#it's not even complicated paperwork it's a single sheet that's like the cover sheet

[tj-crochets]

Today's "thing I never thought I'd have to explain at work": When I send a contractor paperwork that has clearly labelled sections for them to sign, date, and send back, it is so they can sign and date the paperwork before sending it back. It is not so that they can email me the same blank paperwork I sent them??????

[sxfik]

han seo headcanons (part 3)

yeah it's exam day for me (lol one 3 hour one and another 2 hour one w barely a break in between gang, fuck college board not even giving us time to eat) and i dont want to think about it and im heart broken that vincenzo is over so writing about han seo it is! i hope you enjoy this installment, so we can all forget about the events that totally didn't happened in the story.

<prev next>

read on ao3

it's been almost a month since he started working with jipuragi and the plaza residents. he was comfortable with them now, the jovial energy of the plaza residents infecteous

he was roped into all their traditions and antics in the plaza everyday: helping the pawnshop couple deal with customers as she was pregnant, coming early to taste hee-soo's food, helping young ho film his YouTube videos.

of course, the only one he avoids is the angelic pretty pianist, especially after she caught him pacing the plaza avoiding the snack bar a couple weeks ago

but every single time she visits the firm, whispering with lawyer hong cha-young, his eyes unknowingly drifts towards her

he can't help but admire her elegance, the way she floats from place to place, her silky hair moving ever so slightly as she walks

not to mention the cute clips in her hair and the way she would fidget with her hair as she sits at the piano, looking at the note sheets.

it was an early morning, way too early for any human being to be awake. he was exhausted from fixing babel's mess from the night before and stayed up working in his office and looking over paperwork.

despite this, he walked in early to the firm, his hair a mess and ungelled, his eyes barely open as he stumbled in

and then he jumped back, startled at the sight of the very pianist he's been avoiding, sitting at the table hunched over a very expensive laptop and frantically typing

he stares for a moment, unsure what to do. should he run? nah, its just a girl isn't it.

he’s met plenty of girls in his 28 years of life, this can’t be too hard should it? but she’s so pretty it makes him stutter and get his heart racing and forget all sense and—

“you can sit down, you know” her voice rings out and he jumps back again, her voice startlingly melodic

“ah- uh- yeah, yeah of course,” he smiles and moves towards the table.

i’ll sit across from her, perfectly distanced from her right? but just his luck, the seat across was stacked with paperwork and he was forced to take the seat beside her

he swallowed as he sat next to her, even her sitting this close making his heart race and his ears close up to just the sound of his heart pounding

he cleared his throat “ah uh what are you doing, this early in the office” she spared him a quick glance as she replied “just some quick work”

he leaned over, attempting at a better look at her computer screen and it looked... complicated to say the least. lines and lines of code and window jumbled together in what seemed illegible to him

“that looks... complex” he answered out as his eyes slid over to her face, masked in concentration. she turned around to face him and quirked an eyebrow, almost challenging him to ask what exactly she’s doing,

"you're wearing your hair differently today" she said, tilting her head slightly as her eyes drifted to his bangs that covered his forehead

but he was frozen, her face so close to his that he could see how her eyelashes fluttered as they blinked and how smooth her skin is and how is this proximity not affecting her like it is him. he swallowed then and parted his lips to ask and—

the doors slammed open and he jumped back, swallowing hard as he attempted to look as unaffected as possible

“what are you two doing here” the female lawyer asked as she walked in, the heels clacking against the tiles. “it’s so early”

“ah noona–” “ah unnie–” they both started in sync, and he whipped his head to look at miri, before quieting down to let her speak

cha-young looked amused as she looked between the two of them, and then miri piped up “i was just here before lessons, working on what you asked for”

cha-young let out one of her exaggerated squeals then, reaching around miri to hug her smiling, “thank you!!”

and miri laughed and he was a goner.

her laugh was melodic and light and it rung in his head for the rest of the day as his mind raced over everything that happened that morning

as the week passed by, he saw glimpses of her through the glass of her piano place, longing to make a move, to have an excuse to speak with her beyond pleasentries

he went to lunch and then to dinner with vincenzo, today being one of their weekly makgeoili nights

they stayed later than usual, drinking and talking about mundane topics

he was halfway drunk when vincenzo asked him “so, you have a crush on miri?” and han seo choked and sputtered

vincenzo patted his back, and soothingly rubbed as he started to breathe normally

“how did you know? am i that obvious” he asked, trying to hold back the slight slurring of his words

vincenzo nodded then, poured him some more makgeoili

“i’ve noticed you looking through the glass every time we pass by her shop, so i took a guess”

“ahhh” han seo, drank the alcohol in one go, before setting the bowl down, sagging against his seat as he sighed

“yes, hyung, i like her, but i have no way to even speak to her” he sighed as he scratched his head dejectedly.

a brief moment passed as vincenzo looked at him with a calculating gaze before he piped up “do you want my advice”

and at that, han seo snorted. “hyung, no offense... but you’re a hopeless case. if i take advice from you, i’ll be stuck pining for mrs. seo forever, sending her longing gazes across the room”

“yah, han seo you brat” vincenzo snapped at him and surprisingly (and possibly because of the alcohol in his veins), han seo laughed in reply

“hyung you can’t even deny it, you are clearly hopeless. you’ve known noona and had every opportunity to make a move. you work with her every day, for chirst sakes.” he laughs, before continuing, “everyday, noona and you dance around each other, her sending you looks, you sending her looks and mr. nam and i pretending like nothing is happening between you–”

“yeah, okay okay,” vincenzo makes a face at him “but, still this is something that actually worked, okay?”

han seo grinned at that, leaning in and asking “ahh hyung you have advice other than ‘watch her until she makes the move’”

vincenzo swatted his arm, and he giggled playfully before gesturing towards vincenzo to continue

“get her a gift, something meaningful to her. it can be small or big or anything really, but it’s an excuse to treat her, and every time she wears it, you can see she wore something you picked for her,” vincenzo avoided his gaze, opting to look out the window.

han seo grinned, knowing he was thinking about a particular lawyer and her affinity for those golden earring and necklace that she wore on the days she went out with vincenzo

“you know hyung, that’s not half bad” he laughed at him as they continued their bickering into the night

for the next week, han seo spent his time after helping the firm and his job at babel at various shops, searching for pretty brooches and hair clips

don't look at his search history, because they're all filled with searches like "what clips do girls like best" "how to give a gift to a girl you like without making it obvious" "best types of hair clips"

it's not like han seo was completely clueless, he's had plenty of crushes and slept with girls before but he's never made an effort beyond that

he knew deep down that most of those girls liked him for his money and status and everything that came with his position

not to mention how fucked up his family is and how fucked up he is, he couldn't dream of bringing a girl that he truly liked into the mess of his life

but for the very first time, it didn't matter. it didn't matter what his brother or his coworker or his family said to him, all that mattered was his new family and the pretty girl that he couldnt stop thinking about

so he clutched the hair clip in his hand, as he walked out of the store that day and stuffed it into his briefcase that he brought in everyday with him

he was nervous the morning of, spending an hour looking at every aspect of his face and hair, making sure everything was held down properly. he grabbed the clip from his briefcase, slipping it into his pocket

he was fidgeting the whole way up the plaza, the nervous feeling in his stomach only growing as he got closer and closer to miri's shop

he paused, steeling himself as he looked through the glass, watching as miri's elegant fingers glided across the keys, the melody haunting the halls of the plaza and then he opened the door

the chimes rung and her head whipped toward him as he stepped in. he paused as he glanced at her, taking in her long dress that reached her ankles and her cardigan she always seemed to wear as she roamed the halls

he closed his eyes for a second before opening his mouth and rushing out the words before he lost courage

"i, uh, realized that i never got you anything since i came here and i had got something for the residents and i wanted to give you something and i hope you like it" he rushed out the words, avoiding her gaze as he got the hair clip out of his pocket and thrust it towards her, his hands slightly trembling

he looked down shyly, as he noted the moment of silence between them and her frozen in shock at his gift. his heart was thundering and his chest full of anxiety

"we can always exchange it if you don't like it, i saw it at a shop and thought it suited you and im sorry if it's not your sty—"

"it's beautiful" she whispered out to him, her hand ghosting over the clip in his outstretched hand. he looked up at her then, seeing her face fully.

"i, uh, i can help you put it on if you'd like" and to his shock, she nodded.

he stepped closer to her, his chest tight at the proximity and she smelled like cinnamon and sugar and god it was killing him being this close

he reached one hand to her hair, which was just as silky to touch as he had imagined in his dreams and the other went to put in the clip. the clip he had chosen for her.

the moment only lasted a couple moments but for him, the time seemed to stretch forever.

his hands moved away from her hair after he adjusted the clip but he was stuck in that position, looking down at her face as he memorized her features

the way her eyelashes brushed against her cheek as she blinked up at him, her doe-eyes soft and caring, her skin smooth and her cheeks tinted red

and her lips.

he wondered how it'd feel to brush his lips against them, how smooth they would feel-

and the chimes rung once more, making the two jump back , and whip their head towards the door

Mr. Nam was peaking out, "Mr. Jang Han Seo, Hong Cha-Young byeonosanim was asking if you had any more details about the Jason fund..."

"ah yes, yes i can tell her more about the fund" he turned around from her, avoiding eye contact as he stepped towards Mr. Nam and away from Miri

but as he walked away, he watched as Miri's ghosted over the clip, silently, and that was enough to fuel him for another week

to be continued.

[binniesthighs]

EIGHT LEVELS, THE DESCENT

CWs: death, bits of horror and fear, hellish things 

Descent 

you had never imagined death to be something like this. 

with careful footsteps you followed the hollow sound of metal on rock, metal on metal, metal on skin. 

you were scared, but a thrill crept up your throat like none other. it bubbled in the pit of your stomach and fluttered like butterflies through each and every nerve of your body. 

the hallway was dark, nearly pitch black, save for the light at the end of the hall. it seemed like it must've been the size of a pinhead from as far as you were. you thought to yourself, that this must be your punishment: walking on and on forever towards a light that you could never reach. 

seemed reasonable enough. you were not saint...if this was hell anyway. 

sweltering hot heat caught up to you as you walked on, and it singed your skin with a burn that only grew over time. your brow beaded with sweat, and your legs felt heavier with each step. 

at the same time, you felt a deathly chill: a piercing kind of cold that you could only describe as loneliness and emptiness. the two temperatures fought a terrible tryst, and your body could not decide if the shivers ailing you reminded you were really dead, or if by some mistake you had been mixed up in some devils game. 

you don’t remember dying. does anyone? you didn’t know. you can’t exactly ask someone. 

in your shock, you realize that the pinhead of light was growing larger and larger before your squinting eyes. now, the sounds of metal were replaced with wails in despair intertwined with something much different. 

ungodly sounds of pain and pleasure filled the dense air, and moaning and groaning spilled into your ears with some kind of cacophony that made little sense. 

the light approached closer and it became blinding: the kind of blinding light that you had always imagined death to be like. maybe you really had died. 

what you had seen at the end of the tunnel, was not at all what you had expected. 

a reception room. a normal one, like the ones at a hospital. 

am I a ghost? you wonder. is my soul trapped in the place that I died? 

a normal looking nurse in a normal looking nurse’s uniform waves you over. 

“me?” you mouth. 

she nods. 

she gives a curt little smile, and pats down her sterile looking baby blue scrubs. she wears no nametag, and the only thing distinguishing her is the fiery red nail polish that decorates her nails. her eyes are kind, a kind of hazel brown that looks to be a dozen different colors at once. 

“welcome!” she greets. 

“...thank you?” you return. 

“how can I help you today?” the nurse beams. her smile is perfectly white, but her teeth crooked. 

“i...don’t know.” 

she asks outright: “do you have your key?”

“my key?” 

you note that there is no one else in the waiting room besides you. light streams in from the windows, but it is pale and white, like the kind of sun on a cloudy day full of grey. the air smells dusty, old...and burnt. 

“yes?” she cocks her head. “you should have a key?” 

“i-i don’t think that I have anything...” 

a weight pulls down the pocket of your jeans and you see the bulging fabric. 

a brass key makes the imprint. it looks ancient and is a bit rusted on the edges. there is nothing too complicated about the skeleton key except for the fact that the head of the key is shaped to the number eight. 

“what...”

“ah! that’s the key. well, it looks like you’ve got an eight. that’s wonderful.” 

the nurse looks down at her desk to her paperwork, but the white sheets of paper hold no writing or ink. 

“says here that you qualify for all eight levels--just as your key says! well, now i’ll show you to your first room and you can just wait patiently in there for it to begin.” 

“it? i’m sorry, what is “it”?” 

“you’ll see soon enough dear.” 

through her crooked teeth you catch sight of her tongue, and at looks as if it is split: forked like a serpent. 

“this way!” she rouses from her desk. 

the waiting room remains empty when you follow the nurse behind a frosted glass door and into yet another hallway, but this one is illuminated with a flickering green-ish white light. the hall is quiet, and no other patients in rooms can be heard. no talking voices, no crying children, no moans mixed in pain and pleasure. 

“hold onto that key! you’ll need it. that’s all i’ll say!” the nurse nods, and her hazel eyes change color as they’ve been doing under the lights, and you can’t quite tell what color they are. 

“wait!” you reach out to her, a million more questions swimming. before you can get another word out, the door is promptly shut with a slam that seems to shake the whole room. 

the examination room seems normal, just as the nurse seemed to be at first. it is a windowless place, and you almost miss the grey light from the waiting room. a chair is positioned in the corner and the examination table is covered in white paper that crinkles when you sit on it. 

i can’t be dead. she shouldn’t've seen me. 

a lock on the wall ticks and your heartbeats match the rhythm, beating thickly in your chest. 

your eyes close tightly and you draw back your memory as far as you can take it. 

i’m asleep. i’m asleep. that’s it. i’ve fallen asleep. this is a dream. 

your eyes open, and there he is, back to you, facing the wall. 

your whole body jumps from the scare, and your chest aches with fearful gasps. 

his skin is nearly inhumanly pale and white, but peaking muscles curve under his leather vest. muscled arms stretch out bare, and every single twitch of his equally toned legs flare under his skin-tight pants. by contrast, red leather bands wrap around his arms and thighs. thick, long, silver chains drip from his wrists--it would’ve been impossible to get them in their quietly without you knowing. his hair is starkly white, much like untouched snow. 

“you have your key?” he growls. 

your voice is dry when you answer “yes.” 

the man turns. rather than the beast that you had expected, he is handsome: some kind of godly form that glows with a kind of white light even when he looks at you with his icy blue eyes. 

his sharp cheekbones are astonishing and serious. he studies you and you shy away to crinkle the paper under you. 

“you’re new.” he simply says. “we’re going to like you.” 

“w-we?” 

the man chuckles with a kind of laugh that seems to reverberate in your chest. with a wicked smile that nearly cracks the corners of his mouth, he leans in. you’re frozen in your horror when he whispers into your ear: 

“welcome to hell.” 

