with ends of one of her braids, “All over a text that might not have any deeper meaning…”     

    After her little grumble, she did her best to ignore the sting the words brought.  One more deep breath, she turned back to her phone and the texts, allowing a small smile.  There was no sense in making herself miserable.  It was still a dear friend thinking of her after all.  

    (to Papaya)

Flooffie:  Morning Papi!  Hope you had sweet dreams as well

        Before she could start her next message, she saw those little dots pop up and chuckled.  Of Course he was up already.  

Papaya:   GOOD MORNING!

Papaya:   I DO NOT REMEMBER MY DREAMS, BUT I’M SURE THEY WERE GREAT!

Flooffie:  Just like you, eh?

Papaya:   OFCOURSE!

Papaya:   UM… HOW ARE YOU FEELING THIS MORNING?

Papaya:   NOT TOO SORE I HOPE

    She snorted at that before replying.

Floofie:   Like I got hit by a 18 wheeler in the fast lane and somehow survived to regret it.

Papaya:   ….

Papaya:   APOLOGIES

Papaya:   BUT ARE YOU COMPARING YOUR PAIN TO GETTING HIT BY A SEMI?!

        She could just feel his panic and knew he would start fretting through the text.  She felt just a little guilty laughing at his reaction.  Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult to calm him down and assure him she was simply exaggerating.  No, he didn’t need to take her to the hospital.  No, he had not broken her.  At Least as far as she knew he hadn’t.  

Throughout, she had slowly worked her way to the edge of the bed and now sat with her legs hanging off.  In between texts with Papyrus, he opened a few of the others.  One was Edge checking in with a reminder that she shouldn’t over exert herself.  She went to send a little thumbs up, but paused and instead juggled between two responses.  Which would mess with him more?  Biting her bottom lip, she finally settled on one and quickly sent it:  “Yes, Daddy~”.  Knowing Edge, he was up, but wouldn’t look at the message until he had a moment, so she closed the convo.  She could see the damage later.

More puns and jokes which she graced with appropriate responses: groans at the especially bad ones and chuckles at the ones that were actually clever.  She of course made her approval known with quick little texts and gifs; the bad ones received the same treatment.  None of it was mean and to tell the truth, it only fanned the flames for these gremlins as she had learned.  They seemed determined to dig up the worst puns they could manage.  By the time, she finished replying, she had made it to the bathroom and was finally taking care of her dental hygiene.  

Her phone now dinged instead of buzzing with each new text.  Most of which were from Papyrus she assumed.  Toothbrush in her mouth, she picked up her phone and opened the texting app again as she resumed brushing with her other hand.  She had been correct.  A line of texts from her friend popped up on the screen and they ranged from bringing up his question about idioms from last night to checking in that she was actually taking the time to rest.  She thanked the stars that her phone wasn’t on the larger side as it allowed her to hold and type with one hand.  

Flooffie:  Decided to make today wash day since people are INSISTING I rest.  Was due for one anyway.

Papaya:   WASH DAY?  YOU HAVE A DAY DEDICATED TO WASHING?

Papaya:   I THOUGHT HUMANS PRUNE IF THEY ARE IN WATER TOO LONG?

She let him get out all his ponderings and ramblings, which took a good minute, before she finally jumped in.  Although she’d love to convince him it was a secret, sacred holiday and ritual that humans have to partake in a few days a year for… reasons, she fought down her inner prankster and cursed Cash for his influence on her.  

Flooffie:  It’s nothing elaborate… kinda?

Flooffie:  It’s just that people like me tend to have a lot of hair and it takes time to properly care for it.

Flooffie:  So, we make a day of it.  Chill and relax, pamper ourselves, etc

She was a bit surprised he hadn’t replied immediately and had actually finished with her dental routine by the time he finally texted back.  

Papaya:  SO IT IS A DAY DEDICATED TO YOUR HAIR?!

Oh, she hadn’t seen this much enthusiasm from him for her hair in a good bit.  As his texts came through, she felt touched he wanted to learn more and she was happy to inform him, best she could over text anyway.  There was another long pause in between his text.  Just long enough for her to reach for her shower handle as she decided to finally take a shower and get started on her day.  Her phone dinged and Papyrus changed all her plans.

Papaya:  WHY DON’T YOU HAVE YOUR WASH DAY AT OUR HOUSE?!!

#reader is definitely feeling it the after effects #morning thoughts #fluffy feelings #she needs to be careful playing with Edge #gonna bite her on her butt one day #fluff #papyrus #undertale #undertale au #poc reader #curly haired reader #underfell #fellswap gold #swapfell #papyrus x reader #papyrus x you #papyrus x y/n #ut fanfic #fanfiction

[spicycreativity]

Ticket Crimes - Oneshot

Rating: T Words: 9,752 Characters: All Category: Gen Summary: To welcome his new crew members about the USS Foley, Starfleet Captain Janus Gaines schedules shore leave on the pleasure planet of Ya'Lotus. Janus and Virgil run into an old acquaintance who seems to have ulterior motives; Roman and Remus attempt to infiltrate a drug trafficking ring; Patton and Logan narrowly avoid death on a history tour. Content Warnings: Mild violence/violent intent, alcohol use/mild intoxication, guns and phasers (no shots fired), mentions of drugs and drug trafficking (no drug use depicted) Note: You do not need to be familiar with Star trek to read this. In fact, it's probably better that you're not, because I took a LOT of liberties with canon

Doctor Patton Kelsey's boot heels clicked along the metal floor of the USS Foley as he made his way out of Sickbay. Despite the corridors' unusual emptiness, he kept to the right side out of habit, dragging his fingers along the wall as he went. He counted the doors, mouthing the numbers to help him keep track, until he came across the door he was looking for.

There was nothing usual about Ensign Virgil Salem's door except for the fact that it rarely ever opened. Virgil emerged for his shifts and for scheduled meals and made himself scarce the rest of the time.

Patton had studied Virgil's chart extensively but found no psychological defect that would render him unfit to serve in Starfleet. Surmising that Virgil was shy, Patton privately declared himself responsible for looking after the young recruit. The fact that they had joined the crew at the same time only served to strengthen this notion.

Patton raised his fist and knocked gently on the door, knowing full well that Virgil was inside. "Ensign Salem?" No response. "Virgil? Kiddo? Our group is about ready to beam down."

"Do I really have to go to that?" Virgil asked, his voice muffled behind the door.

"You don't want to?" Patton asked. "It's a party for us!"

"I would have been fine with a bottle of Saurian brandy, but nobody bothered to ask for my opinion, did they?"

Patton smiled a little and leaned against the doorframe. "Look, kiddo, you'd better just come with me before Captain Gaines calls you over the intercom."

"Shore leave is supposed to be optional," Virgil shot back, but Patton could tell that his resolve was slipping away. Virgil took a while to warm up to things, but he could usually be convinced.

"Not when the whole reason we're here is to celebrate you!"

"And you," Virgil said, and he was much closer to the door now.

Patton stepped back and waited for the door to slide open. It did a moment later, and Virgil appeared still tugging on his gold tunic over the standard issue black undershirt. His dark brown hair, slightly longer than regulation permitted, stuck up in the back where he had been resting his head against his pillows. Patton absentmindedly smoothed it down, though he managed not to lick his hand to do so.

Virgil let him lead him down the hall toward the Transporter Room. "You know I'm not actually your kid, right?"

"But we look so much alike!" Patton smiled sunnily at him. Patton was sturdy and soft where Virgil was rail-thin, and his honey blonde hair and blue eyes contrasted with Virgil's own dark hair and darker eyes.

"Sure, pops." Virgil shook his head, but there was a fondness to it. "I look like your shadow."

He stuttered his steps as they approached the Transporter Room so Patton would enter before him. Virgil respected Captain Janus Gaines, but he was also keenly aware of their difference in rank whenever they shared space. While Captain Gaines played fast and loose with regulations and encouraged his crew to do the same, Virgil never forgot what those regulations were. They had been drilled into his head at the Academy and haunted him like a ghost no matter how casually the Captain treated him.

"Took you long enough," Janus drawled. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."

