#and every time i open that document i question whether i want to keep writing or not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lyrical-fanfics · 2 years ago

Text

Context Means I Love You (Albedo x GN! Reader)

Reader is a bit oblivious, featuring some Kaeya Shenanigans!

This has been sitting in my drafts for so long that I'm surprised it hasn't grown mold! Now that I have this done, I want to write more Genshin stuff, starting with my biases!

I hope y'all enjoy!

Wherever you went, his eyes were never far behind. With each caught glance, he gave a confident smile. With each candid sketch, he left you a note about what you were doing at the moment and why he found it interesting.

If you were spending time with Klee, she would always insist on playing house where you were married to him. In those moments of play, he always indulged in her fantasy by holding your hand, waist, or putting a hand on your opposite shoulder.

In times when you were helping him with his research, he always commented on how helpful you were and that he’d be struggling with this certain project without you. If your hair were to fall into your face while you were working with him, he’d take some time to gently move it away, tracing your face with just the tip of his fingers.

When you’re caught up with your own work and nearly drowning, he drops everything he can to come to your aid, assisting with every step of the way.

“But he’s just nice! That’s how Albedo is!” You argued with a cocky cavalry captain, your current companion for paperwork. Because your job was the Knights of Favonius’s Logistics Operator, it was your responsibility to keep the organization running smoothly. You took on many responsibilities, from accountant to liaison to the public, it often involved you running around and helping whoever you could. Today’s project was to complete a pile of paperwork and reports that Kaeya had neglected for too long, and was due in 24 hours.

“Just how he is, you say?” Kaeya signed another document with ease before you slid it out from under his pen and placed down a fresh one. “Everything I’ve described is the descriptor of a man in love.”

“I think you’re just trying to get me flustered so you can run out of here and leave me to forge your signature again…” You deadpanned the sneaky captain, and he could only smile and shrug.

“Now why would I do that…” His sarcastic tone let you in on his joke, angering you enough to hit his desk with a rolled stack of unsigned reports, reminding him that you aren’t a pacifist about paperwork.

But even then, his words were infectious. Albedo was rather kind to you, and his intimacy was one only the two of you shared. He was always so gentle with you, and even on occasion he would find ways to just be close to you. One such occasion resulted in Kaeya ending up on the floor after having a chair snatched from under him.

“I think we’re just close, he’s just the kind of person who’s really observant and mentions things he likes about people out of the blue!”

“He doesn’t do that with me.” Kaeya rebutted again. “He only says all that kind of stuff about you. I think it’s his way of saying he likes you.”

“He’s not thinking about me like that,” You argued again, and Kaeya stopped moving his pen. He dragged his gaze upward along with a single eyebrow and a plain line on his lip.

“So what about you? Do you like him?”

You could only stare back with a stunned look and strawberry cheeks. Kaeya’s grin widened to Cheshire proportions. Jackpot. He knew something was up between you two, whether it was Albedo pinning one-sidedly or you pinning while rationalizing any sort of affection sent your way. Maybe it was admiration for the alchemist that caused you to be so blind, or maybe it was some deep self-loathing. Either way, here you were, now wide open for an evasive maneuver.

“I- I can’t speak of my own feelings in a professional setting.” You tried to swerve away from the question, but Kaeya already had you right where he needed you.

“Strange, wasn’t a problem a few moments ago. We’re friends, we can talk about things while we work!” Kaeya gave a deceptive saccharine grin.

“Yes, but it isn’t proper to discuss such intimate matters where people can hear-”

“My door is closed, you put up a “Do not disturb” sign outside my door, and it’s a day off for most Knights,” Kaeya argued. “I doubt anyone is going to hear how you feel about our dear alchemist.”

You shifted your jaw. It would be nice to have a small discussion on your feelings, just to get it out of your system. Of all the people that you knew who could keep a secret, Kaeya is king. The only other people who could probably keep one just as well would be Noelle and Albedo himself. You and Noelle chat when she does chores around the headquarters, but you never felt like you could keep her long enough to have engaging conversations. And when it came to Albedo, well, you couldn’t discuss this matter with him in a million years, lest he does not feel the same.

So now is a golden opportunity, and you knew Kaeya knew this. This may have been his end goal, but the bait was a little too tempting. As much as Kaeya would be an insightful discussion partner, he had his own end game in mind.

The best you could do is try and control the conversation. A battle of wits would be needed to keep Kaeya here and sign papers. If you could stall him, you might get through a decent chunk of this before you both have to start signing.

Round one. Begin!

“I-, I might have some feelings, but I don’t know…” You took a paper from under Kaeya again and place another one with him, tapping it twice with your index finger to let him know where his approval was needed. He instinctively went and checked the text, signing it quickly after. This would be a majority of your strategy while acting coy.

After handing back the paper and earning a new one, Kaeya spoke up. “You don’t know? What is there to know?” After signing the document, he rallied the mind games back to you. You didn’t need to think before placing down another one and tapping the page again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like him a lot, but I can’t get my hopes up.” You ignore Kaeya’s feigned concern and provide him with another document, once again tapping the page. After the third time, he observed this rhythm and began plotting. If that was your only strategy against him, you’re in a lot of trouble.

“I’ve already explained to you everything I’ve observed, so I don’t think of it as getting your hopes up.” Kaeya subtly changed his strategy by taking your tapping out of the equation. He began accepting his documents from your hand directly, dictating the signing to go at his own pace, but now he needed a new plan for how he’s going to divert your attention from him. With the document hand-offs, you began making eye contact each time. Tricky, but not the end of the world.

“Even before thinking about my feelings, though, he’s a friend above all else. Maybe we’re just really close friends.”

“What kind of close friends do you have?” within that split second of snark, you were able to turn the pace around. You quickly slid the next paper on his desk and tapped the line to sign.

Ah, you’re onto him.

“I can’t lose that close of a friend if it is just his normal praise. He means so much to me.” you once again observed the turning of pace as he quickened. This strategy confused you a bit, but you decide to roll with it.

“I think you’re being too cautious. What if I were to do the same things Albedo did, eh?”

“I’d smack you.” You deadpanned.

“Ah, you wound me.” Kaeya chuckled as a set of papers quickly piled up on the corner of his desk. “But you admitted to it, his advances are special in comparison.”

You shifted your jaw again, wondering what his next move was, but he showed no signs of slowing down. The papers continued to amass on the corner of his desk. Kaeya continued his thought.

“If you aren’t going to get your hopes up, and you don’t want to jeopardize your relationship with Albedo, then why not try and date someone else?”

“Because I’m not interested in a relationship at the moment!”

“Then this conundrum with Albedo should be solved. He can move on and compliment other people like that.”

Your face warped with that comment, causing you to look down for just a moment. Is that what you want? Isn’t that just how Albedo talks? Or have you been secretly wishing and hoping it was a special connection? Have you been yearning for him to just take you into his arms and whisper sweet nothings into your ear?

“I guess you’re right then…” You admitted out loud as your eyes dare not move from the fine rug of the office. “I guess I can’t accept that, I care too much about-”

You looked up to an empty chair and desk.

Kaeya had flown the coop.

You immediately tried to run to the window, but the second part of his plan is enacted, and just as you were about to round the desk, the precariously placed papers on the corner flew with a breeze. The breeze came from Kaeya’s escape route, a window, and you immediately panicked and prioritized the paperwork. You snatched each sheet from the air and floor before clipping them all together and rushing to the window.

But it was too late. Kaeya was gone. He had slipped from your grasp and was now somewhere in the wind. You groaned as you look back at the paperwork left to sign, and knew what this meant.

You’d have to forge his signature again. For at least the next 5 hours.

You screamed his name out the window, causing some of the birds resting on the roof to flee. You gripped the open window sill and begin to whisper threats into the wind.

“I swear, when I get my hands on that man, I’m gonna-” you’re interrupted however when a voice calls from below.

“Is everything alright?” His voice is calm, smooth, and filled with concern for you. As gentle as it was, it still caused you to jump. Lo and behold, it’s Albedo. You flustered at his upward gaze at you, eyes a dreamy blue. “Hang in there, I’ll come up to you.” He asserted and quickly makes his way inside. You sighed. Maybe you can rope him into doing some of this work with you, as it is partially his fault that Kaeya got away.

Not that he needed to know that.

“Ah, I see.” Albedo was brought up to speed on the current conundrum, minus a few details. “So now Captain Kaeya has left you to be his personal secretary again.” Albedo’s calm voice dripped with disdain. He didn’t approve of shirking off all this work on you when you had plenty else to do already.

“Yeah, so now I have to do what I normally do and forge his signature on these documents. He’s already read over them on the field, but he couldn’t sign them. He always puts this task off until the last minute.” you sighed as you run a hand through your hair. “I’ll probably take these to my office to complete, but since I’m forging his signature it’ll take me a while…” you begin to lift a box, but Albedo quickly rushes to your side.

“Please, allow me to help,” Albedo ran his hands over yours, giving you a smile before he took the box from your grasp. Your heart raced at his touch, and your stomach flipped at his smile.

“This will take a while, you don’t have to,”

“I must repay all of your kindness, you’ve helped me more times than I can count. Besides, I enjoy your company.”

Your face ran red, and all you can do to reply is nod.

His vision made short work of the transportation, and in no time you both are sat elbow to elbow at your desk, scribbling out Kaeya’s name over and over again. Through light chatting, Kaeya’s signature becomes muscle memory. Albedo picked it up faster than you did when you first had to forge Kaeya’s signature, but you chalked it up to Albedo’s artistic talents.

“I’m appalled that Kaeya would leave you to this as if you were his personal secretary.” His flat tone was slightly more intense than usual, but it faded as quickly as it came on. “But I suppose that’s alright because it means he’s no longer monopolizing your attention.”

“Monopolizing?” you questioned, and his pen stopped.

“Yes, I was hoping you’d accompany me to dinner tonight, but I don’t think that’ll happen now.” he placed a hand to his chin before continuing. “It’s a shame. You’re always the most joyous when you’re eating at our favorite restaurant. I think they’ll be closed by the time we’re done.”

“Man! I didn’t know you had that planned!” you sighed. You two went to dinner often, so the idea of going to dinner again wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Kaeya’s words, however, began to ring in the back of your head. ‘He does this with no one else.’

“Ah, then maybe we could make something. I’d be happy to make you whatever you like.” Albedo remarked, causing you to flush at his wording. If you were to remove all the context of his words, then it really does sound like what Kaeya described.

Albedo really does sound like a man in love.

But it can’t be, right? It can’t be that. Your hand began to move on its own as you write down the forged signature over and over again.

“That sounds nice, but um-” You hesitated, you didn’t want to upset the balance, but Kaeya’s words nagged you. Maybe you can ask it in a way that’s not implying a relationship. Albedo heard the hesitation in your voice and immediately gave you all his attention. “You know, I know it’s normal for us, and we’ve done this a lot, but um, I was wondering if you also knew-” you tripped over your own thoughts on trying to form sentences. You didn’t know what to say. All you could say is what Kaeya said to you. “If you knew it makes us look like a couple. Someone pointed that out to me recently,”

Albedo could only stare at you. Each second felt like a century with his silence lasting several. He blinked a few times, trying to form his own words. Eventually, he placed a hand on your thigh and spoke.

“Was I not being forward enough?” Albedo responded with his usual sincerity and tone, which gave you whiplash from the pure juxtaposition of his words. “It was at first Klee’s idea. She wanted me to just tell you how I felt, so I began telling you everything. I thought I was being forward, so I waited for you to advance.” Albedo continued. “I wasn’t aware that you hadn’t caught on.”

“Wait, so you’ve been-” You attempted to straighten out your flustered thoughts, but his hand placement began to burn in your mind. All the times he’s touched you told you things, made time for you…

How could you be so dense?!

“However, I still stand by my decision of not advancing until you do, but I will make things clearer.” He stared you dead in the eyes before speaking. “I care for you immensely. I want to have a romantic relationship with you and only you. If you are not ready, I will continue to wait for you.”

Your wide eyes were transfixed on him as he waited patiently for your response. Everything you had missed, every single time he complimented you, every single time he took you to dinner, every time he did any sort of meaningful gesture towards you,

It was because he was in love with you.

After you picked your jaw up off the floor, you quickly realized you had to answer him. You had practiced this moment in your thoughts and idle daydreams, but with the situation now staring you down, it was like you were a lamb in the presence of a lion.

“Y-Yes!” You blurted out but clenched your jaw as your hasty and panicked reply. “I mean! I want you! I mean! Romantically! I-” You clutched your face out of embarrassment. This wasn’t the fantasy that you had about this. You wished you could both evaporate and redo this moment.

Albedo, however, took the moment into his own hands by cupping your face. This may not be the perfect fantasy you imagined, but here was your prince. A prince whose skin was as smooth as porcelain, and barely betrayed him when emotions ran high. He stared into your eyes, waiting for the next move, debating if he should just take the leap and advance.

He had been so patient up until this point. He would be patient once more, and of course, he would be direct. He gazed deeply into your eyes, a hint of desire sprung from his pupils as his eyelids shaded them.

“May I kiss you?”

The question was so simple, yet it absolutely wrecked your heart. You felt a bit woozy as you nodded, desperate to feel his lips on yours, but absolutely shocked by how fast everything was going. Your face was such a deep red that Albedo made a note of how he wanted to mix that color and store it somewhere, as it was your emotions for him rising to the surface.

Albedo smiled a bit, before pulling your face into his, allowing for a sweet yet hungry kiss. You couldn’t help but melt into him, quickly wrapping your arms around him, gently playing with the end of his hair with one of your hands. The other grabbed ahold of the back of his jacket in an attempt to stabilize yourself. Albedo felt your need for support and took one of his hands to your waist. He guided the kiss just enough to where his passion was conveyed, but he still waited on you before moving on to anything more. The moment you gave him an inch, he would give you back a mile. His yearning shone through with each gentle touch and pensive sigh, but eventually, he, although unwillingly, pulled away from you.

You continue to hold onto him for dear life, catching your breath at the fantasy that had just taken place. Your hand gripping his clothing as he gently fixed your hair and smiled at how you clung to him. He loved how your body lit itself like a fire when you got embarrassed or passionate, and he fell in love with the look on your face when it was freshly kissed. He gave in and gave you one more kiss before turning his attention to the stack of work that Kaeya had shirked off onto you earlier that day.

“As much as I want to continue, we have to finish your work first. After that, I’ll make you dinner.” Albedo’s words were so matter-of-fact as if he wasn’t holding you in his hands like putty. “Let’s get back to work. I want you all to myself later.” after finishing his sentence, he blessed you with one last kiss as he kisses your forehead.

You swallow your beating heart and try and adjust so you can once again sign off on all the papers in front of you, but Albedo did not remove his non-dominate hand from you the entire time. He instead elects to rub circles into your skin with his thumb, showering you with affection even while he was scratching away at Kaeya’s signature. Your words were jumbled, and your brain a mess as Albedo filled your head. With each circle made with his thumb, a memory is brought to the surface where his actions were misconstrued, and he meant to be romantic. All the times he found excuses to touch you and hold you close, now he’s gotten the permission he needs to lovingly caress you. Or maybe, he always has, and the context has changed for you. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.

Thank god you had Kaeya’s signature down to a science, otherwise, your brain would have self-imploded from the bliss that Albedo had always provided you.

#albedo x reader #albedo x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader insert #albedo genshin impact x reader #albedo x y/n #albedo fluff

81 notes · View notes

silver138 · 7 months ago

Text

Perfectly Flawed - Chapter 6

word count - 3.3k warnings - slight bit of innuendo between Morgan and Garcia

Summary: Lina gets struck by (another) one of Cupid's arrows, and experiences the repartee between Morgan and Garcia.

Sitting back down, we work on more files, keeping busy til there's a knock outside the door. Penny spins around and says, "Junior G-man, how goes it?"

"Oh, um, hi Garcia. Is Lina..." Spencer starts.

"Oh, heya Spencer. I'm guessing it's lunchtime?" I say, pulling off my headphones.

He nods and says, "Yeah, if you still want to go."

I smile at him and look over at Penny, who shoos me away while saying, "Go, you two. I'll see you after, Lina?"

As I pick up my purse and stand, I say, "Yup. That you will, Penny." I turn to Spencer and say, "I'm ready when you are." As we walk, I ask him, "So, what exactly should I expect going out for the night with everyone?"

He gives me a tight smile and says, "Well, first time out? A lot of questions. I mean, a lot of questions."

I laugh lightly and say, "Oh, that doesn't sound too bad. I'm a relatively open book, and I can't say I'm too terribly interesting."

Spencer nods and says, "That's what most people think about themselves, but I've found that to not be true. I have yet to find someone who wasn't interesting in one way or another."

I look over at him, squinting my eyes as if to determine whether he's just saying that or if it's true, and saying, "Really?"

He gives me a soft smile and says, "Really." I hum in acknowledgment, and we make our way to the cafeteria.

After going through the line, getting our lunches, and finding a place to sit down, we both get situated and pull out our respective books. Reading and eating my lunch, I slowly make my way through the first several pages of Frankenstein.

Attention wavering, I can't help but look up every once in a while to steal a few glances at Spencer. After about the third time, his eyes flick up from the book and he asks, "You ok there?"

Startled and a little embarrassed at getting caught, I stammer out, "I-uh, y-yeah, sorry. I always have a little difficulty first getting into the older books. I eventually wind up getting hooked, there's just...I guess an adjustment period? On getting used to how it's written, I guess I let my mind wander a bit..."

He gives a wry smile as he looks over the book at me. "Yeah, the more modern ones try to make sure you're hooked within the first chapter or so." I nod in agreement, sighing. He sets the book down and starts his lunch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your focus, too..." I start.

Spencer shakes his head. "You didn't, I'm done with that one," he says, sliding the book back to me.

I chuckle lightly, saying, "Yeah, still not used to that..." while smiling at him.

Giving me a very small smile in return, he asks, "What are you stuck on?" I put a bookmark in place, and continue my lunch.

"Oh, the letters. Got stuck with the beginning of Dracula, too. Didn't get stuck with Call of Cthulhu, though. I guess detailing a terrifying elder being gives the beginning part some 'oomph'." I say with a small laugh.

Spencer nods and says, "That's possible. There's also a substantial amount of time between when Frankenstein and Call of Cthulhu were written."

I raise my eyebrows and ask, "Oh, yeah? What, 19th century vs early 20th century?"

He nods and continues. "Frankenstein was first published in 1818, while Call of Cthulhu came out in 1928."

I shift forward in my seat and say, "Huh, I guess writing styles can really change in 110 years."

"Well, that, and the fact that both Frankenstein and Dracula are written in a genre known as epistolary could make it more difficult for some to get into the story," he says, continuing after he sees my confused look. "Epistolary stories are written as a series of letters or other ways of documented correspondence between the characters."

I nod and ask, "Oh. Was that, like, a really popular style of writing in the 19th century?"

"Actually, it was more popular in the 20th century, with more books published in that style than all the other books printed similarly in the previous years combined," he says, ending with a small frown. "S-sorry, you probably didn't want to know all that..." he says sheepishly, looking down at his tray.

"Um, but...I asked. I just didn't realize you knew so much about it. How do you know so much, Spencer?" I say, smiling at him when he looks up.

"I, um, I read. A lot," he says with a nervous smile.

"Yeah, I think I'm starting to realize just how much a lot is," I say with a small laugh. He starts laughing too, letting the mirth reach his eyes, with them crinkling as he laughs.

Oh my GOD, he really is adorable... I think to myself, quickly flushing at the thought. Co-worker, Lina, CO-WORKER! I mentally chastise myself. Spencer looks at me expectedly, waiting for...something.

"I'm so sorry, Spence, did you ask me something? I, ah, I got distracted, um, remembering something Penny said to me." I said quickly.

He raises his eyebrows and asks, "Oh, what did she say?"

I force a laugh and say, "Oh, you know just...some girl stuff..." praying he'll believe me.

"Oh, ok. Well, I asked you what other books you were thinking of sharing since you said there's only two more after this one in the series," he says, holding up 'Summer Knight'.

