#just because it fits in the document envelope does not mean it's a document!!!!!

[malomaximus]

A fidget spinner is not a document!!!!!!!

It is entirely too early for this shit.

[castielscaplan]

To Make the Devil Behave (Crowley)

Summary: You needed to find a way to release your brother from the grips of the mafia lord himself.

Warnings: angst, a devils bargain

WC: 583

Read on ao3!

--

The chandelier in the centre of the grand dining hall cast a golden glow over the polished marble floors. You adjusted your gloves nervously, the faint hum of the gathered guests doing little to settle your nerves. You weren’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t your world—this was his.

And yet, here you were, standing on the devil’s doorstep.

“Darling, if you keep fidgeting like that, someone might think you’re nervous.”

The smooth, unmistakable voice sent a shiver down your spine. You turned slowly, and there he was, Crowley.

Dressed in a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin, he exuded power and danger in equal measure. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he offered you a glass of wine, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he continued, taking a sip from his own glass.

You lifted your chin, refusing to let him see the crack in your armour. “You left me no choice.”

“Ah, yes.” Crowley gestured to a table in the corner, away from the prying eyes of his associates. “Let’s discuss this little… misunderstanding.”

The way he said it as if holding your brother’s life over your head was a minor inconvenience, made your blood boil. But you followed him, your heels clicking against the floor as you moved to the secluded spot.

Once seated, he leaned back in his chair, entirely at ease. “So, what is it you propose, darling? A trade? A plea? Or perhaps something more… creative?”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m here to make a deal.”

Crowley chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Of course you are. But the question is—what do you have that I could possibly want?”

You reached into your clutch and pulled out a slim envelope, sliding it across the table. He raised an eyebrow, taking it with a languid movement. As he opened it, his expression shifted, the smirk faltering for just a moment.

“Well, well.” He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

The envelope contained incriminating photos and documents, evidence that could unravel parts of his empire. It was a dangerous gambit, but it was all you had.

“You let my brother go,” you said, your voice steady despite the hammering of your heart, “and this stays between us.”

For a moment, Crowley was silent, studying you like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, slowly, he set the envelope down and steepled his fingers.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, his tone almost admiring. “But you’ve made one critical mistake.”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting. “What mistake?”

Crowley leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You think you can make the devil behave.”

The air between you crackled with tension. But then, to your surprise, he leaned back, a grin spreading across his face.

“Lucky for you, I find that kind of audacity… intriguing.”

“What does that mean?” you asked warily.

“It means,” Crowley said, standing and buttoning his jacket, “I’ll release your brother. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. But don’t think this means you’re off my radar, darling. You’ve caught my attention now, and that’s not something easily undone.”

As he walked away, leaving the envelope untouched on the table, you exhaled shakily, unsure whether you’d won or simply delayed the inevitable.

Because making the devil behave was one thing. But keeping him interested? That was a game you weren’t sure you could win.

--

this is your kind reminder that reblogs give me life.

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Revisiting Staff Only after Updates

I'm trying to establish who has written all of the notes around Staff Only, and what that means for the story. 

We seem to have 5 options on who could have written the notes: 

WHRP/W 

QA 

QA’s Staff 

Wally 

Other neighbors 

QA seems to have written the notes about the pranks and the notes around telling coworkers to stop messing with stuff.   

The it must be a prank journal entry 

Notes that say “do not write in this book” about the WHRP notebook and their own 

The blacklight notes—I think the all caps is for sure QA, but I'm not sure on all of the notes. 

Lowercase blacklight notes:

This is an interview with questions between QA and the WHRP, but I’m not sure that I could determine for certain which is which.  This email says March 13, and is from the QA to WHRP.  Top line is from and the next is to (checked my email just to be sure).  However, if it were a response, the only way to be certain from just the top of this document--we’d need to see the title.  If it is a response, it should have “Re:” at the beginning.  It is common for a list of questions like this for someone to hit “respond” and then answer the questions beneath each question, for simplicity and clarity.  The use of italics on the question and regular on the answer is a common thing to do, separating the question from the response.   

But if this were WHRP’s response, you’d expect to see WHRP on the top and then QA on the bottom.  Generally, even if it is a response, it is going to have the most recent one on top.  Based on the answers, though, I would guess that WHRP is answering here, because the question specifically asks “how you found one of these pieces” and we know that QA did not “find” any of the original pieces.  Neither did W technically, but QA wouldn’t know that. 

Using this logic, we have an email response from WHRP to QA, which is then printed.  There is no fold to the email like it was mailed, and why would you mail an email response?  This means the only way that this hidden message was added would be at the Playfellow Exhibition space.  So the thing that makes the most sense, given the answer, is that QA is answering their own question in the invisible ink, a staff member wrote it, or Wally  or another neighbor wrote it. 

Wally feels less likely.  We have no indication that Wally is affected by the black stuff.  We do see fingerpainting like marks in the red journal, so maybe indicating that Wally can get covered in it.  Taking Wally as the writer off the table for now, I would assume there are two possibilities: 

1) QA is writing most or all of these messages without realizing it/under power/automatic writing 

2)  Someone on the staff is writing these messages 

I could be going about this all wrong, given that the hidden text reads like the hidden text on the website, “but it hurts” and “the numbers are so hard to read sometimes I can’t see them.”  Also, “When I unwrapped the first letter, I felt it. I heard it. Open. Open. Open .” This text is “everything is so disgusting to touch.  Sometimes the mail doesn’t come for days. I want to rip into everything that I have. My head feels so muddled too.  Ever since I opened that envelope.”  This fits either WHRP or QA, but we are working under the assumption that WHRP could not have physically written the hidden message. QA does mention in an email how quickly they have received the materials, so it stands to reason that WHRP is the more likely author, but the physical reality is still a problem.

So what about the opposite (QA wrote the secret notes on the website)? We know that the QA has access to alter the website, based on Staff Only.   W is very clear that QA did that and questions what happened to make them go crazy. When did WHRP announce the QA?   

3/21/23--QA is announced on the home page “website updates” box (Not there on Jan of 2023) 

July 2022-January 2023, there is only a webpage, the neighborhood, and the guestbook.  So the first instance of the QA mentioned is as we start to see secret messages pop up (the hidden text, not the guestbook drawings, which pre-date QA’s mention), since the page didn’t exist before.  Potentially, QA could have been writing the secret messages on the website from the beginning. (Who is responsible for the letters shifted out of place?)  

Basically from the beginning of the About Us page, QA had access.  On some level, I guess we could assume it was either or both of them, as they are writing the same kind of thing.  Brightly colored envelopes, dizziness and headaches, a building obsession with the material—it kind of doesn’t matter.  The only big material difference is that QA seems to have cracked up by documenting all of the supernatural stuff taking place, while W has become a completely obsessed shut-in on the verge of losing their sight and later turns to documenting the supernatural stuff.  (Could this be related to the blacklight?) 

