#then i pick it up again when i'm bored and got nothing else to read

[cookiesandbiscuits]

Me: I don't like buff, muscly men. Their body just... gives me an ick I can't explain.

Also me: *stares at Cheon Yuseong dressed as a maid and while doing his training for 30 mins*

I can completely understand why Soul Chasing Shadow makes him train like that. It's really nice to look at :D

Additional text in Soul Chasing Shadow's speech bubble: "Sorry, I'm a perverted grandma."

Sorry for the bad pic quality ^^;

[enhani-ki]

HII I LOVE UR FICS!! I had a suggestion.. what about jealous riki whos clingy and whiny all day so reader kinda ignores it thinking his jealousy is childish so he gets mad and takes out his frustration by fucking her? Just a thought! (keep up w the good work <33 I really love reading your fics)

jealousy, jealousy - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, etc.

you were in bed alone and bored out of your mind.

sighing, you got up and wandered into the living room where you saw your angry boyfriend lying on the couch, silently scrolling through his phone.

it's your damn coworker's fault.

your new coworker had been texting you nonstop for help, ni-ki noticed and when he came to pick you up earlier today, he saw the guy touching your leg to steady you while you were on the ladder, reaching for something and on top of that, he was being clingy to you and you're pushing him off all week. he let it go but he saw you glued to your phone again so he got fed up and finally asked, "who's that?"

"hm? oh, my coworker again. i left early with you so he's just asking where to put things."

ni-ki stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing slow kisses to your shoulder. "can't he ask someone else?"

"well, he's new and i think he's more comfortable asking me. he might be shy, you know?"

"shy, my ass." ni-ki pulled back slightly, clearly annoyed. "why is he only comfortable with you?"

you pulled away completely from his hug. "i don't know, you're asking a weird question."

"no, i'm not." he stepped closer. "does he know you have a boyfriend?"

you furrowed your brows. "no?"

"why?"

"because he didn't ask and why would i randomly say, 'oh, i have a boyfriend'?"

ni-ki chuckled dryly. "tell him he can quit his job if he has to bother you like this."

"what the hell is your problem?"

now, he wouldn't talk to you.

you sat down on the couch beside him, "babe… i'm sorry…" you finally apologized. your boyfriend trusts you, you know he's never pushy and would never ask something weird unless it's genuinely bothering him.

he ignored your apology. just like how you ignored him.

you lay beside him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

you started kissing his shoulder, his arm, his neck... just small, soft kisses to try to get something out of him.

then your fingers trailed down his arm, over his stomach where he was warm and you can feel his firm muscles under your touch.

you tangled your leg with his. "ni-ki..." you called out but still, nothing.

fine.

you swung your leg over his lap, pressing your chest against his as you kissed down his neck, sucking it lightly but ni-ki still held onto his phone like he wasn't affected.

your body started craving his warmth, not sure if it is because he was refusing to touch you.

"talk to me..." you whined softly, pressing your thigh between his, rubbing against him just enough to make your intentions clear.

and when he didn't respond, you couldn't wait anymore, you removed your shirt slowly while looking at him before leaning in again to give kisses to his body.

and ni-ki bit his lip, he was watching you in his peripheral vision, fighting the urge to shove his face down to your tits.

he wanted to, but... maybe later? because you have to work for his forgiveness.

your mouth trailed down his neck again, along his collarbone, down to his chest. his abs tensed as you kissed a path lower, following the v of his hips.

and even though he's acting like a bitch, his body was betraying him because you could literally see his dick straining against his pants now, so you hurried and unfastened it to free him.

he groaned silently when he felt your cold hand wrapped around his cock. you gave it a slow pump but you took him into your mouth seconds later, moaning at the taste of him.

ni-ki's phone fell from his hands, "oh f-fuck..." he said, gripping in the cushion.

it's like you were making out with his cock.

you were bobbing your head, sucking and deepthroating him while your free hand was cupping his balls, where he was sensitive. you rolled them in your palm, his dick throbbed inside your mouth.

his legs were starting to move, you knew he was about to cum so you stopped. "wha-" ni-ki was about to complain but stopped himself.

his eyes followed your every move, you tossed your panties on his face harshly before laying down beside him. you pressed your back against his chest, lining his cock in your entrance.

and then you started rolling your hips slowly, his long thick cock was stretching your wet walls so you had to pause, "oh god..." you breathed out, bracing your hands on his thighs for support.

ni-ki hissed, trying to hold still and let you take the lead, his hands gripped your hips but it's only held you steady. still not helping to work you open even though it was so hard not to thrust up into your tight hole.

and you kept slipping off his length, you're so used to him pounding and stretching you open so now you're having trouble using him for yourself.

tears started to form in your eyes and a sob got caught in your throat as you rode him desperately to chase your release.

"please," you gasped out, clenching around him because you're already close. "i...i need you to touch me, baby." you moved faster, ni-ki's grip on your hips tightened, his thick shaft was pulsing inside but he still hadn't touched you how you needed him to.

then you pulled away and stood up, ready to walk away as angry tears streamed down your face because you can't cum.

ni-ki stood up too, grabbing your wrist right away and pulled you right back "don't be mad..." he chuckled and kissed you. "i'm supposed to be the angry one, right?"

you rolled your eyes and he knelt down, you were so wet that he had to lick some of it first.

it's okay, he's thirsty anyways.

ni-ki turned you around on your shaky legs, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind your back with one hand while the other slid up to your throat, his fingers were pressing just the right spots at the sides to slow the blood flow, making your head feel light.

and the new position had him hitting deeper. you can feel the tip of his dick hit your cervix, making your mind blank than it already is. usually, ni-ki would talk to you while having sex but right now, he can't think of anything aside from being angry and jealous, even ignoring the fact that you already had multiple orgasms.

his grunts and groans filled the room, along with the obscene sound of skins slapping against the other, and even though his legs were starting to ache, he couldn't stop, he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied... though he had to slow down now when he felt your pussy tightens and getting even more wet... oh, you cummed again... your body started losing balance.

"shit-" he cursed, releasing your wrists and held your body gently. "sorry..." he added, quickly pressing a kiss to you cheek then gently helped you lay on the bed.

he put your trembling legs over his shoulders. you both watched him put his cock back inside, to slide in and out.

it hurts so good, you pulled his hair. ni-ki's cock felt even bigger than usual, giving you more pleasure and pain. "fuck, baby...so tight..."

you could feel your orgasm building building again, tight in your core. "cum..." he demanded hotly against your ear. "soak my dick more."

ni-ki buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips were already stuttering. and he looked so good, biting his lips and shit.

after you came, ni-ki wiped your tears before bringing his fingers to your lips. "open your mouth, baby."

ni-ki pulled out abruptly and stood to press his cock to your mouth. cursing and moaning your name as he pumped his hot load onto your tongue before collapsing next to you, he could barely feel his legs.

then he let out a breathless chuckle after he saw you. "you look like a mess."

"whose fault is that?"

he smiled and hugged you. "yours..." ni-ki said, then he sat up. "be right back."

you whined, tightening your grip around his arm. "nooo, stay."

he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before gently prying your arms off him. "i gotta clean you up, baby. we're both messy."

hours later, you woke up and stretched your limbs, only to feel a familiar weight beside you. ni-ki was still half-asleep, his arm were resting over your waist, your legs were tangled together with his.

"you okay?" he asked, his voice deep and a little raspy.

"mhmm..."

ni-ki kissed your shoulder. "you sure?"

you grinned sleepily, peeking up at him. "yes, you stopped ignoring me."

"because i was mad earlier." he pinched your side lightly, making you squirm. "and you just kept pushing it, it's so annoying."

you giggled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "then stop being mad at me over stupid things."

"stupid things? that dude was all over you." he huffed, "touching your leg, texting you all day… if i didn't come pick you up, who knows what you would've let him do."

you rolled your eyes. "what? first of all, i won't let him do anything. second, he was just helping to steady me."

"next time, let the ladder steady you.." he grumbled. "did you tell him?"

you groaned, turning to bury your face into your pillow. "ni-ki, seriously?"

you don't know why he'd ask that, he's literally sleeping with you all this time and you don't even know where you put that stupid phone.

he placed his head on his hand, propping himself up on one elbow, staring down at you with messy hair and sleepy eyes. "did you tell him you have a boyfriend?"

"good morning to me."

ni-ki ignored your sarcasm, nudging your cheek with his nose. "did you?"

you ignored him, hoping he'll let it go if you stayed quiet.

ni-ki groaned, rolling onto his side and throwing a leg over yours to trap you in place. "you didn't, did you?"

"ni-ki..."

"i don't get what's so hard about it."

"it's not hard..." you muttered, already feeling exhausted. "go find my phone."

"it's not there?"

you shook your head.

"okay, do it later."

you facepalmed.

then he dramatically collapsed onto you. "babe, what if he thinks he has a chance? what if he texts you again today? what if he-"

you covered his mouth.

his lips curved into a grin against your palm before he licked it.

you yelped, pulling your hand back as he laughed.

he grinned again before leaning in, his voice turned into a whiny murmur. "just tell him later, okay?"

at this point, you knew he wasn't jealous anymore. he's just doing this to annoy you.

"yes, i'll tell him today."

"promise?"

"yes, promise!"

he squinted his eyes at you. "say it nicely."

you rolled your eyes but just played along, cupping his face. "ni-ki, my wonderful, stubborn boyfriend, i promise i will inform that guy today that i have a boyfriend."

he hummed, satisfied, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"can i go back to sleep now?"

ni-ki pretended to think for a moment before shaking his head. "nope. i'm awake, so you have to be, too."

a/n: hi, this is very late so forgive me T T but i hope you'll like it

マスターリストm.list

[cvnntagious]

˗ˏˋ pornstar!chris films with someone new ‧₊˚

꒰part two ✩꒱ (coming soon)

creeping into chris' condo as quiet as possible with a wrapped gift in hand, a large smile took up most of your face at the thought of him opening it. though, the more you explored the area, the more discouraged you got before eventually giving up with a loud sigh at the realization that he wasn't home. but then, where was he? he always told you when he was going to be out, but today? he didn't even so much as leave you a text.

if not for chris updating you on his whereabouts becoming routine, you truthfully would've thought nothing of his sudden absence, but with a confused look on your face, you found yourself setting his christmas present on the coffee table in front of you to plop down onto his couch. you slipped your phone out of your back pocket, instantly typing away at it.

it was simple and straight to the point, leaving no room for confusion; you'd never been the type to beat around the bush. you weren't upset, really—more like confused, is all. and you waited. sitting idly on his couch as you waited for that little 'delivered' alert to turn into 'read'.

it didn't.

not for a while, at least. you ended up leaving his house only about half an hour after you sent the message, seeing no reason in just sitting there overthinking it. but you still did. going on about your day, trying to distract yourself from that nagging voice in the back of your brain that whispered 'where's chris at? what's he doing?' and 'you're not special. he got bored of you, silly,' at any moment you weren't occupying your mind with something else.

you knew you were probably overreacting; being dramatic in a way chris wouldn't like if he could hear your thoughts. i mean, it's not even like you'd be that upset if he had gotten tired of you. he was only some good dick and a person to keep you company... every single day for the past month. shit, you needed to know. picking up your phone in a swift motion as you now sat on your own couch, having tried to watch a show as means to keep your mind off chris, you checked your notifications in hopes that you'd missed his text.

but something new caught your eye.

a notification from chris' twitter, far different than anything you'd imagined throughout the day. of course you clicked it, a small breath of relief coming from you as you'd immediately told yourself he must've been busy with his executives. oh, he was busy alright.

your eyebrows raised at the sight before you: a short clip of chris plowing into some blonde with big tits, her moaning and whining in such a forced way. he was grabbing and squeezing at them. i mean, shit, he wasn’t even a boobs guy. it was so unlike him, completely disregarding his original intent for his content—keep it authentic. the caption only contained the hub link, telling his fans to watch the full video there.

dread sounds about right. a look of dread spread across your face, as if you'd just witnessed your worst fear. except it wasn't your worst fear. at least you didn't think it was, until now.

without thinking, you found yourself in chris' messages again, seeing the 'delivered' alert still there like a taunt. it was a slap in the face, really. not even the fact that he'd went and filmed with someone else, but the way he'd so clearly purposely failed to give you any type of warning.

once you'd sent the message, seeing the little text below your blue message change to 'read' instantly, it all suddenly felt pointless — all the worrying throughout the day, the dread you felt when you watched the short clip chris posted, the hurt when you saw he ignored your message, and now, even the message you literally just sent to him.

w/c : 645

a/n : i'm gonna try to bust these out the best i can, but y'all might have to bare w me cs i'm proly the worlds slowest writer... this may overlap with the au calendar as well, so to be clear, this isn't my priority. if i have to postpone parts of this to keep up with the prompts, i will. that being said, hope you guys enjoy my first multi-part tumblr fic <3.

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

[accioprocrastination]

Phone Calls Home

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: Two snapshots of girl dad Jake calling home.

I know I said it was a one shot but this is technically another follow up to His Girls but can be read alone.

A/N: I haven't proof read this and don't think it's any good but releasing it from the drafts for you

Masterlist

GIF by unicornships

Jake leaves the hard deck early enough to get the bunk to himself. Finally free from the background noise, he's dialling your number before he's even taken his jacket off.

"Hey." You grumble sleepily.

"Shit did I wake you up?" Jake responds looking at the time and finally registering the time difference - it's the middle of the night back home.

"I can go." Jake says instantly.

You wipe your eyes to force yourself to be more alert. "No don't go - it's nice to hear your voice. I wasn't really sleeping anyway. Abs it at a sleepover and you know what she's like, I'm surprised she hasn't called me to pick her up already." You respond.

Jake smirks at the memory and retorts "Last time you made me get up at 3 am to go get her, so it is your turn."

You feign outrage. "You jumped at the chance to go because Ivy had colic. Both were bad options but you know picking up Abbie was the better one!"

He giggles because you've called him out.

"How was your day?" You ask him.

"Meh." He responds.

"Wow, that good?" you ask.

"It was okay - it's nice to see some of the squad again but I miss you guys." Jake answers.

"We miss you too." You respond - neither of you acknowledging it's only been a couple of days. God only knows how much longer he's going to be gone.

"It's quiet without you here... Well maybe not quiet with Ivy's singing but you know what I mean." You reply missing having him here to chat to.

"I feel like an awful parent for missing their events." Jake confesses as tears of guilt fill his eyes. You'd wipe them away if you were with him.

His voice falters as he admits, "I feel like I'm missing loads of them growing up. I took the training job to be home more and I don't feel like I have been."

"That science project is pretty much yours Jake, short of presenting it for her there's nothing else you could do to help her." You retort.

"And I'll record the play for you even if I have to hold my phone up for two hours." You assure him.

Jake smirks slightly in response, he's mentally transported to the last time you were in this scenario and your hand shake made the video almost unwatchable.

He nods, internally already feeling homesick.

"You're a great dad to them." You say after he's silent in thought for a beat.

Jake's eyebrows are scrunched together in worried thought before he says, "I love you."

"I love you too" you reciprocate wishing you could make him believe everything you've just said.

"Are you going to be okay without me?" he questions voice breaking again as he begins to spiral about being far from home.

"We'll be okay I promise, you don't need to worry." You assure him.

Jake will never vocalise how uneasy he finds it away from home. He's seen your depression at it's worst and he knows if your pills stopped working you wouldn't be able to look after the kids. You've been medicated since right after you met him, so he knows it's stupid to think about that but it doesn't stop him - especially if he has to go no contact.

He can't tell you it's no contact indefinitely from next week.

Fanboy comes in and starts chatting his ear off as Jake gestures at the phone and for him to shut up.

"I've got to go. I'll call you soon." Jake promises.

"Okay." you yawn before adding, "text me when you get bored, I miss hearing your random thoughts throughout the day."

And to think we wondered where Abbie gets her anxiety about being away from home, she's just like him.

*

A few days pass before Jake's able to call Abbie to get the lowdown on the sleepover she went to. He knows he's on a time crunch already as Fanboy walks past the window for the second time in 5 minutes.

"I wish I could be there to see it baby." Jake says in response to his daughter talking about her science fair tomorrow.

"Thanks for helping me with it." She responds quietly, afraid to speak up and tell him how much she's missing him.

"It was actually really fun." He admits with a smile. "Much better than when you ask for help with your English homework." he adds making her laugh.

"Yeah because you're my go to person for that." She sarcastically rolls her eyes on the other end of the phone, both of them aware that he's the worst person to ask for help on that subject.

"How's your sister?" Jake asks hesitantly knowing her answer will only make him miss them more.