"Oh! Um, yeah, there are two other series I really enjoy. One's about a witch, named Rachel Morgan, and the other is about a guy who's known as Repairman Jack, only he fixes situations, not things. Those are also urban fantasy." I tell him, trying to temper my excitement.

"I, ah, I take it that's one of your favorite genres, hmm?" he says, a small smile on his face.

I blush and nod, adding, "Yeah...that obvious, huh?"

He smiles wider and says, "You know what you like, there's nothing wrong with that."

"I guess not..." I say quietly to myself, as we finish our lunches in relative silence. Setting aside his tray, Spencer pulls out the next book and starts reading. As I finish up, I slide his tray towards me, putting everything on one and placing the empty tray underneath the full one.

As I stand up and go to take the trays, Spencer quickly looks up, brows furrowed. "W-wait, what are you..." he starts.

I wave my hand at him and say, "I got this, relax, Doc." Leaving him there sputtering slightly, I throw our refuse away and put the trays in the spot for them to be taken back.

Sitting back down, Spencer looks at me and says, "You didn't have to do that, you know."

I smile and say, "I know. Habit, I guess."

"Well, thank you, just the same," he says quietly.

Pulling my book to me, I say softly, "You're welcome, Spencer."

The rest of our lunch break is spent reading our respective books, changing only when Spencer closes his and slides it back to me. Looking at the clock, I remark, "I guess it's about time for us to get back, huh?"

Standing up and nodding, Spencer says, "I'm afraid so."

Putting both books in my bag, I stand up as Spencer asks, "Ready?" I nod, and we make our way back to our respective work areas. "Oh, were you going to need any more coffee? I can check to make sure there's still some left..." Spencer starts.

I chuckle and say, "Nah, I'm pretty sure I have enough caffeine in my system to make it til I can get home. But, thank you." He gives me a tight smile, then goes quiet. In the hallway where we part, I turn to him and say, "So, see you for the ride home?"

"I, uh, y-yeah, I'll-I'll see you for the ride home," he says, snapping out of his thoughts.

I raise my eyebrows and ask him, "You ok there?"

"Oh, uh, y-yeah, I'm ok. I'll, uh, I'll see you later, Lina," he says, giving me another quick, tight smile.

"See you, Spence..." I say, watching him start to walk to his desk. I open the door and set my stuff back down. Confused, I sit down with a huff and spin to face Penny. "Hey, Pen, can I ask you something?"

She turns to me and says, "Speak and be heard, sweet cheeks. What's up?"

I take a breath and say, "OK, so. I've been having lunches with Spencer, right? And we've been riding the same train home, so we've been sitting and talking then." Penny nods at me, a grin forming on her face, and I continue. "So, sometimes, it's really, really easy to talk to him, we'll be joking and stuff. But then, sometimes, he just...closes off? Like...like I did or said something wrong?"

Penny hums and says, "Ah, yeah. He does that sometimes. It's not a 'you' thing, don't worry."

I chew my lip and say, "OK, so, what do I do?"

Penny shrugs, an apologetic look on her face, and says, "Just be gentle and patient with him, sweets. That's all you really can do." I look at her, and she continues. "He's still a little stuck in his shell, he's breakin' out of it, though. Trust me." I sigh and pull my stuff from my bag, putting it on the desk.

"I can understand that. Sorry, I guess I just...over-think things..."

She grins and says, "Yeah, well, working here, that'll help 'ya sometimes."

I snort and quip, "Great, who knew anxiety could make you an employee of the month somewhere?" Penny laughs, and I grab another folder, put on my headphones, and get to work.

After working through that and another folder after it, Penny got up and tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, you need any more coffee? I'm gonna take a quick break, wanna come with?" Checking the time, I pause my music and take off my headphones.

"Yeah, I could use a quick stretch of the legs. Thanks, Pen." I say, rolling my shoulders. We walk to the kitchen area, talking while I keep moving around to release tension in my limbs. While in the kitchen, Penny makes a beeline to the cabinet, grabbing a cup and rummaging for a tea bag.

"Huh, there's tea, too. Cool." I say, mostly to myself.

Penny turns with a smile and says, "Yup! You want a cup?"

Smiling, I shake my head and say, "Nah, I'm good. But it's nice to know there's more than just coffee, though."

As Penny goes around the kitchen, making her tea, I lean against the wall and bend forward to stretch my back. Just then, Derek walks in, with Spencer following not far behind. "Keepin' limber there, little mama?" he says, starting another pot of coffee.

Flipping my hair away from my face so I can see, I say, "Yeah, I can only sit in the same position for so long before I gotta move." He chuckles and nods in agreement.

As I stand back up, Spencer says, "It's beneficial to get up and stretch while in the workplace. Staying in the same position all day not only creates muscle tension, but can also contribute to long-term health issues, such as neck, shoulder, and lower back pain, stress, and carpal tunnel syndrome."

Derek glances over at Penelope, who sips her tea and looks back at him, then they both stare at Spencer as he continues. "Ideally, it's recommended that a person has a break for 5-10 minutes for every hour spent at a workstation."

I raise my eyebrows and say, "Huh, I wonder how often anyone actually follows that?"

"Um, statistically, only about 11% of people do some form of stretching exercises, so..." Spencer says, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looks over at Derek and Penelope, who are still staring. "What?" he asks, and Derek shakes his head, while Penny just shrugs and continues sipping her tea.

"So, how've you been doing, Baby Girl?" Derek says, turning to ask Penelope. "Haven't been able to see you much this week. You been avoiding me?" he teases.

Penelope smirks. "Of course not, Sugar. Just been showing Lina the ropes. She's a quick one, though, so unless you all get called to save the day somewhere, I think she's got the hang of it. Which means you, my big, handsome man, can stop by any time you'd like." Penelope says coyly, a big smile on her face.

I lean towards Spencer, and ask quietly, "So, are they dating, or...?"

"Not that I know of, that's just...Morgan and Garcia. That's their 'dynamic'." he says with a shrug, taking a sip of coffee.

Looking at him, I sigh and ask, "How do you get to sleep at night, Doc? Do you sleep?" Spencer looks from his coffee to me, sheepish half-grin, and shrugs.

"I...kinda? I don't really sleep much, so it doesn't bother me..."

I raise my eyebrows and ask, "Oh, you part of the Insomnia Brigade, too?"

He grins and says, "There's a name?"

I giggle and say, "Well, no, that's just what I call it. I've had trouble getting to sleep since I was a kid. I can never seem to turn off my brain."

"Really? Do you happen to know the cause?" he asks, taking another drink of his coffee.

"Ah, yeah, but, it's...kind of a long explanation, and I doubt you'd want to know that much about me..." I say, nervously chuckling.

"Um, maybe another time..." he says, as his eyes follow Penelope as she walks up to me.

"Ready to head back, Lina?" she says, then turns to Spencer. "Sorry, Boy Genius, gotta take her with me. I'm sure you guys can talk more later." Penelope tells him playfully as she starts making her way back.

Slowly following her, I say, "See you, Spence!", receiving a tight-lipped smile from him.

As I catch up with Penelope, she smirks at me, causing me to ask, "What?"

"Oh, nothing. You two looked like you were having an interesting conversation..." she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

I laugh and say, "Really? We were talking about insomnia, though."

Looking only slightly deflated, Penelope just gives an, "Oh. Well, looked like more than that from where I was sitting..."

I snort and tell her, "I suppose, but it wasn't that ground-breaking or anything..."

Settling back into our seats, we continue typing up reports until it's time to head home. Packing up our things, we make our way to the elevators, riding down and chatting. As we step out, we stand to the side as Penelope searches for the keys in her purse. As she pulls them out, the elevator opens again, and Derek walks out. "Where's Spencer?" I ask him.

"I think he already left, sorry, Pretty Girl," he says, laughing when he sees me scrunching up my face and frowning. "What, don't like that nickname?" he asks. I shake my head, and he sighs and says, "Alright, not that one. I will find one you'll like, though."

I laugh and say, "Yeah, sure. Just not that one, please." Then I head out to see if I can catch up with Spencer. I make it out of the building and am halfway down the sidewalk when I hear someone calling my name. I turn around to see Spencer running towards me, and I slow to a stop. When he makes his way to me, I say, "Derek said you already left, I was gonna try and catch up with you."

He shakes his head, saying, "I had to go back for this." holding up his satchel.

"Oh," I say feebly. "You like walking with me that much, huh?" I say teasingly. As he flushes, I quickly stammer out, "S-sorry, bad joke, I guess..."

He gets redder and blurts out, "No, no, I do. It's not often I can find someone who lets me finish a thought." I smile at him, and we start walking again. "So, um, I was hoping that, in that case, you'd wait for me, if that happened again?" he asks slowly. I look at him as he quickly adds, "And-and I'd wait for you. I-if that's ok, I mean."

Expression softening, I nod and say, "Yeah, that sounds good, Doc." A thought occurs, and in an unexpectedly bold move, I say to him, "Y'know, if you'd like to talk to me outside of work, I can give you my number, and we can text." Looking at him again, I add, "Or talk on the phone, if you'd really want to. But I'm gonna warn you now, I'm very bad at talking on the phone. Guess it's the computer nerd in me."

In what's quite possibly the longest 5 seconds of my life, I finally hear a quiet, "I'd like that..." from Spencer.

As we get to the station, we sit down, and I hand Spencer my phone. He looks up at me, and I say, "So you can put your number in. Then I can text you, and then you'll have my number." He nods, his fingers going over the buttons methodically. Handing me back my phone, I quickly add his name, then send him a text.

Hi, Spencer. It's me, Lina.

He jumps slightly after a few seconds, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and flips it open. "I take it you don't get many texts..." I say, chewing my lip.

He shakes his head and says, "No, can't say I do..."

I take a quick breath and say, "Well, um, as long as you're cool with it, I can text you now..." he just looks at me and nods. As the train pulls up, we find seats close together. While we wait for the rest of the passengers to board, I ask, "So, you like foreign films and horror movies. Anything else you like to watch?"

He nods again, saying, "I like Star Trek, Star Wars, and Doctor Who, both the new and the old."

Eyebrows raising and a smile growing on my face, I say, "Oh, yeah? I like those, too. Are you excited for the new series of Doctor Who? I can't wait to see more of Ten and Rose, I wonder what kind of things they'll come across."

Spencer's eyes light up, and asks me, "Oh? Do you have a favorite Doctor?"

"I mean, other than the Christmas special, everything I've watched has been from the first series of New Who, so, until I see more from Ten, I guess Nine could count as my favorite?" I say with a half-shrug. Spencer nods and I ask, "Do you have a favorite?"

He gives me a small smile and says, "Um, yeah. The Fourth Doctor, Tom Baker."

I smile and say, "I hear he was fun, I hope I can eventually get the chance to watch some of the old stuff."

Spencer says, "I know some of his episodes are on DVD now. I don't have any, but if you know where to buy the discs, I think you'd like them."

I hum and say, "I might do that, thanks, Spence." I look out the window and pull for my stop. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Later, Doc." I say to Spencer as the train slows down.

"I-I'll see you, Lina!" he says, giving me a small wave as I step off the train. Giving him one back, I head home.

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Story Masterlist

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #matthew gray gubler #mgg #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x ofc #spencer reid x original female character

14 notes · View notes

indigoleonis · 2 years ago

Text

My safe place ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ (Part 1)

Leon x F!Reader (Word Count 2.4k +) Content Warning: 18+, Abuse, Gunshots, Choking, Offensive Language, fluff. Notes: Hi everyone reading this, I am new to writing and English is not my main language. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and if you notice any grammar mistakes feel free to message me about it so I can work on that for future projects. Reblogs and Likes are greatly appreciated! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

Part 1 || Part 2 (Soon)

‘Shit shit shit’ Was going through my mind non-stop as I ran up the stairs of the DSO building. He is going to be so pissed that I am late again.

This was like the 10th time in my 3 month DSO career that I had to run up these stairs because I didn’t make it in time for a meeting. It sure was a good workout, but it was absolutely not worth it in the end. I knew how pissed Leon was going to be again, he was going to tell me how immature I was and that I had a team that relied on me. He would keep telling me how irresponsible it is to keep showing up late. And I knew all too well that he was right, but I just couldn’t help it.

I made it to the 3rd floor and opened the door to the meeting room. I sighed, the room was empty, except for Leon who was sitting in a chair with his feet upon the desk reading some documents. I know I was getting an earful again.

“The meeting ended a few minutes ago. How can you be so reckless? Do you need a nanny or something?” He said before getting up from his chair, sliding the documents across the table towards me. “I am so sorry Leon.”

Leon shakes his head, annoyed. “The fact that you are always late shows how much you care about the team’s success.” He walked past me. “It may not mean much to you, but we all work hard to achieve success on the same missions. It would be nice for once if you’d put in the same amount of effort as the rest. You need to stop being late all the time. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes, I understand.” I said softly looking down at my feet, thinking about the reason I was late so often.

He looks at me, his face softens and he sighs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be harsh on you. I know you’re new on the job, but you need to take this seriously, the team needs to rely on you from time to time, we shouldn’t have to always be on alert for you because you might arrive whenever you feel like it, understand?”

“I know Leon, I understand, I really do.” I knew damn well that if it wasn’t for my controlling boyfriend I wouldn’t have been late every single time. “I know you understand.” He replies as he leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Do you have a boyfriend? How long have you been together?” He asks, curious, his body language indicates that he’s listening attentively. I looked up at him, my eyes widened and I gave him a questioning look. I never talked about my personal life with my co-workers, I never once mentioned that I had a boyfriend or lived with someone. I was taken aback by his question, not knowing whether he was suspecting anything or if he was trying to flirt with me. Leon was at least 10 years older than me, there was no way he was romantically interested in me right? But on the other hand, he wasn’t as mad as usual when I was late today. “Oh uh, yeah. I have a boyfriend, it’s been 2 years almost actually.” “Oh, it’s pretty serious then. He must be taking good care of you.” Leon leans closer and tries to gauge my face. “I’m just a little curious, that’s all.” He continues.

“Well, I’m sure he does. I mean, 2 years is a long time. What’s he like to you? He must make you really happy to stay so long in a relationship with him.” Leon asks, with a slightly skeptical tone, he looks like he’s trying to fish some kind of information from me.

I slightly panicked, he knew something was up and I had no idea how he was suspecting anything. “Oh it’s been great so far!” I lied, giving him a soft smile and lifted up my hand to scratch my neck, hoping I could deceive him.

Leon’s eyes followed the movement of my hand and he smiles at me. “Your boyfriend must be a very lucky guy, dating a beautiful woman like yourself. I hope he knows that.”

I was stunned by his sudden comment. He called me beautiful? He left me confused again, was he trying to get information out of me, or was he actually flirting with me the entire time? Leon’s smile grows wider as he sees my reaction. “Of course you are. I am just stating a fact. But now I am curious. What’s wrong with your boyfriend? Why does he make you feel like you need to hide things and lie to cover it?”

Great, he knew I was lying. “It’s nothing.” I lied again, looking down at the floor. I got a look from Leon again, his smile slowly fades and he senses that I could be lying. He comes closer to me and speaks very quietly, in a gentle tone. “Is he hurting you?”

I looked up at Leon, who was suddenly standing in front of me. He softly placed a hand on my shoulder to comfort me, and assure me it was fine to tell him the truth. “He is very protective…” I whispered softly. He was too protective, he controlled me, made sure he knew where I was all the time and with who I was. If he didn’t like it he would keep me at home, forbid me to even leave the house.

“Protective or controlling?” He asks, as he grabs my other arm, trying to get me to look at him. “Has he ever hit you? Has he ever stopped you from hanging out with your friends if you didn’t tell him where you were going?” He asks, gently brushing my hair out of my face. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I kept looking at the floor, not wanting to let Leon see me on the verge of tears.

His voice softens as he sees some tears rolling down my cheeks. “Come on, if I’m right, you need to tell someone about it. I am here for you. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.” His tone becoming more and more comforting and gentle. “Do you really feel you can’t tell any of your friends or co-workers because of him?”

I didn’t look or answered Leon. I rolled up my sleeves, which were covered in bruises. I lifted my shirt up to my bra to show him even more bruises. The tears now rolling down my cheeks faster. “Did he do this to you?” He asks quietly as he wrapped his arms around me. He was surprised by the amount of bruises he had seen, and I didn’t even show half my body yet. “Yeah.” I whisper between sobs, unable to say anything else.

“I’ll be here for you, he won’t hurt you again. If you ever want to run away from him, I can take you somewhere else, I can keep you safe.” He looks straight into my eyes. “Is that what you want? To be safe with me?” I looked at Leon confused, not understanding what he meant. “Go with you? Leon, what do you mean?” His face turns a bit red as he realizes what he might have sounded like. “I meant that I would take you away from him. So you won’t have to be afraid of him, or worry about him hurting you. And.. You could live with me.” He said with a concerned face, wiping some tears off of my face. “Do you want that?” He asks again.

I took a step back and pushed his hands away from me. “What is wrong with you?” I said angry. “I told you about my boyfriend, how he abuses me and you immediately take this as an opportunity to get me to sleep with you? You’re not any better than him Leon!”

Leon looks at me surprised, and then starts to laugh a little. “Sorry, sorry, I swear it’s not like that. Yes you’re beautiful, but I won’t force myself on you like that.” He says with a slight chuckle. “This isn’t funny Leon! I thought I could trust you…” Leon smiles and shakes his head. “No, no, don’t take this the wrong way! I should apologize, I should have phrased it better. Don’t be mad now. I was just trying to get you to smile a little by calling you beautiful.” He took a step closer to me. “I am not smiling for you old man.” I said infuriated and walked out of the room, tears rolling down my face again.

I left him in that room and made my way outside, I was desperately in need of some fresh air. It was late already, the sun had set and there was barely any traffic. I looked at my phone and seeing the messages my boyfriend had sent me. ‘You better come home soon, I am hungry. If I have to make my own dinner you’ll be in big trouble.’ I rolled my eyes and put my phone back into my pocket.

After walking for a few minutes I took a seat on a bench. My boyfriend had called me several times, he was definitely mad because I had read his messages but just left him on read. Knowing I was already going to be in trouble once I get home, I decided to ignore his phone calls as well. I looked up at the sky, closing my eyes and wished I could just be away from everyone and everything.

A soft voice comes from behind me calling my name. “Are you okay? The voice said, worried at the way I looked and my apparent sadness. The person sits next to me, and places their hand on my back to try and comfort me. “Leon, please..” I sighed. He leans his body towards me, and hugs me tight. “Come here, you’re safe, don’t worry. I’ll help you, I want you to be happy.” I faced him. “Why did you follow me?” He brushed my hair out of my face again. “I couldn’t just let you run off like that. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something were to happen to you.” He said while gently tucking my hair behind my ear. I blushed a little by feeling his cold fingers against my face. “Leon?” I paused for a second and looked into his blue eyes. “How did you know?” I asked him. “Know what?” He looked at me puzzled. “About my boyfriend.” He gave a light chuckle. “I noticed your bruises on your arms for the first time after our first mission in Eastern-Europe. I didn’t really think anything of it, I initially thought you just ran into some bad guy after we got separated in the sewers. I got suspicious after your bruises didn’t seem to heal even though it was weeks since we had returned. You also wore long sleeved shirts or hoodies a lot, even when it felt like the earth was on fire last summer.” He smiled a little. “It wasn’t until last weekend that my suspicions were confirmed. I was at the local pub and noticed you somewhere in the back. You were arguing with your boyfriend weren’t you? He grabbed both your wrists and dragged you outside not much later.” He said visibly angry. “I am sorry, I should have helped you. I should have walked out after you guys and helped you.” He sounded defeated. “I’ve seen you handle the bad guys on our missions so I thought you would be fine. I am really sorry.” Leon gave me an apologizing look. “It’s okay Leon, you don’t always know what’s going on behind closed doors. No matter how strong one person might be, they might just be a weak puddle of mud once they get home.” I joked trying to lighten the mood. “Thank you for caring about me though, it feels nice being able to talk about it with someone. I really appreciate your concern Leon.” I admitted, letting out a sigh of relief. I stood up from the bench we were sitting on and reached out my arms towards Leon. He gave me a smile and stood up, he wrapped his arms around me tightly. “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.” He said before letting me go. “Thanks Leon, I should probably go home now.” I said with a nervous tone. “I should break up with him, but I need to do this myself.” Leon nodded. “Are you sure you will be fine? I can walk with you if you want, and wait at your house a bit until I know you’ll be safe.” I assured Leon I was going to be alright and that I would see him tomorrow again. “Don’t follow me again!” I said loudly while making my way home, getting further from Leon.