"That was one time," Virgil said before he could stop himself. Not that it mattered; Janus had only ever been amused by Virgil's backtalk.

The rest of the party to beam down were milling about like guests at a mixer, largely ignoring Virgil and Patton. Janus stood out among them not only for his nonchalance, but for his unusual appearance. He made no secret of rejecting his half-Vulcan heritage and regularly spirited away Lieutenant Commander Remus Aime to help him bleach his hair and eyebrows. This resulted in unhealthy-looking white-blond hair and stark black roots. To make up for this transgression, he kept his hair at an acceptable regulation length, one that revealed his mismatched ears. The left was pointed exactly as a Vulcan's ears would be, but the right was rounded like a human's. Contributing to the asymmetry were his mismatched eyes: the left was a piercing blue while the right was warm and brown.

"We're ready now!" Patton said. He often focused on the bridge of the Captain's nose to avoid staring openly at him, and he did so now with a sunny but vacant smile gracing his lips.

"Places, everyone," Janus said, cutting off the murmured conversation between the remaining party members.

They all stepped onto the platforms, Virgil with his stomach turning with nerves, Patton staring dead ahead, still smiling.

It was over in a blink.

Janus stepped forward, turning around so he could address his party. "Gentlemen," he said, raising his arms for maximum melodrama, "welcome to Ya'Lotus."

"Uh, yeah, so what is this place?" Virgil asked, stepping off his platform.

He was interrupted by Lieutenant Roman Aime, who had made no secret of his disregard for Virgil since day one. "Weren't you paying attention the first two times we explained it to you?"

Janus rolled his eyes, annoyed at having lost control of the conversation, but made no attempt to regain it. "Logan?"

The android nodded at him, stepping forward and edging Roman out of Virgil's space. "Lotus Island, located on the planet of Ya'Lotus, is a popular shore leave destination due to its vast array of amenities and unique ticket-based economy."

Virgil, who had not been paying attention in the slightest the first two times this was explained to him, frowned. "Ticket-based?"

"Like Earth money," Remus Aime interjected.

"Yeah, yeah," said Roman.

"Ooh, like the county fair!" Patton said.

Virgil wheeled around to face him. "Is that an Earth thing? I'm from Alpha Proxima II."

"Well," said Janus, regaining everyone's attention by clapping his hands once. "Thank you, Ensign Salem, for that fascinating little jaunt into your personal history. But seeing as we're here to have fun, why don't you just stick close to me until you figure everything out, hm?"

"Yes, sir," Virgil said, squinting at Janus. He, like many others, was never sure where he stood with the half-Vulcan, and was unsure what to make of him because of it.

"Joy," said Janus. Addressing the rest of the landing party, he said, "Virgil and I are off to the Tier III Lounge. Is anyone else coming?"

"Logan said he wanted to do the self-guided history tour," said Patton, nudging the android in the ribs.

Logan nodded, causing his ash blond hair to dance along the line of his jaw. His gray eyes differed from organic beings' only in that they reflected no light, and he turned this unsettling gaze upon Patton, who tried not to flinch. "That is correct."

"An island full of debauchery and you're going on a history tour?" Remus demanded, grabbing a fistful of Patton's shirt. Despite the height disparity (Patton being the tallest member of the party and Remus being the shortest), Patton bit his lip and leaned back as much as the young Romulan's grip allowed. With his extravagant face tattoos and devilish bearing, Lieutenant Commander Remus Aime was no stranger to getting his way through intimidation tactics.

"You get free salt water taffy," Patton said, glancing around to see who might assist him.

It was Remus' twin brother who came to his aid, yanking Remus back by the hair. "Knock it off."

"I am your superior officer!" Remus said, releasing Patton and turning to face his brother.

"Oh, I do apologize, Lieutenant Commander Hair Dye," Roman said. To Janus, who was toying with his bleached locks with an exaggerated carefree expression, Roman said, "We'll go with you."

"No way!" Remus said, freeing dark hair from his brother's grasp. "I don't want to go to some stuffy lounge."

"We'll find our own fun on the way," Roman said.

"Again with the melodrama." Janus sighed and looked over at Virgil, who was slouching with his hands jammed in his pockets. "Follow me. If we lose them, we lose them."

Janus turned on his heel, an impressive feat given he was supplementing his already substantial height with three-inch heels, and left the receiving Transporter Room with Virgil in tow. Always loath to be left out, Roman followed suit, trailing Remus, Patton, and Logan behind him.

The first stop was a massive receiving terminal where they were all made to spin a wheel to receive their first round of tickets.

"How, exactly, does this work?" Virgil asked, folding his tickets into a small stack.

"If you really cared to know, you should have paid attention the first two times Logan explained it to you," Janus said, stuffing his own tickets up his sleeve like an Earth magician. "You're more than welcome to join him and Doctor Kelsey on the history tour if you think that would be a better way to spend your time than a high-end liquor tasting."

"You know," Virgil said, "I think I'll stick with you."

"That's what I thought."

A fair distance behind them trailed the Romulan twins Vrih and Vaebri i-Elehu tr'Aime, better known but their preferred names. Given that they hailed from a particularly superstitious region of the planet Romulus, the twins had dubbed themselves "Roman" and "Remus'' respectively to avoid the bad luck of giving away their full names.

"Captain Quick Step is trying to ditch us," complained Remus, his boot heels clicking against the concrete. Patton and Logan had already peeled off, leaving the brothers to tag along after Janus and Virgil on their own.

"Don't let him," Roman urged, nudging Remus to hurry up.

Lotus Island was a hectic place, bustling with all races of aliens. Music rang out loud over strategically-placed speakers and workers called out for the crowd to try their luck at a variety of carnival games from multiple cultures. Sequestered away in gravity-defying skyscrapers were gambling halls, and further inland towered the tracks of massive roller coasters.

Remus dodged an inebriated Orion and nearly tripped, grabbing onto Roman's tunic to stay upright. "He's dodging and weaving, that bastard!"

"You shouldn't have worn heels," Roman chided, grabbing Remus by the wrist and yanking him forward.

"You're wearing heels, too."

"But I can actually walk in them."

Far ahead of them and gaining ground, Janus was employing Earth-based power walking techniques. Virgil stuck close behind him at a jog, toying with his tickets, privately amazed at the unfamiliar sensation of actual paper between his fingers.

Virgil, despite his rigorous Academy training, was somewhat out of breath. Janus was not, and even if he was, would not have allowed Virgil to see him gasping for breath. He had determined long ago to take the best of his Vulcan heritage and the best of his human heritage, suppressing his weak points far beneath the surface where no one could ever see them. Despite his fondness for Remus, Janus Gaines was simply not a man who allowed himself emotional attachments and weaknesses, and this had very little to do with his early childhood training on Vulcan.

"Any particular reason you're running me like a racehorse?" Virgil asked.

"Like you've ever seen a racehorse," Janus replied.

"Okay, don't answer the question."

Despite their rapid pace, Janus managed to turn and leer at Virgil, micro-expressing as only a Vulcan could. "Because it's funny."

Virgil didn't see what was so funny about ditching crewmates, but (wisely) kept that to himself. "Why don't we catch a lift, then?" He gestured to one of the many ride services available, surreys and bicycles, rickshaws and moving sidewalks.

"We're almost there," Janus said, motioning to a blue-black building ahead of them. The rounded windows were blacked out, leaving Virgil to wonder at what was inside.

It was a regular lounge, as he soon found out, quiet and upscale. The interior was dark and just a touch too cool for Virgil and Janus' liking. Virgil crossed his arms as he followed Janus to the bar, but was soon distracted by a familiar hissing and clicking from the corner. "Is that a pinball machine?"

Janus looked at him like he'd just said something phenomenally stupid, mostly to hide the fact that he had only a vague idea of what a pinball machine was. "You can worry about that or you can let me buy you a drink."

"Fine," said Virgil, who had yet to master the subtle and esoteric art of decoding Janus' communication style. He clambered onto a barstool and picked at the piping on his sleeves that denoted his rank while Janus ordered something that the universal translator couldn't translate into English.