If I’m going to take it more narratively, and less logically, given the timing and things, I would assume that the “I am so sorry” is either W or QA feeling bad for the people that they have exposed to this ick, while knowing that it was dangerous.  We’ve had WHRP suggesting that this isn’t harmful, but I think that is just willful ignorance on their part.  They knew enough to warn QA, so they know it is bad.  Plus, we see them wearing the gloves with the Joy bottle and with the early image of Julie’s siblings.  And then they drank right out of the bottle, so way to go W.  I think that QA has insisted on the gloves, as is seen in the note on the table: 

They stress the importance of wearing the gloves, “call me if we run out!!!” Plus, we have a used glove on the table covered in black stuff. But they very obviously have ignored the instruction to send back stuff covered in the black, as it is all over the walls and floor, with tendril-like black things around the table. (oh! I have always thought that those tendrils looked like yarn and assumed it was an issue of access to different materials, but given our black flower appears to be made partially of yarn, I wonder if this is more purposeful?)  I’d still like to come back to explore the whole paint roller/paint situation in the staff room. 

The writing in journals that QA is referring to when leaving the passive aggressive notes: 

The House that Home, I think.  Then You You.  Of course, black streaks in the book as well.  They look like fingers. 

With this example, I’d definitely think this is Wally or someone possessed by Wally.  Since we don’t even really know if there are more than QA on the exhibit team, we can’t rule out automatic writing/possession by Wally.  If it is Wally, I would assume this was Wally trying to reach WHRP, unless it wasn’t there when QA first got it.  I think it would be safe to consider anything done in crayon to be Wally. 

I’m just confusing myself more as we go.  Things we can establish through QA’s notes: 

Condition of the book:  W’s journal appears to be written in by someone other than the original author.  We can guess that QA’s notes mean that they at least believe that those weren’t there when the book arrived 

Don’t write in my journal:  Written by QA for sure.  We have no proof of anyone writing in their journal, but it could be labeling everything that they shouldn’t do, because their staff appears to be rebelling—at least in QA’s mind. 

I am going to assume there is a staff.  We don’t have any indicators that this isn’t true, and QA writing notes to an imaginary staff seems a bit out of the expected. 

The questions in the email are answered by WHRP.  This means that WHRP is being very professional and definitely not indicating something is wrong.  It makes very little to no sense that WHRP would have the access to provide the secret writing on the email, so I’m assuming that is QA.  Potentially the staff is all infected, I would assume so.  I don’t think it makes much sense narratively for the staff to write secret language on things like we see.  I suppose it doesn’t matter too much whether it is QA or staff, just QA’s/staff’s level of paranoia is important.   This means that either QA or their staff or both are experiencing the symptoms that WHRP is also experiencing based on touching the black stuff.  I have written a theory about this in the past, on tropes related to black goo and contagion.  The symptoms that we see are:  potential automatic writing, anger, violent tendencies, nausea, forgetfulness, paranoia, auditory hallucinations 

Part 2 coming.

[gothamhorrorzine]

Hello, Horror Enthusiasts!

Thank you so much for your enthusiastic response to our Interest Check so far!

In addition to your excited comments, we've received a couple of questions about the zine and its contents. You'll find answers to those below.

Haven't had a chance to fill it out? Our interest check will remain open until until July 28th 11:59 EST.

Interested in being a part of the mod team? Apply today!

INTEREST CHECK Q&A

Are you set on the zine only being available digitally? I personally would love to see it being made into a physical copy.

Just to clarify, a paper copy of the zine is off the table, even though you're considering doing physical merch? Although I guess I can print stories myself if i'm determined. What about just the art as a few loose pages of decent quality glossy prints in an envelope?

Yes, the zine will be digital only. For more information on why, please see this post from Mod Kay. However, based on the responses to our interest check, it is very likely that we will have flat merch available alongside the digital bundle. Flat merch would include prints, stickers, and other items that can fit in an envelope.

curious if shipping will be allowed or if it will be gen only

As mentioned in our FAQ and Info Sheet, this zine will be gen only: For this project, we’ve chosen to keep the focus on horror rather than romance and relationships. We understand that horror and romance have had a long history together and are often found living together, however, for this project we’ve chosen to keep the focus on horror.

What would be the word limit for prose writing contributions? Can writers make both feature fiction and comic script contributions? Will we have a server where we can interact and gather through events like movie nights using the examples in the About document? This is a very exciting project and I am so pumped to see it developed.

The typical word count for writer contributions usually falls between 2k - 4k words. However, as we are a digital zine, there is more flexibility for longer works. The mod team will make a formal decision about word count available as part of a contributor information document closer to the application period.

Because we often have many more writers apply than we can accept, we will typically only accept a writer for either a feature fic OR a comic script writer. Should we have fewer than anticipated writer applications, we will consider allowing writers to have multiple roles.

All zine communication will take place on a private zine server. We do not have any movie nights planned but that does not mean we do not encourage them!

Have another question not answered here? Send us an ask or fill out our interest check (if you haven't already!)

[lexa-lives-in-us]

Saving Tips for Hard Times

I found this old document where I collected a series of tips to save money. This is all part of my experience of when I was near homeless, and some work depending on where you live, some don’t. Here we go.

BILLS:

1. The optimum temperature for refrigerator operation is 5°C, and -18°C for freezer operation. As a rule of thumb, for each additional degree of refrigeration output about six percent more electricity is used.

2. Unplug your appliances. Lamps, microwave, tv, computers etc. They don't need to be plugged until you use them, and it saves energy to keep them unplugged. Therefore, money.

3. Do homework for phone companies and internet plans. Call them! Often they are toll free and if you mentioned that you were already with them or thinking of going with them and then found out another company had a better deal, they could offer you deals for lower prices. I had to do it all the time for my phone, until they couldn't really offer anything better.

4. BIKE. Invest in a used bike if you can, especially for the warmer months. It offsets the transit costs and better your health.

5. WALK. That's the same as the bike, honestly.

6. Pay your bills on time, you will avoid late fees which can up to HUNDREDS of dollars wasted over the course of a year. If you can, set up automatic payments so you don’t forget.

FRIDGE:

1. Every time the refrigerator door is opened, cold air escapes and warm ambient air enters. To compensate for the temperature increase in its interior, the refrigerator must then use energy to bring the temperature back down. Always avoid opening the door unnecessarily and for too long.

2. When defrosting frozen food place it in the refrigerator. Not only does this ensure that the food is carefully defrosted, its presence cools down the refrigerator interior, reducing the amount of work that the compressor has to do, and therefore lowering energy consumption.

3. Never put warm food in the refrigerator as this will heat up the interior, as well as other stored foods. Hot food should always be allowed to cool to room temperature before placing it in the refrigerator

MONEY:

1. Keep all the containers like glass bottles, juice bottles, jars, cans etc. Look for your Return-It depot and have trips to return them. They give back coins for laundry, small expenses etc

2. Use that junk mail. Go through it, find coupons for food, for essentials like toilet paper or shampoo.

3. CHECK. THAT. DOLLARSTORE. They often have things like pasta, ketchup, toilet paper, batteries etc for literally 1 dollar.  Pasta is pasta, toilet paper is toilet paper. Seriously. Don't need to spend 5$ on a shampoo bottle when you can have it for 1/5 of the price.

4. Do homework and check with different banks for which one offers a better plan. Some of them are willing to help out. Sit down with their advisors, find the best solution!

5. Use the envelope system! For example, one envelope with a label “food” the other with “entertainment” the other with “bills”. Then set the right amount of cash for each. That’s what you’re allowed to spend each month. If you realize you need more for food, grab it from the entertainment envelope. Adapt and arrange as needed.

