#I led the discussion and stood at the front of the board

[eleen-io]

My politics teacher told me today that she's scared to me💀

[storm-angel989]

Hello ! I saw your Valentino's daughter fics and they're ⭐amazing⭐

Can u request Valentino with a daughter who also has shitty eyesight ( you can pick any scenario but this could be one if main points in the fic)

Thank you💛

As someone who ALSO has super bad eyesight, this was a fun one to write! I hope you enjoy the scenario- and if you're looking for a different vibe, please feel free to request!

Valentino’s biggest frustration with having an elementary aged daughter was parent teacher conferences. And the first one of the school year was always the worst. Year after year, it never failed. His darling wife would conveniently be out of town that week, or working late or for one of the numerous, annoying, yet totally valid reasons, he would end up by himself, with a notebook of discussion points painstakingly written by his wife.

Without her by his side, what should be a friendly discussion about their pride and joy often felt more like a business meeting. He tried so hard to not take offense to her list of improvements, and bit back any snarky response to comments that even hinted that his sweet little girl was anything less than perfect. So much so that he felt the need to distance himself from the start, lest his emotions get the best of him. 

On the flip side, their concerns about their daughter were front and center, to be brought up first before anything else. This year, the headaches were at the top of that list. And the possible cause was enough to make Valentino’s blood boil. 

“Daddy, I have a headache,” his daughter complained once again over breakfast that morning. Like every other occurrence, he took her temperature, gave her some aspirin and sent her off to school. By the time she was picked up, either the headache was gone or it had gotten worse. But with no fever and no other symptoms they could tell, he and his wife wondered if something else was going on at school. 

The very thought made it close to impossible to keep the business facade on. 

As he tried to bite back the potential accusation, he looked around at the empty elementary hallway.  As a rule, Valentino refused to acknowledge the nostalgic feeling that threatened to wash over him. Though he had to admit to himself, no matter how many years had passed, the scent of stale air and dusty chalk still remained the same. 

“Ah, Mr. Valentino. Come on in,” her teacher greeted him with a smile as she stood up from her desk. “I’m Miss. Tyme. It’s nice to meet you- your daughter is truly a delight to have in my classroom.” She led him across the room and gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Please, take a seat.” 

With her friendly nature and off the bat compliment, he felt his anger slowly recede. Alright, Valentino, he thought to himself, you can do this. You can treat this like every other business meeting. Don’t make it personal. 

He took a seat in the too small chair and looked around at the room. For all of the things hell lacked, a decent schooling system for hellborn children was not one of those things. The classroom itself was bright, cheerful and covered in work clearly done by a group of kindergarteners. 

“Before we get started, do you have any concerns you’d like to address?” Miss. Tyme asked.

“Yes, I do.” He leaned forward. “reader frequently complains of headaches in the morning and after school. My wife and I have received numerous calls from the school nurse about the same issue, so much so we gave written permission for the nurse to dispense tylenol at school. I want to know if there is something going on here that could be causing her to not want to come to school each day. Something going on here that could be causing those headaches.” Even to him, his voice sounded sharp. 

To her credit, Miss. Tyme didn’t flinch. She nodded as she spoke, “I’m glad you brought that up, it’s a topic I wanted to discuss as well. Last week, reader complained of not being able to see the board. I moved her closer and she seemed to be much happier and kept up with the class work. I also noticed she’s been progressively holding her papers and books closer to her face. Have you seen that at all at home?”

Her confidence caught him off guard. He expected her to argue against his insinuation, not politely side step it. 

“Her Uncle Vox does her homework with her. I can ask him,” he replied defensively. 

She nodded, “very good. I would like to suggest you reach out to her pediatrician about her headaches and schedule a vision test. While I’m not a doctor, I have seen students with similar concerns who ended up needing glasses.” 

Valentino stared at her. “Glasses?”

She nodded, “of course it’s only a suggestion. Let’s move onto her academics…” she pulled out a thick file, “your daughter is kind, creative and quite bright. She is a joy to have in class. Take a look at this story she wrote….” 

As Valentino reviewed the work with her teacher, he couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that he may have ever so slightly jumped to conclusions. By all the teacher reports, his daughter was well liked, and above average in all subject areas. So where did the headaches fit in? Was she right? Was it vision related? 

Sure,he had glasses, but her mom had perfect eyesight. And when was the last time her pediatrician did a vision test? As soon as the conference was over, and he was safely in the privacy of his limo, he called his wife. After all, every parenting decision they made was done in unison. 

“Vision issues don’t run on my side of the family, but it can’t hurt,” his wife replied after he filled her in on the details. “Schedule her an appointment for this afternoon. She’d be delighted to have some daddy daughter time.” 

Valentino pinched the bridge of his nose, “I can’t just have her come downstairs for this one, mi amore. I actually have to call my ophthalmologist and see if he’ll take her. Or if he can recommend someone who specializes in kids.”

“Like I said Val, it can’t hurt. If not tonight, later this week. Make a day out of it with her, it’s been awhile since either one of us took her out for anything really. And check with Vox and Vel. See if they’ve noticed anything.”

His wife had a point. She spent more time being babysat by Vox or Velvette as of the late with the amount they both needed to be working. It would be nice to actually spend some time with his own daughter. He hung up with his wife and with another phone call, she had an appointment with his eye doctor the next day. Perfect. He texted Vox and Velvette the plan and got a quick response back from both. Vox agreed with the assessment- he had noticed the change in behavior as well. Velvette too, noted that she seemed to be sitting closer and closer to the TV screen. With this knowledge, Valentino sighed. He was certain she would end up with glasses, just like her Papi. 

Later that night, as he helped her change into her pajamas, he told her the plan to keep her home from school the next day. 

“What’s an opthoi…ophi…ophimi…” reader tried to ask. 

"Opthamologist, little one. It’s a doctor that specializes in just checking your eyes,” Valentino replied as he tugged her shirt over her head. He lifted her up onto the bed and covered her up with her blanket before he laid down next to her. “Your teacher noticed you seem to be having a hard time reading the board, so we’re going to have your eyes checked out.,Valentino leaned over and kissed her forehead, “might be why you’re getting such bad headaches all the time.” 

She snuggled into him and buried her face into his side. “Good. Cause my head hurts alot,” she said, “like a lot alot.”

Valentino felt a pang of guilt as he held her. He wished he had thought of this potential cause sooner. Maybe they would already have a reason, and she wouldn’t be in so much pain.

 “I know, bebita, but hopefully this will give us some answers,” he said softly. “Now go to sleep.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Am I going to need glasses like you?” She looked up at him.

Valentino felt a pang in his heart. “Would that trouble you?” 

She shrugged against him. “I dunno. A little. Only one of my friends has glasses. And what happens if I don’t need glasses, and the headaches keep happening.”

He listened quietly as she unloaded her worries and fears, offering reassurance when necessary and silently rubbed her back as she spoke. Eventually, her voice grew softer and he lifted her onto his chest and laid her head against him. He felt her press her head into his chest and he let out a slow exhale as her eyelids fell shut. 

“Whatever happens, pequeño amor, Papi will be right there by your side the whole time. And we all love you so very much.” He felt her breathing slow and dropped the volume of his voice. “Duerme bebe niña papá está aquí. Sleep, baby girl. Daddy is here. Shush…”

With the weight of her tiny body on top of his chest, he closed his own eyes. Eventually, he would be able to get up and get to his laptop to get a little bit more work done, but for the moment, he was content where he was. 

When she came bounding out of her bedroom that next morning, Valentino had breakfast ready for her. Together they ate blueberry pancakes and giggled over the newspaper comics until it was time for her to get ready. 

“Daddy?” She asked as he tied her sneakers. 

“Yes bebita?”

“My tummy feels funny.”

His head shot up and his eyes met hers. Worry played over her features and Valentino relaxed. He could handle her fears. 

“Butterflies?” He asked with a kiss on her forehead. “Daddy’s got you. Don’t worry, my love. It will be okay, I promise.”

He lifted her up and carried her out to the limo. She sat on his lap and watched out the window as he scrolled through his phone. Never did Valentino ever think that a gold wedding band and his daughter on his lap would be his reality, especially inside this limo. 

Now that he thought about it, he should probably consider an upgrade. Or at least a deep clean. 

As the limo slowed down, she grew quiet. 

“Daddy? Will it hurt?” She asked as he took her hand. 

He smiled, “no, bebita. This is Daddy’s doctor too. I promise you you’re safe.”

The fact alone seemed to reassure her. As they went through the motions of the eye doctor, Valentino watched as his little girl seemed to struggle. His heart sank. He knew what the doctor would say before he said it. 

“Bebita, you can choose any frames you would like,” he said as cheerfully as he could once the doctor broke the news. “And if you can’t find one you like, Daddy will tell Uncle Vox to have them made. But choose one to take home today, okay?”

So she searched. Tried on frames. Valentino quietly set aside ones that might be more practical, and ones that fit her face well. She may not love them because of the color, but it would be good for her to have options. 

“Daddy, I want these!” she said suddenly, thrusting a pair of purple, heart shaped glasses into his hand. “Then I’ll look just like you!” 

He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t melt. 

“Then that’s what you’ll get,” he replied with a kiss on her head. He handed the frames to the doctor who sent them to the back to be put together with her prescription. 

Twenty seven minutes later they walked out, hand in hand, reader beaming in her new glasses. 

“Just like you, Daddy!” She said as she hugged his leg. 

He lifted her up and gave her a kiss on the forehead as he brought her into the limo. 

“Yes conejito, just like Daddy.”

As they pulled away, one final thought flitted through Valentino’s mind. 

Like father, like daughter. And he wouldn’t trade that for anything

[metalmonki]

Objection! Part 5

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

2.1k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

For months the days where just as busy as that first day. Some days were filled with paperwork, some days were spent entirely at the courthouse. More and more I was working independently of Rafael only crossing paths briefly to hand off files or to discuss a case. Rafael had even organised me my own office. As much as I enjoyed the newfound freedom within the DA’s office, I was also missing being so close to Rafael. We still had a little meetings, casual lunches and nights out with the SVU team, but it became less of us and more the whole team.

Finally, a case came up that allowed me to work closely with Rafael again. What started as a runaway with no connection to SVU and turned into a possible stranger abduction had become a massive manhunt for a yet unknown person who was enjoying taunting Rafael in the form of letters with clues which to places with more clues that lead to dead ends. 2 months and hundreds of mans hours had been put into finding this person and we were still no closer. No name, no witnesses, no evidence and 7 missing teenagers. We had rearranged the entire SVU pull pen pushing all tables to the sides and filling the middle of the room with drawing boards. I was currently sat staring at the clues we had been sent. The first ever letter we received from this guy told us that we would find the missing teen just by following his clues. Yet all the clues had led to dead ends. Something wasn’t adding up, something didn’t make sense.

“Y/n we have to go update the mayor” Rafael said coming to a stop next to me.

“Yeah, yeah coming”

“You’ve been staring at these notes for ages” Rafael sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Somethings bothering me about them. I feel like we’ve missed something” I say eyes not leaving the boards in front of me.

“You’ve been working for almost 40 hours, lets update the mayor then you can go home and get some sleep.” Rafael held out a hand to help me up.

I took Rafael’s hand and stood, though my eyes lingered on the boards a second longer. The sketches, cryptic letters, and scribbled coordinates seemed to mock me, each taunt from our unknown suspect ringing louder in my mind. But he was right—I needed a clear head if I was going to see whatever was lurking in the details.

As we made our way to the mayor's office, I replayed the clues in my mind, hoping a fresh perspective or a conversation might help connect the dots. This case had turned into something personal for everyone involved, especially for Rafael, whose frustration was mounting with each letter that slipped through our fingers and led to nothing.

In the elevator, he broke the silence. “You know, we’re close. I can feel it.”

I glanced at him, seeing the exhaustion mirrored in his expression. But there was something else too—a simmering determination that made me feel as if we were on the brink of a breakthrough.

“You think he’s messing with us on purpose?” I asked, voicing a theory that had been nagging me.

“Absolutely. He’s got a plan,” Rafael said, his jaw tight. “And he wants us chasing our tails.”

The elevator doors opened to reveal the marble hall leading to the mayor’s office, but before we could step out, Rafael's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and his face darkened.

“It’s another message.”

A chill ran down my spine as he opened the new text. Another cryptic line: "When you reach the end of the labyrinth, the prize will be in plain sight. If you just open your eyes." It was as if the perpetrator could sense our frustration, even knew that we were about to speak with the mayor.

“Another clue,” I whispered, looking over Rafael’s shoulder. But something was different this time. The tone—it wasn’t taunting. It was almost... instructional.

Rafael took a deep breath, as if steadying himself. “Looks like we’re not going home anytime soon.”

“No,” I said, a spark of determination reigniting. “But I think we’re finally starting to understand his game.”

As we turned back toward the precinct, abandoning the meeting with the mayor, my exhaustion melted into resolve. I’d follow every hint, trace every step. This time, I was determined to beat him at his own game.

…

The precinct was quiet, nearly deserted, with only the faint hum of overhead lights filling the silence. Midnight was approaching, and most of the team had taken off for a quick break. Olivia and Rafael had left to grab food for everyone, Amanda was somewhere in the break room nursing yet another coffee, and Sonny was curled up in the bunk room, catching some much-needed rest. Finn had gone out hours ago to chase down a lead.

I sat in front of the board, staring at the latest clue we’d pinned up: "When you reach the end of the labyrinth, the prize will be in plain sight. If you just open your eyes."

A familiar presence broke the silence beside me as Nick ambled over, arms crossed, eyes scanning the chaotic tangle of clues, locations, and scrawled notes we’d collected over the past two months. He’d been watching me closely for a while, occasionally throwing out theories, but mostly letting me sift through my own thoughts.

“Still chewing on that one?” he asked, tilting his head toward the new clue.

I nodded, barely looking at him. “Yeah. This one’s different. It’s… almost like he’s taunting us less, like he’s trying to lead us to something.”

Nick furrowed his brow, clearly considering it. “Or maybe he’s getting cocky, slipping up a little.”

I tapped my pen against my notebook, scanning the list of locations we’d already searched, the cryptic clues leading us from one dead-end to another. I was exhausted, but something kept gnawing at me, like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch. We’d been to all these places, followed every lead, yet somehow, I felt like I’d been staring right at the answer without seeing it.

My mind flashed back to the first letter—the one he’d sent that started this whole twisted game. "You'll find them if you look beyond the obvious."

A realization hit me, cold and electric. “Nick,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “What if we’ve been overthinking this? Maybe the answer isn’t at the end of some long, winding path—it’s been right in front of us all along.”

Nick leaned in, interest sparking in his eyes. “You think he’s hidden something we’ve overlooked?”

“Yes. Or maybe he’s been hiding in plain sight, knowing we’d miss it because we were too focused on finding something complex.” I scanned the board again, every location we’d been to flickering through my mind. Parks, subway stations, alleys, all public spaces with no clear connection other than being… central.

My eyes widened. “Nick, what if he’s been using these places to form a pattern, like a… map?”

Nick straightened, a gleam of understanding lighting his face. “So you think he’s been leading us in circles—maybe around somewhere specific?”

“Exactly.” I felt my pulse quicken. “I think he’s been taunting us by leading us right around his hiding spot, and he’s getting a thrill out of knowing we haven’t found it. But I need to check, and I can’t explain why just yet.”

I turned to Nick, urgency thickening in my voice. “Come with me. We have to go now, but don’t tell anyone. Not until we’re sure.”

He looked at me, searching my face, his jaw tightening as he weighed my request. Then, without another word, he grabbed his jacket off the back of a nearby chair. “Alright, I’m with you.”

We slipped out of the precinct, moving quickly and quietly down the stairwell and out the back exit. The chill of the night air hit me as we stepped onto the empty street, adrenaline sparking through my veins.

“You have any idea where we’re headed?” he asked as we walked.

I gave him a small smile, my confidence growing. “I do. I just hope I’m right.”

And as we headed toward our destination, a strange sense of clarity washed over me. The missing piece was within reach; I could feel it. This time, we weren’t going to let him slip through our fingers.

The streets were empty as Nick and I navigated our way through the quiet alleys, following my hunch toward one of the oldest and most forgotten parts of New York’s sewer system. With each step, the city above felt more distant, the buildings looming like silent witnesses to our descent. We slipped through an unmarked, rusted gate, making our way down a narrow, crumbling stairwell that reeked of mold and decay. Somewhere ahead of us was an answer—a clue, maybe even one of the missing teens—but right now, every instinct was screaming that this was a mistake.

“Are you sure about this?” Nick murmured as we approached a door at the end of the passage, barely visible in the dim light of my flashlight.

“Positive,” I whispered back, my voice tight with anticipation and dread. The door was dented and corroded, with a single piece of paper pinned to it. I lifted my flashlight, illuminating a simple, handwritten message: Welcome, Rafael Barba.

A shiver ran down my spine as I stared at the name, the ink bold and deliberate. “He was expecting Rafael,” I whispered, pulling the note down with a trembling hand.

Nick glanced around, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. “Looks like he planned something special.”

I crumpled the note, stuffing it in my pocket. “We’re here now. Let’s see what he had in mind.”

I pushed the door open, and we stepped inside, the smell of damp concrete and rust thickening in the air. Before I could react, the door slammed shut behind us with a heavy clang, echoing through the tunnel as it locked into place. Nick spun around, yanking on the handle, but it didn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” he muttered, frustration flashing in his eyes.

I felt my stomach twist as an unsettling silence settled over us, thick and foreboding. And then, a crackle overhead—a faint hum of static that made my heart pound. Somewhere in the darkness, an intercom system buzzed to life, and a voice filled the room, low and edged with disappointment.

“Well, well,” the voice drawled, with an eerie calmness that sent chills down my spine. “I was expecting Rafael Barba. But instead, he sends his… assistant.” A pause, as if he were savoring the surprise. “Not what I had hoped for. But I suppose you’ll do.”

I clenched my fists, anger simmering beneath my fear. “If you wanted Barba, maybe you should’ve faced him directly, instead of hiding behind your little clues.”

The voice chuckled, a cold, amused sound. “You misunderstand, my dear. This was never about facing Barba—it was about creating something he couldn’t ignore. A labyrinth, an elaborate little puzzle designed just for him. I wanted to watch him sweat, watch him chase his own tail. Just like I had to do when I begged him to take my sisters case” He paused, his tone turning playful. “But now, it seems I’ll get to see you and your friend test your wits instead.”

Nick tightened his grip on his flashlight, his jaw clenched. “We’re not playing your game.”

“Oh, but you already are,” the voice purred. “In fact, you’re at the very heart of it.”

I scanned the room, my pulse racing. The walls were lined with passages, each one barely visible in the dim light, twisting and disappearing into darkness. The intercom crackled again, the voice practically dripping with satisfaction.

“I’ve left you a series of clues,” he continued, “if you can find them, that is. Each path you choose will lead you deeper into the labyrinth. Or… to a dead end.” He laughed softly, the sound echoing around us. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll even get out alive.”

Nick shot me a look, his expression deadly serious. “What’s the plan, then?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “We play along. For now. But we stay sharp and look for a way to turn this back on him. He thinks he’s got us trapped, but that’s his first mistake.”

The intercom crackled again. “Tick-tock, Y/N. Time is running out. I’ll be watching—don’t disappoint me.”

The line went silent, leaving us in darkness, with only the soft, persistent drip of water echoing through the tunnels. I gritted my teeth, the weight of the situation sinking in. He wanted a game? We’d give him one he wouldn’t forget.

Tag List!

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee

[kolyasupremanxy]

Hi!! Can i request some Headcanons to Fyodor, Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo and Nikolai Taking their s/o to a date?

It's oks if you don't want to have a nice day! (Also i love your Nikolai fic<3)

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 + 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭-𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 :

𝐁𝐒𝐃 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒/𝐎 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞:.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲, 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮, 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚, 𝐄𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨, 𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 𝐆𝐨𝐠𝐨𝐥

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Fluff, Romance

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.1k

��/𝐧: Thank you for requesting anon. Ngl some of the scenarios are so long. Enjoy ( ;

—𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲

Fyodor would never choose a traditional date location like a fancy restaurant or movie theater. Instead, he would take his s/o to a deserted alleyway or abandoned building, showing off his unique taste and appreciation for the darker side of life. Despite his sinister reputation, Fyodor would be surprisingly romantic on his date, showering his s/o with compliments and lavish gifts. He would have a way with words, using his intelligence to charm and captivate his date. As a part of the Decay of Angels, Fyodor would have access to exclusive locations and events that he could take his s/o to. He might even show off his power and connections by taking her to a secret meeting of the organization. Fyodor would have a deep appreciation for art and culture, and would likely take his s/o to a museum or art exhibit. He would be well-versed in the history and meaning behind each piece, impressing his date with his knowledge. Fyodor might also take his s/o on a night-time drive through the city, showing her the darker side of life that he is so familiar with. He would point out places where crimes have been committed or where the Decay of Angels has had a presence. Fyodor would enjoy intellectual discussions with his s/o, debating philosophy and politics late into the night. He would appreciate someone who could challenge his ideas and make him think. Despite his confidence, Fyodor would have a vulnerable side that he might reveal to his s/o. He might confess his deepest fears or regrets, showing a side of himself that few people have ever seen. Fyodor would have a love of literature and might take his s/o to a quiet bookstore or library where they could read together. He might even read her a passage from his favorite book, showing a softer side to his personality. Fyodor would be very protective of his s/o, willing to go to great lengths to keep her safe. He might show off his combat skills or even risk his life to protect her from danger. As a master strategist, Fyodor might plan an elaborate surprise for his s/o, showing off his intelligence and creativity. He might set up an intricate scavenger hunt or surprise her with a personalized gift. Fyodor would appreciate someone who is not afraid to challenge him, even if it means disagreeing with him. He would be drawn to someone who is confident in their own opinions and beliefs. Fyodor might also enjoy taking his s/o to a classical music concert, showing off his refined taste and appreciation for the finer things in life. He would enjoy the elegance and sophistication of the event, and might even take his s/o out for a nightcap afterwards.

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 :

Fyodor Dostoevsky had arranged an unusual date with his s/o, and as always, he had chosen a location that reflected his dark and unique personality. The couple stood in front of an abandoned building, the walls covered in graffiti and the windows boarded up with wood planks.

"It's not exactly what I expected," his s/o said, looking up at him skeptically.

Fyodor chuckled softly. "I know it's not the most conventional date location, but I wanted to show you something different. Something that reflects my own taste."

His s/o nodded, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "I trust you," she said.

Fyodor led her inside the building, where they walked down dark and dusty hallways. The only light came from small cracks in the boarded up windows, and the sound of their footsteps echoed through the empty space.

Finally, they reached a large room with high ceilings and peeling paint on the walls. In the center of the room was a small table, covered with a white tablecloth and decorated with candles and flowers.

Fyodor pulled out a chair for his s/o and gestured for her to sit. "I hope you like the setting," he said, taking his own seat across from her. "I wanted it to be intimate, but also reflective of our surroundings."