"Loud!" Abbie sighs.

"How's her practice going for her play?" He persists.

Abbie laughs, "I don't think you'll be missing anything there Dad."

He chuckles despite the wave of homesickness that hits him, "that bad?"

"She's less musically inclined than you and mum put together. I don't know how I'm going to keep a straight face through the play." she worries making him smirk.

"Yeah. I wanted to ask actually is a-" She gets cut off by you talking to her In the background.

"What's she saying?" Jake asks.

"She said she's still okay to record the play for you as long as you don't complain about the video not being central." Abbie says.

Jake laughs again at the memory - wanting to play it back for Abbie to understand how horrendous it was.

"I miss you." Abbie says quietly.

Jake silently nods, feeling a lump in his throat from his unspoken longing to come home.

"I miss you too." he says voice breaking slightly as Phoenix, Fanboy and Bob signal him to hurry up.

"I've got to go Abs but I will call you back as soon as I can." Jake promises, coughing to cover up the wobble in his voice. "I love you guys."

"Bye Dad." She whispers.

"Bye Abs." He says heart momentarily cracking as he hangs up.

Tags:

@onlyrealjoy - There's plenty more where this came from!

A/N: I just finished reading the new hunger games book so my drafts are getting really angsty but I feel like my heart has been ripped out 😭

[imaginespazzi]

Part 3: Miss Me, Miss Me Not

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

And it hits me when the lights go on (shit, maybe I miss you)

(In which a lazy writer somehow still manages to make her deadlines, much to her own shock)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining and a teensy bit of Fluff

Words: 5.8K

TW: Swearing (once again I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I'm not gonna lie til about an hour ago, I very much did not think I was gonna give y'all a Monday update but here we are! A couple of housekeeping things, I went back and added months to the years so hopefully that's more helpful. I lowkey dislike this part but I felt like the fic needed it and I'm excited to write the next part. Ngl, the editing on this is pretty nonexistent because trying to read this back lowkey killed me so please feel free to point out mistakes so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, and disliked and anything you wanna see going forward. I really appreciate all of y'alls feedback and the long reviews make my day! Have a good rest of your week lovies <3

September 2017

Azzi: just got home :) 

It’s a simple text and it should be easy for Paige to conjure up an equally simple reply. Instead she finds herself typing and deleting, over and over, because nothing sounds quite right. There’s this hollow feeling thrumming in her chest, that has only gotten stronger every passing minute since she’d said goodbye to Azzi at the airport. If she tries hard enough, she can still feel the remnants of their last hug lingering against every inch of her skin. She wants to memorize that feeling and create a blanket out of its threads to numb the ice cold shiver that’s been repeatedly running through her veins from the second Azzi had gotten on that plane. But even that might not be enough. Not when she’s learnt just how warm Azzi’s presence can be and how everything else pales in comparison. 

Paige lies to herself that it’s an accidental slip of her fingers, that she’d meant to press send not call, that she had every intention of hanging up the facetime on the first ring itself. 

But then Azzi picks up on the second one.

And really it would be rude to hang up. 

“Hey what’s up?” Azzi’s face fills the screen, tired eyes staring intently at Paige through the screen. 

“Oh um-” Paige fumbles for words, awkwardly shuffling her feet that are dangling off the side of her bed, “I just wanted to ask how your flight was?”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “you couldn’t have texted me that?”

“Too tired to text,” Paige lies and the words i just wanted to hear your voice stay stuck, burning hot, in her throat, “gotta save these money-making fingers for more important things.”

“Yeah I’m hanging up-”

“NO-” it comes out far more forceful than it should and if possible, Azzi’s eyebrow shoots up even farther, as Paige clears her throat, “I mean- uh- you didn’t tell me how your flight was.”

Paige is too busy cringing at herself to notice the light blush that tinges Azzi’s cheeks. She’s too busy wondering why this girl brings out this nervous bumbling side of hers to notice the fond smile that almost cracks through Azzi’s lips. 

“The flight was okay. I actually got to sleep this time,” Azzi says pointedly and Paige laughs. 

“So what you’re saying is it was boring as hell.”

“I’m saying it was really peaceful not having someone yapping in my ear while I was trying to sleep.”

“So you didn’t miss me?” Paige presses, trying to keep her voice teasing despite how desperately she wants the admission. 

Azzi hesitates, as if she’s debating with herself, before, “I didn’t say that.”

It’s a little ridiculous how large Paige’s grin is but it’s okay, because Azzi’s smiling back, soft and shy. They’d look foolish to anyone else, the way they’re so intently gazing at each other through a screen as if there’s no barrier between them at all. 

“It’s gonna be weird going to the gym without you tomorrow morning,” Paige confesses after a second, moving to lay down on her stomach. 

“I bet. You’re gonna get absolutely nothing done without me,” Azzi teases dramatically before her eyes soften, “it’s weird that I’m not gonna see you at all tomorrow.”

There’s something gut-wrenching about that admission and yet, there’s something in it that heals a part of Paige’s heart that she hadn’t even known needed to be fixed. It means something to her that Azzi must feel it too. Because if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been just a little afraid that maybe the connection was just in her head, that maybe Azzi was simply tolerating her presence out of kindness. 

“You should just move to Minnesota,” Paige replies finally, “much nicer than Virgina or whatever.”

“Have you ever even been to Virginia?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she flips herself to lie on her back, holding her phone above her in a way that lets Paige see entirely too much and yet not nearly enough. 

“No but it sounds boring as fuck.”

“Not with me,” Azzi says, biting her bottom lip sheepishly as soon as the words are out. 

Paige smirks, suddenly filled with a brand new confidence, “yeah? You’d make Virgina interesting for me Fudd? What would we do?”

Azzi licks her lips and Paige feels her mouth go dry. 

“We’d be together,” the younger girl says finally, averting her gaze as the depth of her words begin to make Paige feel like she’s being flooded by an ocean of emotions she’s not quite ready to feel yet, “anything can be interesting if we’re together.”

It would be so easy to come up with a sarcastic quip or tease Azzi for being a sap and yet there’s a certain sincerity in this moment that feels too fragile for Paige to feign nonchalance. 

“Is Virginia nice in the winter?” she asks finally, hands fidgeting with the hair ties secured around her wrist, “Minny’s a little too cold sometimes.”

Azzi’s eyes shine and Paige wants to try and read them, find the little clues hidden in her irises and solve the mystery lingering behind the crimson flush of her cheeks. But the truth is that Paige is a little scared of what she’d find, a little scared that discovering Azzi might mean discovering herself too. 

“You should come find out some time,” the brunette says, casual tone filled with intricacies of something far deeper. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to saying anything of actual substance and they tip-toe around saying what they both want, daring the other to ask first. 

“I dunno,” Paige says, determined to win the game, “I’m not in the habit of showing up to places without a proper invite.”

Azzi scoffs, “a proper invite? Are you expecting someone to send you a carrier pigeon with a gold letter addressed to her royal highness or something?”

“That would be nice,” Paige surmises and Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Does your back ever hurt from carrying that ego?”

“Only hurts from carrying my team.”

“Oh my god you’re so full of it.”

“Full of talent? Yessirrrr.”

Azzi huffs, “Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige hums. 

“Do you wanna come visit me in Virginia during winter break?” Azzi says finally, a small smile playing on her lips like she’s okay with losing this game as long as it’s to Paige. 

“If I must,” Paige says dramatically, shrugging her shoulders and everything as Azzi lets out an offended squeak. But inside, her heart flutters at the offer, at the idea of seeing Azzi again, even if it feels like a lifetime away. Because as long as it’s Azzi on the other side, Paige and her impatient self can wait however long it takes. 

“Actually you know what nevermind, you don’t gotta come,” Azzi concedes bitterly,  scrunching her face (and Paige would never tell her this but she thinks Azzi looks just a little too cute when she’s mad and so maybe she riles her up on purpose)

“No takesies backsies Az,” Paige sing-songs before her lips uptick from a smirk into something more sincere, “hey Az,” she whispers, giggling to herself when Azzi pretends to ignore her, “I’d really like to come see you in Virginia during winter break.”

And as a brilliant grin dazzles across Azzi’s face, Paige realizes that her favorite thing about Azzi’s smile isn’t when her dimples show or when her eyes twinkle, it’s when it’s there because of Paige, when it’s there just for Paige. 

“Good,” Azzi whispers as they fall into a comfortable silence. 

There’s this serene sense of calm that laces itself around Paige’s nerves. Her normally fidgeting body is content to be perfectly still, an anomaly to her usual demeanor. The truth is that Paige isn’t the kind of person who’s okay with just existing; she likes to spend every second in motion, living out the high. There’s a part of her that’s scared of missing moments, scared that the people around her will leave her behind if she doesn’t chase them. But it’s different with Azzi. The younger girl makes Paige feel like it’s okay if she takes a moment to just breathe. Because Azzi will wait. Because Azzi won’t leave Paige behind. 

“Wait,” it’s a little while before Azzi pipes up, shaking Paige out of her thoughts, “what time is it?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to the time on her phone, confused by the line of questioning, “it’s almost 9 why?”

“Don’t you have a team party or something to go to tonight?” Azzi asks, face scrunching, “I swear you told me you had something tonight.”

“Oh-yeah- Amaya’s back to school thing,” Paige sheepishly scratches her neck, suddenly feeling itchy in her flannel shirt. She’d forgotten she was wearing that instead of her daily clothes. Hell, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be going somewhere in the first place, too occupied with other thoughts. 

“Bro get up,” Azzi orders, “you’re already late.”

“Nah it’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna go,” Paige says and she thinks she should probably feel a little more guilty about it. 

“What do you mean you’re not gonna go?” Azzi asks in disbelief, “dude you’re the star of the team. You have to go.”

“Amaya will understand besides-” Paige drags in a deep breath, feeling vulnerable as the next words fall out in a quiet whisper, “I don’t wanna hang up yet.”

“Paige c’mon we can talk tomorrow,” Azzi tries to protest but it’s half-hearted at best.

“I wanna talk right now,” Paige argues, “you don’t wanna talk to me?”

For a second Paige thinks Azzi might just say no, might just chip away a little bit of heart with a well-intentioned rejection, but she doesn’t, “always wanna talk to you P.”

“Then don’t hang up. Talk to me.”

And Azzi does. All night. 

Two weeks laters there’s a letter, in an envelope with a picture of a carrier pigeon, that arrives in the Bueckers’ mail box. 

To her royal highness, 

Unfortunately I couldn’t find an actual carrier pigeon (I swear I tried) so this envelope and the mailman will have to do. 

~ You are formally invited this winter break to the Fudd family residence in Virginia. ~

(And you better show up Bueckers)

Yours, 

Azzi

February 2033

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Ice whines petulantly as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across from where Paige is getting her makeup done, “this is parental neglect.”

Paige laughs, eyes closed, her makeup artist does her mascara, “you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that” Ice argues, plucking a grape from the fruit basket before segueing into a rant about how boring Arlington, Texas is. 

Paige is grateful for the distraction her younger friend is providing. Her nerves had been on edge since the moment she’d woken up this morning, anxious to get the impending farewell press conference over with. She’d already started accepting that the Wings weren’t the right place for her but that feeling had only been heightened by her trip to the Valkyries. And ever since she’s come back, Paige feels a little bit like she’s sleepwalking through her final moments in Dallas. If she’s honest, she’s probably rushing things a little bit. There’s still plenty of time before she really has to move to Oakland but it had been her choice to move there as soon as possible. Paige had always been good at conjuring excuses and she had plenty as to why she needed to be in California so soon. But at the end of the day it isn’t about training or team bonding or any of the other hundred justifications she’s given anyone who’s asked. It’s about a little girl who’s eyes had been brimming with tears when saying goodbye, a little girl who had made Paige pinky swear that she’d be back as soon as possible. 

Really, Paige thinks she should be applauded for her restraint, because truth be told, the second Stephie’s lower lip had trembled, Paige had been prepared to ask Ice to just ship her stuff to Oakland so that she’d never have to let go of the little girl’s hand. 

And here’s the thing, Paige is willing to admit she wants to go back to the Bay Area for Stephie. It’s that pesky little part of her that’s desperate to go back for Stephie’s mother, to go back for one more hesitant yet lingering touch, that she won’t ever share with anyone else. 

“I never thought I’d live to see you and Azzi willingly playing together again,” Ice says as soon as Paige’s makeup artist leaves the room, “KK and I didn’t even try betting on it, we were that sure it wouldn’t happen. Shit I should have. I totally would have won.”

“Don’t y’all get tired of betting on my life?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the first part of what Ice said. 

“Betting on your life has made me hundreds of dollars bro,” Ice says, before a more earnest  look crosses her face, “but genuinely P, are you sure about this? There’s a lot of history there.”

Paige sighs, “it’s not about our history. It’s a basketball decision. And we’re both mature adults who know that. I’m just tryna win. Nothing else.”

“It’s never nothing when it comes to you two.”

“It is this time,” Paige argues adamantly and Ice raises her hands in surrender. 

“I just don’t want another set of teammates to have to deal with y’alls bullshit,” the younger girl teases, but it’s laced with a hint of seriousness that sends a flare of guilt shooting through Paige’s body. 

“Ice-” she begins.

But Ice is quick to change to a lighter subject, “can’t believe Jana’s the one that gets mom and dad back together. I always knew she was the favorite.”

“We didn’t have favorites,” Paige plays along, thankful for Ice and her ability to always keep the tension to a bare minimum. 

“Oh don’t lie. We all know you did,” Ice scoffs and then lets out a chuckle, “and now Azzi’s actually a mom. That’s kinda insane. And you met the kid right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I did,” Paige says and she can’t help the way her entire face breaks into a gleaming smile as her thoughts turn into memories of Stephie. She doesn’t even realize she’s gotten lost in a different world until Ice coughs, an amused grin playing on her lips. 

“You’re so royally fucked Paige,” Ice shakes her head, “the only person I’ve seen you smile that big for before is Azzi.”

“She’s a cute, smart, adorable kid, that’s why I’m smiling,” Paige tries to defend herself. 

“She’s Azzi’s cute, smart, adorable kid,” Ice counters. 

“That has nothing to do with it,” Paige protests again but it rings hollow to her own ears.

“Oh my god I needa call KK and get this bet started. It’s only a matter of time for real,” Ice says, more to herself than to Paige, as she whips out her phone, probably texting KK. 

“A matter of time till what?”

“You’ll find out Paigey,” Ice says gravely with a mocking smile, patting Paige’s head, “all in due time.”

***

The Dallas Wings media room is buzzing, reporters desperate to ask Paige questions and the blonde tries to maintain a smile despite the fact that her heart is lurching in her throat right now. Her opening speech had been short and sweet, parroting basically the same thing that had gone out on her social media the night before; she’d been desperate to just get it out. Generally, Paige is pretty good with the media, having been immersed in the spotlight since basically forever. The attention and how to maneuver it has always come naturally to her so she’s not sure why she feels so unnerved by it all today.  From the back of the media room, Ice sends her a thumbs up and a reassuring grin and Paige lets out a breath, glad to have at least that comforting presence with her. 

“Aidrian Ginsburger with Bleacher Report, Paige, you’ve obviously spent all of your career so far with the Wings, can you tell us a little bit about the impact this organization has had on you?”

Paige smiles at the question, letting her brain skim through pages and pages of fond memories she has of time spent with this team. It might be time to move on but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have plenty of cherished moments. 

“Yeah um- this place has really shaped who I am as a person. Since day one, the front office, obviously it’s a different one to the one I came in with, they did a lot to make sure that I was comfortable. My teammates through the years have been incredible and I wouldn’t be the player I am today without them. And of course the fans you know, they always showed out for the team, for me. Always supported me in anyways and I hope that I was able to give back the love to them that they always gave to me,” she says, suddenly nostalgic for the team that had started it all. 

The next questions are similar in nature and Paige’s answer varies only in words but not substance. She feels herself start to settle into it, now fielding the expected questions about the Wings and Valkyries with an air of confidence. There are a couple questions about Azzi that make her heart thump, but that was to be expected. It’s a pretty brilliant story in the making, two MVPs who used to play on the same college team coming together. Talia had warned Paige in advance that there was no avoiding it. But for the most part the questions have an easy answer about how Azzi’s a brilliant player and she’s excited to play with her old friend again. That is until a familiar hand shoots up and all the tension that had previously dissipated, comes roaring back with a vengeance. 

“Olivia Reynolds with the Dallas Morning News, Paige, as others have said today, you and Azzi Fudd played together at UConn and you were best friends.” Olivia’s eyes glint viciously, “I mean it’s pretty well documented how hard you tried to recruit her to UConn. But despite being best friends, the two of you have been never seen hanging out, outside of games and formal events, unlike your other teammates that is-”

“Is there a point to this?” Paige asks, hands fisting in her lap as she tries to keep herself calm. 