The sensation of eyes on him made Virgil shudder. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and glanced down the bar only to make eye contact with a pair of green eyes. They belonged to a Vulcan Virgil had never seen before. Unsure of what to do, Virgil froze, leaving the Vulcan to break the eye contact. He looked Janus up and down, then up again, his gaze lingering on his bleached hair.

"Dude," said Virgil, once he had recovered from the off-putting sensation of having been cased and rejected, "I think that guy likes you."

Janus leaned forward and peered down the bar before pulling back in an attempt to hide behind Virgil. "Shit."

Then came the voice, bassy, yet undeniably Vulcan in its even monotone. "Chu'lak? I thought that was you."

"Fuck," said Janus, already smiling, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He slipped off the barstool and landed cleanly on his toes so the click of his heels didn't disturb the lounge's quietude. "Sihok."

Sihok saluted both Janus and Virgil, though his attention was mostly on Janus. "Scheduled shore leave?"

"A welcome party," Janus said, holding out his hand for a shake.

Sihok eyed it with what Virgil regarded incorrectly as apathy and Janus recognized as disgust and a trace of amusement. After a fraction of a section of hesitation, he shook Janus' hand. "And this is the new recruit?" he asked, indicating Virgil with a small nod.

"Ensign Virgil Salem," Janus said.

Virgil, who had been trained in cross-cultural contact, gave the proper Vulcan salute with a trembling hand. Despite being unable to decipher Sihok's body language, he could sense the tension between Sihok and Janus as keenly as he could the difference between scotch and bourbon. Somewhere behind them, Virgil registered the click of their drinks being set down.

"Ensign Salem," said Sihok. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Virgil said, trying not to fidget.

"It is gratifying to know that you've held on to your manners despite your proximity to Chu'lak and his… half-measures."

Virgil's eyes went wide and he quickly averted his gaze. But to Virgil's surprise, Janus, rather than dressing Sihok down, gave a cold chuckle and put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "It's Janus. Captain Janus Gaines."

"You always did have trouble conforming," Sihok said.

"Yes," said Janus, "Mathematically speaking, I thought I would go for half acceptance. How do I measure up?"

Seeing that his companions were otherwise occupied in their strange battle of insults, Virgil rotated slightly to retrieve his drink from the bar behind him. He had a feeling he was going to need it if Sihok stuck around for much longer.

Sihok lifted one eyebrow ever so slightly. "They call you The Mad Vulcan."

"Well, now you have my attention." Janus turned and retrieved his own drink. "Shall we get a booth?" He knew perfectly well that Sihok was getting at something, and the mystery of the subject matter had him more curious than he would care to admit. He was reasonably sure he had managed to hide this from Sihok, having expressed anger and amusement as a sort of misdirection.

Virgil said, "Is this a worm?" He held his drink up to the light, examining the fizzing red liquid within to try to get a better look at the thing floating in it. "Like mezcal?" From the look Janus gave him, he judged that the universal translator hadn't been able to find a good Vulcan equivalent of the word. "Never mind. Booth?"

"But first." Janus held up his glass for Virgil to toast. "Congratulations, Ensign Salem. Welcome to the Foley."

--

"I didn't want to go to that stupid lounge, anyway," Remus said, crossing his arms. In a fit of pique, he grabbed Roman's braid, which ended just shy of his lower back, and gave it a yank.

"Oh, don't pick a fight with me just because you're grumpy," Roman said, flicking Remus' temple. "There's a million other things to do; I'm sure we can find something more fun than stalking the Captain and the new kid."

"Drugs?" said Remus, brightening considerably.

"I meant like a roller coaster or something, but if you want to go find an upper, I guess that's--"

"Let's go!" Remus started walking away.

"Seriously?" Roman said. "I was kidding! An island full of stuff to do and you want to get high?"

"Re-lax, Vrih. Janus will have a fit if I bring drugs onto the Foley, inside or outside of me. This is more of a personal challenge." Remus continued on his merry way, weaving behind buildings and sticking to areas so nondescript that Roman would have stayed away from them out of pure instinct.

"C'mon, Vaebri, I'm sure the heavily-regulated pleasure planet doesn't have a scary criminal underbelly for you to infiltrate. We're wasting time."

"We're almost there," said Remus.

"What do you mean we're almost there? Almost where? You've never even been here before."

"Do you ever shut up?"

Roman crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, but continued to follow Remus as he strode away from everything that made Lotus Island appealing. They ventured past a few 'Keep Out' signs written in Federation Standard and Vulcan into a gray jungle of humming machinery all locked inside tamper-resistant metal cages. Remus darted up to one particular machine and wasted no time jamming his face up against the grating.

"I'm gonna leave," Roman threatened, his arms still tightly crossed over his chest.

Remus was only half-listening, having just uncovered something he found far more interesting than gambling or thrill rides. "This powers an elevator!"

"Ooh," said Roman, barely giving the gray machinery a glance, "an elevator. Not like the Foley has turbolifts or anything."

"Someone wasn't paying attention to Logan's little spiel."

"Uh, yeah, Ensign Salem."

"No, no. You know what's under the island?"

"Water?"

Remus rolled his eyes and gave Roman's braid another tug. "You've been spending too much time with the Captain.

"Will you knock that off?" Roman demanded, kicking Remus in the shin.

"It's the staff's living quarters!" Remus said, growing bored with the argument.

"Oh," said Roman. "So we're definitely sneaking down there to take a look around?"

"Way ahead of you," Remus said, already fiddling with the control panel.

Behind them came the distinctive hiss of turbolift doors opening, followed by conversation. Roman and Remus, in a moment of synchronization, both turned on their heels and stood at attention. As Romulan twins, they were both fully aware of the attention they tended to attract once strangers figured out they weren't Vulcans. But the pair of humans, both wearing hot pink uniforms denoting them as staff members of Ya'Lotus, didn't so much as glance up as they carried on toward the Midway.

The twins exchanged a glance, then Remus dived for the closing doors with Roman hot on his tail.

"Nice," said Roman, already examining the panel of buttons.

Remus pressed one at random and the elevator began to drop, taking them far beneath the surface of Lotus Island. When the doors opened again, the twins were met with the sight of pale blue walls and concrete floors. It was eerily silent.

Roman stepped out hesitantly, looking around for any possible passers-by, but there was no one. He motioned for Remus to come out after him. While Remus held the higher rank, arbitrarily bestowed by Janus, Roman was the older (and bossier) twin and had yet to relinquish the sense of authority he had gained from a childhood of leading Remus around Romulus and, later, Decos Prime.

"What language is that?" Remus asked, nodding at the phrases painted on the walls.

Roman studied it for a moment. "Federation Standard. Sickbay is to the left, plus the Medical Staff Break Room. Living Quarters to the right."

"Break room," said Remus, already heading toward it. Roman fell into step beside him, so perfectly synchronized that the click of their heels on the concrete sounded like that of only one person. It was a trick they had perfected in childhood that had served them well in previous instances of trespassing.

"It's kinda freaky down here," Roman muttered. "Where is everybody?"

Remus shrugged. "Sleeping? Working?" He wasn't too bothered. Remus was of the mind that getting caught was half the fun of misbehaving.

"And what do you want with Sickbay, anyway?" No sooner had the words left Roman's lips did realization click into place. "Are you still on drugs?" he hissed, barely resisting the urge to grab Remus by the shirt and drag him back to the elevator.

"No, I'm not on drugs," Remus whispered back, displaying a picture-perfect shit-eating grin. "That's the problem." Upon spotting the door to the break room, he fell out of step with Roman and lunged forward to peek inside.

Roman was savvy enough to stop walking when he noticed Remus breaking away. He watched, half annoyed and half embracing the inevitable, as Remus froze in the doorway with wide eyes. With his facial tattoos, his unruly hair, and his mustache (which he had to shave before every inspection), Remus did not pass for Vulcan half as well as Roman did, even with his long hair.

Still, Remus straightened and crossed his arms behind his back, falling into a passable impression of Vulcan stoicism. "Good morning."

In the hall, Roman frantically flashed the Vulcan salute, trying to get Remus to notice.