┈     ┈     ┈     ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟     ┈     ┈     ┈

EIGHT LEVELS | READER X OT8 | 1k SPECIAL 

Pairing: self insert, female reader, male reader, gender neutral reader x ot8 

Genre: pure smut, angst 

Tags: explicit sexual content, explicit language, minor pain play, bondage, impact play, sensory deprivation, edging, overstimulation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, throat fucking, use of pet names, degredation, shibari, pet play, sex toys, orgasm denial, marking, exhibitionism, threesome, foursome, general debauchery and more 

CWs: mentions of death, blood, hellish things and slight horror elements 

Word count: ?? 

aka the hardest thing that i will have written to this date. can you endure the pain and pleasure of eight of hell’s most sinful demons? 

~if you would liked to be tagged on this piece, let me know! 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @julesinthesoop

[letterboxd]

Third Language.

With her debut film Farewell Amor out now following a successful journey on the festival circuit, Tanzanian-American writer and director Ekwa Msangi tells Selome Hailu about the third language of music, growing up on knockoffs of the Rambo franchise, and her favorite African filmmakers.

There’s a subtle musicality central to the way Ekwa Msangi carries herself. She finds melodies in her words: “You hum the ‘m’,” she says when asked how to pronounce her last name. “Mmm-sangi.” And perhaps to a more subconscious degree, she speaks with rhythm, too: “I do think, and I know, and I can see…” she trails off, ruminating on how much hope she feels for the future of Black filmmaking. Naturally, this musical quality meanders into her work.

Farewell Amor is a quiet film, except for when it isn’t. Three Angolan immigrants revolve around each other in an awkward orbit, each trying to make sense of their dynamic now that they’ve left their home behind. Kept apart for seventeen years by the bureaucratic intricacies of war and paperwork, Walter (Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine) is finally joined by his wife Esther (Zainab Jah) and daughter Sylvia (Jayme Lawson—soon to be seen as Bella Reál in The Batman) in New York City. But they don’t know each other anymore and spend much of their time in silence, until music and dance burst forward as a chance at common ground.

Msangi’s screenplay never dwells on the technicalities of the family’s struggle against the American immigration system. Instead, it plunges into softer, more personal after-effects of dreams deferred. Walter’s walls bear a faded calendar with Barack Obama’s face on it, even though his empty apartment complicates the “hope” the president promised people like him. When his family arrives at long last, Esther wears a silver cross pendant, having made sense of these years as a married-yet-single mother by drawing closer—almost too close—to religion. Sylvia barely speaks at all, caught between a faith that isn’t hers and a home that isn’t either.

Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine and Nana Mensah in ‘Farewell Amor’. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

The film’s triptych structure emerged after Msangi spent months grappling with how to create a feature-length screenplay out of her original short film. “Having just come off of the short, I was focusing on Walter’s story. But [I] didn’t think that was the most original story I could tell,” she says. “And then, out of indecision between whether I should make it Walter’s or Sylvia’s story, I decided to just do both. Initially it was two perspectives that I was looking at. But I realized that Esther’s story was really the linchpin for both of their stories, and it wouldn’t make sense not to have hers.”

Giving Walter, Esther and Sylvia their own chapters makes Farewell Amor a stronger film than if it had followed a singular, traditional protagonist. Extreme conservatism in one chapter is revealed as a desire to avoid pain in another; one character’s cramped living room is another’s space to dance freely. Writing on Letterboxd, Tabby points out how the three-part narrative structure grants meaningful subjectivity to characters who deserve it: “It’s so easy for Westernized perspectives to steamroll over films that deal in cultural disparities and thematics, but Farewell Amor takes important steps in showing all sides of the story,” she writes. “It was refreshing to see [the characters] each given the space to exist.”

This layering of voices happens in the camerawork, too. Each section of the narrative is marked with a visual language of its own, complete with specific color palettes and cinematographic techniques. Msangi thinks fondly about the work she put in with cinematographer Bruce Francis Cole to make the chapters distinct. “For Walter’s, it’s sort of a slow cinema, where there’s a lot of still framing. It’s almost like he’s stuck, you know? Stuck in the frame between two surfaces, two hard surfaces, a window frame, a door frame. And in Sylvia’s, we wanted to have it reflect her livelihood, her restlessness. All handheld cameras, all movement. And then for Esther, she’s very observant. She’s been taking everything in, almost in an investigative style, but also a little bit romantic. She’s romanticized this setup, so a lot of close shots, a lot of soft lighting.”

Jayme Lawson as Sylvia in ‘Farewell Amor’. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

Music gives Farewell Amor a cohesion across the different storylines. “Music is, for these characters in particular, and for me, kind of a third language,” Msangi says. “It gives you a glimpse under the covers, what’s under the sheets.” The soundtrack underscores strong performances from Mwine, Jah and Lawson, lending depth to their quietude and vibrance to their movement. Msangi also notes how sound became a cornerstone of her collaboration with the actors: “As I was writing from different perspectives, in order to help me get into each character’s skin, I would listen to the music that they would be interested in.” She later shared these playlists with the actors, using the songs to communicate what words couldn’t.

Msangi has a good laugh as she tries to think about the major films that inspired her to become a filmmaker. “You know, I don’t have that. Well, I do have that, but not for the reasons that most of my film peers have,” she says. Growing up in East Africa in the ’80s and ’90s, little to none of the programming on television was local. What did kids watch instead? “We watched Rambo for probably ten years straight, and then Rambo knockoffs for another ten years after that. I decided to become a filmmaker because of horrible Rambo knockoff films.”

“I grew up surrounded by such colorful and delightful and interesting and funny people,” Msangi says. “And none of that was reflected anywhere in the media.” As she grew older, she sought out African films she couldn’t access in her youth. Now, they’re some of her highest recommendations. Ousmane Sembène is the first African director whose filmography she ever got the chance to dive into. Sembène’s 50-year career has garnered him the affectionate title of ‘Father of African film’ among many critics and scholars, who laud him for his dramas, including Black Girl and Camp de Thiaroye. Msangi, however, finds herself taken with his unique sense of humor. She has also been inspired by Safi Faye, another Senegalese director, who became the first sub-Saharan African woman to attain commercial distribution in 1975—and whose film Mossane portrays sexual intimacy with an openness Msangi hadn’t seen elsewhere.

Writer-director Ekwa Msangi. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

In Farewell Amor, Sylvia’s chapter reads like a compacted coming-of-age film. Msangi points to South African director Darrell James Roodt’s Sarafina! as an influence in that regard. “It was showing for two weeks in Nairobi, and I lined up for four hours to watch,” she says about the film, a drama about youth involvement in the 1976 Soweto uprising. “Even though it’s from a different part of the continent, I’d never seen young African teenagers on a screen before.” More recently, she has loved 2011 TIFF breakout and Oscar contender Death for Sale by Moroccan director Faouzi Bensaïdi, and Radha Blank’s The Forty-Year-Old Version is her favorite film of 2020. She’s hopeful about the future of Black American cinema: Ava DuVernay and Ryan Coogler are two of her favorite working directors.

Msangi’s selections are wide in range, but there’s still one thing holding them together: themes of vulnerability, community and celebration of identity, across different decades and genres. In fact, her approach to watching movies isn’t far off from the way she made her own—Farewell Amor maps concurrent experiences of disparate people, and Msangi’s tastes seem driven by the same balance of vastness and specificity.

“I’m a filmmaker who really abhors working on the same kind of story over and over again, the same genre, the same kinds of characters,” she says. “So I’m not going to make my career just telling stories about immigrants or about, you know, their wretched troubles,” she laughs. “I don’t want to do that.”

Msangi’s next project will be an African-American period piece; beyond that, she hopes to make films in several locations: the Caribbean, Europe and all over the African continent. “I really would like to just have a lot of fun with my career. You know? Because it’s a fun and magical industry that we work in! The work that we do in creating these stories and hopes and dreams—we create magic, so it should be fun.”

Related content

Adam Davie’s Black Life on Film list

Shachar’s 20 Films by Black Directors 2021 Challenge

Screenpaige’s list of Black Women in Film

Follow Selome on Letterboxd

‘Farewell Amor’ is out now in select theaters and on demand through IFC.

[a65232-joshywoshy]

Colorado Crybaby

Chapter 12

          Penny carefully maneuvered the van out of the parking garage. Having lived in the Denver area all her life, she knew exactly where Buckley was from here. She had glanced at the paperwork in the folder she was given while walking out to the van. They would enter through the main gate on East Mississippi, but from there, she would have to ask. The only other clue from that point was:

     Phoenix Project

     Sunlight Tower

     Nth Floor

     Penny had no idea what that meant. She asked everyone else in the van about it, but no one had been on base to begin to theorize it. Rachael read the papers as they drove. Robert wanted to look at them but got carsick easily, so he decided it was best not to. Kim glanced over the information, but didn’t feel motivated enough to memorize anything.

    “So… Kim. Welcome to Imagine Innovations. I promise you, this is not something that happens all the time around here. You’re very special to go on a trip like this. I’ve been with this company for years and I’ve only just now gone to a special project like this.” Penny seemed slightly in shock that they had gotten this opportunity. She had heard that only the best at the entire company had ever gotten a chance to assist on a special project.

     “I see.” Kim said. “Well, this is definitely a first day of work that I’ll never forget.” She was smiling, happy to be a part of this adventure.

     Rachael was in full detective mode. She studied the papers, trying her best to memorize them. The papers mostly detailed the project goals and staff involved. There was very little detail about this ‘Computer’ they would be working on. Occasionally she would glance up to see where they were, but she was already lost. She hadn’t lived in Denver long enough to memorize any major roads yet. For this particular day, she was relying very heavily on Penny. Even though Rachael was the second most experienced in her department, she felt as though she was least experienced with navigating this city. She wasn’t good at navigating any city, even her hometown, without some kind of assistance.

     “Kim, he said you were good with computers, right?” Robert was curious about her abilities.

     “I’m good at software, and only on certain operating systems. I’m not the best with hardware. Hopefully this is just some kind of server rack or something. I just don’t understand why their I.T. guys can’t figure this out. And if they can’t figure it out, what makes us special?” Kim didn’t really feel like she had anything of value to contribute to the group.

     “And why ask a guy with medical experience for help?” Robert asked rhetorically. “I don’t know if the boss man is a genius or crazy. I’m really leaning towards crazy at this point.”

     “We should talk to the project lead when we get there.” Rachael was still looking at the paperwork. “James, is his name. He should know how we can help.”

     “That sounds like a plan.” Penny didn’t look away from the road. Most of her attention was on the road. She wasn’t driving recklessly, but she made sure not to sit behind slow traffic. There was an odd sort of pressure to do well for Mr. Pendleton that she felt. It was like she wanted to make a parent proud. He wasn’t her father, by any stretch of the imagination, but she felt it nonetheless. 

     There was some time where they all rode in silence. Everyone was thinking, trying to piece together as much as they could in an effort to solve a puzzle that wasn’t even in front of them. After a few more minutes, they arrived at the main gate.

     “Good afternoon, Ma’am. What brings you here today?” Military Police in fatigues were stationed here, checking all vehicles coming and going.

     “We’re here for the Phoenix project. We’re with Imagine Innovations.” She showed the man her I.D. that she pulled out of the manila folder, then the cover sheet of the documents. The man spoke into his radio, communicating their arrival to some official on the base.

     “Unit three niner, party of 4 headed to sierra 1. How copy?”

     The reply was louder than his voice, simply because the radio was loud. Penny and Rachael could clearly hear the voice on the other side.

     “Copy. Standby for escort. We’re putting fresh eyes on sunlight.”

     “Solid copy. Standing by for escort.” The man looked up at Penny. “Ma’am, If you could wait here, we’re gonna have you escorted in to where you need to go, okay?”

     “Yes, sir.” Penny had never been around this kind of military presence before. Neither had Rachael. They both looked nervous. Kim was paying attention, but had seen too many military movies and knew this was all standard routine.

     “I have a cousin that I visit at Fort Bragg all the time,” Robert said. “This is standard stuff.”  

     A military humvee pulled up on the other side of the gate and turned around to face into the base. 

     “If you’ll follow them. Have a good day, folks.” The officer backed away from the van and Penny drove forward. The humvee drove ahead with Penny keeping pace behind. 

     “I’ve never been escorted into a military base before.” Penny said. She was still slightly nervous, but she also had an excited energy about her now. 

     “It’s just like the movies.” Kim said, smiling.

     They drove only a few minutes before arriving at a tall building where the humvee parked. Penny parked the van and everyone got out. A man stepped out of the humvee who wasn’t wearing fatigues. 

     “Good morning, folks. I’m James Howard, the project lead here. Come on in.”

     Everyone exchanged good morning’s and handshakes, then they followed him inside the building.

     “We’re going to need you to leave all your belongings here. You won’t be needing them.” He motioned to a folding table set up in the lobby as a makeshift staging area. “This includes cell phones, wallets, everything. It’s all in the interest of preserving intellectual property, of course. Okay. With everything here, we’ll head on down.”

     After placing all of their stuff on the table, they followed him down a short hallway to a single elevator with very wide doors. The wood grain in the elevator and the architectural design of the building seemed to suggest that the building had been built in the 1950’s. It seemed to have not been well past that date either, as a few cobwebs lined the ceiling corners. As the elevator doors shut, James put in a key above the buttons and turned it. He then pushed the button for floor “N”. 

     “Finally, some privacy.” James turned to face everyone as the elevator went down, no doubt towards a basement of some sort. “Welcome to project Phoenix, a joint collaboration between Imagine Innovations and the 566th Intelligence Squadron of the United States Air Force. This is the brainchild of Howard Pendleton and Doctor Javier Vasquez. You’ll probably understand this better as a holodeck type device. Basically, the thing on Star Trek where you can tell a computer to put you in any time or space and boom, you’re there. The only problem is... “ James chuckled “it’s kind of embarrassing, but the most brilliant mechanical and I.T. minds in the state can’t figure out how to make it work. So we needed a different approach. Completely off the wall, out of the box ideas. That’s where you 4 come in. You think differently than we do…”

     Behind him, the elevator doors opened to a room with pipes, wires and cables and panels lining every wall. Buzzing and humming could be heard everywhere. LED panels and laptop screens were everywhere. Six technicians were all busy with their tasks, none of whom looked at the visitors. They were all too focused.

     “So… think differently.” James gestured to the room. “I suppose we could start in here, though.”

     In the middle of the room was a smaller room with a single, heavy door on it. Inside the room, the walls, floor and ceiling were featureless save for their dark green color. 

     “This is the room where a user will experience the holodeck type environment. Simplex 1000 can give you a brief overview.” James ushered them in the small room.

     A computer generated voice sounded from speakers buried within a maze of wires and cables nearby. “Welcome to the Phoenix: Post Holographic Optical Enhancement of Neurologically Imaged Xerography. Original designation, Simplex 1000. Programmed to manage the hologram and monitor conditions of human occupants such to allow their continued safety and enjoyment.”

     “Whoa. This is Star Trek stuff.” Rachael said. 

     “Yep. That’s what we do.” James explaining things as if this complicated machinery was his toaster; a simple machine that everyone should know and understand. “Could you all just hang out in there for a sec? We’re going to start one of the support machines. You’ll hear some humming. Nothing to worry about. I need to get something behind the door, too. So I’m going to move it real quick. It doesn’t lock, if you’re worried about that.”

     They stepped inside the large, dark green colored room. It had featureless metal walls, interrupted only by the entry door. James closed the door behind them. It was pitch black.

     "It's so dark in here." Robert said quietly. His voice boomed in the enclosed space. "Why did we agree to this again?"