I was on my way for a good 10 minutes, all I had to was cross through the park. The park always freaked me out a bit, there were no lights so it was extremely dark. Sometimes I had to stop walking to look around and make sure I wasn’t going off into the direction of the lake. My phone started buzzing, I took it out of my pocket only to see it was my boyfriend, again. “So, you’re going to ignore me again huh?” I stood still in shock, I looked around me but before I could see where he was I could feel his hands grabbing me around my neck. “Answer me bitch!” He yelled, tightening his hands making it hard to breath. “L- Let me g- go.” I tried to scream but his hands made it impossible. Tears were streaming down my face, my hands grabbed his arms but he was too strong for me. “No one is going to help you princess, if you would’ve answered my text we wouldn’t be here right now. It’s your own fucking fault and I am making you pay for it.” My lips were starting to feel numb, I gasped for air but he just tightened his grip more when he saw me struggling. It didn’t take much longer before everything turned black. I heard a loud bang, similar to that of a gunshot right before I dropped on the ground.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x f!reader #writing: indigo leonis

40 notes · View notes

dreamsandroots · 2 years ago

Text

Birds of Paradise

Every soul cursed with the unfortunate delusion of identifying themselves as ‘creative’ must be familiar with the feeling of having too many frayed edges. There is an inexplicable and omnipresent sense of pressure emerging from the legions of piecemeal, fragmentary documents on my desktop. Questions arise, or to be more accurate, they insist on themselves: would it be most productive to open one or another of them up in order to fix attention? Or would it serve best to open up everything you’ve put together during [current year] and flick through them all, haphazardly, until something leaps from the page (or, more realistically, the screen)? A similar fork in the path exists at the juncture of writing something new. Those of the auto-writing persuasion would have us at all times armed with a pen and a notebook, or with our phone’s ‘notes’ app always ready at hand, at any moment to translate our thought processes into poetry. We’re not all Andre Bréton’s (nor, indeed should we want to be), we can’t all spit out poetry from our orifices on command, although maybe it’s enough to try, given that we keep in mind the failures of the surrealists with their overconfidence and their (in retrospect) communal cultural cringes. A couple of pages a day can’t hurt, right?

Birds of prey in the garden.

As I sit at my desk with its ample, back-yard-facing windows, I can’t help but wonder whether, perhaps, I would feel better if I were to do the mowing, even though it’s winter time and the grass isn't that long, all things considered. I think about how, maybe, such a task will play into some unconscious conception of resistance to that which slowly creeps forth from the underground, threatening to engulf us. But my thoughts aren’t underground today.

The birds transmit nuanced messages back and forth. Cheerful to our ears.

You could do worse also than to try to finish off one of the many, many texts you’ve started. Some, you’ve even started today. Various articles from a number of auslit journals sit at your fingertips, a few clicks and you’re there at the SRB, or Overland or Meanjin. All of them filled with detailed tapestries of text, in the form of literary criticism, fiction, poetry, personal essay and many hybrids in between, by well-deserving and hard working writers. Each one prompting you to question: will I ever be good enough to land something like this? Do I have it in me to keep up with this facade that I have something important and/or relevant to contribute to literary society? Concerns which bleed into the fixed gravity of the insta-gaze: all of these seemingly effortless faces that permeate ideals of belonging, success, beauty, unquestioned cultural acceptance, and the clout and capital arrived at therein. Much like the birds, there is undoubtedly more going on there, slightly beneath the surface, but the idea of deciphering these hidden motives remains just as impenetrable.

Birds of glorious colour.

Maybe another coffee, another cigarette, or some other writerly cliche, is the key. The way we imbibe the stimulant is a way to simulate the stressors from which we believe the real work will emerge. Artificial tension in the blood. Skin itching. Some mild anxiety at the thought of yet another potentially ‘wasted’ (a writer's melodrama!) day between the cracks of some top-down intentional idea of productivity.

The deep green noise of daydreams under 2D skies. I find myself staring at fluttering clouds as the birds flicker across my vision.

It’s hard to keep one’s focus, it’s hard to keep shape or form when flowing over the surfaces encountered here on the ocean-sky, ephemeral flotsam. The point at which my body begins and the cyborg’s organs end. Suspicions of AI faces and machinate intent. You’d have sworn you’d seen all of this before, in a dream.

Raptors hunting for the next meal. The comet, or the fallen star, charting time’s furious arrow.

How to unlearn this autonomic fixation on the landscape in which we lack certain existence? Or, how to acclimatise to the feeling that, to enter into the conversation, one must learn, primarily, to replicate the extant code of our existential rule-book? Speak loudly and clearly. Active voice. To the point. Pass oneself and one’s intent on like a parcel, until someone sees some material reason, some marketable product, in your warbling cries.

The birds are tweeting and I am struggling to speak.

#writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writers and poets #creative writing

0 notes

kosher-martian · 3 months ago

Text

Update 2

And then it got worse.

We actually had a meeting at the synagogue to discuss the Future Committee report. The bulletins we received about this meeting made it sound as though the Future Committee was going to read through the document in its entirety and then we'd have some Q&A and vote on a direction. They scheduled 2 hours for the meeting. What transpired was not what I expected at all.

We had roughly 50% turnout. They set out some chairs in the social hall, but not enough for the people who came. Did they really expect no one to show for a meeting like this? They didn't read through the report. They started off the meeting under the assumption you had already read the report... which you would only receive if you contacted the Temple office on one of the few days it is open and requested a copy be emailed to you. This meant the audience was largely uninformed, panicked elderly people.

They did run through some financials at the beginning which corrected some errors in the original report. While this new info doesn't change much, it means we are less financially screwed than the original report implied, though not by much.

Then came the Q&A segment. There were a few simple rules:

3 minutes per person

You can go again but only after everyone else has had a turn

Be civil

First came a few people who completely derailed the discussion to discuss whether the current part-time rabbi was more or less cost-effective than another (more preferred) part-time rabbi. This was not discussed in the report at all and had no bearing on anything. The other part-time rabbi is simply very popular with some in the congregation and this contingent of people keep trying to hire him, even though it is clear he loathes this congregation.

Aside: Why do they like him? I don't know. He is a smooth talker and tells people what they want to hear, but beyond that he is nothing to write home about. Why does he dislike this congregation? Probably because we keep asking him to come back even though he's retired and he keeps naming a higher and higher price in the hopes of finally naming a price too steep, only to find we're willing to pay it. The last time we got him on a short contract we were flying him in from the other side of the country every other week.

After getting back on topic, we began discussing the campus and what - if anything - we should do with it. The main takeaway was that no one in attendance (save for the Future Committee) wanted to move to the ritzy part of town. This appeared to upset the Future Committee. Many arguments against moving were put forward -some wanting to preserve the whole campus and others wanting to raze a building or two to reduce costs - but they all pointed to continuing to use the facilities we have. Besides, it seemed as though the Future Committee really wasn't expecting any questions.

Attendee 1: "Where would we build this new facility? Down on [street name] or that big piece of land off of [street name]? Or somewhere else?" Future Committee: "We need to form an exploratory subcommittee for that." Attendee 2: "If we stayed here, how much would it cost to raze the buildings mentioned in the report?" FC: "We need to form an exploratory subcommittee for that." Attendee 3: Do we have a buyer for the extra Torah Scrolls we have? FC: "We need to form an exploratory subcommittee for that." Attendee 4: "[Attendee 2] made me think of something. Can we even knock down those buildings? I thought one of those was built as part of a bequest and there may be legal restrictions." FC: "We need to form an exploratory subcommittee for that."

This ran for longer that the Future Committee wanted it to, so at this point the rules of the Q&A were discarded entirely. The Future Committee began to short-change everyone, not giving them the full 3 minutes "so everyone can get a chance to talk". First 2.5 minutes, then 2 minutes 15 seconds. BUT when someone said something they approved of, that person would be given slightly more time, running as long as 4 minutes.

Then we moved to the topic of membership. This comprised the majority of the proposed changes in the Future option outlined in the report, but seemed to be of a lesser priority. Someone spoke up about changing the dues structure to make it more affordable. The future committee cut the microphone, claiming that "this was a preliminary meeting and we aren't supposed to discuss specifics".

Another person talked about the need to grow the congregation and said that should be the primary focus. One of the committee members spoke, claiming that there are ongoing discussions about removing the "grow the congregation" proposal on the grounds that "it is comforting to see familiar faces and discomforting to see unfamiliar faces" and that "if young people really wanted to be here, they'd already be here".

Aside: If I thought they really cared, I would have asked what exactly their long term plans were since more than a third of the congregation is above the age of 70 and the remainder is mostly above 60.

We cycled through a few more topics, but by this point it was more of a Future Committee filibuster wherein one of the attendees would speak out in favor of a good idea (or at least a not-so-terrible idea), then the Future Committee would speak for a minute or so before yielding their time to another committee member who insisted on resetting the clock, who in turn would yield their time to another committee member so the clock would restart again, etc.

Aside: Somehow this didn't count as a new person speaking nor did it count as the original person speaking more than 3 minutes, as when the original Future Committee member returned to the microphone, he returned with the remainder of his original time. Let's face it, they didn't want to hold this meeting at all and didn't feel bound to any particular set of rules.

At the meeting's halfway mark, one of the Future Committee members decided unilaterally to conclude the meeting because "no one was asking questions, they just wanted to talk for the sake of talking". Naturally this upset the attendees. Someone asked if we were going to vote now.

Attendee 5: "So are we going to vote now? Future Committee: "Vote on what? We don't have anything to vote on." Attendee 5: "What do you mean? That's why we're here! We're here to vote on the direction of the shul!" FC: "No, we're here to discuss the report. This is a preliminary meeting." Attendee 4: "You made it sound like we were going to settle the future of our Temple!" FC: "And we will... as soon as we decide what the future will even look like." Attendee 5: "What about all the proposals in the report!?!" FC: "That was a suggestion. And besides, we don't have concrete plans yet. We said we were thinking about building a new campus, but apparently no one likes that idea. And even if you did like the idea, it's not like we had any plans for exactly where we'd build, a building design, or even estimates on the cost to build. We need to form subcommittees to explore the different ideas we expressed in the report and all the new ideas that arose in the meeting here today. I was initially thinking we would have 5 to 6 subcommittees, but it's looking like double that now. There will be lots to discuss in the next few years." Attendee 6: "The report made it sound like we only had ten years left to do anything. By the time we actually start to act, there will be nothing left... money or people! We need to get a census of where people stand. Let's vote on... something at least." FC: "All the more reason to make sure we don't act to brazenly. We need time to plan and let cooler heads prevail. Anyways, thanks to everyone who participated. The Future Committee will meet privately to discuss the number and composition of the subcommittees. Check your mailboxes for invitations to join the subcommittees, as they will be invite-only. Thanks!"

So yeah. So long and thanks for all the gefilte fish.

. . .

I need to move.

Help with Chavurah

My local Jewish community is older, very very Reform (like 1920s Reform; services with little or no Hebrew), and increasingly insular. Conversion students and younger congregants are getting turned off by the decisions of our leadership team. We youngsters feel like we are unwelcome and unwanted. Decisions which impact the entire congregation are being made - some in direct violation of our bylaws - with little or no consultation by the congregation.

Our wonderful rabbi, embattled since they started the job, is out. I hope they find a congregation that can appreciate their talents. Services just aren't the same. Our Rabbi brought a spiritual richness into our lives that the older congregants just aren't interested in. We've gone back to services entirely in English, homilies with empty platitudes, and a spiritual hollowness that is driving down already record-low attendance.

One of the conversion students put it best: "It feels like they know the congregation is in bad shape and instead of trusting the younger generations to fix it, they've decided to take it with them to the grave."

I've tried and failed to get anyone in leadership to listen. I've explained time and time again that their decisions are pushing young people away. They keep saying I'll understand their decisions "when I'm older". Time is not on anyone's side. I doubt there will even be a synagogue in my town in 10 years. Despite having a local population of close to 1000 Jews, we have no one attending under 20 years old, only four people under 35 years old (myself included), and maybe two or three folks younger than 60 years old. The remainder of the congregation (and everyone in positions of leadership) is rapidly approaching their 70s and 80s.

I've talked to our conversion students and several youngsters regardless of whether they attend or don't. The feedback has been pretty consistent: There's a desire for something more "traditional", more "authentic", and "more Jewish" than what the synagogue offers. No one's asking for Orthodox services, they just want more Hebrew. They want to discuss Torah and Judaism on a deeper level. They'd like to discuss Jewish history and philosophy. In short, they actually want to learn.

I feel a responsibility for the folks who want something more. They have spiritual needs that aren't being met. Me and a few other congregants are looking to start a study group or something to fill the spiritual void. It's clear that our synagogue is not ours any longer (if it ever was to begin with). I've never done anything like this before and I'm not sure where to start. There's a bit of learned helplessness among those of us looking for change, so for now I'm planning to do a lot of the heavy lifting myself. Has anyone gone through something similar? Are there resources available out there for situations like these? I'm looking for learning materials / educational resources. A repository of good parsha discussions around which I can build lesson plans? Some sort of Idiot's Guide to Building a Jewish Community from Scratch ?? Any recommendations for books, magazines, podcasts… anything you've got! I have some books, documentaries, and YouTube channels for Jewish history. I'm more concerned about my shortcomings in philosophy and Torah interpretation.

Anything recommendations, tips, tricks, and/or advice to help get our chavurah off the ground is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

#judaism #jumblr #jewish #chavurah #havurah #torah study #synagogue #shul

19 notes · View notes

workofheart · 4 years ago

Text

eren jaeger relationship hcs

eren’s turn! modern relationship hcs. nsfw under the cut as per usual <3 levi ver.

really clingy. when ur away on a trip or something, he definitely cuddles your pillow and buries his head in it. might also spray your perfume on his hoodie so he can be reminded of you throughout the day (as if you aren’t already on his mind 24/7)

on that note, LOVES seeing you in his clothing. i feel like for most guys this is true and people mention it all the time, but eren especially. it makes him feel mushy and horny at the same time (more on that later) bc it just drapes over your shoulders perfectly. like he sees you and has to suck in a breath and look away to collect himself or else he’ll just become a puddle on the floor

likes hearing verbal affirmations. when you compliment him, tell him you’re proud of him, he gets all warm and fuzzy inside. it means so much coming from you and he knows you're genuine

really goofy, this is to be expected - tries to get you to laugh bc it raises his self esteem and confidence. he just likes looking at you being happy and smiling, it makes him feel so warm inside

definitely hides behind corners when he hears you walking or coming down the stairs so he can jump out and scare you. don’t worry though, because he always proceeds to hug you and kiss your forehead or temple to say he’s sorry but only kind of bc ur reaction was priceless. the little whack u give his arm in annoyance? he lovessss it bc it’s like he knows u still love him even when he is a little obnoxious

eren is definitely one of those enemies to lovers kind of guy bc he desperately wants someone to love him not necessarily in spite of his flaws, but with his flaws. he needs u to acknowledge that he’s far from a perfect person but still love him regardless

his favorite kind of dates are park dates. he likes going on warm & sunny days to throw a frisbee around with you in the open fields. i feel like he’s a basketball guy so he’ll bring you onto the court and play knockout... when he loses, will tell you he let you win on purpose for the sake of his ego

lolll imagine him critiquing your free throw form or something and coming up behind you to fix it (it wasn’t actually that bad, he just wanted an excuse to be near you)

really needs physical touch. he’s the kind of guy who will always be in contact w you in some way or another. when driving, his hand will be on your thigh or holding yours on top of the center console, same for if you’re out at restaurants but under the table. he’d definitely try and play footsies with you if you’re sitting across from him rather than beside him. when sleeping, he holds you really tight and won’t let you roll over so you better just get comfortable.

doesn’t mind being ur photographer and taking pics for you. he takes some time to learn the methods for the best pics but he eventually gets it

this is kind of random but when playing minecraft, he always blows up creepers and never fills in the creeper holes :| sorry. to make up for it he’ll get you music discs. also likes just going on little adventures to find a sand biome two thousand blocks away and just walking with you in game

on this topic actually i LOVE the idea of gamer bf eren. like not the league-and-monster-drinking kind but sumn about him in a headset and sitting at the edge of his bed... but he’ll definitely teach you how to play shooter games and will be so nice about it, won’t get mad at you, will give you little kisses when you’re not doing well and getting frustrated, and if you’re playing in online lobbies together he’ll stick by you the whole time and carry you

always sending you tiktoks & tries to get you to do all the trends with him. they never go viral but he goes back and watches them when he misses you

i peg him as a cat guy! really good with animals in general. i think most people would expect him to be a dog person since he can be loud and rowdy and excited, but on an emotional level i think he also just likes to be calm and relaxed and would get along with cats well. also teases you when animals reject you for him.

definitely writes about you in his journal. he jots down funny things you say or do or moments you shared so he never forgets any of them, and when he misses you he’ll read through them :( imagine when you’re so much older and he has documented proof of his love for you back when he was young please it makes me cry

also writes down little poetic words or things that remind him of you. he’ll hear a quote in a movie or a book or a song that instantly makes you pop into his head and he just has to write it down. he’s probably tried writing poems or songs about you, but he keeps those really secret because he’s embarrassed

this is kind of random but i think he’s a total beach person! likes going to spend days in the sun, builds sand castles and asks for your rating, drags you into the water to swim with him, will dive under and grab your ankles to freak you out, also looks really good in swim trunks but that's besides the point

he hates to see you upset and tries to cuddle the sadness out of you. when needs be, he’s a really good listener and doesn’t mind letting you just vent. when you cry, he pulls you in for a really tight hug and cradles your head - also because if he sees you crying, he’ll start to cry too because he genuinely feels for you

tries his best to take care of you when you’re sick. not really a good cook or anything, but he’ll make you a grilled cheese or a pop tart, albeit a little crispy even though it’s his third attempt. doesn’t mind being near you and isn’t afraid of getting sick so he’ll cuddle you anyway

loses focus when you’re talking to him sometimes but it’s not because he’s not listening, it’s because he just gets caught up in staring at you and how you look when you talk bc he just adores you. when you snap him out of his, he always gets all red and blushy :(

nsfw under the cut (18+)

really likes sending & receiving nudes/lewds. he always goes for the torso selfie to show off his chest/abs when sending, and it doesn’t matter to him what you send back because he’ll like anything you have to offer

and his responses aren’t lame either. NOT the type to send you a thumbs up or a “ayo you sexy as hell fr doe” - he will hype you up with dirty talk because he seriously means it. honestly might just send you a voice message, or call you if you’re alone and available bc while he might look at pics of you from time to time for aesthetics, the majority of the time he’s jacking off

so you know how i said he likes seeing you in his clothing? he especially likes nudes of you in his clothes. send him a pic wearing his zip up hoodie & nothing else and he’s yours

he prefers being in control/being on top but doesn’t mind if you want to take the reigns every once in a while

throws his head back and groans when u give him head. that's the image.

one of his favorite positions is when you’re in doggy but he pulls you up by the arms so your back is against his chest. he’ll snake a hand around to rub tight little circles on your clit, might put his hand around your throat if you like it. heavenly.

reallyyyy dirty mouth omg. asks sooo many teasing questions, likes hearing you say his name. “you like that, princess?” “louder for me” “who’s making you feel this good?” ugh and it’s not awkward either he makes it sound so good

has a lot of energy and a lot of stamina. stroke game will make you pass out, he’s so smooth and sets such a rhythm with his hips

things that get him going: kissing under his jaw, especially up by his ear. sucking his fingers. tugging on his hair. running your nails down his back.

pins your thighs to the bed when he eats you out. likes to make you squirm and loooves to edge you. super teasing in every way

can we just talk about his voice for a sec... he has the prettiest moans and isn’t afraid to let you know how he’s feeling. when you’re in missionary, he’ll hold himself up with one elbow, hold your hand with the other, and will lean down to moan right in your ear. sometimes does it on purpose bc he knows it turns you on from how you clench around him

usually has a death grip on that sensitive spot between your hips and your waist so he has something to hold on to while he pounds you

when he cums, he 100% buries his face in the crook of your neck, might even bite down from time to time

can totally see him going harder if he knows there’s people around, he doesn’t care who it is that’s outside the door but they’re gonna hear how good he’s making you feel whether you like it or not

wants to see your face when you cum. will definitely tell you to cum for him and keep your eyes open when he’s really feeling it - your expression makes him nut so fucking hard lawwddd

daps u up after sex just cause he’s weird like that lol

#eren jaeger x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren jaeger fluff #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger headcanons #eren jaeger hcs #eren jaeger imagines #aot imagines #snk imagines #aot headcanons #eren hcs #eren headcanons #eren fluff #eren smut

2K notes · View notes

officialscaramouche · 4 years ago

Text

Three is company— a gift for @ambers-glider ‘s fic here! I told y’all I’d get to writing today!!!!

