#✧toria answers

[vtoriacore]

HIIIIIIII WELCOME BACK

HIIIII IM BACK TO THE HELLSITE OFFICIALLY, time to get back into the brain rot teehee 💕‼️

[ask-victoria-page]

Dear Victoria,

What is your perfect vacation destination? If any at all, in case you prefer the comfort of your home more.

— E. de S.

E. de S.,

I can't say that my home, if you can even call it that, is a comforting space. Truthfully, any place outside of London would be preferable. If I had to choose, however, the mountains seem like a nice destination. I've read that the Alps are particularly beautiful this time of year.

Toria Page

[ahogedetective]

“I’m not a photographer, but I can picture me and you together.” There’s the most satisfied look on his face as he flashes finger guns at the detective. ~ @chxrgebxltmeltdown

@chxrgebxltmeltdown !!!

"H-Huh?" That terribly cheesy pick up line, aside: even just the fact that Denki was trying to hit on him, made that flustered yelp leave him. "W...Wh-What are you saying all of a sudden?? Gggghh...."

Huffing, he just darts his eyes away. Giving a flustered little pout. "H...Hmph....d-don't tease me while saying s-such ridiculous things...."

[blueplumbbob]

The Duke of Ettinger, second son of the King of Iverny, slurped up the last prawn of his shrimp cocktail in a noisy display. It was the annual Advent Ball, and he and his royal siblings sat gathered around a table in the banquet hall, ignoring the dozens of foreign dignitaries and noble guests from around the world eager for a chance to speak to the very people that had invited them. Unfortunately, the Duke was preoccupied with other, more pressing matters.

"My God," he said, now drinking the rest of the cocktail sauce like you would a beverage, "Did you see what Lord Houston brought around the other day?"

Very pressing matters, indeed.

"Don't start, Rupert," said Antonia, weary before her brother even began telling the story. "Aunt Jo and Aunt Toria are in earshot and you know how displeased they get when you... speak your mind."

"Forgive me, sister," said the man who had never forgiven anyone in his life and wasn't going to start now, "but I don't care what our spinster aunt and her English companion (Tatiana scoffed at this.) have to say on this. You sit at the gentlemen's table, you pay the price."

Antonia huffed, desperately tired, as she watched her brother switch from drinking cocktail sauce to actual wine. "This is patently not the gentlemen's table and never was���"

"As I was saying," Rupert continued, eager to recount his exploits to his unwilling audience. "Last weekend after a rowdy evening with Earl Searn's brother and the Guillory cousins, we saw none other than Lord Houston, emissary of virtue himself, walking through Queen's Park with an awfully redheaded woman on his arm–"

Tatiana began to yawn.

"This is petty gossip," said Antonia. "You said yourself that such things are womanly and beneath you. As recent as last week, in fact."

"Go on, brother," said Philip, who was only seventeen but still should have known better.

Rupert drank another sip of wine before continuing. "I knew she was none other than Ernestine, from that O'Conner family that made a quick fortune in America and then lost it all in some kind of legal dispute,” he said, finishing up the last of his steak. “And now they're here, in Iverny, trying to rub elbows with the Houstons of all people! I was worried he’d bring her tonight, but he’s been sensible by bringing his sister instead."

Antonia blinked. "Corrinne or Jennie?" she asked, but her brother didn't answer.

"Oh, he’s a widower, Rupert. I think he ought to follow his heart," said Tatiana, ever the idealist.

"Well, she’s a large step down from Gisele, if you ask me. David’s making a mistake.” Rupert patted his mouth with a napkin. “They should really bring forth a morganatic rule through the Assembly, forbid these sorts of unwholesome unions."

Rupert laughed. "You know how it is with those sorts of brides. Weak stock."

The banquet hall, now only a third occupied this late into the meal, fell completely silent.

Antonia stared at Tatiana, who stared at Philip, who stared at Arthur, who stared at Rupert.

Arthur, the eldest son but not the eldest child, the Prince of Romilly, the Crown Prince, God-willing one day King Arthur the Fifth of Iverny, could have done any number of things in that moment, none of them befitting of a king or his progeny. His childhood weakness, said his father, was deferring to his elder sisters, and his cousin, God rest her soul. He knew Helena would have told him to be quiet and take the abuse, no matter how much it hurt. He knew Antonia would have told him to make a scene and dish it back, he could read that in her face right now. He knew Jane, taken from their family and their nation too soon, would have devised some clever way to undermine Rupert in the long-term without him realizing it.

But he was not Helena, nor Antonia, nor Jane.

He was Arthur.

He looked at his younger brother, and spoke softly, a one-word warning.

"Rupert."

Rupert smirked, but it was uneasy. "Struck a nerve, did I, brother?"

Frances not yet cold in her grave, barely a year and a half, her three sons motherless for all time, and his brother asks if he struck a nerve.

For just a moment, Rupert's smirk faltered.

Arthur rose from his seat. "Excuse me."

All eyes in the room fell upon the siblings' table in a way that would have been mortifying to Antonia if she weren't so angry.

"Look, now Mother is displeased," said Philip, watching his eldest brother walk past the table where the Queen sat, a baleful tension in her shoulders and brows. Aunt Jo and Aunt Toria followed suit.

"Our mother is always displeased," said Rupert, smile wiped from his face as he pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket.

"Ugh, you're such a rat, Rupert. This is why Artie doesn't sit with us anymore," said Tatiana.

"I so dearly miss Jane. She never tolerated any of your nonsense. Come on, Tanya, Philip," said Antonia as she rose from the table. "I think I've had quite enough of our second brother for one evening. Perhaps even for a month."

They left the Duke of Ettinger to his table, alone.

Part 2 later this week. Part 2.

[helsgcddess]

— VEILED SPARKS; iii

READ ON AO3 || PINTEREST BOARD (in the works)

summary: "You should be more careful about what you draw, Toria." In which an artist with a knack for seeing things she shouldn't meets a suspiciously perfect stranger with glowing blue eyes and a possessive yellow Camaro. Set during ROTF.

pairing: bumblebee/original character

word count: 3.1k

a/n— y'all.... the way this chapter wrote itself?? like one minute i was like "lets write toria being high and gay panicking about brooks" and suddenly it's 4am and i have 3k words of her being a disaster??? also yes, jayde ( @morbid-personality ) is absolutely going to be the "what if he's a robot tho" friend and honestly? we love her for it. also also, bumblebee needs to chill with the stalking but like... he won't bc he's Like That (chapter 4 might come sooner than expected bc these two won't leave me alone send help)

warnings — weed use, anxiety/mental health stuff, vague mission city references, highly questionable coping mechanisms

I slapped at my phone when the alarm blared. "Shut up, shut up, yeah, I got it!" I groaned as I finally hit the snooze button. The sunlight streaming through my window illuminated the sketches I'd stayed up way too late working on—pages and pages of impossible blue eyes and edges that didn't quite match reality.

Why had I decided to wake up at 9 am?

My brain slowly pieced together yesterday's events as I stumbled out of bed: broken down Chevelle, suspiciously perfect stranger, weird fog-shrouded maybe-stalking, and—

I froze, hand halfway to the shower knob. My car—my dad's car—was supposedly somewhere "safe." According to the cryptic text from an unknown number who apparently had opinions about my sketching habits.

Oh fuck. I was going to have to deal with that after therapy. And somehow not tell my therapist about the return of my post-Mission City paranoia, now with bonus government-adjacent stalkers and cars that moved like they were alive.

I groaned but stepped into the shower, letting the water blast away some of my racing thoughts. After two washes of my hair, I let the conditioner sit while I contemplated how exactly one explains "I think my dad's military projects are haunting me via an impossibly attractive maybe-human" without getting committed.

"Okay, Toria. It's just therapy. You'll do fine," I whispered to myself as I rinsed my hair out and stepped out of the shower. "Just don't tell her anything about him or the car or—" I caught my reflection's eye. "Wait, how are we even getting to therapy?"

I called my best friend after brushing my teeth. She answered on the first ring. "What's up, bitch?" She coughed into the phone. "Sorry, just did a dab."

"You good if I steal your car to take to therapy? I'll pay you in cannoli," I offered as I checked the weather. I grabbed shorts from my clean laundry basket, along with a black sports bra and a Hawaiian button-up that had definitely been Dad's at some point.

"Only if I can smoke you up after therapy," Jayde replied. "You sound like you need it. Something weird happen at the café again?"

"You could say that." I tucked my sketchbook into my bag, deliberately not looking at last night's drawings. "Deal. Be there in 20."