His s/o nodded, a bit taken aback by the unexpected romanticism of the situation. "It's beautiful," she said softly.

Over a delicious meal, Fyodor and his s/o discussed a variety of topics, ranging from literature and philosophy to politics and current events. They engaged in a deep and intellectual conversation, each one challenging the other's ideas and opinions.

As they finished their meal, Fyodor reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box. He placed it on the table in front of his s/o and watched as she opened it, revealing a beautiful necklace.

"It's a symbol of my affection for you," Fyodor said, taking the necklace from the box and fastening it around his s/o's neck. "I hope it will remind you of our unique connection."

His s/o was touched by the gesture, feeling closer to Fyodor than ever before. As they left the abandoned building and walked through the dark streets, Fyodor kept a protective arm around her, making her feel safe and secure in his presence.

It was a date like no other, reflective of Fyodor's dark and mysterious personality, but also filled with unexpected romance and intimacy. His s/o couldn't help but feel drawn to the enigmatic man who had shown her a side of himself that few people ever saw.

As they walked, Fyodor's s/o couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The streets were quiet and deserted, and the sound of their footsteps echoed loudly in the stillness.

Fyodor seemed to sense her apprehension and spoke softly. "Do not fear," he said. "I would never allow any harm to come to you."

His words were reassuring, but his s/o couldn't help but wonder what kind of danger Fyodor might be facing in his role as a member of the Decay of Angels.

As they continued walking, Fyodor suddenly stopped in front of a large, imposing building. It was an old cathedral, the kind of place that seemed to hold secrets and mysteries within its walls.

"Come with me," Fyodor said, taking his s/o's hand and leading her inside.

The cathedral was dark and quiet, with the only light coming from flickering candles scattered throughout the space. Fyodor led his s/o to the front of the church, where they stood in front of a large, ornate altar.

"I know it may seem strange to bring you here," Fyodor said, "but I wanted to show you something important to me."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small book, bound in leather and covered in intricate designs. He opened it and began to read, his voice low and soothing.

It was a passage from one of his favorite books, a reflection on the meaning of life and the power of the human spirit. His s/o listened intently, feeling moved by the words and the emotion in Fyodor's voice.

As he finished, Fyodor closed the book and turned to his s/o. "I know I can be distant and cold at times," he said, "but I wanted to share this with you. To show you that there is more to me than just the criminal I may appear to be."

His s/o felt a surge of emotion at his words, realizing just how much Fyodor trusted and cared for her. She leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling grateful for the unique and special connection they shared.

As they left the cathedral and walked back out into the dark streets, Fyodor's s/o couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the depth and complexity of the man she had come to love. It had been a date like no other, filled with unexpected moments of romance, intellectual discussion, and deep emotional connection.

—𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮

Dazai would start the date by taking his s/o to a park, where they could relax and enjoy the beauty of nature. He would bring along a book of poetry and read some of his favorite verses to her, while also engaging in witty banter and playful teasing. For dinner, Dazai would take his s/o to a fancy restaurant, where he would charm the waitstaff and order the most expensive items on the menu. He would insist on paying for everything, despite protests from his s/o, and would use Kunikida's credit card with a mischievous grin. After dinner, Dazai would take his s/o to a small, cozy jazz club, where they could listen to live music and dance together. He would whisper sweet nothings in her ear and make her feel like the only person in the room. Dazai would also take his s/o to a carnival, where they could indulge in cotton candy, popcorn, and rides. He would win her a giant stuffed animal and tease her about how cute she looked carrying it around. Dazai would surprise his s/o by taking her on a hot air balloon ride, where they could enjoy stunning views of the city from above. He would hold her close and tell her stories about his past adventures, making her feel like she was part of his daring world. For a more low-key date, Dazai would take his s/o to a bookstore, where they could browse and share their favorite books with each other. He would show off his vast knowledge of literature and poetry and make her laugh with his sarcastic commentary. Dazai would also take his s/o to an art museum, where they could admire the beauty of masterpieces from around the world. He would point out hidden details and tell her stories about the artists and their lives. For a more adventurous date, Dazai would take his s/o on a hiking trip, where they could explore the great outdoors together. He would pack a picnic lunch and find a secluded spot where they could enjoy the scenery and each other's company. Dazai would surprise his s/o by taking her to a hidden speakeasy, where they could drink prohibition-era cocktails and listen to live jazz music. He would be the life of the party, charming everyone in the room and making his s/o feel like the luckiest person alive. For a cozy night in, Dazai would make dinner for his s/o and they could watch a movie together. He would choose a classic romantic comedy and make funny commentary throughout, making his s/o laugh and feel at ease. Dazai would take his s/o on a road trip, exploring new places and having spontaneous adventures along the way. He would make silly jokes and sing along to the radio, making the journey as enjoyable as the destination. For a final surprise, Dazai would take his s/o to a secluded beach, where they could watch the sunset together. He would express his love for her in a heartfelt speech, telling her how much she means to him and how lucky he is to have her in his life. They would share a passionate kiss as the sun disappeared below the horizon.

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 :

Dazai and his s/o had been planning their date for weeks, and he wanted to make it a night to remember. He had arranged for a private dinner on a rooftop overlooking the city, with fairy lights strung up around the perimeter and a live jazz band playing in the background.

As they arrived, Dazai took his s/o's hand and led her to their table, where a bottle of their favorite wine was waiting for them. "I hope you like the view," he said with a smile, gesturing to the city skyline. "I thought this would be the perfect spot for our special night."

His s/o couldn't help but feel impressed by the effort he had put into the evening. "Dazai, this is amazing," she said, still taking in the scenery. "I can't believe you went through all this trouble for me."

Dazai shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say? I'm a romantic at heart. Plus, it gives me an excuse to wear my favorite suit," he added with a wink.

They settled into their seats, and the band began to play a slow, romantic tune. Dazai took his s/o's hand across the table and gazed into her eyes. "You know, I can't imagine spending my time with anyone else," he said sincerely. "You bring so much joy and excitement into my life."

His s/o felt a warm blush spreading across her cheeks. "Dazai, you're too sweet," she said with a shy smile.

Their dinner arrived, and they savored each bite, sipping on their wine and chatting about their lives and dreams. Dazai told her stories about his time working with the Agency and the adventures he had been on, while his s/o shared her own experiences and aspirations.

After dinner, they moved to a small dance floor set up nearby, where the band had switched to an upbeat tune. Dazai took his s/o in his arms, and they began to sway to the rhythm. "You know, I could get used to this," he said, spinning her around. "The music, the view, and most of all, being with you."

His s/o smiled and leaned in closer. "Me too, Dazai," she whispered. "I'm so grateful to have you in my life."

They danced for what felt like hours, lost in their own world of romance and happiness. As the night drew to a close, Dazai pulled his s/o into a tight embrace. "Thank you for an unforgettable evening," he said softly. "I love you."

His s/o's heart swelled with emotion, and she replied, "I love you too, Dazai. Let's do this again soon." They shared a tender kiss as the band played one last song, sealing their love for each other and their unforgettable date.

—𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚

Chuuya would take his s/o to a fancy French restaurant, where they would be served a three-course meal with fine wine. He would be dressed in his best suit and tie, and his s/o would be wearing a beautiful dress. He would compliment her and tell her how stunning she looks. During the meal, Chuuya would engage in witty banter with his s/o, making her laugh with his sarcastic humor. He would tell her stories about his missions as a mafia executive at the Port Mafia, and she would listen intently, fascinated by his bravery and skill. After dinner, Chuuya would take his s/o to a rooftop bar overlooking the city. They would sit on a comfortable couch, sipping on wine and talking about their hopes and dreams for the future. Chuuya would share his own ambitions with his s/o, and she would encourage him to pursue them. As the night went on, Chuuya would become more relaxed and affectionate with his s/o. He would wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him, and tell her how much he cares about her. He would whisper sweet nothings in her ear, making her blush. Chuuya would then suggest they take a walk along the riverfront. They would hold hands and stroll along the promenade, taking in the sights and sounds of the city at night. Chuuya would point out his favorite landmarks and tell his s/o interesting facts about each one. As they walked, Chuuya would notice his s/o shivering in the cool night air. He would take off his coat and wrap it around her shoulders, telling her to keep warm. She would smile at him gratefully, feeling a sense of warmth and security in his arms. Chuuya would then take his s/o to a karaoke bar, where they would sing their hearts out to their favorite songs. He would choose a romantic ballad and sing it to his s/o, looking deeply into her eyes. She would feel her heart swell with emotion, knowing how much he cares for her. After karaoke, Chuuya would suggest they take a stroll through a park. They would walk hand in hand, enjoying the quiet of the night. Chuuya would pick a flower from a bush and give it to his s/o, telling her that it reminded him of her beauty. As they walked, they would come across a street artist playing guitar. Chuuya would suggest they dance to the music, pulling his s/o close to him and swaying to the rhythm. She would feel safe and loved in his arms, knowing that he would always protect her. Eventually, they would make their way back to Chuuya's apartment. He would offer his s/o a nightcap, pouring her a glass of his favorite wine. They would sit on his couch, talking and laughing until the early hours of the morning. Before his s/o left, Chuuya would give her a kiss on the forehead and tell her that he had a wonderful time. He would promise to take her on another date soon, and she would smile at him, feeling happy and content. As his s/o left, Chuuya would lean against the door and sigh, feeling a sense of happiness and fulfillment. He would know that he had found someone special, someone who understood him and loved him for who he is.

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 :

Chuuya Nakahara was nervous as he waited for his s/o to arrive at the fancy French restaurant. He had spent hours getting ready, carefully selecting his best suit and tie and making sure every hair was in place. He wanted to make a good impression on his s/o and show her a good time.

Finally, he saw her walk through the door, wearing a stunning dress that took his breath away. He stood up and greeted her, telling her how beautiful she looked.

"Wow, you look absolutely stunning," he said, holding out a hand to help her with her chair.

She blushed and thanked him, feeling a little overwhelmed by his charm and charisma.

As they sat down to eat, Chuuya engaged in witty banter with his s/o, making her laugh with his sarcastic humor. She found herself enjoying his company more and more, impressed by his intelligence and quick wit.

"So, what made you choose this restaurant?" she asked, sipping on her wine.

"Well, I figured if I'm going to take someone as amazing as you out on a date, I better do it right," he said, winking at her.

They talked about everything from their favorite books to their wildest dreams, and Chuuya found himself opening up to her more than he ever had to anyone else.

"You know, I've never told anyone this before, but I've always wanted to learn how to play the guitar," he said, taking a sip of his wine.

"Really? That's amazing. What's stopping you?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"I guess I just never found the time. But maybe I could make some time if I had someone to practice with," he said, giving her a playful smile.

After dinner, Chuuya took his s/o to a rooftop bar overlooking the city. They sipped on cocktails and talked about their hopes and dreams for the future, and Chuuya felt a sense of warmth and affection towards his s/o that he had never felt before.

"I know this might sound crazy, but I feel like I could talk to you forever," he said, looking into her eyes.

"I feel the same way. It's like we just click," she replied, smiling back at him.

As the night went on, Chuuya became more relaxed and affectionate with his s/o. He took her for a walk along the riverfront, holding her hand and pointing out his favorite landmarks. They sang karaoke together, danced to street music, and talked until the early hours of the morning.

Finally, as his s/o prepared to leave, Chuuya kissed her on the forehead and told her that he had a wonderful time.

"Thank you for such an amazing evening. I can't wait to do this again," he said, holding her close.

She smiled back at him, feeling the warmth of his embrace.

"I had a great time too. You're amazing," she replied.

He promised to take her on another date soon and watched as she walked away, feeling a sense of happiness and contentment.

As he walked back to his apartment, Chuuya felt his heart swell with emotion. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and he knew that he had found something special with his s/o.

"I think I'm falling for her," he thought to himself, smiling to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

—𝐄𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨

Ranpo would take his s/o to a high-end bakery to indulge in some of his favorite sweets. He would pick out a variety of pastries and cakes for them to try, eager to see their reaction to his personal favorites. As they walked through the city, Ranpo would point out small details and quirks that he's noticed about various buildings and landmarks. He would get excited when his s/o picks up on the details he's pointing out, feeling like he's sharing his unique perspective with someone who appreciates it. Ranpo would take his s/o to a mystery-themed escape room. While it might not be as difficult for him as it is for others, he would still enjoy watching his s/o try to solve the puzzles and get excited when they finally make it out. For a more relaxed date, Ranpo would take his s/o to a bookstore. He would wander the aisles with them, making recommendations and discussing different books and authors. He might even challenge them to find a book that he hasn't read yet. Ranpo would take his s/o on a picnic in the park, complete with a basket full of sweets and treats. As they enjoy their meal, Ranpo would tell his s/o stories of his past cases, getting animated as he recalls the details. For a more adventurous date, Ranpo would take his s/o on a mystery scavenger hunt through the city. He would give them clues and riddles to solve that would lead them to various landmarks and interesting locations. Ranpo would take his s/o to an art museum, using his powers of observation to point out details that others might miss. He would even create a fun game out of it, challenging his s/o to spot certain details in the paintings. Ranpo would take his s/o to a magic show, thrilled by the mystery and intrigue of the performance. He would try to guess how the illusions are done, but would enjoy being surprised by the trickery. Ranpo would take his s/o to a karaoke bar, picking out some of his favorite songs and getting excited when his s/o joins in. He might even make up silly dances to go along with the songs. Ranpo would take his s/o to a retro arcade, eager to show off his skills at various games. He would also enjoy playing games with his s/o, making bets on who can get the highest score. For a more relaxing date, Ranpo would take his s/o to a hot spring resort. He would love lounging in the warm water and enjoying the scenery, indulging in some sweets along the way. Ranpo would take his s/o to a high-end restaurant, thrilled to try out new and unique dishes. He would make recommendations to his s/o, encouraging them to try something they've never had before. As they eat, Ranpo would chat excitedly about his latest case, eager to share the details with his s/o.

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 :

Edogawa Ranpo was feeling bored, as he sat in his office and stared out of the window. He thought of ways to spend his day off, but nothing really caught his interest. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He picked up his phone and called his significant other.

"Hello, my dear. Are you free today? I was wondering if you would like to go on a date with me," Ranpo said in a playful tone.

"Of course, I am free today. What did you have in mind?" his s/o replied.

"Well, I was thinking we could go to a sweet shop and indulge ourselves in some delicious desserts. Then, we could go to the park and solve a mystery or two. How does that sound?" Ranpo said, excitement creeping into his voice.

His s/o smiled, knowing how much Ranpo loved sweets and mystery-solving. "That sounds like a perfect date, Ranpo."

The two of them went to a cute little sweet shop, where Ranpo picked out a variety of desserts to try. He couldn't contain his excitement and kept taking pictures of the desserts and posting them on his social media. His s/o just laughed and enjoyed watching him enjoy himself.

After they finished their desserts, they headed to the park. Ranpo's sharp eyes quickly picked up on some strange occurrences and he excitedly pulled out his notebook to start solving the mystery.

His s/o watched as Ranpo scribbled down notes and asked questions to passerby. They couldn't help but feel grateful for having such a talented and fun partner.

As they solved the mystery, the sun began to set and the sky turned into a beautiful orange hue. Ranpo's s/o couldn't help but feel happy and content, knowing that they had spent a wonderful day with their significant other.

"Thank you for such a lovely day, Ranpo," his s/o said, smiling.

Ranpo grinned back at them. "No, thank you for accompanying me. It was a great day indeed."

—𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 𝐆𝐨𝐠𝐨𝐥

Nikolai takes his s/o to a bird sanctuary where they can see different species of birds. He shares his fascination with them and how he admires their freedom. During their date, Nikolai poses silly "quizzes" and riddles to his s/o. He enjoys seeing their reactions and how they try to solve them. They have a picnic together in a park. Nikolai brings a basket full of Ukrainian snacks and sweets, sharing stories about his homeland and culture. Nikolai takes his s/o on a surprise adventure, which turns out to be a fun scavenger hunt around the city. He disguises himself a few times to help them complete the challenges. They go to an amusement park, and Nikolai is thrilled to go on every single ride, even the scary ones. He laughs and screams, enjoying the thrill of it all with his s/o. Nikolai takes his s/o to a dance class, where they learn traditional Ukrainian dances. He's excited to share a piece of his culture with them and is impressed by how quickly they catch on. They visit an art museum, and Nikolai spends time admiring the paintings and sculptures. He shares his love for art with his s/o, and they have deep conversations about their interpretations of the pieces. Nikolai takes his s/o to a Ukrainian restaurant, where they try traditional dishes like borscht and varenyky. He's proud to share his favorite foods with them and tells stories about his family's recipes. They go on a hike together, and Nikolai is amazed by the natural beauty surrounding them. He takes lots of pictures and videos to capture the moment and shares them with his s/o. Nikolai surprises his s/o with a trip to a comedy club. He loves making people laugh, and they have a great time together, enjoying the stand-up acts and improv performances. They have a movie night at home, and Nikolai picks out some of his favorite Ukrainian films to watch with his s/o. He cuddles up next to them, and they enjoy the movies together. Nikolai takes his s/o on a trip to Ukraine, where he shows them around his hometown and introduces them to his family. They try more traditional foods, explore the countryside, and visit important historical sites. Nikolai is thrilled to share his homeland with his s/o and create unforgettable memories together.

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 :

Nikolai had planned a perfect date for his s/o. They arrived at the bird sanctuary, and Nikolai eagerly pointed out different species of birds to them.

"Look, that's a bald eagle," he said, pointing to a majestic bird soaring in the sky. "They're one of my favorites."

"I can see why," his s/o said, watching the bird with admiration. "They're so free."

"That's exactly it," Nikolai said, smiling. "I've always admired birds for their freedom. They can go anywhere they want, do anything they want. It's amazing."

As they continued their walk, Nikolai posed silly quizzes and riddles to his s/o, enjoying their reactions.

"Okay, are you ready for another one?" he asked, grinning.

"Bring it on," his s/o replied, playfully rolling their eyes.

Next, they had a picnic in a park. Nikolai had brought a basket full of Ukrainian snacks and sweets, and he shared stories about his homeland and culture.

"This is called varenyky," he said, holding up a dumpling. "It's filled with potatoes and cheese. My grandmother used to make these all the time."

"It's delicious," his s/o said, taking a bite. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

Nikolai had planned a surprise adventure for his s/o, which turned out to be a fun scavenger hunt around the city. He disguised himself a few times to help them complete the challenges, and they laughed and had a great time.

"This is so much fun," his s/o said, smiling. "I can't believe you put all of this together."

"It was my pleasure," Nikolai said, taking their hand. "I just wanted to create a special day for us."

Later on, they went to an amusement park, and Nikolai eagerly went on every ride, even the scary ones.

"Come on, let's go on this one!" he said, dragging his s/o towards a roller coaster.

"I don't know if I can handle it," his s/o said, looking nervous.

"Don't worry, I'll be right here with you," Nikolai said, smiling reassuringly.

They went on the ride together, and Nikolai screamed and laughed, enjoying the thrill of it all with his s/o.

As the day continued, they went to a dance class, visited an art museum, and tried traditional Ukrainian dishes at a restaurant.

"This is amazing," his s/o said, trying a bowl of borscht. "I can't believe how much I'm learning about your culture."

"That's what I wanted," Nikolai said, smiling. "I wanted to share a piece of myself with you."

Finally, Nikolai surprised his s/o with a trip to Ukraine. They explored his hometown, tried more traditional foods, and visited important historical sites.

"I can't believe I'm here," his s/o said, looking around in awe. "This is so beautiful."

"I'm so glad you're here with me," Nikolai said, taking their hand. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

They continued their trip, making unforgettable memories and falling deeper in love with each other.

This is so long lmao

Do Not Copy or Plagiarize Any of My Fics. Reblogs Are Very Appreciated

[karvroom]

hi guys !

in my intro i mentioned how i write on wattpad and wanted to give you all a taste of a fanfic i’ve been writing. it’s a todoroki x reader called ‘I Will’ (title is still in the works).

PROLOGUE

"An 'anti-ability'? We already have one of those."

A meeting had been called at the famous U.A High School; the school where heroes are made and dreams of young individuals come true. Of course, there are so many other schools out there like U.A, but they aren't the same. Only the best students make it into U.A, those who know what it takes to be hero and who will do anything to protect their city, country, even the world. Within those school walls were well-known heroes dedicating their time to helping young adults better use their abilities—and that's exactly what this meeting was about.

"Yes, I understand we have Eraser Head, but this girl has serious potential." Spoke Mirko. Front and center of the room stood three heroes, one of them being the English teacher at U.A; Present Mic, accompanied by Mirko and Hawks. They faced the school board and other pro-heroes who wanted to join the meeting. A range of 50 to 80 people were present watching this discussion unravel. "Her quirk allows her to cancel out another's quirk with a single touch."

"That's less dependable than Eraser Head's. She has to come in contact with her opponent? All he has to do is look at them and not blink. If anything, it's more dangerous for her." Said by Vlad King, the homeroom teacher of class 1-B. Next to him was Eraser Head himself, wearing his usual grimace.

"Well, yes, but her quirk is sort of like a two-in-one." Present Mic explained with his booming voice. He smiled seeing the faces of his friends upon the school staff.

"Once she cancels out the opponents quirk, she can use it for herself. Pretty cool, huh?" Hawks added.

Principal Nezu hummed at the thought of your powers, intrigued by the potential you may have. He cleared his throat, using his calm voice he said, "Is she here now? It wouldn't hurt to have a demonstration."

Present Mic, Mirko, and Hawks all looked at each other then back at the crowd. Present Mic laughed, "Alright, (Y/N), you can come out now."

Then, the hero and Modern Hero Art History teacher Midnight stood up from the crowd, walking down the aisle for all to lay their eyes on. Once she reached the front of the room, she transformed—and there you were between Hawks and Present Mic. You used your quirk on a random person from the street who so happened to have shapeshifting abilities, which is what led you to display that certain ability.

Mirko clapped with excitement at your theatrics, sure that you had impressed everyone by now with that trick. You decided to take a bow as everyone else joined Mirko in amusement. She then placed a hand on your shoulder, "Introduce yourself, don't be shy."

"My name is (F/N) (L/N), I'm a first year, and I would like to join U.A to become a hero."

Principal Nezu stood in his chair, hoping to appear much more taller than he really was. He clapped his paws together and started, "Well, (Y/N), it's nice to meet you—"

"Why not do one more demonstration?" A much louder voice boomed from the back of the room. A large figure walked down the steps of the aisle, revealing himself. You heard Hawks scoff— and rightfully so. Endeavor, the prideful and ambitious man, had a smug look on his face; almost like he wanted to see you fail. His physique compared to yours was just a little intimidating, heck who wouldn't find it intimidating? He held out his arm to you, urging you to use your quirk, "Use my power, go on."

"Endeavor, this isn't necess—" Hawks started, Present Mic quickly hushed him, fascinated to see what would happen.

Reaching out your hand, you made contact, and in almost an instant, Endeavor's flames disappeared from his frame. He scowled in defeat, seeing your body be surrounded by the flames which were once his.