6. If you can, set up an automatic saving (example 50$ every paycheck) for both regular saving AND an emergency fund.

7. Use the 24-Hour Rule. Avoid purchasing expensive or unnecessary items on impulse with a self-imposed 24-hour rule. For any non-essential item, wait 24 hours before purchasing. It’s perfect for online shopping where your items can simply be added to your cart to purchase later.

8. Make a grocery list BEFORE going to the grocery store and STICK to it. You’re going to avoid buying things you don’t really need.

9. DO. NOT. SHOP. WHILE. YOU. ARE. HUNGRY. Or you’ll end up buying food that you actually don’t need just because you feel snacky!

10. Only use ATMs from your bank, or you get charged small fees.

11. Set a “No Spend Day” per week, where you consciously DO NOT spend any money for that day.

12. Ditch the paper: Cutting out paper towels and using cloths and napkins that you can simply wash and reuse is a simple way to save.

13. After you wear clothes, hang them outside your wardrobe, on a door or something. You can air them out a bit, then stick them in the closet without washing. You can basically reuse the same clothes two or three times without having to wash them, sometimes they just need a bit of air and they won’t smell AT ALL.

14. If you don’t own or want to spend money on an iron, hang whatever blouse you need to iron in the bathroom while you shower. The steam will humidify the fabric and straighten it up.

15. Hang stuff to dry. Really don’t need to spend money on the dryer.

16. Sign up to the library. They have so many books and DVDs nowadays. You can also just go, sit at the library and stay warm for a while, so that you don’t have to sit at home and either suffer the cold or use money on your own heat.

17. Budget, budget, budget. Get a lil notebook, write down the monthly expenses, cut what you don’t need. It gets easier with time.

 FOOD:

1.       Make a meal plan. Write 10-14 days worth of dishes that you can do (lunch, dinner, everything you need). You can then toss them around as you go on with your week, but that way you have a pretty clear idea of what you use and the food you go through for how long. It also reduces the risks of getting take out since you already have plans for what to eat.

2.       Cook double! Seriously. Make that dinner and double it up. Leftovers can be frozen or put in the fridge for the day after.

3.       Meal prep. Once a week, prep a bunch of different recipes. Let them cool down, stick them in the freezer. At that point you’ll already have all these meals at the ready to just thaw/microwave or oven up.

4.       You don’t need pop. You don’t need alcohol. You most likely don’t need milk, but go for it if you wanna. Just remember dairy products go bad WAY more quickly than non dairies, so consider getting food and drinks with no dairy in them. Mainly, though. Water. Just drink water. Lots of it too! Sometimes our brain can’t tell the difference between hunger and thirst. You think you’re snacky? Drink some water instead! It’ll quell your hunger.

5.       Freeze fruit! If you think you’re not gonna be able to eat fruit in time, put it in a Tupperware or a ziplock and slap it in the freezer. You’ll be able to then use it for smoothies.

6.       Use the Italian saying “Colazione da re, pranzo da nobili, cena da poveri.” Which quite literally means “Breakfast as a king, lunch as a noble, dinner as a poor.” Breakfast should be very filling, carbs, protein, vitamins. It carries you for the whole day. Lunch should be quite filling too! But supper doesn’t really need a lot of it, and if you REALLY have to skip a meal, skip supper. Your body doesn’t need that much sustenance while sleeping.

7.       This is for the desperate times but I’ve done it, and I would do it again if I ever had to. Go to markets that have like… Fruits and veggies. Talk to them. Ask them “HEY, can I have the fruit/veggie that you have to throw away?” Ask them if you can have the ugly produce, the one that doesn’t look pretty enough to be put out. Or ask them to have whatever extra they have to dump because is past the expiry date. EXPIRY DATE IS USUALLY MUCH LONGER THAN WHAT THE LABEL SAYS. I wouldn’t risk it with dairy stuff or with things that are VERY expired, but one or two days? Totally fine, I promise. And if you have to? Dumpster Dive. Especially at markets with fruit and veggies that have to be sold on the same day (because it’s not considered “fresh” past that day.) Or behind pizza places like Dominos or Panago or whatever chain. They get pizza orders wrong all the time. Just give a peak behind these buildings and look inside their boxes. You have no idea how many times I found perfectly fine pizzas. For free! IF YOU DUMPSTER DIVE, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE GLOVES, A MASK AND PLASTIC BAGS TO PUT YOUR STUFF IN. ONCE AT HOME, DISCARD GLOVES AND WASH PRODUCE THROUGHLY. Also check tumblr for your divers community, they usually know the best spots.

 CLOTHES:

1.       Thrift shop! So many GOOD used clothes are out there! Honestly! My whole wardrobe is thrifted and everything looks brand new. It takes a bit of research and maybe that shirt you liked is not in your size, but you can find EVERYTHING, from socks to bras, at a thrift store. Don’t thrift underwear though. You want to go new with those.

2.       Invest in some needle and thread, then open youtube. There are SO MANY tutorials that teach you how to mend holes in socks and underwear. And really, no one will really notice if a mend is perfectly done or not. After a week, you’ll forget it too! But that prevents you from throwing away clothes that could just be mended a little.

3.       Something doesn’t fit you? Too small, too big? YouTube, homie. They have tutorials on how to fix these kinda things! All you need, again, is needle and thread.

4.       Organize clothes swaps with friends and/or neighbors. Everyone brings clothes they don’t need, put them in a pile. Go through the pile and grab whatever there is. There’s no money exchange, one could go home with 1 item and one could go home with 50 items. Who cares? The extra stuff… DONATE IT TO A SHELTER.

Feel free to add more, and stay safe!

[space-mermaid-writing]

House Arrest [Loki X Reader] Chapter 1

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1: New Home

It's just before midnight when you finally get off work. You really like your job, but the hours are murder. Being a chef at one of the most expensive five-star restaurants in Philadelphia has its price. You take off your apron, which has hardly any stains from the last few hours on it, and throw it in the wash. The white jacket goes neatly into your locker and is replaced by a cardigan and a scarf. It’s a cool night. With a last good bye to your colleagues, who are still putting the dishes into the dishwashers, you make your way home.

The night is dark, but the streets are lit by lanterns and the windows of closed stores. Even if it had been pitch black, it wouldn't have worried you to have to walk alone through the empty alleys. Last year a guy had tried to rob you and threatened you with a knife. You had given him a broken nose and several stab wounds in the shoulder. After all, you had been trained at Shield. But the poor guy didn’t know that.

Half an hour later you arrive at your apartment. It's more functional than nicely furnished, and everything is a bit of a pick 'n' mix. But you don't mind it, because you spend most of your time at work anyway. At home you don't feel such great importance to culinary variety when it comes to your own food. A pizza or French fries with ketchup were always welcome. After all, you've been standing at the stove long enough at work. Tired, you decide to wait until breakfast for your next meal and, after a quick change of clothes, just fall into bed.

Fortunately, the next day is your day off. You make good use of it and sleep in. Afterwards you have an nice brunch with eggs, bacon and toast and after a short shower you go into town to do some errands. The sun is shining warmly from the sky and it's a beautiful spring day. If this holds up until the weekend, maybe you'd visit the weekly market and see what exotic and rare foods you can grab there. You love these little trips, even if you rarely find the time.