     "Because money pays the bills and the CEO thinks we’re talented," Penny said. She started to sound a little stressed. She didn't like the dark. She wasn't afraid of it, but this kind of dark was beyond nighttime darkness. There was no light to see at all.

     A humming began and it started to grow in loudness and intensity.

     "I guess that’s the machine James mentioned?" Kim said.

     Everything went white.

     To Rachael's horror, the room was now bright white and everyone was gone. The humming had stopped. There was no sound at all. The metallic smell was gone, too. There was… nothing. Rachael didn't feel anything touching her feet anymore, either.

     My feet? I was wearing shoes. She looked down to see her bare feet. She had been wearing shoes when she walked in. Her pants were gone as well, but around her hips was a diaper. Her shirt was replaced with a yellow crop top with a rubber duck on it. I certainly wasn't wearing that! Her thighs were odd, too. They were much fatter than normal. She looked at her hands and arms, too. Her hands were more bony and knobby than before. Her arms were fatter. What happened? Why did I change? Where's Penny?

     She frantically looked around at everything. There were no shadows, no features, just white. There wasn't even a floor. Rachael wasn't falling, but she felt… suspended, as if in water.

     Where's Penny? 

     Rachael called out. "Penny? Kim? Anybody?"

    Only silence. She looked down again. She was still in a diaper. She slowly reached her odd hand toward the diaper to touch it. Her hand went inside of it.

     A hologram. Her hand had gone inside of it, as if it wasn't there. But what about her hands? Her thighs now seemed much larger as well. She slowly reached down to her thigh. Instead of the skin she expected to feel, she felt the fabric of her suit pants. So I AM still wearing my clothes. I just… look different. Where is Penny?

     She called out to Penny again, louder. She listened carefully for banging or some other kind of noise that might mean someone was here. Still silent. The thought of Penny dying crossed Rachael's mind. It was a terrible thought. I miss her, Rachael thought. I want her back. I need to see her again.

     With that, Penny popped into existence to Rachael's left.

     "PENNY!!! Are you okay?"

     "Rachael!" Penny looked over at Rachael. "Yeah. I'm fine. Whoa. You look, different. That's a cute diaper. Where did you… what happened to your hands and legs?!?!"

     Rachael now knew that whatever she felt, Penny could see what Rachael was seeing. "Nothing, actually. Your diaper's pretty cute too."

     A similar situation had happened to Penny as well. Her breasts got bigger and her legs now had cellulite all over them. Her feet had become much larger. She was wearing a slightly too short baby blue t-shirt.

      "Ah!" Penny blushed as she tried to cover her diaper. "What do you mean, 'Nothing happened'? Look at you!"

     "It's a hologram or something. Watch." Rachael slowly lowered her flattened palm over the front of her diaper. When her hand should have stopped on top of the diaper, it kept going, eventually disappearing completely behind it.

     Penny did the same with herself. "Mine too. This is weird."

     "It's some kind of holographic projection, I guess. The diapers make sense if someone's messing with us, but I don't understand my weird hands and your cottage cheese legs."

     "No way." Penny looked over their bodies again. "I've never told anyone, but I always thought my legs looked fat, and that my boobs were too big for my body. But that means that either someone knows more about us than we realize, or they've got a direct feed into our brains. Where's Kim?" Penny called out to her "Kim! Where are you?"

     "Did you hear me when I was calling you a few minutes ago?" Rachael stopped to think about it. Maybe she's right in front of us. Penny was to my left when we walked in. That should mean that Kim is right in front of us. Rachael tried walking. It was as if something was holding her in place. She could move freely, but there was nothing for her to move on or against.

      "No, I didn't." Penny was trying to move around now, "Why can't we move?!"

      "So Kim probably can't hear us. How long was it before you saw me?"

     "A few minutes?"

     "Did you do anything in particular to get to me?"

     "I tried swimming to you, but that didn't work."

     "What about mentally? Did you do anything special mentally or emotionally?"

     "Not really. I don't think."

      "Hmmm… You showed up right when I thought about missing you. I wonder if I do the same for Kim…"

     Rachael closed her eyes and focused. She hadn't known Kim for very long, but it would still be sad to lose someone to a corporate project like this. She wanted Kim back.

     Penny screamed. Rachael opened her eyes then she screamed. Before them was a black, dragon shaped creature. It had 2 arms like a person, but they were covered in black metallic spines. It stood on 2 legs, with a thick, long black tail behind it. Two horns on its head also looked like they were black metal. It's belly was smooth, with a scar diagonally across it. Below that was…

     A diaper? No way. Rachael studied the dragon creature more carefully. The creature didn't seem to be charging at them or even make any sound to suggest aggressive intentions. The  dragon seemed passive, even though it stood twice their height.

     Kim's hair. It has Kim's hair. 

     The creature had similar hands, though gray, that looked like Kim’s. The mouth was the same, as well.

     Rachael cautiously spoke. "Kim? Is that… you?"

     The large black eyes looked up at her. Then the face smiled. "Hey, Rachael. Penny." The voice was still Kim's regular voice.

     "Kim?!" Penny was in shock. "You're a… dragon… type thing."

     "Kim, quick question." Rachael started making connections in her head. "How do you view your inner self? Have you ever done or said something that made you feel like a monster?"

     "It's…" the large black eyes looked away. "It's complicated."

     "No details necessary. I figured it out. Girls, we're looking at our own internal view of ourselves. Like, a digital representation of our mental self... which is why I look the way I do." Rachael looked down at her diaper again. “Penny, Kim popped into here when I thought about missing her. So I need to do the same for Robert now."

     Rachael thought about mourning for Robert, then he appeared. 

     All three girls gasped. Robert’s body was transparent. At least, they assumed it was his body. At first, they saw Robert as himself, the man they met at the office. A shorter woman his same age with red hair on her head then appeared in his place. She wore a long green dress and had a look of disgust on her face. The next person to appear was a male teenager wearing black clothes, short black hair and eye liner. His face looked agitated. Another person was a short Hispanic female who wore cargo pants and a bandana over her hair. She was smiling. Lastly, there was a small male child, dressed only in underwear who looked terrified. After the child, the cycle restarted with Robert’s original self. All of the people were somewhat transparent, as if they weren’t fully there.

     “Robert… you…” Rachael didn’t understand how this could align with anyone’s mental imagery of themselves. “We think we’re looking at our own mental image of ourselves… but you…”

     Robert looked despairingly at each of them, then at his chest to watch the changes happen. Every person that took his place seemed to move exactly as the original Robert did. 

     “D.I.D.” Robert said softly.

     “What?”  Rachael and Penny were even more confused.

     “Dissociative Identity Disorder.” Kim answered for him, with a nod of understanding.

     “Most people call it split personality disorder. Now everyone gets a front row seat to the freak show I really am.” Robert looked at the ground, as did the other people that he seemed to be. “These are my alters. The fractions of my personality.” He said their names as they popped into existence. “This red haired girl is Sarah. She is my focus. Teenage boy here is Luke. He just kinda acts out. Imelda, for when I need to get stuff done. And Robert, and... me.” 

     He said his name when the boy had appeared.

     “The kid has your name?” Penny asked.

     Robert sighed. “The kid is me. 5 year old me that’s about to have his world shattered into a million pieces.”

     Everyone went silent. They understood what he was implying.

     “I’m so sorry,” Rachael said softly.

     “It’s okay. Life sucks. So I guess we got this stupid holodeck going. Now what?”

     Rachael felt a bump from something. It felt like a physical bump, but nothing had touched her. She felt an emotional presence pull on her attention.

     “What was that?” Rachael asked.

     The room went black and the loud humming returned. It started to get quieter and softer as the Phoenix seemed to power down. The door opened and technicians walked in to begin checking everyone’s condition. 

     No one was injured or even uncomfortable. With the light coming in from the doorway, Rachael could see that everyone was back to normal. Everyone was wearing business suits again. Everyone was a normal human being and there were no strange sensations surrounding Rachael anymore.

     “That was our first successful test.” James had walked in. “Is everyone okay?”

     “Yeah. We’re fine. Right guys?” Rachael waited for everyone to confirm. “We’re fine.”

     “Congratulations. That’s a huge step forward for all of us. Thank you. If you’re all good to go, then you’re done for the day. We have a ton of data to crunch now. I’ll let Mr. Pendleton know how things went. Given your success, he may want you back here tomorrow. I have all of your numbers, so I’ll be in touch tonight if we need you again tomorrow or not. Elevator will take you right back outside. Don’t forget your stuff on the way out.”

     James turned to stare at a laptop screen just like the other technicians were. They seemed transfixed by whatever data they were looking at. 

     The four of them got back into the elevator silently and rode it back to the lobby floor. They had just seen each other in an extremely intimate light and the moment was too fragile for talking. 2 friends and 2 near-strangers had a look into each other's minds that is usually reserved for lovers in a romantic relationship. At the very least, those were details reserved for an intimate conversation between the closest of friends. Now that information was on full display. They had been ushered away too fast to ask if what they saw was also seen by the technicians. Such an outpouring of information was even more exposing. Even more compromising. They could ask tomorrow. 

     A ding sounded as they reached the ground floor again. Still silently, they gathered their stuff from the table and walked outside. No one wanted to talk yet. Penny unlocked the van and they climbed inside. 

[cozycryptidcorner]

Demon Boyfriend

Hey, everyone! I’m proud to congratulate @trashybutnottootrashy on their first place win in the raffle! Here is their voucher commissioned prize.

Every building has its own distinct, scent, and even more so for libraries. It’s not a passing observation, but fact, and one that you are sure to observe whenever possible. This specific library is in the center of a buzzing metropolis, a five-story building of shelves upon shelves filled to the brim with books. Fact and fiction each have an entire floor of their own, things such as scientific magazines that can be easily swallowed by children, to a brand of storytelling that makes one question their very reality of life. As much as you wish you could just listlessly browse, fingertips running over the spines of carefully protected hardbacks, you sit at a table directly in front of a librarian’s desk, thoroughly filling out paperwork.

There is a unique scent of dust in the air, one that happens when many different regions of decay end up in the same area, but still not something that you are particularly abhorrent towards. At this point in your life, actually, you find it somewhat comforting. As the LEDs softly buzz along with the rest of the background noise, a single light near the back corner flickering ever so slightly, you sign your name along the last dotted line. After taking a moment to go through the work again, just to double-check its accuracy, you stand, walking back over to the underpaid librarian who has been watching you with hawk-like eyes.

“Here you go,” you say, sliding the small stack of papers and your ID onto his desk, forcing a degree of cheerfulness for the sake of politeness.

With a pinching frown, he looks your information over the brim of his thickly rimmed glasses, glancing back up to your face as though he can hardly believe that you are telling the truth. The librarian takes a moment or two to pitter and patter on his computer, manually typing the information in for, you are certain, the sake of dragging the interaction longer than it needs to be. The clock above the desk ticks, ticks, ticks, away, utterly oblivious to your straining brain as the librarian finally looks up, mouth pursed in barely disguised disgust.

“Follow me,” he says, perhaps a little too primly to be natural.

There is a set of double doors to the side of the desk, though close enough so that the librarians can catch anyone that shouldn’t be back there. The hallway you enter is long, the walls a faded yellow of what once was white, the carpet nothing more than a thin layer of scratchy gray-blue threads that probably haven’t seen a good cleaning for the better part of six decades. Doorways that lead to offices and cubicle rows pass, most of them empty and bare, some of them populated with fellow academics with the intent for growing their knowledge in mind. And, just up ahead, you can see the librarian step inside one of the cubicles, your cubicle, and gesture calmly to whatever is on the desk.

You can’t see it until you step through the opening, but you can almost taste the ancient dust from a few paces away. And there it is, in all its glory, an unbelievably old binding written in a lexicon only few can recognize, and even less decipher. The librarian hands you a pair of specially crafted gloves for handling its brittle pages, eyeing your fingernails as though you might intentionally grow claws to rip the artifact to pieces just to spite him, specifically. Even after you put them on, he still gives you a side-eye, as though you don’t have a list of qualifications to handle such things that runs for a mile long. After a pause that lasts longer than it should, the librarian leaves, giving you one last oddly angry look as he walks back through the long hallway.

With your full focus now on the object you have been trying to get your hands on for the better half of a few months, you look down on it with a kind of awe that you rarely feel for anything but the finest examples of the era you study. The cover is ladened with faded gold, a rune gently shaped in the center with finely sharp details that still is easily readable to someone who understands the language. Carefully, you run your finger over the shape of the word, mouthing the syllables silently, just like you used to when you were first learning. An old one, in a dialect that looks like a muddied mix of Sanskrit, Egyptian, and Hebrew.

There is a college student’s dream arsenal of pens, highlighters, and notebooks in your bag, all of which you carefully pull out and place on the opposite side of the table, near one of the two chairs, already mentally calculating which color you are going to attach to which particular subject/note. With reverence, you reach a gloved hand over, and slowly, gently, open the book, quickly looking over the first page within. There isn’t much more than a much more decorative reiteration of the cover, colored inks swirling into a geometric design that was very uncommon for the time frame the piece has been dated as.

Using your phone, you take a careful picture of the front page, holding it as flat as can be, then you begin to read. Well, maybe a correction, you can’t really understand the book the same way you can pick up something in your native tongue, words cohesively stringing together in your mind, this is a little more complicated to make sense of. The syntax is a bit wonky, definitely something a person from the past would be able to look over with ease, but for you, it takes some effort and muttering a couple of phrases out loud to understand.

You scribble something in your notebook, a word that you aren’t familiar with. It could be a name, you think, looking over the masculine suffix that’s common enough among any records that have been found. Again, you write the name, with better confidence and calligraphy, trying to sound out the syllables in your head before making a fool of yourself to the two other people who also occupy the space. The name itself is unfamiliar, and while there are often records of people with names as standard as Jordan or Isabella in today’s world, but this is something you haven’t seen before. You’ll have to speak with your professor about this one, just to double-check.

Hours fly by without you noticing, only when you raise your phone to take another picture and the low battery warning flashes do you realize how much time has passed, and how quickly. Your appointment time with the artifact is nearing its end, and you are certain that the pinched-faced librarian is about to storm through though double doors to unleash a kind of hell only a special breed of academics can create. Feeling a little low, you begin putting your stuff away, pens going back in the front pocket, notebook slipping back into the front compartment. As your stomach rumbles for food, you mentally pick out a place to pick up some dinner on the way back to your home while slinging your backpack back across your shoulders. Thai? Mexican? Mmmm, pizza?

Oh, there he is, right on cue, the clipboard in his hand carrying your sign-out sheet. Silently, you reach out, one of your pens already in hand. Without giving him a chance to critique your color of choice, you sign the line with the sickest neon pink in your collection, adding a good, curly loop to one of your name’s letters just for good measure. Before he can even open his mouth to say anything, you leave, the gloves on the table, speed-walking down the long hallway so you are out of hearing range once he can even formulate words. You walk right into the left door, the loud thawk echoing through the building as you exit back into the central area of the archeologist selections.

Down you go, picking the stairwell instead of the elevator, moving quickly enough to feel the breeze of cold AC threefold against your neck. The lobby is always four degrees from freezing over, most people wrapping up in two or three layers just to survive a single study session. And perhaps they all have the right idea, wearing jackets, because the moment you step out into the bustling city, you notice just how hard it started raining while you were inside.