Olivia smiles, sugary sweet, “I was just wondering if maybe there was some tension and how that would affect your on-court chemistry at the Valkyries?”

“There’s no tension,” Paige lies through gritted teeth, “we didn’t hang out because we live far apart. There isn’t much else to it. And even if there was, Azzi and I are professionals. We wouldn’t let anything off the court affect our goal to win.”

“You lived far apart before UConn too, but that didn’t seem to stop you guys. What changed?” Olivia presses.

“Time did. Our lives did. There’s nothing sensational here. It’s just a case of two people drifting apart,” Paige says and the fabrication feels heavy on her tongue. If only it really had been that simple. 

“But clearly not that much,” Olivia says, and Paige glances at the moderator, desperate for an intervention, “there were plenty of fan pictures of the two of you out getting ice cream with Azzi’s daughter. It seems like you’re already fitting into that Bay Area life-”

“I’m not hearing a question at the end of your sentence,” Paige hisses and she can practically already hear the scolding she’s going to get from Talia once her agent gets wind of how this press conference had gone. The entire media cohort is watching the exchange with wide eyes, no doubt questioning whether they were embarrassed or impressed by their colleague. Ice is mouthing something to Paige, probably something along the lines of please keep your shit together, but Paige is steaming. Really, she should have expected this. 

“Well if you’d let me finish,” Olivia snarls, the façade of innocence dropping, “even if the two of you have drifted, as you put it, clearly there’s still a relationship there. How big of a role did Azzi Fudd play in your choice to move to the Valkyries?”

Paige sucks in a deep breath, nails digging into her palm at the question, “Azzi is the best shooting guard in the country. That was her role in my decision to move to the Valkyries. I don’t know what else you’re trying to imply, but I want to play with her because we play well together. That’s it,” she stands up and there’s pin drop silence, “thank you all for coming but we’re done with this press conference. 

***

Paige is seething as she exits the media room, Ice hot on her heels trying to calm her down. The sane part of her knows she should head back to the makeup room or even to her car, instead she finds her feet carrying her in the direction of where she knows Olivia Reynolds will be, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine like she always is. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” Paige spits as she comes to a halt in front of the reporter. 

“I know you think playing basketball is the only job in the world Paige, but that was a reporter doing her job,” Olivia says, her calm and composed voice only furthering Paige’s irritation. 

“Bull-fucking-shit.” Paige sneers, “that wasn’t a reporter out there, that was my ex-wife grilling me like we were back in fucking divorce court.”

Olivia cocks her head, “oh so you do remember who I am to you then?”

“Oliv-”

“Because if you did remember, I’d like to think you’d have the courtesy to at least personally tell me that you were moving to your,” she drops her voice, “ex-girlfriend’s team instead of letting me find out with the rest of the world. You don’t think you owed me that?”

“That’s what this is about?” Paige sighs, “Olivia we’ve been divorced for almost three years now, I don’t owe you-”

“You didn’t owe Azzi anything either,” Olivia whisper-yells, the calm in her voice replaced by the same anger that had tainted the last year of their marriage, “but when we first started dating, you kept us a secret for months. You wouldn’t even tell your fucking teammates cause you were so scared she’d find out,” her eyes drift towards Ice who looks like she wishes she’d made a different decision rather than following Paige out here, “you said she deserved to hear it from you but apparently I don’t-’

“I didn’t mean it like that Olivia. Look, I meant what I said up there. There’s nothing between- ”

“Spare me,” Olivia says, as she stuffs her notepad into her bag, “you can lie to all those other reporters out there about how all of this is a basketball decision. You can even lie to yourself if you want. But you can’t lie to me, not when I spent four years fighting to keep our relationship from getting crushed under whatever it is that Azzi is to you.”

***

It doesn’t matter how far Paige burrows her head into her pillows, she can’t seem to stop herself from hearing Olivia’s words reverberating through her ears. The two of them had done well at co-existing in their social circles after the divorce had been finalized. While no one could quite call them friends, they’d done a good job at being friendly, being able to converse and share an occasional drink when in their combined friend group. And if Paige is honest, she knows she’s fucked up, knows she probably did owe Olivia a call. But calling Olivia would have meant calling someone who would inevitably make Paige face the truth, just like she had today. The truth that, even with the deal Talia had concocted with the Liberty hanging in the background like a dark presence, the move to the Valkyries was about a lot more than just basketball for Paige. 

She’s so entrenched in her thought that she doesn’t bother checking who it is when the facetime rings, irritation seeping into her voice as she answers it, face still buried in her pillows, “WHAT?”

“Miss Buecks?” a tiny voice comes through the phone and for a second, Paige thinks she must be dreaming, until she finally lifts her head to look at her phone, and Stephie’s small face lights up the whole screen. And it’s like she can feel little hands on her shoulders, slowly unknotting her tightened muscles. 

“Stephie,” she breathes out, a sudden sense of serene calm washing over her previously tense body. 

“Hi Miss Buecks,” Stephie says happily before she squints at the screen, “you sleep weird.”

Paige laughs, “and why’s that?”

“You’re not wearing pajamas and it’s only seven. ‘Dults don’t sleep at seven,” Stephie says matter-of-factly. 

“It’s actually nine here,” Paige says, a little surprised by the time; she hadn’t realized she'd been moping in her bed for that long. Ice had forced her to get lunch together, not wanting to leave Paige alone after the encounter with Olivia. Once she’d finally gotten back to her apartment, Paige had flopped on her bed, taking out her frustrations on her poor pillow. 

“That’s not poss-ble,” Stephie scrunches her face, “Mama’s phone says it’s seven.”

“It’s seven in California, it’s nine in Texas,” Paige tries to explain though by the way Stephie’s looking at her, she thinks she’s probably just confusing the girl more, “how’d you figure out how to call me babe?”

Stephie gives her an exasperated look, “Miss Buecks I’m five. I know how to use facetime.”

“And does your Mama know you're facetiming me?” Paige asks, eyebrows raised.

“She’s in the shower,” Stephie whispers, grinning sheepishly. 

As if on cue, Azzi appears on the corner of the screen and Paige feels her mouth run dry. The darker skinned woman is clad in a light pink fluffy bathrobe that ends right above her knees, giving Paige the perfect view of her long, toned legs that seem to shimmer despite the shitty quality of the facetime. Rivulets of water cling to her neck, delicately cascading down the valley of her breasts before disappearing from sight. And Paige must be dehydrated because never has she wanted to taste a drop of liquid more than she does right now. 

“Stephie,” Azzi groans, as she walks towards the phone and Paige gulps, heart beating faster with every step the other woman takes, everything about her becoming clearer and clearer, “what did I say about using my phone.”

“Only in em-a-gencies,” Stephie recites, “but Mama I had an em-a-gency.”

Azzi tilts her head, eyebrows raised as she gives her daughter a knowing look, “and what was your emergency?”

“I really, really, really, this much” Stephie stretches out her hands as far as they’ll go,  really, really, really, miss Miss Buecks.”

Paige feels her heart flutter. Stephie’s words feel like a hand carefully pulling her out from under the pile of stress she’d been buried under the whole day. It’s like the little girl is pushing away the rubble pressing against her lungs, turning the rocks into dust with a light touch and Paige feels like she can finally breathe. 

“Sounds like a pretty big emergency to me,” she says, relishing the way Stephie’s face lights up at the admission, “cause I really, really, really miss you too Steph.”

“See Mama,” Stephie says, placing the phone against a wall so can place her hands on her hips and look up at Azzi with a pleased smirk. 

Azzi rolls her eyes before glaring at Paige, “you’re a bad influence on her.”

“I’m the best influence on her,” Paige argues, sending Stephie a conspiratorial wink, “just you wait Az, I’mma teach her all the good things.”

Something unreadable flashes across Azzi’s face before she’s back to looking at Paige with an unimpressed arched eyebrow, “I am not letting you corrupt my daughter Paige Bueckers.”

“We’ll see,” Paige says slowly and Azzi shakes her head before turning to Stephie. 

“Alright Stephie bean time to go brush your teeth. It’s almost bedtime babes,” she says with a stern look 

“But Mama-”

“No arguing, you have school tomorrow missy,” Azzi reminds the little girl and Paige can’t help but marvel at the mother that Azzi’s become. And it makes her heart ache for the fantasies she’d dreamed of when she was in her early twenties. She’d always known Azzi would be a great mother; Paige had just naively thought she’d be there alongside her too. 

“Can Miss Buecks stay on the phone till I fall asleep?” Stephie asks, peering up at Azzi with big doe eyes, “please Mama pleeeease.”

“I’m sure Miss Buecks has other things-”

“I don’t,” Paige cuts in far too enthusiastically, clearing her throat to get back some semblance of restraint as both mother and daughter turn to look at each other, “I don’t have anything to do tonight so I can stay till you fall asleep Stephie.”

“YAYY,” Stephie cheers enthusiastically while Azzi studies her with a weary look, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and then you can read me, my story Mama.”

With that, the little girl runs in the direction of what Paige can only assume is the bathroom, skipping with childlike joy as she sing-songs about something Paige can’t quite make out. 

“You know you don’t have to say yes to everything she asks right?” Azzi says slowly as she grabs her phone and sits on the couch. 

Paige shrugs, “I have time to stay.”

“Do you?” Azzi asks skeptically, “because from what I heard the Wings are having a little farewell party tonight, for you.”

Paige narrows her eyes, “and how exactly did you hear that?”

“I have connections.”

“You talked to Ice.”

“I talked to Ice,” Azzi concedes, “and I’m pretty sure you’re already an hour or so late for it.”

“Exactly. I’m already an hour late so why bother,” Paige says, sitting up so she can rest head against her headboard, “why were you talking to Ice?”

“I can’t talk to my friend?” Azzi asks slowly. 

“Of course you can but why specifically today?” Paige presses 

Azzi bites her lip, “I um- I watched your press conference today. You uh-” she averts her gaze, “you seemed really stressed at the end and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A soft grin upturns Paige’s lips before she can stop it, “were you worried for me Fudd?”

“That’s not-” Azzi groans, “shut up.”

Paige smirks, “you were worried for me.”

“I was concerned for my future teammate," Azzi huffs, “besides,” her face hardens, “she was way out of line.”

Paige sighs at the implied mention of Olivia, “maybe but maybe I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi protests and that oh so familiar protective tone in her voice carves itself into every crevice of Paige’s heart, “no one deserves to be put on the spot like that. She was being unethical trying to dig into your personal life like that.”

“This is nice,” Paige says softly, unable to help herself. 

“What is?” 

“Seeing you get all defensive over me. It's nice to see you still care. I didn’t know if you still did.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second, gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks at Paige, “I’ve always cared Paige. And-” she hesitates as the tightrope beneath them wavers, “I’m always gonna care.”

There’s years worth of unsaid words lingering in the silence between them as they breach some unspoken rule they’d both inadvertently agreed to. And they both know that they shouldn’t be saying things like this to each other, that they’re teetering on the edge of falling into an abyss that has nothing but destruction at the bottom. But Azzi’s words feel like sunshine, like heat waves across her skin and Paige is so tired of feeling cold. 

Before either of them can say another word, Stephie comes back into the room, crawling into Azzi’s lap.

“I’m back,” she beams, completely unaware of the way the two adults are scrambling to act normal around her. 

“Here baby,” Azzi hands the phone to Stephie, “take Miss Buecks to your room. Mama’s gonna go change and then she’ll come read to you okay?”

“‘Kay Mama,” Stephie complies, pressing a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before running towards her room. For a second Paige’s screen is blurred in motion until Stephie fixes her again and Paige catches a glimpse of Stephie’s room, specifically the walls that are painted the perfect shade of Valkyrie purple. 

“I love your walls Stephie,” she compliments.

“They’re pu-ple,” Stephie exclaims, “that’s my favorite color.”

“First the ice-cream, now the color, you’re stealing all of my favorites kid,” Paige teases but she’s secretly pleased by this revelation. It’s dangerous how fast Stephie’s starting to whittle down Paige’s walls and build herself a permanent shelf in Paige’s cabinet of my people. 

“Can I tell you a secret Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, bringing her lips closer to the phone. 

Paige smiles, “of course you can.”

“I think Mama misses you too,” Stephie says softly and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat, “I heard her tell Nanna on the phone.”

“Can I tell you a secret Stephie?” Paige lowers her voice, leaning into her phone. 

“‘Course you can Miss Buecks.”

Paige swallows as the admission falls from her lips, “I really miss your Mama too.”

I miss her always and I think I’ll miss her forever. 

“What are you the two of you whispering about,” Azzi’s voice cuts in as she tucks herself next to Stephie, a children’s book in her hand. 

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says immediately, winking at Paige through the phone. 

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, ignoring her erratic heartbeat, “nothing Azzi.”

Azzi looks between the both of them, clearly aware she’s being left out of something, but doesn’t push further. Instead she flips open the book, pulls Stephie closer into her arms and starts reading. If anyone were to ask Paige later, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea about a single word in that damn book. Because as Azzi’s soothing voice begins to lull Stephie to sleep, and the younger girl, despite her yawns, holds the phone up so the blonde can be included in every second of it, Paige feels herself being pulled into a dream she has no right to dream. She dreams of being in Stephie’s purple bedroom. She dreams of her and Azzi lying against Stephie’s lilac bedspread, their hands entwined in the middle over Stephie’s little body. She dreams of a forever that she’d long forsaken.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Heart III

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You get adopted

The day you get adopted, you wear a special dress.

You've got lots of clothes now that you live with Mapi and Ingrid. You didn't use to have so many before because you lived in the hospital but now you have lots and a new, super special dress for your adoption.

It's a busy day, Ingrid says, so you have to wake up early to get to the court. Ingrid's got a super special dress on too and Mapi's wearing a suit in the same colour so you can all match.

The judge who's signing the papers is kind of old with a big white beard and a happy smile. He goes through boring things with your case worker before he beckons you all over to sign the papers.

A picture is taken with you holding the adoption certificate as you stand between your new mummies.

It's still a busy day though so Mami stops off to get ice cream as you and Mama get nice and bundled up in the car. She pulls down the front of your dress to check your scar.

She does that a lot when something big has happened. She did it the first day you came home from surgery and after the first time you went out again.

"You're my mama now," You giggle when Mama pulls away, happy that nothing has changed with your scar.

"Yeah, I am." She's beaming at you and, even though you're strapped into your car seat, you lean forward to kiss her cheek.

She kisses your cheek too and Mami climbs into the car with a tub of ice cream for you.

"Oh, Mapi," Mama says," Don't you think that's a bit too much?"

"No such thing as too much," Mami laughs," Besides, it's a special day. She can have as much ice cream as she wants."

Mama rolls her eyes fondly as she starts the car and drives off.

Today's a very busy day. It was your adoption ceremony and the El Clásico so Ingrid makes sure to get to the stadium as quick as she can. They've been prepared for this ever since the date was confirmed.

Mapi's got a bag packed with a change of clothes for each of you so your special adoption clothes don't get dirty and Ingrid's also got a surprise waiting for you at the stadium.

She picks you up easily when you arrive and walk you straight into the changing room. Everyone else is already out doing the pitch inspection so Ingrid gets you changed into the shirt and shorts Mapi packed.

She kisses you on the cheek before pushing you over to Mapi, who has already changed out of her suit.

"Come on," Mapi says," Let's go and see the others."

You've never been on a pitch before. A few weeks, when you started coming with Mama and Mami to practice, you sat in the stands and coloured. You were still healing from getting your new Santa heart so Mama wanted to make sure that you didn't stress it out.

This is your first time on grass and it's a little scary. You wiggle your feet nervously as you stand on the side, grasping tightly to Mami's hand.

"It's okay," Mami says as if reading your mind," It's just grass. Nothing to worry about." She points over to where Pina and Patri are waving at you. "See? How about we head on over?"

Mami holds your hand as you jog over to her teammates. The grass is kind of springy under your feet and still sort of firm like if you were walking on the floor of the hospital.

You kind of like it.

"Mami," You say, puffing out your chest," I'm walkin' on grass."

"You are," Mami laughs," Feels good, huh?"

"Uh-huh!"

Mama shows you your special surprise when you return to the changing room. You reach out to touch it. It's got your new last name on it, 'Engen-Leon' for everyone to see.

"Do you like it?" Mama asks even though she already knows your answer by the way that you try to pull it over the shirt that you're still wearing.

"Love it!" You turn to look at Mami. "Look, Mami! It's got my name!"