"Love you," then she hung up.

I laced my steel toes, grabbed my smokes off the counter, and headed into the California heat. My thumb ring caught the sunlight as I twisted it—a nervous habit that had gotten worse since mysterious hot strangers started texting me about my art.

I took the long way to Jayde's place, walking by the pier to get slapped in the face by the smell of salt and ocean. Every yellow car I passed made my heart skip, but none of them were that impossibly pristine Camaro. Not that I was looking.

I paused at the coffee shop by her place, picking up our usual: Red Bull infusions with pomegranate and blueberry syrup, topped with half and half. The caffeine-sugar bomb we'd perfected during our brief stint as art school roommates before... everything.

It wasn't until I lit my cigarette, trying to calm my pre-therapy jitters, that my phone vibrated.

Unknown Number: Your car will be parked at your apartment in time for your shift.

I dropped my lighter in the ocean. "No, fuck! Ugh." I groaned, watching my last lighter disappear into the waves. Perfect. Because this day needed to get more complicated.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: Also, the alternator wasn't the only thing that needed fixing. You're welcome.

"Oh, that's not ominous at all," I muttered, taking a long drag of my cigarette. "Totally normal to have a suspiciously perfect stranger doing unauthorized repairs on your dead dad's car."

A yellow Volkswagen Beetle drove past, and I nearly choked on smoke before realizing it wasn't the same shade of yellow. Wrong car, wrong driver, wrong... everything.

I threw my half-finished cigarette back into my pack and headed up the creaky steps to Jayde's apartment. The whole building smelled like weed and beach air—pretty much Jayde's signature scent since high school.

She opened the door before I could knock, practically bouncing despite being high. "There's my favorite disaster! One slightly beat-up Civic at your service." She grabbed her drink and took a long sip. "Now spill. What happened to your car? The Chevelle's like, your baby."

"Alternator died," I said, following her into her mess of an apartment. Art supplies competed with bong collections for surface space, and her walls were covered in our collaborative pieces from school. "Some guy helped me out."

"Some guy?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Like, a cute guy? A mysterious guy? A—"

"A guy who apparently knows how to fix cars and sends cryptic texts," I cut her off, pulling out my phone. "Look."

Jayde read the messages, her eyes widening. "Okay, that's either really sweet or really serial killer-y. There's no in-between." She paused. "Is he hot though?"

I thought about impossible blue eyes and too-perfect movements. "That's... complicated."

"Oh my god, he is." She grinned. "You're doing that thing where you want to draw someone but can't quite get them right. Show me your sketches."

"Absolutely not." I snatched her car keys from their hook. "I'm already late for therapy."

"Fine, keep your mysterious hot car guy secrets!" she called after me. "But we're totally talking about this when you get back!"

I slid into Jayde's Civic, immediately assaulted by the smell of weed and her vanilla air freshener. At least it wasn't as pristine as... certain other cars I'd been in recently.

The radio crackled to life when I turned the key—some pop station Jayde always left it on. Not classic rock, not engine purrs that sounded like speech. Just normal car stuff. Totally fine.

"Get it together, Toria," I muttered, pulling onto the street. "You've got exactly forty-five minutes to figure out how to talk about your week without mentioning glowing eyes or mysteriously repaired cars."

My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I definitely didn't swerve checking to see if it was another cryptic text.

Just Mom: Don't forget to ask about upping your anxiety meds!!!

I snorted. Yeah, because that conversation would go great. 'Hey doc, I think I need stronger meds because I keep seeing weird lights like in Mission City, and a suspiciously perfect stranger knows things about Dad's car, and I can't stop drawing his impossibly symmetrical face.'

The traffic light turned yellow—just yellow, not that specific shade that kept haunting me—and I tried to focus on normal therapy topics. Work stress? Safe. Mom's hovering? Classic. The fact that I hadn't touched my college applications since Dad died? Definitely therapist-approved discussion material.

Strange men who moved like machinery and knew things about classified military projects? Maybe save that for next session.

The parking lot of Dr. Clarke's office looked exactly like it always did: half-full with sensible cars belonging to people with probably sensible problems. Not a yellow Camaro in sight. Not that I was checking.

I grabbed my sketchbook out of habit—Dr. Clarke encouraged "artistic expression during sessions" or whatever—then immediately shoved it back in my bag. Yeah, maybe not today's sketches.

The waiting room was its usual study in beige calm, complete with generic watercolor paintings and magazines from three years ago. The receptionist, Amy, gave me her usual sympathetic smile. Everyone here still had that same look since Mission City, like they were waiting for me to crack.

"Dr. Clarke's running a few minutes behind," she said. "But she'll be right with you."

I slumped into my usual chair, twisting my ring and definitely not thinking about how Brooks had known things about Dad. About the base. About—

"Toria?" Dr. Clarke appeared in her doorway, clipboard in hand and reading glasses perched on her nose. "Ready to come in?"

Her office was familiar at least—walls lined with psychology degrees and children's artwork, the leather couch that had witnessed two years of my post-Mission City processing, the view of the bay that was supposed to be calming or whatever.

"So," she said as I settled into my usual spot, "how has your week been?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, then laughed. "That's... kind of complicated."

"Complicated how?" Dr. Clarke asked, settling into her chair with that perfect therapist posture. She probably didn't have to worry about mysterious men fixing her car or sending cryptic texts.

"Well," I started, focusing on the safe parts, "the café's been busy. Mom's stress-baking again. And my car broke down, which is... yeah."

"The Chevelle?" Her pen paused over her notepad. "Your father's car?"

I twisted my ring. "Yeah. Alternator issues."

"And how did that make you feel?" Classic Dr. Clarke, always with the feelings.

"Honestly?" I stared out at the bay, watching fog roll in. "It felt like losing him all over again. Like—" I stopped, remembering Brooks' words about the car attracting attention. About Dad's classified work.

"Like what, Toria?"

"Like maybe some things should stay broken." The words came out before I could stop them.

Dr. Clarke's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's an interesting perspective. What makes you say that?"

I thought about the text messages burning a hole in my phone. About the way Brooks had looked at me like he knew things—about Dad, about Mission City, about everything.

"Sometimes I think..." I chose my words carefully, "Maybe Dad was trying to protect me from something. With all those classified projects he never talked about."

Dr. Clarke shifted in her chair, a subtle movement that meant we'd hit Something Important. "Your paranoia about Mission City—has it been getting worse?"

I focused on a particularly boring watercolor on her wall. "Not... exactly." Lie. "It's just—" I twisted my ring again. "The whispers are back."

That got her full attention. The whispers had been my first symptom after Mission City—constant theories about what I'd seen, about Dad's work, about the lights and sounds that didn't make sense.

"The same whispers as before?"

"Different," I said carefully. "Less about what happened then, more about..." I thought about Brooks' impossible movements, about engines that sounded alive, about texts that knew too much. "More about what might still be happening."

"Can you elaborate?”

"You'll think I'm crazy." I laughed, but it came out shaky.

"Toria," her voice went gentle, "we've talked about this. Your reactions to trauma—"

"It's not trauma this time," I interrupted, then winced. "I mean, yeah, obviously there's trauma, but this is..." I gestured vaguely. "This feels real."

The clock on her wall ticked loudly, reminding me we were almost out of time. Thank god.

"Have you been taking your medications regularly?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes. And before you ask, I'm sleeping. Eating. Working. Being a functional human despite my various mental health issues." I stood up, gathering my bag. "The whispers are probably nothing. Just stress about the car."

Dr. Clarke gave me that look—the one that said she didn't believe me but couldn't prove it. "Same time next week?"

"Yeah," I said, already halfway to the door. "Assuming mysterious car trouble doesn't get in the way."

I took the coastal route back to Jayde's, windows down and music up—trying to drown out both Dr. Clarke's concerned voice and my own paranoid whispers. The salt air helped, even if every flash of yellow in my peripheral vision made my heart jump.

Until one of those flashes wasn't just my imagination.

The yellow Camaro was parked at the pier, looking impossibly pristine against the backdrop of tourist shops and street vendors. No Brooks in sight, but something about the way the car was angled—like it was watching the road—made me grip Jayde's steering wheel tighter.

"Nope," I said out loud, definitely not looking at how the sunlight hit the black racing stripes. "We are not doing this. We are going to smoke with our best friend and not think about hot guys with government secrets or their stalker cars."

I pulled into Jayde's parking lot, killing the engine just as my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Your artistic talent is impressive.

Unknown Number: But maybe focus on drawing something less classified.