A car horn honks somewhere to your left, the sound of squealing tires echoing through and out of the alleyway, making you wince from the high pitch. Fog rises from the drains on either side of the street, the steam licking at your ankles as you run across the street, the pavement still hot from the sun’s permeating gaze. The bus stop is just ahead, you can see the headlights of something large and square, so you pick up your pace just to reach it in time, gasping and choking as you scan your pass in the little machine. The driver offers nothing more than a grunt as you shove your way past the overly crowded front. The bus creaks as it leaves the station, the engine popping as it moves the impossible weight it carries.

Your stop is only a few minutes away but saves you an hour’s walk in the pouring rain. The steps of the central bus doors are slippery from the many that have taken it before in the day, but you keep your balance as you hop back down on the sidewalk, you still-damp clothes soaking once more. The flickering neon of an old mom and pop deli manages to catch your attention through the hazy mist, so you make the snap decision to get your food there, folding your arms around your chest as you enter. A fan takes the unfortunate liberty to blow its air right all over any skin you have left bare, and your teeth immediately begin to chatter to battle what it thinks is oncoming hypothermia.

It takes you only a moment to pick your food, pay, and walk back out to the marginally warmer streets, and you half jog, half walk back to the apartment complex you call your home. The stairwell reeks of mildew, but thankfully not of much else, and with the rainy air flowing through the open windows, you can close your eyes and pretend that you are a fully-fledged archeologist, exploring a ruin of infinite potential. After jiggling your lock for what you would consider a moment too many, it gives, and you’re finally back, ready to look over your notes and organize them properly to place in your thesis.

Again, the name catches your eye. You smooth over the paper, a crinkle from closing wrong blemishing the very corner of the page, trying to figure out why you are so enamored with that single group of letters. It’s different than the borderline obsession you possess for the language in its entirety, there’s something about it that seems... different. You press your finger up against the first syllable, and say it out loud: “Yav… Ved.”

Nothing happens.

You point to the other half of the name, and say it as well: “Far-sen..nah.”

A soft tap tap tapping sounds against wood as you tap your finger on the table, biting your lip. <em<This is for your thesis, you think over and over again, pinching the bridge of your nose and desperately trying to summon the words once more. “Yavid… Farzenah.”

You only have a single moment to sit back in your chair before your apartment explodes. Or rather, upon further observation, implodes. Everything, the floor, the table, the chair, seems to warp, as though the large, black orb that suddenly appears in the center of your studio room is sucking everything around it. The blobs of color suddenly shift, the edges of your vision growing blurry, then dark, and suddenly everything and nothing ceases to exist. Then, a sudden rise of color, and there is someone standing in the middle of the apartment. There aren’t a lot of PSA’s about what to do when someone suddenly appears in your living space, so you revert back to a primitive fix-all.

You scream.

It’s a man, or at least holds the shape of masculinity, though you don’t even think that this creature is human, and as he tries to hold his hands out in a placating gesture of peace, you are too hysterical to listen to any voice of reason. All it takes is one slithery movement forward to set you off further, and you make a dodge for the door, keeping close to the wall. The only issue with your plan is that whatever this is, he is suddenly standing right in front of it, and you barely manage to skid to a halt before ramming right into his scaly chest.

Kitchen. Your drawer has knives, you can pull one out to defend yourself! Two steps are all it takes for the cabinets to be within reach, and you are quick to yank one of the faux wooden drawers out, hastily snatching a knife away and holding it out in what you hope is a seriously threatening manner. Though in retrospect, you probably aren’t the most intimidating person in the world, and the shaking from the spiked anxiety and adrenaline isn’t doing you any aesthetic-based favors. After what seems like an eternity, whatever he is speaks.

“Do not be afraid.” While anyone else might find his voice soothing, the fact that it seems he was born with the ability to soothe others ends up winding you up even more.

“No, thanks!”

“I have no intention of harming you.” The statement, at least, sounds as though he genuinely means it. He doesn’t try taking another step towards you, so he must be a quick learner. A swift, reptilian… horned… learner. “If you would just give me whatever tools you used, I’ll be going.”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.” You wish you could just push through the wall, to shove your way through the plaster and wood and escape into another apartment.

“The summoning tools.” He cocks his head, strands of silver hair falling into his eyes as he listens, carefully, to the footsteps of your upstairs neighbors. “Ah,” the creature suddenly seems to understand. “The portal must have materialized slightly off to the true summoners. A thousand apologies, your grace, the interconnecting aethors aren’t quite as they once were. Perhaps I could receive a bit of your undeserving kindness?”

When you don’t say anything, he continues, “would you happen to know if anyone in the immediate area would dare summon I?”

Though your neck is stiffer than it has ever felt, you manage to shake it ever so slightly.

“I suspected as much…” his voice trails away, his gaze falling onto your table. A frown sets on his face as he creeps closer, hand reaching out to touch the college-ruled stripes of your notebook. And then he looks at you again, slitted eyes narrowing. ” You.”

“Me?” You squeak.

“It was you who summoned me.” His voice is almost accusatory, but not all the way there yet.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Perhaps not intentionally.” He picks up your notebook, flipping through it as though it’s his, and runs his fingers over a specific page. “However, that appears to be the case.”

“I still… I don’t understand.” God, you wish the floor would just swallow you up.

The creature, the- snakelike beast, you don’t know what to identify him as, dares to come closer to the shining edge of your stainless steel weapon, and points to the copy of the cover you had painstakingly mimicked to the best of your ability with his perfectly crafted golden claw. “Tell me, what does this word mean?”

“To summon,” you say, immediately understanding what exactly he’s implying. “But- but it’s supposed to be a book of poetry, that word has two connotations, it’s supposed to summon emotions-”

“I’m afraid that’s incorrect.” He twists your precious notebook around, mouth puckering in thought. “But, I suppose, I can’t exactly blame you for clearly not knowing better. Tell me, then, who is now in rule? Is Ammenon or any of his descendants on the throne, still?”

You don’t know which Ammenon he means, because that was a pretty popular name... about five thousand years ago. But, still, you give him the name of your country’s leaders, explaining, “no one really does the monarchy thing anymore. I mean, there’s the Queen of England and such, but,” a bead of sweat rolls down your temple, “she can’t do things like raise taxes, she actually has to pay those as well… and, um, so on.”

“Ha.” It’s not really a laugh of amusement, more of fascination and curiosity. “Interesting. Well, regardless, you called for me with a single purpose in mind, and I may not return until it has been fulfilled. I shall, how do you humans put it, give this one to you for free. No soul needed in return.”

“Is that- is that what you really use as payment?”

“Mostly.” He flips over your pages once more, far more slow and meticulous this time. “But as this current summoning is, unfortunately, clearly accidental, I’m willing to give you a pass. Perhaps, in return,” he arches his eyebrows, which are just as silver as his hair, “you could spread a good word for me, to any witch or warlock looking for demonic help.”

“Um.” You lower the weapon, only slightly. “If… the conversation of demonic help ever comes up with someone I know is a witch or warlock, I suppose I can do that, yes.”

“Alright, then.” The creature- demonic, he had said, reads over one of your pages, “so tell me, what is it you desired, while speaking my name?”

You shrug, a little shyly. “I was just thinking about finishing my academic thesis.”

“An academic thesis.” He looks back down over the notes you’ve painstakingly taken, outlining a barely cohesive idea that you are desperately trying to narrow down into something easily understood. “About?”

“Language.”

“I see.” He cocks his head, forked tongue licking over his fangs. “Perhaps we should begin, then. Seems we have our work cut out for us, hm?”

You lower the knife all the way, your arm hanging limply against your hip as you look over your new… colleague? Aid? You don’t know what to refer to him, or even what he is. But you accept your lot here, and gently take the notebook back, smoothing over the edges that have started curling over from age and wear with your thumb. Biting down on your tongue, you try to figure how you plan on handling this, what can you put him in charge of that will help, instead of hinder, your progress?

“How long have you been around? Alongside humanity, that is?” You muse aloud, trying to think a little harder.

“I’m still trying to figure out how long it’s been since my last summoning.” The long, black tail he has instead of legs flicks to the left. “I have a feeling that you don’t know where to begin, either.”

“You’re right.” The water kettle you had left on the stove in the few minutes it took to pull him into another reality begins to scream. He looks in its direction, aghast, and you flip the heat off, pulling an extra mug from a cabinet while you make tea. “Let’s work on finding a historical event that you remember.”

It takes a little while. You ask ‘Yavid,’ that’s his name, you found out, if he remembers anyone significant named Jesus from Nazareth. Not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes. You try to go down the line of Caesar’s, then the Ptolemy’s. Cleopatra, apparently, is famous from wherever he’s from just by her cunning and genius alone, but he hasn’t met her in person. “But I had already been around for a long while before that,” he adds, looking over his perfectly manicured nails.

A few days go by, and Yavid has been giving you some fundamental insights on everyday life from, by your calculations, four, maybe five thousand years ago. It’s incredibly fascinating, you admit, and you find yourself deeply distracted by his tails of barber feuds that last for years, brilliant milkmaids who end up in exalted positions, and animals that once could speak. You scribble various notes in your book, feeling an award creeping up with every word he softly speaks. This is remarkable, this is beyond astounding… this is going to bring a whole new view to the field of archeology and historical studies.

He eats, you asked at some point, you don’t remember when, but he does. Meaty things mainly, he requested for alligator at some point, and you do your best to accommodate him with the budget you have. You try not to let it slip that you are straining, but he catches onto things pretty quickly and hands you one of his many golden bracelets to sell. Just from that, you’re pretty much set for the rest of the month, your shitty job notwithstanding.

“So,” you poke at the food on your plate, hoping that if you shift it around, it will look more appetizing, “you can’t go back until I complete my thesis?”

“That’s how it works, yes,” though Yavid’s already been over this with you, he repeats it once more for your sake.

“It’s just the thesis’ completion? How will you know that it’s complete? Is it just the first draft? Is it once it’s peer-reviewed? Once it’s submitted?”

“I imagine once the entire process of turning in your thesis is over,” he folds his hands over each other, “that is usually the criteria for the process, or at least the kind I contracted to take care of.”

“Hm.” He’s going to end up being with you for the rest of the school year. You aren’t exactly sure how you feel about the impromptu roommate, you were, after all, renting in this shoddy area for a lower price on apartments just because you didn’t want to deal with that. But there wasn’t much either of you could do about it, other than tough it out. “You can just… become contracted to take care of certain things?”

“Mercenary work would be a good way to put it, except others like me have to answer to a higher power, giving them…. A cut of our wares, if you will.”

“I think I understand.”

“Work has been incredibly dry, lately, though I suppose I know the answer as to why.” Yavid looks over to where your phone lies, tossed haphazardly onto your bed. “The leaps of advances in just the last millennia, the last century, even, have been quick and remarkable. Seems that no one requires a miracle.”

“I wouldn’t say that, specifically,” you run your finger down the lower half of your fork. “Knowledge of ancient things isn’t really respected anymore. Sure, people know that at some point, ancient civilizations worshipped and summoned beings they thought were real, but ask anyone out in the street, and they would agree that those things hold up the same as fairy tales. I’m sure there are some rebellious kids out there trying to summon Satan or whatever, but they’re playing with objects that don’t really do anything.”

Yavid hums in agreement, looking at the cheap wine you purchased for his sake swirl in a cheap glass. “I suppose, then, that you will have to help us rise back up to the… what did you call it… mainstream media.”

You will not be doing that, so you say nothing, and instead take a sip of your drink. “Maybe we should talk about how the syntax evolved.”

The weather turns cold, almost like some ancient god decided to snap its fingers. You wear a coat, arms braces tightly across your chest, whenever you leave the apartment. Whenever you return, Yavid is usually coiled out on the floor, his snaky half wrapped around whatever it could find, your table, your bed, the weird column in the middle of the room, and such. He is normally reading a book you checked out of the library for him, often something history-related, since he doesn’t really like the flashing of your tablet. Or, more realistically, he has yet to figure out how to work it and doesn’t wish to admit it.

“Of course the planet is round,” you’ve heard him mutter, “can’t believe it took you people this long to figure it out… again.”

You’ve pulled up the moon landing on youtube for him to watch once or twice, his yellow eyes glittering in grayscale. That’s about the most you’ve managed to impress him, the nuclear weapon shenanigans that follow World War Two leaves him less than thrilled, “and,” he adds, poking at the glossy textbook paper, “two world wars? Was the second one that necessary?”

“To be fair,” you add olive oil to the pan, the scent of stir fry perfuming your apartment, “Hitler and his posse were persecuting eleven million Jews, Romanians, homosexuals, and literally anyone deviating from what they perceived as ‘perfect,’ including the sick and disabled. If that madman’s power grew unchecked, most of us wouldn’t be here now.”

Yavid grunts in response, brows furrowing as he turns the page.

One semester bleeds into the second, and the bitter cold begins to seep away from the earth, making way for the sun’s unbearable warmth. Your thesis is thick, papers stacked against each other neatly as can be, the final draft approved by two of your professors who volunteered to look over it. You read over it once more, as you have done many, many times, with Yavid over your shoulder.

“Well,” you say, placing it in a cheap paper folder, “this is it.”

“Perhaps it is.” Yavid gives you a crooked grin. “Unless you fail.”

“I will not!” You tuck the folder into your backpack, giving him a face. “I am an unbridled genius. The board is going to have one look at this and be vaporized on the spot.”

“They surely will, and if your unbridled genius doesn’t accomplish that, my immeasurable wrath will.”

You let out a little puff of air in laughter, slinging the backpack over your shoulders. “Look, if I return and you aren’t here-”

“Which might be unlikely, as it might be until the paper is approved before my task is complete.”

“I know, but,” you place a hand on his arm, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He blinks in surprise. “You’re welcome. And, I suppose, if you need anything else, just call for me.” 

“Maybe,” you hum, letting the door shut behind you. 

[incognito-lionbeast]

The Right Kind of Idiot, Ch. 1-5

[part one]: tl;dr Lio & Galo have a heart to heart, Galo does most of the talking [part two]: tl;dr Aina appears & tries to enforce [Galo’s] bedtime [part three]: t;dr Aina tries convincing a suspicious Lio to let her join him in his trek to meet up with Gueira & Meis [part four, read more]: tl;dr Aina & Lio meet up with his lieutenants, it’s a little awkward

Right, thanks for the vote of confidence, guys. Really helps. Well, one of them was being more genuinely helpful than the rest, passing off the colourful box of sweets to the round, coveting eyes of a few children. Survivors, elated by the gift of something they probably hadn’t had in far too long. She crouched, rifling through her own collection of things and sorting them into lots. A rescuer’s work was never really done, was it?

Her smile was one of reserved confidence, although privately entertained by how the other two slowly had their personal space fully invaded by some of the smaller children. Burnish, Aina assumed. Why else would they be so comfortable? It was cute; she was thankful. She wouldn’t stop being thankful for their patience--for Gueira and Meis, for Lio. So, sitting on her heels, she greeted in soft tones, “My name’s Aina. I’m from the third Burning Rescue unit, and I’ll be spending the night with you, if that’s okay?”