"It does," Mami agrees as she helps you put it on," You'll look extra good when you walk out with me."

"With you?" Mama laughs with a shake of the head," You mean with me."

Mami laughs too as she laces up her boots.

"For what it's worth," Patri says from across the room," If you guys are struggling to choose, she can walk out with me."

"No chance!"

"Rock paper scissors for it?" Mami offers, holding her fist out and Mama rolls her eyes but still agrees.

Mami must regret choosing to play because Mama wins happily and walks out with you in your brand new jersey.

Both Mama and Mami are starting off on the pitch so you're left with Pina and Patri on the bench.

It's an El Clásico so it's very important Barcelona wins and Pina and Patri are eager for their own chances on the field even as the team go two-nil up within the first fifteen minutes.

Mami takes a free kick that flies straight into the goal from distance and instead of celebrating with the team she comes straight over to the sidelines to hug you.

You giggle as she presses a kiss to your cheek before returning you to your babysitters.

The score goes up to five-nil in the second half and Real Madrid concede a corner.

The team all line up to take it but it's Mama's head that hits it into the goal. She jumps and pumps her fist into the air before coming to the sidelines towards you as well.

She rains kisses down on your face and kisses the Barca crest on your chest.

"Mama!" You giggle as she keeps kissing you," You have to play!"

She kisses you one last time before cradling your face in her hands. "We'll finish up here," She says," And then we'll go get dinner, okay?"

You smile. "Okay, Mama!"

[backtothedrawingboard]

Cutesy Stuff

Jax x Reader

Summary: You've been leaving little gifts in a secret spot in the playground for months. After receiving a gift in return, you decide to see who it was all along.

CW: Some content could be interpreted as gender dysphoria. However, it does not need to be interpreted as such.

TW: None

~~~~~~~~~~

You padded down the colorful halls of the Circus, lost in thought. Nothing was better than playing a song in your head to daydream about. You had no idea where anyone else was, but that was perfectly fine. Constant socializing was too exhausting to keep up with anyway.

You wandered over to the main sanctuary and hopped along a hop scotch board before heading to climb up a slide. No one else seemed to care about the indoor playground, but you thought it was pretty rad. You had a secret spot that you always climbed up to, placed something down, and returned later to find it gone. Maybe Caine took it? Or Bubble? Or maybe someone else. Whoever it was, you enjoyed the little interaction every time.

You crawled up into the tower and pulled back the hidden cabinet. As you expected, the small figurine you placed down a few days ago was no longer there. You smiled and pulled your pink seashell from your pocket. The last adventure on the beach was good for something. And Caine never caught the fact that you snuck a seashell out.

You placed the seashell on its spot. Hopefully whoever accepted your gifts would like it. You admired the view from the top of the tower, gazing around the open room. Zooble and Gangle were sitting together on a couch, apparently reading a book. Ragatha, Pomni, and Kinger were laughing about something on the stage. Jax was nowhere in sight, but he was probably either reading or planning a stupid prank.

After a while, you stretched and slid down a slide to get to the floor. Just a few days of waiting for your token to be taken...

~~~~~

You carried your new paper flower bouquet to your room happily. When you had checked your trinket hiding place, you found a small stack of different kinds of flowers made out of newspaper. As you went to open the door, your foot caught on something and you stumbled to the floor.

"Ha. Thought you would've learned better than that by now." That voice was unmistakable. When you looked up, Jax was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his face settled on his usual half-lidded, smug grin. You rolled your eyes and sat up.

"Thanks. I needed all the nutrients that come from the floor," you said sarcastically. The rabbit just grinned more.

"I'm here to make sure you maintain your health," he replied with an amused lilt. You just rolled your eyes again and got up off the floor.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." You picked up the bouquet again. Jax's composed expression flickered to confusion momentarily.

"Where...did you get that?" he asked slowly.

You gave him an equally confused look. "Uhh. One of the towers in the playground. Why?"

The rabbit regained his composure and shrugged, looking bored. "Eh. Just curious. Ragatha give it to you? Seems like something she would make."

"No. I've been leaving little trinkets in the tower every few days and someone takes them. Guess they decided to return the favor."

Jax nodded. "Hm. Good for you. You have a secret friend." He sounded bored and slightly mocking. You sighed and pushed your door open.

"I...You don't...Ok. I'm leaving. Bye," you muttered. You caught that smug smirk again as you closed the door behind you.