About two hours later and with three full shopping bags, you re-enter your apartment. It's on the second floor of a rather nondescript building, but the interior is very modern, with pastel-colored, high walls. You put everything in the kitchen cabinets and then brew yourself a tea/coffee, with which you make yourself comfortable on the couch and turn on the TV. It's time to relax a little. So you zap through the programs, watch the rest of an episode of your favorite series and then decide to watch a reality series, which is not exactly known for its quality but is entertaining. So the noon goes by until suddenly the doorbell rings. You get up to see if it's the mailman or a neighbor with a package. But a look through the peephole shows you that it is neither. Surprised, you open the door "Nat!" Natasha Romanoff is a friend of you and your brother, as well as the godmother of his children. But due to her job you rarely see each other. "Hey," she greets you with a small smile. "Can I come in?" "Sure." You lead her into the living room, where you turn off the TV. "What can I get you? Tea, coffee, milkshake?" "Coffee is fine." You disappear into the kitchen for a moment as she sits down in the armchair. Natasha was a rare visitor. Mostly she came with some news from Clint. You see him even less because he spends what little free time he has mostly with his wife and the two kids. Understandable. You don't hold it against him and try to visit them on holidays or for birthdays at her farm.

It doesn't take long until you return to the Russian woman with a new cup and some pastries and sit down on the couch again. "Well," you ask her curiously. "What do I owe the pleasure?" Natasha reaches for her cup. "It’s rather inconvenience. But first tell me if you’ve observed anything unusual lately." Questioningly, you look at her. "What do you mean?" "Nothing weird? You sure?", she asks. "Tell me what I'm supposed to have seen, please," you prompt her, both impatient and confused. Natasha gets right to the point. "You're being monitored." "By Shield?" "By Hydra." Stunned by this news, you remain silent. Natasha uses this pause to drink her coffee. "Oh, this is really good." But you don't listen to her at all, because various thoughts are circling in your head. And again you try to remember if you have noticed anything: same people you met, vehicles, anything. But you got pretty used to your life and didn't pay attention at these things. "Anyway, I'm here to pick you up. For your own safety it’s best if you stay with us for a while," Natasha finally breaks the silence and you look up. "What could Hydra possibly want from me? I don't know any internal secrets anymore. There are better to kidnap than me." "That's what we're trying to figure out right now." "Well, the danger doesn't seem to be acute", you note. "If they wanted to grab me, I wouldn't be sitting here by now. Thanks, but I decline and prefer to stay here. I have my job and the apartment." And now that you know what's going on, you can pay attention and take the necessary precautions, too. "Thanks for warning me." Natasha, on the other hand, doesn't look like she gives you a choice. "You know Shield has its ways to convince you?", she reminds you, but you shrug. Why would such a large organization bother with a single civilian like you? "What does my dear brother say about this matter?", you ask instead. "He hasn't been informed yet." Ergo, they deliberately leave him out of it so that he can't protest. You know this kind of approach of Shield.

Clint understands and supports you in your civilian life, even though he protested the loudest back when you announced your exit. "How’s he?", you want to know from Natasha, who is now finishing her coffee. "He's alive." That can mean just about anything from being happy and healthy to badly hurt but breathing. Better than being dead, you guess. "He's out in Africa with Steve right now." "Busy, huh?" "As usual." She stands up as a sign that she has nothing more to say for the day, and you walk her to the door, where you bid her farewell. "We'll talk again soon," she promises, but admittedly you have little desire to do so right now. "Sure," you reply and close the door behind her.

Well, that were some news. You put her empty cup in the sink and pause thoughtfully by the window. How could you have missed Hydra's agent, you ask yourself while glancing out. Your new life made you too comfortable. But it also takes up a lot of time and energy. And anyway, you dropped out because you didn't want to be cautiousness all the time anymore. You wanted a normal life with a normal job and normal problems. Away from agents, assassinations and super powers. You didn't want to check every day on your way to work if you were being followed, secretly monitored or if someone else was out to get you. That's why you’ve chosen this life. With a sigh, you sit back down on the couch. The past never leaves you alone, you guess. But tomorrow would be a long day even without these new old worries.

~~

The advantage of being a chef is usually that you don't have to get up at the crack of dawn for work. Most Restaurants open at noon, some even in the evening. So does the one where you work. There are preparations to be made before opening time, but you can still sleep through the morning, do some housework, and then head to the restaurant in the sunny afternoon. That's where the trouble starts, though. Just as you're about to open your locker to change your clothes, someone taps you on the shoulder. It's your boss, who hands you a letter. You can tell immediately from his serious expression that something is wrong. And when you open the envelope, you discover your resignation. You look up, perplexed, but you lose out in the following discussion. You don't even get a decent explanation, and that’s what annoys you the most. You're pretty sure your skills aren’t the issue, neither is the way you work. Nor the way you treat your colleagues, with whom you get along very well, even if the tone among cooks is a bit rough. You go back to your apartment, now in a bad mood. It‘s unbelievable! The sunny weather seems like a mockery to you now, and the people you meet along the way are in far too good a mood, in your opinion. It will be hell to find another good job as this was.

Arriving back home you immediately get more bad news: your landlord put a notice on your apartment door. The bathrooms in the building will get completely renovated soon and will be unusable for several weeks. Plus the heavy construction noise during the day. And the water would be turned off. It would be best to find temporary substitute apartment, so they recommend. "Haha...ha..." You laugh dryly and unlock the door. Was that a coincidence? When Natasha had been here yesterday? Probably not. You know Shield's methods and that it’s easy for them to take away your job and your apartment just to get their way. You have two options: either you accept the offer before Shield gets any more stupid ideas, or you run away and try to hide. With a sigh you go into your bedroom and throw a suitcase on the bed, in which you pack clothes, the most important documents and some things from the kitchen you need for work. Not everything fits, so you add a second travel bag. Meanwhile, you think about who you could complain to. Your brother was a favorite target of yours, but he a) had nothing to do with this matter and b) was not in the country. Which’s a shame, because you'd really like to have him by your side right now. If you wanted to complain to Shield directly, Fury would probably be the best person to do it. But you hold too much respect for him to vent your anger to him. Maybe just the next Shield agent who would come to you on this matter would have to step in. You know someone would definitely get back to you. With one last look around your apartment, you leave it and lock the door. Then you shoulder your bag and make your way out.

Just as you're thinking about getting a large coffee from Starbucks down the street, a red sports car pulls up to the side of the road. Natasha at the wheel. "Hmph..." You walk over to her and throw your luggage in the back seat. Then you take a seat in the passenger seat yourself. "Just for the record, I'm not happy with this." "I can see that." She tries to give a sympathetic smile, but you know this is just a job to her. "Well then, off to the Bat Cave, Wayne." "Does that make you Robin?", the Russian asks, driving off. "I guess", you reply snippy, not interested in keeping the conversation going. Fortunately, Natasha wasn't exactly the talkative sort either, so you have some peace and quiet to get your thoughts in order.

It takes you just under two hours to drive from Philadelphia to New York with city traffic slowing you down a bit. Otherwise, you would have arrived earlier at the former Stark Tower. It's been the Avenger Tower for some time now, but that doesn't make much difference, except that Tony Stark seems to be too lazy to put the remaining letters back on it.