"Officer," said a voice from within.

"Lieutenant Commander," said Remus, wiggling his fingers playfully at Roman behind his back.

"Did he send you?" asked another voice.

Remus' facade fractured for a moment, his lips twitching with excitement. He clenched one hand into a fist and shook it at Roman as much as his current positioning would allow. Roman rolled his eyes, confident now that Remus could see him.

"Yes." Remus had to fight to hold still as he stared down the two Caitians lounging at a table in the center of the room. They both had PADDs and communicators in front of them, both had half-empty mugs of a substance Remus couldn't identify.

One of the Caitians, whose name tag identified her as M'Birr, tilted her head at Remus, pupils going wide. "Shaa. What if he's lying?"

Remus rocked forward onto his toes, and he flashed several nonsense hand gestures at Roman behind his back in excitement. It was time to bring out one of Janus' favorite lines, albeit with less sarcasm than the Captain usually employed. "Vulcans do not lie."

"Yeah," said Shaa, her pupils also wide, "I have heard that. Beside, the Big Guy would have vetted him before sending him to us."

Bored with the waffling, Remus decided to take a risk. He had no way of knowing what or who the Caitians were referring to, or even if there was any mischief afoot. But Remus had a nose for trouble and he could see Roman getting bored in the hall. So he adjusted his posture and fixed M'Birr with his best impression of a calculating Vulcan stare. "I was instructed to obtain a sample of the product."

It was all he could do not to squirm in delight when M'Birr sighed and said, "He could have at least given you a Staff shirt. How am I supposed to sneak a member of Starfleet into Sickbay?"

"Incidentally," said Remus, still wiggling his fingers at Roman, who was pantomiming shock in his peripheral vision, "I wasn't told the name of the product."

"Like it matters," said M'Birr. "They're calling it 'kin.' How much did he tell you to move?"

Before Remus could answer, one of the communicators on the table chirped. "Voight here."

"Shaa."

"Starfleet's onto us."

Shaa side-eyed Remus, who took pains to hold completely still. "How can you be sure?"

"We've got two hitting all the stops on the trail. Not buying. Just looking. They went straight from the Help Desk to the Founder's Statue."

Remus and Roman sighed in tandem, both knowing full well it had to be Patton and Logan making their rounds on the self-guided tour.

"Not with us," Remus mouthed, looking M'Birr in the eye.

She exchanged a glance with Shaa, who shrugged briefly and addressed the communicator again. "What's the plan?"

"Dispatch. We can't let them off the planet."

"On our way." The two Caitians stood and moved toward the doorway where Remus was still standing. "Sorry, Lieutenant Commander, but we've got trouble."

Unable to help himself, Remus said, "You're just gonna leave me down here?"

"I'd think a Vulcan would know better than to cause trouble," M'Birr said pointedly. "Excuse me." She pushed past Remus, followed closely by Shaa. "And who's this?"

"Backup," said Roman, trying not to react to the sight of the two cat-like aliens before him.

M'Birr stared at him, calculating, but Shaa nudged her and said softly, "We don't have time for this."

"See yourselves out," said M'Birr. She and Shaa took off for the elevators, leaving Roman and Remus to stand awkwardly until they were out of sight.

"Drugs!" said Remus, stamping his heels on the floor and shimmying. "What did I tell you?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Roman, annoyed despite himself that Remus had gotten his way. "Can we go save our friends from getting murdered now?"

"Sure," said Remus, heading back toward the elevator, "if they haven't already died of boredom yet."

--

After receiving their specially-programmed PADDs for the self-guided tour (along with two bags of saltwater taffy), Patton and Logan had set off for the first stop on the tour.

"Ooh," said Patton, who was attempting to read, walk, and eat taffy at the same time. "There's trivia."

Logan grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him out of the way of a group of Andorians. "I believe that all the knowledge we gain here today could be referred to as 'trivia,' Doctor Kelsey."

"No, no." Patton shoved a candy wrapper in his pocket so he could use both hands to show Logan the PADD. "There's a trivia contest at the end! We should pay extra close attention."

"Noted," said Logan. "I will make an effort to keep the information in my memory banks."

"Oh, by the way." Patton navigated back to the map of Lotus Island. "You can call me Patton, you know."

"If you're sure," said Logan. "I am aware of the human concept of 'politeness' and did not wish to overstep if you were being polite when you introduced yourself."

"Nope! You really can call me Patton," Patton said cheerfully, holding up the PADD and rotating it, trying to get his bearings. "Where's Virgil when you need him?"

(Virgil was, at the moment, weighing up the benefits of crawling under the table and abandoning Janus and Sihok to their Vulcan mind games)

"Allow me to assist." Logan removed his own borrowed PADD from under his arm. "Next up is the, ah, 'Fun Wheel.'"

"That thing?" Patton asked, pointing to the massive Ferris wheel ahead of them. At their current proximity, the hulking metal contraption dominated the horizon.

"Yes," said Logan, biting back a sarcastic comment. The Captain responded well to sarcasm and Logan's communication style had evolved accordingly, but time and experience had shown that most people found Janus' sarcasm off-putting. And Logan had seen him don the mask of diplomacy, which received much better reception. So Logan decided he would be diplomatic in the hopes that it would make Patton feel at-ease. Logan did not want to be the crewmember responsible for scaring off their new CMO.

They made for the Ferris wheel, Patton still with his nose buried in the PADD. "You get more taffy for correctly answering trivia questions!"

"What could we possibly do with more taffy?" Logan asked.

"Share it with the others!"

They reached the viewing platform of the defunct Fun Wheel and both held up their PADDs to read the description.

What the PADDs did not tell them was that less than 30 guests attended the self-guided tour per Earth year and those guests that did were rarely members of Starfleet. The PADDs had also not been programmed with the knowledge that every single stop on the tour was a tradeoff point for distributors of a new drug known colloquially as 'kin,' as the scientific name was several syllables long, untranslatable from Golic Vulcan, and contained a multitude of niche phonemes.

"Do you smell that?" Logan asked, searching his memory banks for several pieces of data at once.

Patton sniffed and looked around in confusion. "The ocean?" Most of Ya'Lotus consisted of a saltwater ocean that contained no indigenous life. The sea breeze was fresh and cool and smelled, to Patton's human nose, unremarkable.

Logan shook his head. "There is a strong chemical smell emanating from the lower cabin of the Ferris wheel. I believe it may be opioid in nature."

"Opioid?" Patton sniffed and again could only smell rust and sweet ocean air. "You can get all that just from the smell?"

Logan nodded and approached the low metal fence, leaning over it to try to get a closer look at the cabin. It was caged off and covered with a fine mesh that blocked even his keen android eyesight. He cycled through his senses, again landing on smell as his best means of solving the puzzle before him. Beneath the smell of iron and grease, there was a definite tang of something other, something distinctly sedative. He wasn't specialized to identify chemicals like this, and the sensation of answers dancing just out of reach in his databank was enough to elicit an emotional reaction. He looked at Patton and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fuck."

"Whoa!" said Patton, tucking the PADD under his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Forgive me, Doct-- Patton. I am expressing frustration because I would like to know the source of the smell."

Patton leaned in over the guardrail. "Maybe it's just an industrial agent you're smelling? I can't think of any reason why opioid drugs would be anywhere near a Ferris wheel. Not here, anyway. Not on this planet."

"You're right," Logan said. "I will let it go." To emphasize this, he let go of the railing and stepped back. "Are you finished reading?"

"Yeah," said Patton, also backing up. "Let's move on."

And they turned and walked away from the first hidden kin manufacturing still on the tour.

--

By this point, Janus was fairly sure Sihok was getting at something, though he was circling around the point like a seabird waiting for the kill. It was a tactic Janus could respect, though it was decidedly un-Vulcan. Virgil, meanwhile, signaled for another round of drinks with his fingers. He too had an idea that Sihok was getting at something, and that Janus was as well. While he was admittedly inexperienced with Vulcan body language, he was reasonably sure that Janus hadn't figured it out yet. With boredom and alcohol combining in his mind, Virgil sat back and decided to try to figure it out before Janus did. Sure, he was just an Ensign, but he wasn't stupid.