You sighed again and looked around your room. The vase next to the lamp was the perfect place for the paper flowers. You arranged them to look nice and then crawled into bed for a nap. The flowers were so thoughtful. You had to figure out who made them. And who left them.

~~~~~

The Circus was quiet. There was no set day and night cycle, but there was an unspoken agreement amongst everyone of when "night" was. You climbed out of bed with a stretch and crept into the hallway, wincing from the sudden light. As you trotted out to the main sanctuary, you noticed a shadow in the tower. It was too quick to make out the shape, but it could be the culprit.

You hurried to the base of the tower and scurried up the platforms as quietly as humanly possible. This was it. After months of mystery, your secret friend was about to be revealed.

You hopped onto the last platform and looked up excitedly. It was a tall, slim figure. It must be Kinge-!...Jax? Your eyes widened in shock. He looked equally surprised.

"Uh...Jax?" you whispered. The rabbit was holding a small figure in his hand and quickly shoved it in his pocket.

"What the $&!@ are you doing here?!" he whisper yelled.

You flinched. "I-...! What are you doing here?!" you answered. After a few moments of staring at each other in silence, Jax bolted down the slide. You jumped to your feet and watched in dumbfounded confusion a second before diving after him. As soon as he hit the floor, the rabbit's long legs propelled him at top speed towards the dorms.

You panted as you followed. &!$? it, why was he so fast?! Stupid rabbit legs! You slid to a halt at his now-closed door. "Jax! Let me in! I wanna talk!"

You didn't get an answer. Typical. Jax always pretended not to be there when anyone came knocking. You huffed in annoyance.

"Jax! Please! At least come out so we can-!" You squealed in surprise as you tumbled into the room. Your apparent friend looked just as surprised when you hit the floor.

"What the- Why were you leaning against the door?" he demanded. You groaned and looked up. You couldn't help but gape in surprise. His room was...mostly pink? And the decorations didn't look like what most men would want. The rabbit seemed upset and slapped a hand over your eyes.

"Hey! Who said you could snoop, creep?!" he growled. You smiled sheepishly.

"Uh...Sorry...I didn't mean to. But...Why is your room so girly?"

"Shut up." There was a clear defensiveness to his tone. "It's not like I designed it myself."

You pulled his hand off your face and glanced around. It definitely resembled the average college woman's dorm. Just bigger, of course. You looked to a shelf and saw all your little trinkets set out on it. So that's where they went after they were taken. You sat up and smiled at Jax.

"Aww...You collected all of it and set it on display...?" you asked quietly.

Jax growled and averted his gaze. "Shut up...I'm allowed to enjoy things like that...N-not that I do, of course..."

You patted his foot reassuringly. "No, no. It's alright. I'm not judging. You're allowed to like 'em. I'm just...a little surprised it was you who was collecting it all along."

The rabbit's ears folded down and he crossed his arms. His pupils were small as he stared at the floor. "Yeah, well...Don't leave your £$?& lying around for people to take..."

You looked around a bit more quietly. Everything in his room was laid out neatly and nicely. The pastel colors were a huge contrast to his personality. You couldn't help but wonder the cause.

"Um...If you don't mind me getting personal...Why is your room so...bright? I know you didn't originally design it yourself, but our rooms are still based off of us," you muttered softly.

Jax scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Whatever. Caine just throws stuff together however he wants. I don't know what goes through his head."

You nodded slowly. "Yeah, but...Even still, you did choose to the take my gifts and use them for decoration. And a lot of them are all cutesy."

The rabbit huffed again. "I don't...I don't know...Are men not allowed to enjoy things now?!" he practically yelled.

You held up your hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't say that. You can enjoy whatever you want. I was just curious. Sorry for prying."

The two of you sat and stood in tense silence for a little while. Jax's crossed arms finally loosened and he reached into his pocket. He held it out to you.

"Here..." he mumbled. You took it and looked down at it. It was a tiny, translucent green duck figure, no bigger than a quarter. You smiled.

"Thank you, Jax..." you said. It was adorable. "Um...Do you want to keep doing this?"

There was a hesitant pause. "...Yes."

You smiled wider and nodded. "Cool!"

"But don't you dare tell anyone." Jax glared at you. But it was softer than before.

You nodded in agreement. "Got it. I won't."

The rabbit slowly sat next to you, his tail wagging a little. "I just..." He growled.

You couldn't help but giggle a little. "Hey, I get it. Don't worry. I'm self conscious about liking this kinda stuff sometimes, too."

Jax rolled his eyes and leaned back on his hands. "Yeah, but...I'm a man."

"So?"

"Ugh. I'm the pinnacle of masculinity," he stated snarkily.

You giggled. "Oh, I'm not denying that. Men are allowed to enjoy cutesy stuff. No problems with it."

Jax scratched his chest. "Yeah. I know."

You admired your new duck and yawned. The rabbit rolled his eyes and jabbed at your arm. "Jeez, get to bed, Princess. Did you even sleep at all yet?"

You smiled sheepishly. "I mean...We don't exactly need to."

"Too bad." Your friend got up and pulled you to your feet. "I want to sleep, so get going." He pushed you out of the room. You noticed his tail wagging before the door slammed closed on you. You smiled and shook your head.

You wandered over to your room and stepped inside. You looked around the shelves and decided the duck should sit next to the vase of paper flowers. You set it down and patted its head with a fingertip before climbing into bed. You turned off the lamp and rolled onto your back. You didn't expect any of this at all. But...you certainly weren't complaining.

[the-universal-sun]

Okay I just thought of something what if Stan regressed after getting his memory waist, because even though everything of Stanley Pines got a waste his mind still knew deep down that the headspace was healing so doing the most mentally traumatic thing that ever happened to him in his life his brain request to his age basically I want to Stanley with no memories

Sorry it took so long to get this out, I got hit by a bout of massive writer's block, but I got through it okay. Deep apologies for how late this is @pinkyshy10 and my other wonderful anon, I know this was requested back in December, but I hope you enjoy reading this! I hope I encapsulated your visions when writing, please let me know if I was off the mark, though! But thank you so so very much for your requests! I enjoyed writing it so much! Fun Fact: I've never watched Treasure Planet before, but it does seem super interesting, so I might give it a try along with the other movies you lovely people suggested that Stan, Ford, and Fiddleford may watch when Little. Please enjoy reading!

And as always, I'm open to helpful comments and critiques on my writing!

Stay warm!

XX

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Stan...

His name is Stan. He knows this, he was told this. But, it feels true, his name is Stan, he's a great uncle to Dipper and Mabel and the twin brother to Ford. His memories aren't all there, very little are, in fact. His niece, Mabel, her scrapbook helped him some, he can remember the summer and the fond emotions attached to the memories. To most of the memories. The brief ones with the man...with Stanford bring an ache to his chest, but he hopes the more he remembers him, the happier the memories will be.

Stan fumbles around in his room, trying to familiarize himself with the surroundings, half formed memories helping him along and silently guiding his steps. He's looking for something, he thinks as he scratches his head, the Fez having been taken off and set aside, something important. But he doesn't know what. More accurately, he can't remember what. He looks around his room again, trying to see if something stands out to him when he spots a lump under the covers of his bed. He grabs the edges of his comforter and pulls it back, revealing a old looking stuffed bear, looking closely he sees it's wearing a little sweater vest. Cute. Is this something he kept from his childhood or something? It's not like he would remember.

He picks up the bear delicately. No, he knows this bear, the memories are there, right in his reach. Ah, this is a gift he got when he was a young man. This is Poindexter, what a nerdy name. Stan sits on the edge of the bed, carefully cradling his stuffy, the action making his head start to go fuzzy. Not bad, not how it is when he's remembering things, but a pleasant sort of fuzzy, one that relaxes his body, making him gently rock back and forth on the edge of the bed. This is nice, he distantly thinks, bringing the teddy up to rub to his and rubbing the ears against his lips. He laughs at the ticklish feeling that brings. He does that for a long time, rocking and rubbing his teddy against his mouth before he grows bored, standing up and stretching. What should he do? He hums and taps his hands as he thinks, he'll go see if there's any cartoons playing this late. Stan doesn’t quite know why he wants cartoons, but nothing else appeals to him right now. He grabs the first blanket he sees, a hand-stitched quilt with teddy bears on the edges, and trudges off downstairs.

The living room is still a mess when he gets there, but the tv is plugged and still works, so Stan settles down in front of it, Poindexter and the blankie-blanket from his room in his lap. He turns the dials over and over again, but he can't find anything bedsides stupid commercials and the news. He's getting more and more annoyed, his breathing going heavy and his mumbling growing louder and louder. He doesn't care about waking everybody up, he wants cartoons, but he's not seeing them. Stan is about to hit the glass in anger when he hears his brother's voice.

"Stanley? What are doing? It's late and you need to rest, you've especially had a long and trying day." Stanford spoke softly, voice confused.

"Cartoons." Stan replied, pointing of the tv it's the one word he can move his tongue around. Why does he find it hard to speak again? Oh yeah-

"What? Stanley there aren't any cartoons even on there." Ford said, confused and more than a little worried for his brother's mental state.

Oh yeah, there aren't any cartoons on. Which is the problem. Stan points to the tv again, staring at Ford. Will he help? Stan just wants to watch cartoons with his Teddy and Blankie and not think of memories or triangles or monsters, he just wants to let himself be-be. Be what? He looks at himself, soft pajamas with cars on them, his teddy bear quilt and Poindexter. His head feels fuzzy, but not as fuzzy as it can get-as he wants it to get. He wants to be-

Small. Ah. That's what it is, he remembers now. Not all of it, but most of it. Sometimes when everything is too much or too loud or too overwhelming, his mind goes smaller. Littler, the internet said he "regresses" and that it can help relax him. And it does, and he likes it, that fuzzy feeling and wanting nothing more than to color and cuddle with his teddy. Except for the times he gets really lonely, wanting his brother here with him. And he is here now, isn't he? And he said he'd take care of Stanley, so that must mean with this too, right? Does Ford know about this? Stan doesn't remember if he does or not, and he can't bring himself to ask, can't get his mouth to work. Instead he just keeps pointing to the tv and looking at is brother, he still wants to watch cartoons.

"Ah-alright, then, Stanley. I can help you find something?" Ford sounds like he's asking a question, sitting next to Stanley and tuning the dials on the box set-the remote was destroyed sometime during Weirdmaggedon. He finagles it with with more success, stopping to let each channel fix and find itself in between the static, having more patience than his brother in this regard. He's about 20 channels deep at this point when the staticky screens stabilizes to a cartoon unfamiliar to Ford, hazy as the screen is. He looks at the screen, it must be after his time, the animation different from what he knew of back in the 80s. What is it-

"Treasure Planet!" Stan loves this movie when he feels small. It has space pirates and ships that move in the sky! Stan especially loves it because it was based on his and Ford's favorite book growing up, Treasure Island, but much cooler because they were also in space. He excitedly pats the space next to him, Ford has to stay and watch this, he'd love it! Stan chants little "stay stay stay"s as he pats the carpet beside him, Ford slowly and softly easing down beside him, tugging gently on the corner of Stan's teddy blankie to cover him. He doesn't need to, because Stan huddles in close, practically on Ford's lap, and spreads the blanket over both of them, Poindexter still gripped in his hands.

Stan, now that he has his cartoons and has his brother, blankie, and Poindexter, is more than willing to let the fuzzy in his head take over, relaxing into Ford's side, bringing Poindexter's ear back up to his mouth-he's not gonna chew on it, just rub it on his lips, that's all. Like before.

"Treasure Planet, hmm? Sounds kind of like Treasure Island, do you remember that book, Stanley? It was our favorite-!" Stan slaps a hand over Ford's mouth to make him quiet-shushing someone was rude, said Ma', but Ford was talking and Stan didn't want to miss any of the movie-luckily it was just starting so he didn't miss much. He cuddles closer to his brother, wrapping his hand, now free after Ford removed it, around his twin's arm, practically crawling in his lap and rocking softly, easy rocking to help soothe his excitement. He loved Treasure Planet so much, and now Ford can watch it and love it, too, so he's extra excited!

"Okay, Okay, Stanley, I'll be quiet. Sorry." Ford softly whispered, starring at Stan, who was enraptured by the television screen, with a soft look that bordered on confusion, he doesn't exactly understand what's happening, and hopes it's not a side-affect of the memory gun. But Stanley seems to happy and relaxed, something he hasn't seen in near 40 years, so whatever his concerns are, they can wait until the morning. Ford settles down, wrapping an arm around Stanley, softly rubbing his back, and turns his attention back to the movie. It does seem very interesting.

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 21)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence more generally. In this chapter specifically, references to domestic t**rorism and brief moment of someone being racist/xenophobic but they get treated appropriately for it ;)

Part 21 -

After another morning in the internet café, I had collected even more important information. The nightclub was holding a themed event three nights from now. It was some kind of Moulin Rouge style, burlesque night. Ibanescu and Brady were certain to be there. I had also confirmed that Joe Brady had a long list of prior form, just as I had predicted. His mob buddy heading up the Ibanescu crime family always stepped in to quash anything before it got big enough to result in any serious legal repercussions. A recent newsarticle by GCN reported that there was evidence of a rise in human trafficking in Gotham's East End - the subtext being that this crime family was heavily involved, though the press were careful not to explicitly say so. It seemed as though a cop, detective Renée Montoya had recently tried to carry out a sting operation on their main location, but someone had tipped them off.

I wondered if it was yet another example of the GCPD pretending to do their due diligence while looking the other way... was Montoya really trying to stop them? Suddenly another idea struck me. The District Attorney had set up a public database where you could anonymously report cops you believed were corrupt. He'd made a huge deal about it as part of his previous election campaign; Gotham's White Knight rallying the people against the rot of police corruption. It was a nice sentiment but had burnt itself out.

With low expectations, I flicked through the hundreds of names under 'M' and couldn't see an R. Montoya anywhere. Did that mean she was clean? Not for certain. But it at least meant she wasn't so blatantly corrupt that people had noticed. I scribbled down the public tipline for her operation and was about to pack up, when something on the tv screen overhead near the front of the store caught my eye.

The daytime tv show flickered with static and the broadcast switched abruptly to a different picture. I got up and approached the front desk as if in a trance, intrigued. The picture was poor quality, and looked more like a home video than something meant to be on air. I could feel something in my gut telling me this was important and not to dismiss it.

"Can you turn on the volume?" I asked the oblivious employee who was still reading her book.

She said nothing but leant forward and passed me the TV remote across the counter. I took it off mute.

"...By now you all have a good idea who I am, so you know that this is serious."

An all-too-familiar voice came crackling out of the speakers, sending the hair on my arms prickling upwards in an instant.

"But don't worry, citizens of Gotham. Unless you work in the Mayor's Office or the Halls of Justice, you have nothing to be afraid of," I watched as his face flickered into the frame again, animated and chaotic as ever.

He looked as though he had finished what he had to say, but then remembered something else.

"Oh, but if you do work in or around those buildings, you have exactly fifteen minutes before I reduce them to rubble," he mimed an explosion, ''All the records, all that public money. Who is going to pick up all those pieces?"

He moved closer to the camera, letting the question hang in the air for a while.

"There is, of course, a way to avoid all that: if any one of you kills the District Judge, or the Mayor, I won't trigger the bombs. You don't even have to knock them both off, just one will do, since I'm feeling so generous!"

His laughter rang in my ears. The woman behind the counter dropped her book and looked on in terror. Even she was watching now, a scene I imagined was playing out right across the city...

"Before I go, there is one little extra message for a special someone," he turned again to look directly at the camera, and for a moment I felt as if he could actually see me, with dark eyes locked onto my own.

He held up a playing card, and scrawled in red ink across the front: my initials. My blood ran cold as I stared at this obvious declaration that I was now officially on his hit list. He was going to find me. It wasn't a question of 'if' so much as 'when'.

"Oh my god. He's going to blow up the civic centre!" The lady behind the desk made a grab for the phone.

I rolled my eyes. I knew she was panicking, and maybe it was harsh of me, but we were on the other side of the city. Who would she call and why? This impulse would only spread the panic further. As the broadcast cut off and the programming it interrupted resumed, I finally managed to peel my boots from the carpet and retreat back to the computer I was using. For a minute or two I was still too stunned to fully comprehend what had just happened. I hoped to any universal power out there that everyone would get clear of the target buildings. What more could I do? I was powerless. I felt numb. If i'd stayed could I have sabotaged his plan? I doubted it.

The minutes mercilessly ticked by. I chewed my nails down to the quick as I watched the clock. I wondered if the streets were now full of people frantically running as a herd, like in my dream, and I could hear the woman at the front desk praying fervently, hands clasped together as she rocked back and forth. A strange kind of numbness crept over me as I slung my bag over my shoulder and shuffled out of the door. What was the point in sitting there waiting around to find out what would happen in the next ten minutes? The East side streets were eerily quiet as I wandered through the driving rain which had returned, like clockwork. I wondered if it wasn't too late to leave. If I ran out of the state, suely he wouldn't bother to follow me that kind of distance?

Surely after this latest stunt he'd be top of the list for both the Batman and the GCPD to capture: Priority number 1. If they caught him before he found me, maybe I had a chance of escaping his clutches, at least until he'd break out of Akham or Blackgate again... staying in Gotham was risking my life. I paused in the nearby park, pacing by the empty fountain, full of dead leaves and trash, as I looked at my little plastic watch. Two minutes remaining.

I hoped no one was stupid enough to play into his sick game. Of course, killing the Mayor or the Judge wouldn't guarantee anything. As if he'd rig up all the explosives, just to not go through with it...

I thought about trying to get to the airport. Given the nature of the Joker's threats, it would make getting a flight out of the state a total nightmare, quite possibly for the next week, or at least until he was captured. So, it would have to be a bus then. But I was so close to carrying out my own plan! I was desperate to do something, one just thing in an injust city.

I felt trapped; the walls were closing in. I looked around at the handful of other people in the park. They seemed unaware of the impending catastrophe. A mother with her two kids. A man on a bike. A couple walking their dog. Ordinary people whose days were about to be violently interrupted. Two minutes must almost be up by now... Not knowing what else to do, I sat on the edge of the fountain and closed my eyes.

Then I heard it. The sound of the distant explosion. Even from another part of the city it was clear enough to know it was big and my heart sank even further. As I opened my eyes again I saw the people looking around in confusion. Everything else looked exactly as before. The crows were still picking through the trash by one of the benches, the wind was still swaying through the bare branches of the trees. The world still turned. Nature carried on, unfased. I was going to have to do the same...

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and began the walk back to my hotel. As I entered and saw the desk guy was still watching his tv show, whatever it was, with his feet propped up on the desk, I put down enough crumpled bills for a further three nights. I coughed and he turned to take them. He nodded, put them into the old cash register and resttled into the same position.

I slowly ascended the stairs and walked down the hall to my room. Once I was inside, I replaced the chair barricading the door and tossed my backpack onto the bed. Next I flicked on the TV, wanting to see exactly what had happened. As I sat on the bed, the newscasters relayed that police and the bat had managed to prevent anyone from taking the law into their own hands, and stopped the courthouse explosion. The mayor's office, on the other hand, had been completely decimated. They couldn't yet confirm whether anyone remained inside and kept replaying footage of people rushing out into the streets in total panic, followed by the black pillar of smoke rising from the burning remnants of the gutted building.

I laid back on the bed, my head feeling like it contained a swarm of angry bees, and tried to calm myself. I was certain I had to complete my plan. It was risky, sure - but I was already in danger, already marked. I figured I would buy a bus ticket, and if everything played out as intended then I'd ride it out of the city, and out of the state right after, without looking back. It had to be over the next few days, or the Joker's appearance would bring everything to a total halt. I had no time to waste. Sleep was no longer an option, not that I would have been able to regardless.