I stared at my bag, where my sketchbook was definitely closed and definitely hidden.

"How the fuck—" I started to mutter, when another text came through.

Unknown Number: The Chevelle's waiting at your apartment. Try not to break it again.

I practically ran up Jayde's stairs, bursting into her apartment where she was already setting up her favorite bong—the one we'd painted with glow-in-the-dark stars during finals week.

"Here," Jayde said, passing me the bong and her favorite drawing pencils—the ones we'd stolen from art school before I dropped out. "Smoke this and draw something that isn't government-spy-boyfriend for five minutes."

I took another hit, letting my hand move across a blank page without thinking. Somehow it still turned into those impossible blue eyes.

"I can't stop drawing him," I groaned, flopping back against her couch. "Like, my brain is just... full of him? His stupid perfect face and the way he moves like... like he's never quite figured out how bodies are supposed to work but somehow it's still hot?"

Jayde snorted, taking the bong back. "You're so high right now."

"No but listen," I sat up too fast, sending colored pencils scattering. "He shows up in this ridiculous car that probably costs more than my entire life, looking like some government catalog's idea of the perfect human, and then he just... knows things? About Dad? About my car? And sends these cryptic texts like he's watching me but somehow it's not creepy? Okay it's a little creepy but—" I paused for another hit, "—okay but he's so fucking hot though."

"There it is!" Jayde cackled. "I was wondering when we'd get to the thirsty part of this crisis."

I grabbed a handful of Jayde's Doritos, still sketching with my free hand. "It's not fair. Like, who told him he could look like that? While also being all mysterious and probably dangerous and definitely involved in whatever classified shit got Dad killed and—" I stared at my newest sketch. "Oh my god, I'm drawing him again."

"Girl, you've got it bad," Jayde laughed, taking the sketchbook. "Damn though, if this is accurate..." She tilted her head at the drawing. "Wait, are his eyes actually this blue? That's not natural."

"Nothing about him is natural," I mumbled around a mouthful of chips. "He's like... too perfect? Like someone tried to design the hottest possible person but forgot humans are supposed to have flaws."

"Maybe he's an android," Jayde suggested, reaching for the bong again. "Like, a really hot android sent to protect you because of your dad's secret government work."

I started laughing and couldn't stop. "Oh my god, what is my life? I'm sitting here, high as fuck, crushing on some maybe-not-human guy who keeps fixing my car and judging my art choices."

"Speaking of your car," Jayde checked her phone, "don't you have a shift at four?"

"Shit," I sat up, the world spinning slightly. "Mom's gonna kill me if I show up high again."

"Drink water first," Jayde said, tossing me a bottle. "And take these." She handed me her emergency sunglasses—the ones we'd decorated with little stars during our last art school all-nighter. "You look absolutely blasted."

"Love you," I mumbled, gathering my stuff and trying not to forget anything important. Like my dignity. Or my ability to walk straight.

"Text me if hot government boy shows up at the café!" Jayde called after me. "I want to know if his face is really that symmetrical in daylight!"

I was halfway down her stairs when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: The walk from Powell Street to your apartment has fewer surveillance cameras. Take that route.

Unknown Number: And maybe wear sunglasses. You look... relaxed.

"Oh my god," I whispered to my phone, torn between mortified and impressed. "Are you actually stalking me or just really committed to this mysterious protector aesthetic?"

Another buzz.

Unknown Number: Both. Be safe, Toria.

"Fuck," I muttered, shoving on Jayde's sunglasses and heading toward Powell Street like a good, obedient disaster. "He's so hot when he's being creepy."

I took the suggested route home, only slightly paranoid about every yellow car I saw (which, being high, was probably more than actually existed). The sunglasses helped with both the sun and my dignity, even if I kept wanting to sketch the way light bounced off passing windshields.

My apartment was exactly how I'd left it—organized chaos of art supplies and half-empty coffee cups. But there, visible from my window, sat the Chevelle. Looking... better? The paint seemed shinier, and something about it felt more alive.

"Nope," I told my reflection as I changed into my work clothes. "That's the weed talking. Cars don't look 'more alive.' Get it together."

I threw my hair up in a messy bun, switched to my café-approved black t-shirt, and tried to look less like I'd just spent the afternoon getting supremely baked while drawing a suspiciously perfect stranger.

My phone buzzed again as I was applying eye drops.

Unknown Number: Your mother's making that fusion dessert again. Might want to hurry.

"Okay, that's just showing off now," I muttered, but grabbed my bag faster. Mom's culinary experiments were legendary for all the wrong reasons, and I really didn't need to add 'death by experimental tiramisu' to my growing list of concerns.

I hesitated at my door, staring at my sketchbook. After a moment's debate, I shoved it in my bag. Something told me today's shift wasn't going to be boring.

The walk to the café felt different somehow—maybe because I was still slightly high, or maybe because I kept catching glimpses of yellow in my peripheral vision. But this time, instead of anxiety, each flash just made me want to reach for my sketchbook.

Mom was indeed in the kitchen when I arrived, surrounded by what looked like an unholy union of cannoli and mochi. I quietly rescued the latest batch before it could become a health code violation.

"Oh, tesoro!" She brightened when she saw me. "Did you see? The Chevelle's fixed! Such nice work too—almost like new! Did you find a mechanic? How much do we owe—"

"Let's not worry about that right now," I cut her off, tying my apron and definitely not thinking about mysterious car repairs. "Friday night rush is starting."

I made it through the first hour of my shift almost normally. Almost. Right up until I glanced out the window and saw a yellow Camaro parked across the street, its engine humming just loud enough for me to hear through the dinner rush chaos.

My phone buzzed one last time.

Unknown Number: You look better when you smile.

Unknown Number: Even if it's because you're still slightly high.

"Well," I muttered, tucking my phone away and fighting back a grin, "this should be an interesting shift."

[leohtttbriar]

digestive cheese and fruit

Written for trektober: Day 24 bodyswap

“I can kind of morph my face,” said Ezri. 

The minor rowdiness of their bar table entered a small era of pause and quiet as everyone who’d been arguing two seconds before was now looking at Ezri with open-mouthed bafflement. 

“What?” asked Miles.

Ezri, tipsy and loopy and relaxed, read nothing into his tone and answered easily: “You were talking about best party tricks.”

“Right,” said Julian. “I think he was asking more along the lines of: What on earth are you talking about?”

“That’s not any more clear than just ‘What’,” said Miles. 

“Of course it is,” said Julian. 

“You are so fucking English sometimes”—

“I just wanted help you communicate”—

“Ezri,” said Kira, leaning forward over her wine. “Can you please explain what you mean by ‘morph your face’?”

“Oh sure,” said Ezri with a smile. “Joined Trills can take on for a little bit”—she held two fingers up a centimeter apart—“the physical characteristics of past hosts.”

Benjamin set his beer down, heavily. 

“You’re kidding,” he said. 

Ezri looked over her shoulder to see who he was talking to. 

Kira said, “I don’t think she is….”

“But that’s marvelous!” said Julian. “Do one! Change your face!”

Ezri concentrated. Her face tickled. 

“Jesus Christ, you’ve gone blonde,” said Miles, as dramatically as if he was in a movie. 

“Emory!” said Ezri cheerfully.

“The gymnast?” asked Benjamin.

“Yup.”

“Okay, now do Torias,” said Benjamin. “I have a theory he was a handsome devil.”

Ezri complied.

Benjamin and Miles both whistled. 

Julian said, “Eh.”

Worf said, “I like his eyes.”

Everyone turned to Worf, surprised. He shrugged and sipped his wine. 

“I will say,” said Miles. “That it looks disgusting when you’re”—he drew a circle around his own face with a clumsy finger—“shifting.”

“No, it’s interesting,” said Julian. 

“Who are the other ones?” asked Kira, counting off on her fingers. “Torias, Emory—Lela?”

Ezri looked at Kira and changed her face. Kira said, “Oh, freckles.”

Ezri grinned. 

“Why did I not know this?” said Odo, who’d been watching silently and annoyed. “Could Jadzia do this?”

“She didn’t want you to know,” said Ezri. “She wanted to reveal it to you at the exact right time for the best comedic effect.”

Odo looked like he wanted to pout about this. Ezri’s grin widened and—

“I wouldn’t,” said Kira, quietly, to just Ezri. She smiled soft and sad.

Ezri backed away from her own cheer. “Oh,” she said. “Right. Not her.”

“Not her,” said Kira. 

Ezri was no longer feeling tipsy and loopy and relaxed. She frowned down at her drink. 