"Need I establish anymore of what I can do with your power, or are we done here?" You said with slight sass in your tone—you've heard of this man (given it's impossible not to know of him unless you live under a rock), and you didn't want to be associated with him more than you needed to be.

Endeavor let out a grunt, "Right, now how does she give me my power back?" You could tell he was avoiding you by not asking you directly or referring to you by your name.

"(Y/N), may you?"

You sighed, allowing your body to give back the quirk. Once you did, the hero's flames were restored to their natural state: engulfing majority of his face as his eyebrows and facial hair. You watched as he waltzed back to his seat and sat down with a thump, causing the person he sat by to jump out of their seat. He was quite the character, crude, ignorant, narcissistic; it was painfully obvious he's only high in the ranks because of his power—not his passion for helping others. He was only driven by his goal to beat All Might (the current number 1 hero).

"Well done, Young (Y/N)." All Might applauded, he then look to his right at Nezu, seeking for his reaction. "What do you think Nezu?"

"In all fairness, her abilities are great, and it seems she has full control over her quirk." Everyone smiled, waiting for his say, hoping he would accept you. "However—"

All the heroes sighed, awaiting his catch. "I feel it would be best to see how she would do taking the Entrance Exam for recommended students. It will only be helpful to us to gain knowledge of what

(Y/N) knows and what she could improve on. Although it is late in the year, I will gladly welcome (F/N) (L/N) into U.A High."

All except a few cheered, walking down the stairs to congratulate you and your accomplishment, then leaving the room to the comfort of their homes. To you, it felt great, finally putting your quirk to some use. You may not have had the same reaction as everyone else, but you were actually excited.

"Hey, kid, look who's coming their way to you." Present Mic whispered excitedly, pushing you forward a bit. He was the most eager for you, which was odd since he barely met you.

The principal made his way to you eventually, on the shoulder of Aizawa—wrapped in his cloth of warmth. Followed by a large figure, that being the number one hero. "(Y/N), this is Eraser Head...a.k.a Mr. Aizawa; he could possibly be your teacher this year. And this here behind us is All Might."

"Nice to meet you." You shook each of their hands, hoping to make a good first impression—hell you even bowed. You said in the most genuine tone, "I appreciate the opportunity you have given me and I'm excited to show you what I'm capable of."

"I love your enthusiasm, kiddo!" All Might cheered. He nudged Aizawa, silently encouraging to say something to you instead of coming off as rude.

"Yes, nice to meet you as well, (Y/N)." Aizawa said rather roughly, which is expected—it was a random meeting called at the strike of 7PM, so you don't blame the guy. You honestly felt bad for taking up the heroes' time just for them to meet you.

"Seeing that you and Aizawa have similar quirks, he may not only be your home room teacher, but definitely your mentor for the rest of the year." Nezu informed.

"I have high expectations for you (Y/N)." As he said this, it was the most expressive you had ever seen this man in the past 20 minutes of this gathering. His eyes wide and his tone was noticeably mischievous, it kind of scary to see him like this. "So, don't fail me."

"Yes, sir."

"I think it's about time I be getting this pumpkin home." Mirko smiled, placing both of her hands on your shoulders. "She's had a long day, I'm sure she's tired—plus she has that exam to take!"

"Of course, my apologies for keeping you." The small creature spoke. "Off you go then, good night, (Y/N)."

"Good night." All Might and Aizawa said at the same time, except in two way different tones.

"You guys, too!" Mirko said as she and Present Mic led you outside of the building, Hawks swiftly following.

"So, how did I do?" You asked the three of them. You had hoped you didn't come off as too showy with your quirk, but at the same time you felt like you didn't do enough to ensure your spot in the academy.

"Oh, you blew them away, little lady!" Hawks encouraged, holding up a fist bump for you to engage in. "And the way you stood up to Endeavor? Crazy."

"That takes some guts, even I wouldn't challenge Endeavor to such a thing." Present Mic added.

"Don't encourage the behavior, it could lead to something reckless." Mirko heeded to the fact of your demeanor towards the flame hero. "Egging on a dangerous being is something serious."

"If he's so dangerous, then why is he even a hero?" You rhetorically asked, quickly following up with an answer of your own. "He's only in it to show off his power."

"Hey, now, let's not—" You cut off Present Mic, having the attention of all three heroes on you as you walked to the large gates of U.A High School, the route of leaving the premises.

"And let's not forget his shitty attitude to those around him, even civilians. He only cares for the fame and competition—it gives him an ego boost."

"Oh, honey, I'm sure it's not just that." Mirko said, trying to defend the number two hero. She looked around quickly, trying to change the subject before you become to deep in your passionate hate towards Endeavor. "Are any of you guys able to take her home? I have to work late tonight."

"Can't. My show is on in about...right now!" Present Mic exclaimed, dashing back to the dorms to find himself the nearest device for his viewing. However, you knew it was just his excuse to not take some kid home.

Mirko sighed, "Hawks?"

"No problem." Hawks beamed, showing off his pearly whites. "Let's rock and roll, kid."

word count: 1746

if you’re interested in reading the rest of the story check out my wattpad !! (starslvtlol)

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

At the Dawn There is Rejoicing--a birthday gift for @kmomof4 (Chapter 5)

Summary:  Birthday gift for Krystal, @kmomof4. Based on the story of Leslie Moore and Owen Ford in the book Anne’s House of Dreams–the 5th book in the Anne of Green Gables series.  Emma Gold has led a difficult life.  Her brother and her father died when she was a child, and she was then coerced into marrying the odious Neal Gold.  She thought she’d been granted a reprieve when he was believed to be lost at sea–only for him to return disabled and in need of a caregiver.  Killian is a newspaper reporter who is tired of his routine life.  When he falls ill, his editor forces him to take a sabbatical.  What will happen when Emma takes Killian in as a border for the summer? Big thank you to @snowbellewells for making the cover pic set!

Word Count: 3266

Other Chapters: (Prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (6) (7) (Epilogue)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 5

Killian knocked on the Nolans’ front door and waited patiently for a response.  Just that morning, after three months of work, he’d put the finishing touches on his novel.  It was good.  He knew it was good.  This work would bring him acclaim, maybe even fortune.

But for all that, it was the time here that he’d found most precious.  The lovely afternoons spent by the sea, his trusty notebook in hand.  The days spent collaborating with Captain Nemo, hearing his harrowing tales–all of which he swore up and down were the Bible truth–discussing ideas, hearing his thoughts on his manuscript and the world in general.  It had all been more exhilarating than anything he’d ever experienced.

Except, that is, falling in love.  That had been exhilarating on an entirely new level beyond anything he could have imagined.  For he could deny it no longer.  He had fallen deeply, passionately, irrevocably in love with Emma.

As he waited for the door to be answered, he thought about the moment he’d known he loved her.

It had been several weeks past. He’d had plans to go to the shore and write until his hand cramped and the words would no longer come.  Accordingly, he’d bid Emma goodbye for the day and headed out.

An hour later, however, he discovered his pen had run out of ink, and he went back to the boarding house to grab another.  When he’d come in view of the house he saw her.

She stood on the balcony off of her bedroom, dressed in a long, demure dressing gown, her glorious golden hair blowing freely in the breeze, wrapping around her like a cloak, before being once more blown aside.  She had evidently taken advantage of a free morning to wash her hair and let the salty sea breeze dry it.

She was the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen, and it was at that moment that he’d known, simply known that he loved her and there would never be another woman for him.

It was exhilarating….but it was also the most tragic thing that could have happened.  She was married.   She could never be his.

This morning, having finished the first draft of his novel, he knew his time on the island was coming to a close.  Mr. DuLac had begun asking about his plans to return, and with the book finished, he knew he could put it off no longer.  

And that’s what brought him to David and Mary Margaret’s home this afternoon.  He knew his love was hopeless, and he had no intention of declaring it to Emma, but he had to tell someone.  He had to unburden himself, and there was no one who was a better listener or more sympathetic than Mary Margaret.  Though she was a few years his junior, there was something almost motherly about her.

The woman herself opened the door a moment later, and looked up at him in surprise.

“Killian, this is a surprise!” she said.  “Come in!  Would you like some tea?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mary Margaret,” he said quickly, “in your condition you don’t need to be waiting on me.”

She looked down at her protruding belly and chuckled.  “I can’t believe I still have two months to go.  I feel rather like a beached whale already.”

“You look lovely,” he said gallantly.  “But I’m sure you need your rest.”

“Indeed she does!” came the businesslike voice of Johanna from the kitchen doorway.  The Nolans had hired Johanna a month before as a kind of nurse and housekeeper.  Mary Margaret had balked a bit at bringing a stranger into their home, but Johanna had quickly become family, and she’d be indispensable once Mary Margaret entered her confinement.  “Don’t you fret, Mrs. Doctor, dear.  Johanna’s at the helm.  I’ll put the kettle on.  You simply enjoy your visit.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “I feel as though I’ve been dismissed.  Something tells me if I attempted to enter my own kitchen, I’d be summarily tossed out.”

Killian smiled.  “I wouldn’t test her.”

Mary Margaret led him to the sitting room and indicated an easy chair, which he accepted gladly as she took her own seat on the sofa.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?  Is everything alright?  Killian, you’re not looking well.  You’re not suffering a relapse are you?”

“Oh nothing like that,” he was quick to assure.  “I finished my novel this morning, and I plan to return to Montreal at the end of the week.”

“That soon?” Mary Margaret said, “we’ll all miss you terribly!  You’ve been such a splendid addition to our group!  You must come back again soon!”

He was quiet for a long moment, before speaking again.  “I’ll never return to the island.”

And then it all came spilling out, the whole beautiful, tragic tale of his love for Emma, of his need for her, of his knowledge that she was the only woman in the world for him.

“Oh, Killian, you didn’t say anything to her did you?” she asked tragically when his tale was finished.  “You know nothing can come of it!”

“Of course I didn’t!” Killian said vehemently.  “What kind of a monster do you take me for?  I know my feelings are hopeless, and the last thing in the world I would ever want to do is burden her further with them!”

Mary Margaret breathed a sigh of relief before adding.  “Does she feel the same about you?”

Yes, she does.  I know she does.  I’ve seen it in her eyes, felt it in the gentle way she’s cared for me while I recuperated.

“No,” he said aloud, “of course not.  She can’t.”

Mary Margaret smiled sadly, and he could see that his protestations didn’t convince her.

“I don’t expect anything from you or from her,” Killian said.  “I just…I had to tell someone.  Never fear, I will leave and never return, but for one moment, I…just needed to unburden myself.  I can count on your discretion can’t I?”

“Of course”, she answered, “I promise to not tell a soul–not even David.  But Killian, don’t give up hope!  If there’s anything I’ve learned through my life, it’s that there’s always hope, even when things look the bleakest.”

He smiled sadly.  “I’d like to believe that, but just now, hope seems like nothing but an unattainable dream.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On Friday morning, when Killian came into the kitchen he was carrying his suitcases.

Emma’s heart broke at the sight, though she’d been trying to prepare herself for this moment since he’d told her of his plans at the beginning of the week.  He was leaving, and she knew she would never again be the same.

She’d fallen in love with him.  

For weeks–months even–she’d tried to deny the fact, even to herself.  She was married after all.  Nothing could come of feelings for her boarder.

But in the depths of her heart where the truth could not be denied she knew, she’d always known.  She loved him.

A new pain, sharper, and yet sweeter than any she’d ever known had entered her life at the realization.  Yes, her life to this point had been difficult.  She’d married a man she didn’t love, didn’t even respect.  He’d returned to her after an accident as little more than a child in mentality, someone she’d need to care for for the rest of his natural life.  All of it was hard.

But it was bearable as long as she hadn’t known what real love was.  Now…now she didn’t know how she’d survive the endless empty years that loomed before her.

“All packed up?” she said with a falsely bright, cheerful smile–one she knew didn’t fool anyone, least of all him, who seemed capable of reading her very thoughts.

“Aye,” he’d answered with a sad smile.  “Once breakfast is over, I’ll head to the station.”

“Neal can help you with your bags,” she said, turning toward the stove, giving the eggs one last, unnecessary stir while she willed the tears from welling up.  There would be time to give vent to her grief once he was gone.  She wouldn’t make a fool of herself with it while he was still here.

He came up behind her, his nearness distracting, somehow the greatest pleasure mixed with nearly unbearable pain.  He put a warm, comforting hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him.  “I appreciate it,” he said simply.

“It’s no trouble,” Emma tried to say casually.  “Neal likes to be helpful, and I know he likes you.  He’ll enjoy helping you take your luggage to the station.”

“I didn’t merely mean about offering Neal’s services, love,” he said softly.  “I appreciate everything you’ve done, everything you’ve been to me over the past four months of my stay.  You’ve been a true godsend.”

She tried to shrug off the thanks. “I didn’t do so much.”

“But you did,” he continued.  “In those early days when I still barely had the strength to climb a flight of stairs, you cared for me, bringing me everything I needed, inquiring about my health.  You made me feel welcome, a part of the family.  You brought me into a circle of friends who have become dearer to me than anyone I’ve ever known.  I can never repay you for all of it.”

“It…it was my pleasure,” she said, her voice breaking.  “But enough talk.  My breakfast is getting cold.”

During the meal both of them stuck determinedly to light topics–there was no word about feelings, departures, the future.

But eventually, every bite was eaten, every sip of tea drunk, and the inevitable could not be put off any longer.

After setting his empty plate in the sink, Killian turned to Emma, his eyes sad.  “Thank you again. For everything.”

“Think nothing of it.”

For long moments they merely looked at each other, their eyes speaking words neither was free to say.

“Emma,” he said finally, his voice gravelly and tragic, “there’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.”

She swallowed hard several times as the tears welled up, one finally spilling over when she could no longer contain it.  “Good,” she said simply.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mary Margaret Nolan sat in her favorite, high backed chair before the fire.  It was only early September, but the nights were already becoming cool, and she was grateful David had built up the fire tonight.  

The baby kicked, and Mary Margaret smiled, massaging her distended belly where the little one seemed determined to make his presence known.  She couldn’t be sure, of course, but she was convinced their baby was a boy.  Mother’s intuition, she supposed.

She was so confident, in fact, that the pair of tiny booties she was attempting to knit were a light, sky blue.  Attempting being the operative word.  Though no novice at the art of knitting, Mary Margaret had made more than one mistake this evening and had to rip out several rows of work.

Mary Margaret frowned, setting her knitting aside and gazing thoughtfully into the fire.  What a mess it all was!  First Killian confiding his feelings for Emma and then Emma doing the same not a week later.

She’d gone down to the shore one evening when David was again out on calls.  He didn’t like her venturing so far on foot by herself in her current condition, but she figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  She was sure Johanna would keep her secret.

What she’d found at the shoreline wasn’t the peace and tranquility she was accustomed to.  Instead, she’d found Emma rather frantically pacing back and forth.

“Whatever is the matter, Emma?” she’d asked in concern after reaching the other woman.

“Mary Margaret, I am such a fool, such an idiotic fool!  How could I let this happen?”

And then the whole tale had come out.  Despite her best efforts, she’d fallen in love with Killian Jones, and now he was gone, and she felt utterly bereft.

“And the worst part?” Emma had said. “The worst part is that I’m sure it would have been even worse if he’d stayed.  How could I endure that torture–being so close to the man I love knowing nothing could ever come of it?  That is, of course, assuming he even felt the same, which I’m not vain enough to believe to be the case.”

Mary Margaret had said little, aside from whatever paltry words of comfort she could find.  She knew, of course, that Emma’s feelings were more than reciprocated, but she’d made Killian a promise, and she intended to keep it.

She rather thought she’d keep the information to herself even if he hadn’t exacted the promise from her.  The knowledge would do nothing but bring Emma further pain.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Emma asked. “Not even David?  I couldn’t bear to think of anyone else knowing what a terrible person–what a terrible wife I am.”

“You are NOT a terrible person, and you are the last person anyone would consider a terrible wife,” Mary Margaret said firmly.  “You’ve done more for that miserable man in the last twelve years than anyone could have asked of you.  Still, I promise.  I won’t tell a soul.”

Mary Margaret was not known for her ability to keep a secret, but she felt sure she would have no difficulty keeping either of the promises she’d made.  It was all so horrible.  A month and a half after Killian had left, and Emma was clearly suffering as much as the day he’d gone.  It seemed the saying was true.  Absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

“Mary Margaret,” David said slowly from the chair beside her.  

She heard the hesitation and uncertainty in his voice, and looked at him in concern.  He had been unusually quiet all evening, and she’d wondered if something were the matter, but when he’d said nothing, she assumed he’d lost a patient or some other aspect of his work troubled him.

“Yes?” she responded finally.

“I….I” he stammered before clearing his throat and turning to look at her directly.  “I find myself in something of a quandary.  I know what I should do, but the last thing in the world I want is to do it.”

Well this didn’t sound good.  A sudden foreboding came over her.  Somehow she knew she was not going to like what he had to say.  Still, she laid a comforting hand over his and interlaced their fingers.  “If it would help, I’m happy to be a listening ear.”

“You know this afternoon I was over at the Golds. to lance a boil Neal had on his neck.”  After her nod he continued.  “I decided to take the opportunity to examine his head–specifically the area where he was injured that night so many years ago.”

He stopped again, and she squeezed his hand, urging him to continue.

“Mary Margaret, I think there may be a way to surgically fix what’s wrong.  I think it might be possible to restore him to his right senses.”

Mary Margaret pulled in a quick, agonized breath.  “David you can’t!  You know what that would do to Emma!  Neal as, basically a child is difficult enough for her, but to return the horrible man she married?  David it would be torture!”

“I know, Snow!” It was a nickname he’d given her years ago, one he only used in moments of great emotion.  “It’s killing me to even think it!  The last thing in the world I would ever want to do is harm Emma, but now that I’ve seen it, how can I not tell her?”

“You can’t David!” Mary Margaret said again, hearing the near hysteria in her voice.  “Could you even do the surgery?  You’ve never done anything neurological before!”

“No,” David said quickly, “it would be beyond my skill, but there are doctors in the city who would be more than capable.  There’s no guarantee anything would come of it, but there is a chance.”

“There you go!”  Mary Margaret said, getting to her feet and beginning to pace.  “It’s not a certainty!  You know Emma doesn’t have the kind of money to spend on the trip and what is sure to be an expensive surgery!  Please, David, you can’t tell her!”

David was quiet for a long time, and then hung his head, hands holding the back of his chair, and leaning into it as though it were the only thing holding him up.  “I’ve told myself the same things you are saying over and over again, Snow, but I can’t get away from it.  As a doctor, my first duty is toward my patients.  Emma may choose to act on my information or to not act on it, but I have to at least tell her.  I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma took the news as stoically as she was able, hearing Dr. Nolan out, refusing to let her face betray the utter dread she felt at even the possibility of having Neal restored to his senses.  David had been wonderfully gentle and understanding, offering her an out.  Assuring her he would think no less of her if she chose to forego the surgery.  It was, he said, a long shot and would be quite expensive.

She’d said very little to him, bidding him goodbye as soon as he’d finished speaking, but that didn’t stop her tortured thoughts.  All night she’d tossed and turned, able to think of nothing but the choice in front of her.

One minute she’d resolved to dismiss Dr. Nolan’s suggestion, and then the next the guilt convinced her she had to at least try to restore Neal.  Back and forth it went all night.

But when dawn came, she’d come to a decision.  She had to do the right thing.  She had to take Neal for the surgery.

Accordingly, at the end of the week, she took Neal to the city and allowed the surgeons to do their work.

After the procedure was over, the doctor had come to her, assuring her that all had gone well. They’d need to wait for him to wake, though, to determine if it had been a success.

Several hours later, Emma was sitting at Neal’s bedside when he awoke.  “Neal?” she said tentatively.  “Do you know me, Neal?”

For a moment he simply looked at her.  He looked confused, but his eyes no longer held the vacant look she’d seen in them for the past twelve years.

Then he spoke. 

“Emma?  Is that you?  Why are you calling me Neal?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes:

–Let the yelling commence that I ended it there and am leaving you hanging, lol!  What exactly did that last line mean?  You’ll have to stay tuned to find out!  (But, if you’re dying to know what just happened, never fear.  Krystal has given me the puppy dog eyes when I told her I had a cliff-hanger in store for her, and as a result, I have succumbed to her pleading to post the next chapter on Sunday.

–Given the fact that I now have the first draft of the entire fic finished, I plan to actually post 3 times next week: Sunday, Tuesday and Friday.

–Up next:  We learn what my last sentence above actually means.  We learn whether or not the surgery was a success and what exactly that means for all those concerned.  In addition to the Emma/Neal portion of the story, big changes come to both the Nolans, Granny and Marco.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[specialagentlokitty]

Mr Evershed x Student!reader - Talent

Hi :) thank you for writing Evershed Student - Talent 🥰 could you please write a part 2? 🤗 I love it so much 🤩 - Anon💜

Part two:

Mr Evershed had asked you to come into school early, saying he needed you to do something but he wouldn’t tell you what.

Walking into the school, you found Mrs Carter stood there waiting with a smile on her face as she gestured for you to follow her.

“I’m so glad you came, thank you for this.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“You’ll see, Mr Evershed put a lot of work into this, in here.”

She led you into the teachers lounge and you found the deputy head grilling into all the teachers for ridiculing students, calling them stupid and treating them different.

You stood there at the back listening to his speech.

“You think it’s acceptable to try and make students believe they’re stupid? These students need you! They need you to believe in them because sometimes you’re the only ones that will be able to show them there’s so much more out there!” He snapped.

He saw you standing in the back of the room and he smiled at you, gesturing for you to come over and all the teachers watched you.

They whispered amount themselves trying to figure out what was going on.

“(Y/N), this is John, he’s an examiner and he’s here to supervise your work. And for the sake of all the teachers in here who think you’re cheating he’s here to disprove that. May I have your phone?”

“Of course sir.”

You handed him your phone and took your blazer off, draping it neatly over the back of a chair.

“You all accuse (Y/N) of cheating, I watched yesterday as she completed a test within minutes. Since you refuse to believe a student can think different here’s your proof.”

Mr Evershed turned around to face you, holding a math book in his hands.

“Are you okay with me doing this?”

“Yes sir. Go ahead.”

He copied an equation from the book on to the board and you took the pen from him, turning your attention to it.

Your eyes flicked over it, moving parts of it in your head so it would make more sense to your and you scrubbed the answer underneath.

You stepped aside and John and Mr Evershed had a look.

“May I have the pen?” Mr Evershed asked.

He did the working out for all the other teachers and stepped aside to show them that it was in fact correct.

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the group of teachers who all looked guilty and ashamed.

“How do we know you two didn’t discuss this?” Mrs Carp asked.

“You seriously refuse to believe that a stupid could be smarter than you?” You asked, “go ahead. Write an equation I’ll solve it.”

She walked up and snatched the pen, taking the book you watched her scribble a different things on the board and she stepped aside with a smirk.