Several sets of eyes were on her, including those of her helpers. Really, Aina had never felt more out of place in her life, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear--for once wishing, maybe, she’d brought Galo with her. He was an idiot, but he had the sort of charisma that no one was immune to for long. Yet, it couldn’t be helped. Galo was sleeping--hopefully--and she was here now. Alone. She could do this. “I brought food and supplies enough for everyone, so try not to fill up on candy too much. I’ll never hear the end of it if the others find out I gave you all tummy aches.”

Quiet. This was going well. Scanning over the faces of their little flock, at least no one looked injured. Without examining them, she couldn’t be totally certain, but Aina’s trust was with the two Lieutenants; they would have told her. For now, she offered water, food, and the warmth of a few blankets--distributed with the hesitant acceptance of a homeowner feeding stray cats until, eventually, Aina was satisfied that they’d been cared for. They were cared about. How many of them had homes, parents to return to?

Aina, forced out of her thoughts by a crudely folded slip of paper jabbing her in the side, yipped in surprise. Gueira. Temporarily untangled from his kin, he’d produced it from a jacket pocket moments prior. After all, what better way to do as he’d been told than make a small spectacle of it? Maybe lighten the mood a little, because God knew they could all use it. He flashed his teeth, “We got as many names as we could. You said that’d help, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Thank you,” she stammered, unfolding the--it was the guest sign in sheet from reception, nice--paperwork to quickly skim over its contents. Huh. It was more than just names. Ages, a few hastily written descriptions, possible family, and a handful of other small details--not for all of them, but the effort wouldn’t go unappreciated. Even if they had to interview everyone again individually come morning, it helped to have something to reference later. Who knows, they could’ve been more open around someone less Official.

“I'm really grateful for your help,” Aina added, tucking their notes away someplace safe. Then, offering the best totally-not-exhausted smile she could muster, “--all of you. I know I said it earlier, but I don’t want you to start thinking that I don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Gueira waved off. He didn’t what else to do with the praise or if he trusted it completely, but a truce was a truce. And, looking back over to his spot--now overrun in his absence, shit--he plopped himself down right where he was. Could be worse. Could be better, but Aina was one of the more tolerable firefighters by his estimate. “We don’t need convincing.”

So he said, worried that she’d keep piling it on otherwise. They weren’t doing anything they wouldn’t have done otherwise--their application and a few of the faces were just a little different. No one was getting left stranded on their watch. No one was getting captured, either. That was what had taken the most effort to convince him, Meis, and, hell, probably even Lio of--the Burnish leader sitting not more than ten feet away, knuckles buried in his cheek and wrapped in one of the donated blankets.

It was all quite the scene.

“Alright, alright.. any more and I’ll probably start sounding like Galo, anyway.” Aina stretched, tugging her hair out of its ponytail to run her fingers through.The following pause, interspersed with the sound children who would soon wind down to sleep, made her thoughtful. Once tomorrow came, the survivors would be evacuated somewhere safe, and their day would begin again something like how it had been the past several hours. Yet, what about after that? So focused on her work, Aina hadn’t really stopped to consider what happened to ones leftover.

The ones who didn’t need saving. Her eyes met Lio’s, “What will you do when this is over? I’m sure Galo wants you to stay, but... I know things are more complicated than the desires of one man.”

She only enforced his presence for as long as the recovery effort needed them, and even that was more of a heartfelt suggestion than a demand. Lio’s knuckles left an imprint where he’d been leaning; he’d been thinking about it, too, and while he couldn’t admit it around all of these people... Lio needed to be strong in the face of uncertainty. Some of them would want to return to normal lives, and he wouldn’t begrudge them that. Rather, for them and for all of the Burnish, he knew Galo was right. They had to keep fighting. It was the how and where he wasn’t sure of yet. Or if the Powers That Be would allow them peace. Especially him.

Saving the world didn’t always matter when it came to politics.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Meis answered. He’d take the bullet if he had to, idly flipping his hair over one shoulder. “--firefighter. No offense, but it’s better for us if you don’t.”

Wind taken out of her sails, Aina sighed, although the faux melancholy didn’t last long. It was her turn to leave knuckle-marks on her cheek, leaning forward cross-legged and eyebrows raised with playful incredulity. Meis was the recipient of a single, lopsided shrug. “You’re probably right.. I wasn’t planning to tell anyone, but I definitely can’t tell what I don’t know.”

“--fire starter.” All three of them, but Meis and Gueira especially-so. Yet, somehow, Aina found herself slowly becoming endeared to them. Suppose working together--and working well together--did that to you, if Lio and Galo were any example. Meis didn’t even argue, because, well, she wasn’t wrong. Hell yeah, they were fire starters. They had to be on the same page about something, right?

Lio was thankful. If this was the worst they behaved together, then perhaps he could rest. Yet, there was follow-up that begged asking, “What about you? What will the Burning Rescue become without the Promare?”

“Er,” Aina straightened some. “I guess we’ll go back to being regular firemen. It’ll take some adapting... in our unit, Ignis is the only one old enough to remember the world without Burnish fires. Though, I feel like Galo’s the most prepared for this.”

She shook her head, chuckling quietly to herself. Sorry if you didn’t want a story, guys, but she had one. And she was tired uninhibited enough to launch into it with little provocation other than simple sentimentality. “You should have seen him on his first day. No mecha, no real world experience. Just a homemade Matoi and the stubbornness to not take no for an answer. He shouldn’t have even come with, but Galo somehow convinced the chief to let him spectate from the sidelines.”

“He’s an idiot.” Both of Lio’s lieutenants nodded. Made sense. They were fine with story time if that was the premise. Although, the reality of Aina’s story hadn’t dawned on her yet. “There was a woman trapped in the building. I don’t know how we missed her, but we’re a small team. We've got our hands full with the other survivors, so what does Galo do?”

A pause for effect. Rhetorical question. “He launches himself into the building with no protection other a thick coat of extinguishing gel. We all thought he was crazy! He IS crazy, and I don’t know how he did it--but he saved her. At least...”

This time the pause wasn’t for effect, blinking, glancing between Gueira and Meis as if she’d just had the revelation of the century. Aina covered her mouth, briefly, unable to decide what she wanted to say. Yet, she sure needed to say it, waving one hand for all the room to see. “--that was you two, wasn’t it? You took her.”

“How didn’t I realise this until now?” Her words blended together in quick succession, incredulous and mostly at her own embarrassing lack of awareness. Her face was red. They shrugged. Now that she mentioned it, the situation sounded familiar. She was familiar, but they hadn’t stuck around that long. Remembering who or which firefighters they’d been messing with that day was never a priority.

“You caught us,” Gueira guffawed to the dismay of the few sleeping around him. “Guess we’ve known each other a while. Does that change your opinion of us, missy?”

This was the first time Lio heard about it. It was before his time, he mused, quietly connecting the loose threads for himself. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been so surprising, given all that had happened, that they were so interconnected. If it really was that day. If it was the same Her Aina was talking about. Thyma. The one neither of them saved in the end. He would ask Galo, but later. He wasn’t here, and he didn’t want to interrupt what was happening already.

“Er, well--no. Not really.” Aina tried smiling, but it was crooked and sheepish. Some way to be put on the spot, huh. “I’ll probably never approve of everything you’ve done, but that’s... okay. I don’t think you’re bad people.”

[get-your-fics]

Duality - Chapter Seven

Summary: Your life as Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend was pretty simple, actually. Well, as simple as things can get in Gotham. But it gets a lot more complicated when you meet Jeremiah Valeska, Jerome’s twin brother.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x reader, Jeremiah Valeska x reader, Jerome Valeska x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stalking, mentions of abuse

CHAPTER SIX

A month passed by since that night at the circus, and your life went back to normal. Your relationship with Bruce continued to develop as you supported him, but you kept thinking about the mysterious boy Jerome you had met. You also couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone watching you every now and then. Late at night, when you were awake in your bed and everything was quiet, you felt like there were eyes on you. But you chalked it up to paranoia and didn’t fret over it too much.

You knocked on the doorway leading to the living room in Wayne Manor. “Knock, knock.” You peered around the corner to smile at Bruce sitting at what used to be his father’s desk, surrounded by piles of paperwork. You took a step inside. “Whatcha doin’?”

He held up a piece of paper and studied it before jotting something down in a journal. “Investigating Wayne Enterprises. I know there’s something wrong, somewhere.” He sighed and let go of the paper, leaning back in his chair. “Please, distract me.”

You grinned as you walked over to him, your hands clasped behind your back. You pushed aside some papers before sliding onto his desk. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” You looked down at some random files. “What if they decide to cut you out from inheriting the company when you turn eighteen?”

“They can’t do that; it’s my namesake.” He flipped through a manila folder before setting it down.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth; you weren’t as sure as he was. “Well, when do you think you’ll be done with all this? ‘Cause I was thinking we could climb into bed, have Alfred make us something, and watch a movie.”

He stood up from his chair. “You know what? I think I deserve a break.”

You swung your legs back and forth. “For how long?”

“For as long as you want.” He leaned on his hands on either side of your legs and pressed his lips to yours. You let your hands run through his raven locks and moaned into the kiss. You were just about to deepen it when your phone started buzzing in your pocket.

You groaned as you pulled away from him. “Just give me a second, okay?” He nodded, breathless and flushed, as you dug your phone out of your pocket. You glanced at the screen. It was a number you didn’t recognize, but you decided to answer it anyway. You hit accept and held your phone up to your ear. “Hello?”

“You’re my one call,” a low, gruff voice said straight into your ear.

The smile vanished from your face, and your heart sunk to your stomach. You could recognize the voice; it was the same one that had been haunting you for the past month. You pressed your phone against your chest and tried to hide your fear as you said to Bruce, “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” He nodded.

You hopped off his desk, and he went back to sorting through miscellaneous sheets of paper. You padded out of the room, and as soon as you were out in the hall, you held your phone back up to your ear. “Jerome?” Your brow furrowed as realization set in. “How do you know my number?”

He chuckled, and it sent shivers down your spine. “I know a lot of things about you: where you live, what school you go to, how you like to sleep on your stomach at night with one leg out of the covers.” You felt frozen in place; your suspicions had been right. Someone had been watching you. “But that’s a conversation for another time. I got into a little bit of trouble.”

You leaned against the wall. “What happened?”

“I murdered my mother.” Your blood ran cold through your veins at how easily he said the words. “I almost got away with it with Mr. Cicero’s help, but that damn cop Jim Gordon was too hard to fool. Turns out, Mr. Cicero is my father.” He cackled, and your pulse quickened. He didn’t sound like the same boy you had met a month ago. He sounded different, changed. “Anyway, now they’re sending me to Arkham. They think I’m crazy or something. But if they knew the truth, how badly she had treated me, they would understand why I did what I did.” He paused. “You understand, don’t you, (Y/N)?”

Your heart beat against your ribcage. “Why... why would you think that?” you stammered.

“Because you’ve been hurt before too, haven’t you?” There was a playful tone to his voice. “I could see it in your eyes when you saved me that night. Someone hurt you, just like how my mother hurt me.”

You sucked in a breath. “My father wasn’t a good man. He used to hurt me and my mom a lot, but she divorced him and then he moved away.” You gripped the phone tighter in your hand. “Jerome, I know how it feels to want to hurt someone who hurt you, but violence only breeds more violence. You’ll move past this, and things will get better.”

“Not all of us are as lucky as you, (Y/N). Some of us don’t have a way out.” The teasing hint to his voice was gone. “I would’ve rotted in that circus for eternity if I hadn’t have taken fate into my own hands, if I hadn’t have done something.” There was a pause, and the sickeningly cheery tone was back. “But not everything goes away, now does it, (Y/N)? The darkness always stays. No matter how much you push it down, it resurfaces. It stays a part of you forever.”

Your hand was shaking now. “I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he growled. “My mother deserved what I did to her. She was a lowlife whore who cared more about getting drunk and getting laid than her own son. The scum of the Earth deserves to get purged.” His voice was impossibly dark. “It felt good to sink my hatchet into her body, (Y/N). To hear her scream, watch the blood ooze out of her.” He whispered directly into your ear, “I wish you would’ve been there to see it.”

You felt a single tear roll down your cheek, and you swatted it away with the back of your hand. “You’re scaring me, Jerome.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart!” He laughed, and it unsettled you even more. “I hope you know I would never hurt you.”

“Why did you call me, Jerome?” You kept your voice low so Bruce couldn’t hear you in the other room. “Why did you call me of all people?”

He sighed. “If I’m being honest, doll, it’s because you’re the only one who cares for me, the only one who truly understands me. When you saved me a month ago, I knew you were special. I couldn’t get you out of my head, so that’s why I started following you around...”

You chewed on your bottom lip. If Jerome really believed what he was saying, maybe he would listen to you. Maybe you could talk some sense into him and steer him onto the right path before he continued to spiral even further. You could save him again. “When will you be transferred to Arkham?”

“About a week or so.” He sounded taken aback. “Why?”

You hesitated before saying the next words, like you were making a deal with the devil. “I’ll come visit you, okay? We can continue talking then, but I have to go. Please try to stay out of trouble.”

You could hear the smile in his voice. “Oh, (Y/N). You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.” You ended the call and meandered back into the living room.

Bruce looked up from where he was sitting on the antique sofa, a drink in hand. “That took a while. Who was it?”

“Oh, just my mom. She needs me home for dinner.” You walked over to him and placed your hands on his shoulders, softly kissing his forehead. “I’m sorry to take you away from your work. We’ll do this another time, yeah?”

He dismissed you with a wave. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He grabbed your hand and gave it a quick squeeze before letting go.

You flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Bruce. See you tomorrow.” You turned around, your smile immediately dropping. You walked away from him and felt that familiar empty feeling settle in your chest, where it would hang over you like a rain cloud for the next week.

CHAPTER EIGHT

[resilientmama]

Continuing the manipulation...

Manipulation and deception go hand in hand.

Sometimes manipulation doesn’t have to involve a lie or false information.

BUT...let’s be honest, most of the time it solely centers around a lie to achieve the outcome that you want. A lesson I have learned oh so well.

Picking up where I left off. I was told that I was now being accused of molesting my children and there was a temporary VPO filed against me in civil court.

Que the panic of a lifetime. 

I had already temporarily lost contact with my children once. And I was going to be damned if it happened again. But I was helpless. The VPO was filed in another state. I had no idea where to start.

Mind you the month before this all occurred I had already been cut off from my children. As soon as the news of my pregnancy broke, radio silence when I tried to communicate with them. The excuses were many as to why. 

Why I was never confronted about the abuse, your question is as good as mine. 

Seems to me that the recourse of approaching myself like an adult was not something that wanted to be dealt with, so lets hide behind police officers and DHS workers.

So I was a sitting duck.

Finally detectives approached me. I went in for questioning and never heard back from them.

I was reassured by the officer who took on my case that he was going to thoroughly investigate all aspects of my case, including the people making the allegations and their past.

Key factor right here. Remember in my previous post were I mildly touched on the kind of people who alienate children from their other parent? 

Now is the time to tell you I am a domestic violence victim. 

I don’t care what charges have been expunged thanks to deferred sentencing completion. I still posses the police reports, court paperwork, evidence photos and a color copy of the book in sheet from the county jail.

IT HAPPENED.

Throw in the domestic violence and a hefty back child support balance and BINGO! You have it right there.

Refer back to the Father’s Rights Movement step by step manual.