At the moment, Sihok and Janus (whom Sihok insistently referred to by his Vulcan name, Chu'lak) were talking lightly about their careers.

"I thought," said Janus, drawing one fingertip around the rim of his glass, "you were studying xenobiochemistry."

"I was."

"So how did you end up here of all places?" He gestured to the room at large. Virgil, tracking the movement with his eyes, caught sight of the pinball machine and gazed longingly at it before remembering himself. "As I recall, you had a natural talent for the sciences. If you'll forgive my saying so, working security at a glorified casino seems a bit beneath you."

Sihok's expression did not change that Virgil could see, but he marked that Janus was smirking just a bit.

Sihok nodded. "I discovered in the course of my schooling that xenobiochemistry better suits me as a hobby. And, if you will permit a lapse in logic, I find the the atmosphere of Ya'Lotus most agreeable."

"You dig the vibe," Virgil blurted before he could stop himself. Janus and Sihok both stared at him and before his eyes, the expressions he had mistaken for disapproval read simply as confused. A small spark of triumph ignited in him; he was learning to understand Vulcan mannerisms.

"That didn't translate," Janus said.

"I thought you spoke Federation Standard," Virgil said.

"That was not Federation Standard."

Virgil's cheeks began to burn. "Ah, never mind. You were saying?"

"I think," said Sihok, "there is a certain beauty in mathematics. Do you agree?"

"Sure," said Janus. "But why do I get the feeling that you're not referring to fractals?"

Virgil fished a maraschino cherry out of his drink and began to bat it around the table with his fingertips.

"There is an objective beauty in symmetry," Sihok said vaguely. "No one could argue that. But it's asymmetry that has my interest. Chu'lak, answer a question for me."

"Yes?"

"Where are you staying tonight?"

Virgil stilled, his eyes flicking to Janus. He had no doubt that the question had translated oddly, that Sihok wasn't seriously propositioning Janus. But Janus had been given an opportunity to tease, and even from his limited experience aboard the Foley, Virgil knew that Janus rarely passed up an opportunity to make fun.

"I hadn't decided yet," Janus said with an arch smile, staring at Sihok under his lashes. "The Foley, I suppose, or someplace lavish if I ever make it to the casino."

Virgil resumed playing with the cherry, knowing on some level that he was behaving unprofessionally. He was just drunk enough to not care, the alcohol softening the sharp edges of his anxieties.

"Why?" Sihok asked.

"Why?" Janus repeated.

"You have everything you need on the Foley, don't you? And the free accommodations here are sufficient to sustain life? Why strive for more?"

Janus made no effort to hide his confusion. His patience was wearing thin. He had been intrigued at first by Sihok's vague enterprise, but his insistent refusal to get the point left Janus struggling for diplomacy. "I didn't think you cared for philosophy, Sihok. You've changed."

"Think it over," Sihok said.

The maraschino cherry rolled across the table. Virgil grabbed for it, having flicked it a little harder than intended, but missed, and watched in a hazy mixture of horror and amusement as it rolled off the edge of the table, hit Janus in the knee, and bounced to the floor.

"Sorry," Virgil mumbled, already ducking to grab it. Movement under the table caught his eye; Sihok adjusted his grip on something. Forgetting the cherry, Virgil eyed it curiously. It looked very like the rolls of Lifesavers that Alpha Proxima II would import from Earth, little pieces of culture to keep the colonists connected to their heritage. Virgil had preferred dark chocolate bars and later, coffee and brandy, but his mother had been quite fond of the sharp taste of spearmint Lifesavers. Whatever Sihok had a grip on was wrapped in a translucent white paper that allowed Virgil to see the colorful discs within. Not wanting to linger too long, Virgil resurfaced with the cherry and set it down on a cocktail napkin. "Sorry," he said again.

"Didn't you say you wanted to try the pinball machine?" Janus asked. He was already formulating an exit strategy, but it had never been his intention to hold Virgil hostage. Sihok was taking his time getting to his point, and this was supposed to be a welcome party for Virgil. "Here." He scooted out of the booth and stood.

"Thank you," Virgil said. He walked slowly, listening as Janus apologized and Sihok began to wax philosophical once more about the beauty of asymmetry in mathematics.

A few rounds on the Starfleet-themed pinball machine only left Virgil frustrated and half-sober, overstimulated. He didn't understand why Janus didn't just make an excuse and go. They had both been drawn in by Sihok's vague manner, but Virgil knew that his continued refusal to get to the point must have been driving Janus crazy.

The music changed to something reminiscent of heavy metal, blast beats ringing loud in Virgil's ears. He practically felt in his face: the shredding guitars, the way all the conversations became louder to compensate, the beeps of the pinball machine. Virgil had been declared mentally fit to serve in Starfleet, having proven he could push through bouts of anxiety and even thrive in high-pressure situations. But subjecting himself to the torment of this noisy bar was unpleasant and wholly unnecessary, so he turned and followed signs for the bathroom.

Once inside, he leaned back against one of the cool metal walls, heedless of the potential for infection. He had been vaccinated for just about everything under the sun upon joining Starfleet and he doubted any pathogen on Lotus Island could make it through his defenses.

The door opened and shut and a human stepped in, eyed Virgil up and down. "You look like you could use a chill pill."

It was old vernacular, slang Virgil had picked up at the Academy, because no one on Alpha Proxima II talked like that. He was quiet for a moment, wondering if this stranger was merely using a turn of phrase or if they were, in fact, stupid enough to offer drugs to a member of Starfleet. He decided on the former. "Am I that obvious?"

"You're about to chew a hole in your lip," the stranger said. "Look, you're already bleeding."

Virgil had long grown used to the taste of iron on the tip of his tongue. "It's just a little loud out there."

"I've got meds that can help with that," the stranger said.

Virgil blinked and reassessed: they really were that dumb. "I'm Starfleet," he said incredulously, glancing down at his yellow tunic in case he had somehow taken it off and forgotten about it.

"So what, you're not allowed to cut loose a little? You're on vacation."

Virgil scoffed and let the back of his head rest on the wall, marveling at the audacity of this strange human.

To buy himself time, he walked over to the sink and began to wash his hands. A plan was beginning to form in Virgil's head, neurons firing and making connections. He steeled himself and turned back to the stranger. "How much?"

--

"So, and just so I'm crystal clear on this," Remus said, stomping along beside Roman with his unstyled mohawk ruffled by the breeze, "our heroic plan to rescue Patton and Logan is to take the guided tour?"

"Oh, shut up." Roman backed away from the Help Desk and shoved the PADD at Remus. "Ugh, I don't understand maps at all. Where's Virgil when you need him?"

(Answer: Making a drug deal in the bathroom of the Tier III Lounge).

Remus studied the PADD. Roman had already set the translation to Romulan, but it was crude and hard to navigate. "Man of metals?" he asked, squinting.

"Oh, nevermind." Roman snatched the PADD back and began to walk. "It's the Founder's Statue. It's made of titanium and platinum. Get it?"

"Well, that's a terrible translation," Remus grumbled.

"Maybe you should learn Federation Standard," Roman nagged. This was far from the first argument they'd had about it and he already knew that Remus would refuse point-blank, masking his frustration and insecurity behind stubbornness. Remus had none of his brother's knack for languages, and while he was a talented engineer, he'd always struggled with his classes far more than Roman had.

"Maybe the Federation should start using Romulan," Remus shot back, and changed the subject before Roman could escalate the argument. "You never answered my question. What's the plan?"

"We need to catch up with either Patton and Logan or, uh… the Caitians."

"Shaa," Remus said with unnecessary smugness, pleased to have something on Roman, "and M'Birr."

"Sure."

They were both out of breath by the time they reached the Founder's Statue, both privately regretting the decision to wear heeled boots. The marginal boost to their height still left them the shortest members of the crew, a fact for which Janus loved to tease them.

"Onward to the next one," Roman said, looking around and seeing no one. He held up the PADD, and Remus peered over his shoulder.

"Rotation wheel," Remus read in Romulan. He looked up at the towering Ferris wheel in the near distance. "Well, that shouldn't be too hard to find."