“Sue that’s hardly fair.” Mrs Carter said.

“(Y/N) you don’t have to answer this.” Mr Evershed said to you.

“It’s fine, I’ll do it.”

You took the pen back and stared at the board, and you looked at the teacher who was smirking proudly and you smirked back.

You started to write, except this time it wasn’t an answer, you were rewriting the problem underneath it.

“If you want to try and trick me, make your question a little hard. Seriously you copied these from a book and you still made a mistake?”

Mr Evershed stood there, hands clasped in front of him with a little grin on his face.

You stepped back to show the new set of problems and the answer for each, and the over all answer for the one she had given you.

“Impossible!”

“John?” Mr Evershed smirked.

John looked at it and did some typing on his phone before nodding his head.

“Each one is right.”

Mrs Carp snatched the pen back and did the same thing, this time adding even more and she smugly held the pen out to you.

All the teachers watched you anxiously, all wanting to see the result of this.

You started at the problem.

Mr Evershed and Mrs Carter watched nervously as your eyes danced back and forth, you moved the pen in the air as if you were moving things.

You went to write on the board and smirked to yourself, handing the pen out to Mrs Carp.

“Why don’t you answer it miss? If you’re the teacher, surely you can solve this.”

“Absolutely not, this is your test. Aren’t so clever now are you?”

You capped the pen and handed it over to mr Evershed.

“Can’t solve it?”

You turned to the group of teachers and gestured to the board.

“How many of you think you could solve this equation?”

None of them raised your hands.

“Exactly, it’s an unsolvable problem. It’s five problems shoved into one, except Mrs Carp never added the proper symbols. Without these there is no possible way to solve any of these, as the answer can vary depending on what symbol she never wrote.”

You picked up your blazer and shrugged it back on, taking your phone from Mr Evershed.

“John, sir, am I correct?”

You never took your eyes form the sitting group of teachers and after a few minutes the examiner confirmed you were right again.

“You May all think that is students are all the same, we think the same, speak the same, act the same. Little puppets for you to command, teaching nonsense and useless things too. But we are different, we’re humans too. We think differently, have different skills and talents, as teachers it’s your job to hone this interests and shape us into the adults of this world.”

You walked over and too the pen back, writing the five questions down into what they should have been.

“Before judging someone based on their choices or their actions perhaps you should consider getting to know them, because the future is based on what you do here today.”

With that you turned to Mr Evershed.

“Thank you for your time sir.”

The you thanked Mrs Carter and John before you left the room leaving all the teachers stunned.

“Don’t you get it? They’re the future of this world, and how you treat them is how they’re going to go into this world and treat others. To assume students are stupid or cheating simply because they don’t think the way you want them too? Maybe you should reconsider ever being teachers.” Mr Evershed said.

He walked away to leave Mrs Carter to finish the meeting however she wanted and he walked down the hallways and saw you leaving the school.

“You’re leaving?”

You turned around and looked at him.

“I only agreed to come in for this meeting. That’s all.”

He nodded his head and walked over, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I was actually hoping to work on a few more things with you, I want to see what subjects are your strongest point. Maybe even set up an after school revision program for those taking exams if you’re willing to help?”

You looked at him.

“What would that do for me?”

“We can use the time you spend doing this to adjust your attendance record? Does that sound fair?”

You thought for a moment before nodding your head.

“I suppose it does, but I refuse to attend classes until that lot changes their attitude towards how they teach.”

Mr Evershed smiled and gestured back towards the school.

“That’s fair, so we have a deal?”

“Yes sir, we do.”

You two started to walk back through the school and he stopped, making you stop.

“You play violin right?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Do you have any other talents?”

Mr Evershed decided since your other teachers weren’t going to show any interest in you or what you could do he would.

He wanted to encourage you to work on what you wanted to do, to practice the things you liked, and I’d you wouldn’t attend classes maybe this was the best way to keep you in school at least.

“No sir, but I can play a song by ear.”

“Oh really?”

“Pick a song, I’ll play it.”

You walked towards the music room and he started to think of the most difficult song he knew to really challenge you to see if you could actually do it.

You had talents, and aside from your mum he could tell no one else had apparently shown any interest in them, and he didn’t want you to loose that passion

[pixies-and-poets]

Of Verses and Curses: Chapter Seven

I was meant for the stage, I was meant for the curtain. I was meant to tread these boards, Of this much I am certain.

I was meant for the crowd, I was meant for the shouting. I was meant to raise these hands With quiet all about me....

The heavens at my birth Intended me for stardom, Rays of light shone down on me And all my sins were pardoned.

I was meant for applause. I was meant for derision. Nothing short of fate itself Has affected my decision.

Author’s notes:

Hello friends! We’ve made it to a momentous chapter! I’ve been thinking about this one for a very long time, and consider it to be kind of the centerpiece/turning point for the whole story.

It was cathartic to finally write, but this is where things start getting heavier, so... warnings for a bit of discussion on... not sure how I would define it exactly. Not quite suicidal ideation, but kind of? Wishing you didn’t exist? Depression, certainly. If you’re not in the mindset to read that sort of thing, just letting you know!

Also, thanks to @randomrabbidramblings​ for a bit of Italian help!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven - Spotlight Born

Arm in arm, Woodrow and Phantom headed down the path away from Sweetlopek’s house and back towards town, Jinx floating haphazardly in orbit above their heads.

“Well, Tristan,” said Phantom, “I did not wish to impose on your friends any longer… but I’m not ready to retire for the night. Are you?”

Woodrow smiled up at his companion in the starlit glow of the early night; even with the warden’s exceptional height, the Phantom was big enough to have an eye level slightly above his own. “Of course not, Tom. What joy to spend more of the night by your side...”

“Are you sure? If you’re tired, I can take you home-”

“No, no. Perish the thought,” said the warden. “Seldom have I felt more energized.”

“Well, what would you like to do then?”

Woodrow thought for a moment, then stopped on the path, turning to his companion and taking both his paws into his own. “I know!” he said, delightedly. “Come, come. I shall give you that for which you have been yearning.”

Phantom’s eyes widened as the warden tugged him along, surprisingly quickly, towards another path away from town. How forward of him! Phantom had been yearning, all right, but he had not expected things to move so fast, so suddenly… it was very uncharacteristic for his conception of the poet. And yet… with a grin he awaited where he was being led. Some secret clearing perhaps, a bed of crisp leaves in the woods…

They had continued on for quite some time, and Phantom could hear the gentle babble of the river nearby. Having gone too long for his liking without hearing his own voice, he asked, “May I ask where we’re going?”

“You’ll see,” said the warden playfully. “I’m taking you to your heart’s desire. I know you’ve been longing for it. I hope it shall make you feel… at home, and complete.”

The singer blushed. Had he known Woodrow was so willing, he would have made a move sooner- had he misread the man all along? His fur bristled with anticipation, so excited that he almost felt that the world before him was beginning to glow, and then-

They emerged from the treeline, standing not far from… the grounded moon.

The world had been glowing indeed. The moon was beautiful at night, bite-marked and crumbling crescent though it was. It seemed to gather all the light of the stars and reflect them in a subtle yellow gleam.

Woodrow turned and stood in front of it, smiling. “Well! I promised I would take you here, did I not?”

Phantom suddenly realized that this is what the poet had meant all along, and not… anything else. Still blushing, he laughed to himself. He could not be disappointed, after all- a shudder ran through his body from ears to ghostly tail at the sight before him. It was so lovely up close, and Woodrow was right - it was his heart’s desire. The moonlight resonated deep within him, shaking loose the earliest memories of his current self, and seemed to beckon to the very fabric of his being.

He approached the gently-glowing crescent and put his paw on it. It was somewhat smaller than it had looked from a distance, and yet still large enough to tower above them. “Oh, Tristan…” he said in awe, “how thoughtful of you…”

The poet grinned wider. “Do you want to- well, here. Come!” And with his long arms, he pulled himself up onto the inside of the crescent. Phantom laughed again, in shock at the warden’s sudden energy and agility.

Woodrow leaned over the side, offering his paw, and Phantom looked up at him, in the soft luminescence of the moon, with the stars behind him, and the leaves sticking out at odd angles from his hat and collar, and his raincloud hovering above his ears, and his little shy smile that was growing ever more confident… and he felt at home and complete, indeed.

He took the warden’s hand, although he did not need the assistance, and floated up to join him. The two of them sat there, inside the moon, leaned back against its gentle curve, its pointed top high above them like an awning. For a while they said nothing, just existed beside each other, listening to the nearby wind in the leaves and the distant gargle of the river and the chorus of frogs and crickets.

“Oh, there was something you wanted to do whilst here, isn’t that right?” asked Woodrow after some time.

Phantom wasn’t falling for this again, and it took him a moment to remember what his companion was actually talking about- but then he said “Ah! You’re right!” He leaned over to the edge of the moon, pinched a bit of it in his paw, and with a fair amount of effort, broke off a wedge. This he grabbed with his other hand as well, and snapped it in half.

He handed one piece of the yellow moon to the warden. “Bon appétit, mon cher ami.”

“Cheers,” said the warden, as they clacked the two pieces together, and began to chew at them.

The moon was rather hard, it turned out, and it took them a while to nibble through their pieces, even with teeth as big and powerful as theirs. When they had finished, they turned to each other.

“Well,” said Phantom, “not bad.”

“Not great either,” admitted Woodrow, and they both laughed.

“It tasted rather more like burnt cheese than baked cheese,” said the ghost.

“Indeed,” said Woodrow. “I suppose if it tasted better, it would all be gone by now. Still… behold us! The rabbits in the moon, and we have eaten of it.” Jinx gave a little thunder of warning: don’t get too close to a poem now.

The two laid back in the cradle of the moon, next to each other. After a moment the warden caught a change occurring, out of the corner of his eye. He looked over at Phantom and saw that his belly had grown fully transparent in the glow of the moonlight, his gramophone visible. Usually he kept himself opaque, fading to translucency in his ghostly tail, and this was the first time Woodrow had seen him like this. He looked at the ghost’s face- his eyes were closed happily as he rested his head back on his arms.

“Ah, Tom-” he nudged him on the shoulder. “Your- your gramophone is showing.”

The ghost shrugged his shoulders, without even opening his eyes. “That’s alright.” Then after a moment, he sat up and looked at the warden. “You know, I used to be transparent like that whenever a light shone on me, and solid - vulnerable - in the dark. I had no control over it. But I learned to be my own master in time. Still, in moonlight like this - I suppose I cannot help it.”

“May I… look?” said Woodrow sheepishly.

“Of course, sciocchino.”

“May I look closely?”

“What do you want to do?” laughed Phantom. “Stick your face upon my body like a child with an aquarium?” Not that I would mind, he thought.

“Frankly, yes,” said Woodrow. He leaned in close and peered at the gramophone. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I want to see it. It’s… it’s beautiful, you know.”

“Would you like to see it even closer?” Phantom asked.

“Of course,” said the warden, although he was unsure how- but before he could ask, Phantom had stuck his paws into the ectoplasm of his own stomach, and gently extracted the gramophone. He rested it on the moon between them.

The warden stared in awe at its intricate horn, gleaming in the moonlight, and at its carved wooden base. “It’s even more splendid up close,” he said. “Alas that it’s damaged, but… ‘tis impossible to tell.”

“Therein lies the problem,” said Phantom sadly. “No one can quite figure out what is wrong with it. It simply… misbehaves. Whatever has affected its inner workings is so subtle and slight that no one has been able to fix it.”

The warden reached out a paw. “Do you mind if I…” 

“Go ahead,” said the ghost, and Woodrow tenderly rested his hand on the horn. “Beautiful,” he repeated.

“I take that as the highest of compliments upon my person,” said Phantom. “After all, what you’re looking at is me.”

“You… don’t mean that metaphorically, do you?” asked Woodrow, suddenly slightly embarrassed that he was touching it; and yet not taking his hand away.

“Not at all,” said Phantom. “I mean it very literally. It is as much myself as the rest of my body, if not more so. Sometimes I do not know if I am a Rabbid fused with a gramophone, or a gramophone given life.”

“Then you ought to put it back,” said Woodrow, his hand lingering on it for another moment before he slowly withdrew it.

“I trust you with it- but you are probably right,” said the ghost, casually lifting the relic and inserting it back into his body, where it floated once more like something stuck in gelatin. Woodrow looked into the distance, frowning. He trusts me with it, he thought, for now. But I am a notorious breaker of things… if he knew what I am, would he feel the same?

“Tom,” he said after a moment. “You said something earlier, to Sweetlopek: that you didn’t consider yourself to have existed before you met Spawny.”

“That is correct.”

“Well… it’s something I’ve been wondering about myself. Something I’ve been eager to ask you, but feared it was too personal. If you don’t mind, may I inquire- what was it like, to be merged? What did it feel like? I… have long been curious, since first learning of the phenomenon.”

“Oh? Merging interests you, does it?”

“Indeed. People combining with objects, to become new versions of themselves, to become metaphors. You said it yourself- you were made from the idea of a ghost, and so you are like a ghost now. What could be more poetic?”

Phantom smiled, resting back and looking up at the stars on either side of the moon’s sliver of a roof above them. “Well, I shall put it this way, mon ami. Do you remember what it was like to be born?”

“Of course not. I would imagine nobody does…”

“Well, I do,” said Phantom.

“But you existed before that-”

“Hardly,” he said with a scoff. “Listen, my poet. The Rabbids that crashed into the Mushroom Kingdom, they- we- were very primitive. Like your far ancestors, who settled these planets. We had no names, no real identities. Most of them still do not. We did not know speech, only the most basic of communication and raw emotion. Brains that roil with chaos, changing from moment to moment. Nothing solid. Ever-shifting feelings that tumble and turn over constantly like the very washing machine we traveled in. ….In a way, it is a blessed existence. Ignorance. Bliss.”

“I see,” said Woodrow quietly.

“And so I was not my own person, really,” said Phantom. “Just one creature among many, interchangeable. Gleeful and mischievous, but I thought not of the future, or the past, just the moment before me. It is… it is hard to remember. But I think there is not much TO remember.”

Woodrow nodded, rapt in attention. “But then…”

“Ah, but then indeed!” Phantom said. “Then I was born! When I was hit by that beam- when I was brought together with my gramophone and my balloon - it is impossible to convey. I suddenly felt everything around me, all at once, all my senses overloaded. The chill moonlight, the warm spotlights, the creaking boards of the stage, the smell of the air as if from miles around, swampwater and cemetery flowers and the buzzing burn of spotlight bulbs, and all of these things, I could describe them. I was given language - and not just one. Several. The world around me was mine to understand, to name. And of all the things for which I now knew the name, the most important was myself. I was Tom Phan. I was Phantom.”

“Incredible,” whispered Woodrow. “And this all happened in a matter of seconds, did it not?”

“Exactly,” said the other. “The first thing I was given was knowledge - but then, just as suddenly, higher feelings flooded me. Purpose. Passion. Love. And my purpose was to sing, to perform, and to fight- and my song came to me all at once, as from deep within me, but also from outside of me, around me, as if channeled through the very world itself. How could I have written it, so quickly, in my mere moments of life? And yet I had. I was one with the universe, and the universe had given me song. …And a hatred of Mario.”

“I know the feeling,” said Woodrow. “Er, not the part about Mario. But all the rest. One can never take full credit for a poem. The world gives it to thee.”

“And sometimes it refuses to give,” said Phantom. “My condolences for your inspiration.”

“Ah…” Woodrow’s ears pressed back, as he began to feel very ashamed of his lie. “I’m sure it will return soon enough.”

“I’m certain as well, and you shall soon indulge in your art once more,” said Phantom. “...I am not sure I shall ever be so lucky.” He sighed. “Well, anyway! That’s about all I can say for my birth. It is very hard to describe, I must admit. I have done my best-”

“You did wonderfully,” said Woodrow. “It is a sublime story. Someday, perhaps- I should like to put it into verse.” No no what are you saying, you hopeless fool- his own brain spat back immediately.

“Oh!! I should love to hear it.”

The two of them sat in silence again for a while. Staring up at the stars overhead, and feeling the warmth of his companion, Woodrow put his worries for the future to the side, and for the moment felt true peace… until he noticed a vibration in his arm, a slight shaking coming from the man next to him. “Tom… Phantom!” He sat up. “Are you crying? Oh- whatever is the matter?”

“Ah, mon cheri, je regrette… it’s nothing. Don’t worry yourself-”

“No, Tom,” he said softly, taking his hand. “Tell me.”

“I was just thinking of that night again. How it felt to come alive, to sing for the first time. It is quite literally what I was crafted to do, and now perhaps I never may again. I have tried to be strong, I have tried to keep going, but- but I cannot cope with it, dear poet. I am silenced, like a violin with its strings cut. I cannot stand it.” Tears were in his eyes.

“Tom,” said Woodrow, clasping the distraught singer’s paw in both of his own. “Oh, I’m so sorry… I don’t know what to say…” 

“I’m sorry, Tristan. It is shameful to break down like this. It’s only that- I have had no one to talk to about my ailment. Not really. I have an image to keep up; I must be glorious, even when I am damaged. But I do not feel glorious. I cannot well go crying to my assistant, and it’s not as though he would understand. My peers would laugh and reject me if I did not keep up appearances. But with you, I feel… I feel I can be broken. You will listen, and understand, and be gentle with me.”

“I shall do my best, Tom…”

“You know, Tristan, I…” he trailed off. “No, no. This is not your burden to bear-”

“I want it to be,” the warden said, patting him on the arm. “I can bear it.”

“Well… I will admit to you something I have spoken to no one. In my time since losing my voice… do you remember what I said earlier, about being a simple Rabbid? No purpose, no identity, no Self? Well… I often find myself wishing for those days again. That I had never been merged, that I would not know any better. I was given a purpose, and that purpose was TAKEN from me. By my own actions. It was karma, was it not! How cruel are the fates… I suppose I deserve it…”

“Oh, Phantom…” the warden whispered, at a loss. He grasped his hand again, and brought it to his cheek. “The fates are cruel indeed. I… know all too well. But… but you cannot say such things… you cannot wish to have never existed.”

“Well, you are right. That is a useless wish,” said Phantom, his eyes closed. “But… you see, there ARE those who have unmerged… after being knocked around enough. They reverted back to their components, to a simple creature with no cares in the world. And I have wondered, why them but not me? I have sought to understand; I have tried to piece together the circumstances, and I have thought, in my darkest days, that- if I could figure it out, if I could unlock the secret to erasing myself- well, what is the point of being an opera star who cannot sing? What is the point of…”

But he trailed off, because as he had spoken his last couple sentences, two things had happened. He had noticed something warm and wet on his own hand, and a trembling, and realized that Woodrow himself was crying. And then he felt even more wetness, an impossible amount for tears, pattering onto his hand and arm. He opened his eyes to see his companion shaking with sobs, and his cloud raining down lightly upon him.

“Oh, mon poète, I should not have troubled you so, I-”

It was then that the warden threw himself at the ghost, wrapping him in his arms, burying his face in his chest such that his glasses were pushed up and off, wetting Phantom’s cravat with his tears instantly, and soon they were both getting rained on. “Oh, Tom, my wondrous, dear Tom,” he murmured into his chest, and then turned his face to look up at him, his eyes red with tears and wide with passionate sorrow. “You cannot think such a way, you can’t! I have not known you for a week, and yet already I cannot bear the thought of a world without you. A world in which everything that is beautiful and extraordinary about you has been washed away. You are precious to me whether you can sing or not, don’t you understand that? You are so much more than what you were MADE to be… and I… and I…”

The former poet sighed and leaned his teary-eyed head against the former singer, seemingly exhausted by the paroxysm of sympathy and unable to say more. In reality, poems were running through his brain- poems he had written in the past, about the things he himself had struggled with. Finding a purpose, finding a place in nature, perhaps not needing a purpose, finding love and joy in the moment. So much he had written on these subjects, that would be apt to say now! The lines crashed against the wall in his brain like a battering ram, they words made ladders to climb over; the stanzas slammed into it like waves - he wanted to speak, to help him- and yet he dared not. He dared not. So he spoke without words, tightening his hug.

They held each other there, heedless of Jinx’s rain which still fell upon them, and by now they were quite drenched.

“Tristan Woodrow,” said the ghost gently, caressing his companion’s cheek as the rain began to slowly subside. “I should not have spoken so freely- it was never your burden. But… ti ringrazio. Worry not, gentle poet.” He smiled. “I am not going anywhere.”

He was quite certain the warden had fallen asleep, but after a moment came a soft reply: “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Of course. Coming to Palette Prime has turned out to be a wise choice, indeed-”

“No. I mean, I am glad you’re here. In the universe.” He turned his head up to the other with an exhausted smile. 

“I am glad you’re here too,” said the other. And soon enough, damp though they were, and in spite of the moonlight surrounding them, they fell asleep, curled around each other, watched over by a cloud and surrounded by the hum of the forest at night.

[theflyingfeeling]

Hi dear, so excited to see you doing Valentines promts again!

How about Olli/Allu having a very moomin date? 👀

Hiiiiii! I'm so excited to be writing these again! <3 Here it comes, my first Valentine's Day prompt fic of the season! ✨

First of all, I'm not sure if this is moominous enough for you, sweet anon, but I hope you like it nevertheless 💖

Second of all, this maaaaaaay have gotten a little out of hand, and not only in terms of the wordcount. You'll see what I'm talking about when you read it 🤭

It's kind of an AU, but nothing too specific, just your regular no-band AU in which Olli and Allu meet each other for the first time (in person). Again, read and find out 🙏

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words: 5708 (see? unnecesarily long 🙄 so you better make yourself a nice cup of something and just sit back for this one!)

rating: something between G and T, I guess 😅

trigger warnings: none, but prepare for a whole lot of pining and a bit of sillyness, as per usual 🥰

edit. now also on AO3 💖

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your Tinder date wants to take you where?”

Aleksi sighed as they stopped to wait for the traffic light to turn green.

“First of all, it’s not a date, and certainly not a Tinder one,” Aleksi corrected Niko for about the twelfth time that day. He still regretted telling his friend he was meeting this guy he had been chatting with on a discussion board almost daily for over a year. Too embarrassed to admit it was a platform for fantasy role play, Aleksi had seen it best to simply answer “online” when Niko had asked him how he had met Olli, which naturally had led to Niko promptly deciding “online” equalled a dating app. “Second of all, I don’t think he’s actually taking me to the Moomin Café, we’re only meeting there.”

“Of all the places in the city?” 

“It’s a recognizable landmark!” Aleksi exclaimed and proceeded to picture the two-metre Moomin statue that stood in front of the theme café dedicated to beloved literature characters. With a small smile forming on his lips, he then imagined his internet friend waiting for him beside it, hopefully wearing the cool leather jacket Aleksi had seen in pictures, and was almost left behind when Niko suddenly jaywalked across the street.

“Still,” his friend said when Aleksi strode to catch him up, “the place doesn’t exactly ooze romance.”

“I told you, it’s not–”

“Not a date? Then why on earth did you send me all those selfies of you posing in different outfits, asking for my opinion? I’ve never seen you want to impress anyone that bad without hoping to get in their Moomin sheets.”