Natasha parks in the private underground garage and you take the elevator up to the grand lobby. She tells you about the current residents here. There’s the usual staff, who are of course always present. Of all the Avengers, Bruce Banner is living here permanently. "He actually hardly ever leaves the lab," the Russian explains. "I'm currently living here, too. Every now and then Thor stops by, but mostly he prefers to explore the world. And his brother Loki is here. There have been some...problems with him and he's sort of under supervision here. Tony trusts technology more than Asgard. The owner of the house, by the way, is out visiting an outpost right now." "There are even Avengers outposts?" Natasha nods as she walks you down the halls to the living area. "But don't tell Hydra." "Sure", you promise unfazed. "Speaking of which, if I want to go out to visit someone, do I need a key or how does this work?" "It's better if you stay here in the house for now. It's for your safety, after all." "For how long?", you want to know. The answer is short. "As long as necessary." "So I'm sort of locked in here”, you state. That's typical Shield. As soon as there's any problem, an agent is sent in to put everything in solitary arrest or quarantine. As long as it’s shielded from the rest of the world. Natasha stops in front of a door that is now yours, but doesn't look directly at you, which as much of an answer as you get. "I'll be fine on my own now, thanks," you smile politely but not genuinely at her, and after she assures you that you're free to move around inside the building, you head off with your luggage in your new apartment.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 4

Will

Cult girl attends her grandmother's funeral and is approached with a highly unorthodox last will and testament.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: emotional manipulation and abuse, verbal abuse, death, slight emetophobia, body-shaming, ED mention, pregnancy and family planning

There was no use recounting anything from the leading up to the funeral. You spent that first night wine-drunk, munching on foie gras, watching Arrested Development and diagnosing each character to the best of your psychological abilities. You remembered cry-laughing at the same jokes you had memorized, and reminiscing on all the insane shit your own personal Lucille Bluth pulled on you. That was the highlight of the week. It was all downhill from there. 

Firstly, you were sick. That Sunday, you wrote it off as a hangover. Then, the hangover returned with a vengeance, just to add salt to the already open wound of having to pretend to mourn your abusive grandmother. At least the physical pain would give your acting an air of sincerity, you thought. 

Hannibal dressed in a solid black tux: it was almost uncanny to see him outside of any of his normal checkered suits. You selected a plain black dress and a strand of pearls.

The funeral was to be held at the same country club Anna’s wedding was held. Your grandmother was like a pharaoh, insisting that the empire she built know that even in death, she reigned supreme. The country club was her pyramid. 

Anna asked if you wanted to say a few words. As much as you wanted to get up and tell all her country club friends about the time she reported you as an abducted child at age twenty-two when you refused to leave your boyfriend and move back in with her, you knew that it wasn’t in good taste. You racked your brain for any story that could be considered remotely funeral-appropriate, but none came to mind. 

You spent the entire funeral trying not to roll your eyes too obviously at the stories of abuse her country club friends somehow remembered fondly. Your soul just left your body throughout the entire process and you were unsure if it would ever return. 

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. Then, it did. 

The beginning of the end was when your grandmother’s estate lawyer pulled you and Anna aside to conduct the reading of the will. He showed you to a side room, then excused himself before closing the door behind him. 

“Hello, [F/N].” Liam greeted, trying to cut through the awkward silence that came with first seeing each other after four straight years. “I’m very sorry about your gran. She was a great woman.” 

You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it.” 

“No she doesn’t.” Anna muttered. “And it’s Liam.” 

“I don’t mind ‘Lee’.” Liam contested. “My mum called me Lee. I actually quite like it.” 

Anna was in one of her ‘I’m so upset, please ask me why’ moods. She sat on one of the heavy armchairs with her legs crossed and eyes to the wall. You weren’t going to bite. 

Liam wasn’t so cautious. “Princess, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” She pouted, not even dignifying her husband with a look. “I just think it’s interesting that I put the funeral together all by myself and someone couldn’t even be bothered to speak.” 

You shot Liam a look that said ‘way to go, jackass’. 

“Yeah,” You said, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “That must suck.” 

Anna glared at you. “You really have nothing to say? Really?” 

You tensed up. “Let’s see, which charming anecdote would you have me tell? How about that time when she made you wear a fat suit for an hour after you complained about how the low-carb ice cream tasted like chemicals?” 

Liam looked in shock at his wife. “Did she really?” 

“Once.” Anna confessed, holding up one finger. 

You turned to Liam, as if you were sharing some hot gossip. “That was all it took to give her an eating disorder when she was thirteen.” 

Hannibal was just a fly on the wall. Anna noticed his lack of reaction. 

“And I bet Hannibal knows all about this, huh?” Anna said, throwing her hand in his direction. “Because he just needs to hear all of our private family business, right?” 

You stood up from your seat. “First of all, I take offense at the implication that my fiancée isn’t family.” 

An evil smile spread on Anna’s face. “But he wasn’t always your fiancé, was he, [F/N]?” 

“Holy shit, you cracked the code.” You said, flatly. “There was a point in time when Hannibal and I weren’t an item. Real shocker, that one.” 

“You know what I mean.” She sneered, then approached Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter, is it true that before you and [F/N] became romantically involved, you were her therapist?” 

Liam looked scandalized. Hannibal was just as put-together as always. 

“That is true.” He said, feeling no shame whatsoever. 

Anna turned back to you. “Now don’t you think that’s just a smidge unethical? For a therapist to date their much younger patient?” 

You narrowed your eyes. You carried yourself with the lightness of a woman who finally had the moral high ground. “So you want to talk about what’s ethical, huh? I suppose that means you’ve told Liam about pineapple.”

All the blood drained from her face. You crossed your arms and held your head up a little higher. 

“That’s what I thought.” You grinned. 

“Look, could we just pretend to be a normal, functioning family for ten minutes?” Anna pleaded, as if there were anyone other than herself to blame for provoking an argument.

“That’s on you two.” Liam, rightfully, pointed out. He gestured to himself and then to Hannibal. “Neither of us have said anything.” 

The estate lawyer must have gotten his juris doctorate alongside a master's in impeccable fucking timing, because that was when he decided to make his entrance.

"I'm sorry for the wait, everyone." He announced. "And I'm sorry for having to pull you aside in your hour of mourning. Usually the last will and testament is handled through email to the beneficiaries, but your grandmother was quite adamant it be approached this way."

"That definitely sounds like her." You said, exchanging glances with Hannibal. You'd talked about this for what felt like hours the week prior. She was going to pull some last-minute bullshit to humiliate you from beyond the grave. Give all the inheritance to Anna and leave a snide comment about you in a legal document. You knew it was coming. All you could hope was for it to be quick.

The lawyer pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "She specifically asked for her two living grandchildren and their significant others to be present."

"Did she say it like that?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Or was it more like, 'Anna and her husband, and [F/N] and her therapist'?"

"Mrs. Young," Hannibal said, taking your hand. "Until you tell your husband about pineapple, you aren't allowed to judge us."

Anna glared at you. "What the hell? He knows, too?!"

"Yeah." You answered. "I tell him everything."

"Okay, who or what is pineapple?" Liam interjected. "And why do I get the feeling I'm the only one not in the know, here?"

"That's cause you are." You confirmed. "And you have your lovely wife to thank for that."

"Everyone!" The lawyer called out. Clearly, he'd seen his share of dysfunctional families. "Please, let me just read the will and you can continue arguing afterwards."

"Y'know what? Fair enough." You said, crossing your legs. "Let's rip off this band-aid, shall we?"

The lawyer opened the envelope and produced a single page. He cleared his throat.