"It's called a Ferris wheel," Roman complained. "It's a proper noun. Why would they try to translate that?"

Remus paused so he could stamp his foot. "Focus."

"Yeah, yeah." Roman tucked the PADD under his arm.

They caught sight of the two Caitians just after the Ferris wheel and pulled back to avoid being spotted.

"They have guns!" Remus said, a touch too loud even for his own liking. "Real guns! Not phasers!"

"Speaking of…" Roman sighed and touched his hip where his phaser and communicator would sit. Weapons were not allowed anywhere on Ya'Lotus and communication was restricted to their own official channels. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Vulcan nerve pinch?" Remus reached over and grabbed Roman's neck.

Roman stared at him, unamused. "Right, so we'll just try to stay out of a fight. Maybe if we can get around them, we can catch Logan and Patton and, uh… Well, get the Captain, I guess."

"Running off to get Daddy at the first sign of trouble," Remus sighed. "This is why I got promoted and you didn't."

"Yes, that's why. Not because you were the only one stupid enough to risk bleaching the Captain's eyebrows for him."

"Only chemical burned him one time!" Remus said proudly. "Where are we going, by the way?"

"Oh." Roman consulted the PADD. "Banana stand."

"What's a--"

"Walk and talk."

Remus shook Roman's hand off his shoulder. "What's that?"

"It's a kind of Earth fruit. I'm sure they have them here, since the founder of Ya'Lotus was human."

"Boring," said Remus. "Race you!" He took off running, moving awkwardly in his heeled boots. Roman sighed, looked around, and grabbed a tandem bike. It was not the most dignified form of transportation on the island, but it was one he happened to be familiar with. He and Remus both had a bit of a fascination with human history: Remus specializing in weaponry and warfare and Roman preferring to study courtship rituals. He mounted the bike with only a little difficulty, found his balance, and pedaled after Remus

"C'mon, get on."

"Oh!" said Remus happily, not even bothered by the direct order. "It's like a motorcycle with pedals!"

"How have you heard of a motorcycle but not a banana?"

"Will you focus?" Remus flicked Roman's shoulder blade. "You are now officially the Navigator and Helmsman of the Federation vessel Gemini."

"Subtle." Roman would have rolled his eyes, but between trying to steer and keep an eye on the PADD, didn't want to risk it. "What does that make you?"

"The Captain, obviously," Remus said. Roman put his head down as they pedaled by Shaa and M'Birr, but Remus whooped and flashed them a rude hand sign.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Roman wheezed, a little winded from having to haul both his and Remus' weight. "Fucking pedal!"

"Don't talk to your captain like that," Remus said, giving the pedals a few half-hearted turns.

"Could you at least take this a little seriously? Our crewmates are in danger!"

"Oh," said Remus, kicking his feet out, "guns aren't that dangerous. Not compared to phasers."

Roman just huffed and didn't answer. He steered them to the banana stand without incident and, upon seeing Patton and Logan about to leave, dived off the bike to reach them. Ignoring Remus' annoyed cries behind him, he sprinted over to his wayward crewmates. "Hey!"

"Roman," said Logan, glancing over at Patton in surprise. "You appear to be in distress."

"We gotta get out of here," Roman said in Romulan. Despite the universal translator, he usually switched to Federation Standard out of politeness when speaking with Logan and their human crewmates (though Patton's native language was Welsh), but he was too stressed at the moment to try to switch gears.

Behind him, Remus cursed and examined his left palm, which he had thrown out to break his fall when the bike had tipped. "I'm gonna kill you."

"Kill me later!" Roman shouted back. "We gotta go!" He wrapped his arms around Patton and Logan's waists and started to steer them toward the crowded boardwalk. "Remus!"

"I'm bleeding!" Remus said, scampering to meet them.

"You are?" Patton stopped and turned, ignoring Roman's cursing. "Is it bad?"

"Kiss it better?" Remus asked, batting his lashes.

Roman dragged his hands down his face. "Do you want to get in a gunfight with-- Oh, don't answer that. Of course you do."

"Forgive me, Lieutenant, did you say gunfight?" Logan asked, extricating himself from Roman's slackening grip.

"We don't have time for this!" Roman stamped his foot to try to get Remus' attention, but he was too busy playing up his injury for Patton. He only had a few minor scrapes across his palm, a few dots of green blood here and there.

"Roman, I must insist that you explain," Logan said. "I understand that you are agitated, but if you simply explain the situation, I'm sure we can--"

"We don't have time!" Roman interrupted. "Is it not enough to know that we're in danger?" He turned to his brother, desperation shining in his eyes. "Back me up on this."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you tried to murder your superior officer," Remus said as Patton continued to pick bits of gravel out of his palm.

Along the path, Roman caught sight of the Caitians. Their pace was quick but not frantic as they scanned the horizon for their target, hands on their guns. Roman whispered an untranslatable swear word and made a decision.

Abandoning his crewmates, he straightened, crossed his arms behind his back, and strode forward to meet M'Birr and Shaa.

"Greetings" he said, trying not to let his voice tremble.

"You again?" said Shaa, crossing her arms. "Where's your partner?"

Roman swallowed. "After some discussion, we agreed it would be logical to interfere on your behalf."

"How so?" M'Birr asked. She frowned at Roman, her eyes scanning him.

"We acted under the belief that Starfleet officers would be more likely to trust other Starfleet officers. As you can see, we were correct. We have gained their trust and ascertained that they are not aware of the operation." Shaa tilted her head, and Roman felt compelled to add, "Vulcans do not lie."

"If you're really Vulcans," M'Birr said, still eyeing him with wide-pupiled green eyes. "And not, say, Romulans."

Roman forced his face to remain impassive. "That is an easy mistake to make, particularly if one is not familiar--"

"Oh, shut up." M'Birr drew her gun. "We can take care of all four of you."

Roman's pulse and breathing quickened, his vision narrowing to a very small spot, centering on the matte black of M'Birr's handgun. It was bulkier than a phaser and, he reminded himself, less deadly. He stared at the barrel, mind formulating and discarding half-formed plans for escape. Regardless of what Remus had said, he really didn't want to get shot.

What Roman did not see in his narrow-minded panic, was Remus abandoning Patton and flanking his brother and his assailants. He also did not see Patton flanking the other side, nor did he notice Logan appropriating a golf cart from a confused family of humans.

Remus flew into Roman's field of vision and tackled M'Birr, followed shortly by Patton who dropped Shaa with a sweeping kick to the knees. Adrenaline kicked in and Roman grabbed Remus by the wrist and hauled him up, spotted the golf cart, and dived for it. Patton beat them there and swung around to the passenger seat.

"Go, go, go!" they all shrieked, and Logan obediently stepped on the accelerator. The golf cart began to roll forward at a leisurely pace.

"Oh, are you kidding me?" Roman demanded.

"It's okay!" Remus said. He had turned so he could peer out the back, and was happy to see Shaa and M'Birr still struggling on the ground. "Dang, Patton, I think you broke Shaa's leg."

"Don't say that!" Patton wrapped his arms around himself and instead turned his attention to Roman. "What was that all about, anyway?"

Roman explained, punctuated by interjections from Remus. This concluded with Remus sitting back in his seat with a huff. "I can't believe nobody got shot."

"Should we have confiscated their guns?" Patton wondered out loud.

"Hopefully security will deal with them," Logan said. "Does anyone know where the Tier III Lounge is, by the way? I've been making evasive maneuvers, and now I am unsure--"

"So we're lost," Remus interrupted. "Possibly with more assassins after us, if the kitties called for backup."

Roman rested his forehead against the back of Patton's seat. "I hope the Captain is having a better day than we are."

--

Despite the lack of immediate danger, Janus was having a much worse day than the whole of his crew, save perhaps Virgil, who was still negotiating his drug deal in the bathroom.

"So you see," Sihok was saying, his drink nearly untouched, "an asymmetrical system is beautiful not only for those at the top, but for those at the bottom by instilling hope in them that they might someday reach the top."

"Capitalism," said Janus, bored. "You just described capitalism."