This officer questioned me not only about sexual allegations, physical abuse allegations, previous DHS findings and anything else pertaining to me. He asked me questions about things he apparently already had a record of.

I left that office feeling at peace.

Two weeks later I picked up my paperwork from the DA’s office. They declined to press any charges due to lack of evidence and belief of false reporting.

FALSE REPORTING? Isn’t that a crime?

It is. And I’ve been counseled on my rights and options I have on pressing charges.

Did I? No. Why? Because I’ve never been out for blood. Why would I want to harm my children’s other parent? The one with whom they primarily reside with. Me pressing charges would in turn complicate their lives anymore.

Fast forward to many temporary hearing orders, in another state. It was granted to be moved to the state of the residing parties since my children had lived there for longer than six months. 

VPO thrown out, temporary put back on, repeat that for months and months until the final hearing.

At this final hearing the judge really made a mockery of the justice system.  

The original VPO was requested upon allegations of sexual abuse. The final VPO was granted under the pretenses that I had once resided in a home with a man, my ex partner, that had been substantiated against for physical abuse against my children. A man whom I hadn’t lived with for approximately two years. The judge expressed worry that my now husband may or may not abuse my children. I was ordered a psychological evaluation with a doctor of the other party’s choosing, supervised visits every other weekend with a supervisor of their choosing and therapy with a psychiatrist of their choosing. These supervised visits would have to be done in their home state. This psychiatrist they chose was not covered by my insurance. I was also ordered to pay close to $20,000 of the other party’s legal fees.

I had spent close to $40,000 on this simple VPO myself. I was also eight months pregnant at this court date; unemployed and a stay at home mother to a two year old boy with no intention to become employed anytime soon.

I was papered as some attorneys call it. 

You’re intentionally bogged down with attorneys fees and other expenses to the point that you have to give up.

I never wanted to give up on my children.

I haven’t given up on my children. I just refuse to play their game.

So this is how I came to the point of complete and utter alienation.

I walked away from this with no criminal charges pertaining to my children. 

I am not a child molester. I am not a pedophile. I am not a child abuser.

And any single one of you out there saying those things about me, or anyone else for that matter without actual legal documentation - YOU ARE COMMITTING SLANDER, a crime that is punishable in CRIMINAL court. All it takes is documentation that you have uttered those statements in order to defile a person’s reputation.

This has just been the basic outline of my story. I intend to write more about the subject of parental alienation, malicious mother syndrome, narcissistic parenting, false allegations, abuse of the court system and how we can all work together to be more aware of the signs and how to avoid this determinant that ultimately harms the children more than the parents.

I will get into how its affected my day to day life and more details as I go. And how the man who is the only person actually “proven” to have done anything to my children is out walking the streets free as a bird.

My children are the light of my life. I’m lucky enough that this hasn’t seeped into the lives of my sons whom I get to spend all of my days with. I spend every day just hoping that all six know the love that I have for them. 

I’m at peace with the people who have aided in doing this to me. I’m doing this for me. I want my voice to be heard. And if I can help one person out there that’s going through this, or even someone that is committing PA and doesn’t realize the mistake they’re making - then I’ve done something right with my voice.

Thank you for your time. I hope you continue reading my story and that I’m not too all over the place to follow.

Disclaimer: I will not disclose the names of my other children and stepchildren, along with anyone else involved without their permission. Do not send hate, threats or make disparaging comments to anyone involved in my story. My goal is not to cause harm. My goal is clarification and my opportunity to tell my story.

[fullmetalscullyy]

I know I just requested something, so feel free to say no, but if you have the time could you write another royai oneshot where Roy has a nightmare about ishval and calls Riza in a panic and she comes over and holds him while he cries? If you don't have the time to write this, that's okay. I'll literally read any fullmetal alchemist fics you write because I love them

considerit done! and thank you, again!! :D this was such a good prompt!

TW: (not mentioned by name) allusions to rape

Riza awoke in the night, startled.Normally she woke up like this after a nightmare, but as far as she couldremember, her sleep had been dreamless before she had been jolted awake. No,the reason why was the shrill cry of the phone coming from her living room.

Cursing whoever was calling her at thistime in the morning, Riza stumbled through, Hayate perking up himself andyawning. He hopped off the bed with a stretch and trotted after her, interestedto see what all the fuss was about.

“Hello?” she asked, trying not to let herirritation show in her tone. She didn’t do very well.

“Lieutenant?” Like a switch had beenflicked, Riza was instantly awake. What was the Colonel doing phoning her? Had somethinghappened? Was he okay? What – “Uh, sorry to wake you.” She picked up a tremblein his voice. “I – I didn’t really think, and I’ve just realised the time.”

“Sir? What’s wrong?”

There was silence on the other end ofthe line before she heard him take a deep breath.

“I had another nightmare.” Now sheunderstood the reason for the call, the hitch in his voice. “I’m sorry, it wasdumb of me to call, I didn’t think –”

“Roy?” The use of his first namestalled his babbling, the effect Riza had aimed for. “I’ll be right over.”

“No, it’s fine, I – I –”

“Honestly, it’s fine. You returned thefavour last time.”

There was a moment’s pause before hereplied, tone resigned, but grateful. “Right. Thank you.”

The drive to his apartment wasn’t along one. Military assigned accommodation was all housed in one neighbourhood, separatefrom the civilian residential districts in Central. When Riza pulled up andparked, her eyes glanced up the building, spotting a single light on in the seaof darkness.

Roy greeted her at the door. His eyeswere red rimmed like he had been crying. His hair stood on end and he lookedexhausted. Something told Riza he hadn’t been sleeping very well recently. Hewas an expert at covering it up at the office. He often joked it was because ofhis “late nights with a lovely lady”, but he wasn’t fooling Riza. She knew howmuch the war affected him, and still did to this day, three years later. Therewere no “lovely ladies” in his life either, something he confided in her about whiledrunk over a year ago. Only informants and loneliness.

It appeared they were both in a similarsituation.

“Hey,” he greeted, clearing his throat.

“Hey.”

“Uh, come in. Make yourself at home.”

Riza had only been here once before.Madame Christmas had called her to come pick him up from the bar and take him home.Roy had apparently been asking for “Elizabeth” all night and the Madame was notblind, nor was she an idiot. She knew fine well the relationship Riza and her nephewshared and knew just how complicated it was.

Upon arriving at the bar, Riza had simplyrolled her eyes as Roy drunkenly declared “heyyy, Elizabeth is finally here!”very loudly to the room, swaying in his seat, eyes unfocussed.

“Not Elizabeth, sir, it’s LieutenantHawkeye. You’ll have to put up with me tonight instead.” Her heart rate hadrisen, panicked that someone might have overheard a little too much while Roy’s tongue was loose thanks to the alcohol. Riza didn’tdoubt the Madame would have dealt with it, but it paid to be cautious, and fromthe babbling and the terrified look in his eyes after Riza brought him home, sheknew he was simply drinking to forget.

Riza perched on the edge of the couch,watching his every move like her name’s sake. He shuffled backwards andforwards, undecided about what to do with himself. After closing the door, hedrifted to the kitchen, then stopped, moving back towards living room beforestopping in the centre of his apartment’s open plan area.

“Roy, do you want to sit down?” sheasked when he remained frozen in place, a violent shiver overtaking his body. Hishead snapped up, as if remembering she was still in the room, before he noddedand shuffled to sit down next to her.

This behaviour… He was so unlike theRoy she knew. Gone was his confidence and bravado. Here, was a shell of a man,deeply affected by the horror he had caused and been subjected to in the war.

“What happened?” Riza asked. There wasno point in beating around the bush. They both knew why they were here. He tooka deep breath, but his voice caught on the first word. Roy stared at his coffeetable, scrubbing his face with his hands.

“I…”

“Take your time,” Riza reassured him afterhe fell silent.

“You died.” His voice was so quiet andbroken Riza’s heart stopped. “They – They cornered us and restrained me whilethey… took you away… a – around acorner. I heard your screams.” He looked like he was going to vomit and Rizawas pretty sure she looked the same way. “Th – then they brought you back.” Roywas visibly shaking by this point. Riza moved over on the couch, wrapping herarm around his shoulders. His head lowered to her own shoulder, body violentlyshaking as he relived his nightmare. “And… And…”

“I’m right here,” she soothed, fearingher own fear tighten her throat. She had heard stories around the camps aboutwhat happened to the female soldiers. The male Amestrian soldiers were just asbad towards the Ishvalans. She repositioned her arms, wrapping them tightly aroundhis body. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” he muttered, taking a deep,shuddering breath. “I know that, but it was so real,” he whispered. “They draggedyou back to me, bloody and –” he choked on his next words and Riza shushed him,reassuring him he didn’t need to continue. She got the picture. “And theyexecuted you. Just like that. I couldn’t stop it.”

The pressure of her arms around hisbody increased as she held him close, eyes closing as a tear escaped from hereye. This could have been a very real possibility in Ishval. There was no doubtin her mind something like this had happened.

But it was just a dream, she repeatedback to him. She was there. She was alive. They survived Ishval together andwould work harder to ensure nothing like that ever happened again.

His cries grew louder, filling the darkapartment as Riza held him tightly. They rode through it together like they alwaysdid, gravitating back towards one another in times of crisis.

Eventually the shaking stopped and sodid his sobs. When Roy pulled away his face was blotchy, eyes bright red, buthe looked… at peace. Whatever demons had tried to worm their way into his mindto torture him were banished.

“Thanks to you,” he whispered againsther skin as he kissed it, showering her body in his affection as they moved togetherunder the sheets in his bedroom. “I love you,” he whispered against her hipbone, lips trailing their way up to capture her own. “So much, I can’t bear thethought of not getting to touch you as often as I should.”

“I love you, Roy,” she moaned in reply,back arching as his fingers moved across her skin. She placed a hand on his cheek,bringing his attention to her face. They gazed at each other, lost in their lover’seyes. “And we will fight this. Together.” His reply was to kiss her deeply,pressing both their bodies down further into the mattress.

“Another late night, boss?” Havoc asked,waggling his eyebrows as he entered the office a few hours after Riza left him.She pretended not to be listening, like always, however she was morbidly curiousabout what the Colonel’s answer would be.

“Huh?”

“You look like you haven’t slept allnight,” Havoc laughed, a smirk on his face.

“Oh, right. Yeah,” Mustang grinnedback, his façade sliding into place.

“So, who was it this time?”

“You wouldn’t know her,” the Colonelshrugged while Havoc pouted. Honestly, he was worse than the gossips around HQ.

“Come on, boss. Give us something.Anything.”

“Oh, all right.” Riza tensed, preparingto block out their guy talk about their conquests. Even if Roy’s were made up,the women were very real and were part of the Madame’s information network. Rizawasn’t privy to his personal life, and vice versa. Her brain often reminded herthat even though his “dates” weren’t actually dates, he could be out there withother women.

Women who weren’t her.

“This one was pretty special,” sheheard the Colonel reply, the tone of his voice soft. “She has helped me througha lot over the years.” The men – well, Havoc and Breda – ooh-ed like a couple ofteenagers.

“I bet she did,” Breda muttered, and Havocsnorted at the insinuation.

“She’s the most important person in mylife right now, to be perfectly honest.” Riza smiled to herself, eyes neverlifting from her paperwork as she continued to work.

“Aw,” Havoc cooed. “The Colonel issmitten.”

“Give it a week,” Breda snorted.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mustangreplied. “I think this one is here to stay.”

Riza wiped the smile off her face asshe stood and approached his desk. Her expression was a stark contrast to whatshe was feeling inside. Warmth spread from the top of her head right down toher toes, her stomach flip-flopping in response to his confession.

“Really, Colonel?” she scolded, eyebrowraised. “Don’t you have work to do, sir?”

“Ah, yes, Hawkeye. Thank you,” hereplied sheepishly, giving the boys a wink, a promise to continue this conversationat a later time. Both men satisfied, they turned and walked back to their desk.

“Your paperwork for the day, sir,” Rizastated, handing him the pile. His gaze met hers for a brief moment and hesmiled at her. It was different from his usual ones that were mostly smug becausehe knew he had been right all along about something. This was kind,appreciative, and thankful. It told Riza he had meant every word.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he murmuredsoftly, taking the pile from her hands. Riza returned to her desk andrefocussed her attention, but Roy’s words, and the memory of the night theyshared, floated around her head for the remainder of the working day.

[worthlesspride]

Is there ever a point in the fic where kuroo is thinking over some facts in the case and struggles over whether or not to trust iwaizumi? Who does kuroo rant to? How does he reconcile his friendship with iwaizumi and his duty to be impartial in his job? I love your writing btw 💖

Thank you so much! ^^ And thanks for asking about Kuroo! He was a very complicated character. 

           Kuroo had been a police officer fora long time.

           He’d gotten hired on when he wasstraight out of school, young and fresh and ready to make a difference. It hadn’ttaken long for him to realize that maybe he’d been misinformed about what thejob was really about. There were only so many battered victims who refused help,drug addicts who were killing themselves, and unsolvable murder cases that anofficer could handle before getting a little jaded.

           The job had worn him down a little,but he’d stuck with it. He’d thought that if he could help someone – anyone – then it would be worth it.

           He supposed it was that attitudethat had gotten him promoted to captain at a shockingly young age.

           Now he was quickly approaching thirty,with a decade of experience under his belt, and he’d finally found the casethat might break him

           It wasn’t even the case itself thatwas so traumatizing. A few months before, he’d been on scene after scene ofyakuza-related murders, documenting blood patterns and photographing deadbodies.

           The thing about this drug case thatwas particularly exhausting was trying to deal with his fellow officers. Oneofficer, in particular.

           It was nearly eight p.m. and Kuroowas still at his desk, flipping through a file that was completely unrelated tothe drug case that should have demanded his focus. It was an employee file, onethat had been created nearly eight years before when the officer in questionhad been a new hire.

           Kuroo was looking for notes fromsuperiors, or reprimands that had been issued, or literally anything that wouldsuggest the officer had a history of insubordination.

           There was nothing. Iwaizumi Hajime,on paper, was a model officer.

           Kuroo had already known that. Evenso, the lack of explanation was frustrating.

           He’d chosen Iwaizumi to help him onthis case for a reason. Kuroo was always on the lookout for officers who hadpotential, officers who would make worthy additions to his investigations team.He’d been watching Iwaizumi for a while, and he’d thought that once they solvedthis case together, he would extend the offer for Iwaizumi to transfer.

           That wasn’t going according to plan.

           Kuroo flipped the file shut andslumped back in his chair with a sigh. He didn’t understand why Iwaizumi had tomake things so difficult. He’d been through the evidence over and over again,especially after Iwaizumi had voiced his concerns. All of the evidence said thesame thing. Semi Eita was the most likely suspect.

           That also meant that Oikawa Tooru,who had old ties to Semi, was also blatantly suspicious.

           Kuroo supposed that had been the realproblem.

           “Captain?” Yaku paused in the opendoorway, frowning at him with a touch of concern. “You heading home sometimetonight?”

           “Yeah, I’m leaving soon,” saidKuroo. It was a lie. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

           “Of course,” said Yaku. He steppedinto the office, casting a critical glance at the debris of files and paperworkcovering most available surfaces. “What is it?”

           “It’s about Iwaizumi,” said Kuroo.

           Yaku’s brows dipped lower. He lookedguarded. “What about him?”