"I, Beatrice [L/N], being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions-" He began reading the long first sentence. "Including but not limited to, a collective sum of $45 million, the family home and my shares of the country club, to the first of my granddaughters to give birth."

You expected nothing. You expected something. But you never could have expected this.

"Can you please read that last part again?" You asked, unsure if what you heard was the result of a stroke.

"The entire inheritance goes to the first one of you to have a baby." The lawyer clarified, trying to make it sound like a reasonable arrangement.

"That makes sense." Anna said, nodding.

You looked at her, dumbfounded. "How in the fuck on fire does that make sense to you?"

"Well, the money would be going to a good cause." She rationalized. "To raise the baby, right?"

You shook your head. "No, this is insane. Grandma has always had this weird obsession with bloodlines, and now she's trying to incentivize us to carry it out."

"What happens if neither of us can, y'know?" Anna asked.

The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "If neither granddaughter is willing to produce a child, the entire inheritance will go to the Eagle Forum, so my ungrateful grandchildren can learn about family values."

"She hated the Eagle Forum!" Anna objected. "She wouldn't dare."

"She absolutely would." You pressed your fingers into your forehead. "That's upper-class white moderates for you. And she doesn't have to be around to see when they name a fucking wing after her."

"The Beatrice [L/N] center for denying women bodily autonomy." Hannibal said. "It's quite fitting."

"[F/N], we can't let that happen." Anna pleaded. "We can't let Eagle Forum get a penny of that money."

"Why the hell not?" You said. Though on principle, you agreed, you knew this was just another one of your grandmother's power grabs. At the end of the day, she chose to leave her money to the Eagle Forum. And it would be her name on that check, not yours.

"Oh my god, you actually hate babies more than you hate conservatives." Anna stood with her mouth agape.

"Don't put words in my mouth." You snapped. "I don't hate babies. I hate grandma for trying to threaten me into having one. I hate grandma for pinning us against each other and making sure it stays that way."

"What do you have against giving me a little niece or nephew, huh?" Anna folded her arms.

"I'm fucking done." You said, throwing up your hands. "This will be the last you ever see of me."

Of course, that's what you said the last time.

[wonder-womans-ex]

Make a Promise

“Sirius,” Remus says, rolling onto his side to face the man beside him, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Shoot.” Sirius’s eyes stay focused on the ceiling above, but he smiles warmly. 

“Do you—well, you probably don’t remember, but when we lived together, before, in the flat with the piss-yellow walls and the floors that squeaked and the stove that never worked, I had a shoebox. Under the bed. And I never let you look in it.”

Sirius is quiet for a moment, then, “I remember.”

There were three things is the box. And I didn’t want you to see any of them, all for different reasons.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re about to tell me what they were?” He’s teasing, but his eyes go soft when Remus replies, “Because you know me better than anyone.”

“The first thing,” continues Remus, “The one that took up the most space, was my registry papers. Documents of where I spent every full moon, what classification of werewolf I am, whether I’ve attacked anyone—that sort of thing. 

“Then there was a photo from first year. The one Peter took of James, you, and me after our first detention.” Sirius clenches his jaw, and Remus knows he’s thinking of their old friend. “For years, I thought I’d lost it, but then I was cleaning out the attic after my mum died, and there it was. And I kept it. Because in that photo, you’re looking at me like you looked at me after fifth year; like you look at me now. It just... amazes me, I guess, because we were eleven and we’d barely known each other a month, and already there was something there. I used to take it out, sometimes, when you were gone, and remind myself that what we had was real. It was... it was the only photo of you I didn’t burn.”

The silence envelopes them, heavy and painful, until Remus swipes a hand over his eyes. “Oh, fuck, I’m crying.”

“‘S’okay,” Sirius says, “so am I.”

“You know I love you, right? More than anything?”

“I know. I love you, too. Always and forever.”

Somewhere along the way, their fingers have twined together. Sirius, after giving Remus’s hand a reassuring squeeze, asks, “And the third thing?”

“The third thing in the box?” 

“Yeah.”

“A box.”

“A box. Inside a box.”

“That’s right.”

“How exciting.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Shut up. What matters is what was inside the box.”

“What was inside the box inside the box?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I try.”

“Do you want to know what was inside the box or don’t you?”

“Please, do tell.” The grin on Sirius’s face still does embarrassing things to Remus’s heart, even after all these years. “How about I show you, instead?” he says. 

Sirius nods. 

As he leans over to grab his wand from the bedside table, Remus takes a breath. No going back now. He performs a wandless summoning charm, looking anywhere but at Sirius. 

“So.” He snatches the box out of the air as it flies towards him. “I bought this our last Hogsmeade weekend of seventh year. And I meant to give it to you right after graduation, and then again when we bought the flat, and again when I found out James was planning on proposing to Lily, but things kept coming up and I kept putting it off, and eventually it was too late. So I’m giving it to you now.”

He stops. His lower lip is trembling. “Hold out your hands and close your eyes.”

Slowly, Remus presses the box into Sirius’s outstretched hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Sirius does, eyelids fluttering, and his eyes fix onto what he’s now holding. He inhales so sharply it’s almost a gasp. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Probably.” Remus waits to see if Sirius is going to say something else. He doesn’t, so Remus goes on. 

“Padfoot,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “you have known me since before I really knew myself. You taught me I matter; I deserve to be loved. You were the first person to find out what I was—what I am—and think no differently because of it. I have tried time and time again to find where I belong, and I never find that the answer is anywhere but with you.

“You are my world, Sirius Black, and it it because of you that I have the confidence to say I am yours. So I ask you, in the house of your awful parents who are probably rolling over in their graves right now... will you marry me?”

Sirius nods, the tears in his eyes spilling over. “Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely yes.”

And now they’re both crying, and they’re kissing each other on the cheek, the forehead, the mouth. Neither of them has ever been happier. 

Finally, Remus pulls back, prying Sirius’s fingers back from around the box, “Aren’t you going to look inside?”

For reasons he can’t quite explain, Sirius hold his breath a he opens the lid, deep red velvet contrasting starkly against thin, pale fingers. A smile spreads across his face. 

The ring inside glints gold; the four tiny rubies set in the band catch the early morning light. “It’s beautiful,” breathes Sirius, grin lopsided where his lip is between his teeth. “Can you...?”

It takes Remus a moment to realize what his boyfriend—fiancee, he corrects himself with a surge of joy—means. “Yeah,” he manages, taking Sirius’s left hand in both of his own and sliding the ring carefully onto the fourth finger. They stay there, palm to palm, for a long time, trading sweet nothings and gentle, chaste kisses. 

“I’ve been imagining how you’d look wearing that ring for nearly seventeen years,” Remus is saying when there’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Breakfast!” Both men look up when Molly’s shout rings down the hallway, neither speaking until she’s moved on to the next door. 

“Our first meal as engaged wizards,” Remus says, pulling Sirius to his feet. “C’mon.”

They wait, giggling and smiling at each other, until they’re sure everyone else has gone down, and then they race to to stars, still holding hands. They slide down the banisters, too; it’s like they’re sixteen all over again. 

At the first landing, Remus stops to push Sirius against the wall. “We’re getting married,” he murmurs into the kiss, and he feels Sirius smile against his lips. 

At the second landing, Sirius brings Remus’s hand to his face, pressing his mouth to each knuckle. 

They don’t stop on the third landing, but they do on the stair after it. Sirius almost falls over as he turns, one foot catching himself on the step below. 