"Perhaps I did," Sihok said, and displayed the Vulcan equivalent of a guarded smile.

Janus masked his utter confusion behind raucous laughter. "Sihok, what exactly are you implying?"

"Nothing at all," said Sihok primly. "I was merely displaying my admiration for the artful execution of a certain style of economics."

That was when Virgil emerged from the bathroom clutching a roll of tablets, the drug known as 'kin.' It was identical to the one Sihok was holding, and the implications of this turned his stomach. Sihok was head of security for the whole of Ya'Lotus, and the way he had spoken to Janus had implied that he was after something, though Virgil had no idea what it could be.

Virgil hurried over to the table, heart racing in anticipation of what he was about to do. He had information that Janus might need and he couldn't speak it out loud. After hearing he had been assigned to the Foley, he had made a point to study the biology and abilities of Vulcans, though he had no idea what telepathic abilities Janus might have inherited as a human-Vulcan hybrid, and a genetic anomaly at that. Virgil was taking a risk, one that might draw the Captain's ire or make him look foolish, which was as dire a consequence to Virgil as death.

He approached the booth and, before Janus could get up, gently rested his hand on Janus' shoulder.

Janus froze. Sihok marked this, and Virgil noticed him notice. Dread trickled down his spine like cold water. "Excuse me, Captain," he said weakly.

"Bored already?" Janus asked. He directed an amused look at Sihok and said, "The human attention span," in a tone of patient exhaustion, then got up to let Virgil in.

Virgil was careful not to brush up against Sihok's legs, but he could tell that Sihok was staring as he scooted back up against the wall. Despite Janus' lack of reaction, he had a sneaking suspicion that his plan had worked too well and that not only Janus, but Sihok as well had picked up on the information he had transmitted.

They all lingered for a moment in a silent standoff. It was Janus who broke the silence, laughing again and rolling his eyes. "I have to say, Sihok, I'm a little disappointed. And offended, if I'm being honest." He took the roll of kin from Virgil and set it on the table. "You're pushing a capitalist drug empire on a pleasure planet. What was the master plan? To establish a capitalist regime within the Federation with you at the top? How un-Vulcan."

Sihok ignored the slight. "I had intended to offer you a partnership. Are you declining?"

"Was that not obvious?" Janus asked, abandoning the last of his pretense at Vulcan restraint. "Not only am I declining, I'm calling you an idiot. Sihok, you are an idiot and a disgrace to the planet Vulcan, and I don't mean that as a compliment. I suppose now you're going to kill us before we can report you to Starfleet?"

"Yes," said Sihok.

"How?" asked Janus. "We're sitting down. Do you want to arm wrestle us to death?" Sihok took a breath to speak and Janus cut him off, "Don't even think about your phaser. Sure, you could get one of us, at which point the other would disarm you."

"Well," said Sihok, "it seems we have reached an impasse."

Virgil took another risk. "May I?" he asked, nodding at Sihok's drink. "You haven't touched it and if I'm going down today, I'm going down drinking."

"Control your crewman," Sihok said to Janus, deadly serious.

Virgil took the drink. "Thanks." He held onto the tumbler, using the numbing ache of chilled glass against his palm to ground himself.

"So," said Janus, disregarding Virgil, "an impasse."

"About that," said Sihok. "Your Ensign is new to Starfleet; you said so earlier." He drew his phaser and aimed it at Janus. "I do not believe he has the capacity to disarm me, especially as he has been drinking and his reaction time will be slowed."

Thinking that now was as good a time as any, Virgil touched Janus' leg and splashed his drink in Sihok's face. They both scrambled out of the booth and sprinted out the door. They paused for a moment to get their bearings, and that was when a golf cart plowed into Virgil at a speed equivalent to 10 miles per hour.

Logan hit the brake and reversed so as not to run over Virgil's legs. "Forgive me, Ensign Salem. Are you alright?"

Roman, who hadn't picked his head up from the back of Patton's seat, began to lightly tap his forehead against the metal support bar. "Please tell me you didn't just kill our Helmsman when we need him most."

Virgil scrambled to his feet, too full of adrenaline to register any serious pain. "We gotta get out of here."

"You too, huh?" Remus said. He patted the seat next to him and addressed Janus. "Climb aboard."

Janus hopped on and was forced to sit on Remus' lap. Unruffled, he barked, "Ensign Salem, evasive maneuvers. Now."

Virgil hopped into the driver's seat, which Logan had recently vacated, waited for Logan to clamber onto the back of the golf cart, and slammed down the accelerator. "Where to?"

"Evasive maneuvers, Ensign Salem. Let's lose our pursuers before we worry about a destination."

"Yes, sir." Virgil pulled around the back of the Tier III Lounge just as a dripping-wet Sihok emerged, phaser drawn. The chase that ensued was unremarkable, as the golf cart began to pick up speed while emitting a worrisome whining noise.

"I made some adjustments to the engine while we were moving," Remus said proudly.

"That's impossible," Janus answered.

"I said that, too," Logan said.

Virgil continued to steer them in concentric circles around Lotus Island, self-assessing now that he was calmer. He could already feel the dull ache of impending bruises on his hip and elbow, but the damage seemed minimal.

"So," said Roman, "who are you evading?"

"Oh," said Janus, feigning boredom, "just a would-be capitalist drug lord Vulcan hellbent on murdering us. You?"

Roman put the pieces together. "Said Vulcan's lackeys, also hellbent on murdering us."

"Oh!" said Patton and Logan simultaneously, albeit for very different reasons: Patton to express dismay and concern, Logan realizing why he had smelled opioids earlier.

"You're welcome, by the way," Remus said, addressing Patton since he was easier to reach. "Those Caitians were after you and Logan."

"Thanks," Patton said weakly. "You know, I'm not feeling very relaxed."

Janus looked around and, seeing no trace of either murderous Caitians or murderous Vulcans, leaned forward to address Virgil. "Set a course for the Transporter Building, departures terminal. Let's get the Hell out of here."

--

After making some arrangements on the viewing deck, Janus arranged for Virgil and Patton to be summoned from their rooms, where they had both gone to decompress. Virgil and Remus had first been strongarmed into going to Sickbay, where Patton looked them over and pronounced them fit for duty.

Remus was showing off his bandaged hand to Janus and regaling him with a greatly embellished tale of how he had received the injury when the doors slid open and Virgil and Patton appeared.

Patton came in first, Virgil lingering behind him. "Aw!" he said, looking around at the array of alcohol and finger foods arranged picnic-style on the floor. "What's this?"

"It's your welcome party," Janus explained. "Since Ya'Lotus didn't quite work out. Come sit."

Patton sat down next to Logan, leaving Virgil to occupy the empty space next to Janus. Janus offered him half a smile. "You did well today, Virgil. You may even have saved my life." He paused, then added, "Although I probably still could have disarmed Sihok before he got the shot off. Regardless." He poured Virgil a glass of bourbon. "Thank you, Ensign Salem. You did well."

"Yay, Virgil!" Patton said happily.

After ensuring that everyone had drinks, Janus regained command of everyone's attention and raised his glass. "A toast to honor our new crewmates. Virgil Salem, Patton Kelsey." He looked at them in turn. "Welcome aboard the Foley."

#spicywrites #spicywrites ticket crimes #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #platonic dlampr

[capri-ramblings]

I haven't written in a while and this is literally my first fic writing for Twisted Wonderland, so it's a bit dry and boring but after playing one of @malleusthorns 's click and drag game i just had to write something with my result lmao.

Lilia is a character I've yet to get to know so forgive me if he's a bit ooc here (╯︵╰,) anyways hope this isn't So bad since I'm planning to write a bunch of others •́ ‿ ,•̀

Thanks again to malleusthorn for this spark of inspo (probably ruined by my horrible writing)

* * * *

Things happened so fast, I didn't think I got any of it at all until I was blinded by darkness. Shoved into a closet with someone I've only ever met once, all the while the people I call my friends snickered behind the door that separates us.

I shifted in the closet, a habit whenever I got nervous.

Lilia shifted as well but I couldn't see him until a small green light appeared and his face was illuminated by it.