“I’m not– wait, what?” Aleksi turned to look at Niko to see the man hardly able to hide his amusement.

“Well, since he’s taking you to a Moomin café I suppose he also has–”

“Just– just shut up, okay? Whatever he has in his bed is irrelevant because we are not–” Aleksi’s heart almost stopped when his eyes spotted the enormous Moomintroll down the boulevard and, indeed, a man he recognized as Olli standing next to it. To Aleksi’s mild disappointment, Olli wasn’t wearing the leather jacket but a simple outfit of black pants, a white t-shirt and what seemed to be a bucket hat on his head. He had a searching look in his eyes, stopping to glance at almost every passerby as his fingers fumbled with the zipper of the waist bag he was wearing across his chest.

“Is that him?” Niko whispered as they approached the front of the café.

“Y-yeah,” Aleksi said and cleared his throat, surprised to hear his own voice come out so hoarse and breathless, just because he caught a glimpse of his long-time internet friend for the first time in person.

All the way walking downtown, Aleksi had been annoyed by Niko’s insinuations about the date (which was not a date) with his online boyfriend (who was not his boyfriend), all the while trying to calm down the strange feeling in his stomach that he tried to explain with having drank too much coffee at breakfast (which he chalked up to barely having slept the previous night (because his head had been full of Olli and his rosy cheeks and gentle eyes until dawn, stuck in his mind after they had said goodnight to each other on Skype at two in the morning)). He had rolled his eyes at Niko’s merciless teasing, because there was no way he was going to admit he had been counting the days until they’d finally see each other face-to-face, sighing longingly or giggling into his pillow whenever he imagined even standing in front of Olli, mere metres away from all that charm and beauty that had Aleksi forget his lines during role play or smile to himself when he saw something that reminded him of Olli.

Maybe he’d even be bold enough to hug him. From Olli’s Instagram Aleksi had gathered Olli didn’t shy away from physical endearments, at least not with that curly-head blond Olli had told him was his best and oldest friend – “like a brother,” Olli had said, and Aleksi tried to ignore why hearing that had been such a relief – but of course Aleksi couldn’t know whether being physically affectionate applied only to Olli’s closest friends. He wouldn’t blame Olli for wanting to just nod at him from a respectful distance on their first meeting; he was still, all things considered, just some random dude he had started speaking with on the internet one blessed day.

They were roughly ten metres away from the entrance of the café when Olli finally noticed him. When their eyes met each other, the curve of Olli’s eyebrows softened and his lips parted, but then he directed his gaze to Niko walking next to Aleksi, and suddenly he looked just as lost and nervous as he had just moments before while he had been waiting for Aleksi to show up.

“Right, I guess this is where I leave you to it. If he turns out to be a serial killer or some other kinda lunatic, just give me a call and I’ll come rescue you, yeah?” Niko tapped Aleksi’s shoulder and skipped to the other side of the street before Aleksi could argue that he was pretty convinced Olli was neither of those things and that he wouldn't need to be rescued, thank you very much.

Aleksi saw Olli’s shoulders relax as he walked closer, then his lips starting to curve upwards. When there were only a few metres separating them, Olli glanced at the ground before looking up at Aleksi again, no longer able to hide his smile. 

“Hi,” Olli said softly and stretched out his arms towards Aleksi.

“Hi,” Aleksi sighed, and when Olli pulled him into a hug he was sure he was going to cry. Olli felt as soft as he looked and smelled even better than what Aleksi had imagined in his head, of honey and perhaps a hint of citrus. 

“So good to see you,” Olli said, much closer to Aleksi’s ear than he had anticipated, so close that it gave him goosebumps, even though in Olli’s embrace he felt warmer than he ever had in his life before.

“Yes, at last,” Aleksi agreed. All the sudden dopamine in his system made him so daring that he nudged the side of Olli’s head with his, causing the man’s hat to fall off. 

“Woops,” Olli laughed as he noticed the impact their embrace had on his headwear and finally let go of Aleksi.

“Sorry,” Aleksi smiled, crouching to pick up the hat. Handing it back to Olli, he noticed the Moomin character embroidered on it.

In his mind, he saw Niko raising his eyebrows knowingly.

“Shall we go in? They have an offer on cinnamon rolls today.”

Did I not tell you so? Aleksi heard Niko’s voice in his head. 

Yeah, and? Aleksi telepathically replied to his friend; with the way Olli was smiling at him, a little shy and his Groke bucket hat somewhat askew as he held the door to the café open for him, Aleksi would’ve walked through the gates of Hell if that’s where Olli wanted to take him.

Aleksi nearly gasped when Olli touched his lower black lightly as they entered the café, gently guiding him forward to the cosy coffee shop that filled Aleksi’s nostrils with the mixed aroma of brewed goods and freshly-baked bun. They didn’t say much as they stood in the queue to the counter, just sort of smiled at each other, and Aleksi wanted so much to pull Olli in for another hug or at least hold his hand a little.

“So, umm, who was that, by the way? The guy you came with,” Olli broke the silence between them. Aleksi was in a hurry to answer when he noticed Olli’s smile had begun to falter.

“Ah, that was just my friend Niko. He insisted on escorting me, like some sort of…chaperone. He once had a Grindr hook-up steal his sunglasses, so he doesn’t trust anyone he meets online anymore.”

(There was no point arguing with Niko that maybe he had just lost them himself, because why would someone run off with children’s heart-shaped sunglasses that were no use for anything, least of all for blocking the sun, as the lenses were glittery and tinted pink.)

“Oh, so he’s like Joonas,” Olli rolled his eyes. “I believe he’s sitting in that Starbucks on the other side of the street spying on us, in case you decide to brutally murder me in broad daylight.”

“I guess that just means they love us?” Aleksi shrugged amusedly. 

“I suppose so, but why they gotta be so weird about it?” Olli laughed and shook his head. His sunkissed curls swayed on his forehead, and Aleksi felt the same urge to sweep them off with his fingers (or with his lips maybe) that he had often felt when they had been laughing together at something silly via Skype. Olli probably noticed his dreamy expression, as he was soon to smile at the floor below their feet, an attractive blush spreading to his cheeks which looked even more velvety in real life.

It seemed they had winded up in the middle of the worst rush hour at the coffee shop, for it took them several minutes to reach the edge of the counter. When they finally did, Olli turned his back to Aleksi to get a tray from under it, revealing the illustration on the back of his shirt. Aleksi remembered having seen that exact t-shirt on Olli before, with the small text on the left side of his chest, so he was taken by surprise staring at the print of a mountain and a rainbow peeking from behind it.

“So, umm, do you come here often?” Aleksi asked, thinking it would be a less awkward conversation starter than “nice shirt”, which would’ve only revealed Aleksi had been checking out his backside (which was quite nice, there was no denying that), but then he realised how tacky the opening line he had gone for must have sounded; he had heard Niko hitting on unsuspecting guys and girls at the bar with that exact question every Friday night.

For that reason, Aleksi sighed in relief when Olli turned back to look at him with a small smile, neither embarrassed nor bothered by his corny (but accidental) pick-up line.

“Every now and then. Their muddler cake is heavenly,” Olli replied, then added in a lower voice: “although it is quite pricey.”

“Their what cake?”

“Muddler cake!” Olli beamed. “It’s like mud cake, but, you know…. Muddler,” Olli then pointed at the stack of Moomin mugs in front of them, his index finger directing Aleksi’s gaze to a purplish mug with a character wearing a saucepan for a hat.

“That’s a… muddler?”

“Yeah.” Olli’s grin was even wider when he picked the mug up and set it down on the tray. “And that’s his sweetheart, Fuzzy.” Olli showed Aleksi a pink mug with a character in a wedding gown decorating its side.

“Should I get that one then?” Aleksi smirked, hoping the flirt (this time intentional) would not go unnoticed by the other man.

“Actually I have something else in mind for you, hold on…”

Aleksi watched as Olli eyed the collection of mugs in different colours until his finger stopped at another one of purple colour. Aleksi couldn’t pride himself on knowing a whole lot about Moomins, but even he could identify the character on this one as Hemulen, the philatelist friend of the Moomin family.

“Hemulen? Care to tell me why?” Aleksi inquired, squinting his eyes at Olli, whose smile went from ear to ear by then.

“Well, you know, ‘cause he’s… bald. Like you.” The restrained laughter was obvious in Olli’s voice.

“You’re comparing my appearance to that of a hemulen?! I could so easily be offended, you know. I thought we had moved on from the bald jokes by now.” Aleksi sniffed dramatically, although he could no longer force back his own smile. He had gotten used to his friends ridiculing his new haircut weeks ago already.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. To be fair, you look nothing alike: at least Hemulen has some hair on his head.”

“You better be paying for those overpriced muddler cakes,” Aleksi muttered, pretending to appear insulted but failing horribly, judging by Olli’s heartfelt giggles. 

“Oh, that goes without saying. You can actually go and find us a table, I’ll order and pay.”

Aleksi left Olli at the counter and hurried to claim the window table for two that had just become vacant. He gently removed the Moominpappa plushie that was sitting on the other seat and put it on the windowsill. While Olli was making their order of muddler cake and possibly some other Moomin-themed treats, Aleksi stared out the window to watch the people passing by, although he hardly registered anything he was seeing.

He had been too nervous to confess his feelings to Olli via web camera, too afraid of rejection, too anxious when thinking about the possibility of Olli laughing it off instead of returning his feelings. Many times he had broken his own heart by imagining how Olli would’ve been outraged by Aleksi claiming to have a crush on him when they had never hung out in person, or how Aleksi would make it awkward by having assumed Olli was into guys when they had never really had that talk. It wasn’t long ago since Aleksi had come out of the closet to his family and closest friends, so he was still a little cautious about who he confided in and was yet to figure out how to bring it up in a casual conversation without being too blunt or clumsy about it, but he had tried dropping subtle hints along the way. While he wasn’t sure of Olli’s orientation yet, he couldn’t help but hope that the lingering looks and the rainbow on his shirt meant something.

Before Aleksi could allow his mind to wander too far from his current reality, Olli appeared opposite him with a soft oof as he set the tray on the table between them. On two plates there were pieces of the alleged muddler cake, and on a third there was a large cinnamon roll for them to share, Aleksi assumed. The Moomin mugs Olli had chosen for them were now filled, with Moomin characters drawn on the creamy topping. Aleksi noticed one of them had a small heart next to Moomintroll’s head, a detail the beverage Olli claimed for himself was missing.

He mentally added it to the list of Possible Signs He Likes Me Too (But Let’s Not Get Our Hopes Up). 

“Mmmmh,” Olli hummed when he sipped his coffee. The cream left a small white line above Olli’s upper lip, on the tufts of facial hair he was sporting there. The sight was too adorable for Aleksi to say anything about it.

“It’s so nice to finally hang out,” he said instead.

“It really is,” Olli agreed. “And to think we live so close to each other, what took us so long?” he chuckled into his cup, making the cream on top of it waver.

“I know, right?” Aleksi chuckled back, albeit knowing exactly why, at least on his part: he had been scared of appearing too eager or too creepy or too anything to suggest they meet face-to-face, until Olli himself had brought it up the other day.

He had to take a sip from his own mug to gain more courage for what he was about to say next.

“You know, I… I’ve been looking forward to this ever since we made the plans. I really enjoy your company.”

Olli stopped forking his chocolate cake to look into Aleksi’s eyes, his features so soft and endearing Aleksi wanted to lean over the table and snog him silly already.

“Me too,” Olli replied, and suddenly it wasn’t only the coffee warming up Aleksi’s insides. “In fact, I…” Olli laughed shortly and turned to admire the pastry on his plate again, “I’ve been so excited I’ve hardly slept lately.”

“Oh,” Aleksi said, because oh. “I mean, you too?”

“Yeah,” Olli laughed bashfully, and there was clearly something extremely interesting in his muddler cake, as his gaze was nailed to the plate. “I can only hope my poor neighbour downstairs hasn’t made a complaint about me for stomping around in the middle of the night.”

The image of Olli pacing back and forth his living room with an expression not unlike the one Aleksi had seen on his face outside the café, just because he was too thrilled about their date-that-was-not-a-date, made Aleksi fall for the man even harder, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. As far as Aleksi knew, no one had ever felt that way about seeing him before, or at least no one had ever confessed it to his face.

“Well. Now we’re here,” Aleksi smiled at the man, almost crossing his fingers under the table in a prayer for Olli to look up at him again and make him feel those sweet little butterflies in his stomach once more.

His wish was granted when Olli did exactly that, his smile cuter than ever, if that was even possible.

“Yes. Here we are.”

After the sort-of confessions and the slight awkwardness was over and done with, their still-not-a-date-but-kinda-starting-to-look-like-one advance more relaxedly as they moved on to talk about the topics they usually discussed, from music to sci-fi movies to their favourite show wrestlers, until both their mugs were empty and there was nothing but crumbs left on their plates. They had spent over an hour just chattering away, but then Olli glanced at his watch and the approach of their inevitable parting began to hollow out Aleksi’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I’ve kept you to myself for too long, you must have other things to do today,” Aleksi said, although he would’ve done anything to keep Olli to himself just a little longer.

“I don’t, actually. Nothing but a pile of laundry waiting for me at home,” Olli answered as they stood up. The black bucket hat Olli put back on his curly head had seemed a little silly to Aleksi at first, but now he wished he wouldn’t have to let it out of his sight. “What about you? Any plans for the evening?”

“No, not really. But I should be going back home soon, or else Rilla will sulk at me for the rest of the day.”

Olli’s eyes brightened at the mention of the dog. “Oh, Rilla! I wish I could meet her too one day, I always love it when you show her on Skype.”

A wild thought popped up in Aleksi’s head; a silly, unimaginable, and completely absurd thought, but he decided to give it a try anyway.

(Niko wouldn’t have to know.)

“Why don’t you come and meet her now? My place is only a short bus drive away. That is, if you think your pile of laundry can wait a little longer still.”

The Groke hat did an excellent job at shading half of Olli’s face when they stepped outside in the sun, but Aleksi could still make out the smile sneaking on Olli’s lips, slowly but surely.

“I suppose the dirty socks won’t miss me too much.”

~

Niko would be disappointed if he knew, Aleksi thought to himself almost the first thing he opened his eyes the next morning.

Almost, because his first thought had been how cute Olli’s little snores sounded next to him.

His second thought had been how soft Olli’s hair looked, dishevelled and covering his eyes, before Aleksi had reached his hand to sink his fingers in it to discover it was exactly as soft as it looked.

And his third thought had been how enticing Olli’s lips were, how heavenly they had felt against his own the night before, how he couldn’t wait until Olli woke up so he could get a taste of them again.

Then, maybe as his fourth thought of the day, he could spare one for his poor friend, who only wanted the best for him. However, considering Olli was yet to show his homicidal tendencies by stabbing him with a kitchen knife, ransacking his entire house and kidnapping Rilla, Aleksi allowed himself to bask in the knowledge that Niko had been wrong, for once in his life.

They had entered the house with Rilla barking at Olli and Olli awwing at Rilla, until they had come to a mutual agreement of liking each other a lot, or so Aleksi gathered by the way they had later that evening snuggled on Aleksi’s sofa, almost making him feel like the third wheel. Aleksi had cooked them pasta for dinner and they had walked Rilla at sunset, admiring the colour of the horizon and finally holding hands when they had turned back home at the end of Aleksi’s street. Glasses of red wine had been poured and long, yearning looks had been exchanged as they had sat around Aleksi’s kitchen table until the wee hours, talking and laughing and simply enjoying each other’s company, after months of wanting to do nothing but that, but somehow both of them being too afraid to make the first move, as Aleksi had figured by then. 

Olli had already been on his way to the front door, out of Aleksi’s desperate reach, but something had stopped him, had made him stay, made him linger in Aleksi’s touch when they had hugged one last time. 

Aleksi’s breath had caught up in his throat and all his thoughts had fallen out of his useless head when Olli had glanced at his lips once, twice, perhaps a third time if Aleksi had given him the chance before bringing his own to Olli’s; he could no longer stand just imagining what kissing Olli would be like.

Now he knew; soft and delicate at first, almost hesitant, until Olli would wrap his arms firmly around Aleksi’s body and devour him, push himself even closer to Aleksi, despite the fact they were already pressed tightly together, skin on skin, mouth to mouth, heart to heart.

The bed had creaked when they had fallen on it, but soon after the room had been filled with entirely different kinds of sounds. If Aleksi wasn’t still flying high on the euphoria he had felt then, he might have been embarrassed about how needy he must have sounded. Instead, he was comforted by finally being sure Olli shared his sentiments, needed him close just as much as he needed Olli. Aleksi almost laughed out loud when he thought back to all that pining and wondering he had gone through over the past months, blind to the fact it had all been mutual; that Olli had felt exactly the same all along. 

Now, with the dawn already greeting them behind the curtains of Aleksi’s bedroom, Aleksi smiled as his unexpected (but oh so desired) overnight guest shifted beside him, nuzzling his cheek against the pillow. 

“Are you awake yet?” Aleksi asked him.

“Mmmmmmmhhhh,” Olli groaned in a way that sure awoke certain places of Aleksi’s body. “Maybe.” Olli’s speech was muffled by the pillow.

“Well, I suppose you’ll let me know when you’re awake enough to continue where we left off last night. I’m kinda missing those lips of yours, you know.”

Said lips then curved into a lazy grin (and almost burst Aleksi’s heart with bliss when doing so).

“C’mere then,” the lips mumbled, and Aleksi didn’t need to be told twice.

His plan of spending the morning in bed uninterrupted was threatened, however, when he heard a quiet ping from his bedside table.

Accompanied by loud objections from Olli below him, Aleksi reached for his phone to find a notification from a new WhatsApp message from Niko.

How did the Tinder date go? Please answer or I’ll assume you’re lying dead in a dumpster.

Aleksi giggled while writing his reply, with Olli peppering his chest with small kisses.

It was… Moominous 😏

Then Aleksi put his phone on silent, leaving Niko to wonder what ever he meant by that, and turned his attention back to something a little more urgent.

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[Meanwhile at the Starbucks across the street:]

The moment he stepped in the coffee shop and saw the man sitting by the window, Niko recognized him immediately; the bright blonde curls, the expressive blue eyes, and the plump red lips that were now pursed around a straw instead of Niko’s dick. The man was even wearing the same DIY style jean jacket he had thrown on the floor of Niko’s bedroom when they had made haste to undress each other on that steamy summer evening some weeks ago. The name scribbled on the plastic cup he was holding also matched the one imprinted on Niko’s memory.

On his forehead, half buried in the fluff of messy curls, Niko spotted a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses.

“You!” Niko gnarled at Joonas, who slowly moved his gaze from the window to Niko’s direction.

“Huh?”

“Thief!” Niko spat once he was standing next to Joonas’ table. It appeared seeing the man again after that night triggered something in him that resulted in only being able to form single-word sentences.

“Excuse me?” The way Joonas squinted his eyes told Niko his face didn’t ring a bell to him.

“Those are mine!” He pointed at the sunglasses resting on Joonas’ locks.

“Ummm, no they’re not? Also, who are you again?”

Niko clenched his fists; the audacity of this man, first for taking possession of his property, and secondly for not even remembering “the best cock he had ever had”.

“Those are my sunglasses that you stole from me after you… you know, after we…” Niko was hesitant to continue, nodding politely at the couple with two young kids in the next table following the scene with disapproval written on their faces.

“...After you ran away from wherever they were keeping you and you mistook me for someone else?” Joonas offered unhelpfully, a mix of confusion and amusement gleaming in his big, annoyingly alluring eyes.

Pure spite had Niko leaning in to whisper in Joonas’ ear.

“Don’t you dare pretend you don’t remember me when I milked you so good you probably couldn’t remember your own mother’s name for days afterwards.”

Niko closed his eyes and bit his lip when he felt Joonas’ hot breath in his ear, memories of their night together coming rushing back and going straight to his groin.

“Bold of you to assume that doesn’t happen to me every Saturday night.”

“You are unbelievable,” Niko growled back before standing up. “I’m afraid that makes little difference though. I’m here to collect back what’s mine, whether you plead guilty or not.” He straightened his hand towards Joonas as a request to be handed back his stolen possessions.

“Wait, are you actually being serious? You really think I’ve taken your sunglasses?”

“I know you’ve taken them!”

“I’ve never met you in my life, you madman!” Joonas insisted with creases on his forehead as he stood up and headed to the door. Niko followed him outside, not wanting to let those sunglasses out of his sight again.

“I don’t know what you were on that night to have been blessed with such a severe amnesia, but we have met before!”

“May I inquire where or when you think that happened?” Joonas’  lopsided grin was just as charming as the first time Niko had seen it. It made him furious.

“A couple of weeks ago. At that new LGBTQ club. After… after you DMed me on Grindr.”

“The Queer Room?” Joonas appeared to be racking his brain for a moment, then he shrugged. “Sorry, honey. I can’t say you’re the first guy with whom I’ve been palling around there.”

Joonas’s face looked genuinely apologetic, which made Niko wonder if he really was as clueless as he seemed, or whether he himself had imagined the whole encounter in his daydreams.

Still, it didn’t solve the mystery of his missing sunglasses, the sunglasses he was sure were the exact same ones the blond guy was now lowering on his nose.

“I guess you’re just gonna have to refresh my memory,” Joonas flashed that awful, sly, stunning smile of his again. 

“You wish.”

“Suit yourself,” Joonas shrugged again. “See you later, strange sunglass gu–”

Niko was livid at himself, for letting himself be bullied to take such desperate measures, but the deeper he stuck his tongue down Joonas’ luscious mouth, the more of it he wanted, had wanted since Joonas had sloppily kissed him goodbye before stumbling out of his bedroom.

They were both a little breathless when they broke the kiss. It took a while for Niko to realise Joonas was still holding Niko’s lower lip in between his teeth, until the man sucked on them one more time before letting Niko go. Niko’s own fists were still gripping the collar of Joonas’ jean jacket tightly.

“Wow. I can’t believe you actually gave in.”

…Wait.

“What?!”

“And I can’t believe you fell for that? Man, the Theatre Academy has no idea what they missed when they rejected me,” Joonas chuckled, wiping his mouth.

“You–” Niko let go of the man to inhale and exhale a few times before continuing, “you do remember me.”

Joonas tilted his head. “Oh, babes, I saw you bounce across the street before you walked in.” Then he lifted his hand to touch Niko’s chin. “I was instantly reminded of the night we shared.”

“Yet you have no memory of committing a theft?” Niko crossed his arms on his chest and lifted his chin to meet Joonas’ stare.

“That I genuinely don’t, because it never happened. Maybe this is just your subconscious telling you you miss me…”

“Oh, fuck off,” Niko snapped, trying to ignore Joonas’ hand sneaking on his hip. “The only thing I’m missing from that night are my fucking sunglasses!”

His outburst made Joonas sigh and roll his eyes. “Clearly you are not ready to consider the possibility we might own identical ones and that yours are just somewhere in your car or apartment.”