EDIT: Tomo is the friend (Tomo is short for tomodachi which is friend in japanese)

pairing: Kazuha x Gorou x reader

tw: a couple curse words

wc: 2,178

You squatted around the fire with your colleagues, eating your food straight from the can. “[Y/N]!” You hear your squad leader call out from his tent. You turn to look at what he wanted and note him standing with a messenger from the base of operations you just left. He waved what looked like a white flag. It piqued your interest, you had to admit, stretching out your legs with your can in hand.

“Yes, sir!” You salute, slapping your ankles together in form.

Your squad leader extended his hand, exchanging an open letter with you. “A letter. From the resistance,” he says simply. “From the second in command himself.”

It didn’t take the second sentence for you to know who it was. Of course, Kokomi was the leader of your resistance— all of you worked for her. But her second in command was none other than the tricky Gorou, known for his sly and mischievous ploys. “Thank you, sir,” you salute once more before dipping to tear into the letter.

It sucked that none of your mail could go through unopened, but it made sense considering that any one of you could be shogunate spies. It was a small price to pay for your cause, even if the letter was a bit personal.

[Y/N], it read. I hope this letter finds you well. After yours and Kazuha’s leave, I dove into my work to try and distract myself from the aching in my heart. Seeing many of my comrades fall in the recent ambush made me long for you more. I cannot ignore it much longer, so I have written to both you and dearest Kazuha in hopes that we may once again be reunited. We should all be returning to base in two weeks for the monthly review. Please find me there. I look forward to seeing you. Gorou.

“Oh?” A voice came behind you. “Everyone wondered what was going on between you and the shiba boy. I guess this proves true?”

You pulled the letter to your chest, scowling at the man who sat beside you. “Do you need something, sir? Why is my business important to you?”

He smiled, throwing an arm around you. “Damn, I was just curious!” You shook his arm off of you and turned your back to him. “I’m sorry that we have to go through your letters. But I’m sure you understand.”

You frowned as your eyes scanned the letter again. “I do,” you sigh. Bringing the letter to your nose and breathing in the scent. It smelled like otogi wood. It smelled like him. “But it does suck that everyone in command knows about my affairs.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

You peer over your shoulder and glare. “I do mind you asking.” You hissed.

The two weeks went by painfully slow. Your team was sent to do reconnaissance once more after the ambush that Gorou mentioned in his letter. While it wasn’t your team that was tasked with scouting that area prior to his arrival, it was your command team that got in trouble for it. Everyone was expected to do seamless work and the weight was on your team’s shoulders.

You double checked your field of observation; replacing your traps, checking the knots, and notating all of your activities. Signing off and turning in your report, you packed all of your equipment and belongings and darted out of the camp.

It was good to finally be back on base. All you wanted to do was get into your room and hop into the shower. You weren’t about to meet your exes sweaty and covered in dirt. You step inside and stop at the front desk. “Welcome back [Y/N],” the receptionist greets. “What number did you reserve?”

“Twenty three,” you slide over the key, lugging your duffel bag onto the table. You unzip the bag and fish for your personal belongings as the receptionist grabs your locker key. “I’m returning the reconnaissance pack and some gear.”

The receptionist scratches out your name on the clipboard and pulls the bag across the desk. “I heard you’re meeting with Master Gorou and Lord Kazuha.”

You slap your forehead with a groan. “Ugh, does everyone know?”

“Not everyone. I heard from Master Gorou himself. He told me to tell you he’d be in his office.”

“He’s here already?”

“Since seven this morning. He seemed rather eager to meet you.” The receptionist hands you the forms you signed to borrow the equipment. “Sign and date, please.”

You take the pen off the desk and begin to scribble on the document when the door slides open with a ding. “Oh, [Y/N],” a calm and melodious voice says. “What great timing!”

You shudder at the voice, turning slowly to confirm your suspicions. “O-Oh, hi Lord Kazuha…I just got back.”

The samurai walks up and places a hand on the small of your back. “Is Gorou here yet?”

“Yes,” the receptionist answers, taking the clipboard back from you. “He should be waiting in his office.”

“Great,” Kazuha smiles, grabbing your belongings off the desk and ushering you away with him. “Let’s go, shall we?”

You twiddle your fingers nervously as you walk. “I haven’t showered yet, my lord.”

“Oh that’s alright. I haven’t either.”

That wasn’t the point, you thought, reaching the elevator. “Well, I was hoping I could stop at my room and shower.”

Kazuha pushed one of the buttons on the elevator panel. “We’re already here, though.” You scratch your head and frown. “It’s okay,” he continues. “Master Gorou won’t mind.”

“Why do you smell like incontinence?”

You bury your face in your palms as you listen to Gorou and Kazuha speak. “Because I’ve been hiding in the trenches,” Kazuha laughs, opening his arms for a hug.

“You know I have a strong sense of smell,” Gorou whined as he embraced the samurai. “And [Y/N],” you look from between your fingers and notice the warm smile and faint blush on Gorou’s face. “It’s so good to see you too.”

The shiba boy walks up to you and pulls you into a tight embrace, his face nuzzled into your neck. “You’re stinky too.”

“Hey!” You shout, your hands reaching to wrap around him. “Kazuha didn’t want to stop at my room.”

Gorou pulls back and gazes into your eyes, his hand coming to cup your cheek. “That’s okay. I’ve been waiting around anxiously for both of you. Come,” he gestured, extending his arm out. “Please sit with me. I’ve got cookies and tea.”

Kazuha tucked his hands into his sleeves and grinned. He knelt down on the tatami pillow, sitting down on his knees and reaching for a cookie. You followed suit next to him, sitting back on your heels and taking the teacup from Gorou after he poured some tea. It was nice and light until Kazuha took a sip from his cup. “Why did you ask us to come here?” He said with a smile.

You stiffened at the question, your hair standing on end at the suddenly uncomfortable mood. You thought it was obvious why he arranged this meeting, but you guess that Kazuha wanted to hear it from his own mouth.

Gorou rubbed the back of his neck. “I mostly wanted to apologize,” he explained. “Whether or not you accept my apology is not my concern. But I do hope that we can agree to reconcile.”

“It’s very uncomfortable walking around after my superiors have gone through my mail,” Kazuha continued, closing his eyes as he sipped on his tea. “You could’ve at least been a bit more subtle with the delivery.”

“That was part of the problem, though.” The two of you watched and listened closely as Gorou spoke. When the three of you parted ways, it wasn’t on the best of terms. Being in each other’s presence was awkward enough as a result, but hearing him explain his side wasn't something that either you or Kazuha cared to understand. “Keeping both you and [Y/N] a secret was a problem to me. I understood that it would become a hindrance if people knew, but I couldn’t even hold your hand in public.”

Kazuha was silent as he spoke. Gorou and Kazuha had been a thing before you were introduced. But from the beginning you felt that things were tense between them. Being an outsider, the problem was more obvious than it was to them but it was something you felt they needed to work out. That’s why you left.

“And while it was okay for a bit,” Gorou continued, looking away as his words began to choke in his throat. “It was painful to love someone who didn’t even want to be called my ‘boyfriend.’ I don’t think you realize how embarrassing it is to say ‘oh, Kazuha’s my not-boyfriend because he doesn’t want to be tied down by titles.’ I understand that you don’t want a serious relationship but it felt like you didn’t care.”

“I was grieving,” Kazuha kind of snapped, his fingers curled into a fist. “Do you not understand that? My real boyfriend killed himself!”

“Am I not real to you?! Am I just your rebound to fuck and forget?! We are all grieving, Kazuha! We all loved Tomo! What about [Y/N], huh?! Is [Y/N] not real to you either?!”

Kazuha slammed his fist on the table. “Neither of you give a shit! Neither of you care about how I feel!”

Gorou stood on his feet, looking down at the man across from him. “Who was the person that begged you to stay, huh?! Throwing yourself into battle at every chance you got and then turning your back on me!! How dare you say I don’t give a shit!”

The three of you sat in uncomfortable silence after both men refused to say anything else. All you did was sit there and listen, not really feeling as if your opinion mattered. You weren’t in the relationship for very long anyway, why would you have anything to say?

Kazuha looked away from the both of you, while Gorou’s eyes focused on him. You sat with your hands in your lap, waiting for someone to say something. “What do you think, [Y/N]?” Kazuha said finally, not looking at you.

“Me?” You pointed to yourself. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Gorou said, sitting back down and reaching for your hands. “You were a part of the relationship too.”

“I’m not sure though…it didn’t feel like I was.” Kazuha looked over his shoulder, his cheeks wet from tears he had been hiding. “I wasn’t even a part of the conversation. You left—” you said, pointing to Kazuha. “—and you ignored me.” Then pointing to Gorou.

You crossed your arms with a huff. “Kazuha didn’t even try to talk it out, and Gorou wasn’t patient enough. Neither of you had any care about how I felt. I don’t even think you guys care now! All you want is for me to agree with you and argue with the other! But you’re both wrong! We all loved Tomo, Kazuha. It’s not fair that you shut all of us out. And it’s also not fair to Kazuha to try and force him to get over it so quickly! Everyone grieves at different paces. Just because you’re more used to your friends dying doesn’t mean he has to!”

They were both silent again as your words soaked in. You were right, of course. Gorou thought about the things he said and how he could’ve done it differently. How he had pushed Kazuha away instead of helping. And Kazuha thought about how selfish he was being. He wasn’t Tomo’s only friend and he wasn’t the only one who cared about him.

Then the silence was broken. “I’m sorry.”

Both of the men turned to look at you with confused expressions. “Why are you sorry?” Kazuha asked, grabbing your hands and pulling you close to him. “It’s not your fault.”

Gorou came around and joined in the hug, wrapping his arms around both of you. “Yeah, [Y/N] it’s not your fault. We’re the ones who fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Kazuha pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

“No,” Gorou shook his finger. “I said I was going to apologize first.”

“Well too bad!” Kazuha shoved a finger into Gorou’s chest. “I said it first!”

Gorou laughed, pinching Kazuha’s cheek. “No, [Y/N] said it first!”

You pushed them away from you and chuckled. “Now that you’re both feeling better, I was going to say ‘I’m sorry is what you should say to each other.’”

Kazuha tucked your hair behind your ear with a soft expression, before Gorou swooped in and peppered your cheeks with kisses. “Promise you’ll work on it?” You asked.

Gorou and Kazuha looked at each other lovingly, leaning in to kiss for the first time in a long time. “We promise.” They said at the same time.

#writing #Kazuha #Kazuha x reader #Gorou #Gorou x reader #three is company #Kazuha x Gorou #kazugorou #Kazuha x Gorou x reader

271 notes · View notes

surely-galena · 2 years ago

Note

Hey Galena!

Do you mind sharing how you write your fics? Do you have a process? A starting point?

Also, I know a lot of ppl talk "show not tell" in writing, but how do you know if you're telling instead of showing (& vice versa)? Cause for me, I would look down at what I wrote and have no idea if I'm showing or telling.

I've searched online too. People all talk about "show it not tell it" but there's never any steps to tell you how to differentiate between the two.

Hey Rose!! :D

And ohh, those are fun questions!

1) Fic writing process

All fics start with an idea, and when I get one, I store it in a document of fics (it's a numbered list of ideas with some bullet points if I want to expand further). I don't look at the fic again unless I have nothing to write OR the idea keeps swimming around in my head and I need to get it out in a more concrete form.

I don't put too much effort into outlining a fic. Often I'll make a short list of bullet points with notes, scenes I want to include, and other things I don't want to forget. A lot of the time, stuff comes to me as I write, so I don't worry about the tiny details.

When I think I like an idea enough to see it to completion, I'll open a new document and put down the summary and tags on the very first page. Here's what that looks like for my fic Sorry, we thought this was a meal for four, not one:

Usually, I don't insert the summary quote until much later. On the same page, I'll also generally have things I want to include in the notes or details I really need to remind myself on. They don't always make the most sense:

Longer, more plot-driven fics tend to have more notes. I think for my Vyn Wonderland fic, I moved my story ramblings to the notes app on my phone (and actually ended up with a brief chapter-by-chapter outline).

I don't always have a finished outline when I start drafting, but when I do start writing I try to speed through the first draft. It's very much "write first, edit later" on my end because I convince myself that I can make it better during the editing process.

Speaking of editing, once I have a first draft I like to let it sit for a bit, whether that be for a couple of hours or overnight. Then when I return to the draft, I should have a better perspective on what needs to be fixed. I go through at least four rounds of editing, sometimes more, and the last round is always with the work pasted in the AO3 editor (because the change in font once again gives me that new perspective to get typos/errors I missed in the previous rounds). I also make sure to click 'preview' and then return to the draft because that allows me to fix spaces after italics, line breaks, etc.

Once I'm satisfied with the one-shot/chapter (or just tired of reading the same thing 5-6 times in a row XD), I click the post button!

2) Show don't tell

My interpretation of show don't tell is a lot to do with emotion. Mostly something like "if you can define the emotion then try not to state it". Character A isn't happy at some good news (telling), they're grabbing their friend and spinning them around in a circle (showing). Character B isn't angry (telling), a fire is burning in the pit of their stomach and/or their throat is tight and/or their fists are clenched (showing).

It's not a hard rule, of course, because I tell sometimes, too!

I think another way show don't tell is used has to do with internal voice. Like how telling would something like "he thought so-and-so" and showing would be putting the thoughts directly in italics or indirectly in normal text.

Telling: He wondered what the secret ingredient was.

Showing directly: He swallowed the bite of lasagna. Huh, I wonder what the secret ingredient is.

Showing indirectly: He swallowed the bite of lasagna. What could the secret ingredient be?

I've used all three in various situations, so you don't always have to show each and every thing. Find what works for you and go with it :D

I don't know if that makes sense at all, but hopefully that helped!!

If you get stuck, you can always refer to writing styles you like and see what the author does with their prose, dialogue, whatever you're studying -- and then see if you can execute it in your own writing!

Thanks for stopping by, Rose!! Hope I didn't ramble on for too long ^_^

#asks #roshie-writes #okay_galena

4 notes · View notes

gatheredfates · 8 months ago

Text

Hi everyone, happy weekend (or happy almost weekend, depending on your timezone)! I was waiting on a couple of communities to get back to me before I released this update... but there is nothing stopping me from making a belated one later. ⭐

With that being said, as of today (06/01 - Happy Pride!), the following resources have been added to Sea's Community Compendium for XIV Creatives.

LORE

Minerica Eorzea — maintained by @wildfireward, this Compendium was inspired by the Botanica Eorzea and serves as her counterpart. It contains item descriptions of raw materials, item descriptions of gear that use said materials, stats of gear that use said materials, leve quest lore, and crafter quest dialogue.

MISC

Animations for XIV — A spreadsheet created and maintained by Sayo#0196 that contains a list of animations that can be useful for posing purposes.

Transparent Assets for GPOSE — Have you ever wanted to overlay a screenshot with XIV’s assets like ‘this scene cannot be skipped’? @fortunafavore has you covered!

CHANGELOG

For some reason, the text for the Hingan Alphabet had vanished on its bigger advertisement. It has since been readded! (Don't ask me why it did it, I have no idea.)

COMMUNITIES

With the Tumblr communities in beta, I'm trying to think how to best incorporate them into the Compendium should we get an influx of XIV related ones when the feature goes properly live. While they're currently invite only I won't be adding any (unless community leaders would like to reach out and have them added) but, once they are, I'll either make a separate section in the Compendium for them or sort them between the aforementioned categories as needed. If you have any thoughts, questions or suggestions, please let me know!

Do keep in mind that the feature is in beta, so my thought and categorisations may change as the community feature itself expands. Tumblr may also incorporate a better method of searching/filtering that might make it redundant! We'll have to see.

Want to submit? You can either fill out the google form here, send me an ask with the relevant information contained on the Compendium, or join my Discord at SEAFLOOR (21+ only)!

Is my space suitable for the Compendium? Most of the time, yes! Below the read more is some more information/stipulations. Again, all the below information is accessible on the document! 🐡

Below are the following things I do not accept on the Compendium:

Personal/Single-Character LFC ads.

Content intended for or can be used for bullying, harassment and OOC gossip. E.g. ‘Secrets’ blogs, receipts, callout posts, etc. This does not include in-character tabloid blogs used to generate RP.

Communities that do not have an RP/writing element (large-scale exempt).

Anything I find personally distasteful or goes against the spirit of this project.

Common-sense rule applies.

FAQ.

I want to put my community on the compendium but we have an application process. Is this okay?

Yes! Just note somewhere in your application that's a requirement. The only thing that is mandatory for the Compendium is that you must be open to new members or have a public-facing/accessible facet. There's no point advertising a community if no one can join it in some way!

I want to put my community on the compendium but I only have x number of members —

Also totally okay! People don't start with large communities. Activity is a must but, whether your server has two or two thousand members, if you're looking for new people to join, I'd love to help you find people.

I want to put my community on the compendium but I worry its too niche?

Okay, and? If your Eorzean Fishing Alliance has four members but you roleplay every second weekend, I still want to know about it.

What resources/communities can I add if I'm not the owner of them?

Mutual consent is extremely important to me, so anything that isn't a large-scale community OR a publicly accessible resource must be endorsed by the owner/admin/moderators in order to be added to the compendium. I operate under the assumption that a resource posted to a public space (tumblr, googledocs, youtube, etc) is open to all. A large-scale community is one with a significant member count or openly advertises itself as being accessible to everyone for whatever purpose it serves. If in doubt, please get in touch with me. I'm happy to contact your community owners for you!

How active does a community need to be?

If you find a community has not been active in about two/three months, send me a message and I'll take a look at it. Communities have ebbs and flows, especially event spaces that may take hiatuses depending on member interest/life events. I'm not strict in my implementation provided a space isn't dead. If a link or anything is broken, absolutely contact me about that.

I have [insert a question not stated here]?

No drama! Send me an ask or use the #Compendium channel in my Discord!

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ffxiv community #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea's community compendium #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea speaks

17 notes · View notes

samwisethewitch · 5 years ago

Text

dorm friendly magick for broom-closeted student witches

Got roommates that aren’t into witchcraft/magick? Can’t burn incense in your dorm room? Don’t have time for elaborate rituals between studying for exams and writing papers? I’ve been there. Here are some of my favorite undercover spells and rituals for witches living that college life.

Journal Magick

Keep a manifestation journal! Find a journal that really speaks to you and makes you feel good every time you open it, whether it’s a bulky leatherbound tome or has a holographic cover and hot pink pages -- what matters is that you feel a connection to it.