Benjamin put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He leaned close. “I like your face, old man. Especially this one. Don't go changing it around.” He poked her in the forehead. 

Ezri smiled back at him. “Thanks,” she said. “I like yours, too.”

[star-trek-pop-quiz]

Star Trek POP-QUIZ #21

( 09 / 03 / 2024 )

Question 1. Who was the first host of the Dax symbiont? a. Tobin b. Lela c. Torias d. Emony

Bonus Question: What was this host's occupation?

Question 2. TRUE OR FALSE Nyota Uhura is fluent in 37 languages and Hoshi Sato is fluent in 76 languages.

Bonus Question: TRUE OR FALSE While at Starfleet Academy, Nyota Uhura wrote 3 papers on Hoshi Sato.

Question 3. Which of these actresses has not played T'Pring? a. Mary Rice b. Arlene Martel c. Gia Sandhu d. Celia Lovsky

Question 4. Where did Deanna Troi study psychology? a. Starfleet b. Yale University c. Ni'Var Institute d. University of Betazed

Question 5. Fill-in Question! How many ships has Kathryn Janeway commanded?

Bonus Question: Name one ship she has commanded ( other than the USS Voyager ).

Score: __/ 5 + 3 bonus ( Answers under cut )

Question 1. b. Lela

+ Lela was a famous legislator in the Trillian government, and one of the first women to be appointed as a council member.

Question 2. FALSE. Although Nyota Uhura is fluent in 37 languages, Hoshi Sato was known to be fluent in 86 languages.

+ TRUE.

Question 3. d. Celia Lovsky

Question 4. d. University of Betazed

Question 5. 2.

+ She also commanded the USS Dauntless.

Happy ( late ) Women's Day!

[just-a-draco-girly]

The Secret - Chapter Five

CW: swearing, sexual themes

It's the day before the Yule Ball and I've spent the past week dodging Draco whenever I can due to the awkwardness that has existed between us since he asked me to go to the ball with him. However, I had forgotten that I still have to sit next to him in Potions and what is my last lesson today? Potions. I sit in my chair at the front of the class, twirling my quill between my fingers as I wait for the rest of the class to arrive. I'm mostly always early to class, as it allows me to prepare properly for the lesson and read through old notes that may come of use.

The chair beside me scrapes along the floor, causing my heart rate to increase and I drop my gaze to the desk before me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Draco as he drops his satchel onto the desk and sits himself down.

"Hey, Toria" He smiles and I lift my face in his direction, reciprocating his smile nervously.

"Hi" I mumble, biting my lip slightly and picking at the hairs on my quill.

"I was wondering when and where you'd like to meet up before the ball tomorrow" He speaks, searching through his bag for his quill and notebook.

"Um, probably ten minutes before at the bottom of the grand staircase" I reply, opening my notebook when Professor Snape opens the door to the classroom.

"Okay, I'll see you there" Draco responds curtly, before opening his own notebook and focusing on the front of the classroom where Professor Snape is stood. The lesson passes by quite peacefully with Draco and I occasionally stealing nervous glances at each other or asking the other for assistance on a complicated theory. Eventually, the professor tells us that we can pack away and leave. Whilst I am packing away my books Draco elbows me in the side.

"What?" I ask, picking up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. He chuckles lowly, as I turn to face him. I raise an eyebrow before walking out of the classroom. Draco following closely behind me.

"You should've seen Pansy's face when I told her that I had a date for the Yule Ball" He laughs, now walking alongside me towards the stairs. "She was all like 'but Drakey-poo I thought you loved me'" He mimics Pansy's voice and flips invisible hair over his shoulder. I stifle a laugh while we walk up the stairs.

"Really?" I ask, giggling quietly. He nods, still chortling heavily whilst clutching his stomach. "Wow, she needs to really take a hint and move on" I speak, as we reach the top of the stairs before walking into the Great Hall.

"I know. Do you wanna come sit with me today? I don't think any of the Slytherins would mind. I mean apart from Pansy" He asks, stopping in front of me and causing me to halt in my tracks. I bite my lip, as butterflies erupt in my stomach. He's never asked me to sit with him at dinner before. Could this mean that he actually does like me? 

"I can't, I have to sit with Charlotte. She's got this whole plan for tomorrow that she has to go through with me and if I don't turn up she'll kill me when I get back to our dorm" I sigh, pouting as I glance up at the blonde intently.

"It's okay, maybe another time. Laters, baby" He smirks, winking subtly and causing my cheeks to heat up. I slap his arm as we enter the Great Hall.

"I swear to God, Draco. You say that one more time and I'll..." I speak, glaring up at him and gritting my teeth.

"You'll what?" He asks, smirking widely as we stand in the entrance of the Great Hall. The real answer: Combust. Die. Internally swoon. Various synonyms. However, I have to play it cool. 

"Use your imagination" I hiss, before turning on the spot and heading in the direction of the Ravenclaw table. I sit down and let out a heavy sigh.

"What was that steamy stand off between you and Drakey-poo about?" Charlie asks, staring at me as she eats her food.

"Nothing" I sigh once more, dropping my bag to the floor. I place a bit of salad and some chips on my plate with a few chicken nuggets before picking up my cutlery and attacking my food with great Gusto.

"Well, it's obviously something. There was some serious sparks between you guys and you're exuding some serious anger right now" She continues, putting down her cutlery and watching me cautiously whilst I continue to eat.

"It's just... I don't know, he's so infuriating" I growl, still eating my plate of food. "It's like he doesn't know how much I want to jump his bones when he says shít like 'laters, baby'" I sigh, dropping my cutlery as I realize that I've already finished my food.

"Somebody's got some serious pent up sexual frustration" She speaks authoritatively. My eyes widen as I realize that I do and it's because of the hot blonde mess, Draco Malfoy. I groan, dropping my head into my hands in dismay. Why does he make me this way? "It's okay, there's a cure" Charlie adds, causing me to glance up at her quickly.

"What is it?" I ask, hurriedly. She smiles knowingly and taps her nose. "Come on, Charlie. Stop being a bitch" I speak, anger and impatience evident in my voice.

"Okay, you need to make out with him again or better yet... Nah, You wouldn't do that" She trails off before finishing her answer.

"I wouldn't do what?" I question, staring at her with furrowed eyebrows.

"Well, if you guys did the horizontal mambo then that'd most probably cure your sexual frustration... but then again it might make it worse" She replies, staring at me to gauge my response.

"How the hell do I get him to have sex with me, Charlie? I haven't even gotten him to kiss me again" I whisper-shout, causing her to raise her hands in surrender. "I don't even know if I'm ready for that". I mean, if it was ever going to happen with anyone Draco makes the most sense. He's my best friend. I trust him more than anyone, but still... 

"It was just an idea, don't shoot me" She sighs, glancing over at Draco. "But if it did happen. Every girl in school would be so jealous of you" She grins, looking back at me. I shake my head in disbelief, also looking over at the blonde across the hall. He's laughing loudly as Goyle as somehow set fire to Crabbe's hair. 

"So is this the marvelous plan you've been meaning to tell me about?" I ask, curiosity finally taking over me.

"No, but it could happen because of my plan" She smiles mischievously. I roll my eyes and await her ingenious plan. "So what you've gotta do is..."

Other Chapters

[pynchkilledme]

✦ 𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓶𝓮 ✦

Hiiii, my name is Toria (she/her), i'm 22 and i've been using tumblr for at least 9 years now. For the last decade I've written a bunch of stories partially but they didn't get the attention they deserved (from me. my friends loved them tho haha), and now I decided to post here so I feel compelled to write and actually finish those stories! I'm a staytiny; Yunho, Minho, Hyunjin and Jisung biased, so probably I'll write mostly about them, BUT you can always feel free to suggest ideas with other members!

✦ 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸 ✦ ➵ I won't be accepting requests for now, cause it would be a little demanding, but my ask is open for little talks ➵ I'm on college so there will be times I wont be able to post or answer stuff, but i will try to enter here at least twice a week; Also, I'm using my writting as a copying mechanism since I'm going through some dark times, so be patient and kind pls! ➵ When something is labelled as Mature/MDNI, don't fucking interact if you're a minor! I will block you.

➵ English is not my first language, so let me know if something got lost in translation (even tho all will be proofread)

➵ I will post the portuguese version of my work on Spirit Fanfiction ➵ Some of my works will be published on my AO3 profile. Drabbles only on tumblr tho <3

➵ Stuff I won't write about: age play, pet play, non-consensual, scat.

[𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥]

 All works posted here are mine, and I DO NOT allow translations or reposts on any other websites — with or without credit!

[vtoriacore]

please tell me the burning cds think was a joke your majesty i’m younger than you and i know about it 😭😭

IT WAS PLEASE I KNOW WHAT BURNING A CD IS IM NOT COMPLETELY CLUELESS PLS PLS PLS 😭💔 I do not however know how it works, but my friend was visiting some music prof to help them burn a few cds and I was on ft just nodding like "yeah I completely understand how to do it ☺️" (<- did not in fact, understand jack shit even after an explanation)

[mint-mango-uwu]

Incase you want to know what art trade Is Toria and I will give you the answer.

Art trade means is 2 artist trading each other by drawing ocs eachother

I wanna know

[ask-victoria-page]

Dear Victoria,

Do you know how to dance? Any dance, really, since it is often an expression of people's feelings when done in an informal setting and around friends. But considering that we have Yule Balls here from time to time, what about ballroom dancing? Do you think it's something you'd be interested to learn or perfect?

— 🌸

🌸 anon,

I can't say that I know how to dance. It's not something they taught us how to do in the orphanage, and dancing isn't something that appeals to me. Now I've heard dueling compared to dancing, and I suppose I could see the comparison. Though I wouldn't go so far as to call certain individuals' dueling quite as graceful.

I never did see myself as a ball kind of person, so I have no need nor desire to learn. Perhaps if the right person were to ask me. However, that has a very low likelihood of happening.

Toria Page

[nopoodles]

Happy STS! Here’s a summer themed ask for you:

Your OCs are at the beach! What is each OC doing and what chaos ensues?

(Optional things for your OCs to be doing, there are no rules <3)

Which character is most at home in the water and has to be dragged out, and demands that the whole group play all the water games?

Which character full stop refuses to even touch the water (whether out of fear or another reason)?

Who has the bag full of snacks and is constantly yelling at people to drink water and put on sunscreen?

Which character is dunking people in the water, grabbing other people’s ankles, pulling dumb pranks, etc?

Which character is just there for the Instagram (or equivalent) pics?

Which character gleefully asks to be buried in the sand and realizes too late that they’ve made a horrible mistake?

Which character is the sandcastle captain making elaborate sand creations and who WILL FREAK OUT if you come within ten feet of their project?

Which character is Mx. Put on Way Too Much Sunscreen?

Which character didn’t put on ANY sunscreen and is now burnt to a crisp?

And finally: Which character is the reason that the group has to go home early?

for whichever and however many OCs you would like <3 answer whenever you want <3

Oh my gosh Beach Episode!

(I'm gonna do Welcome To Humanity characters, specifically the Resistance, even though they live on a created orbital space station not near any planets so beaches aren't a thing)

I feel like Toria (leader of the resistance) is in the water, like a full-on water gremlin and Isa is just watching from a foldy chair like *sigh, if my ports were waterproof I'd join her*

Isa is also the one demanding people take care of themselves. After all, she has to stay on shore so she might as well have the bag of snacks and suncream. She's all about care is lovely Isa.

Pranks is Petite all over. If she's been pulled away from the engineering lab, she's gonna have fun with it. And for Petite, fun is other people making that annoyed splutter noise.

Ravi definitely asks to be buried, then regrets that he asked Petite and hollars for Blue to come rescue him but they can't because they're laughing too hard.

Blue is kind of everywhere. Flittering about like someone who has never been to a beach before and doesn't want to miss anything and definitely gets water in their ports by accident and has to shamefacedly go and ask Isa and Petite for help.

When Ravi does finally escape, he challenges Petite to a sandcastle building contest to stop her worrying about Blue. His sandcastle is a mountainous thing covered in decorative shells and seaweed. Petite's is intricately detailed and has a moat. The ruling is they each win on different fronts

[nebulouscoffee]

*rolls up sleeves* OKAY!!! My time has come, I've got Dax on the brain 24/7 so I shall share my many many thoughts about this (with the disclaimer that the show never really gave us a concrete or consistent answer, so I'll just separate the canon facts from my own headcanons lol). Anyway I think the answer is yes, they do!

Canon:

Dax's first host, Lela, was 48 when she was joined. During Jadzia's zhian'tara, the first question Lela (via Kira) asks Jadzia specifically to test whether Jadzia still has Lela's memories is "Who supervised Lela when she was an initiate?" and Jadzia can no longer remember- implying that normally, she would

Jadzia fondly recalls tucking her son Ahjess in bed every night (during a conversation with Miles about kids Molly's age). It is of course entirely possible Lela was raising a young child in her 50s, but given the age at which Jadzia (and, by the looks of it, Yanas Tigan) decided to have children, we could assume Trills broadly start families at around the same age group as humans, which would likely be before Lela's joining (this is reaching though, there's no real canon information on even the rate at which Trills age)

(And this one's definitely a stretch but) Ezri claims she's possibly behaving all rambly and emotional due to "the Emony in me". At Jadzia's zhian'tara, Emony (through Leeta) stated that being joined improved her focus and concentration- so perhaps Ezri was remembering a time before Emony was so calm and collected?

Torias (through Bashir) remarks that he feels lucky to have been chosen as a host, because now his memories will live on forever. Well, Torias died in a shuttle accident LESS THAN A YEAR after he was joined- that's not very much to pass on to the future hosts now is it!! For the sake of this poor man's ego we must assume his pre-joined life is now stored in the Dax symbiont too

Joran Dax was only joined for six months before they transferred the symbiont to Curzon; before that, he was already a musician, and his brother said he was always volatile and cold. The two biggest things Jadzia and Ezri seem to inherit from him are 1. that emotional volatility and 2. musical ability and/or interest

When Sisko's trying to guilt Verad Dax into giving Jadzia the symbiont back, Verad says "She'll live on in me", to which Sisko argues "Her memories will live on, but she will die". Again, Jadzia at this point has been joined for less than two years- it just makes more sense if he's referring to all her memories

Jadzia mentions she could remember everything Verad thought and did, and it was all so sad- it's left vague whether she's only speaking of those few hours, or his whole life. Verad seems to vaguely remember the events of the day (he says "I had it, it was so close"), but all The Knowledge left him after he lost access to the symbiont. Anyhow he's a unique case; complete integration with the symbiont takes 93 hours (and he isn't even included in the zhian'tara lineup later) so I'm guessing Verad just never fully joined with Dax, meaning nothing about this invalidates the other stuff

My thoughts:

Trill culture and philosophy (and spirituality?) seems to consider time and memory and the physical in more or less fluid terms- it's not so simple like the symbiont is a hard drive and taking it out results in the host losing the memories, and putting it back means regaining them. (Canon: Jadzia Sans Dax recognises Julian when she wakes up in the infirmary; and he's someone she first met as Dax. Now, you could argue that it's because she also knew him as Jadzia- and you would not be wrong! But I do think the memories leave a mark; the joining process changed Jadzia irreversibly- even without Dax she could never be pre-joined Jadzia again. It follows that over time, Jadzia changes Dax similarly, too- the worm Ezri gets will not be the same worm Jadzia got, and should therefore have at least fragments of Jadzia's pre-joined life still lingering)

I think the symbiont's and host's memories all integrate and blend together like ingredients in a stew, subtly altering each other over time- it's difficult to parse them apart while you're just like existing, but if you concentrate, you can identify what comes from where, to a point. So generally the childhood memories are like the subtlest flavours of the bunch- you aren't always consciously aware of them, but if they weren't in there, it would taste different, etc

That being said, the broad pattern does suggest that the most powerfully influential hosts are the chronologically closer ones; Jadzia is most dominantly influenced by Curzon, and Ezri by Jadzia. Both seem to feel Joran and Torias (the prev two) quite strongly as well. So maybe Ezri would remember Jadzia's childhood the clearest of the lot, and Jadzia Curzon's, but both would struggle with Lela's or Tobin's

Generally speaking though, Dax is the link- so all pre-joining memories are probably vaguer and more corrupted than POV Dax Memories; especially the further back you go

Ezri seems to struggle with the inability to distinguish between her own lived experiences and previous hosts' memories more than Jadzia did (which is attributed to her unprepared joining). So it's entirely possible she feels like Jadzia's pre-Dax memories actually happened to her- more than anyone else would! (Canon: she suffered PTSD like effects from Torias's shuttle crash, as if it happened to her.) I like to think this difference makes her a very unique and valuable and historically significant part of the Dax chain

S1 Jadzia seems more self-restricting and studious, the way her unjoined self is described- S2 onwards, more of The Curzon Traits (self-indulgence, constant quipping, fondness for Ferengi and Klingons, disregard for authority, etc) start to kick in. This suggests that the symbionts' memories grow more potent over the years, and therefore start to feel more personal (would S1 Jadzia have gone off on the blood oath mission as readily as late S2 Jadzia did?) So maybe S7 Ezri can't clearly remember Jadzia's pre-joining life, but a couple years later, it (along with several more Jadzia things) comes into sharper focus

There are probably further subtleties like the personalities of the hosts and the unique ways in which their brains interface with the symbiont and which past hosts they seem to favour and stuff (it's hinted that Jadzia might've gotten the drive to broadly be athletic from Emony; but Ezri inherited specific gymnastic abilities- and Emony was a gymnast even before the joining!) Again the show is vague and not always consistent about Dax in general, so that's just an invitation to go wild with the headcanons really

wait wait do trill symbiotes carry forward the pre-joined memories of their past hosts? like does ezri remember jadzia's childhood. does it feel like it happened to her, or does it feel like a dream - or is it mostly or completely gone?