“Clearly you’re not ready to admit you mistook those as yours and just took them without asking!”

“Look,” Joonas moved his hand on Niko’s shoulder, “we could do this the whole day. Let’s just go to your apartment and–”

“So that you can steal more of my property?!”

“–AND I will help you find your stupid sunglasses! Since they’re so goddamn important to you.”

The thing was, they weren’t even particularly dear to Niko; in fact, they were more or less a kids’ toy, something he had bought as a joke when tipsy from margaritas, and pretty much useless if you needed something to shade your eyes from the sun. It was more about principle and dignity than anything else. (Tommi had not stopped giving him shit ever since Niko had told him about the incident.)

“And also to prove my innocence,” Joonas added, his lips pouting.

“Something tells me you haven’t been innocent since you came out of your mother’s–”

“You leave my mom out of this!” Joonas yelled at him from behind him when Niko began walking towards the bus stop. He made sure to wipe his smile off by the time Joonas caught him up.

~

“Where have you seen them last?” Joonas asked. They had been rummaging through Niko’s two-room for nearly ten minutes, and still the only pair of heart-shaped sunglasses they had seen were the ones sitting on Joonas’ head.

“On that chair in the hallway. Where you took them from.”

“Oh, just drop it already,” Joonas frowned. “You do realise I have things to do and places to be, yet I’m here helping you put your mind at ease about this puzzle, out of the pure kindness of my heart?”

The remark made Niko’s mouth snap shut. If (if!) Joonas was being truthful and knew nothing about Niko’s glasses, it truly was rather considerate of him to be there with Niko, turning his apartment upside down in search of the cursed piece of accessory, even if he also had his own reputation at stake.

“Well, they’re not under the sofa cushions either,” Joonas sighed and threw them back on the couch before slumping on them himself. “Is there a place we still haven’t looked?”

“I doubt they’re in the oven or in the bathroom sink cabin.”

“Oh, I’d check those too if I were you, just to be sure. You don’t wanna know where my friend Olli once found his phone after an unusually wet night out.”

Joonas’ anecdotes, as intriguing as they were, were of little help in their current task, so Niko decided he’s better off not knowing indeed.

“Did you check all your pockets yet? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve panicked, thinking my wallet’s been stolen when I had just forgotten it in the breast pocket of another jacket.”

“They’re not in my pockets.”

“Did you check though?”

Niko groaned at Joonas’ persistent eyebrow raise, but turned on his heels nevertheless. Once in the doorway, he started groping the jackets and shirts hanging from the coat rack.

“They’re not in my pockets, because I never put them in my–”

His hand touched something hard inside his grey hoodie, making him freeze.

Because he never did put his sunglasses in his pocket, not since his new Ray Bans had dropped on the pavement and broken into pieces. However, there they were, as if by some miracle, even though Niko could’ve sworn over his 00s nü metal CD collection that he had not put them there.

Or… maybe he had? His brain was too confused to make any sense of the situation.

“Oh, hey, you found them!” Joonas rejoiced as he joined Niko in the dim hallway. “Well, looks like you owe me an apology.”

The smile on Joonas’ lips was sweet as ever, and Niko couldn’t wait to wipe it off.

“Oh, I‘ll show you an apology,” he murmured and began pushing Joonas towards the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s notes:

Aaaaahh it’s been a while since I last wrote an “after-credits” scene 🥰

I wanted to include Aleksi’s Moomin sheets somehow but I couldn’t think of a convenient way to do that (i.e. I didn’t want to make the fic any longer than it already was), so you’re just gonna have to do the job yourself and imagine they woke up in Aleksi’s Moomin sheets 💕

Muddler / Fuzzy / Hemulen (the new Hemulen one looks so nice 😍)

Moomin coffee art

The Moomin Café referenced here is partly a product of my imagination. The only Moomin café in Finland at the moment is at the Helsinki-Vantaa international airport. There used to be one in Helsinki but it was closed during the covid lockdown and from what I've heard/seen, they did have Moomin mugs (duh!), gigantic cinnamon rolls, and Moomin plushies that you could position on the chairs to keep you company (I never had the chance to go there 😔). I assume the Moominworld theme park in Naantali also has some kinda Moomin café (I’ve never been there either :\)

Muddler cake -> not a thing, I completely made that one up 😂 It’s ridiculous, I know, but I just couldn’t help myself with the word play!

...Sooooo, did the incident with the heart-shaped sunglasses go as told here, or did Joonas actually take Niko’s by accident, not realising this until he was at home, and then proceeded to keep them with him at all times in case he’d run into Niko again (let’s assume they hadn’t exchanged numbers and Niko had been so outraged about his stolen sunglasses that he had deleted Grindr) and then just put them in Niko’s pocket when Niko wasn’t looking, because why should he just admit he had taken them, especially with Niko storming in the Starbucks accusing him of theft, when he could play with Niko a little instead? Who knows 😏)

[deerydear]

Something I've been thinking about, recently...

I heard a voice ask me, "Is it scary to take everyone seriously?" I think that's paraphrase of what he asked. He asked right after I had written this post about "cult mind-control".

In it, I debated my impulse to reject the truth from another person.

I actually got some very good advice, today. I had an argument, and the other people correctly assessed a theme in my behaviour. I don't mean to offend, because I value a productive discussion... and I don't like name-calling, as it puts people on the defensive. Although, in some situations, someone may benefit from being shaken up-and-down... all around. Get a little dizzy and regain your bearings. Recalibrate.

I value a little physical pain as a method of burning chaff. It refocuses the mind onto what is real. This discussion is reminding me of a blog-entry from last year:

I've been reflecting, rethinking, regurgitating, ruminating... like a cow chewing the cud.

I realized that one of my old attitudes was not as productive as I assumed. I remember someone challenging me on my assumptions, standing their ground.

I treasure this.

I was so desperate to numb myself with a belief. Yet.......... I have written about how "identity" was a way for me to forget myself, what was real... to play in a collective delusion with other people as desperate to forget themselves as I.

This reminds me of a story in the Red Book: The Wounded God and the Opening of the Egg.

"Unfortunately, the good person who has bound his strength will all-too-easily find slaves for his service, since there are more than plenty who yearn for nothing more strongly than to be alienated from themselves under good pretense." Here is where this story begins. I will include three pages which provide a short, sweet slice of the whole:

I've been told that I have a great intelligence, by many people. Some of my teachers in school told the classes that "I was the smartest kid, there". I'm not trying to brag, I want to impart a piece of my experience in the world. This can build up an Ego so grand, tall... ivory-tower.

It was because the teachers proclaimed it, that some people became scared to contradict me, for fear of "looking stupid in front of their peers". Yet this lack of opposing iron to sharpen mine against just led to becoming very dull. Status-quo leads to stupidity.

So, in being stood up to... I realized with so much relief:

"At least I hadn't led someone else into a delusion, again..."

The discussion of today had rubbed me wrong. Yet, we were both wrong in our own ways, and also both right in our respective ways.

"You spit out and curse everything that lies beyond your lovely world, since you know that it is the disgust, scum, refuse of the human animal who stuffs himself in dark places, creeps along sidewalks, sniffs out every blessed angle, and from the cradle to the grave enjoys only what has already been on everyone’s lips. But here you may not stop—do not place your disgust between your here-and-now and your beyond. The way to your beyond leads through Hell and in fact through your own wholly particular Hell, whose bottom consists of knee-deep rubble, whose air is the spent breath of millions, whose-fires are dwarflike passions, and whose devils are chimerical sign-boards. Everything odious and disgusting is your own particular Hell. How can it be otherwise? Every other Hell was at least worth seeing or full of fun. But that is never Hell. Your Hell is made up of all the things that you always ejected from your sanctuary with a curse and a kick of the foot. When you step into your own Hell, never think that you come like one suffering in beauty, or as a proud pariah, but you come like a stupid and curious fool and gaze in wonder at the scraps that have fallen from your table. You really want to rage, but you see at the same time how well rage suits you. Your hellish absurdity stretches for miles. Good for you if you can swear! You will find that profanity is lifesaving. Thus if you go through Hell, you should not forget to give due attention to whatever crosses your path. Quietly look into everything that excites your contempt or rage; thereby you accomplish the miracle that I experienced with the pale maiden. You give soul to the soulless, and thereby it can come to something out of horrible nothingness. Thus you will redeem your other into life. Your values want to draw you away from what you presently are, to get you ahead of and beyond yourself. Your being, however, pulls you to the bottom like lead. You cannot at the same time live both, since both exclude each other. But on the way you can live both. Therefore the way redeems you. You cannot at the same time be on the mountain and in the valley, but your way leads you from mountain to valley and from valley to mountain. Much begins amusingly and leads into the dark. Hell has levels.” --- Reflection of The Castle in the Forest

I had been contemplating the story of "Seven" ---- One of the men working as a Detective wants to name-call, forget, pretend, go back to his life where he is a good guy in a world of bad guys, lunatics, psychos whose thoughts do not matter....

I understand someone who may be apathetic towards other people's well-being. I understand someone who is willing to put their pursuit of the illusion of pleasure as their top priority. I understand the mind of a rapist. That's what we were talking about. That was our discussion.

Yet, I looked him deep in the eyes.

"Although I understand it, I do not condone it."

It's different, when you believe that you are the only evil person in the world... you're the only one brave enough to break the taboos.

I typed "everyone is evil" as run-on thought, but that's a sjw reskinning. "Evil =/= disagrees with me, comes against me."

What if "me" is evil?

Play pretend?

Cry wolf? Oh boo hoo, help me! I'm being persecuted.... for being a rapist.

Persecuted for selfishness, anti-sociality.

It doesn't have to manifest as extremely as rape. There is usually a long prelude in which the selfishness extends itself, finds a footing, takes root.... repeat, like a creeping vine that tries to take up territory.

Choking out other plants, in this conquest...

I like the story of L versus Kira. I posed it as a philosophical question: If you had to choose between the world's most effective detective, versus someone with the power to kill anyone known?

Rapists? Gone. No release.

I think of this horrible case, that happened in Japan. A group of men tortured a woman to death. Three of the men were locked up in a prison for less than ten years, and then they were released onto the streets. This was real life.

Yet, in the story, Kira was not an infallible justice.

There are other people who have been exonerated of their alleged crimes. Years down the line, it was proven that they had been innocent of the crime they were accused of. Sometimes, this happens because of improvements in the capability of forensic sciences.

Do those people deserve to die, due to of a crime they hadn't committed? Kira didn't truly have the supernatural power to know who had been innocent or guilty. He relied on the news reports. He relied on court-verdicts. He was a person, like any of us.

L was reputed as being able to solve any case. Before Kira, there had never been a single case in which L was involved, left unsolved. Even then, during the Kira epoch, he had narrowed the suspects down to two people, but he required a proof to prosecute them. In the end, these individuals were found guilty. L lost his life to the case, but he was avenged.

The first time I read this story, I agreed with Kira. It's a very human question. Do we kill those who hurt us? Do we show mercy?

I can't answer that for you.

What does it mean to answer?

Some advice that a Pastor gave to me:

"Don't always go looking for things to be offended about. Look instead for where there are opportunities to learn."

I come to the discourse between a man, his soul, and a teacher.

"These also stagger from wine and stumble from strong drink: Priests and prophets reel from strong drink and are befuddled by wine. They stumble because of strong drink, muddled in their visions and stumbling in their judgments. For all their tables are covered with vomit; there is not a place without filth."

I am reminded of a dream that I was in, ten years ago.

I had prepared a dinner for a gathering of people. They began to eat. One by one, every person started vomiting copiously, until a black sludge was quickly dripping from the table... covering it entirely.

I stood there, frozen in horror yet pride. I had the resolve of someone who plans to murder his neighbors, yet the little birdcage in my heart was crashing around. A shrill voice: "You are wrong!"

She doesn't want me to do it. "It". What even is it? Something conceived, but I could build blueprints for anything. I could build an amusement park. I could create love.

"It" didn't exist before I planned "it". It doesn't exist in the natural world.

“I do not want to die to descend into your darkness.” “But,” she said, “you need not die. You must only let yourself be buried.” “In the hope of resurrection? No joking now!” But she spoke calmly: “You suspect what will happen. Triple walls before you and invisibility—to Hell with your longing and feeling! At least you do not love us, so we will cost you less dearly than the men who roll in your love and patience and have you make a fool of yourself.” “My dead one, I think you are speaking my language.” She replied to me scornfully: “Men love—and you! What an error! All this means is that you want to run away from yourself. What do you do to men? You tempt and coax them into megalomania, to which you fall victim.” “But it grieves me, pains me, howls at me; I feel a great longing, everything soft complains, and my heart yearns.” But she was unsparing. “Your heart belongs to us,” she said, “What do you want with men? Self-defense against men—so that you walk on your own two feet, not on human crutches. Men need the undemanding, but they are always wanting love to be able to run away from themselves. This ought to stop. Why do fools go out and preach the gospel to the negroes, and then ridicule it in their own country? Why do these hypocritical preachers speak of love, divine and human love, and use the same gospel to justify the right to wage war and commit murderous injustice? Above all, what do they teach others when they themselves stand up to their necks in the black mud of deception and self-deceit? Have they cleaned their own house, have they recognized and driven out their own devil? Because they do none of this, they preach love to be able to run away from themselves, and to do to others what they should do to themselves. But this greatly prized love, given to one’s own self, burns like fire. These hypocrites and liars have noticed this—as you have—and prefer to love others. Is that love? It is false hypocrisy. It always begins in yourself and in all things and above all with love. Do you believe that one who wounds himself unsparingly does the other a good deed with his love? No, of course you don’t believe it. You even know that he only teaches the other how one must wound oneself, so that he can compel others to express sympathy. Therefore you should be a shadow since this is what men need. How can they get away from the hypocrisy and foolishness of your love if you yourself cannot? For everything begins with yourself. But your horse still cannot refrain from whinnying. Even worse, your virtue is a wagging dog, a growling dog, a licking dog, a barking dog—and you call that human love! But love is: to bear and endure oneself. It begins with this. It is truly about you; you are not yet tempered; other fires must yet come over you until you have accepted your solitude and learned to love. What do you ask about love? What is love? To live, above all, that is more than love. Is war love? You are bound to see what human love is still good enough for—a means like other means. Therefore, above all, solitude, until every softness toward yourself has been burnt out of you. You should learn to freeze.””

“I see only graves before me,” I answered, “what cursed will is above me?” “The will of the God, that is stronger than you, you slave, you vessel. You have fallen into the hands of the greater. He knows no pity. Your Christian shrouds have fallen, the veils that blinded your eyes. The God has become strong again. The yoke of men is lighter than the yoke of the God; therefore everyone seeks to yoke the other out of mercy. But he who does not fall into the hands of men falls into those of the God. May he be well and may woe betide him! There is no escape.” “Is that freedom?” I cried. “The highest freedom. Only the God above you, through yourself, Comfort yourself with this and that as well as you can. The God bolts doors that you cannot open. Let your feelings whimper like puppies. The ears on high are deaf.” “But,” I answered, “is there no outrage for the sake of the human?” “Outrage? I laugh at your outrage. The God knows only power and creation. He commands and you act. Your anxieties are laughable. There is only one road, the military road of the Godhead.” The dead one spoke these unsparing words to me. As I did not want to obey anyone, I had to obey this voice. And she spoke unsparing words about the power of the God. I had to accept these words. We have to greet a new light, a blood-red sun, a painful wonder. No one forces me to; only the foreign will in me commands and I cannot escape since I find no grounds to do so.

Continue reading...

As the discourse continues, the man says things in manners which would I would have taken as deep offense, were I a woman with no clue of what it is to be a man.

"Man", What definition of man? Cultural? Biological?

We return to the question: "Nature or Nurture?"

I grew up being taught in an English language. There are separate words for man and woman, and she and he. As I changed, strangers began to believe I was a "Sir", without any flounce or pomp... I looked in the mirror and I saw a male face staring back at me. My definition of "man" began to change from "someone who I am not", to "someone who I can be." Men had seemed "the other", "the one who I am not". The "hetero" in "heterosexuality". The different.

"Man as an assumed default, appearing as a threat to the womanly." "I am not a 'he'. People do not call me 'he', so I do not know what it is to be a 'he', or an assumed man... The word they give me is 'girl', 'a she'.

"A language teacher | know explained that grammar is just the way we chart relationships in language. Maybe it also reflects our relationships with each other." --- Learning the Grammar of Animacy

This is the story of a woman who grew up speaking a foreign tongue.

I hear my own story, too.

My family had to leave behind their home country. In childhood, I wasn't taught my native language. Yet, there is such a familiarity, as if it was spoken in my dreams. The shape of words: a way of knowing the world. It's almost like I knew the shape of the words on my tongue, and the meaning of that shape... Example:

I used to be obsessed with the sound "nyeh"! (not how Joey says it, here, but more like "ni-yehh"; or "nyaa" with an "-eh" instead of "-aa".) THIS IS HOW YOU SAY "NO!" IN POLISH! It's spelled "nie". I knew the meaning, before I knew the intellectual justification. I would draw anime-characters grumpily saying "NYEH!" as a sound of defiance.

Speaking life into my home language...

I've heard it asked, postulated... "Does everything happen for a reason?"

If I hadn't changed, then I may or may not have changed my mindset regarding cultural-gender. Who knows? God does.

I believe in the power of possibility, so I shouldn't preclude any other cures from the repertoire of fate.

Perhaps I want to see good in my sorrows. Gold amongst sand, yet... does your hunger delude you? Does it stray you off into far valleys in search of an alien boon?

Ah... Ah-ah-ah...

[thegoddessthemis]

Standing Up Against Challenges: A Defining Moment in Community Leadership (Blog)

It's been quite a journey since my last blog entry. Last Thursday marked a crucial meeting with my fellow Board of Trustees, where we delved into a range of issues concerning our condominium community. The gathering wasn't short of its share of drama, but it turned into a defining moment that showcased the strength and unity within our community.

One of the pressing matters we discussed was the notorious elevator problem that has plagued us for some time now. The good news is that progress is being made as elevator replacements are underway, promising a resolution to this ongoing concern. Our commitment to addressing these issues head-on demonstrates our dedication to creating a better living experience for all residents.

However, no community is immune to disagreements, and our situation was no exception. A group of dissenting members of the community, whom I passionately refer to as the "2-dissenting-idiot-Board Members and their hoodlums," initiated a series of never-ending Barangay mediations. These actions led to tensions within our community, yet it was heartening to witness the resilience of our fellow board members who stood up against these adversities.

During the meeting, the topic of my appointment and role within the community surfaced. While most were in favor of me taking on the responsibility of being the communications liaison with our lawyers, one of the dissenting members opposed this notion vehemently. This led to a heated exchange of words, where baseless accusations were thrown my way. Despite the attempt to tarnish my reputation, I took a stand against these false allegations.

In a moment of clarity, I passionately defended myself against the unfounded claims made by the dissenting member. I refused to let bullying and malicious intent define my leadership and character. I confronted this individual, questioning the authenticity of their claims and even hinting that their words might have been influenced by external sources, such as automated tools or tutors. This bold stance resonated with my fellow board members, who rallied behind me and reiterated their support.

As the tension grew, the dissenting member attempted to adjourn the meeting. However, the united front of our board members prevailed, reminding him that his actions would not impact our quorum or decision-making process. He reluctantly stayed, putting on a brave face while waiting for the meeting to conclude.

The encounter left me both shaken and empowered. I'm grateful for the opportunity to face this challenge head-on and stand up against bullying tactics. It's a testament to the strength of our community that we can collectively overcome obstacles and work towards positive change.

Looking ahead, I'm excited to collaborate with the dedicated Board of Trustees and our passionate volunteers to drive change within our community. Together, we will continue to address concerns, foster unity, and create a living environment that we can all be proud of.

[starryevermore]

do not chastise the dove (5) ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley

do not chastise the dove ✧ a royal moon knight au | ao3 | pinterest board

pairing: knight!steven grant x fem!princess!reader x knight!marc spector x knight!jake lockley

series summary: you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you. 

chapter summary: the pieces start to come together.

word count: 3,449

warnings?: discussion of affair, discussion of dubcon, mention of miscarriage, shitty police officer, mention of anxiety, not proofread

It was almost scary how much Charlotte looked like Kieran. Some part of you had deluded yourself that perhaps it was a trick of the light in the photo, something that was misleading about their likeness. But, staring her in the face now…Looking at the same slope of the nose, the same color eyes, the same hair color…It made it incredibly obvious how little Kieran looked like you and your mother, how he only barely looked like your father. 

Charlotte sunk into a curtsy as you stood in front of her. “Your Highness.”

“Please, don’t do that. I don’t like those kinds of formalities,” you said. She rose back up, her hands clasped in front of her. You’d seen the maids stand in a similar position many times over the years as they waited to be directed to do a job. Old habits die hard, you supposed. You held your hand out to her, and said, “I’m Y/N. This is my fiancé Marc, and my bodyguard Layla. And I’m sure you already know Jessica. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Charlotte, ma’am. Please, come inside,” she said, shaking your hand. 

Charlotte’s home was quaint. It wasn’t much bigger than the safe house, and it was styled in a similar minimalist manner. You wondered if that was truly Charlotte’s decorating style, or if it was just another way for your father to exert control over her. Even with her being hidden away from the rest of the kingdom, he still had her pinned under his thumb. She led all of you to the living room, taking a seat in an armchair, inviting the rest of you to make yourselves comfortable. You sat between Marc and Layla on the couch, Jessica electing to sit on the arm of the couch next to Layla. 

“I’m sure you have many questions,” Charlotte said to you. “I don’t know how much Jessica has explained to you or how much you’ve figured out on your own, but you can ask me anything you wish.”

“I don’t know where to begin,” you admitted. It was all still such a surprise to you. To have it confirmed that your family had been waiting to kill you and finding out that your brother was the child of an affair and that affair had been hidden all these years? All in one day? It was overwhelming to say the least. “…Why don’t you tell me how the story starts?”

Charlotte nodded, looking down at her lap, a shuddering breath escaping her. “I was young. I just begun working at the palace. I’d hoped for more back then. I wanted to work in a museum or an archive. I went to school for that, you know. But I was too young, a woman, and inexperienced. I was lucky to even get a job at the palace. I kept my head down, for the most part. I didn’t exactly want to be there. I wanted so much more. But money is money.”

“I hear that,” Marc muttered. At your confused glance, he explained, “I didn’t want to be a Moon Knight. But I barely finished high school. I didn’t have a lot of skillsets. We can talk about it later, if you’d like.”

You nodded, then looked back to Charlotte. “I’m so sorry. I wish you’d been able to live out your dream.”

“Maybe one day,” she said with a bittersweet smile. “I still wonder how it happened, you know. Getting the attention of the king. Like I said, I kept my head down. I mostly talked to my superiors and occasionally my coworkers when necessary. Somehow, I caught his eye. The king watched me, a lot. He never really tried to hide that. I suppose you don’t have to when you’re a man like him. It was a long time before he spoke to me, though. I had been cleaning the throne room when he came in, started talking to me. He seemed to know so much about me already. I remember him asking if I had ever seen the royal library. I hadn’t, so he took me there. That was the first time he…you know.”