Every morning, write down the things you want to manifest in your journal in the present tense, as if they had already happened. [Note: this works better if you are writing the same thing every day for at least a few weeks. Consistent intent is key!]

For more information on this type of manifestation, just search “scripting” on YouTube and you’ll find approximately 642934 videos on the subject.

This is a really great technique for closet witches, because no one is going to be suspicious of you writing in a notebook -- plus, it’s normal for people to want to keep their journals private.

Work with correspondences just like you would for a normal spell! You can print out photos of herbs, crystals, tarot cards, astrological signs, or moon phases that correspond to your intention and glue them into your journal (or draw them, if you have artistic talent). You could even get an essential oil that matches your intention and dab a drop of it on the page. You’re essentially creating an altar dedicated to your intention, just on paper instead of in a physical altar space.

Tap into the magick of color by writing your intentions with a pen in a corresponding color (green = abundance/wealth, pink = love and friendship, yellow = academic success, etc.).

Tea and Coffee Magick

Tea and coffee are already essentially potions, and no one is going to think twice about a college student drinking a lot of coffee/tea.

Coffee is associated with grounding and protection, and it adds energy to any spell it is added to. Black tea is associated with protection, courage, and abundance. Green and white tea have their own, slightly different magickal uses. Based on these correspondences, you can use coffee and tea as a base for undercover potions!

For mental clarity and memory retention, brew a mixture of black coffee, lion’s mane, chaga, and ginger. For a caffeine-free alternative, brew an herbal tea with rosemary and peppermint.

To cleanse negative energy and release stress, brew a mixture of black coffee, Ashwagandha, cinnamon, tulsi or basil, and Eleuthero. This is based on a Four Sigmatic blend, lmao.

For a sneaky prosperity spell, brew a mixture of black coffee, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and vanilla. Yes, that is essentially pumpkin pie spice, and yes, you can use a pre-mixed pumpkin pie blend instead of buying the individual spices.

I could go on, but you get the idea. You can customize your morning beverage to suit any magickal or spiritual need.

Most plants have medicinal uses that are the same or similar to their magickal uses. So if anyone asks, tell them you’re adding these extra herbs for their nutritional and/or medicinal value.

You can also charge your tea or coffee with crystals. Just set a small crystal associated with your intention (amethyst for mental clarity, black tourmaline for protection, citrine for prosperity, etc.) next to the mug for a few minutes, or place it on top of your coffee maker. Be sure to charge both the crystal and the drink with your intention!

Candle Magick

If your dorm lets you have candles then congrats, because candle spells are both super powerful and a super easy way to hide your magick in plain sight.

Find a candle in a scent and color that match your intention. For example, you could use a pink, rose-scented candle for a love spell.

You can find custom spell candles made by witches for witches on Amazon and Etsy, and these have the added bonus of having been specifically created for magickal use. Some of the businesses I’ve personally had good experiences with are Art of the Root (available on Amazon), Esoteric Arts (available on Etsy), and Crystal Journey (Amazon).

That being said, I’ve gotten good results with $1.99 scented candles from Walmart, so please don’t feel like you need to spend a fortune on special candles for your spell to be successful.

In a pinch, an unscented white candle can be used for any intention. You can get these at the dollar store, and it’s never a bad idea to have a few on hand.

Oil Magick

Your dorm has a no-open-flames rule, so candles and incense are out of the question. No problem -- you can get similar results with essential oils.

An essential oil literally contains the concentrated essence of a plant. Magickally speaking, this makes them a powerful way to add some oomph to your spells. They’re also commonly used for aromatherapy, so your roommate probably won’t be phased by you diffusing them in your dorm.

You can create custom EO blends the same way you would create an incense blend, by combining different plants based on their correspondences. You can also buy pre-mixed blends online if you’re feeling lazy or if you have a certain blend you know you’re going to use a lot like, say, a focus-enhancing blend for studying.

Another option, and one that’s more traditionally witchy, is to use magickal oils/ritual oils. A magickal oil is an oil that has been created for a specific magickal purpose -- it’s like a spell in a bottle. A ritual oil is created for a specific use in magickal ritual. You can find tons of different ways to incorporate these oils into your daily life for some very subtle witchcraft.

You can create your own magickal oils by combining herbs, essential oils, and crystals that match your intention, or you can buy magickal oil blends from witch-owned businesses. Art of the Root has my absolute favorite oils -- I have like six different blends, and they’re all ridiculously powerful.

Some ways you can use magickal oils: 1.) wear them as a body oil, 2.) diffuse them like you would an essential oil blend, 3.) use them to anoint and bless objects, like tests or study guides, 4.) add them to spiritual baths, and a million more. [Note: many magickal oils come with real herbs and resins in the bottle. These chunky bits could damage a diffuser, so do keep that in mind.]

Personally, I wear magickal oils on a daily basis in the place of perfume, since most of the ones I own smell really good. As I apply them, I say a small incantation to power them up. For example, if I’m wearing an attraction oil, when I put it on I’ll say something like, “I am powerfully attractive to the people and things that will improve my life.” Which oil I choose to wear depends on the day and the area of my life where I want some extra help.

Tech Magick

The nice thing about being a witch in the 21st century is that, if all else fails, you can keep your entire magickal practice contained on your laptop and/or phone. And even if you’re not doing 100% of your witchcraft in a virtual space, you can still use your technology as a tool in your practice.

Pinterest is the ultimate visualization tool. You can create a virtual altar to a deity or spirit guide by dedicating a Pinterest board to them, or create vision boards for the things you want to manifest, or create a brainstorming space to plan your full moon rituals... the possibilities are endless.

Keep your Book of Shadows and/or manifestation journal in a Word document. If you’re really concerned about privacy, you can even password protect these documents. Another pro of an electronic Book of Shadows is that most word processors have a “search” function that lets you look things up more easily.

Make a devotional playlist for a deity or spirit guide. Making Spotify playlists for my deities is one of my favorite devotional acts! I’ll put together all of the songs that remind me of that deity, and I can listen to it anytime, anywhere to instantly connect with them. And don’t be afraid to ask your deities what type of music they like -- you may be surprised by the answer!

If any other witches have similar tips, feel free to add onto this! This is just stuff that I’ve found works for me, but magick is deeply personal and everyone will do things a little bit differently.

And not to shove my content in everyone’s faces, but I did just post a spell to enchant your school notebooks on my YouTube channel, so check that out if you’re interested!

9K notes · View notes

studythenight-away · 5 years ago

Text

Hello! As finals season (aka 5-research-papers-due-in-a-week season) dawns on many of you, I thought I would share the process I used to write papers in college. This made writing long research papers much less daunting (but can also work on shorter papers). I really hope this helps some of you who feel stuck. Especially during these ridiculous times, when you're stuck at home and might have other uncontrollable factors affecting your mental health, a clear framework of what to do could be helpful. Good luck, my friends! You got this.

About me

I graduated college in 2018 with degrees in Political Science + International Studies and will be starting law school this fall. I wrote nearly 20 15 to 25-page papers, never earning below an A. I loved researching about my topics but hated writing. It's tedious, takes so much time, and everything I write sounds bad at first. Plus, I was a terrible procrastinator so most of these essays were written in under a week. Talk about stress.

Over time I found a process that worked for me, one that made churning out a paper seem straightforward, like going through a factory line rather than this terrifying concept of writing 10,000 words. It kept me sane without decreasing the quality of my work (or more importantly, how much I learned!)

I'm thinking about making a short video to show this in action… let me know if that could be helpful!

Step 1: Research

How you organize your research is a key step in keeping you sane. Usually I'll have a pile of 20 books in my dorm along with dozens of JSTOR tabs open on my laptop, and that can get overwhelming very fast. Right now just focus on collecting ideas, not developing an argument or even an outline! As with most research papers, you could be starting with little to no background information on the topic, so it is still too early to be thinking about an argument.

Put all your research in one document

Open up a new doc: this will be the heart of everything. For a 15-page paper I usually end up with around 14-18 pages of typed research, 10 pt font, single spaced, tiny margins. This seems like a lot, but essentially all I do is type up anything I read that seems relevant to my topic, so luckily this step does not require that much brain power. Just type type type!

Use the table of contents

Find the chapter(s) that are actually relevant instead of skimming through the whole book. Time is of the essence here!

Use Zotero, cite right away

You can also use easybib or whatever you're used to, but keep track of your sources. I like Zotero because I can keep a log of all of my sources and copy the footnote or bibliography version whenever needed. Before you even begin reading, cite the source and copy it into your research doc. This will save you so much time later when you have to put in your citations in the actual paper.

Here is an example of what my research doc looks like:

Full citation is my heading for each source just so it’s crystal clear

I ignore all typos (I don’t think there are any in this part though, go me!) because my head is buried in the book just trying to get all the info down

I always start with the page number so I know what to cite when I go back

Create a shorthand

While typing up research, you might think of something that the author didn't talk about that you'll want to write in your paper. Or perhaps a few sentences already start to form. Put them all in one place, with your research, so you know what source you'll have to cite to then lead into your idea. I type "!@#" before anything that is strictly my own idea so I'm never confused. It's fast and stands out.

This is an example: the two bullet points above are evidence from my source, which made me think of this argument I could make, which I noted with “!@#”

Step 2: Read Your Research

Now that you have all your information, go back and read through it all. Every time you read about a new theme/person/event, write it down somewhere. You may come up with a list of 20+ different ideas in your research. No matter how small, as long as there is something about it, write it down. Each of these mini themes is going to end up being a paragraph in your paper or combined with another mini theme.

Once you’ve made your list, look for larger overarching themes. In the paper I’ve shown you, I had mini categories like “political party x” “religion” “labor groups” “little organization” and “hierarchy.” When I looked back I though, hey these are all groups and how groups are working together, so they each became their own mini paragraph under the subsection of “Alliances.”

As with most research paper structures, I try to find three general themes/subsections (like an extended version of that 5-paragraph essay we wrote in middle school). It makes the paper less messy and also makes sure I’m not covering things that are beyond a reasonable scope.

During this step, you are also searching for your thesis. It won’t be your final version. As you fill in your outline in the next step you may make slight changes. But this is definitely when you start thinking about it.

Step 3: Outline

We’re ready to outline! Once I’ve collected all my different themes and organized all my subsections and paragraphs, it’s time to fill in that outline. I start a new doc just for the outline and take advantage of google doc’s headings function to make a clear document outline.

Here comes the fun part, I read through my research one more time, this time copy and pasting all my research into each section of the outline. The document outline in google docs makes this easy because I can just click on each subheading to get me there (super helpful when you’re dealing with 15+ pages of research).

Here is what it looks like:

Let’s say I need to add something to my outline about labor groups. Boom, labor groups. Also, the typos are really abound here haha

Step 4: Write the Paper

Okay, I get it, easier said than done. BUT! You already have everything set up. Your outline is essentially just a list of your paragraphs and all you have to do is paraphrase, cite, and create a topic sentence. And that’s how you should think about this: you’re essentially transforming bullet points into sentences and adding footnotes.

In high school my English teacher introduced us to Sh*tty First Drafts for creative writing, but honestly the same applies to research papers. Sometimes I’ll even have phrases like “wait no that’s not what I meant but basically...” and when I go back to edit, I realize that what came after “but basically...” is fine! And I keep it. So just start typing.

How do you cite while you write? Because we’re trying to get a constant stream of writing going, inserting proper footnotes after each sentence you type is too bothersome. I usually split screen with my outline and my paper so I just copy and paste a few words from my bullet point into my footnote, like so:

(This is from a different paper about cluster munitions.)

Step 5: Edit the Paper

I work best when I print out my first draft and make all edits in red pen. I feel more productive and can visually see where I want to move sentences and what I need to change. The more red there is the better I can feel the paper getting. (Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter. We’re trying to stay motivated here!) When it’s all digital I don’t really see the progress. Plus, once I finish all the red, I get another moment of passive brain work, where all I’m doing is transferring edits rather than thinking. And at this point in the process, that kind of relief is much welcomed.

The good thing about this process is there’s not usually a need to cut entire paragraphs or pages because the paper you end up with is just a formalized version of your outline. Because you started with such a detailed outline, the cutting and editing now is just to refine your word choices and get rid of the “but basically”s. You’re almost there!

Step 6: Replace your citations

Now it’s time to go back and replace your footnotes with actual citations. Zotero makes this easy because in Word you can just insert and add the page number, and it’ll automatically do “Ibid.” for you when needed. Ctrl+f in the original research doc to quickly find the source.

Step 7: One More Read-Through and Submit!

Congratulations!! You’ve got a fully-researched and well-backed paper! Of course, even though the process is straightforward, it’s still a lot of work. In ideal situations I would start researching two weeks before the deadline, but if need be, I believe I’ve done this all in three miserable panic-filled days as well.

Please message me if you have any questions at all! I really hope some of you find this helpful! Good luck!

#studyblr #college #university #writing #essay #study tips #studytna #original #research #research paper #study #student #school #you can do it!

4K notes · View notes

tundrainafrica · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Copycat

Summary:

""Shitty four eyes and clean freak? Would you know what those words mean?" The teacher asked.

Hange and Levi exchanged knowing glances. A parent teacher conference wasn't at all the right place to explain nicknames. Really though, when would it ever be the appropriate time to explain them?"

Levi and Hange learn the hard way that children like to imitate.

Link: AO3

Notes: This has been on my WIPs for a while and I have a few other prompts for domestic verse pieces so will probably focus on them first hehe. Anyway, feedback is very much appreciated!

“Levi Ackerman and Hange Zoe…”

The teacher was looking through what could have been the class list. No, it definitely was a class list. They were in a parent teacher meeting, what else could it be.

With the way she was holding it though, it was difficult for Levi to sneak a peek at its contents. Eventually, he gave up and let his mind wander, his eyes soon followed. He spared a glance at Hange to see she had cocked her head just a little bit to the side. She was definitely as curious if not more curious about the contents of the piles of paper.

The teacher, Ms. Wilde had a smile on her face and it had been that way since Luke had started school. Her expression then wasn't too far from her usual smile but her eyes were too wide, her mouth too flat of a line especially when she bit her lips. And when she ran her eyes over documents, she seemed…. Stiff.

Uncomfortable? DIsturbed maybe? Levi was expecting the worst.

“Commander Hange Zoe and Retired Captain Levi Ackerman…” Ms. Wilde corrected, clearing her throat.

“No need for any formalities. I mean you have been taking care of our son…” Hange held one hand out for a hand shake, obviously trying to ease the tension in the room.

“Yes, he’s a pleasant kid,” Ms. Wilde added, nodding her head. The discomfort on her face still did not waver.

He is a pleasant kid. Levi was with that kid 24/7. He brought the kid to school and back home, he cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner and he taught him all chores possible at the ripe age of two. Levi was almost certain that along with it, he had taught the kid basic manners.

Levi had to admit though, he himself wasn’t the most diplomatic either. The kid though was glaringly much nicer than Levi was and on top of that, he had picked up some of his other quirks from Hange. The boy didn’t have to be exceptional though. At the least, Luke should have been a functioning member of the kindergarten.

Not enough to make a teacher squirm as she spoke about him. Right?

Most days… And as Levi reflected on it, he started to dig deeper into the past few years, the almost negligible cracks in between their routine. Was there anything he failed to teach Luke? Hange could have been asking the same thing, she looked at Levi questioningly.

Ms. Wilde cleared her throat and in her own way, she had broken some of the residual tension. “Apologies… I’ve been stalling.” She turned to Hange. “Commander Zoe…”

“Retired… Commander Zoe,” Hange corrected.

Was Hange stalling? Or just deliberately looking for a way to alleviate whatever tension had blanketed the room. Hange’s own corrections though were only delaying the inevitable, stretching the tension for longer than necessary.

“I wanted to talk to you about your son," Ms. Wilde started.

No shit. “Go on….” Levi said softly, not loud enough for her maybe. He subtly moved his hands in some signal to continue, as if that could have been communication enough.

Ms. Wilde stared for a bit longer and when Levi squinted, focusing on the paper underneath, he could tell it was a drawing, the crayon ink, visible from just behind the paper. She then put that same crayon art on the top of that stack of papers. “Shitty four eyes… and Clean freak?”

The words sounded strange from anybody else’s mouth, particularly a teacher who had attempted to say it with so professional of a tone and with emphasis on syllables and on words which made it sound unintelligible to anyone less familiar.

“Excuse me?” Hange asked. She had said those words a little too fast. With Levi thinking the same thing though, it had sounded clear enough.

Ms. Wilde flipped the paper open and down on the table.

There were two stick drawings, one with glasses and brown hair, definitely Hange and one with an apron and a bandana over his head and an unimpressed look on his face. That second one was definitely Levi.

Just below it, a caption which Levi had to squint twice to read

Shut tea for ice clean freek. It was straight out gibberish.

Ms. Wilde preempted it. “Would you know what this means?” She looked back up at them expectantly. “Your son… he tried to explain it to me and he said, you two would say… Shut tea for ice and clean freek.” She had said it with unexpected emphasis on some syllables and it was starting to sound like a glaringly familiar cluster of phrases.

Enough for Levi to freeze in his seat and start to dig for some sense in his speculations.

“Don’t get me wrong… Your child being able to spell at this age… It’s admirable, remarkable really,” Ms. Wilde continued. Was she consoling them or admiring them? With that soft and gentle of a voice, it was difficult to tell.

If Levi hadn’t been too busy trying to make sense of that last phrase maybe he would have at least attempted to read through her body language. The teacher had already presented a problem though and naturally, he found himself attempting to get to the bottom of that initial issue.

Luke had Hange’s brain. With Levi on top of that child most of the day, he was perfectly aware of what Luke would usually be playing with. He had gifted Luke letter tiles and had played with him multiple times, at Hange's suggestion of 'something more educational.'

He could have sworn the other times Hange had gotten off work and had played with those tiles with him before dinner, she had been teaching him herself. Although, some words were strange and unfamiliar, she never thought him any of those words. Never.

Levi looked back up at the teacher, forcing himself to meet her eyes. What was the best thing to say?

These are our nicknames. Nope. Should they be divulging something so personal in a professional meeting?

Maybe he could break that awkwardness by complimenting Luke’s work. For a three year old, Luke did a good job with the coloring. Or maybe Levi was just hyperaware about his dad status and somehow everything their little human made seemed almost surreal, almost beautiful even if it was just a bunch of stick figures.

Hange held the drawing between her fingers, her eyes wide with what looked to be the same wonder Levi was holding in. “We’ve been teaching him how to read,” Hange said. “Read and write.”

“But, would you know what ‘shut tea for ice’ means?” The teacher asked.

“Levi here… He really likes tea,” Hange said calmly. “And he likes it with ice.”

“What about clean freak?”

“He cleans with me a lot…” Levi said.

The teacher sighed. “Apologies for the misunderstanding but those words…” She leaned over, cupping her mouth, to soften to a whisper just for the three of them. “It sounds pretty vulgar to me. If you could talk to your son about it, so he could stop calling the other kids names… That would be very much appreciated.”

“Wait, our son, he’s calling people names?”

The teacher shrugged. “I heard him talking to one of the kids just recently… He kept calling her ‘shut tea for eyes.’ and just the other day, when we were cleaning up the locker… then he called her a cleen freek.” She sighed. “It might be just my imagination but it sounds to me like bullying if you know what I mean?”

“Bullying? How?” Hange asked. The knowing look in her face betrayed such a question.

“Well you see, Sarah wears glasses and she likes keeping her cubbyhole neat so… I can’t help but think he might actually be saying….”

“Shitty four eyes?” Levi repeated it again, with a familiar manner, all the emphasis on the right tones. He could almost taste the sweet venom that laced it every other time he said it before.

“And clean freak?” Hange repeated.

The teacher put her hands up in defense. “But that might just be my wild imagination. If ‘shut tea for ice’ is really code in your family, maybe you could spend some time explaining to your son what it actually sounds like?”

***

Shut tea for ice.