           Kuroo frowned, puzzled by thereaction. “He’s being difficult. I thought he’d jump on the chance to work thiscase but every time we get a lead he shoots it down. We’re onto something with Semi’shistory, and the connection to Oikawa, but Iwaizumi just flipped his shit andsaid I’m wrong. What’s his deal?”

           “I don’t know.”

           Kuroo raised a brow, waiting.

           Yaku didn’t say anything else.

           “Okay,” said Kuroo slowly. “He wasfurious when I questioned Oikawa without telling him. I knew they were friends,which is why I did it, but… Do you think maybe they have, like, a thing?”            Yaku’s stare was flat. “Athing?”

           “Yeah, you know,” said Kuroo,gesturing vaguely. “A thing. A relationship sort of thing.”

           “I wouldn’t know, captain.”

           Kuroo sighed. Usually Yaku at leasttried to be helpful. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

           Yaku nodded and retreated. He lookedrelieved to be excused from the conversation.

           Kuroo thought maybe he knew somethingthat he didn’t want to talk about.

           He stood and stretched his arms overhis head, muscles screaming from hours of immobility.

           Kuroo liked talking through hisproblems with Yaku. The detective had been a member of investigations longerthan any of the others, Kuroo included. He was smart and perceptive and an extremelygood investigator.

           But if he wasn’t going to behelpful, Kuroo would take his problems elsewhere.

           Typically when the clock struckfive, Kenma was out of the office so fast that no one saw him leave. Tonight,though, he had a quick undercover job to do at a bar on the east side of thecity, so he was still there.

           Kenma was curled up in his chair,knees tucked against his chest, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over hisforehead. His eyes were on his computer screen, reflecting the bright light inthe otherwise dim office.

           Kuroo flicked on the overhead lightsand Kenma glared up at him.

           “What time are you leaving?” saidKuroo.

           Kenma checked the time. “Half anhour.”

           “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

           “You’re my boss,” said Kenma. “Iguess you can do what you want.”

           Kuroo snorted and sat in one of thechairs facing Kenma’s desk. Unlike Kuroo’s office, this one was organizedneatly, not a single sheet of paper out of place. “What do you think aboutIwaizumi?”

           Kenma heaved a heavy sigh and turnedaway from his computer. “He needs to sleep more. He has a lot of tension in hisshoulders. Last time I saw him, he was overdue for a haircut.”

           “Your powers of observation are veryvaluable for the job, but they’re also creepy as hell.”

           Kenma’s face didn’t change. “Thanks.”

           “Why’s he being so difficult aboutthis case?” said Kuroo. Specific questions were more useful. “You weren’taround, but he was pissed when I brought Oikawa in here. It was part of the investigation.There was a good reason for it. It’s like he’s taking it personally orsomething.”

           Kenma tipped his head to the side,pressing his cheek against a kneecap. “I don’t know about that,” he said, “butobviously you’re taking this personally, too. I doubt Iwaizumi is doinganything just to spite you.”

           “I know that,” said Kuroo, though itwas a slight relief to hear it. “I just don’t understand. He’s a great officer,he just got promoted, and I had high hopes for him, you know? I think there’ssomething going on with Oikawa that he’s not talking about. He didn’t getdefensive about Semi until Oikawa was brought up.”

           Kenma just listened, piercing goldeneyes taking in every shrug of Kuroo’s shoulders and twitch of his mouth.

           “Do you think maybe they’re… youknow. Together?” said Kuroo.

           Kenma’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Wouldit bother you if they were?”

           “Well, yeah.”

           Kenma’s eyes narrowed even more.

           “Not because of that,” said Kuroo,shaking his head. “Because Oikawa might be involved with this case. He’ssuspicious as hell. If Iwaizumi’s too involved with him then that sort of makeshim suspicious too. I don’t want to have to investigate one of my own officers.”

           “Do you really think Iwaizumi wouldbe involved in something like this?”

           “No, but I could be wrong.”

           “You could be,” agreed Kenma, “butyou’re usually not.” His eyes flicked back to his computer screen and thensettled on Kuroo again. “What are you going to do about it?”

           “I don’t know,” said Kuroo. Hesighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to confront him because Idon’t know if I’m right. I don’t want to take him off of the case either, butif he keeps this up I might have to. I’d really rather not. I’ve worked withIwaizumi for years. He’s a good guy, and a good friend, and I just wish he’dstop being do damn shady.”

           “Do you trust him?”

           “Yeah. Well, I did. I still do, toan extent, but the way he’s acting lately isn’t building up my confidence inhim.”

           “He hasn’t really done anythingwrong,” said Kenma. “He’s getting defensive about Oikawa, but that doesn’t meanhe can’t still do his job. If it becomes a problem you’ll have to deal with it,but I think it’s okay for now.”

           Kuroo nodded. His tense musclesunwound a little, loosened by relief. “Yeah, you’re right.”

           “I know.”

           “Maybe I’ll get you to go scope outShiratorizawa sometime soon,” said Kuroo. “You can keep an eye on Semi andOikawa, and maybe watch out for Iwaizumi, too. I know he goes there a lotlately. If he’s being sketchy you’ll know.”

           Kenma breathed a quiet sigh. “Iguess if I have to.”

           Kuroo grinned. “Thanks, Kenma.”

           He made a small noise of assent.

           “Be safe tonight, alright?” saidKuroo, standing and moving toward the door. “Call if you need anything.”

           “I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Kuro.”

           Kuroo paced the hallway back to hisoffice, his mind still on Iwaizumi.

           Kenma was right. Iwaizumi hadn’tdone anything that would damage the case. He certainly wouldn’t be allowed tohandle any of the case files related to Oikawa, but Kuroo could work aroundthat.

           As long as Iwaizumi didn’t doanything else suspicious, maybe everything would be fine.

           Kuroo hoped it would be fine. If itwasn’t, he would have to kick him off of the case; or worse.

           He didn’t want it to come down tothat. He wanted them to team up and solve this case together.

           Iwaizumi was a good friend, andKuroo hoped nothing would happen to change that.

 Thisis just sort of a snippet from earlier on in the fic. As time goes on, Kuroogets more and more uncomfortable as he realizes that Iwaizumi’s involvementwith Oikawa and Semi may be more serious than he thought. When he finds outthat Semi had met up with Iwaizumi at Oikawa’s apartment, he’s almostcompletely convinced that Iwaizumi is playing a part in the drug case and he’sdevastated. Yaku is the one who manages to talk him down from that, although hecan’t completely convinced Kuroo that Iwaizumi is wholly innocent. When theysearch Oikawa’s apartment and Kuroo suspends Iwaizumi, he’s still somewhatsuspicious, but he’s mostly decided that Iwaizumi probably isn’t guilty of thecase. Oikawa, however, has his full suspicions, and Kuroo thinks Oikawa is justusing Iwaizumi to keep himself safe.

Hestill wants to be Iwaizumi’s friend, but he’s really conflicted about it. He’safraid that if they remain on good terms, he’s more likely to trust Iwaizumiand potentially miss something about the case that Iwaizumi is hiding, whetherintentionally or not. Although Kuroo didn’t want to suspend him, and he wasextremely upset after he did it, it’s also sort of a relief because he nolonger has to worry about juggling Iwaizumi’s friendship and the need to beimpartial toward the case. But even after that when Iwaizumi continues to beinvolved, despite the suspension, things get a little more difficult for him.

I hopethis covered all of your questions! If I missed anything just yell back at me!

[timetoboldlygo]

to keep the light on, honey, is the least that i can do

i won’t lie, it took me ages to figure out what i wanted to write and i still don’t really like this, but i promsied i would post every day, so here it is, bodhicassian week day 1! you can also read it on ao3 here

Cassian’s bed was next to Bodhi’s in the medcenter. They both had beds facing the window with ugly sheets, they both were subjected to nurses coming in at all hours, they both were in pain. The similarities stopped there, though. It was the differences that rankled.

Namely, that Cassian was supposed to leave the medcenter later today, and Bodhi wouldn’t be able to leave for another week.

“I want to leave too,” Bodhi muttered selfishly. Currently, he was teaching Cassian how to play sabacc. Cassian was sitting on the foot of his bed, with his leg stretched out because it still hurt a little to sit cross-legged, even if the nurses promised he would heal without complications.

“You have to heal,” Cassian said, well aware that he had heard these words a thousand times in his life and hated hearing them every single time. He’d never had someone to say it to before this, but now Bodhi healing properly was of utmost importance.

“I don’t know how to sit still for that long,” Bodhi protested. Out of habit, his hand drifted to his head, wanting to run through his hair, but he didn’t have any hair at the moment. He had several thick healing scars and his head would probably be shaved every day until the nurses were satisfied that they were healed.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “You sit still for that long on cargo runs.”

Bodhi made a face at him. “I hate you,” he said petulantly, crossing his arms. Slowly, because the left one was still covered in bacta patches and bandages.

“I’ll bring you good food from the mess hall,” Cassian promised. He himself was looking forward to leaving, if only so he could get out of the stupid medcenter gown. He wasn’t cleared for duty, though, so he suspected that he’d be back to keep Bodhi company.

He already found that he couldn’t refuse Bodhi anything.

“But I’ll be alone,” Bodhi said rather dramatically.

“I’ll come visit you all the time,” Cassian promised, which at least made the uneasy look on Bodhi’s face fade. He didn’t understand it – surely Bodhi had been alone all the time on his cargo runs. Maybe medical centers scared him. Maybe it was the concept of the rebel base, of which he knew nothing and no one, besides the nurses and Cassian himself.

-

Cassian’s quarters were just as he left them, and he relished his private fresher as he finally got to scrub off six days worth of grime and wash his hair. He was no stranger to grime, but it was different when it was hospital grime.

Then he was clean and his bed was there and so inviting, after being stuck in the medical center with all the beeping machines and blinking lights. It was dark in here.. He still wasn’t cleared for duty which meant he could sleep as late as he wanted. It was a very enticing thought. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

A ring at his door eventually woke him up, his chrono reading 0200. “What’s goin on,” Cassian mumbled, moving blearily towards the door. He stubbed his toe on the desk in the dark and hopped around for a few seconds before he got the stupid door open.

It was a medical droid. “Bodhi Rook is having a panic attack,” they said. “The nurses subdued him but he was delirious and kept calling out for you.”

I’ll be right there,” Cassian said, turning around only to shove his feet into a pair of boots. The walk to the medcenter was short enough, but felt like ages.

“Captain,” one of the nurses said when he walked in.

“What happened?” Cassian demanded. Through the window, he could just barely make out the outline of Bodhi sitting up, knees drawn close to his chest and head down. Every so often, a little blue light would illuminate him.

The nurse shook her head. “He had a panic attack,” she said. “We helped him through it but – he wasn’t much aware of what was going on. He wanted you. He injured his shoulder more as well.”

Cassian didn’t say good-bye to her, which was probably incredibly rude, but Bodhi was there and Bodhi needed him. It was cool and dark – otherworldly – in the medcenter. “Hey,” Cassian said quietly, so as not to startle Bodhi. Bodhi jerked his head up anyways.

“I didn’t mean for them to call you,” Bodhi said anxiously. “They woke you up, didn’t they, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Cassian said, easing his way onto the bed. He carefully put his arm around Bodhi’s tense shoulders. “I’m here.”

Bodhi was trembling.

“I’m sorry,” Bodhi moaned. “I woke up and got scared, it was stupid, please go back to bed.”

“I’ll stay,” Cassian said. “I fell asleep right after I got out of the medbay, I’m fine. You go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Bodhi whispered. It was exactly what he’d said earlier, but Cassian was stupid and clearly hadn’t be listening. He should have known better. He shouldn’t have left Bodhi alone, so soon after Jedha and Scarif. Bodhi needed someone.

“I’m not leaving,” Cassian said. “I promise.”

It was a little uncomfortable on the small medcenter bed, but Bodhi slowly stopped trembling, so Cassian wasn’t about to move. He’d stay forever. He didn’t leave as Bodhi slid down and got comfortable, didn’t leave even as Bodhi’s breathed even out and he was clearly asleep.

In the morning, he had a crick in his neck and was tired as hell, but he didn’t regret it. Bodhi could tell, though, because he said sorry about another hundred times and then tried, unsuccessfully, to tell Cassian that he was fine and Cassian could leave.

Cassian didn’t. He hadn’t expected to spend his first day out of the medcenter back in the medcenter, but he wasn’t leaving, no matter how many times Bodhi half-heartedly told him he was okay. It was obvious that Bodhi wanted him to stay. So he did.

“At least sleep in the other bed or something,” Bodhi said, as Cassian was settling into the visitor’s chair.

“I think that’s not allowed,” Cassian said, even though he really had no clue. He just wanted to be closer to Bodhi. “Besides, I have some work to do.” He held up his datapad, in which he did have work to. The only work that could be done when he was off-duty: paperwork.

“Okay,” Bodhi said as the lights dimmed, eventually encasing them both in darkness. “But I’m okay.”

“I know,” Cassian said. “I just want to make sure.”

-

Cassian wasn’t even asleep when Bodhi woke up again from nightmares. He did it very quietly – there was a sharp gasp, but nothing else. No wonder he hadn’t woken Cassian up. “Bodhi?” Cassian whispered quietly.

Another gasp, this time softer. “You’re still here,” Bodhi said, and then his hand was groping around in the darkness, trying to find Cassian’s. His hand was so hot.

“I’m still here,” Cassian said. He didn’t really know what to do if Bodhi had another panic attack, besides get a nurse, but just by the virtue of him being there, Bodhi seemed to be doing okay.

“When I woke up these past few nights, I would be able to hear your breathing,” Bodhi whispered. “So I knew I wasn’t alone. But last night – I was. I was alone. I didn’t handle it well.”

“It’s okay,” Cassian said. “Go back to sleep, Bodhi, you need it. I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” Bodhi said, and it didn’t take long for him to slip back into unconsciousness. Cassian didn’t let go of his hand.

 Cassian woke up painfully. He had a crick in his neck from where he’d fallen asleep, head down, on Bodhi’s bed and his arm ached because he’d held Bodhi’s hand all night.  He groaned as he sat up.

Bodhi was looking at him, eyes narrowed. “Why are you here, Cassian,” he said tiredly. “Don’t tell me it’s out of the goodness of your heart or something disgusting like that.”

Cassian wished he could brush his teeth before this conversation but it didn’t seem much like an option. “That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

Cassian leaned in, very carefully, and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Bodhi’s lips. “That’s why,” he said slowly. He took in Bodhi’s wide eyes and shocked face and hoped that he hadn’t just ruined everything. Possibly he should have waited until Bodhi was at least having less nightmares.

Bodhi managed to pull himself together long enough to say, “What, you saw that I was an absolute wreck and that was hot to you?”

“It made me realize how much I care about you,” Cassian said truthfully. The kind of fear he’d felt when the medical droid showed up his door was something he’d never felt before. “I have a lot of problems too, Bodhi, but I want them to work them out together.” He hoped Bodhi saw the sincerity in his eyes.

Maybe Bodhi did. “Okay,” he said abruptly. “Alright. Kiss me again.”

“Bossy,” Cassian teased, but he leaned in again. This time, Bodhi met him eagerly, even though he wasn’t supposed to be moving so much. His hand was hot on Cassian’s jaw, and Cassian could tell through the kiss that he was still grinning.