“Can I take your last name?” His eyes are shining. 

Remus says, solemnly, “It would be my honour,” and they laugh again. 

The dining room does not go quiet when they enter. They make no grand enterance. Everyone else continues with their noise and clutter until Harry looks up from his game of chess; he nudges Ron, sitting opposite him, and both boys wave. 

Sirius glances sideways, catching Remus’s eyes. He raises an eyebrow.

Harry grins when Sirius sits down next to him. “Morning,” he yawns. “Ron’s checked my queen.”

“Good for him.”

Ron opens his mouth to say something, but Sirius never finds out what. With a flick of her wand, Molly has set out the silverware—it’s stainless steel, technically, so it doesn’t hurt Remus—and the plates, steaming with porridge. 

“Go on, eat,” she urges loudly, pouring out a cup of tea. “Don’t let it get cold.”

There’s a flurry of movement as everyone claims their place at the table. Remus ends up between Arthur Weasley and Sirius; he has to keep his elbows tucked in so as not to knock over anyone’s morning coffee. Across from him, Tonks is putting her metamorphagus skills to use, her Dumbledore imitation in particular sending Ginny into fits of laughter. 

He nearly burns his tongue on the first bite of porridge. Through the pain in his taste buds, he notices it’s quite good, and makes a mental note to compliment Mrs. Weasley on the recipe. Anyone who can make oats and water taste good, he reasons, is worthy of whatever praise falls their way. 

To his right, Sirius takes a thoughtful sip of his tea. They catch each other’s eyes and smile. 

Glancing around, Sirius sees that everyone is once more engrossed in conversation. Fred Weasley in particular is gesticulating wildly with his spoon, and Sirius has to duck to avoid a flying bit of porridge. Absentmindedly, he twists the ring on his finger around, rubbing his thumb over the four jewels. 

His chair almost topples over when he leans back in it, grabbing an antique crystal goblet from the shelf behind him. He takes the sugar tongs from the table, too, and then he stands up. 

Even with the ding ding ding of silver on crystal, it takes almost ten seconds for just one person—aside from Remus, of course—to look up. Hermione holds his gaze for a moment before leaning over and whispering something in Ginny’s ear. By the time he’s got everyone’s attention, he’s begun to contemplate sitting back down again. 

But, finally, there’s silence, and all twelve pairs of eyes in the room (minus his own, obviously) are on him. 

Sirius clears his throat. He resists the urge to climb on top of his chair, because a broken neck would not be a good start to his engagement. 

“Good morning!” he announces. “I, uh, I have news. Good news.”

Dear lord, he used to be a lot better at this. From somewhere down the table, there’s a mutter of, “Well, get on with it, then.”

Skipping the rest of the preamble, he allows his face to split into a smile. “We’re getting married.”

There is none of the happy amazement he expected. He receives no applause. What he does receive are slow blinks and confusion written on every face except his own and Remus’s. It’s Molly who eventually says something, and what she says is, “Congratulations! If you don’t mind me asking... who’s the lucky lady?”

Now it’s Sirius’s turn to be confused. “You mean... you didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Bloody hell.” He isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. “I thought we made it obvious enough.”

“Well, clearly you didn’t!”

“How much do we need to broadcast it for you to see what’s right in front of you? How often should we hold hands at mealtimes? During Order meetings? Do you want us to take down the silencing charms on the bedroom, too, so you can hear everything we say, everything we—mmph.”

Sirius is cut off when Remus stands up, grabs the back of his head, and smashes their lips together. Between all those times back at Hogwarts, and now this, it seems it truly has become a trend—Remus shutting him up by sticking his tongue in Sirius’s mouth, that is. 

They break apart far too soon for Remus’s liking, but they do have an audience, after all. He can imagine without looking the expression on Molly’s face, and his imagination is proved correct when he turns away, sliding his fingers down Sirius’s arm to clasp their hands together. “That should answer your question,” he says before anyone has the chance to pick their jaw up off the floor. 

It’s been silent for a while—or, at least, it feels that way; the grandfather clock by the opposite wall shows only thirty seconds have passed—when Sirius realizes they’re still standing. “Excuse us,” he says, and pulls Remus out of the room. 

Out in the hallway, they stare at each other for a few moments before bursting out in laughter. “Oh my god, Remus,” Sirius wheezes. “Oh my god. That was fucking incredible.”

Remus covers his eyes with one hand. “It was spur of the moment, okay? Bloody hell, that was—”

“Unbelievably attractive? Absolutely iconic?”

“So embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing for you, maybe. But that right there? That’s why I love you.”

“What, not my dazzling personality?” 

Sirius grins, leaning in. “Well, yeah, that too. And your gorgeous golden eyes, and your genius mind, and you smile that always makes me melt inside, and—”

“Okay!” yelps Remus, because he knows Sirius too well. “I get the idea!” His gaze is soft, though, and when Sirius reaches up to cup his cheek in one palm, he leans into the touch. 

Eventually, someone—Tonks, or Harry, or one of the Weasleys—will come to find them, demanding explanation. But for now?

It’s just them. 

And despite everything—despite who they’ve lost and what they’ve been through—they have each other. 

[noctis-noctua]

Iron Resolve and Refreshing Gales | Overworked Jean x Reader

Relationship: Jean/Reader

Genre: Fluff

Premise: Jean has been pushing herself to the max lately and refuses to acknowledge the detrimental consequences of it no matter who tells her… except for the one person who has her wholehearted devotion.

1754 words.

Here you go! Sorry if it’s a bit subpar - this is my first time writing for Jean, but no complaints here. She’s awesome and I am a total simp for her lmao. 

    Jean has a destructive tendency to attend to the needs of everyone but herself. It doesn’t matter if the issue is as trivial as finding a lost cat or filing papers - Jean carries out each and every request from the citizens of Mondstadt. These days have been busier than usual. Ludi Harpastum is a few days away and that means that preparations are being carried out religiously. In other words, Jean has people knocking on her door non-stop. Can you help decorate Town Square? Hilichurls are blocking the path that my goods are traded on, could you please clear them out? She hasn’t felt the doting embrace of sleep in two days, nor has she consumed more than a couple of light meals. ‘There’s no time for them,’ she often explains to the other Knights. ‘I’m satisfied with anything I can get.’ 

    Lisa is an early riser. She enjoys taking time to brew a pot of Sumerian tea and read new material as the sun floods across Mondstadt, and to do so she must awaken ahead of schedule. It’s because of this that Lisa arrives at the office before anyone else; 5:00 am to be exact, leaving much time to prepare for the day’s labor. She strides to the library doors before coming to a sudden stop, observing the sounds of a frenzied pen in the room across from hers. Jean’s room. Lisa does not hesitate to open the door, exposing a fatigued blonde reading and marking up a stack of documents.

    “Jean, have you been here all night?” Jean’s eyes are dull, leaden bags hanging from beneath them. On the right side of her desk is an almost-spent candle, the dwindling remains of its wax no more than 2 inches. 