Levi could have been in denial. The first plan of action as soon as he got home was to open and close the cupboard a few times over and stare at the box of tea bags every single time. He was deep in thought, still trying to come up with any other reason for those words to roll so easily out of his son’s mouth.

“You want me to make dinner?” Hange called out from the living room.

Levi instinctively turned behind him and towards the voice, craning his neck to look past the kitchen counter. Hange was sitting cross legged on the floor, a toddler Luke right next to her.

The letter tiles Hange had scattered on the floor were an eye sore.

An eyesore which Levi tolerated. After all, Hange had done amazingly at making Luke one of the smarter toddlers in his class.

Experiment… Titan… Omnivore...Carnivore… Whether the child needed to know how to spell those words at that young of an age, Levi wasn’t too certain. At least if ever the classes shifted to topics on history or science, Luke would have the upper hand.

Or so, that was what Levi consoled himself with as he looked back at the cupboard, trying to erase that picture of a mess in the living room. His own experiences with playing with those blocks had been teaching Luke words like clean, broom, breakfast, lunch, dinner. For a second, he wondered which Luke enjoyed more.

“I’ll make it,” Levi said. “You’re at work most days. I’d rather you spent your free time bonding with Luke.”

Hange didn’t respond and the next few minutes passed with the clacking of the wooden letter tiles on the floor. And then an exchange which Levi felt almost compelled to insert himself in.

“When the creature eats both vegetables and meat…” Hange started.

“Omnivore,” Luke answered.

“And meat only?”

“Carnivore.” He had learned to repeat those words clearly very quickly. Levi had to note as he tipped the tea, Luke had always learned to pronounce the more complex words within a few repeats.

The inquisitiveness and the natural genius came from Hange for sure. And Hange was only nurturing them. Soon, the conversation shifted to animals, and then to titans and why the fuck was she talking about her goddamn experiments?

Even when half listening, Levi never understood what the hell that one experiment after capturing the titan and burning through its hair actually did but Hange was suddenly talking about follicles, roots and some catalytic reaction.

Would Luke know what a catalytic reaction is? Levi attempted to answer it for himself by first asking, what the hell a catalytic reaction was. Whatever slate that had appeared in his mind remained blank and he asked another question. Should a child really be learning those words?

“And you know what a dinosaur looks like?” Hange asked.

“Dinosaur!”

A rustle of papers. Hange muttered something about a pencil.

Found one! Then the sound of scribbling on paper.

Levi was only starting to boil the soup, when whatever conversation on whether dinosaurs were omnivores or carnivores slipped one ear and out the other.

The padding of socks on the carpeted floor, Hange’s hums and just Luke’s high pitched voice lisping at some words, saying lines which could have started with Rs or Ws were faint and Levi found himself passing the time just listening to them as he stirred the soup.

He bent over, pulling out the tray of baked chicken from the oven. “Hange,” he called out.

Hange took a second longer than necessary to respond. “Hm?”

“Set the table,” Levi said. “It’s almost dinner time.”

No response. No clicking of plates, no slamming of utensils on the table.

“Hange?” Levi asked.

“Wait, just this last page,’ Hange said louder.

Levi closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Hange was murmuring, words Levi couldn’t make sense of. And the lisping words, the mispronounced Rs and Ws and garbled syllables were telling. Luke was reading something out loud.

“That’s right! So, the plants eat through photosynthesis," Hange said.

“Hange, set the table,” Levi said.

Hange sighed in response. There were footsteps then the clack of plates.

Levi soon confirmed for himself that Hange had stood up, tiptoed and pulled a serving plate and a bowl from the upper cupboard. He transferred the roast chicken and the soup onto the plates. While it cooled, he took the bread basket and dropped it on the table, raising one eye at the view in front of him.

“Hange,” Levi said, louder this time.

Hange was back in the living room, cross legged once again, an open picture book in front of her. Luke had shifted to half lying down position, stomach down on the floor, propped up by the elbows.

“Are dinosaurs real?” Lukei asked.

Hange nodded. “They were alive a long time ago,” she said.

“Hey, you two. I said, let’s eat.” Levi found himself looking away as he noticed Luke’s mouth twist into a pout.

Hange sighed in disappointment. “Alright Luke, let’s stand up.” She carefully pulled her son up and guided him back to the table. She moved sluggishly towards the dining room table and it looked very much like Levi had virtually twisted her arm just to get her up.

To make things clear though, he didn’t. There were more pressing things at that moment than making sure the food he worked so hard on was eaten. Levi stared at them then back at the scattered letter tiles on the floor. Then back at Hange again.

The years might have just made it easier for Hange to pick up the silent question just with a few glances. “We’re gonna go back after we eat,” she answered,

“And you’re fine leaving a mess like that there,” Levi said. “What if someone trips on that?”

“Well, we won’t. Luke and I know that it’s there and you can just watch where you’re going right?”

“It’s still a hazard,” Levi argued.

“A negligible hazard.”

“Can’t you just clean it up then bring it out again later?”

“It takes time,” Hange answered nonchalantly as she walked past Levi.

For a retired commander with a full-time job rebuilding Paradis, time felt like a luxury more than disposable income did and Levi had only ever silently acknowledged that. The moment he looked back, he realized there wasn’t much he could have argued about. Hange guided Luke to his chair, and she started to pour the soup into his bowl.

Levi sat next to Hange and served Hange first then himself, a pressing distraction, long enough for Levi to need not look back at the mess on the floor.

“Luke, chickens look a little bit like dinosaurs,” Hange said.

Levi rolled his eyes. Most of their meals usually ended up as a science lesson.

Luke seemed to be enjoying it though. He clapped his hands excitedly. “We’re eating dinosaurs?”

In response to that, Levi shoveled more of the soup into his mouth, enough to give any excuse not to speak up. That wasn’t his conversation. It was Hange’s and Luke’s.

“Technically yes,” Hange said.

What the fuck is she researching this time? Hange did too many jobs at once that Levi never could catch up to her theory or vernacular wise.

“Like the book! The dinosaur looked like the book!” Luke said excitedly.

“Yes! You remember!” Hange mirrored that same excitement.

“Are dinosaurs like titans?”

“Technically no… They can be the same size... “

“Are titans omnivores?”

Hange hummed. She dropped her spoon and put one finger to her chin, a very climactic sequence of motions that could have meant she had something interesting to say. To the disappointment of everyone in the family, she returned the question with one word. “Maybe.”

They don’t eat. Levi added to himself silently.

“Do titans poo?” Luke pressed.

Hange opened her mouth to speak. “They don’t…”

And Levi only had a split second to note the glimmer in her eyes, then the wonder that could have come from reminiscing nights worth of experiments. Then the familiar excitement and passion he had seen so many times before in the barracks over tea.

Oh no. He looked back at the soup, a mixture of beans and tomatoes, the green of the vegetables sticking out at very strategic places.

What the fuck.

And Hange’s tirade only continued, and naturally Levi’s mind made sense of the words having had too many direct experiences with titans to last a lifetime. If he looked at his own soup from the right angle, with the right vegetable bits in the right places and the right lighting from just above them, he realized it looked just like vomit.

He was in a frustrating position, hungry but with no more appetite. He pushed himself up. “You two just keep talking. I’m gonna clean up.”

Hange stood up. “Wait, Levi where you going?”

Everything was just suddenly pissing Levi off at that moment. “I’m cleaning up your fucking mess.”

“That’s not a mess!” Hange retorted, an incredulous look on her face.

“I told you, just bring it out after if you wanna play again!” Levi bent over, and started to mix the blocks amongst one another. Words like carnivore, omnivore, photosynthesis, follicle suddenly mixed among one another. The tiles were suddenly gibberish, letter soup. And the more he mixed, the worse it became.

It became easier to put them into the basket.

“We were planning to go back to it after dinner. You didn’t have to clean it up,” Hange chided.

“Well, you two might step on it,” Levi said.

“Really?” Hange raised one eyebrow. “You can’t watch where you’re going?”

“Listen Hange, I’m the one who cleans this house ninety percent--- hell, a hundred percent of the time. I decide what messes we can leave around.”

“Well, it takes a kid a while to pick up the words, we were supposed to practice reading.”

“Hange a three year old does not need to know what photosynthesis means.”

“Three and a half,” Hange clarified. “A child his age does not need to live in an immaculate environment.” Clean. Hange definitely meant clean. The way she had said the word ‘immaculate,' the fact that she had chosen such a heavenly word, an almost self righteous sounding word felt almost mocking. “Why do you have to be such a clean freak about this?”

“Why do you have to be such a nerd about this. He’ll learn how to read big words at his own fucking time,” Levi said. He noted the way Hange had put one hand to her chest, seeming scandalized at whatever insinuation Levi had brought up.

When he was dealing with the someone who couldn’t bat an eye at hygiene and clutter, who suddenly thought the pursuit of knowledge was a must have for a poor four year old, Levi wasn’t feeling too guilty at offending her, at least not too much. He opened his mouth, only intending to let it out as a release born from quiet anger. And during moments of heightened emotions, sometimes he lost a little control, and sometimes, he’d fall back to very familiar habits.

Shitty four eyes.

Hange could have heard it, but they had said it so many times before, that she didn’t open her mouth to speak. He couldn’t be too sure either that he had said it out loud.

“Daddy? You want tea with ice?”

Levi only realized then, when the silence broke and a young Luke went in between them a mug in hand.

No hot water, no tea bag. A look of confusion on Luke’s face. ‘Daddy, shut tea for ice?” The words were stilted, the syllables garbled against one another.

Levi and Hange had both looked at Luke with the same surprised look, surprised but very very understanding of the current situation.

***

Shitty four eyes.

Luke didn’t have a potty mouth. Or at least, he wasn’t supposed to.

Levi was with Luke the most among everyone. The heavy responsibility of 'main provider' on his back, he found himself thinking back to every single ‘alone time,’ the two of them had since Luke had been old enough to talk. It had been a year at least since Luke had started to seem more like a companion than a responsibility. When Levi looked back at it though, he thought the moments to be countless and consequently, he had found it difficult to point out the exact point in time where Luke had thought it a good idea to blurt out the words ‘shitty four eyes.’

Coming up with no conclusion, he desperately grasped for a glimmer of an explanation. “Luke’s a nice kid, he wouldn’t call people names,”

“I don’t doubt that,” Hange responded, seeming not at all bothered by the chain of events.

“Hey, we’re still gonna have to explain that to Luke?”

“You tried a while ago, right?” Hange asked “What did Luke say?”

“He just kept repeating it… Shut tea for ice. Shut tea for ice.” Levi whispered in response, letting it get softer and softer on his tongue. It had been just an hour before they had put their son to bed. The conference, the incident just a while ago suddenly had self conscious about how loud they were talking and how close the bedroom door was to the living room. He turned to the sofa and sat a few more feet away from the door, as if that could have done anything to make their conversation more private.

“So Levi, what do you think that means?” Hange asked. She had moved next to him, as if she understood Levi’s intention with switching seats.

“He didn’t seem hostile,” Levi said.

“So he doesn’t think what he’s saying is bad right?”

“He called you shitty four eyes too.” Levi turned to Hange.

“And shitty four eyes has never been an insult to me. You’ve been calling him that since before,” Hange said.

“So what do you suggest?” Levi asked.

Hange was in deep thought for a second, one hand to her chin. She turned to the phone on the kitchen counter. “Calling someone more experienced maybe.”

***

Historia had a child, a good few years past the terrible twos and threes. Naturally, she seemed almost nonchalant about that problem.

“Imitation,” Hange said so confidently, yet so abruptly that morning as she sipped her coffee. She turned to Levi and grinned in the same exact way she would have dropped a research-backed theory many years ago when she was still a titan researcher.

“Titans used to imitate right?” Levi said. Mentioning the magic word ‘titans’ could be enough to pull any good ideas out of her.

“Yes, I know,” Hange said matter-of-factly. “And titans and humans are a little different… It would be easier to have a peaceful conversation with titans. Luke understands me almost perfectly. And you too. I think we can talk to him first about why using nicknames is bad.”

“You think a three year old can understand a convoluted explanation by Hange Zoe?”

“Three and a half,” Hange clarified again. If he can tell omnivores and carnivores apart, I’m sure he can tell the difference between calling people names and respecting people right?” She propped her mug on the dining room table and looked expectantly at Levi.

Levi averted his gaze. “Hange, do you think a three and a half year old will get it?” He dropped the tea bag into the mug and watched as the darker liquid consumed the water, touching the rims of the mug. He walked back to the dining table, settling himself on the chair right in front of Hange.

Hange chuckled. “Worth a try right?”

“Daddy! Shoes!” Luke was painfully demanding. And of all moments, it had been then that Levi noticed that Luke had picked up some of their attitude.

Right. Although Luke could easily get ready for school himself, tying shoes was still something Levi had been in the process of teaching him. “I’ll just help him tie his shoes first.”

“I’ll go ahead.” Hange gulped the last few drops of coffee. “Gonna be late for work. You think you can handle this?”

“Talk to Luke right?” Levi asked. “About the importance of respect?” He had put emphasis on those last three words, as if to hint to Hange that introducing such an abstract idea to a three year old seemed like not so good of an idea.

“Worth a try right?” Hange responded as she stood up and slung her back over her shoulder.

“And if it doesn’t work?” Levi pressed.

By then, Hange was already closer to the door than the dining table, far from hearing range of Levi’s naturally soft voice. Levi felt it pointless to say it louder, especially since by then, Hange had already slammed the door behind her.

And he had bigger fish to deal with, like a frustrated son, who had knotted the laces of his shoes enough times that Levi struggled to find the tips. “Luke… Why… Did you do it like this?” Levi had to resist the sweet temptation of inserting a ‘fuck’ somewhere on that question. After all, it wasn’t Luke’s fault he was just a three year old who was still learning the ropes.

The process of unknotting a very tight knot though was painful, frustrating enough for Levi to sit down crosslegged in front of his son. It was taking longer than a few seconds, enough to have a conversation.

“Luke… The school told me about ‘shut tea for ice’”Levi started and when he started to pull at the top most knot, he felt some sort of release with it, some extra reserves of patience he could easily tap at.

“Shitty four eyes! Clean Freak!” Luke responded happily.

When Levi looked up and met his son’s eyes, he couldn’t help but be somewhat bothered by the knowing and confident look. “You shouldn’t call people names Luke.” He put one finger right in front of Luke’s face.

Was that how to tell a kid off? Levi had been working with Luke long enough though to know, Luke didn’t understand what he was saying. Or maybe he didn’t understand what Levi meant.

What would Hange say? When Levi reflected on that though, the only thing he could salvage were her rants on photosynthesis and titan experiments. If their son understood those, he should understand a lecture on respect right?

“No.” One word Levi had learned as a parent. “No calling people names,” he added, his voice softer that time.

Luke pouted.

Levi had a soft spot for his son’s pout and consequently, he did what any sane parent would have done in that situation. He stared at the clock. Fifteen minutes before class starts. He stood up and took his son by the hand. “Come on Luke, let’s go to school.”

On the way to school, he allowed himself another session for self reflection. Imitation huh? Levi thought to himself. He had to admit, he may have called Hange ‘shitty four eyes’ more often than not and in return, he may have brushed off a few ‘clean freaks’ from Hange as well.

They could try to wean Luke out of it right or at least find out why Luke had been using it at school? He could leave that to Hange though, and maybe consult a bit with their teacher.

Levi took a deep breath, a loud one, particularly when they passed through one of the less saturated parts of town on the way to school. He was sure he had enough reserves at his already scarce social battery to deal with asking advice from teachers.

***

Same advice as Historia.

Children were master imitators. And whether a three year old (or a three and a half year old according to Hange) would understand such an abstract concept as respect, that was one thing they weren’t sure of.

So when dealing with a toddler, play with their imitator side, not this belief that they might actually understand an abstract concept.

Levi had repeated those same words to Hange. By that evening though, he had forgotten half of it, and he had hoped that was the message she got.

“So, we should change how we talk to each other then…” Hange leaned back on the sofa. “But when do you think Luke heard us say it?”

Levi shrugged. “When do you say it?”

In return, Hange shrugged and let out a short laugh. “To be honest, I don’t remember calling you a clean freak either.”

“When we fight?” Levi suggested.

“Or when we don’t?” Hange put her hands up. “Anyway, the important thing is, he hears us say it. That kid won’t get shitty four eyes or clean freak out of anywhere. So we watch ourselves okay? No using bad words in front of our son.”

“That’s easy.” Levi narrowed his eyes at Hange and sat back on the sofa. “I’ve been doing that ever since Luke was born.”

***

With a little more self-introspection and blatant awareness of his surroundings, Levi started to realize it wasn’t as easy as he had expected it to be. He had stopped himself enough times that his throat had been sore from the many times he concealed his own penchant for vulgarity with a dry cough.

“Luke, make sure to put your bag back in the room,” Levi said from the kitchen as he pulled an apple from the fruit basket. It was just like every other day before, pick Luke up, prepare an afternoon snack. Very routine, very predictable and the only thing that made it a challenge had been the heavy awareness that Levi did curse on a regular basis.

Or maybe just the fact that he had to watch himself, had him very very heavy, as if every move had to be cold and calculated.H e was a little more careful than usual with cutting the apple. And he was terribly terribly slow. By the time, he turned back to the kitchen counter, sliced apples arranged neatly on the plate, Luke had already settled on the seat in front of him, looking expectantly at the plate on Levi’s hands.

How long he had been there? Levi didn’t want to ask. “Are you hungry?” he asked instead.

Luke nodded. It was a stupid question, but at least his son was too young to judge his ineloquence.

He dropped the pile of apples in front of him and made himself comfortable on the seat next to his son. “After this, you wanna play with the tiles?” Levi offered.

But never freak. Levi told himself as even the prospect of teaching his kid was starting to weigh on him.

“Let’s play with the tiles!” Luke clapped one hand on the table, and he shoved one of the apples into his mouth.

“Okay, I’ll bring it out later,” Levi said. He took one apple from the plate and started to munch on it, only interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing a few seconds later.

Most days, the phone ringing was a nuisance, peppered with conversations with salesmen, customer service. Having grown up with a place with no phone, but too many scams, it was only natural that Levi would detect the opportunity for scams in that new fangled piece of technology.

There was one voice which always made the process of using the phone though, bearable, if not pleasurable.

“Levi! What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Four eyes, you’re out from work early.”

There was a pause, a pregnant and awkward pause. Then Hange spoke up. “Is Luke with you?”

The silence and that one question spoke for him. Levi spun around to see Luke, staring right at him. “Four eyes… Shitty...Four eyes?” The young boy repeated. It sounded rehearsed the first time around, then confident the second time.

There was a lot he had to teach the kid.

“Just take out food for dinner. Luke and I will have a long talk,” Levi said.

***

Levi’s mind was a blank slate. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing though.

Whatever he was supposed to say to lecture Luke on proper respect lasted at the most, a few seconds in his muddled brain. It went into one ear and quickly out the other.

Somewhere along the way, Levi had given up. He had mentioned words like ‘respect,’ ‘not nice.’ When he didn’t even believe half of what he had spewing out of his mouth, he ended up unable to blame Luke for wearing such a blank expression.

Would Hange have done a better job at teaching Luke? Maybe.

Levi had never been the most diplomatic person, having sat at the sidelines every time Hange had been negotiating trade contracts and war treaties. Besides, he didn’t believe it completely necessary either to teach children not to curse.

There were bigger fish to fry, like rebuilding a war torn country, eradicating poverty and starvation, income inequality and terrorism.

Having lived like a soldier his whole life, dealing with something so mundane as a teacher’s request to teach his child not to curse, seemed almost mundanely unnecessary.

When his son was insulting other children, when a teacher was telling his son off for it, Levi didn’t necessarily find it horrifying. School rules were school rules though and their new society made compliance for three year olds a big issue. Maybe he could leave that educating to Hange though, and just focus maybe on teaching the young boy how to read.

He rearranged the letters and a few times, he gave free rein to his son to form words himself.