[helsgcddess]

— VEILED SPARKS; vi

READ ON AO3 || PINTEREST BOARD

summary: "You should be more careful about what you draw, Toria." In which an artist with a knack for seeing things she shouldn't meets a suspiciously perfect stranger with glowing blue eyes and a possessive yellow Camaro. Set during ROTF.

pairing: bumblebee/original character

word count: 3.7k

a/n— okay so this chapter was supposed to be just stoned jayde and toria making fun of bee's stalking but then?? the phone call scene happened?? and suddenly we're here with possessive flirting and ominous warnings and honestly? i regret nothing! also yes, bee really said "i'm going to order you sushi and critique your plant care while watching your apartment" and we love that energy for him. homeboy's trying SO hard to be subtle and failing spectacularly.

warnings — weed use, stalking but make it romantic?, possessive behavior, symbols getting creepy, red lights being sus

I woke up groggy, last night's conversation with Brooks playing on repeat in my head like a fever dream. Still in yesterday's uniform, I grabbed my phone—no new texts. The radio silence from my cryptic stalker was almost louder than his usual messages. Maybe he was waiting for me to text first, though what I'd even say was beyond me. "Thanks for following me home and being weird about my dead dad's secrets"?

After a shower that didn't quite wash away the lingering unease, I remembered it was my day off. The Chevelle's keys caught my eye, tempting me with the promise of an escape drive. But what if it broke down again? Would Brooks materialize in his too-perfect way, ready to save the day?

"You know he would," I muttered to myself, cringing at how quickly that thought came. I started my coffee—two shots of espresso because apparently that's the kind of day this was going to be—and headed for the balcony. The familiar ritual of lighting a cigarette and settling into my hammock chair felt almost normal.

Almost.

The morning fog was rolling in from the bay, thick enough to blur the edges of buildings into something dreamlike. Kind of like Brooks' edges sometimes, I thought, then immediately took a long drag of my cigarette to shut that line of thinking down.

My sketchbook lay innocently on the little balcony table, and I pointedly didn't look at whatever I might have drawn in my sleep. Instead, I watched the street below, definitely not searching for yellow cars or impossibly perfect men.

A message from Jayde lit up my phone: yo bitch how'd last night go??? 👀 did government boyfriend show up???

I typed back one-handed, ash from my cigarette falling into my coffee: It's complicated. Like, really complicated. Also he might be stalking me but in a hot way???

Her response was immediate: GIRL WHAT

Movement caught my eye—a flash of yellow through the fog that definitely wasn't going to make me paranoid all day.

Jayde was already calling. I answered with a groan.

"Okay, spill everything right now," she demanded, the sound of her bong bubbling in the background. "What do you mean 'stalking you in a hot way'?"

"He followed me home last night," I said, watching another maybe-yellow shape disappear into the fog. "In his stupidly perfect car. Then I accidentally called him and word-vomited about Mission City and now I'm pretty sure he's still out there somewhere being all... cryptic and protective."

"That's either really romantic or really serial killer-y." A pause. "Did you draw him again?"

I finally looked down at my sketchbook, flipping it open to last night's sleep-drawings. "Not... exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I apparently spent my night drawing weird symbols that I definitely saw in my dreams but somehow perfectly recreated on paper?" I stared at the angular marks, so similar to the ones Dad used to sketch. "That's normal, right? Totally normal sleep behavior?"

"Oh honey," Jayde said, "nothing about this is normal. Want me to come over? We can smoke and try to decode your weird dream symbols."

Another flash of yellow through the fog. "Yeah," I said slowly. "Yeah, that might be good."

Before I could hang up, my phone buzzed with a text.

Unknown Number: Have to leave town. Important matter to handle. Unknown Number: Don't go anywhere I can't find you.

"Oh my god, did he just—" I switched back to Jayde. "He literally just sent me the most possessive 'don't move' text."

"READ IT TO ME," she practically screamed through the phone.

"'Don't go anywhere I can't find you,'" I quoted, watching the yellow Camaro finally emerge from the fog long enough to confirm it was him, then disappear down the street. "Like I'm his to keep track of or something."

"I'm bringing the good weed," Jayde declared. "And my conspiracy theory notebook. Be there in twenty."

I finished my cigarette, starting a new cup of coffee as I waited. The fog was thick enough now to hide anything—or anyone—watching from the street. But for the first time since yesterday, that weight of being observed lifted slightly.

My phone buzzed one more time. Unknown Number: You're safer when I can see you. Unknown Number: Stay close to home. Please.

"Wow," I muttered, torn between unease and something else I didn't want to examine. "Someone's got control issues."

Twenty minutes turned into thirty, but Jayde finally burst through my door in her usual chaotic glory—oversized tie-dye shirt, paint-stained jeans, and a backpack that definitely smelled like her "special occasion" weed.

"Okay bitch," she announced, dropping onto my couch and immediately pulling out her supplies. "Show me these possessive texts and weird sleep symbols. Also, why does it smell like you've been chain-smoking since dawn?"

"Because I have been," I admitted, grabbing my sketchbook and phone. "Turns out having a hot maybe-government agent send you stalker texts is kind of stressful."

"Let me see, let me see!" She made grabby hands at my phone while packing her favorite bowl—the one we'd painted with little stars during finals week. "Oh my god," she breathed, reading the texts. "'Don't go anywhere I can't find you'? 'You're safer when I can see you'? Girl, he's either going to murder you or marry you. There's no in-between."

"Thanks, that's super helpful." I sank next to her on the couch, flipping open my sketchbook to last night's symbols. "Can we focus on the fact that I'm apparently sleep-drawing classified government codes?"

Jayde lit the bowl, took a hit, and peered at my drawings. "These look like the shit you used to doodle in art history. You know, after your dad..."

"After my dad died, yeah." I accepted the bowl, taking a long hit. "He used to draw these exact same symbols in his notes. I used to think he was just... I don't know, doing engineer doodles or whatever. But then Sam—the twitchy kid from the café—he was talking about seeing symbols too."

"Okay, wait." Jayde grabbed her conspiracy notebook, the one she'd started keeping after Mission City. "So we've got: your dad drawing weird symbols, random café kid seeing same symbols, you sleep-drawing said symbols, and hot government guy who's weirdly possessive about keeping you safe." She looked up, eyes already getting red. "Also his equally hot friend who kept grinning like he knew something. What was his name again?"

"Sean," I said, taking another hit. "And yeah, when you lay it all out like that, it sounds..."

"Completely fucked?" She grinned. "Also, can we talk about how Brooks texts you like he owns you? Because that's either terrifying or really hot and I can't decide which."

I pulled out my phone, rereading his messages. "Both? Definitely both. Like, who just tells someone 'don't go anywhere I can't find you' unless they're either a serial killer or—"

"Or totally obsessed with you," Jayde finished. "Which, based on your sketches of him, might not be a bad thing. Boy looks like he walked out of a government experiment on how to make the perfect man."

"Maybe that's what he is," I mused, smoke curling around my words. "Some kind of government experiment gone too perfect. Would explain the way he moves, and those eyes, and—" My phone buzzed, making us both jump.

Unknown Number: Your friend's theories are interesting. Unknown Number: But not as interesting as your drawings of me.

"Oh my GOD," Jayde wheezed, reading over my shoulder. "He can hear us? That's some next-level stalking."

"He can't—" Another buzz.