Your heart clenched, hard. That library had been built for your mother. Your mother had always told you that the only reason she had accepted your father’s proposal was because he promised to build the most beautiful library in all the kingdom in the palace. Before then, the royal library was housed in an archive far, far from the palace. For your father to disrespect your mother like that…It made you see red. 

“Your mother, Elaine…She walked in on us. I never felt more humiliated. I hadn’t wanted any of that to happen, but…It’s impossible to say no to your father. He’ll manipulate and scheme until he has what he wants.”

“I understand that all too well,” you said, the anger still bubbling below the surface. You tried to not let that rage slip into your tone. Charlotte was not to blame for your father’s actions. “What did my mother do?”

“She was sympathetic. She was the kindest woman I’d ever met. We both knew there was no way to get out of the situation…That your father would harm anyone who stood in his way. But she showed me how to make things more manageable, how to keep his cruelty at bay. It didn’t always work, but it helped.” She looked away, staring out the window, taking a long pause. “And then I got pregnant, and it only got worse. He became more possessive, more cruel. He still made me work, but he also made me keep quiet about who the father of my child was. At that point, your mother had had a few miscarriages. Your father blamed her.”

Layla rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Of course he would.”

“She took a lot of pictures, Elaine did. She kept copies of ultrasounds, took pictures of important events. There were even a few home videos. Your father hated it. Early on in my pregnancy, he’d decided that he would pass off my child as his and Elaine’s. It was easy enough to do. When I first found out I was pregnant, Elaine had gotten sick. She didn’t make any public appearances for a few weeks and…When she got better, your father decided to cancel all of them for the next several months, keeping up the ruse that she was six. Nine months later, he announced that an heir was born. I loved your mother, she was a great friend…But it still hurt to see her get show off my son, pretending Kieran was her own. It pained her, too, I think.”

“I know you got to stay in the palace for a while after that. I saw a picture of you at Kieran’s first birthday. When…when did they—my father—send you away?”

“Not long after that, actually,” Charlotte said. “Your father had been growing paranoid that, as Kieran got older, someone would recognize our similarities. He bought me this house, sent me away. He has his advisor…Harrow, now, but he’s sent his others before, bring me anything I wish in exchange for my silence. I’ve been alone here ever since.”

“My father…He destroyed a lot of evidence you existed. But Marc found this picture, of you at Kieran’s birthday. I wanted to know…Did you leave it behind?”

Charlotte shook her head. “That would’ve been your mother. Most of the pictures Benjamin destroyed, I later learned were copies. I think your mother always planned for the truth to come out. A few years after I was sent away, she came here. I don’t know how she managed to get here. I believe it was under guise of a doctor’s appointment outside the city. She was a few months pregnant with you, actually. It was around the time the laws changed about who could inherit the throne. It turns out, she had saved all of the pictures and videos of me being pregnant. There was even one from when I was giving birth. It was strange, though, what she managed to record.”

“What do you mean?” Marc asked. 

Charlotte glanced at him, then back to you. “She made sure to record your father talking about falsifying the birth certificate, to have himself and Elaine listed as the parents.”

Your jaw dropped. “She’d been planning this entire time to reveal Kieran was illegitimate.”

Layla looked at you, raising a brow. “Do you think your father knew?”

“It’s…It’s certainly possible. Father was almost as critical of her as he was of me. It would explain some of his animosity. Charlotte, do you still have all of those pictures and videos?”

She nodded. “I boxed them all up after Jessica came here a few days ago. I figured you all would need them.”

“Good. Because we cannot sit on this any longer. My father cannot still sit on the throne, and Kieran certainly cannot be allowed to inherit it.”

Marc’s brows furrowed together. “Wait, I don’t understand. Can you remove the king from the throne?”

“There’s a failsafe, built in nearly a century ago, when there was a lot of in-fighting between the family about who could inherit the throne. The Parliament was still new. It was their first real act, actually. If any member of the royal family attempted to kill, or succeeded in killing, an heir to the throne, then that member could never sit on the throne. Well, there was a lot more legalese to it, but that was the gist of it all,” you said. “If we manage to put it out there that my father organized the assassination attempt…Then Parliament would remove him from the throne.”

Marc looked at you, his brows furrowed together. “How do you know all of these laws off the top of your head?”

“I thought that memorizing all of the laws would make my father proud of me. I thought it would show him that I was dedicated,” you said. “It didn’t work. But, in any case, it’s helpful now at least.”

Jessica raised a brow at you. “Do you have a plan?”

“Do you have any way of getting in contact with Karen Page? She’s the only journalist I trust.”

“Karen? Yeah, I know her. Won’t be a problem.” She looked at Marc. “What about him? We’re not going to be able to get anything done with everyone looking for him.”

“I can go on my own,” Marc said. “If we get back in the city, I can cause a distraction. That’ll give you all time to get to the news station. But, uh, I don’t suppose you know any lawyers, do you know?”

Jessica snorted. “I know of a couple of good ones.”

“Fantastic,” you said. “Charlotte, you can say no if you wish. But I have to ask…Would you mind joining us in exposing the truth?”

“It would be an honor, Your Highness. It’s about time someone gave the king hell.”

“Then let’s get everything together and go.”

“Alright, but someone else has to drive. I made an exception to my personal rule just this one time, but I’m not doing it again,” Jessica said, tossing the car keys on the coffee table.

You watched as Marc’s face shifted, Jake now fronting. Jake grabbed the keys. “I’ll drive.”

“Where is the princess?”

“I’m not answering anything until my lawyers get here.”

The officer narrowed his eyes at Jake before slamming his hands down on the table. “You’re gonna telling me where you fucking took the princess,” he snarled. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything until my lawyers get here,” Jake said, leaning back in his chair. His hands were cuffed, so it was hard to find a comfortable position to sit in, but he maintained an air of nonchalance. He could tell that it was getting under the officer’s skin. “So why don’t you just run along and go to a donut shop until they get here, yeah? Might be able to actually find a coupla criminals out there if you did. ‘Cause you sure as hell don’t have one in front of you.”

Be careful, Marc muttered. Don’t give him a reason to actually throw us in prison. 

We could take ‘im, Steven argued. 

And that would just make things even worse for us!, Marc snapped. We have a plan. We need to stick to it. Keep our heads down, wait for our lawyers to show up. Alright? We can’t afford to mess this up.

Jake elected to ignore their pickering. 

The officer leaned forward, so close that Jake could tell his breath. It was gross. An odd mixture of stale coffee and Marlboro Reds. It took everything in Jake to not show his disgust. He knew if he did, the officer would find some way to use it to his advantage. “Now you fuckin’ listen here, you better start talking or I’ll hit you so fuckin’ hard that you—”

“I hope you don’t think you can speak to our client like that.”

Jake looked over at the two men who entered the interrogation room. One was slightly taller than the other with short, dark brown hair, wore red sunglasses, and carried a white can. The other had long blonde hair. Both were well-dressed in their suits, the blond carrying a briefcase. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson, attorneys at law. 

“Because if you were,” Foggy continued from his previous sentence, “I do recall there being laws that prohibit the use of physical coercion.”

The officer’s lip curled as he looked at the two men. “We’re in the middle of a fuckin’ investigation here.”

“And our client is still entitled to his rights,” Matt said. “We would like a few moments to speak to our client.”

The officer looked between the two lawyers as if he were sizing them up, trying to figure out if there was a way for him to shut them down, to keep them out of the interrogation room, to deny their requests. But, reluctantly, and almost surprisingly, the officer stepped towards the door, muttering that they get fifteen minutes, before leaving them alone. 

Matt and Foggy sat at the table with Jake. No one said anything for a beat, then two. Finally, Matt said, “The princess is safe, if you’re wondering.”

Jake glanced at the two-way mirror. “Are you sure it’s safe to talk about that? While I was more than happy to do this, I don’t actually want to end up in prison.”

“Those cops might be stupid, but they’re not going to totally ruin their investigation. If they want to listen in, they’re going to need a warrant,” Foggy explained. “Until they present one, we are still protected by attorney-client privilege.”

Jake nodded. It didn’t stop the uneasiness from weighing down on him. He’d dealt with cops a lot, both before and after becoming a Moon Knight. He knew the system well enough to know that they don’t follow the rules, that the rules are only enforced when it serves them. If they wanted to break a rule, they would do it and deal with the mess later. 

“Did they all get there okay?” Jake asked. 

Matt nodded. “Layla has been sending updates every step of the way. Everything is going exactly according to plan. But until then—”

Foggy’s phone went off, cutting Matt off from finishing his sentence. Foggy fished his phone out of his pocket, reading over the notification, before looking up at Jake. “They’re starting.”

Matt Jake, “We’re going to have to be ready for the fallout.”

And as Jake glanced at the two-way mirror again, seeing the reflections of Steven and Marc stare back at him, he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for the mess that was about to be made. 

“Thank you for doing this,” you said to Charlotte, the two of you watching as Karen compiled the information Jessica had given to her into a comprehensive news story. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

After Jake had driven into the city, he split off from the rest of the group. Layla took over driving, making sure that you, Charlotte, and Jessica all arrived at the station. Jessica, who was friends (acquaintances? you weren’t entirely sure—you just knew they had a good enough relationship that Jessica could ask for a favor) with Karen, was able to sneak you into the station. That was the imperative part, if you were being honest. If one person saw you that wasn’t supposed to see you yet…Well, it could be game over. You would be taken right back to your family, and by the time the information was leaked…You weren’t sure you would get to live to see the aftermath. 

That’s why Jake served as a distraction. While you all were busy at the news station, he let the police catch him, let them think they had done something right. His role was just as risky. By letting the police arrest him, there was a decent chance that they might just throw him straight into prison, lock the door, throw away the key. But you were banking on the police trying to interrogate him and Jake wasting their time with non-answers. You weren’t entirely sure what your father said when you were reported as missing, but you were sure that the “finding you alive” part of it was important so that he could have you killed on his own terms. Jake was the key to finding you, and your father was not going to let any information Jake may have go to waste.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what’s right,” Charlotte said. 

You, Charlotte, Layla, and Jessica all hid in Karen’s dressing room. Karen eventually was going to go out to start the evening news program before derailing it with breaking news coverage. After she gave a run down of the facts, an interview with yourself and Charlotte would begin, using a laptop Karen had given you to televise your end of the interview. 

You were nervous about what was to come. Your father had no power to stop a broadcast—especially not one as serious as this—but that did not mean he would try to disprove your words. Or worse, he may attempt to run before anyone could catch him. And you weren’t entirely sure which was a worse outcome. 

“The right thing to do is rarely the easy thing to do.” 

Before Charlotte could respond, Karen bid all of you farewell, disappearing out of the room. The anxiety began to set in. You usually tried to hide the signs, so used to your father chastising you for showing yourself as anything other than a perfect princess. But, now…Now, you let your foot tap on the floor, you let your fingers drum against your thigh, you let yourself play with your hair. 

There was a TV hanging in the corner of the room, and Layla turned the volume up when Karen began to speak. 

“Breaking news out of the capital this evening: Despite Marc Spector’s recent arrest in connection with Princess Y/N’s attempted assassination, a private investigation has revealed that the story is far more complex than previously believed. Spector, the investigation reveals, had nothing to do with the event. The true culprit? The King himself.”

Karen paused, and in that pause, Jessica reported to you, “Social media’s already going crazy.”

“Already?” you repeated. “It’s not even been a minute!”

“Beloved princess nearly killed by father? You don’t need a minute for that to blow up.”

“The motive? Well, that’s where it gets complicated,” Karen continued. “Evidence has shown that Prince Kieran, the apparent child of an affair between the king and a now-former maid is not the true heir to the throne. After destroying nearly everything that proved the affair had happened, the King had hoped to hide his infidelity. With the death of the Queen and paying off that former-maid, Princess Y/N was the only thing standing in the way. Yet, everything attempt the King made to hide his affair ended in failure. We now turn to the princess and the former maid to learn the truth behind the King’s actions.”

Layla quickly muted the TV so that it wouldn’t interfere with the interview. You grabbed Charlotte’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You got this,” you whispered. 

“So do you.”

And, oh, you hoped you did. Because you couldn’t afford to break down on television. 

[darkenedhounds]

let me take care of you.

Druig x Reader

warnings: none

genre: fluff

a/n: I’ve had so much Druig brainrot since watching Eternals, so please forgive it’s not my usual anime content. Enjoy!

______________________________

You stood beside Druig, as you always did. A step in front of him, and only those who’d ever care to watch you carefully would notice the gesture. It was intentional, calculated. Druig recognized it, and for you it was instinctual. It was protective, even though you had little to nothing you’d need to protect your beloved Druig from.

He stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You can relax, y’know.” A light chuckle making its way past his lips. You didn’t falter, your eyes didn’t meet his.

“Who says I wasn’t relaxed already?”

“Your body, darling.”

You turned to him, your eyebrow raised in a silent “excuse me?”. Druig shook his head, chuckling once more.

“No, no, not like that love. Your shoulders as as tense as they come, you’re stiff as a board and god, do you look pissed.”

You turned away, crossing your arms.

“I’m okay Druig, really.” He believed you, he always did. This behavior of yours wasn’t abnormal, quite the contrary in fact. Druig could take care of himself, you both knew that. You’d always been this way though, standing at his side, seemingly ready to pounce on whoever seemed to be any kind of threat to your love.

He knew you did it out of love, and well, fear. You’d never admit it, and he’d never make you, but you were scared. You were scared all the time, more so then the others. Eternals, despite being equivalent to gods, still carried a great deal of fear every day. It was natural, you had the weight of the world on your shoulders every single moment of every single day. Like Atlas, it weighed you down, crushed you. All of you.

Therefore, the moment you had something to love, you had some thing to lose. That, now that was the scariest thing of all. So, there you stood. Every moment you could spare, was with him, by his side. Because even if you knew that you were Eternals, and he was probably stronger then you, it still eased your soul just a bit to protect him.

His guard dog, he often said. A loyal hound. You hated the nickname, the jokes and jabs. But you’d deal with it over and over again to make sure he was safe.

You both were ripped out of your thoughts once again as Ikaris entered the room, you’d been discussing your plans to halt the emergence, something he was all but happy about. He glanced Druig’s way, making some comment under his breath neither of you could catch, but you had some ideas.

“Wanna say that again?” You hissed, stepping towards the taller Eternal.

Ikaris stared past you, and it made you seethe. “What, gonna let your mutt fight your battles?” Ikaris sneered, glaring at Druig with a challenge in his eyes.

You wanted to punch his lights out, but before you got the chance to move, you were being pulled away. You wanted to thrash about in his arms, go after Ikaris, but you knew better. You loved Druig, you wouldn’t start a fight over a petty comment if he truly didn’t want you to on his behalf.

He pulled you into his room, pulling you into his chest. “You aren’t a mutt, love.” He chuckled, breaking the silence. You breathed out a laugh, nodding. You knew.

“You don’t have to protect me from everything, y’know.”

You nodded. You knew this too.

He led you to his bed, laying down and pulling you down with him. You shifted, at first pulling his face towards your chest, but he didn’t let you. He normally did. “What,”

You didn’t have time to finish your thought before you were nestled against his chest. You breathed in his scent for a moment, eyes immediately glancing towards the door.

“Hey, none of that.” Druig murmured. “This is a safe place, relax, my dear.”

You wanted to, but you didn’t. It seemed like you never did. The thought dawned on Druig, and it saddened him. He thought back, and sure enough, he couldn’t think of many times when you ever did. You always held him, even if he held you at the same time. You always watched the room like a hawk, always stood a little in front of him. Always watched those around you a little bit too closely, and he felt his chest tighten.

He was strong, yes. But he was stubborn, and he didn’t have the best impulse control. You watched out for him, kept him safe even when he didn’t need it. Not once, he realized, did anyone do that for you. Frankly, he wasn’t sure you even thought to want it.

So, he held you close to him, running his hand along your hair, waiting as your body slowly and slowly relaxed into his arms.

“Let me have a turn on watch, okay? I’m here, I’m safe. You’re safe.” He murmured, and you wanted to believe him. But still, your eyes wandered, your head spun.

“Daring,” he started. “Rest, please. I have it from here, just, for once, let me take care of you.”

He almost sounded desperate, it wasn’t a tone you heard from the man often, but it got your attention. So, you relaxed against him. You breathed him in, and nestled your face against his chest. He held you, just held you.

for once, that was enough. You felt safe enough, and for the first time in a long time, it was you who was taken care of.

[moonlit-imagines]

warnings:

a/n:

requested by anonymous

While your sister hated—no, despised your father, you sort of looked up to him. You thought he was a badass and wanted to be just like him, which led you down a dark, dark path. So dark that you ended up in Louisiana. And prison. Needless to say, your dad was pissed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Robert shouted at you in front of all the teasing inmates. “How many times did I tell you that you needed to keep your distance, to not follow in my footsteps?” You stood sternly, staring him in the eyes.

“It’s in my blood. I did what I had to do.” You told him just before you were interrupted by none other than Amanda Waller.

“Dubois. Dubois Junior. We need to talk.” She said and led you into a more private setting to discuss sensitive material such as this. “You two have been chosen for your unique abilities for a mission on my Black Ops team. If you complete the mission, you get ten years off your prison sentence. If you fail, you die.” Your father was in no way on board, but you were on the edge about it. After some pushback, you were both added to the team.

“Absolutely not, y/n. I want you to have no part in this. Waller is far too dangerous to be trusted.” Your dad began to argue with you, but you dreamed of going on missions with him.

“Ten years off my sentence, huh? I would have thought you’d want me out here sooner rather than later?” You crossed your arms and stared at his expression that grew more and more upset as the seconds went by, and then:

“Fuck!” He shouted and turned around, taking a few steps away. “You know what? Fine. Let’s go fuck up your life some more. Happy? Are all of you happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Waller answered in a monotone voice. “Alright, let’s get started.”

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @yukh3ic0re // @randomfandomimagine // @summersimmerus //

[universitypenguin]

Chapter Thirteen

Author's Note: Here we are on Chapter Thirteen. I hope you enjoy this part. There's no smut, but sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the sake of plot.

Word Count: 4,059

Masterlist

Warnings: Smut, explicit content, 18+ readers only, minors dni

Chapter Thirteen

The autumn wind cut through your cotton tights, exposed underneath your wool coat, making you shudder from the chill. The day was even colder than they had predicted it to be. Your hands clenched in your pockets. As much as you wanted to rock back and forth to generate some warmth, you held still. There were thirty news cameras focused on you at the moment.

In front of the museum, a posse of reporters and news crews had formed for the post-robbery press conference. It felt as if every outlet from CNN to your local Fox 2 station had come out of the woodwork. The board hadn’t done a conference the morning after the event. Annabelle had reluctantly agreed to wait twenty-four hours before issuing a statement. She’d wanted to get ahead of the news. The board insisted the preliminary findings be considered before they responded to the flurry of press.

Annabelle stood at a wooden lectern with the front gate of the mansion closed behind her as a backdrop. The front of the museum was still cordoned off with crime scene tape, leaving the only option for the press event to be held on the front sidewalk. Annabelle’s face was stiff as she listened to a reporter’s question. The wind had chapped her skin and the tan beret she wore to keep her hair in place against the wind was cockeyed.

“The authorities have been pursuing several active leads,” Annabelle said. “We’re not at liberty to discuss what they’ve disclosed to us.”

“Is it true that the paintings may have been taken to South America to be used as collateral in the cocaine trafficking industry?”

Annabelle pursed her lips, a subtle sign of disapproval. “The paintings from the St. Louis Art Museum that were recently recovered in Colombia have been brought to our attention. We’re aware of the history of stolen art surfacing in that region. Right now, all theories are being discussed.”

From the back, another reporter raised his arm. “Director Lexington, is it true the FBI is pursuing a lead regarding the involvement of local organized crime?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Suddenly, a wave of nausea so intense you had to shut your eyes against it washed over you. Taking a deep breath through your nose and letting it out of your mouth, you forced the sick feeling down. Annabelle’s fingers curled into a half fist with the distal knuckles left straight. From your position behind her and to the left, the movement caught your attention.

A cold sweat broke out on your skin.

The rest of the conference was a blur. After seeing Annabelle’s tell, the signal she gave whenever she was hiding something, you were fighting panic. Local organized crime could mean many things. The Irish Mafia weren’t the only operators in town.

Ari would never hurt you like this. Steve and Andy, they’d never hurt you like this either.

But they had access to your keys. Ari and Steve had been in the museum before. They knew the layout and probably knew what works were on display, given that they’d bought a piece in July. Steve had even come by a few times to take you to lunch. What other mafia members had such close ties to the Avalon Carter Museum? It took the intern bumping you in the shoulder to get you to move after the conference wrapped up. Jumping at the contact, you mustered a smile for his apology and sought out Annabelle. She had lines around her eyes and looked as if she’d aged ten years since the robbery. When she caught sight of you, she straightened her shoulders.

“Y/N, could you get me the number of that reporter? The one who asked about local organized crime?”

Your eyes darted to the man in the calf length camel coat. “Why him?”

“Just get it.”

The brusque reply was like a slap. Annabelle was already walking away, down the sidewalk towards the gate that led to the side entrance of the museum. The police still claimed the main doors as part of the crime scene. She hadn’t meant it like that, you assured yourself. It was just a stressful time.

You crossed the street to the corner, where the reporter stood next to a Lincoln MKZ. He was tapping on his phone with one finger.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Just a second.” His mouth twitched as he squinted at the phone.

When he finished typing, he held the screen out to a distance and re-read what he’d written. Then he sent the message. A whooshing sound accompanied the text being dispatched.

The man turned. When he saw you, he raised his eyebrows.

“Miss Y/L/N. A pleasure to meet you. I’m Everett O’Connor, with The Globe.”

“Director Lexington asked me to get your contact information.”

He looked you up and down, his eyes gleaming with suspicion. “Why me?”

“I didn’t ask. Do you have a card or shall I take down your number?”

“Do you know who I am, Miss?”

He knew your name. Suddenly, your guts twisted. You tried to play it cool. But your internal alarm was screaming. A sense of danger you knew better than to ignore hung in the air.

Everett grinned. “So, you don’t know. I’m not an art reporter and I don’t cover the social scene. I’ve been covering the crime beat since ‘91.”

“Well, this is a crime. So that makes sense.”

“I know you used to date Andy Barber. He’s Irish Mafia, probably the head of the group if my sources are correct.”

“That was in college. Listen, do you want to give me your information? Or shall I just look you up online?”

He reached into his coat and handed you a card.

“If you think I’m the only one who knows about your connection to the Irish Mafia, think again. The FBI will be on your trail in no time.”

“I have nothing to hide. And we don’t know what happened.”

His expression turned condescending. “Open your eyes, girl. Art thefts are uncommon. Doing something on this scale? It’s national news. Carting off thirty million in art isn’t something a regular thief would pull.”