There were easy words like ‘dog,’ ‘cat,’ and ‘cow.’ Although Levi had been surprised that Luke had independently put together more complex words like ‘broom’ and ‘clean,’ he started to accept anyway, that it was only natural that the young boy would know them. After all, Hange had been teaching him more complex words like ‘photosynthesis,’ ‘omnivore’ and ‘carnivore.’

Luke had been spelling all those words on his own while Levi watched silently. And when Levi started to scramble the pieces again, just to watch what his son would create, he started to notice some pattern.

Shut

“Shut!” Luke screamed. He didn’t completely open his mouth though, and it started to sound more like another cursed word. Levi wasn’t going to mention that though.

“Shut…” Levi explained. Like ‘Shut up.’ ‘Shut up’ wasn’t the most diplomatic expression and it was probably better not to teach his son that at such a young age. “Like shut the door,” Levi added a second later. He mimed the act of slamming a door closed, suddenly self conscious of how rude it probably would be to slam a door. Was Luke going to start slamming doors if he made his movements too forceful?

Ice

“Ice!” Luke read aloud.

“Ice…” Levi paused for a second, racking his brain for the best way to explain it without having to go for the refrigerator and risk making a mess on their matted living room floor. “The cold thing…”

Four

“Four!”

“The number,” Technically there were two words ‘four’ and ‘for.’ What do you call those filler words? How do you define the word for? Levi realized then, there were only too many ways he could explain what words like ‘for,’ ‘to,’ were used for. He could just leave that to the school to explain.

Tea

“Tea!”

“Te---”

“Daddy likes tea!” Luke started. His face fell. “Right?”

In shock, Levi didn’t even notice he had frozen still, his hand dropping the tile. He nodded. “Yeah I like tea.” He allowed himself a tight lipped grin as he adjusted the letters just to make his son’s final product a little neater. “I really like tea.”

“Shitty four eyes?” His son said again, his excitable tone from a while ago unwavering.

That’s a bad word. Levi wanted to say. That’s disrespectful. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else though. After all, his son was a bundle of innocence, a bundle of excitement. Did Luke even know what the hell he had been saying?

Levi was pathetic. He was weakshit. And he couldn’t even bring himself to disciplining his child on something he personally didn’t even believe in. He continued to reflect on it as he rearranged the letters again. Then he further wallowed in whatever guilt settled in him as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen. As he prepared dinner, then washed the dishes.

When Hange came home, he at least had been ready enough to speak. “I think he’s too young to understand,” Levi said.

“Well a three and a half year old would have a hard time understanding abstract ideas right?”

“Says the parent who’s teaching a three year old science.”

Hange pouted. “Science is not an abstract concept.”

“That’s not the point,” Levi said firmly. He knew if he didn’t interrupt Hange there, she probably would have gone on another tirade. “Do you have any ideas? On how to deal with this?”

“I have one,” Hange said. “I was talking to Historia just today, and some other parents…” She propped her chin on the palm of her hand. “Have you considered… Aside from just laying off, the shitty four eyes first? And I’ll lay off the clean freak? I mean, the kids apparently, at this age, they like to imitate and if we just be more careful about what we’re saying and try to say something nicer, more positive as nicknames. He should stop right?”

“We’ve been calling each other for years,” Levi commented.

“But, not in public right?” Hange said. “You never really said it during meetings.”

“Well those were meetings.”

“Think of this as a meeting, except this time, our son is probably listening to us every single time.” She frowned, wrinkled her nose and looked behind her. Just on the other side of the wall was Luke’s bedroom. It was late at night and he probably was asleep.

But with their conversations and Luke's tendency to pick things up, it only proved that the walls may have been too thin and their son may have been very observant.

Levi raised his eyebrows. “So you’re saying…”

Hange nodded. No clean freak. No shitty four eyes. AT ALL. She spelled out those nicknames slowly and carefully, just so their son wouldn't’ pick the words up, taking in the small possibility that he was awake.

Levi sighed. “Fine.” He wasn’t fine. Their home was supposed to be their private space. Luke would be a sponge for information but a stranger to logic and abstract concepts for the next two years.

Letting go of such an intimate habit born through years in the survey corps just to please the teachers and to make it easier for their son fit in, seemed almost unfair. He sought solace at least in Hange’s forced grin. She didn’t want to do it either.

We suffer together. Levi thought to himself. With a quick glance at her, Levi was sure Hange understood. Making it an issue of pride and misery made it all together a more bearable challenge.

***

It was bearable at least. And it took a little more careful introspection to pick up those few moments he had called Hange 'shitty four eyes' or ‘four eyes’ and he started to realize, it had been more difficult to point out than his own abrasive choice of words and his own vulgarity.

Shitty four eyes after all, never seemed like a string of curse words or insults. It was a pet name, so invisibly embedded in conversations that Levi felt strangely incomplete not peppering his dialogue with it.

Hange seemed to struggle as well. Clean freak. She used to say. She had started to replace it with something more diplomatic. “You really like cleaning huh?” A few syllables longer but it felt terribly, terribly unnatural. And Hange always accompanied it with the widest and most cringe inducing grin.

Every single time, Levi would look away, to stop himself from laughing or grimacing, one of those. Hange must have been doing the same though.

Shitty four eyes.

He had replaced ‘shitty four eyes’ with the closest thing he could come up with. It had taken some strict observation from other couples to pick up the best one. “Yes honey, I really love cleaning,” Levi admitted. He put enough emphasis on the pet name, hoping that would at least teach their child about proper pet naming conventions, the importance of ‘not cursing’ and just conventional diplomacy.

Hange was only making it harder to take the challenge seriously, a sardonic grin constantly plastered on her face. Every single time, he had called her honey, she looked away and cleared her throat, or let out a wracked cough, a good disguise for what he guessed had been a laugh.

A shoddy disguise but somehow, it seemed to work. Luke would watch them every time, his stare far from blank. He had on the same face he made every single time he would form those words with the blocks. Luke was deep in thought. “Shitty four eyes! Clean freak!” He said a second later.

Luke would then repeat that many few times over dinner or breakfast.

Imitation. Levi would tell himself, will himself to ignore Luke’s words. As painfully uncharacteristic as it was. Levi would trod on with his mission. “Honey, you want more bread?” Levi tried to make that one word seem as sweet as it sounded. He never got the practice though, so he wondered if he ever had the innate ability to make any words sound sweet.

“Thank you honey,” Hange responded, her grin much wider. A split second later, she looked away, seeming ashamed with herself.

Levi couldn’t blame Hange. It was a painful rendition, her tone seemed very much rehearsed. And when it was common knowledge between them that she was naturally more eloquent than he was, Levi found himself wondering how bad he sounded.

As long as Luke learns. Levi willed himself to swallow whatever embarrassment and stifling sensation came with the slow and excruciating weaning process from very intimate habits.

Luke eventually picked it up. “Ho...ney?” he repeated as his eyes darted between his two parents.

Yes. Honey. Levi nodded.

Luke’s face fell, his expression shifted from something curious, then something confused. Ending with something that could have been a hint of crestfallenness.

Levi couldn’t be too sure though. The boy looked down at his food and Levi couldn’t bring himself to crane his neck and sneak a glance to confirm it. The drooping shoulders of his son was enough to get his stomach turning though.

How long would it take for him to get used to it? Three weeks? Months? Eventually Luke should get used to it… Right?

It was one of those rare days where Hange had decided to work from home. Her piles of paperwork took up more than half their dining table and food would seem more like a hazard than a necessity.

When Hange was only present during weekends, Levi at the least, tolerated it.

On one condition, he was allowed to straighten out the almost two foot tall pile everytime he passed by the dining room in between household chores. When Hange was deep into hundreds of pages worth of reports though, she didn’t look like she minded Levi’s silent interruptions.

“What time are you picking Luke up from school?” Hange asked.

Levi looked at the clock. “He gets out of school at two today,” he answered. It was eleven, and half his mind was already looking into planning lunch.

“Okay,” Hange said, her focus fell back to the paperwork.

It wasn’t anything new, even on weekends or any other day Hange was home, Levi did most of the cooking and cleaning. Hange’s presence did manage to take some of the load off household management off of his shoulders.

Answering the phone was no exception.

Most days, Levi was capable of doing it on his own. When the vegetables were boiling on a pot, the pasta heating in the oven just below it, Hange offered to answer the phone.

“Zoe residence… Speaking…” Hange had always been better at answering the phone anyway. “Luke?”

Levi’s ears perked up at that. He lowered the heat of the stove, as if that would have done anything to make the conversation clear.

“What? Why? No… We’re not.” Hange’s voice was racked with surprise. “....You’re right. We’ll get there soon… We can leave now… We’re not too busy….”

Hange? Not busy? Levi had turned off the stove. Lunch never was the most urgent thing. “You’re going to school?”

“It’s about Luke.”

No shit. “I can tell that much from the conversation,” Levi said. “What happened?”

“He just started crying apparently…” Hange said.

Levi sensed the urgency in the speed at which she pulled her coat over her and retied her hair. “Crying over?” Levi pressed. Luke rarely cried and just that thought had Levi’s heart pounding.

“When the teachers were explaining… Luke was crying about… his parents… About us?”

“Your son said, you two ‘’didn’t love each other anymore’” the headmaster explained. It had been just them in the office but with the way the headmaster had explained it, it looked like she could have been quoting Luke word per word.

Levi surreptitiously flashed Hange a look of confusion, a glance just to see if she knew anything.

She seemed as lost as he was. “Can we talk to our son?” Hange asked.

“Before that, I just wanted to discuss the family situation first… See if we could do anything to support Luke through this?”

“Through what?”

“Through your ‘separation?’”

Levi turned to Hange, his eyes wide. We’re separating?

Hange furrowed her brows at him, an incredulous look. She turned abruptly back at the principal. “Who told you we’re separating?”

“Your son said you two have been fighting a lot. And he seemed very affected...”

“Fighting?” Levi asked. Are we?

No we aren’t. Hange’s expression said it all. “If there’s any misunderstanding, we can explain it to Luke ourselves.”

“You have to understand. We have our students welfare in mind. If we believe that your son is being raised in an unsuitable environment…”

“Excuse me?” Hange put one hand to her chest. Her tone was slipping to something with more emotion than any attempt at compromise.

“Just let us talk to our son,” Levi said. The echo of his own voice sounded unfamiliar in that small voice, especially since Hange had done the talking the whole time.

“We’ve been hearing as well about the vulgarities your son has been spouting...” the headmaster said.

“Yes, we’ve been working on it,” Levi said firmly, with every intention to interrupt the old lady.

“I’d like first some verbal commitment from both of you at least to work on this? We treat every child here like part of the family. With the case on Luke’s word usage and his suddenly bursting into tears in school… It looks like his home environment might not be ideal.”

“Can you let us talk to our son please?” Levi said. He turned to Hange. The brunette had fallen silent yet she seemed very much deep in thought.

“Could you please explain though from your end the debacle about the ‘shitty four eyes’ and the ‘clean freak?”

“We’re working on it,” Levi repeated. Somehow, it was getting harder and harder to sit still.

The condescending look in the woman’s face, the accusing glare wasn’t making it any easier. “But have you been working hard on it? Can I ask what is causing you to employ such vulgarity in your own home, in an environment for children?”

Since when did schools in Paradis get this vigilant about children’s home lives? It was a welcome change at least but Levi was in no mood to ponder the benefits of such an arrangement. “With all due respect ma’am, that’s none of your goddamn business.”

Levi could have just made it worse. And Hange said so herself, in between a stifled grin and a stifled chuckle.

If his own treatment of the very snobby principal could have done anything to convince the whole school that they were shitty parents. He was confident at least, Luke would defend them.

I mean a three year old should be capable of defending their parents right?

A three and a half year old. Hange’s words echoed in his head. If the ‘half year’ of living did anything to make Luke anymore aware of what exactly was going on, he prayed it did work.

Whether it was because he was three and a half or he was merely three, he seemed to have understood. A flash of recognition as they locked eyes along the hallways, Luke still let go of the Ms. Wilde's hand and ran towards them.

By some instinctive need to prove something maybe, Levi clutched Hange’s hand. She gripped back.

Luke seemed to have noticed it. “No fighting?”

“Fighting? Who said we’re fighting?” Hange bent down and patted her son on the head with her free hand.

A wide grin on his face, Luke turned to Hange. “Shitty four eyes.” Then to Levi. “Clean freak.”

Levi bent down, right next to Hange. “Yes, this is my shitty four eyes,” Levi said as he put one hand on Hange’s head, pulling her close.

“And this is my clean freak,” Hange pointed a finger to her left, towards Levi.

Something felt natural and intimate and something tasted sweeter than honey when he was saying those words again, words he had kept nill for months.

The grin in Luke’s face only made the release all the sweeter. “Shitty four eyes and clean freak!” Soon, he was running back to the teacher that had called out to him. He still had a few more hours of school.

“I guess we’ve been pretty careless about the nicknames huh?” Hange whispered wryly. “He’s probably just too young to understand what ‘shitty’ or what ‘freak’ could imply in any other situation.”

Levi stared ahead, at the young boy who was talking to the teacher in whatever childish babble the three year old could manage. “You know, the nicknames never felt like an insult to me.”

“I mean, we have been using them since we’ve met right? It just slips off our tongue every now and then,” Hange said as she let out a soft chuckle.

Every now and then. No a lot more often, than every now and then. To the point that Levi never felt it when it happened. Yet the absence of such words were painfully glaring.

“What are we going to do now about Luke’s language?” Levi averted his gaze, perfectly aware that if Luke had learned anything, it had probably been from his father.

“Have you ever taught him what the words ‘shitty’ or ‘freak’ meant?”

“Never,” Levi said.

“Then maybe we don’t have to think too much about it?” Hange suggested.

But it continued to nag. After all, the teachers continued to stare, probably whispering. Levi and Hange spent the last few hours before school ended just sitting by the courtyard of the school and they had more than enough evidence by then to be sure, teachers were talking.

When the bell rang, they found themselves attempting to brush away whispers and glares from the teacher, instead focusing on the hallways which were starting to fill with toddlers and kids.

And eventually, they found Luke, next to him a young girl in pig tails, with glasses. She wore a blouse and a skirt without a single crease on them. “This is my shitty four eyes… And my Clean freak!” Luke said. The girl next to him waved her hand, a wide grin on her face, not at all fazed by the words ‘shitty’ or ‘freak.’

Levi exchanged a knowing glance with Hange. No other words were shared between them but somehow they both understood. Maybe adults were just overthinking that very simple thing called language.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #fanfic

72 notes · View notes

somedrunkpirate · 3 years ago

Text

learn the dead | Arthur/Eames

Read here on ao3 or continue below Tags: Presumed Dead, First Time, Angst with a happy ending, pining Rating: T Wordcount: 5,4k

------------------------------

Everything checks out.

The hospital records, the police report, even the fucking local news because, to quote scruffy looking anchor, with a stutter no less, “There has— sn’t been an lethal acc—sident for over ten years on this s—street.”

The information is bare-bones, but that isn’t remarkable for an open and shut case like this: drunk driver meets tree trunk. Happens a thousand times a year, and will continue to happen whether you make a fuss out of it or not. Write down the licence plate, try (and fail) to inform relatives, do the paperwork and get home on time for dinner for once. Simple as pie.

Except. Except Arthur wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have driven drunk. His stick reaches too far up his ass to do something so utterly reckless in reality.

That thought is what had spurred Eames to begin his search— there had to be something, anything, that could explain the whole bullshit situation. Even if that something is a hit, covered up like an accident. Then at least Eames would have some to blame— Someone to kill.

But everything checks out.

Even that initial discrepancy. Arthur couldn’t have been drunk, but after many phone calls and bribes, Eames had learned what Arthur could have been.

He could have been high.

His last job had been an experimental trial. Not with a chemist Eames knew. An academic who had shit his pants when Eames barged in with a smile as sharp as a knife— and a knife in his hand, of course. Wouldn’t do to be less than intimidating in this case. The chemist had spluttered into a rant Eames had understood half of, so he’d called Yusuf and held the phone up without responding to the cursing at being awoken in the middle of the night. But he’d caught on quickly, started to ask questions Eames wouldn’t have thought to ask. Then more, sharper. With a hiss.

“What is he saying?” Eames had asked, after the chemist had run out of breath.

“Eames—“

The way Yusuf sounded, a sigh more than an utterance. The tone of his voice as it tried to fold in pity— badly. Yusuf was never quite made for compassion. Though the attempt had been enough to haunt Eames’ nightmares since.

“Eames. He’s dead.”

The confirmation had come without fanfare in the end. Eames didn’t even kill the chemist, after. It hadn’t been his fault that the mix Arthur had taken voluntarily turned out to suppress reflexes when tired. Not tired as they would call it— after a rush job, when exhaustion nipped at your heels. Just tired; about to drink a cup of coffee tired. Arthur probably hadn’t even felt any different until it was too late. But it had been raining, and he’d been driving for more than six hours. It was no one’s fault that Arthur had lost control over the vehicle just in front of the only tree in a three mile radius.There had been a rabbit flattened between the car and the bark. He’d probably been trying to save it.

A fucking rabbit.

Eames had hung up on Yusuf without a word. It had been the last time he’d spoken to anyone for a long time.

Except that isn’t quite true.

“Well, darling, you’ve gotten me in quite a pickle.”

The grave doesn’t respond. It never does.

— — — — —

If someone had told him that his reaction to Arthur’s death would be to stand before his grave every day for a month straight, he'd have laughed his lungs out of his chest.

It would’ve been sad, of course, to see such a talented colleague go. He might even have gone on a bender for a week— drinking away the sorrows that come with a lost acquaintance— maybe a friend. But he’d have better things to do than indulge himself for longer than that. He’d been indulging himself with Arthur for far too long, and death should have been the end to it.

Because he had been thinking about it, sometimes, when he was feeling fanciful. You would have had to be blind not to see the chemistry. The push and pull that led to delicious flirtation — as much as Arthur wanted to deny it — and even more delicious dreamsharing. They made each other better and that was honestly the only thing Eames ever looked for, when, if ever, he thought about that nebulous concept of ‘settling down’.

So yes, there would be something more to losing Arthur. Eames had known even then. It was losing that slight hint of potential. Though that is always a treacherous word.

Because he never truly believed he’d make it that far— not just with Arthur, who would’ve laughed even harder if Eames were ever to confess his vague future plans for them — but with life in general. Why plan for something that would be cut short anyway? Even if Arthur could be persuaded to make something out of the spark between them, it would’ve been cruel to do so. Eames knew himself well. He wouldn’t have stopped taking risks, stop wanting more-- craving freedom like a drug. The idea to set Arthur up for inevitable heartbreak had been enough to avoid thinking about practical steps. A fantasy was fine. Eames got paid to live in them. He didn’t get paid for reality.

So, Arthur’s death would of course be sad. But it shouldn’t have been more than another scar on his back— the punishment of the trade he chose, along with a whisper of nostalgia at losing a construct of his imagination. Even he wouldn’t have had the heart to keep the fantasy of a dead man alive for his own entertainment. A week, a few drinks, and it should’ve been over.

It shouldn’t have destroyed him.

“I just never thought I’d be the one left behind, darling,” Eames says to the wet dirt below him. It feels off to tell the headstone itself— the name is fake. Aaron Fister. Arthur had thrown a knife past his head when Eames had shown him the forged papers. To say he regrets the joke now is an understatement.

“In all fairness, it should’ve been you here, it would make more sense for you to fall in love with me, once I’m not there to bother you anymore. Absentia makes the heart go fonder, hmm?”

The dirt seems to be judging him. It’s good that some things never change.

“I know— I know it's hypocritical. I didn’t even— I didn’t even love you. It was just a game. A fun thing to theorise about when the goings got tough. Would you be as snappish if we lived together? Would you forgive me faster if I sucked you off? Would you kiss me goodbye in the airport?” Eames stops himself, and rubs a hand over his face, groaning. “It’s humiliating, darling. I should’ve just gotten off at the thought of you like half of the dreamshare community was doing. Hand on or in their whatever and imagine you moaning next to them. But I had to be pathetic about it. Though this is reaching new heights, I must say.”