Unknown Number: Tell Jayde I respectfully disagree with the government experiment theory. Unknown Number: The truth is much more complicated. Unknown Number: And Toria? You missed some details in those sketches. My eyes glow brighter when I'm concerned about your safety.

"Okay," I said, putting my phone face-down and grabbing the bowl again. "Either we're way too high, or..."

"Or your possessive not-boyfriend has the whole place bugged," Jayde finished, looking way too delighted about this development. "Quick, say something about how hot he is again. See if he responds."

"I am not giving him the satisfaction," I said, immediately taking another hit. "He's already got enough of an ego about being impossibly perfect without us—"

My phone buzzed again. Jayde dove for it before I could stop her.

"'Your artistic attention to detail is flattering,'" she read, cackling. "'Though you seem particularly focused on my eyes.' OH MY GOD."

"Stop encouraging him!" But I was laughing too, the weed making everything feel simultaneously more ridiculous and more significant. "This is exactly why I have trust issues. Hot government guys just... listening to me talk about how hot they are."

"While protecting you from mysterious dangers," Jayde added, flipping through my sketchbook. "In a very expensive car that's probably also watching us right now."

As if on cue, an engine rumbled somewhere in the fog outside.

"That better not be—" I scrambled to the window, but the street was empty. Just fog and the distant sound of what might have been an amused engine.

My phone lit up again.

Unknown Number: I told you to stay where I could find you. Unknown Number: I never said I'd stop watching.

"Okay," Jayde announced, grabbing the bowl again. "We need to make a list. Hot or Horrifying: The Brooks Edition."

"Okay," Jayde pulled out her conspiracy notebook again, already writing. "Column one: Hot. Column two: Horrifying. Go."

"This is ridiculous," I said, but the weed had other ideas. "Fine. Hot: literally his entire face. Horrifying: the fact that he's listening to us make this list right now."

My phone stayed suspiciously quiet.

"Hot," Jayde continued, writing furiously, "the way he looks at you like you're the only person in the room. Horrifying: the way he looks at you like you're the only person in the room."

"That's the same thing!"

"Exactly!" She gestured with her pen. "Everything about him is both hot and horrifying. Like how he texts you these super protective messages—"

"Possessive," I corrected.

"Same thing with him," she grinned. "Hot: he's literally engineered to be perfect. Horrifying: he's literally engineered to be perfect."

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Your analysis is entertaining. Unknown Number: Though "engineered" isn't quite the right word.

"Oh my god, he's critiquing our list," I groaned, falling back onto the couch. "What's next, gonna correct my sketches too?"

Unknown Number: Your sketches are perfect. Unknown Number: It's your safety measures that need work.

I snorted smoke through my nose, making Jayde cackle. "Okay seriously," she called out to my apparently bugged apartment, "how are you hearing us? Did you like, plant cameras? Got some super-secret military tech in here?"

My phone lit up almost immediately.

Unknown Number: I have my methods. Unknown Number: Also, Toria should probably water that plant on the balcony.

We both slowly turned to look at my dying succulent.

"That's not creepy at all," I muttered, taking another hit. "Just my maybe-government-experiment crush giving me plant care advice while somehow watching us make a Hot or Horrifying list about him."

"Hot: he cares about your plants," Jayde wrote dutifully. "Horrifying: he can see your plants."

"Can you at least tell us how you're doing this?" I asked the empty air, feeling only slightly ridiculous. "Because I'm either way too high or you've got some next-level surveillance going on."

Unknown Number: Both. Unknown Number: Also, you're running low on coffee.

"Okay, now you're just showing off," I called out, but I was fighting a smile.

Jayde was practically vibrating with delight. "This is the best thing that's ever happened. Your hot stalker is literally fact-checking our stoned conspiracy theories in real time."

"Hot:" Jayde announced, still writing, "he knows exactly what's happening in your apartment at all times. Horrifying: he knows exactly what's happening in your apartment at all times."

"You've got to stop listing the same thing for both columns," I laughed, then immediately sobered. "Wait. If he can see us right now, that means he saw me this morning when I was—"

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Your bedhead was charming. Unknown Number: As was the way you talk to your coffee maker.

"I DO NOT—" I started to protest, but Jayde was already howling with laughter.

"You totally do! You're always like 'come on baby, just one more cup' when it starts making weird noises!"

"I hate both of you," I muttered, sinking deeper into the couch. "This is bullying. I'm being bullied by my best friend and a surveillance expert with perfect hair."

Unknown Number: Your hair looks perfect even when you sleep-draw strange symbols.

"Okay, that's it!" I stood up, probably too quickly given how much we'd smoked. "Where are they? The cameras or bugs or whatever you're using to spy on me?"

Jayde joined in, wobbling to her feet. "Yeah! Show yourself, government boyfriend!"

The only response was the distant sound of an engine, somehow managing to sound amused.

"Okay," Jayde said, standing on my coffee table to examine the ceiling fan. "If I were a suspiciously perfect government agent, where would I hide my spy tech?"

The doorbell rang, making us both jump.

"Did you order food?" I asked, suddenly realizing how hungry I was.

"Nope." Jayde hopped down. "But I bet I know who did."

Sure enough, my phone lit up.

Unknown Number: You haven't eaten since your shift. Yesterday. Unknown Number: Two Philadelphia rolls, two tuna maki. Your usual order.

"How does he know my sushi order?" I whispered to Jayde as I approached the door.

"Better question," she stage-whispered back, "how did he know we'd get the munchies?"

The delivery guy looked supremely unimpressed with our poorly contained giggles. "Order for Toria?"

"Let me guess," I said, accepting the bag. "Already paid for?"

"Yeah, some guy called it in. Said to tell you to 'eat something other than coffee and cigarettes.'"

My phone buzzed as I closed the door.

Unknown Number: The wasabi's spicier than you're used to. Unknown Number: But you'll like it.

"Okay," Jayde said, already grabbing chopsticks. "Hot: he feeds you. Horrifying: he knows your exact sushi preferences."

An hour later, we'd demolished the sushi (Brooks was right about the wasabi), done several dabs, and completely failed to find any surveillance equipment despite Jayde's increasingly creative theories about nanobots in my houseplants.

"I should go," Jayde said, gathering her things. "Got that commission deadline tomorrow." She paused at the door. "Unless you want me to stay? In case your perfect stalker decides to make an appearance?"

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: She should take a Lyft. Unknown Number: The fog's getting worse.

"See?" I showed her the text. "He's even worried about your safe travel now."

"Aww," Jayde cooed at my ceiling. "Thanks, government boyfriend! Way to look out for the best friend."

Unknown Number: The Lyft is already outside. Unknown Number: Black Honda Civic. Driver's name is Mike.

"Okay, that's actually kind of impressive," Jayde admitted, peeking out my window. "And yeah, there's Mike in his Honda. Your boy's got style, I'll give him that."

After she left, I flopped back onto my couch, still pleasantly high and full of sushi. "You know," I said to my apparently surveilled apartment, "this would be really creepy if you weren't so..."

Unknown Number: So?

"So... you," I finished lamely, then sat up straighter. "Okay, real talk time. Now that Jayde's gone and I'm just high enough to ask - is my apartment actually bugged? Because I've been looking all day and either you've got some next-level tech or..."

My phone buzzed, but this time felt different. More serious somehow.

Unknown Number: No bugs. Unknown Number: No cameras. Unknown Number: Just me.

"That's not cryptic at all," I muttered, twisting my ring. "What does that even mean, 'just you'? Are you some kind of super-advanced AI? Government experiment? Alien?"

A pause, longer than usual, then:

Unknown Number: Would it scare you if I said yes? Unknown Number: To any of those?

I stared at my phone, heart pounding. "I mean, I'm already talking to my empty apartment and drawing classified symbols in my sleep, so..." I laughed, only slightly hysterical. "Honestly? I'm more concerned about how you knew my exact sushi order."

The distant sound of an engine - familiar now - rumbled through the fog.

Unknown Number: I pay attention. Unknown Number: To everything about you.

"I pay attention he says," I muttered, heading to the balcony with my cigarettes. "Like that's not the most ominous way to say you're stalking me."

I'd barely lit up when my phone rang. Unknown Number.

For a moment, I just stared at it, smoke curling around my fingers. Then, because I was still high enough for this to seem like a good idea, I answered.

"You know," I said before he could speak, "most guys just ask for a girl's number instead of going full surveillance state."

"Most girls don't draw what you draw," his voice came through, carrying that mechanical undertone I'd noticed before. "Don't see what you see."