He had a small smile on his lips, his features ethereal and youthful resembling a porcelain doll made with precise skills. Really, I might be exaggerating, but Lilia had an eternal feel to his demeanor, as if his beauty came from countless lifetimes.

He tilted his head then, the ball of green light in his palm glistening. I realized then he had said something and I was just staring at him.

"Uh,sorry, did you say something, Lilia-senpai?", I tried my best not to sound flustered but given our situation, I'm pretty sure half of the school would know I was losing composure.

Damn that Ace and Grimm, next time Azul gives you anemones, I'd let Floyd squeeze you dry before helping again.

"Hmm, you seem troubled", he said slightly airy yet thoughtful. "You know usually whenever I'm troubled with something I sing a song to help me think, would you like me to teach you a song to sing?"

His eyes were wide and genuine then, like a clear crystal filled with thoughts brimming with eccentricity. Lilia at the moment, kinda reminded me of a kid rather than a senior.

"Ah! You're smiling!" He leaned in closer as his lips curled into a smile as well.

"Hey, your smile is a wonderful thing to see! If that was the case, you should smile more often!"

"Ahahaha...even when I'm forced to do things I don't really want to do at first but I can't really refuse cause Principal Crowley would use my freeloading existence here as blackmail?" I closed my eyes and crossed my arms, feigning a thinking gesture. "I'll give it a try"

Lilia laughed then,so full and warm it took me by surprise. His hands came to hold my shoulders,giving it a friendly shake.

"Hahahaha! That's the spirit! You have a good sense of humour too!"

"...Huh, anyways, Lilia-senpai, are you okay with this?" He looked at me, eyes shifting from enthusiastic to curious. His smile didn't fade when he spoke.

"With what?"

"Um, this seven minutes in heaven thing. I know I'm kinda the last person you'd wanna hang with for seven minutes of your life"

"Hmm,is that so?" Something in his gaze shifted then,a mist of thought I couldn't catch in time. It wasn't unsettling,though I felt a chill ran up my spine anyway.

"And why would you say that,little lantern?"

"L-Little lantern..?"

"Ahahaha! It suits you doesn't it? Your smile just now reminded me of a lantern I saw long ago"

"Well... It's cute, I guess"

His eyes closed, that same warm chirp of a laugh coming from him again. "Say, why wouldn't I want to spend seven minutes of my time with you?" He asked, pretty close to me, maybe a bit too close. I let out a dry laugh, and gestured dismissively with my hand.

"Well,for a start I'm not really the most interesting person in this school."

"I think I can beg to differ,little lantern. You're someone without magic, a child of man, and yet the black carriage carried you here to this school and for months now you've been able to make due with whatever is thrown your way,despite what has been thrown your way, and you do it with a clear conscience too." He tilted his head again, eyes glistening like the light he held so gracefully In the palm of his hands. At that moment, I thought I was looking at something very ancient.

"O-Oh...I didn't really see it that way.." I shuffled back, attempting to create distance, but my back collided against the door.

"Ah,sorry I was taking up a lot of space, wasn't I?" Lilia laughed but his gaze fixated on me as if searching for something before it didn't and we were back to staring at each other, not really knowing what to say.

'Man,and I thought those leech twins were hard to read..'

"Say, wouldn't you like to know how to use magic?"

"Huh?"

"You really like spacing out don't you? Little lantern if you don't keep your guard up something might happen with the little time we have now"

"...What exactly could happen?"

"Hmm, I wonder what could happen"

"That's why I asked—"

Lilia took hold of my hand then, bringing up to his face.

"We have a few minutes left, you wanna try your luck?"

"I don't know. Are you gonna turn me into a toad or something"

"Eh? You're a funny one indeed, little lantern. Here,first I'll do this" Lilia placed his hand underneath mine, holding it so my palm was open, then he let his gaze bore into it before a warm sensation began pooling on my hand. A faint sense of power enveloping it.

"Wha... Lilia-senpai—"

"Eh,what a nice reaction. There, try it!"

He let his grasp turn loose and I pulled my hand away, inspecting it like it wasn't even my own hand. Somehow,it felt different...

Lilia kept his eyes on me, a smile in both his gaze and on his lips. I looked back at my hand, sighed.

"Yolo,right?" I smiled back at him.

"Eh,Yolo?"

"Ah, nevermind. What should I do by the way? I'm kinda clueless here..."

"Hmm,maybe try floating something, that's a basic skill I'm sure you'll get right off the bat!"

My gaze searched around the room then,all the while I was wondering how I got into this situation in the first place. Why was there even a party at this hour? Ugh, this school will be the death of me, I swear.

I sighed again, and at that moment I felt something crawl up onto my leg.

I locked eyes with Lilia who was still staring at me, his hand was still holding the green light.

Ah,so it's not him?

I stiffened.

"...Lilia-senpai?"

"Hm,is something the matter, Little lantern?"

My lips parted, and the crawling came again. Goosebumps greeted my whole body.

"Little Lantern,are you okay?"

I clenched my teeth. "I think there's something climbing on my leg...!" The words came out in a hurry and had Lilia widening his gaze before he looked down and seemed like he wanted to crouch with the light to see better but I grabbed at his hand, sweating.

"Don't move! What if you make it crawl faster?"

"Then how am I supposed to help you?"

"Use your magic!"

He chuckled,his free hand coming up to slightly cover his mouth. "Isn't the light I'm using now part of my magic?"

Then he really did crouch down, the light illuminating my lower half. I closed my eyes before it had a chance to trail down, but once silence stilled in the room. I desperately wanted to scream.

"Lilia-senpai..?"

"Don't move." His voice lost it's friendliness. A brusque shift from light to authoritive in mere seconds. I shut my eyes even harder, skin crawling with goosebumps. Lilia didn't answer, instead straightening his body before he looked me in the eyes.

"Everything's okay, just don't move. I'll get rid of that thing on your leg"

"What thing?" I asked,panic lacing my words. I wanted to cringe so bad but the fear of not knowing what was latching onto me had me frozen in place.

"Nothing I can't handle"

"That's not really comforting..."

"I'm your senior aren't I?" He said then, smiling gently at me again with the same warmth from before. "Even if we're from different dorms, I wouldn't hurt someone under my care"

I nodded my head,flustered once more. "Okay"

I expected some monster to be illuminated by Lilia's light and him destroying it with his magic students from other dorms talk about with astonishment.

What I didn't expect was for him to suddenly let out a yelp and the room going dark once more as I felt his body tumble ontop of me and the door to the closet opening, causing both of us to stumble out with a loud thud as we fell to the ground.

The light seemed to burn my eyes, but my chest and back held more pain from the fall.

Ace's voice reached me first.

"Wowie, someone got excited,huh?"

"Kantokusei! Are you alright?" Came Deuce's voice next and a couple of other murmurs.

The weight from Lilia was gone and as I sat up to answer both Ace and Deuce, from the darkened closet something flew out and smacked me right in the face.

Ace and Deuce let out panicked screams while I fell onto my back again, my face throbbing.

"Ara Ara, it seems like I missed" It was Lilia, and he was already on his feet, looming over my fallen figure. He was smiling but his eyes held worry in them as he reached out a hand for me to grab.

"The door opened so suddenly, if it didn't, I doubt the flip flop would've hit you, Little lantern"

"What the hell just happened?" Ace said aloud, his eyes wide as he stared at us both. Deuce had helped me up along with Lilia and actually had Grim run off to get me a drink, but my gaze went to Lilia first who was repeating apologies with his eyes.

"Kantokusei,are you okay? That flip flop really went and smack you..."

I smiled, a sudden amusement bubbling in my throat. I stared at Lilia who seemed to glow with hidden laughter as well and nodded my head. Slightly laughing when the words leave my mouth.

"The next round,we're shoving Ace in the closet alone"

"Eh? Why?" Deuce looked concerned, his face scrunched up with confusion. Lilia laughed, tilting his head to the side.

"It's alright, he won't be alone in there,right, Little Lantern?"

#twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #x reader #oneshots #twisted Wonderland fanfic #fanfic #ace trappola #deuce spade