Bodhi groaned as Cassian bit his lip. “It’s not fair that you’re making out with me and I’m still so weak I can’t even grab your ass.” This made Cassian laugh, head thrown back in a way he hadn’t done in years.

“There’s time,” Cassian assured him. Bodhi was flushed and grinning. “We have time.”

“Okay,” Bodhi agreed slowly. “Stay?”

“Always,” Cassian reassured him.

[aornff]

All or Nothing Chapter Twenty-One

…..

Late autumn brought the beginnings of the winter chill to the borders of Arendelle, and the country's farmers were finishing up their harvesting and filling their granaries when Arendelle's high council decided it was high time they hosted a harvest ball.

Any and all parties had been tiptoed around since the notorious coronation incident. They had a yule celebration the year after, and they had celebrated Anna's birthdays and her official engagement to Kristoff. Visiting traders were allowed to celebrate their national holidays in the open market and the local townspeople held spring festivals and summer fetes without any input from the royal family or the council. Elsa was perfectly happy with this.

“Anna can host it,” she told Holm, who had been sent to speak to her. “She'd be delighted to.”

Holm grunted under his breath (as she knew he would) and shook his head.

“You have not been seen properly in public for far too long, your highness,” he told her sternly. “There are rumours amongst the townspeople that you are on your deathbed.”

Elsa groaned into her hands, mostly to get on Holm's nerves. Of all of her advisors, she found him the most irritating.

“I dispelled the early snows on the balcony just last week. I looked healthy enough then, right? No reason to throw a ball....”

“It's not just for the benefit of the townspeople,” he continued. “Our foreign trade officials would like to speak to you outside of office, and some royal visitors would do wonders for your public image...”

“Is my public image suffering then?” she asked snidely.

He didn't answer, just stared her down.

“Fine, fine,” she grumbled. “Throw the damn ball. I'll sign whatever you need me to.”

…..

“I know it doesn't make any sense,” she explained to Merida later. “Don't focus on the name. It's just a big party.”

“Why don't you people just make new words when you need them?” Merida grumbled, idly tracing circles on the sheets.

“Take it up with the linguists,” Elsa told her. “It's a large gathering of people and we have to attend, that's all you need to know.”

“I know why you have to attend,” Merida shot back. “Why do I have to?”

“By royal decree?” Elsa offered.

“You're not my queen.”

“True,” Elsa nodded, flopping back against the pillows. “But it's going to be an ordeal for me as it is. If you were there it would be at least a little more bearable.”

“That's black-....black-something....”

“Blackmail,” Elsa corrected. “Yes, it is. Is it working?”

“Fine,” Merida shrugged. “I'll go.”

“Marvelous. You'll be seeing the dressmaker in the morning.”

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?”

Elsa didn't reply, just kissed her, and that was that.

…..

The doors were opening to the main ballroom, and she'd been wearing her heavy cloak for less than an hour and already she felt the strain in her shoulders.  From under her window she could hear Anna's chirpy voice greeting the visitors. Elsa sighed; it was going to be a long night.

There was a gentle knock on the chamber door.

“Come in,” she groaned, and the person obliged. Elsa turned to greet them, and instantly felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.

She'd long suspected the royal seamstress, who spoke about ten words a year and had a permanent frown etched on her face, had a soft spot for Merida. She didn't complain as much as Elsa or fidget as much as Anna, and was perfectly fine standing on a chair in her underwear stoically being stabbed with pins.

The woman had clearly gone out of her way to make Merida look as stunning as possible, tossing out the customary velvet bodice and painted silk for sapphire-blue silk chiffon with gold embroidery. The back of the gown was high enough to cover her scars and dipped teasingly low in the front, and a gold brocade sash nipped in her waist. The skirt wasn't overly full, but floated with every step. To top it off, the royal dresser had pulled her hair to one side, wrapped it in gold cord and set small gold flowers into the curls.

“What?” Merida shrugged awkwardly, and Elsa realized she'd been staring in silence for who knew how long.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “You...you look beautiful...”

Merida chuckled and went pink in the cheeks, fiddling with the end of her hair.

“It's a bit fancy for my liking...” she mumbled. “But it's not too tight, at least.”

“Which is more than I can say for this,” Elsa laughed, tugging at the closure on her cloak. “I feel like a cart horse lugging this thing along behind me.”

“I thought you were going to make a dress?” Merida asked, dropping lightly into a chair in front of the fire to warm her feet. “Like your ice gowns?”

“It's not proper,” Elsa answered. “I have to wear the royal emblem at public functions, and it never lasts when I try to make it in ice. It splinters too quickly.”

Merida laughed softly and rolled her eyes, but didn't comment. Adjusting her collar one last time and smoothing a stray hair back into her rolled braid, Elsa reached out a hand to pull her to her feet.

“Follow me downstairs in ten minutes,” Elsa told her. “I have to be formally announced.”

Merida took her chin in her hand and kissed her on the cheek softly.

“Good luck,” she said, and then she was gone.

…..

Two hours into the ball, and the ache in Elsa's shoulders was matched by a climbing ache in her jaw from holding her smile in place. She'd been greeting dignitaries and visiting royals at a rate of one every five minutes and trying desperately to remember who they all were, and it was exhausting.

Anna had finished her royal duty some time ago, and was freely sweeping across the ballroom with a stumbling Kristoff, rather too close for comfort. Elsa raised a reproachful eyebrow at her, but was met with a rebellious clenched jaw and hand gesture.

I know what you've been up to, you don't get to talk about my love life anymore! She could almost hear her say from across the room.

She hadn't seen Merida at all, and it concerned her. There were objectively more beautiful women in the ballroom (though to Elsa's eyes Merida outshone them all) but she looked different to everyone else, and looking so polished as she did this night was bound to attract unwanted male attention. That little uneasy sickness at the pit of her stomach grew as she watched handsome young men mill about the room, sneaking glances at any unaccompanied young woman.

“Cousin Elsa!” a soft, musical voice trilled. “It's wonderful to see you again.”

She started as a small hand landed on her shoulder, and was pulled away apologetically. She stared into the enormous doll-like green eyes of the woman in front of her, who was nervously biting her lip.

“Cousin Rapunzel,” she said, smiling genuinely this time. “I'm sorry, I was distracted. I almost didn't recognize you.”

Princess Rapunzel of Corona wasn't truly a cousin; their royal lines had been connected by marriage over three hundred years before but the two women hadn't a single drop of blood in common. Still, they and other royal families with close alliances used the term 'cousin' interchangeably to denote how close they were.

And indeed, Rapunzel looked quite different. Elsa had seen her briefly at the coronation, and she and her husband had been whisked out of the country over the land bridge when Elsa went on her rampage, she had not seen either of them since. Rapunzel's short, spiky brown hair was now past her shoulders and a silky-smooth golden, only brown at the tips.

She touched her hair, a nervous gesture.

“It's been a long time, I know,” she said. “The blonde coming back was unexpected, there's no real magic left in it but still...”

All of the royal families had been told and retold about how the infant princess had been stolen from her crib because of the strong magic she possessed. Elsa had been warned to keep the nursery windows locked at night, to never sneak out of her bed, to always stay within sight of the palace staff, with this tale on everyone's lips. Some of the maids had gone further in their tales, said that the baby had been devoured by the witch, that she'd had her entrails carved out to make potions, that she was taken to be raised in the swamps by toads and eels, more creature than human.

Still, there were nights that Elsa wondered if she herself would be better off in the clutches of a woods witch, raised to revel in her magic, casting snow and ice far from the reach of human eyes. Who was to say Rapunzel's abductor had only the worst in mind for her? But then, Rapunzel had returned as a young woman, unharmed as far as anyone could see, and settled into her role as a princess as though she had never been taken.

The same could not be said for her husband, a commoner named Eugene something-or-other, who had to publicly sign away any claim to the throne before he could even propose to her. The rumour mill had pegged him as a petty thief and charlatan who had taken advantage of the young princess's naivete to get himself a kingdom. Elsa couldn't say for sure what the truth was; the few times she had seen him, he looked uncomfortable and strained in royal company. However, Rapunzel marrying a man from a humble background had paved the way for Anna's engagement to Kristoff, and for better or worse he made Anna happy.

“Where is Eugene tonight?” Elsa asked casually. Normally, he was glued to Rapunzel's side at these functions.

“He went out to the balcony for some air,” Rapunzel told her. “He got through about thirty meet-and-greets before he gave up.”

“If only we could call it quits so soon,” Elsa quipped, and they shared a quiet, conspiratorial laugh.

“When is Anna going to set a date for her wedding?” Rapunzel asked. “Eugene shouldn't be the only royal spouse to suffer.”

“It's complicated,” Elsa told her. “The advisor's council are dragging their heels on the paperwork, and Anna keeps skipping the meetings...”

“It's such a lot of fuss to be with the one you love,” Rapunzel sighed. “I almost envy you, Elsa. Things might have been much simpler if my country told me to stay unwed.”

“Well, that has its own problems,” Elsa told her, feeling a sharp pain in her heart. Marrying a commoner was messy, marrying another woman was unheard of. Although....

“You were the first, weren't you?” Elsa said, linking Rapunzel's arm with her own and tugging her towards a quiet alcove. “To marry someone with Eugene's background?”

“Sort of,” Rapunzel said with a slow blink. This was the longest time they had ever spent talking to each other. “The first princess. There were kings before me who married widows and kept their crowns...and those that married mistresses, but they had to abdicate. We had to read up on them before we could get engaged.”

“Who objected the most?” Elsa prodded. “Did it cause a lot of problems?”

“Well, my parents were fine with it,” she said. “They were just happy to have me back alive, whatever the circumstances....most of Corona's people took a public vote and were fine with it too....the noble families made a big fuss because they had a lot of sons they wanted to push as marriage prospects....but in the end the one who objected most was Eugene.”

“What?” Elsa spluttered. “Why?”

“He always said he felt I was too good for him,” Rapunzel said quietly, stroking the ends of her hair. “When they said he had no claim to the throne, he was relieved. He wanted me to be happy....but to be really happy I needed him to stay by my side, and so here we are.”

“That makes sense,” Elsa hummed. It could be done....somehow, she could find a way. Whatever objections her council and people could have to her marrying another woman, the marriage would have no children to pass her powers to, and Merida was a royal in her own right...what was the difference, really?

Just then, Rapunzel was tugged away by Anna to tackle the buffet together. All of the attending guests were spread out, eating and mingling and dancing. Finally, she could escape to the balcony for some fresh air herself.

As she approached the thick velvet curtains separating the balcony from the hall, she heard familiar laughter mixed with a man's low drone. Pulling back the drape, her stomach dropped the same way it had when she caught Meena talking to Merida.

Rapunzel's roguishly handsome husband was perched on the balustrade, telling some grand story to Merida, all expressive limbs and cheeky half-smile. Merida was enthralled, leaning in and nodding along and laughing at his dramatic flourishes.

It was irrational to feel this sudden, heated jealousy. Eugene was a married man, and Merida wasn't interested in men as far as Elsa knew. But to see them both together like this, comfortable and relaxed in each other's company.....Elsa had never seen the man relaxed full stop....it put her on edge. She breathed deep, trying to keep her ice under control. She sent it upwards, towards the roof. At least up there it could be blamed on the approaching winter.

“What's going on here then?” Elsa said, plastering her friendly smile on her face.

“Oh, your highness,” Eugene straightened up, visibly tense once again. “I was just talking to this young lady....”

“Princess Merida,” Elsa corrected, enjoying how he suddenly went pale.

“Princess?” he sputtered, looking over at Merida (and probably realizing he had been massively inappropriate.)

Merida just shrugged.

“Yes, well, I was just telling her some stories of things I did before I was married...”

“Have you been in here long? I think your wife might be looking for you,” Elsa told him smoothly.

“Yeah, okay,” he laughed nervously. “See you around....your highness. Highnesses.”

He scurried out as fast as he could. Elsa took his place on the balustrade beside Merida, who was sitting up against the marble gargoyle and didn't seem annoyed that her companion had left so suddenly.

“Why are you hiding out here?” Elsa asked.

“People keep asking me to dance,” Merida told her. “I can't dance. Especially in these shoes.”

“Nobody asks me to dance anymore,” Elsa sighed. “It's quite a relief, actually. I used to just send them off to Anna instead, now they go straight to her without asking me at all.”

“What if I asked you?” Merida teased. “Would you send me off to Anna?”

“No,” Elsa said, smiling sadly. “If I could, you'd be my one exception.”

Maybe they could dance at their wedding, she thought but did not dare say. Maybe they could have a wedding. Maybe they could be together, with no problems keeping them apart.

Once upon a time, a princess marrying a commoner was unheard of. Rapunzel had been the first. Elsa could also be a first. If they accepted her choice, why not Elsa's?

…..

As the ball was winding down, Elsa ended up on the flat platform roof, lying face down in the snow that had gathered up there. It was late enough that her absence wasn't that notable, but the dancing music was still playing and there were still a crowd on the ballroom floor. If she looked up, she could see their shadows whirling against the snow.

The trapdoor to the platform roof creaked open and Elsa heard someone pulling themselves out into the night air, shivering with the cold. The person tiptoed over beside her and sank down into the snow. Elsa turned over onto her back, looking up into Merida's face peering down at her.

“Were you asleep up here?” she asked.

“No, just resting,” Elsa mumbled. “You're going to ruin your dress, sitting in the snow like that.”

“I probably won't be wearing it again, right?” she said. “The dressmaker makes a new one for everything...”

She was holding the shoes that had been tripping her up all evening, and she tossed them off of the roof as hard as she could. They both watched them drop down in a copse of trees.

“Was that necessary?” Elsa drawled.

“I'll get them in the morning,” Merida replied. “Anyway, now that they're gone, I can dance with you.”

“What?” Elsa said, sitting up. “Here?”

“Why not? No-one can see us from here. And the music's still playing...”

“I thought you said you can't dance....”

“That's what I told them. I can, I just wouldn't,” Merida explained. “Unless it's with you.”

There were times when Elsa woke up at night, spent evenings staring into the fire, tuned out of meetings because she was sick with worry that Merida simply did not care about Elsa the way Elsa cared about her. There was always the lingering fear that this was just a nice way to pass the time for her, a bit of fun. But then there were times like now, when she just knew it wasn't all as one-sided as she feared it was. Nobody could ever make Merida do something she didn't want to do without a fight.

As she clambered to her feet, dropping her heavy cloak out of the way, the snow that had built on the roof was quickly thawing into water and trickling down from the eaves like summer rain. She curtseyed, stiff and suddenly awkward, and Merida copied her more lazily though she'd never quite mastered curtsying.

Elsa took her hand and pulled her close, winding an arm around her waist the way men usually held the women. But the first few steps were clumsy, she'd only ever been taught to dance with men and didn't know how to lead, and Merida didn't know how to follow. After having her feet stepped on for a third time, Merida yanked her forward until they each had a hip pressed against each other, an arm around her shoulder and hands entwined.

The music faded underneath them, and the shadows of the people in the ballroom grew smaller and smaller. They spun in circles together, half-dizzy and giggling. Merida's skirt caught droplets of water from the ground and tossed them into the air to shimmer in the moonlight.

It was all Elsa had ever wanted. It was perfect.

….

[softwaredownloads]

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