I took a long drag, watching the fog swallow the street below. "And what exactly do I see, Brooks? Besides impossible blue eyes and people who move like they're not quite human?"

"You see truth," he said softly. "Like your father did."

The cigarette shook slightly in my hand. "Is that why you're watching me? Because I see too much?"

"I'm watching you," and his voice dropped lower, more possessive, "because I can't seem to stop."

I leaned against the balcony railing, suddenly very aware of how exposed I was. "That's not really an answer."

"No," he agreed, that mechanical undertone humming stronger. "But you like that about me. The mystery. You keep drawing it, trying to capture what doesn't quite make sense."

"Are you—" I took another drag to steady myself. "Are you flirting with me about my drawings of you?"

A sound that might have been a laugh, might have been an engine purring. "I'm flirting with you about the way you see me. The way you can't stop seeing me." A pause, then softer, more intense: "The way you've filled pages trying to understand what I am."

"Jesus," I breathed, cigarette forgotten. "You really know how to make stalking sound romantic."

"Is it working?"

"Maybe," I admitted, blaming the weed and wasabi for my honesty. "Though it would work better if I could actually see you right now instead of just talking to fog."

"Look down," he said, and there it was—the yellow Camaro, emerging from the mist like a dream. His silhouette was barely visible through the window, but those impossible blue eyes caught the streetlight perfectly.

"Show off," I muttered, but I was smiling.

"Been there all day?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I lit another cigarette with slightly shaky hands.

"Not all day," he said, and I could hear that almost-smile in his voice. "Just since you started drawing me again this morning. After the…job I had to do.”

"That's—" I choked slightly on smoke. "How did you even know I was—"

"I told you," his voice dropped lower, making something in my chest flutter. "I pay attention to everything about you. The way you sketch when you're nervous. How you twist your ring when you're thinking about your father. The exact moment you realize I'm watching."

"Like right now?" I tried to joke, but my voice came out breathier than intended.

"Especially right now." A pause, then: "You're wearing my favorite sketch subject. That oversized Hawaiian shirt."

I glanced down at Dad's old shirt, the one I'd thrown on this morning. "Okay, that's either really sweet or really creepy."

"Both," he said simply. "Like most things about us."

"Us," I repeated, rolling the word around. "That's a pretty presumptuous word for someone who keeps disappearing into fog."

"And yet you keep drawing me when I'm gone," he countered smoothly. "Speaking of drawings..."

I glanced at my sketchbook, the pages of symbols practically glowing in the streetlight. "Want to tell me what these mean? Since you seem to know everything else about me."

"Toria..." A warning in his voice.

"No, look—" Before I could overthink it, I tossed the sketchbook over the balcony. It landed with a soft thud on the Camaro's hood.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"That was..." His voice had that mechanical edge again. "Reckless."

"Yeah, well," I took another drag, trying to hide how my hand shook. "So is stalking an artist with impulse control issues. What do they mean, Brooks?"

Through the fog, I saw his silhouette move. The sketchbook disappeared into the car.

"They mean," he finally said, voice impossibly soft, "that I might not be the only one watching you anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" My voice cracked slightly, but he was already starting the engine.

"Lock your doors tonight," he said, that possessive edge creeping back in. "And Toria? Next time, just invite me up instead of throwing things at my car."

Before I could respond, the Camaro melted back into the fog, taking my sketchbook with it. The line went dead, leaving me with just the taste of smoke and too many questions.

I headed back inside, double-checking the locks like he'd said. But as I turned away from the door, something caught my eye—a shadow moving wrong in the fog outside my window. Not yellow. Not Brooks.

My phone lit up one last time.

Unknown Number: Don't look out the window. Unknown Number: And don't answer if anyone knocks. Unknown Number: I'm coming back.

Through the glass, red lights glowed in the darkness.

[just-a-draco-girly]

The Secret - Chapter Eleven

A chilling breeze hits me as I step through the door into the Transfiguration courtyard, causing my robes to flap wildly and my hair to look as if it's dancing in the air. I squeal when my skirt is blown up slightly, firmly holding it down. This catches the attention of the blonde sat on one of the stone benches nearby. He stands and steadily makes his way to my location, looming over me like one of those big muggle buildings. I believe they call them 'skyscrapers'.

"Wonderful evening, is it not?" Draco speaks, smirking in only the way he can. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, and his emerald and silver striped tie hangs loosely around his neck. Hands casually placed in his trouser pockets and platinum locks gently tussled. I'd be lying to myself if I said that he wasn't attractive. He was the definition of a hot mess. Blood warmed my cheeks as I felt myself blushing.

"It's just a bit windy" I reply, another gust of wind blowing past us, whilst I continue to hold the material of my skirt in place. Damn weather. A low chuckle escapes Draco's lips. His grey eyes sparkling as they watch me in amusement. "What?" I ask, shooting him an angry glare in the process.

"You're adorable" He laughs, now smiling widely down at me. This causes a pout to form on my lips. I honestly don't get how holding down my skirt and giving him death glares constitutes as adorable by any standards.

"I don't get how almost being up-skirted by the wind is adorable" I pout, earning another chuckle from the blonde.

"I love you" And my pout drops instantly, just by hearing those words tumble so effortlessly from his mouth. A small smile spreads across my lips. He takes another step towards me, taking my face into both of his soft, warm hands and tilting my chin so that my eyes are locked with his. "Oh, you don't know how long I've been in love with you..." His voice now a gentle whisper and his forehead is pressed to mine.

"I love you too" I respond, instinctively. His face is overtaken by a huge grin, and I can't help but giggle slightly at how cute he looks at this moment. And then I remember Charlie's words about defining what Draco and I are to each other. So I take my chance and ask: "Draco, what are we?". He freezes as he was just about to lean in and kiss me. The question takes him off guard, which is to be expected. He blinks rapidly and pulls away slightly, gazing off into the distance for a moment. His Adam's apple shifts in his neck as he swallows nervously, preparing himself for whatever he's going to say.

"I don't know. I'd just assumed that we were dating" He mumbles and removes his hands from my face, scratching the back of his neck as he always does when he's anxious/uncomfortable. His eyes are dropped to the floor, studying the green blades of grass contrasted with the start of white winter's frost. "Um..." He goes to speak, but freezes, still looking at the floor. Silence surrounds us, but not awkward silence. It's a more peaceful, comfortable silence. One that you experience when you've been best friends with a person for for almost 15 years, and know them inside and out.

Eventually, he lifts his head after a while of thinking and staring at the ground. and begins to speak. His eyes locked with my brown orbs. "Do you, er.. wanna be my girlfriend... Toria?" Draco stutters, biting his lip and anticipating my answer. His hands take my hands in his. Grey eyes anxiously watch me as I blink rapidly, trying to compute what had just left his lips. I smile slightly, laughing quietly at the whole situation.

"Yes, of course" I answer, causing him to let out a long sigh before a grin erupts on to his face. Suddenly, he takes me into his arms and holds me tightly against him. Taken aback, I rest the side of my face on his chest and wrap my arms around his torso. I hold onto him with all the strength I can muster in fear of this being only a vivid daydream and in five seconds I'll snap back to reality where Draco and I are forever doomed to be just friends.

I pull back slightly to look up at his face only to have his lips crash down onto mine, causing me to stumble backwards. My fingers grip the fabric of his cloak, as my lips fervently kiss his. My eyes flutter closed. Our lips slowly move together and his hold on my waist tightens, pulling my body flush against his. The kiss quickly becomes heated, as Draco pushes me up against one of the stone columns and pins my hands above my head. He pulls away from my lips, before attacking my neck with a myriad of roughly placed kisses. A quiescent moan leaves my lips. And then, the bubble is burst when the sound of nearing voices greets my ears.

"D-draco... St-stop" I hurriedly whisper, causing him to pull away quickly and look at me in confusion. Before he goes to speak, I hold a finger to his lips and gesture for him to listen. His eyes widen instantly when he hears the voices that must be from the other side of the courtyard. I watch as Professor Moody and Professor Snape walk along the other side of the Courtyard and into the door leading to the Entrance hall.  Luckily, due to the darkness of the area that we're stood in they don't notice Draco and I. Once the door shuts behind them, I let out a quiet giggle.

"I don't want to witness anymore of your Tom foolery, Mr Malfoy and Miss Diggory" I speak, mimicking Professor Moody's voice.   Draco drops his head into my shoulder and chuckles uncontrollably. His hands rest on my waist, as he laughs into my probably tangled hair.

"Oh, I love you" He speaks, nuzzling his face further in my hair and gently kissing my neck.

"I know".

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