With new resolve, I got to my feet and retrieved the handgun from it's hiding spot in the bathroom. I slipped the clip inside and clicked everything back into place. With the safety on, I put it inside the cheap ladies purse I had aquired. It was unassuming enough. Then I emptied out the contents of my duffle bag onto the bed. Nothing in there would do for the next stage of the plan. I sighed in frustration. Shopping for clothes was not what I wanted to be doing at the best of times, let alone now. I just hoped that stepping into a clothing store wouldn't go as disatrously as my last experience... that was the start of this entire mess.

Everywhere I turned, people were talking about it, displaying the full catalogue of emotions. A cacophony of police sirens echoed in the air and some people had taken the advice and sheltered indoors, but many, espescially in the east end, had wandered out into the streets to see what was going on. People in this part of town were more used to rubbing shoulders with chaos in their every day lives. What's more, plenty of them were being made to carry on working as though nothing of note had happened. Between the people out rubber-necking and the others just going about their usual day with disinterest, it was a surreal scene.

I slipped into a run down looking thrift store with ease, past two old ladies talking animatedly by the door about the destruction of the Mayor's office. I shook my head a little in disbelief at how they were giddy with excitement, talking about the event like it was just the latest scandalous episode of a TV series. Still, I suppose if you get to old age, there's not a lot of interesting things going on in your life...

I methodically combed through the racks in search of something certain types of men would consider 'promiscuous'. I of course had nothing against any of the girls who dressed like that, it certainly was no excuse for how they often got treated, but it felt very alien to me. I tended to blend in, and hadn't worn anything which deliberately showcased any part of my body since before it was so badly broken and reassembled. It felt strange, like I was a kid putting on my mother's makeup, or an older sisters' clothes, maybe trying and failing to work out how to tie my Dad's tie. I thought about what Candy had been wearing... I couldn't manage something with a corset or heels that pointy, but it needed to suggest I was a working girl like her. I found a pair of over the ankle boots with a chunky block heel and found I could walk in them without much trouble.

At least I had the shoes covered. I moved along to a rack of skirts and tried to work out what length to take, settling on a leather one a few inches above the knee with a split up one thigh. I figured it might make running or kicking easier. I looked around for something to wear on my torso, finding a velvet bikini crop which left little to the imagination but still wasn't the most revealing item I could have landed on. Perhaps if my life had gone differently I would have worn it to a musical festival, with friends, laughing in the sunshine... I quickly pulled myself out of the reverie, realising that fantasizing about an alternate life for myself was how things had started out when I put on the purple dress. I grabbed a pair of black leather gloves and dumped my finds on the counter by the register. A young man sporting a bright pink mohawk and pink nails rang me up, whilst he chewed bubblegum and looked extremely disinterested. I paid and hurried out of the store with my bags containing the new aquisitions, suddenly aware of the countdown clock which had surely started for me.

Later, I stood in a crowd as I waited for the next train to pull into the station and a voice pulled me into the real world again.

"Well I always said this city only has all these problems because of them," this loud voice in particular caught me off guard.

I turned and saw that it was a young woman speaking to a man beside her. He said nothing as she continued her tirade.

"You can't tell me this has nothing to do with all the immigrants. He's probably one of them. We should round them up and -"

I sighed, set down my bags and punched the lady square in the face. Then I turned around, picking my things back up and as she was still reeling in shock, I carried on down the platform, calmly weaving in between people, ignoring the cries of onlookers and her screaming as she clutched at her now bloody nose. I sprang down the steps back onto the street level and walked as quickly as I could away from the scene I had caused. So much for taking the train to save my feet...

J had called my moral compass an annoyance, and usually I would have strongly disagreed with that sentiment, but sometimes it did me no good. Like now, as I was forced to walk the route back instead of riding two stops. I sighed defeatedly as my hand began to ache. To add to my frustration, I had now bruised my knuckles before I'd even started to enact the first parts of my plan.

Tag List

If I forgot anyone or you want to be removed from the tag list - please let me know! 💕

@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd

@dance-like-a-clown

@furisodespirit

@heath-ledger-jokers-wife

@sunfyrejoker

@lightsabergirl

@clowning--around

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@myassisasolarsystem

Dividers by @strangergraphics ✨️

Link to the Masterlist of other Chapters ⬇️

[wisegirl25]

Okay but imagine Jinx and Vi singing To The Bone with Vi as Papyrus and Jinx as Sans

Little lyric changes here and there and it would be perfect please read them this took ages

PLEASE tell me someone else knows what I'm talking about

The topsider who fell is Caitlyn btw

Vi: Jinx? Jinx! Wake up! Jinx: Well, what is it, dude? Vi: A topsider has fallen from Piltover! Jinx: Really? And you got a bone to pick with her? Vi: No time for puns! Jinx: C'mon, that was a real rib-tickler! (Ay) Vi: Ugh! Enough! Jinx: Alright, here we go again

Vi: Welcome to the underground Jinx: How was the fall? Vi: If you wanna look around Jinx: Give us a call

Vi: We don't see Pilties often Jinx: We're happy you just dropped in Vi: I'll be so popular when I show all the trenchers what I just brought in

Jinx: Hey, Violet, mind your manners Vi: Can it Jinx, no time for banter! Jinx: Excuse my sister, she's a bit eccentric Vi: And you're just crazy and apathetic!

Jinx: Call me what you want, I got thick skin Vi: Another bad joke and I'm finished with her! Vi: We are Zaunites, the awfullest kind! Jinx: To mess with us takes a lot of spine

Jinx and Vi:

We can relate to your determination Because we fissure folk have our motivations Topsiders betrayed us and left us burnin' One day we'll make our way back to the surface

Through all your travels, your sins will follow Your consequences aren't easy to swallow Who's the real monster, now you should know You've cut this story down to the bone

Vi: Really Jinx? (Jinx: What?) Vi: The last line of the chorus is a pun? (Jinx: Yep) Vi: You imbecile! That was very clever! Jinx: Ha! Thanks, sissy

Vi: You're stuck in the underground Jinx: Thanks to the fall Vi: Good luck ever getting out Jinx: Prepare to brawl

Vi: You could show mercy to us Jinx: Or turn all of us to dust Vi: Is your heart full of evil? Jinx: Or full of love?

Vi: I, the great Violence Vi: Challenge you to try getting by us! Jinx: Test the Piltie with one of my puzzles Vi: Brilliant, Jinx! That will leave her befuddled

Vi: I dare you to try a bite of spaghetti Jinx: Smells like the creepy pasta is ready Vi: Stop it Jinx! I'm done with the jokin' Jinx: Sounds like someone's funny bone's broken

Jinx and Vi:

We can relate to your determination Because we trenchers have our motivations

Vi: I am the mastermind, she's my accomplice Jinx: You're only still alive because I made a promise

Jinx and Vi:

You'll lose your mind when you wander for hours You might even decide to start talking to flowers Who's the real monster, now you should know You've cut this story down to the bone

Vi: Someday I'll join the Enforcers Vi: When I catch this Piltie, can it be that hard?

Jinx:

Look, if I'm being honest My sister ain't nothing but harmless I know you, and all that you want You'll get a lot more from Jinx than a curse The deeper you go, the messier it gets If I had it my way, you'd already be dead Kidding, if you couldn't tell I get so bored, I amuse myself

Vi: Down here in the underground Jinx: You're all alone Vi: We wanted to tell you now Jinx: You're kinda boned

Vi: If you survive this prison Jinx: You will know nihilism Vi: Don't mess around with trenchers Jinx: They're scared of tiny children

Vi: You've come far, but soon you'll stumble Vi: When I stump you with some Junior Jumble!

Jinx: Not so sure you'll get her with that Vi: Alas, I'll hit her with my special attack!

Jinx: Dun Dun Dunn

Vi: Leave me alone! Jinx: You know I've got a knack, for the trombone Vi: One more pun, and I'll be done! Jinx: But ain't two skulls better than one?

Jinx and Vi:

We can relate to your determination Because we trenchers have our motivations You know your story's already been told We can play again if you sell your soul

Jinx: I've got my eye on you, so you just watch it Jinx: I'll find any skeletons inside your closet

Jinx and Vi: Who's the real monster, now you should know You've cut this story down to the bone

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER TWELVE: Oh, Chaos!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You have an eventful day at work rekindling with a new acquaintance and dealing with a peculiar trauma case, but the most prominent thing on your mind is dinner with Matt, and you could really use some advice from someone who knows a thing or two about dates to keep you from canceling.

Warnings for this chapter: slight angst, self-hatred/doubt, mentions of past abuse, mentions of injury

Word Count: 5.3k

A/n: I'm sorry this took so long. I took an unexpected hiatus, and I couldn't break out of the writer's block, so this took close to a month to finish. I read this a dozen times, and I fixed what I could. This is rather "boring" compared to what came before and what I've got planned, but there is plot in there that will become important again later down the line. Just so you know what you're getting yourself into in advance. 'Kay, thank you!

Read Chapter 12: Oh, Chaos! here on AO3

Four missed calls, and twenty text messages. The chat is full of one-sided advances. ‘Claire’ is written on top, but her contact resembles an empty void in contrast. 

I don’t know what I did to deserve this radio silence, but I thought you would like to know I asked Matt out again. I like him. We’re having dinner on Friday. Do with that as you will. 

Hope you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere. 

Call me when you can. Please. 

I’m worried about you. 

Love you. 

It has been like this since Matt called you when you least expected it. Whether he was looking for support, professional advice, or just the sound of your voice, you’re not sure, but it warmed your heart to know he thought of you and no one else, and he picked up the phone to call you. 

Before, you tried telling yourself that there isn’t much between you. You tried telling yourself that perhaps, it would never go anywhere and not to be disappointed because from the start, Matt has been too good to be true, but after sharing a glimpse of your past, you feel closer to him, and you don’t want to let him go. He is the first good thing that has come to you in years. 

Claire’s radio silence hurts. You don’t want to admit it, but sending text after text to your best friend and receiving not even a ‘read’ sign both concerns and upsets you. Ever since she took you under her wing when you came to New York, you’ve—sometimes involuntarily—shared your anger with her, your sadness, your pain, and those rare moments of happiness. 

She was the one who told you to go for it, so her behavior remains suspicious. You want to ask her; you want to confront her about everything and get the truth out of her, but unless she answers your contact attempts or shows up to work, there is not much you can do. You tried from the moment you got home to the second leading up to your next shift at the hospital. So far, nothing. A few days ago, you would have called the police and said that this was nothing like Claire, but now, you’re not so sure anymore what to believe, and it is pissing you off when you should be excited.

Things are looking up. You don’t want to look down and ruin this for yourself, knowing there is a chance your thoughts will most likely turn against you again at some point. You have to enjoy it while it lasts. 

Glancing down at your phone, you walk down one of the hallways at Metro General. You shake your head. It’s been hours. Perhaps after you get off work, you will head to where Claire is staying. Just to check on her. The nagging feeling that shit is about to hit the fan won’t leave you, and it seems like the right thing to do, even if just to ask her what her problem is. 

She’s always so quick to tell you what’s good for you. She gives you advice you never even asked for, but you end up appreciating it regardless. She knows what she’s doing, and she is a lot smarter than you are most of the time. You know her as well as you possibly can after two years; Claire is hiding something, and that is unlike her. If she gets herself in danger because of something she feels like she can’t talk to you about, or if she has an opinion afraid to share with you, you need to know because it is important to you. Your mind is disordered and distorted; you are well aware that sometimes, you don’t see things as clearly as you should. Claire’s rationality is a blessing and a curse. You’re dependent on it.

“Hey, Doc,” a familiar voice sounds from the nurse’s station.

You stop in your tracks, looking up from your phone to the man standing across from you. You haven’t seen that face in a while, even though he spends a lot of time here—almost as much as he does at work. You doubt he ever goes home to sleep. 

Your face lights up, and you stuff your phone back into the pocket of your coat. “Ben!” you exclaim, your lips curving into a smile. 

“Long time no see,” he says in an attempt to match your delighted reaction.

You hate to admit it, but Ben Urich looks worse for wear. Dark circles under his eyes match the deepened wrinkles of exhaustion, and his lips are cracked in more places than one. His shirt shows the slightest of coffee stains he tries to cover with his visitor badge. You doubt he has had the time to do his laundry in a long time. And there is that expression of agony he usually knows how to hide, but the walls he once built around himself are starting to crumble. 

The sympathy you have for this man cannot be put into words—because your feelings are unpleasant most of the time, too, and unless you have been in an impossible situation, all you can have is empathy. You, however, are not a stranger to despair, and the people around you all seem to be carrying too much of it, too. 

You clear your throat, putting the file in your hand aside to shake his. “How have you been?” you dare to ask. 

He shrugs. “Could be better, but… I’m alive. Healthy,” he says. It’s a modified standard answer you do not buy for even a second. 

Your eyes soften, but you try to keep the mood light. God knows what he has been through since the last time you saw him on this very floor. “Yeah? That’s good. The Bulletin still giving you a hard time about the things you want to write?” You chuckle. 

“Ah, you know how it is.” Ben leans against the counter. “Readers these days are apparently more interested in celebrity scandals and gentrification than true crime.”

The pen scratches against the chart you have to sign. “Well, just know that you will always have a loyal fan of your true crime section in me, and I would tell that to Eric’s face if you ever need me to.” You offer him a smile of pure honesty, and his eyes actually light up this time. 

He chuckles. “Can I quote you on that?”

“That depends. Am I getting paid?”

“I’m afraid the only form of payment I have is cheap office coffee.”

“You’re in luck then,” you say, “I am a sucker for cheap office coffee because it’s still better than cheap hospital coffee.”

His face contorts. “Yeah, I’m not going to argue with you on that,” he says. 

Again, you chuckle. The question rests on the tip of your tongue, but only when the silence stretches out painfully long enough to prompt a drop of sweat to run down his temple, you ask, “How’s your wife?” No pain or pity in your voice—you know he doesn’t need it. 

Ben swallows in response, scratching his fingers through his hair. “Uh, hanging in there. They told me she’s had a good day today. Lucid,” he tells you. 

“That sounds like progress. You know, with her condition, every good day is a success.”

“Yeah, yeah, I, uh… I agree. But… she’s not the only reason I’m here. Shelly called me here today to, uh, discuss my wife’s future at this hospital…”

The muscles in your shoulders tense and stiffen. You slowly lift your head. “Oh,” is all you can muster up to say. You know where this is going.

“Yeah,” he says. “I tried convincing her to keep her here a little while longer. But apparently, you guys can’t accommodate her much longer, and she wants me to look into hospice or some other form of long-term care.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.”

But what else are you supposed to say? You clear your throat. “I, uh… Shelly’s under a lot of pressure, you know? We’re having funding issues in every department, and she is just trying to make due, but… I know your wife’s been here for a very long time, and she’s dependent on the care. Alzheimer’s can be incredibly cruel, and I’m sure hospice is a lot more expensive than what your insurance covers if she stays here, so it isn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” says Ben. 

“Can I help in any way?” you ask. 

“Well, unless you can win the lottery or find a cure for Alzheimer’s in the next seven days, I’m afraid not.”

“Believe me, people are trying, but—”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “I still appreciate it. You’re one of the few doctors here who still care about the people.”

You shake your head, saying, “It’s not that easy. The system is rigged against us. We’re all aware of it, but some of us just… fall off the wagon because they think the only way through is to become what we hate the most. Selfish, egotistical money-makers always chasing recognition rather than caring about the patients we’re supposed to serve,” you explain. “These new fancy medical centers only those with millions in their bank accounts can afford are where all the funding goes, and those who cater to the underprivileged and uninsured—like us—have to suffer the consequences because we don’t chase after money. I would know; I did my residency at one of those hospitals, and I hated how some of these people treated their patients, so I always tried to use the resources we’ve got to help people, even those who couldn’t afford it. Of course, not all of my fellow residents stayed on that path with me. The more high-risk surgeries, the better the payout, even when unnecessary. Upcoding and needless tests were the standards we were held to. I’ve always hated that. Public hospitals are at the bottom of the food chain, and the patients end up pulling the short straw, but most doctors don’t start with the mindset that it’s just something we have to accept. That lethargy comes with time. And the system.”

“Kind of reminds me of that kook in the black mask,” Ben muses. “With his disbelief in the system and his…his twisted sense of justice.”

You scoff. “Well…”

Your mind flashes back to the other night in that alleyway. The way he interfered when he heard you in trouble. The cockiness he seemed to exceed, but it quickly vanished when he realized you may have risked your life to save someone else’s, but you were not going to leave another person injured. You don’t have a lot of trust in the justice system, but that man seemed… different; like the only way he could believe in justice is when he does something against the persistent injustice that so many turn a blind eye to. 

But it’s not just Hell’s Kitchen, which the Man In Black seems to gracefully ignore. He does what he needs to where he thinks he has to, but it is not just the system in his beloved city that is wired against the people it is supposed to protect and serve. It’s not just the justice system or society overall, it’s the government, too. And you truly believe he knows that, too, he simply does not have the manpower to fight all battles at once. No one has. 

Ben eyes you curiously, up and down. “What, you don’t agree?” he asks. 

You sigh. “I don’t think he has a twisted sense of justice, no.”

“Why? You met him?”

Saying yes would make you an accessory to his crimes. “I’ve heard the same things you have, Ben, and I think he really is trying to change something,” you answer instead. 

You find a sudden determination in his eyes as he leans closer. “You treat his victims, right? You’ve seen what he can do with his bare hands. Taking out entire syndicates that have been bothering Hell’s Kitchen for decades, going up against bad seeds and corporations, and he never backs down,” he says. 

“If you’re trying to say it’s a bad thing…” You trail off. 

“I think it’s a grey area. A fine line.”

“Well, as fine as that line may be, I don’t feel as much empathy for the people he puts in here because I’ve seen what they can do just a few blocks from here,” you state and close the chart in front of you on the counter. “I had to watch lives and families get destroyed. The ones responsible for serving justice either didn’t have the evidence, or they were too late, or the only witnesses died on my table, or—and that happens quite frequently, too—they just didn’t care,” you say. “The times I watched them make arrests, the legal system ended up failing the victims anyway. Now, I’m not saying I condone violence, but this city needs help. Depending on the area, police sometimes don’t even bother to check, and that pisses me off because a lot of the time, tragedies could have been prevented if first responders just got there on time. Or if the perpetrators involved in a crime suffered the consequences for their actions instead of bailing out the same day on a domestic violence charge. I know that the police can't be everywhere at once, but… A lot of people feel safer with this guy out there because they know he tries.”

Ben desperately scribbles along on a small notepad you’re not sure where he got it from. He’s not even wearing a coat. 

“It’s like David and Goliath,” you tell him, too animated to pay closer attention to your surroundings. “It’s a contest wherein a smaller, weaker opponent faces a much bigger and stronger adversary. I just… I don’t know. In this city, there are a lot of metaphorically weak individuals who don’t have the means to fight back against the big guy. Like I said, a system rigged against its people does not help the people live a safe and happy life in a city that makes them feel like all their advances are futile.”

“That’s excellent,” he murmurs.

You glimpse down at his hand, frowning. “It’s just my opinion.”

“There’s nothing ‘just’ about it. I know a lot of people feel the way you do, and yes, that’s fucked up. But that’s why we need people like you to speak up. People with more influence than the little guy. People who serve the people.”

“Ben,” you try to get a word in.

“Hear me out,” he says. “If I can get Eric to sign off on it, I want to write a think piece for the public. About the man in the mask. About Hell’s Kitchen and New York, and the things no one likes to talk about. And I’d like to get you on the record.”