He leaves, abruptly sick of himself. He comes back the next day, as always.

Some days, though, Eames doesn’t devolve into confessions that make the little old ladies passing by their lost friend’s grave raise their eyebrows and linger by a random grave to listen anyway.

Some days, Eames is angry.

The first time, he breaks his toe in the process.

“You bloody cunt!” He’s aware that he’s shouting, but he doesn’t stop. “Never experiment alone! Isn’t that what you fucking say to the newbies? You need someone to be a baseline. Someone who can bring you home safe. You fuck. Why didn’t you call me. Why didn’t you fucking—“

Kicking the gravestone had not been his best idea, but the pain of it brings a rush of satisfaction. There is— so much, inside of him. Eames is drowning in it, and the throb in his feet cuts right through it. Clarity. He kicks again.

“You fucking bastard.”

The old ladies have gone from curious to concerned now. Eames hobbles away, hissing, before he gets a restraining order on a grave.

The next day he’s back, a bottle of whiskey in hand, and finds himself apologising.

“I know— I never made it quite clear that you could call me, for stuff like that. That I would pick up. Maybe I wouldn’t have. Or no, I would have, but I might not have bothered for that. The jobs— I knew how to handle you on the job. But outside of that. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage. I wouldn’t think that way then, of course. Convince myself that I’m above errand runs like that. Throw you a bone recommending some up and coming kid I knew or something— intern type, for all that we have those here. But I don’t think I would’ve come. So it isn’t your fault. You made a mistake, not getting back-up, but it isn’t your fault. You didn’t know you had any. And I didn’t dare to believe I could be yours. That you would let me. That it wouldn’t end in disaster.”

Eames leans against the cold stone and sighs. “’Suppose it has, already. Would’ve been too good to have it end any other way.”

— — — — —

When Eames isn’t in a graveyard, or in a bar, he’s in the warehouse.

It had felt too… personal, to get a hotel room for this. To do his research in a living room, as opposed to the dreary, dusty and echoey spaces where most of their professional relationship had flourished. It’s too big for a one-man job, but Eames had managed to fill it up anyway. Boxes upon boxes of information, any trace of Arthur he could find. Every email, record, police report, college paper— printed and archived. Eames can find his way through the documents blind and drunk. Arthur has taken over every nook and cranny of the warehouse— and every nook and cranny of Eames’ mind. Eames has read everything, twice over.

If Arthur had been alive to know, he would’ve killed him.

Because Arthur had always been a private person, for all that he pries in the lives of clients and collaborators both. He was the one who asked the questions and rarely answered them. It had always been a luxury— a rare reward, to be thrown a scrap of information. He’d always said something with that slight subtle smile, like he knew the power his breadcrumbs of personal life held over others. Everyone ravenous for more intel on one of the greatest pointmen of their generation.

How horrible is it then to revel in the mountains of information that Eames had been able to gather after his death. He’d always known he’d had enough pull to find something, and after the inception job he’d had more than enough cash to buy the rest. But he’d never done it; at first because of the wrath that would quickly follow. Then because he’d known it would tarnish Arthur’s trust in him— something he’d wanted to protect at all costs. And then lastly — but maybe from the start — because it was so much more thrilling to learn bit by bit, piece by piece. To earn his knowledge of Arthur, and to ensure that his curiosity would never run out. He’d become slightly addicted to the feeling.

But now, with no one left to tell, it had only taken the excuse of the suspicious circumstances of his death for Eames to turn into the hoarder he’d always known he could be. It had gotten to a point where new packages arrived every so often— criminals even beyond dreamshare having caught wind of an individual willing to invest heavily on any information. Someone had even hacked the pentagon to get classified documents. From the message on the box, the hacker thought they were helping a spy of some kind. Eames had sent him enough bitcoin to blow wind in the direction of that particular fire hearth of urban legend. He’d rather have people think there is a whole network of people digging into this, than anyone realising it’s in truth only one pathetic man.

So Eames drinks. Eames talks to a grave. And Eames reads. It only takes him two boxes until Arthur makes him laugh for the first time since the car crash. It was due to a spirited essay on the importance of open source information that was clearly written to spite the professor leading the course, who’d been forced to give it an A+ regardless. Eames had chuckled, imagining the self-righteous satisfaction of this young Arthur as he got his grade back, and then began crying. Not to grieve the loss of a future he hadn’t realised how much he wanted, as is his wont, these days. But from the unfairness of it all. That a person like this, who had so much to say in this world, should’ve been taken so early, and in such a meaningless way.

Arthur would’ve denied it, but Eames knows he’d only be content with a death from sacrifice . He’d shown that side of him clearly when he jumped into Cobb’s mess headfirst and without hesitation. If Arthur had died from a bullet taken for Cobb, Ariadne, or maybe even Eames, he would’ve been at peace— or as much as you can while bleeding out.

Eames had known that, but as he learns more and more of Arthur, he realises how true it is. How, despite everything, Arthur cannot stop himself from being a silent hero. There are so many instances where Arthur, behind the screens, helps someone. Whether it was connecting the right people to each other under the mum of a potential project, or taking jobs way below his pay grade because he sympathised with the client, Arthur did not let their line of work destroy the possibility to be kind, every once in a while.

It’s not like he advertised it. He didn’t do it in a way people would recognize his actions— which was smart, as it could be seen as a weakness in their circles. But whenever the chance came along, even if it was to his own detriment, Arthur chose the rough road home if it would ease someone else’s way.

And this, Eames realises, is the secret to his competency. All other pointmen are expert researchers through and through, but no one had the reach Arthur had. Arthur knew everything, and if he didn’t know, he knew someone who knew— and most importantly, someone who would tell him. Eames doesn’t even know if Arthur ever realised that it was his kindesses, in and out the community, which led him into such a position of power. His actions are too random and inconsistent to be a strategic scheme to build an empire. Some of his biggest successes are results of a nicety five or ten years ago, something that he might have forgotten doing, but the people receiving it definitely haven’t.

On the surface Arthur had been known as cool and effective— someone with a distance to the rest of the world that resulted in a highly detailed overview of any situation, even if it brought a side of professionalism to even the most informal of interactions. The people who witnessed a more casual side of him were few and far in between, but even those came away with the impression that to Arthur, doing the job in the best way possible was the only drive to his actions.

No one had seen every little thing he did that had no other reason at all besides that he could do them for someone.

Eames maps out everything on the walls of the warehouse. And when he stands back to take it all in, he realises that more than anyone, the person Arthur had silently helped was him.

Everything he’d done for Cobb had been grand and obvious, but more out of loyalty to Mal and her children than kindness without any other motivation. And Ariadne’s training had been as much for the inception job than for herself— maybe introducing her to the life hadn’t been a kindness at all. Continuing after could be seen as one, even if you could argue that her honing her raw talent would directly result in better and more stable dreams in later jobs.

But Eames— what Arthur had done for Eames—

Eames can’t think of a single reason besides just being plain nice.

Because it hadn’t been like he needed to. Eames had made him very clear that he’d be down for almost any job Arthur put in front of him. Just him being himself had always been enough, he didn’t need to do him any favours to persuade him like everyone else did.

And maybe Arthur had gotten the memo, because he’d done Eames favours without ever telling him, and those you can’t pay back. Eames had no idea the reason he got out of that trouble in Chicago was because Arthur bailed him out— it was presented to him as a procedure mistake. And then there was the Telula job, with an extractor-architect team Eames had wanted to work with for ages, but the chemist they’d been looking to hire was someone from Eames’ not so smooth first years of dream-share and he’d almost cut out of the job to not be forced to confront that past. That was until the chemist suddenly dropped out with an offer he couldn’t refuse— an offer Arthur had been behind.

There were so many things like that. Little things, small things— warehouses next to Eames’ favourite restaurants; nuggets of information given anonymously through the channels of dreamshare gossip to hit Eames’ ears right on time before a betrayal; a job a week delayed because of Eames’ mother’s funeral.

It’s not like Eames had been the only one, but he was by far the most frequent of all of them. More and more so over the years, like Arthur had been finding more reasons to be nice to him, while Eames had still been stuck in his pathetic imaginations, blind to what was already in front of him.

A friendship.

He’d been so preoccupied with his own flights of fancy, that he only realises how close they had been all this time until it was too late to experience it. Too late to thank Arthur for everything he’s done.

The agony of it— the longing. His heart thundering with the sudden need to have Arthur in his arms, alive and real and—

“Oh god. I love him.”

Eames drinks until he can’t remember. He manages to avoid the grave for a little while, but he doesn’t last long. Inevitably he’s pulled back to the grave yard, whiskey in hand, ready to talk to the love he lost again.

— — — — —

His cemetery routine— because he has one of those now — is usually to be at the grave around noon. Late enough to roll out of bed reasonably comfortably after a long night of drinking and/or reading, but early enough for there to be time left to check the new documents coming along and pay the right people before they send thugs to his hideout.

But this time the afternoon light shines golden over the rows and rows of headstones and Eames shivers in the Autumn breeze. The old ladies are all dressed in fur coats. He recognizes some of them, and wonders if they noticed he was gone. None of them greet him as he passes, so he assumes not.

Eames takes another sip of his bottle, allowing his feet to lead him over the familiar path up the hill, and then he drops his bottle all together.

A man is standing before the grave.

Tall, hunched a little in the wind. Long coat and thick black beanie. Nondescript. Anonymous.

He does not turn as Eames nears.

“You’re late.”

Eames’ hand is on his gun at the first syllable, but before he can put it on his temple a leather gloved hand snatches it from his fingers. The clip ejects with a decisive click.

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t be dramatic. We don’t need a scene.”

His face— a little gaunt. His eyes— tense, intent, darker than they should be. Eames doesn’t recognize the coat. But he’s there, pressed in close to hide the gun between their bodies. His breath— warm, hits Eames’ cheek. It isn’t— It can’t. He can’t be breathing because he’s—

Eames squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of metal against the palm of his hand, the smell of gunpowder.

A sigh falls between them. “It won’t work. This isn’t a dream, Eames.”

The hell it isn’t. “Experimental somacin, three levels.”

Raised eyebrows shouldn’t be audible only through speech. “Do you remember how you got here?”

Eames opens his eyes and says, “Deep immersion dream.”

Arthur huffs at that. “Do you really think they’ve been keeping you under for years? Fine. When have you last lost memories?”

Oh, that’s easy. “Two days ago.”

There is a pause, and Eames hates the fact that he can see the exact moment of tension in Arthur’s jaw that signals him suppressing a question. It’s too detailed, too precise, too re—

“Later,” Arthur murmurs under his breath, almost to himself. Like later is a given between them. He seems frustrated. His eyes keep flicking to the side and his hand hovers near Eames’ arm, like he’s trying to keep himself from hurrying Eames along and is annoyed that Eames is stalling them.

“I’m sorry darling,’” Eames drawls, “but in case it has escaped your notice: we are having this discussion on your fucking grave, so forgive me for being reasonably sceptical about the reality of this situation.”

Arthur breathes out a deep sigh, clenched teeth. “Eames, think about it, is there any forger you know capable of forging me in a way you can’t see through it? Or for that matter, is there anyone who would dare to try steal from the fucking person who invented the craft?”

No. The answer is no. It hits Eames with a muffled weight. He wonders what his face is doing, but whatever it is, Arthur responds to it with a curt nod. It suddenly strikes Eames as absurdly hilarious, in the way only the most traumatic experiences can.

“You know, complimenting me really doesn’t help with the reality argument. Never mind doing it twice. Death changed you, darling.”

Arthur stills in the middle of putting the clip back in Eames’ gun. There is the slightest flicker of his lips, and he huffs. “Maybe it did— can I trust you not to shoot yourself the moment I hand this back?”

“Come on now Arthur,” Eames says, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

And there— there it is. Arthur rolls his eyes as he presses the gun into Eames’ waiting hands, and a part of Eames’ breaks with it. Still muffled, still numb, but something is lumbering closer. He can almost hear its laboured breaths.

“There you are,” Eames says, smiling. “You don’t know how much I missed that.”

It is a miracle he doesn’t choke on the words.

“Glad to be remembered for something,” Arthur is saying, and now he’s pushing Eames— gently but with intent, away from the grave. “And I’d like to keep it that way, so we need to talk before your insatiable curiosity ruins everything I worked for.”

Eames doesn’t know if it's the words, or the press of Arthur’s hand against his back— barely sensable beneath all the layers but even the slightest hint of pressure sets him alight— but all at once everything falls into place.

“You faked your death.”

“Have you always been this slow on the uptake?”

Eames barely hears him. Reality is roaring and there is space for nothing else. Arthur isn’t dead. Arthur isn’t dead. They’re standing on Arthur’s grave— an empty grave. A lie. A trick. He’s been fooled because Arthur isn’t dead, he’s right here. He’s touching him because he isn’t—

Arthur isn’t. He isn’t.

He’s alive.

Eames doesn’t say anything the rest of the way to wherever. If Arthur speaks, he doesn’t strain to listen. Because Arthur isn’t dead and if he hears anything at all he’s either going to scream or kick the shit out of him just like he did on that stupid fucking grave— just to check that this one isn’t made of stone but flesh and blood and he is alive.

His fists hurt from clenching by the time they enter a hotel room. Something of the turmoil must have reached Arthur because he’s gone quiet. The roar lets off the very moment the door clicks closed and Arthur stands before it, uncertain, almost as if he regrets closing off his only exit. His expression is one Eames knows very well— preparing himself for a fight he saw coming too late. But he isn’t reaching for his gun. He just stands there.

He’s just waiting to take it.

Eames kisses him.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s—

A heartbeat feels more real when it’s underneath your lips. A pulse against a jaw— up, up to feel breath against breath. To hear the rush of it— a hitch of— of surprise.

Strength— dead people don’t have strength and Arthur is pushing him so he can’t be dead.

“Eames—“

Alive, alive, alive.

“Eames! Wait!”

Eames pushes closer. He places his forehead against Arthur’s, presses them both against the door. Arthur isn’t pushing him away anymore but his hands are still on his chest. Eames wonders if he can feel the beat of his heart. He hopes, quietly insane for a moment, that Arthur will never forget to make his heart beat as long as he is feeling one. As long as he’s given an example on how to live.

“Eames,” Arthur says. A word, a question, a name. All in one. His eyes are wide. Breathing heavy— breathing, breathing, breathing— and he’s flushed. Sharp cheekbones stained red. Lips wet.

Eames’ hands move of their own accord and cradle each side of Arthur’s face.

“Let me, darling. Just let me.”

Arthur breathes again.

Eames trembles, trying to hold himself back. Trying to breathe. But one more moment and he will collapse and he can’t— he can’t risk it. He can’t risk losing another chance. He needs this as much as he needs Arthur to be alive. He needs to stop regretting not having done this when he could and now he can again and how can he let this undeserved second chance slip through his fingers. He has to. Please. He has to.

Arthur’s mouth falls open. “Eames. Eames, it’s okay. You don’t have to— You don’t have to beg. It’s okay.”

“Let me, Arthur,” Eames repeats, “Let me.”

Arthur lets him.

Arthur lets him do everything.

— — — — —

It’s after when Arthur whispers, “I didn’t know.”

His head is on Eames chest, moving ever so slightly when he breathes. In and out. Eames has his fingers tangled in his hair. The strands slip away when Arthur turns around to look up at him.

“I didn’t know,” he says again. There is a rasp in his voice and his eyes are wet. Eames has never been apologised to like this before. Arthur sounds as if he believes sorry would be an insult, the word too small to encompass his regret. There is guilt there, in the flush of his cheeks, and the way he can’t seem to hold eye contact. His pupils flickering, microscopic twitches of shame.

Sometimes he’d dream of this. Arthur’s return. A fantasy, a different one, yet still addictive like a drug. He’d expected to be angry, to want to spill his pain onto Arthur’s feet and watch him try and walk through it; burn in it. A stimulation of the magmatic life Eames has been living since his death.

But now, face to face with an Arthur who is alive, Eames doesn’t want any of it.

So he leans down, and kisses Arthur on the forehead, like a benediction, trying to extract the regret from his face. And he tells him, honest in a way he’s learned to be in the last scant weeks, “I didn’t either, darling.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but there is something about his misery that is easily pushed to the side for curiosity.

Eames smiles at him and continues. “You were— you were a fantasy. A what if. Something amusing to think of when I was bored, or something life saving to dive into when reality drew a knife and stabbed me with it— literally, sometimes. But it was always a fantasy. An escape. It— it couldn’t have become real, if you’d given it a chance back then.” Eames takes a breath, shakes his head.

Arthur reaches up with a hand, frowning, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“But the trouble is, darling, it is incredibly hard not to fall in love with you the more I learn about you.” Eames smiles under his finger tips. “That is what changed. You never let me learn you. But who is to stop anyone from learning the dead?”

Something flickers over Arthur’s face— guilt, again, but different. “I didn’t know you wanted to learn about me— I thought you only gave a fuck about what I could be for you.”

Eames lays his hand over Arthur’s. “You’re right. I was blind— too blinded by the possibilities and too selfish to do anything about it. Maybe I needed to lose you in order to learn how to see .”

“No— No I should’ve,” Arthur shakes his head sharply. “I should have told you. There would’ve been another way without— How long have you been drinking?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to darling.”

“Eames.”

Arthur takes his hand off and moves off of Eames’ chest, sitting up straight. Eames follows him, struck by a sudden vision of Arthur slipping out of bed— out of his life, dogged by misplaced guilt and regret. He curls his hands around Arthur’s wrists, as gently as he can. Don’t trap him. Don’t chase him away.

“No. It’s fine. We’re fine,” Eames hurries to say. “Why would you tell me? I was a colleague at best, bane of your existence at worst. I had— I have no right—“

“I should have told you because I did know you,” Arthur interrupts him. “I was supposed to know. You said possibilities? I am supposed to be the one who sees them— all of them. I’m the one who has to prepare for all scenarios, know the players, do the research and put the pieces together. That is what I do, Eames. And I missed something.” Arthur takes a shuddering breath, looking forlorn and tired. “I’m so sorry for missing the most important part.”

“You can’t apologise for missing something that wasn’t even really there yet.”

“Yes, I can. I’m sorry for missing our potential. For underestimating us. Underestimating you.” Arthur laughs. “I’m so fucking stupid. I thought you kept searching for me out of— curiosity. Or that I fucked up, left a trail somewhere and you wanted to prove to me that you found it, you figured it out. Fuck. I never thought it was because you missed me.”

“I did,” Eames says, and it almost chokes him. “Every day.”

Arthur looks at him then, eyes flicking to the side, his hair covering half of his face, but his smile is visible. “You know, I did too. That’s why I knew you were looking for me. Kept tabs on you, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.”

Eames swallows at the sight— at the hope it instills in him. Arthur let him, yes. It could have been a kindness. But this smile, shy and bashful, and the words that follow it. Maybe potential comes in twos. “I didn’t keep looking because I missed you,” Eames tells him, because he has no time for secrets anymore, no time for regret, for either of them. “I kept looking because I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t bear it. Darling.” Eames slips his hands from Arthur’s wrists and puts them on either side of Arthur’s face instead, bracketing the smile. “You’re my future. You couldn’t be dead.”

“I’m not,” Arthur tells him, like a confession of his own. “I’m not dead, Eames.”

“Good.” Eames pulls him in closer, and Arthur lets him. He lets him trace the smile with his thumbs, lets him breathe close against his mouth and whisper, “Next time darling, when decide to you kill yourself. Kill me too.”

The grin that blooms doesn’t fit between Eames’ fingers, so he kisses Arthur instead. Deep, possessive. Loving. Arthur lets him, and he never stops.

#arthur/eames #fanfiction #fanfic #inception #inception fic #inception fic rec #arthur/eames fic #dreamhusbands #dreamhusbands fic #im back to writing?#honestly from all the wips and ideas that i have #no clue why this one ended up being the first #but i like how it turned out

72 notes · View notes