“I had no idea. They never mentioned it. Not once, even when I was training as an art historian or getting my certifications in museum security. Thank you for that brand new piece of information, Mr. O’Connor.”

Everett’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Did you know the FBI executed a warrant today? They pulled in several Albanian mobsters for questioning this morning.”

Your heart leapt. Hope made your breath catch.

“They let them go. So either they have damn good lawyers or rock solid alibis. Even good lawyers don’t get you out that fast. Since it doesn’t appear to be the Albanians, there’s only one other crew capable of pulling something this sophisticated.”

“There are surely other gangs. This is a big city.”

“Sure. The Mexicans are running the drug business like they’re Jeff Bezos. The Italians are pulling online scams and extorting local businesses for protection money. We’ve even got skinheads over on the south side. They mostly light shit on fire, do meth, and beat up anyone stupid enough to cross them. And the Triad lost its foothold here six years ago when the Mexicans claimed their territory.”

“This is such a great history lesson, but I’m running short on time,” you said, crossing your arms.

“There are two smart criminals in this town,” Everett said. “That’s Andy Barber and Lirim Dervishi. That’s the entire list, the Irish boss and the Albanian. So if I were you, I’d be checking with my associates and figuring out who I could really trust. Have a nice day, Miss.”

- - - - - - - - -

You moved through the rest of your day in a daze.

Internally, you were shaking. On the surface, you were pinched with dark circles under your eyes. When you looked in the car mirror, you winced at the sight of your reflection. The radio was off as you drove home. Tonight, the noise in your head was enough of a distraction and more input was the last thing you wanted. You’d been hoping the quiet would help you clear your head, but by the time you rolled into the garage at home, your head was pounding.

Andy was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious on the stove. With a sigh of relief, you approached him from behind and slid your arms around his waist.

“Hey, baby,” you murmured, burrowing into his back.

“How was work?” he asked. With his free hand, he reached back to stroke your hip.

“Not great. What’s in the pot?”

“Garlic butter sauce for the salmon.”

You groaned and squeezed him. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Andy chuckled. “Ari can’t cook. You can, but hate it, and Steve works late. Kitchen duty was always my fate.”

“We’re in your debt. How was your day?”

“Boring.”

It was his usual side step, one you were used to hearing. Tonight, it made your belly churn and your skin prickle with anxiety. Andy turned around and drew you into a tight hug. Your eyes closed, and you sank into his arms.

“You give the best hugs.”

“Mmmhhh. You looked as if you desperately needed one.”

His big hand swept up and down your back in steady motions that soothed. You sighed and let the tension go. It wasn’t him. He and Ari would never hurt you.

Well… Ari would never hurt you. Andy was a different story.

You pulled away, disgusted with yourself for the thought. Andy had protected you during a gang war. The way he’d gone about that was unfortunate, but his heart had been in the right place.

“Are you okay?” Andy’s hand came up to cup your cheek. “You look as if you haven’t slept since the news broke.”

“I don’t think I have,” you said.

He nodded. “You kept tossing and turning last night. I think you need a hot meal and an early night, duchess.”

The pot on the stove bubbled, and he lowered the temperature. Andy gave the dish a stir and lifted the pan off the heat. As he moved it to the front burner, the scent wafted up, hitting your nose with an intense odor of garlic. You liked garlic. But suddenly it smelled rancid. Your stomach twisted in agony. You bolted, sprinting towards the bathroom. You’d barely made it to the toilet before you were wrenching, vomiting up the half of a sandwich you’d forced into your nervous stomach for lunch. Andy arrived in time to grab your hair, holding it back as you finished puking. You slumped against the bowl for a second, then pushed back into a crouch, wiping your mouth.

“Are you okay?”

You shook your head and groaned. “It’s just anxiety. I’m fine, I promise.”

When you moved to get up, your head went light, and the room spun. Your vision turned dark for a split second before you went down to your knees.

“Damn it! Are you okay? What did you eat for lunch?” Andy asked.

“A sandwich.”

He sighed. “You’re going to at least try to eat something tonight. If you don’t feel sick. Have you thought about seeing a doctor?”

“A doctor won’t make me less stressed. My museum was robbed. I should feel stressed out. Anyone in my position would.”

Andy carefully helped you up. You moved around him to get a bottle of mouthwash out of the medicine cabinet. After your teeth were brushed and you’d washed the sweat from your face, you felt better. Throwing up had actually done wonders for your stomach. By the time Steve and Ari came in for dinner, you had an appetite.

No one talked about the robbery during the meal. Ari argued with Steve over the upcoming World Series, and Andy refused to place a substantial bet with one of Ari’s sports bookies.

Ari rolled his eyes and looked at you.

“They’re idiots, sweetheart. One has no taste in baseball and the other is a penny-pincher. You should run away with me to Tahiti. We could live in a villa by the sea.”

“Can I take my two favorite pets with me?”

Andy and Steve snickered and smirked at their younger brother.

“The cockroaches under the sink could be smuggled through customs. But if we left them here, I’m sure the boys would look after them.”

Steve threw a napkin at Ari. “Screw you. And the Dodgers are going to lose.”

“Kernshaw’s pitching-”

“Is a small part of the game,” Steve said.

They devolved into an argument, and you turned your head to hide a yawn. Andy’s keen eyes noticed the action. He took your hand and stood, a supportive arm around your back as you got up.

Ari and Steve stopped arguing and turned with mirrored frowns. If you’d had the energy, their duplicate expressions would have made you smile.

“You okay, doll? You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine, I just need an early night.”

With weariness pulling at you, you let Andy pack you off to bed.

- - - - - - - - - -

It was almost dawn when you woke up alone. The rumpled sheets told you Andy had recently gotten up. From the living room, you could hear voices. Your robe was laid over the bench at the foot of the bed. Slipping it on, you stepped onto the hardwood floor of the hallway and listened. The tones of Andy and Ari’s voices were clear. Their words came in clipped sentences, followed by a softer interjection from Steve. Curious, you crept down the hall to the corner of the kitchen.

Ari was agitated. “She needs to see a doctor.”

“It’s been a single day. She only threw up once,” Andy said.

“Oh, come on. There’s no reason to wait. Anxiety isn’t something you should leave untreated.”

“There’s a difference between clinical anxiety and a stressful event,” Steve said.

“She threw up.”

“In her defense, I put a lot of garlic in the sauce,” Andy said.

“What if I talked to her?” Steve asked.

Ari grunted. “You’d know if she had anxiety, right?”

“Not if she’s determined to hide it. You can’t diagnose what someone refuses to admit. But she needs a shoulder to lean on while things at work are crazy. We can help her by being there for her.”

“How?” Ari pressed.

“It’s probably not telling her she’s mentally ill and drugging her after a fluke incident,” Andy said.

“I suggested an appointment, not a drug regimen, you asshole.”

“Alright, both of you. Get a move on. We can fight about this later. I’m going to talk to her. I’ll let you know what she says. Now get out of here before she wakes up.”

There were grumbled comments, but footsteps sounded, moving away from you and towards the front door. After a moment, the opening and shutting of the door indicated that the younger brothers had left.

“They’re gone. You can come out now,” Steve said.

Drawing the robe tight and knotting the belt again, you stepped around into the kitchen. Steve leaned against the counter, his feet crossed at the ankles. He was dressed in slim fitting khaki pants and a gingham button down. When he saw the robe and your messy hair, he smiled.

“How did you sleep?”

“Good. It sounds like I really freaked Ari out.”

“Andy too,” Steve said.

You rubbed a hand over your face. “Crap.”

“Don’t do that. You don’t need to worry about how they feel. But you’re extremely stressed and if there’s any way we can help, we will.”

Here was your chance. Steve wasn’t involved in the mafia anymore. He hadn’t been since late summer. If you wanted to ask about the robbery, he’d be your best source of information. But asking felt too much like accusing. You didn’t want to bring this to them because you didn’t believe they were responsible. They wouldn’t do this. You trusted them completely. So you gave Steve a partial truth.

“I haven’t been feeling well, even before the robbery. It’s just a mild bug, and the stress is making me relapse. Give me a week, I’ll be fine.”

Steve frowned and reached out to press the back of his hand to your forehead.

“You’re a little warm, babe. Maybe a doctor's appointment isn’t such a bad idea.”

You made a face. “I’m not doctor level sick.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“Back aches mainly, muscle pain that was centered in my hips. I think I had a low grade fever for a while and I’ve been sleeping a lot more. Recently I’ve been nauseous, but it’s not frequent.”

“That doesn’t sound much like the flu. Has anyone at your work been sick? Did you take your temperature?”

Steve fussed, particularly after you said you were going to work, but you stuck to your guns. In the end, he walked you to the garage and hovered in the entryway, watching you back out. You knew the second you were gone, he’d be on the phone with his brothers.

At work, you were among the first to arrive.

The door to Annabelle’s office was slightly ajar. You could hear her coffee machine brewing. On a normal morning, you wouldn’t have hesitated to walk in and say good morning. Today, you went straight to your office. Your answering machine was full of messages and your email was even worse. Since you didn’t know who to reply to, you sorted the messages into an archive folder for future reference. One email was from Everett O’Connor.

That one you opened. There was no text, just a picture. It showed Ari standing outside a bar with two men, one of whom was Steve. The smaller man was Jackson. Your blood ran cold at the sight of your ex. Since watching him walk to the elevator three months ago, you hadn’t thought about him, other than when his deposits hit your account.

A heavy knock on your door jolted you back to reality.

“Come in!”

A short man with a neatly trimmed mustache stepped into your office. Your stomach lurched on a sudden wave of nausea. If it was from the man, or the sickly sweet scent of his cologne, you couldn’t tell. The FBI agent shut the door behind him and approached your desk.

You kept your greeting cordial. “Agent Baratelle, what can I do for you?”

“Miss Y/L/N, I was wondering if you could spare a moment of your time.”

You hit the hotkeys to minimize all your windows, hiding the picture of Ari. The Special Agent didn’t take a seat in the guest chairs. Instead, he wandered to the windows that looked out over the back lot of the museum where the employees parked.

“How are you holding up since the robbery?”

“I’ve been better,” you said.

He gave an understanding smile that felt performative, like he practiced it in the mirror. Did they ask FBI agents to master their empathetic face at the academy? Probably not. If they did, Baratelle would have failed out.

“Of course. I was wondering, have you heard or seen anything from the employees that you felt was unusual behavior?”

You tilted your head. “Such as?”

Agent Baratelle shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“Did anyone leave town? Show up with a new purse or mention paying off their house?”

Was he actually fishing for information so basic to his investigation? Or was he working towards something bigger? Your intuition tingled. It was hard to tell if it was just your guilty conscience acting up or not. In your gut, you suspected he’d planned this visit for a good reason.

“No. I haven’t heard anything. Are criminals usually that dumb?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Agent, can we cut to the chase? This is a multimillion dollar art theft. The people who did this aren’t stupid. You came in here to talk to me about something. I’ve just arrived and I’m already drained, so just ask me whatever it is.”

He smiled, this one genuine. When he let his expression relax, he could almost be considered handsome.

“Your boyfriend is Andy Barber.”

“We dated in college-”

“You live with him. Right now. I’m not talking about college. Your updated address is at one of his legitimate real estate investment properties and he’s been spotted there regularly since July.”

Bands of steel twisted around your lungs, cutting off your oxygen.

“He’s not involved in this.”

Baratelle sighed. “I’d like to believe that, but he’s a solid lead. Too close to the incident to ignore. Does he have an alibi?”

“Not that I know of. To you, that’s insane, I get it, but I didn’t ask him or his brothers what they’ve been up to. I just know Andy would never hurt me.”

The agent moved from his seat on the window ledge and came to stand in front of your desk. He grasped the back of your guest chair and leaned his weight into it, pinning you with a stony glare.

“After your experience with Jackson Flemming, do you honestly believe that?”

You stiffened. “How do you know about that?”

“He was on your last lease. We ran a check on him. He’s pretty talented con artist, isn’t he?”

“I haven’t seen him since July.”

“Did Andy Barber have anything to do with your break up?” Baratelle asked.

“No! I was already done with Jackson but because of the theft. I just couldn’t break our lease. We were finished after I found out he’d been stealing from me.”

“What theft?”

You’d walked right into the trap. With a groan, you rubbed your forehead.

“He stole from me, okay? My credit cards, my savings accounts…” you shook your head. “He nearly cleaned me out.”

“How is your financial situation at the moment, Miss Y/L/N?”

Well, fuck. He wasn’t looking at Andy as a suspect. It was you who was in the hot seat.

“I’m doing fine, thanks for your concern,” you said dryly.

Baratelle smirked. “Prorated rent isn’t half bad, is it? Your financials show he’s charging you below market rate for the townhouse.”

“We split the cost. I’m paying half of the market rate and he’s responsible for the other half.”

“Oh, I see. An equal split. How modern of you. What about Steve Rogers and Ari Barber? Do they also pay rent?”

This was no fishing expedition. It was a test.

“No.”

“Is it uncomfortable living with your boyfriend’s family? I’ve heard from the guys on the mob beat that Ari and Andy have a tendency to go at each other’s throats.”

He should have been in your kitchen that morning. You looked him in the eye and lied without hesitation.

“No. They get along perfectly.”

Baratelle’s lips quivered, tilting upwards for a split second before he covered the slip. It was the reaction you’d been looking for. He was definitely giving you a test. This was him asking questions with the answer key already memorized.

“You know I’m lying about that, don’t you? Andy and Ari argue every single day. But despite that, they’re very close.”

He nodded. “Loyal to a fault. They’re the top suspects for the robbery.”

“So why are you questioning me?”

“Because there are two other suspects I’m looking into.”

Agent Baratelle straightened up and smiled. He looked satisfied. You had no idea what he could have gotten from your conversation that would have made him happy.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am. You have a nice rest of your day. And by the way, if you’re having trouble sleeping, try melatonin. My wife loves it because it’s natural. I wasn’t a believer in all the natural medicine hokey she follows, but that stuff really works.”

“Are the circles under my eyes that bad?”

He grinned. “Yeah. They are.”

With that, he turned around and left, leaving your office door open.

You were still staring after him when your computer chimed. An email popped up from Annabelle. When you clicked on the alert, it pulled up a message with two short lines.

Please come to my office when you’re able. We need to discuss your current work assignments.

Dread curled in your stomach. Today just wasn’t your day and if felt like it was about to get much worse.

- - - - - - - - -

Next - Chapter Fourteen

- - - - - - - - -

Masterlist

- - - - - - - - -

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[raindownforme]

Hey! I’m back with another request!

Reader and Ted practicality have all the same classes and whenever they have to do projects or work in pairs Ted without fail or shame is always like “Can she work with me! Please!” Even in front of the class So he can flirt with her during the project

She/her pronouns pls :D

Also I LOVED ORBITING JUPITER I NEVER HEAR ANYONE TALK ABOUT IT

An Ode to You

Ted Nivison x reader [she/her used]

The teacher, Mrs. Statham, smacked a stack of papers on her rolling cart. She lined the edges of them up to make it straight, then held the stack in her off arm. She turned to face the class, smiling kindly as she stood tall in her professional shoes.

“This week, we’re starting a project. You and a partner will be writing poetry based on prompts and discussing your different styles of writing. Your partner will be randomly assigned-“ the class groaned, some shutting books in protest. “Hey. It’s 9am, you think I want this either?” The class grew quiet. “Exactly. Now, I’m pulling names from a hat. First is…”

y/n leaned into her open palm, closing her eyes for a moment. She could hear students shuffling around their chairs, tennis ball covered legs scraping the cheap cement. She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back to stretch her back over the cheap school chair.

“YES.” Someone stood quickly in the opposite corner of the room, the scraping and falling sound of the chair making y/n jump. She opened her eyes to see her classmate Ted standing up in the corner with his arms upright in a cheering motion. He smiled widely, looking over towards y/n. He quickly realized his outburst, dropping his arms and pushing his glasses further onto his face. “Should I pick up that chair?”

“Yes, Ted. Then go move over to your partner.” Mrs. Statham shook her head, going back to the task she’d been working on before hand. Ted gathered his things, placing the chair back to where it belonged, and headed across the classroom to where y/n sat. He pulled the chair next to her out and sat down, smiling widely.

“Hey, come here often?”

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to hide a small smile. “Good morning Ted.”

“Good morning gorgeous.” Ted looked away from y/n, sorting through his backpack for a spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil. He turned back to y/n, intending to say something, but Mrs. Statham spoke first.

“All partners have been assigned. On the board are types of poetry and some one-word prompts. Yes you and your partner must pick the same type of poem and prompt. If you have any questions, I’ll be up here grading. Go ahead.”

The students began chattering as Mrs. Statham went to her desk. y/n huffed, staring at the board. She wasn’t well-versed on types of poetry, and the list was quite long.

“How about an Ode? You know like an Ode to something?” Ted gestured with his pencil as he talked. “I’ll let you pick the category.”

“An Ode to…” y/n scanned the board, looking for the right word. “Does that say darling?”

“No?” Ted squinted as he looked at the board as well. “I think it says daring. But I like darling! An ode to darling.”

y/n smiled, turning to begin writing in her own notebook. The rest of the lesson went on with only a few scattered comments from Ted.

“What color are your eyes?”

y/n looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“Never mind I got it.” Ted furiously scratched at his paper, y/n returning to her own.

“What season is your favorite would you say?”

“Fall.” y/n set down her pencil, smiling kindly at Ted. “I like the leaves and it’s usually a nice temperature out. You?”

“I’m a late spring early summer kind of guy.” Ted taped his pencil over and over in a slow rhythm he could only hear in his head. “I mean, unless you have a pollen allergy.”

“Why?”

“I can’t take you out if you’ll be sneezing and coughing the whole time. I don’t know, maybe the fall could be a good time.” Ted waved like he was getting rid of an idea. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay?” y/n thought to herself for a moment, then ignored Ted’s question to go back to her work.

“Hey what’s your-“ Ted was cut short by the ringing of the school bell. He groaned dramatically as y/n stood to gather her things. “No! Stop.”

“Why?” y/n didn’t stop, instead zipping her bag shut and throwing it over her shoulder. Ted grabbed onto the edge of her shirt, tugging slightly.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Ted, I have a class across the school. I’ll see you tomorrow.” y/n gently pulled her shirt from Ted’s grasp. He sighed, standing up.

“Fine. Let me walk you there at least?”

It took Ted all of a minute to gather his things. He shouldered his back pack and led y/n out of the classroom. He let his hand fall to his side, gently taking y/n’s middle finger and wrapping his own finger around it. He looked down at her, smiling softly, and held on tighter when she showed no sign of discomfort.

The two walked in silence across the school, taking y/n to her science class. Ted stopped her before she walked in, keeping her finger is his grasp. “Can I see you later?”

“Ted, we have class tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” y/n patted him in the arm, politely excusing her self. She watched him walk backwards down the hall, and turned to walk into the class.

“I’ll be thinking of you!” She rolled her eyes at Ted’s outburst, avoiding the peering eyes of her classmates.

———

The next few days continued the same way; Ted endlessly flirting while y/n write her ode. The writing came easy to her. She wrote about the stars, about the constellations and the night sky. It was a basic topic she knew, but it was easy to write about and it fit the prompt. She wasn’t sure what Ted had written about, but by now everyone had finished their poems, and it was time to present.

“Alright, Ted and y/n?” Mrs. Statham sat behind her desk, yawning into her mug of tea. “Please state your type and prompt.”

“We chose an Ode, and I miss read the prompt so instead of daring we chose darling?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the grading sheet in front of her. “I like it. Go ahead.”

y/n cleared her throat. She looked over at Ted, waiting to see who would go first. He gestured to her, offering her to go first while smiling kindly. Oddly enough, for it being the first class of the day, Ted seemed to be the most awake in the classroom.

“For darkness around you, a pattern to make do…” y/n read robotically from the sheet of paper in front of her. The poem lasted only ten seconds, letting her quickly set it aside and awkwardly smile at her classmates. There was light clapping from the crowd, complimentary almost.

“Very good.” Mrs. Statham scribbled on the grading sheet with a blue pen. “And what was that called again?”

“An Ode to the Stars.”

“Thank you. Ted you’re next?”

Ted nodded eagerly, straightening himself. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and looked expectantly at Mrs. Statham. “Do I-“

“There are no extra credit points for memorization. However, if you’d like to, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Ted turned back to y/n, smiling widely. “I’m encaptured in your loving stare; My darling girl, my lady, fair.”

Ted went on for a long minute, leaving y/n a flustered mess. Every stanza, Ted found a new way to look at her. A new way to gesture to her. A new way to emphasize the lines he spoke. And after that long minute, the class fell silent for a moment before clapping loudly for Ted’s display.

“Thank you both. Class, did we notice any differences in Ted and y/n’s writing?”

Someone y/n didn’t know the name of put their hand upwards, prompting Mrs. Statham to call on them. “Well, y/n wrote about an object, Ted wrote about a person.”

“Good. Is there anything else we can infer class?”

“Oh!” Someone in the back classroom sat up straighter as they shouted out. y/n couldn’t quite see who it was. “y/n wrote kind of factual? Like things that we could all see. But Ted sees the person differently than we’d normally… perceive them?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Alright good job you two, go ahead and take your seats.”

Ted followed y/n to the shared desk in the far corner of the classroom. Another set of students went up to present theirs, and y/n kept her eyes glued forward on the pair, avoiding looking at Ted.

“I really liked yours.” Ted leaned over to whisper in her ear. She jumped a bit, surprised by how close he sat. “I think it was beautiful.”

“Thanks.” y/n chewed at the inside of her lip. “What was yours called again?”

“An Ode to You.”

“Sorry?” y/n tried to swallow the heat rising to her face, trying to not be flustered in front of Ted.

“It’s called An Ode to You.”

“To me?”

“No— well.” Ted twirled a pencil around in his finger tips. “It’s called An Ode to You, not like An Ode to y/n, I mean technically it is about you-“

“Me? What, are you flirting?”

Someone snorted in the seat in front of y/n and Ted. “You just noticed?”

y/n watched Ted’s face turn bright red. “I mean, they’re right. You just noticed?”

“I assumed it was a joke.”

“Why would I be joking?” Ted looked at y/n with concern etched across his face.

“I don’t know! Are you not joking?”

“No.” Ted very gently took y/n’s hand in his. “y/n, my darling. I would never joke about you.”

“Well Ted, honey, it’s 9am and you’re flirting with a tired teenager.”

“Can I flirt with you some other time?”

“Yes.” y/n yawned, stretching her arms upwards. “Any other time.”

“Tonight then? 7 o’clock?”

“Why 7-?” y/n stopped, her face becoming increasingly heated as the realization came to her. “A date? You want to take me on a date?”

The school bell rang and Ted stood from the desk, placing a folded piece of paper in front of y/n. “Text me, I’ll come pick you up.”

She watched Ted walk away, then looked down at the paper. On it read a phone a number that she assumed belonged to ted. When she unfolded it, however, was a hand written poem with a title reading, An Ode to y/n.