“With all due respect—and I do love the concept—I don’t think interviewing me would be such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Your pulse has inevitably gotten higher. Because if my ex finds out where I am, he’ll kill me. The thought screams like a banshee, echoing like the trajectory of a bouncing basketball. It takes you a moment to realize that the thudding is your heart. Dull, aching, and infused with a panic as old as time. 

You squeeze the pen in your fist, feeling the plastic crack under the weight. “I can’t have my name or face on the record,” you confess. “It’s a, uh… protection thing.”

The most human thing to ask would be, ‘Protection from what?’ You don’t have to read minds to know that those are the words forming on Ben’s lips the second you offer him an explanation that is not quite the truth. It couldn’t be further from it, but your truth is a tank and tanks can take down everything in their path without suffering as much as a scratch. 

You take the stage before he can ask—before you can ride yourself further into this pile of dirt and lies. “I treat people for a living, and my opinions out there… I need to protect myself if someone ever wants to file a lawsuit against me for prejudicial behavior because they could easily use an interview I gave as evidence,” you say. “I could lose my license.” Your license, and your life. 

He releases a strangled breath. “Yeah, no. Of course,” Ben says. “I knew that. But I could always refer to my source as anonymous. Most of the time, people don’t care about who said what anyway. They just want something to talk about.”

You want to scream. The alarm is blaring loud enough for the nerves in your body to hear it. The rage is so hard to swallow. Not at him though. It isn’t Ben’s fault that even now, you have to live your life as if it was never yours to begin with.

“But,” he adds upon seeing the look on your face, like a deer in bright headlights, “unless a certain Man in Black decides to leave another stranded criminal on my doorstep, Eric will never sign off on it. I’m sorry,” the exasperation in his voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. “I didn’t mean to jump this at you. I know you have more…important things to do than worry about an old journalist who knows damn well his best days are behind him.” 

The shake of your head follows in an instant. His confidence lies drowned in the invisible puddle at your feet. “You don’t always have to go with the flow of time,” you tell him. “If you want to write something, you should. People’s tastes change, but there will always be someone out there who wants to read what you have to say.”

Ben smiles at you. “Does that mean you’ll think about my offer?” he asks.

You return the gesture. “When I’ve done my important things, maybe I will.”

And chances are, you will think about it. You will think about it, and then you will cry over a bottle of wine and wish you were never born or that, once again, he killed you when he had the chance. You will wish that you didn’t run, and you will curse John and your entire existence to hell and back because without him, you wouldn’t have to guard your heart like a maximum-security prison, and you wouldn’t have to hide who you are like a secret from Pandora’s box. In the end, though, you know you will have to decide if he doesn’t forget what he offered you—and knowing Ben Urich, when he is allowed to write about what he wants, he won’t forget the sources he tried to recruit along the way. 

You look up suddenly when the sirens start blaring above your head. 

Attention all staff, Code Red, Emergency Department. Code Red, Emergency Department. Trauma team to the Emergency Department immediately.

“That sounds bad,” Ben comments. 

You turn back to him, but before you can open your mouth and excuse yourself from the conversation (and your internal self-hatred party), one of the nurses behind the counter picks up the phone with a knowing nod. A second passes and all color fades from her skin before her features contort. “I’m sorry, what?!” she damn-near screeches.

You frown back at her. “Hey, Evie,” — you snap your fingers — “What’s going on?”

She moves the speaker away from her lips. “Um,” she stammers. “Have you ever seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s 11 am!” you say, your eyes darting between her and the wall as if that would change anything.

Ben cuts in, “That doesn’t mean much in a city that never sleeps,” he says. “People are always crazy ‘round here.”

You scoff. “Apparently! I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta–”

“Yeah, no. I know.” He nods, his eyes softening in an instant. “Go!”

With a grateful nod, you leave your work on the counter and head into a sprint down the hall. 

A life-saving surgery can take up to several hours. There really is no margin for error, so you tune out the noise of the world outside and focus on the chaos you have to control. You focus on what you know and what you have learned because if you don’t, the person you are cutting into with a scalpel could die at your very touch. For those few critical hours, you are nothing but a doctor, but the world doesn’t stop or disappear in real life when you cease to exist; when you come back after those few hours, the world is still falling apart, and you still have to go back home and face the reality you are forced to live in. But how can you think that when people are fighting for their lives every day before your eyes; when you can try as hard as you want to help them, but you fail more often than you do not? Mental scars often out-rule the physical scars of a trauma patient, and whenever you tell them it gets better, you feel like you are lying to them. Because it never gets better, it feels like.

People are dying and falling apart, and so are you, and it hurts that nothing ever seems to change, not even when you try to tell yourself that people are dependent on you and that your world can’t stop again because this is your job; you signed up for this. But you didn’t sign up for this kind of life. You fell in with the wrong person, craving a love like in the fairytales you used to read as a little girl. You missed the feeling of being loved because the people who were supposed to love you died and fell apart, and you were left fantasizing. It’s a downright mess in your head and everywhere around you, and you are continuously stumbling over the broken glass on your floor, falling into the shards and cutting yourself over and over again until you’re bleeding out but never fully dead. 

You spend the next six hours in the operating room, forgetting about Matt and the implications of your dinner. The one you asked him out to. You forget about Ben and his offer, and you think finally, finally, you can breathe. Human anatomy isn’t quite as complicated as this. The one thing you have been worrying most about, the person who has occupied your every waking thought for days now, fades into the shadows for a little while, but then you’re threading the needle through the skin of the man whose life you have saved, and your second to breathe turns into a riot.

Ben’s words return to your conscience; the masked individual he seems most fascinated with moves to the forefront of your fragile mind. He is all over you again, and it sends a thrill down your spine that positively terrifies you; it terrifies you that it doesn’t terrify you. He shouldn’t matter, and you shouldn’t lose another thought to him, but Ben Urich knows how to cast out a net to catch even the most unlikely adversary. 

You redial the last number on your phone. Standing in the emergency room that has grown quiet for the afternoon, you feel the weight of the world sinking back in. The clock keeps ticking closer to the end of your shift and inevitably, dinner. Forgetting is a blessing until you realize that thinking about it would have prepared you more, and now you barely have time. 

You want to cancel. You should cancel. Claire has not been picking up, and you’re worried about her. But she’s an adult, isn’t she? She pushed you into doing this, and then she bailed. A good friend would at least give you a reason for her change of mind. She hasn’t said a word because she refuses to answer, and it’s starting to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“This is Claire. Leave a message,” her voicemail greets you. 

You sigh. “Hey, I don’t know why you refuse to pick up my calls, but I could use your help. I’m, uh, freaking out about this stupid dinner that wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for what you said, so the least you could do is call me back and help me pick a dress, maybe talk me off the ledge,” you say. Your voice cracks. “Please, Claire, call me back.” 

The silence is defeating. You put your phone down, staring at the paperwork before you. You have a lot more of that in your office, but you can’t be bothered to be entirely alone right now. Not when you are fighting a war with yourself inside your head. The one soldier you thought you could count on has retreated from the frontlines. 

You look up when your peripheral vision picks up on movement. “Trouble?” one of the nurses asks, motioning to your face.

“Depends on the definition,” you say.

“Hit me with it. Maybe I can help.”

You couldn’t shut up even if you wanted to. “Well… Do you know anything about proper date attire?” 

She grins, dropping whatever she was holding before to turn her undivided attention to you. “A date?” she asks. “Well, well, Doc. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Oh, just… a guy I met. A good guy.” You smile sadly at the thought of those beautiful brown eyes, and the green forest that he hides in his irises whenever the light hits his beautiful face just right. The wrinkles, the dimples, and the faint freckles on his nose, too. He is so beautiful. 

She leans forward on her elbows on the counter of the nurse’s station. “The good guy who left your number here the other day?” 

You raise your eyebrows, flabbergasted. “Wh—” The blood rushes to your face, and you suddenly feel very warm as you gape at her. “Does everyone here know about that?” you ask, your voice bothered on a high-pitched siren of embarrassment. 

The nurse only smirks. “He is very handsome,” she states. “It’s hard to forget a face like that. And he’s come here twice. One of those times he sat by your bedside. Now, I don’t know about you, but I would marry a guy like that in a heartbeat. Bodies in the basement included.”

You hope he doesn’t have bodies in his basement. What if he does though? What if he is just another bad choice waiting to be made? What then? You can’t imagine it, and the things you’re feeling… you have only felt them in your mind because nothing you had was ever real, but you love feeling them now more than you thought possible. It’s the fact that you love that treacherous feeling so much that you feel like you’re not thinking clearly enough to make rational decisions. But you don’t want to make rational decisions, you’ve realized. Life shouldn’t be about that. You can’t turn the voice in your head off and make it stop screaming at you, but you know how to feel. If you only knew how to channel that without falling apart at the hands of your self-doubts though. If only you knew. 

You run a wary hand over your face. “Okay,” you murmur, closing your chart so you can look at your colleague. “Claire isn’t answering her phone and this date… it’s freaking me out. She said I had to get back out there, but she bailed on me,” you tell her. “I don’t know what to wear or how to behave because the place we’re going to is… fancy? And I don’t even know how to pay for it. I… I don’t know if I should go because the last time I was on a date… let’s just say it didn’t end well. So, if you could just tell me that this is a bad idea and I should take on a second shift instead so I won’t feel bad about lying to him, I would be forever in your debt.”

She shakes her head, not having missed a second of your rambling. “Oh, hell no!” she exclaims. 

You match her incredulity, propping your hands up on your hips. “Excuse me?” you ask.

Her head stops, and the way she stands there reminds you of your English teacher from high school. Tall, brunette, and sassy. “You are not bailing on that date like Claire bailed on you just because you’re experiencing anxiety,” the nurse tells you. She’s insistent. You doubt you will get a word in that isn’t an utterance of agreement. 

“You don’t understand,” you try to convince her, or are you trying to convince yourself? “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Did you miss the part where I said my last date ended in disaster?”

“So what? I’ve had a lot of disastrous dates.”

“That’s not…ugh!” It is your turn to shake your head, looking at the sterile wall as though it were a screen. 

A life built on a lie is not much of a life at all. You have as good a reason as anyone to bail on this date, and it’s not just a disastrous date. You didn’t pick the wrong guy off of Hinge and fall in love with him. What happened to you was different on a level you can’t easily describe, but it also shouldn’t define you; she’s right. Your insecurities are going to be the death of you one day.

“Let me ask you this,” she says. “Do you like him? Or do you just think he’s a really good guy because he was nice to you?”

Your jaw slacks. The Audacity. “I… I think he’s a great guy. Nice. Forthcoming. That’s all,” you answer. It’s not a lie, but it is not the full truth she wanted to hear.

“Uh-huh. I may not be a human polygraph, but I can smell a lie from miles away like a bloodhound. And you, Doctor, are lying and therefore interfering with your treatment.”

“I’m not a patient.”

“Are you though?”

You sigh. You should not have confided in her, but also, perhaps it was the best choice you could have made. 

“I like him,” you confess upon looking into her eyes. “Okay? I like him. He’s not just a good guy. He’s… different, and that’s why I like him.”

She stands up straighter, a newfound energy filling her veins. “That’s more like it. Now, let’s forget the whole ‘canceling and using work as an excuse’ thing. What’s the vibe?” she asks.

The change of subject throws you off for a second. You’re walking on eggshells, fragile train tracks you could fall off and electrocute yourself with if you only take one wrong step. But that doesn’t mean you can’t take risks. 

“Fancy-ish,” you answer. You don’t have any strength left to fight. “I don’t know. It’s dinner.”

“Dinner’s romantic. Put on a silk or velvet dress because those are the fabrics with less risk of becoming a sensory nightmare, possibly some jewelry, but you don’t need much more than that. He’ll fall in love with your personality first. The rest is just… for your confidence and his imagination.”

She looks so proud of herself. You can’t deny that it’s good advice. It’s not the sound of your voice filling a voicemail to the brim or a solely blue chat history; it’s something you can work with. 

You nod slowly. “If I didn’t have mountains of paperwork waiting for me, I would kiss you,” you say.

With a chuckle, she retorts, “Save that for your date.”

“I’m not kissing him.” You grab your pile of work. “It’s just dinner. I don’t even want to kiss him.”

On your way to the elevators, you catch a glimpse of her smirk. She’s not buying it. You don’t want her to. You don’t even trust yourself to tell the truth.

“I don’t,” you say, loud enough for her to hear but mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to kiss him,” you repeat because you don’t.

You don’t want to kiss Matt Murdock.

Except that you do, and you would do anything to make that happen—if your world wasn’t so unfair to begin with. 

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes

[anonym-potato]

Nein Again - 2x12 "Midnight Espionage" + 2x13 "Lost & Found"

You thought I was busy last time? I'm doing two episodes in one to catch up! But I'm sure these episodes will be entirely uneventful and boring, with no long-term plot ramifications. Spoilers ahoy!

2x12:

I rate this Sam Riegel DnD Beyond ad a 4/10 I don't know who told Sam Riegel about F.A.T.A.L but they will pay.

Everyone roasting Travis for picking up his wife's dice superstitions/habits makes me smile.

The fact Laura can actually copy people's handwriting gives me a few questions.

Is Marion's wall safe behind a giant nude painting of her or something?

Fjord what in the dear sweet abyss is a "Dark Physician"? Did the orphanage send you to an evil doctor?

I wanna play a oneshot where everyone's a Level 1 Bard with ball bearings.

I do love that Caleb is now a measure of filthiness (something Americans something something Metric system)

I don't have anything to say about the Hospital Incident. I think it speaks for itself.

Getting in a pillow fight with a Tiefling sounds like a great way to rip open some pillows.

The sausage grease trick is very smart but also makes me wonder if someone's written a fic of the whole campaign from Frumpkin's POV. I'd read that.

Honestly bless Ulog for going along with this comedian bit.

"Why does it feel like you roll crappier when you're lower level?" It's this thing called Lower Proficiency Bonus.

Nott is so bad at being a Rogue at first. Thank you Matt for giving them another.

I think Travis snuck a Fnaf reference in there under his breath.

Okay but unironically Jester would've watch The Neverending Story like 50 times.

"Ulog is a little girl" and Dariax was born.

Here at Critical Role, we always support commiting to the bit when your character is paralyzed by holding a strange position for way too long.

HIGH PRESSURE WEIRD SHIT REPORT: Caleb has stolen a Sending Stone from Lord Sutan's home.

"Everyone thinks that Matt is managing three storylines right now, but there's actually a fourth that we don't even know about." Presented without comment.

The fact that the High Richter has forbidden smut is so funny.

Shout out to Fjord holding Caleb at swordpoint can't wait for it to be even gayer in the cartoon.

Oh the delightful irony of Caleb getting blown up by an anti-Imperial revolutionary.

2x13:

I rate this Sam Riegel DnD Beyond ad a 5/10 since I don't like Chicago.

Darkness is such a surprisingly meh spell. Unless you have Devil's Sight it's good for covering an escape and basically nothing else.

Oh yeah Nott is proficient in Persuasion I always forget that.

Echo Knights are so creepy at first, kudos to Matt for that.

Poor Travis is trying to hard to keep track of all the dangerous things on this man.

I'm surprised Molly didn't make any 'sailors and knots' jokes about Fjord right now.

Caleb has known these people for a week and he's already whipping his dick out we should've known he was a Whore.

Matt has already given up on getting these people to not say "Insight Check".

"Maybe you should stare at it some moooooore" Remember gang Jester has no bad ideas.

People have memed before about the Nein's improvised plan to steal the Beacon in the middle of the crowd being so much better than the heist they were just agonizing over. And my conclusion is that this means the Nein need a jazz soundtrack. Because that's how jazz works. I think.

The irony of Beau, noted kung fu/library school dropout, potentially telling someone to stay in school.

Oremid Haas totally keeps a bowl of lollipops in his office.

Also it's hilarious how fast they got obsessed with Pumat Sol they've visited him like every episode since they met him.

Marisha's little giggle when Nott calls Beau "the grumpy one" makes me smile.

Poor Claudia is just trying to lay low after her former countrymen perpetuate a terrorist attack.

"...Who are that?" Greatest delivery of the episode.

Lauren is Also Claudia isn't she

And Yorick is the best accent Caleb will ever do.

I love how Molly's argument here is clearly Circus Rules even before he says it.

Also him telling Nott she's not nearly as smart as she thinks she is is maaaaad projection on his part.

The exploding scroll case is so funny to me for no reason. RIP Schmidt we thank you for your service.

Does. Does Nott think Caleb wants to edubate with the Beacon.

Travis is so happy someone else is getting suspicious magical dreams.

I do wonder if they'll adapt Caleb's Beacon dream for the cartoon in some capacity. It's some juicy foreshadowing.

Oh yeah the one lady from the KoR works for the Gentleman. I know that one gag from Crit Recap Animated is a gag but also Matthew. You put in like seven hooks to get them in with the Gentleman. Which is understandable in hindsight but still hilarious.

"We should write Tusk Love and sell it on the store" Well YOU won't write it Sam.

Laura having an actual stress dream of Pumat betraying them is insane.

And today, Beau discovered she has an electricity kink, which considering who she marries is probably a good thing.

"Tenser's Floating Disk Pitch" is such a great little aside from Liam.

Beau trying so hard to smile is such a mood.

The Evening Nip has impeccably Sus Vibes.

And of course Cree's introduction is amazing.

COMPREHENSIVE EPISODE WEIRD-SHIT REPORT: The Nein have stolen the late Thuron's Waste Hunter Blade (which Molly is holding for Yasha) and Boots of The Vigilant (which are Beau's now). They have purchased an extremely non-magical but very relevant lead lined box from Pumat Sol, and Nott has also commissioned them to make a flask of neverending alcohol. Lord Sutan's Sending Stone is now being kept in Jester's Haversack. Also, they've stolen a weird magical 12-sided artifact, which Jester is also keeping in the Haversack in that lead-lined box. Wonder if that's important.

In conclusion: I am very tired.

[mrpenguinpants]

Telling genshin boys about Orpheus and Eurydice and asking them if they’d look back

My Faint Magnolia

— He wonders how many times he's heard you tell this story, and how many more he'll force you to recite.

— Dottore / Zandik

White magnolia flowers symbolize purity and perfection. [Masterlist]

I read one Wiki page so don't yell at me if I got anything wrong. Tbh, I don't really like how this fic turned out but it's been sitting in my drafts for years.

"The musician and prophet Orpheus fell in love with the beautiful Eurydice, only for her to die shortly after. Thus, he journeyed into the Underworld to plead with Hades to bring his beloved back. His wish was granted - but on the condition that he must not look back at Eurydice until they were both back in the land of the living. But Orpheus couldn't resist one glance, and Eurydice was lost to him forever."

"Fascinating. The seventh retelling adds to the suspense."

"Boo, you're no fun. Minus ten points," he hears you whine. The sounds of a book being tossed carelessly aside as ink-stained papers filled with formulas slide forward and brush against the sleeves of his arm. All are pushed away to allow you to sprawl your upper body over the desk so you can mope and continue to avoid doing any actual work. He can feel your gaze on him, patiently waiting for him to look up from his notes and give you attention, yet he continues to write making you huff in annoyance.

You're both supposed to be working on your assignments, so he has excellent reason to keep ignoring you to focus on his work. If anything, he should be annoyed at you, and he is, but it's a testament to how much he's come to tolerate you that he doesn't immediately get up and leave. Or deal with you in another, less unsavory way. Instead, he flips back through the pages of his notebook. A list of collected components of spare parts of a vast machine and smaller notes of their possible working principles and manufacturing processes. Diagrams and sketches of their possible construction and engines filled with footnotes and annotations. Not all of them are in his writing. He wouldn't dare use that atrocious shade of yellow that you seem to love so much.

"Can't we do anything else? I'm bored out of my minddd," you stretch the words out, effectively cutting his concentration in half with nothing but the sound of your voice. He can feel his eye twitch and his pencil's wood creaking from the pressure he's slowly exerting onto it. Your voice is muffled, which means you haven't picked yourself off the table yet, probably hunched over with your cheek against the table that will take another hour for you to pry yourself back up again. He can't wait for his future headache with your complaints about back problems, even though you're killing your own spine and his head. The sound of a pencil rolling back and forth fills the silence, and that's the last of his patience. He slams his notebook down, the pencil bouncing and dropping onto the floor, and the clattering of wood causes his frown to etch deeper. He re-opens his notebook to the page of the Khaenri'ahn machines found in Devantaka Mountain. There's an annoying doodle of a Ruin Hunter in the corner mocking him right back.

"Work."

His clipped voice has you quiet down. It's a good thing you have some sense of preservation and know that even though he indulges you frequently, there are only so many distractions he will let slip through. But the resounding sound of a chair scraping against the floor, papers being shuffled, and your footsteps tell him you're equally frustrated. He thinks he hears you mutter "rigid oaf" under your breath as your footsteps grow fainter. The silence should put him at ease, but it only serves to irate him further since you're the one who's causing him trouble when he just wants to work in peace and quiet. The worst thing about this situation is that he knows you'll refuse to talk to him unless he apologizes first for something he hasn't done wrong. But alas.

He lets out a deep sigh that sounds twice his age. Puspa Café should still be open at this time. If he leaves now, he can still catch up to you. With a sweep of the arm, he quickly gathers his papers haphazardly but still slides them into their rightful places between the meticulous sections of his notebook.

"Would you look back?"

He pauses when your voice sounds behind him unexpectedly. You sound a mixture of cheeky and skeptical, but the drumming of your fingertips against the back of his chair tells him that you are genuinely curious about his response. Maybe even a bit nervous to ask him such a ridiculous question too.

"The fatal flaw of Orpheus is he never stopped to consider the psychological cost of Hade's offer. To think "Do not look back" is an impossible sentence to think without simultaneously speaking the opposite. Every time you repeat, "I must not look back," you are forced to say: "Look back." But that is the weakness of the human mind," is the answer he supplies. He thumbs at the edges of his notebook, worn from all the years he's opened it but still in pristine condition. He doesn't like his things to be dirty. It makes his skin crawl.

"What? Are you above the human mind now? So you wouldn't be tempted at all?" you say with a hint of dumbfoundedness. He's sure you think that he won't give you an actual answer.

"No."

His answer is short but firm. He won't look back. He won't be Orpheus and lose his Eurydice so easily to temptation. His finger moves and tips the cover open, papers flipping until they stop in the middle of the book. Frantic scribbles of ink of his research on the rare disease of Elezar. He thumbs the page's corner until it creases.

"Hey, look at me."

The next page is on segments.

"Why won't you look at me."

The final page is on dreams.

""Please look at me Zandik."

He closes the notebook.

"I thought Orpheus couldn't hear Eurdicye."

He hears you laugh at his unempathetic reply. It's a hallow imitation. Then silence. It always ends like this. His mind dangling what he needs most only to take it away, making him question if you are even still there behind him. Just one look. Just one look to confirm what's behind him but he won't. He won't be a fool like Orpheus. Not until he's finished. So he does what he always has, removes any option he hates, and creates his own means.

+

He blinks awake slowly. The white ceiling of his laboratory stares at him back and the first thing his mind registers is that it's cold. His hand automatically moves to his side only to meet air. That's right, you're not here anymore. You haven't been here for years. The manifestation of the withering caused dark hardened scales to grow across your limbs. Slowly numbing the affected areas until you couldn't walk anymore, which progressed into fatigue and progressive nerve damage. Your last days were spent asleep in a coma surrounded by as many Nilotpala Lotuses as he could find. He closes his eyes again, but the sound of the heavy steel door grates against his nerves before he has the time to truly relax.

"You know you'll never succeed. You know why. Even if this one doesn't die, it won't be the same."

The voice isn't right. Another failure.

Dottore lifts his head to see your segment standing in front of him. That's correct. He can already see the beginnings of scales on the segment's arms. It's funny. He is capable of creating physical carbon copy segments of himself from different stages of his life and yet you, the outlier, it's never the same. A body is made, and a piece of his memories of you acts as the brain, but it's never the same. He knows why. It's because his memories of you are dying. His dreams are getting shorter, and fuzzier around the edges. He used to dream of seeing you, holding you, and he knows the next time he dreams of you, he may not hear your voice anymore. His own segment thoughts echo in his mind. Don't you think this is a waste of materials and time? It's time to give up. They don't understand, they can't dream.

He won't look back because he knows that as soon as he does, he will never dream of you again. Even if the next dream takes away your voice, the next takes away your presence, until he's left with a void of nothing. Even then, he won't look back. He has only dreamed of you every single night, regardless of anything. These are the only things he has left of you. Everything else was taken, stolen, or burnt. He isn't sure if the person he's constantly dreaming of now is actually you or a figment of his imagination that's begging to be free. But he won't let you go.

My doleful aria, tell me that story again tonight.

[zanysmurf]

what's your opinion abt the reboot homegirl??

this is going to be a very boring answer. at least for the time being. so basically i watched the first ten episodes in french before it came out in the us. no subtitles so i was just following along. then i didn't check it out again until last year. i kind of want to pick random english dub eps back up when i'm bored but the ones i watched from s1 were. fine? i've seen some jokey episodes because his character is fun and shitty. i like brainy. he has one of the few voices in the english dub that weren't at all offputting to me so far. the character animation can be fun. smurfs in disguise is awful but i already knew that and i'm not going to watch in english. don't have a lot of opinions really.

maybe this is premature given how much i've seen but it's like. too fast-paced at points. as slow as smurfs 1981 can be for some, it usually does not have that problem. their goal in the pitch bible was to aim for the 5-10 year old demographic with "enough self-aware humor that adults can giggle too", but. idk it kind of makes me feel old. i've laughed at a few things dgmw but smurfs 1981 didn't necessarily need self-aware humor to make me laugh.

as a reboot its goal is obviously "What if we did a cartoon but right this time" as in, way more in-line with the comics or peyo's original vision sans the smurfy grove girls existing. to get the elephant out of the room, i am not really a fan of the comics. i may read them for certain plots and characters if i'm curious. this doesn't mean i can't like ntob, i'm just bringing it up anyway for the sake of perspective

80s smurfs is kind of in its own secluded box. it was very popular internationally and still makes a lot of money i'm sure— by 'secluded', i mean aesthetically, writing-wise, etc. it was something that got messy and frustrating behind the scenes very quickly, largely due to it being a western production. the creative differences could've probably went on forever. peyo and co.'s later comic adaptions (the baby smurf, the smurflings, few stories in schtroumpf magazine etc.) failed to capture what made the hb cartoon work because at the end of the day it was something else and peyo loathed it. smurfs 2021 doesn't have the western problem and i in no way view it as hb smurfs adjacent because nearly nothing about it is relevant aside from the la la song, the use of "my little smurfs", clumsy being prominent in the first season, w/e else.

similar to the la movies and stlv, it's like. frankensteined from cartoon and comic canon. the models and the girls are based on lost village (note that in every modern movie clumsy's design was based on 1981's), but the english dub is doing its own thing entirely. character relationships are either new or taken straight from the comics. despite the bible being like "woah look who's back on tv" there's no denying it's going in its own direction as much as possible, hence 'a new touch of blue' being its tagline before it came out. it's not aiming to bank on the nostalgia of 80s adults or anyone who just happens to prefer the old cartoon, so comparing the two one to one as "Smurfs 1981.... 2!!!" feels. Wrong. stressful, even. i haven't seen anything from season 2 but i've heard it's even more like the comics and that again was the main goal from the beginning. season 3 is going to start airing in the us later this month and i haven't heard much about that as i wrote the bulk of this answer last year (sorry)

the only time i tend to compare the two is when i see an episode synopsis and go "oh smurfs 1981 did this". the "wild faking a sprain" episode for instance. it's an observation. the 80s show went on for nearly ten years and these are 40 years apart. if they want to re-do plots or mix and match elements from it, it's Fine. it's hard to do a completely original plot even with a more comic-based modern portrayal of these characters.

one thing I will say is i wish characters that were near exclusive to the 1981 canon got more of a chance in the comics and the new show. i was very excited when the pitch bible was shared and baby was revealed to be a part of the cast. after going several movies without him he finally came back in something watchable. he's the only one to truly survive the post-hb years. puppy or the smurflings? grandpa? nanny??? when was the last time you saw them in the comics? forever ago. i've assumed this is an attempt to focus on the more iconic characters or to respect peyo all these years later, but the fact of the matter is those characters outlived him and had potential. as a side note i actually really wish scruple had made the transition from cartoon to comics but that never happened. they added a niece and nephew for gargamel in the new cartoon and it's like. ok whatever as far as i'm aware i do not care about this

the thing is i've already come to terms that i might not like ntob as much as i hoped i would when it was first announced and the pitch bible looked promising. i feel like i exhausted any possible complaints back then (ie. wishing interesting/complex elements from smurfs 1981 weren't ignored in favor of 'complex' stuff i find much less interesting) or any gripes i may have had with stlv.

[cubesandblobs]

eleceed review (minor spoilers but nothing too important)

I've stopped at around 290. I'm going to let the episodes accumulate a bit because I finish them in minutes even though it probably takes forever for them to draw

Anyway: yes, highly recommend if you're into anything found family or if you just like cool fights with fancy powers. or both. or if you like cats and would read anything cat.

going to start with the characters:

Jiwoo is just a nice guy. honestly a few years ago i would have called him boring but the landscape right now is saturated with male main characters who're just...cynical menaces to society with a good heart buried under 50 layers of irony so like...jiwoo's a good change of pace.

i really liked most of the relationships. jiwoo's father figures (a rapidly growing list) are very wholesome. his trio of stray cats are really really cute.

Jiwoo's best friends don't really get as much development as I would've liked (they get isolated arcs but outside of that they don't add much thematically). So you're just watching them chilling with jiwoo. and petting cats. and eating. which is pretty wholesome tbh so i don't mind

Honestly just don't expect too much deep thematic stuff. There is some but you should be there for the cats and people and cool fights and wholesome bonding sessions or else idk if you'll get the full experience

speaking of relationships, one big thing i disliked was jiyoung/jiwoo just cos jiyoung is such a big sister figure to all of them so it feels really weird for them to be dating. Like they don't seem to be on the same level of maturity and experience: jiyoung is the leader of a major organisation and constantly handles shit whereas jiwoo (while certainly getting a lot of exposure) ultimately has the vibe of a high schooler (also: he is a high schooler).

another criticism i have is that side characters come and go way too easily. doesn't matter if they have the potential for a good arc, or got their last one ended on an unsatisfactory note. it's a coin flip whether they'll show up ever again let alone get anything substantial to do. really makes it hard to get attached to any of them even tho the writers create plenty of really interesting people.

powers:

definitely the strong point of the series. webtoon artists in general really know what they're doing when it comes to pretty flashy fights and eleceed exemplifies that. the effects are gorgeous. (so are the cats but let's not get sidetracked)

i appreciate that for an overpowered character, jiwoo gets a lot of narrative explanation of why he ended up this way: kayden is basically specialised at picking fights with powerful people and trained jiwoo to be optimised in using his powers. he also collects mentors with ease in a world where people kept their knowledge close to their chest, etc.

also all of his power ups are something that ppl can logically achieve with high speed. i like that he's not just collecting random powers like pokemons. let him work with what he has!

cons: jiwoo powers up way way way too fast. nothing logically wrong with that (as in: i get why he's learning fast) but it just puts the side characters in a very weird spot cos jiwoo is like zooming up the power hierarchy and leaving ppl we just got introduced to behind. like the kids at the international academy where a big deal but one arc later they're nothing compared to what jiwoo's pulling.

[nefertiti-wright]

A Story between The Librairian and The Thief

Chapter 6

At the sound of her waking alarm, (Y/N) let out a heavy growl. If there was one thing she hated with every fiber of her being, it was waking up.

"Good thing I love my job," she muttered to herself as she got out of bed.

he headed to the kitchen, where she found her cat, Sunny, sitting beside his bowl of kibble, impatiently waiting for breakfast.

"You're really greedy, aren't you?" she sighed at her four-legged companion.

After finishing her own breakfast, she headed to the bathroom. Settling under the warm stream of the shower, she let her thoughts drift back to the conversation she'd had with Chrollo in the park the day before.

Had she gone too far with what she'd said? After all, she was just a stranger in Chrollo ’s life. They had only known each other for a week, and yet she’d asked him to be sincere with her.

"What a stupid girl I am," she growled.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and got dressed.

After tidying up a few things, she left the appartement, her cat trotting alongside her on the way to the bookshop.

She couldn’t help but think she had probably made Chrollo uncomfortable… and that he’d never set foot in her bookshop again.

The thought made her chest tighten.

Chrollo was the only person with whom she truly shared her passions, the only one who listened to her ramblings without finding her boring or cheesy. He was also incredibly intelligent, and their conversations were always filled with something new and exciting.

She felt good in his presence. And the thought of never seeing him again... terrified her.

She desperately wanted him to stay. To talk with him about the latest books he had read and loved. To dive into topics no one else ever thought to explore. To debate philosophical questions, and to hear him laugh, even when her jokes weren’t funny.

She wanted to discover Chrollo in all his complexity, not just the polite man with the calm gaze and impeccable clothes, but the man beneath the masks.

“You like him, don't you?” Haley’s words suddenly echoed in her mind.

She shook her head sharply, trying to shake off her friend’s words.

No, she couldn’t love Chrollo. Not like that. She had only just met him.

What she felt was a connection… a kind of complicity, maybe. Nothing more than that. Or at least, that’s what she was trying to believe.

When she arrived at the shop, she settled Sunny comfortably on her desk, as usual, before heading to the back to dust the shelves.

She cleaned each item with care, moving slowly and patiently. When she reached the next shelf, she let out a heavy sigh, it was a particularly tedious and meticulous task.

But deep down, she didn’t really mind.As usual, she took her time inspecting each object, amusing herself by guessing its value, its origin, and above all… its history.

She imagined the hands that had held it, the lives it had touched. This was her favorite part of cleaning. Even though she often indulged in this little ritual, it always brought her a strange, almost soothing sense of satisfaction, as if, through these objects, she were traveling just a little.

She froze when her eyes landed on a strange, damaged golden relic. Drawn to it, she picked it up and turned it over in her hands, intrigued by the worn, timeworn details etched into its surface.

"This relic represents the hidden location of Majan’s treasure, doesn’t it?"

The sudden voice behind her made her jump.

"Jesus Christ, Chrollo ! You’re going to give me a heart attack, one day!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest.

Chrollo laughed, clearly amused.

"I'm sorry. So, did I get it right?" he asked, nodding toward the object with a slight tilt of his head.

"Not really. It’s just a loose interpretation of Majan’s story. Honestly, it’s not even a real relic," she replied, carefully placing the item back on the shelf.

Then she turned around… and froze.

Chrollo was standing right behind her, so close their noses nearly touched. Her heart skipped a beat. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, burning, uncontrollable. And suddenly, like a wave crashing through her thoughts, Haley’s words echoed again “You like him, don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to speak, desperate to break the silence, to say something. But the words died on her lips when she met Chrollo’s gaze.

Burning. Piercing. Unreadable.

His dark grey eyes seemed to pierce straight into her soul. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she was sure he could hear it. Sensing the tension thickening, almost suffocating, she abruptly turned her face away.

Then, in a slightly nervous voice, she asked, “So… you know the story of Majan?”

"For God’s sake, why am I stuttering? He’s going to think I’m such weirdo! "she thought, irritated by her own confusion.

But Chrollo didn’t seem to mind at all.In a calm tone, he replied, "Yes, I’ve heard of it. They say Majan was a pirate as cunning as he was feared, and that he hid his treasure on a forgotten island, one wiped from all maps. An island that can only be reached through a special power."

He paused, his gaze still fixed on her. "Some say the treasure isn’t made of gold… but of something far more precious. A truth. An ancient artifact. No one really knows.That mystery, that possibility, is what makes it so fascinating, don’t you think?".

Stunned, (Y/N) shook her head and let out a small huff. “Wow… I didn’t expect you to know so much. You’re a real scholar.”

Chrollo couldn’t help but laugh at her words. “I’m flattered. But I could say the same about you. Your bookshop is a true sanctuary of discovery.”

(Y/N) smiled softly. "I’ve always loved pirate stories," she said with a spark in her eyes. "So the legend of Majan really fascinates me."

She continued, more animated now, "Some versions even say he used magic, not just to hide his treasure, but to defeat his enemies too."

“Magic, huh?” Chrollo repeated softly, his gaze drifting into the distance, as if momentarily lost in thought.

"Could it be… that Majan was a Nen user?" he mused silently.

(Y/N) broke the silence with a small shrug. “Well… no one’s ever been able to prove it. Or witness it with their own eyes, really.”

Chrollo stared at her for a moment, then suddenly asked, his voice lower, more serious, “And you? What do you think?”

Caught off guard, she hesitated before answering. “Well… I think the treasure exists. But personally… I wouldn’t want anyone to find it.”

She looked up at him.

Chrollo tilted his head slightly.“Why?”

(Y/N) drew in a slow, steady breath. “I think the treasure meant something deeply personal to Majan. Why else would he go to such lengths to hide it? If it was just to feed his ego or his greed… that would be pointless. No, I think it was something more. Something that mattered to him.”

Chrollo absorbed her words in silence, letting each one sink in slowly. Then, a faint smile curled at the corner of his lips. "I didn’t expect such a perspective… but thank you for sharing it. I, too, believe the treasure he protected held a meaning far greater than gold or riches."

His gaze lingered on her for a moment, soft, almost tender. "And I intend to find out why," he thought, a mischievous gleam flickering in his eye.

He glanced at his watch, then said with calm courtesy, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. It was a real pleasure talking with you.”

He turned and began walking quietly toward the door, but (Y/N)’s voice stopped him in his tracks.“Chrollo, wait!”

He stopped and turned around, surprised, his eyes quietly searching hers. (Y/N) took a deep breath before speaking, her voice a little unsteady. “About yesterday… I just wanted to apologize again. I think I might’ve been a bit too direct. Maybe I said things that made you uncomfortable, and that really wasn’t what I meant to do.”

She paused, her eyes locked on his, refusing this time, to look away.“ It’s true that we barely know each other, and I’d understand if you wanted to keep your distance. But… I really enjoy spending time with you. Your conversations are different. Refreshing.”

A small smile tried to form, but her voice remained steady. “I do have friends, of course… but with you, it’s… something else.” She drew one final breath. “So… I’d like us to be friends. For real.”

She fell silent, heart pounding, watching closely for the slightest flicker of expression on the grey eyed man’s face.

Chrollo stepped forward slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, unusually soft, almost tender. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. On the contrary…I’m grateful that you’re interested in what I have to say. And as you said earlier… it’s refreshing.”

At his words, (Y/N) felt warmth rise to her cheeks, but a wide smile spread across her face. “So let’s be friends, Chrollo !” she said brightly, holding out her hand with cheerful determination.

Chrollo stared at it, momentarily taken aback. His eyes widened slightly, as if the simple, honest gesture had caught him off guard.

Then, slowly, a small smile curved his lips, and he took her hand, with a lightness that felt almost symbolic.“Let’s be friends, (Y/N).”

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