    “Oh, good morning Lisa. Unfortunately, I have. That’s alright, though. The sooner I finish them the sooner I can move on to patrolling.” Her tone is desolate despite Jean’s attempts to liven it. The blaring headache ricocheting in her brain is practically begging her to rest, but Barbatos knows that’s not an option. She still has so much to do, and even after she completes this there are mor-

    “[Y/N] hasn’t seen you in days. Not taking a break strains her, too.” Lisa remarks, eyes dancing over the bookshelf. She catches sight of the full series of The Fox in the Dandelion Sea. Mondstadt’s famous romance novels, and one of Jean’s favorites. It’s almost ironic, how such a neglectful Knight came to be a sappy romantic. 

    “...[Y/N] is strong and independent, Lisa. She has no need for me, and although I’d enjoy seeing her, I know that she is perfectly capable of looking after herself. If I have to push my relationship to the side momentarily to sate the people of Mondstadt, then it has to be done.” Jean responds as she pushes another paper to the side. By now there must be 40 finished pages. It pains Lisa to look at them, much less read them. Making peace with defeat, she suggests that Jean purchases a full meal and exits the stuffy quarters. The Dandelion Knight can do nothing but sigh for the 40th time, doing the best she can to ignore the subtle shaking of her limbs, the thrashing pain in her head, and the gradual blur of her sight. 

    She’s fortunate enough to finish up faster than expected and spends the spare time making a beeline for Good Hunter. Suddenly, the hunger in her stomach is 10x more noticeable, and nothing else is on her mind but eating some Fisherman Toast. That is until she bumps into a sobbing blob of red, blubbering much as a fish does.

    “Klee! Did something happen? Did you blow something up?” Jean interrogates, crossing her arms. The small Knight makes a tentative nod and bursts into another fit of tears. I was really hungry… It’s fine, I can always eat later. Jean comforted herself as she held Klee’s tiny palm, preparing for the damage inflicted. 

-

    It’s 11:00 pm. Jean’s ponytail has been ruffled to a point of no return, convincing her to take it down and let the locks of hair flood down her shoulders. New civil letters sit on the mahogany table. Jean prepares another candlestick for the long night ahead, resisting the culling of sleep. It’s much harder to focus than it was last night and nothing but a handful of 10-minute naps and a mushroom skewer are stopping her from dropping dead. Finish fast and I can go home and get a 3-hour nap… Jean’s mind is so adrift and preoccupied that she ignores Kaeya’s presence entirely. 

   “Busy as always, Acting Grand Master. I heard it’s your 3rd day at the office. I thought I’d take the time to invite you to Angel’s Share.” The Cavalry Captain’s voice is sultry, filling the dusty silence. Jean takes one look at his flamboyant figure and turns back to the envelope in her hand, squinting at the printed symbols.

    “Sorry, Sir Kaeya, but I have some stuff to do. I can’t possibly drink - it may impact my performance. Thank you, though.” Kaeya chuckles at that. Stalking over to the paned glass, he observes the joyous city below. Upon closer inspection, Jean looks like absolute shit. Her hair is mussed and her skin is a cumbersome shade, a slight green tone atop her normal paleness. 

    “Same old excuse. Take some time off. You need some fun, Acting Grand Master. It must be boring to be so serious all the time.” His words are not valuable enough to be met with more than a hum. “Fine, fine, be that way. But know that if you ever want to come down, everything is on me. It’s not every day that you come out. Plus… pushing yourself so much can’t be good for your health, Jean.” The drop of formalities is Kaeya’s last attempt to pull his superior away from the bureau, and then he takes his leave. Jean doesn’t fail to notice the painkillers he slipped onto the papers. That snarky Captain… as crass as he tries to be, Jean knows that his actions come from a genuine concern for her health. Thanking him in silence, she tosses the two pills into the back of her throat. 

    The evening descended into twilight, then to the darkest hours of the morning, and Jean has not moved from her chair. The herbal pills had dissipated an hour ago, and the pounding of her headache is almost enough to send Jean reeling. She doesn’t stop, obviously; she’s felt much harsher pains. 4:00 am tranquility serves to be helpful for such aches, but now that her entire body is in pain, it’s much harder to soothe. Her head jolts in intervals as she fights the intense drowsiness. Iron as her resolve may be, Jean is human. Her back hunches as her arms catch a drifting head that now lolls on her reports. The flutter of her eyelashes is peaceful in its own right. Slow exhales leave Jean’s body as she sleeps, her body relishing in such a rare moment. 

    Jean opens her eyes to the scene of a stubby candle that has burnt out. She opens her intricate timepiece in a hurry. 5:00 am. How could she have slept for an entire hour? Dread floods her system as she thinks of how much she has delayed her already bustling schedule. In the midst of her panic, the door opens. It must be Lisa. No one else is mindlessly occupying the building at this ti-

    “Hi, Jean. I brought some tea and cookies for you. I’m sure you must be exhausted… it’s been three days since I’ve seen you, after all.” Jean’s stare softens at the sight of her beloved holding a steaming teacup and a tray of shortbread. She caresses the hand that passes the teacup. The comfort of skin is something she longs for, and something she has deprived herself of these past few days.

    “[Y/N]... I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy lately, and…” Her lips become still as you tread your fingers through her hair and press a chaste kiss to her forehead. “...and I’ve missed you.” She revels in the smile that tugs from you. That beautiful smile… Archons, how much she’s missed it.

    “Jean, come home. If not for your livelihood, for mine. The bed has been cold.” The desperation in your voice breaks Jean’s heart in two. If Jean is a Dandelion Knight, you are the passionate gales of Barbatos plucking her apart, seed by seed. There is no plausible way for her to stay composed around you. Jean leans into the hand against her cheek, a cat yearning for human contact.

    “I suppose I can… do these in the morning.” That earns a swift glare from you. Jean huffs, taking a singular bite of the shortbread. She’s had to explain her Knightly duties to you in many instances, but it always went through one ear and out the other without fail. 

    “No, absolutely not Jean. Give it to your subordinates. Tomorrow, you are staying with me, no questions asked. I’m sure they’ll allow it - your face looks 5 seconds away from death. Now come.” Jean grimaces at the list of tasks she’s stuck on the table’s edge, biting her lip in a debate against herself. Surrendering herself to the feeble begging of her lover, she mutters a small agreement. The tug on her arm convinces Jean to stand, leaning into your shoulder. She finds solace in the warmth you radiate as both of you exit the Knight’s Quarters arm-in-arm, attached at the hip like lovesick puppies. 

    The sun has begun to ascend again, accompanied by a saccharine breeze. It smells of sweet flowers and calla lilies. It smells of the fresh fields of Windrise, tangling Jean’s hair. 

    “Look, even Barbatos is happy that you’re taking a break!” You tease, and Jean cannot help but giggle. She will always laugh at your jokes, and she will always give in to your demands for touch because Jean is a hopeless, pining fool. On the elevated platforms on the Cathedral stairs, Lisa’s plump lips curve as she sees the Dandelion Knight and her precious adventurer roaming the empty streets of Mondstadt. It’s days like this that Lisa is grateful for waking early, so she can experience the morning wind, the rising sun, a delectable dish of tea, and a picturesque scene of a dandelion being burst by the adamant winds.

[fireblogger]

Tips to Reduce Spending

I’ve never had a problem with my monthly budget, mainly because it doesn’t exist. I naturally spend less than I make, therefore there’s always some money for the bills and rarely some time spent managing my money. It’s not a good situation to be in, it’s not the worse by any means, but if you want to build your savings and retire earlier you need to be deliberate with your spending and savings choices.

This is traditionally done with a budget. Now I’m not going to lie, I’m terrible at budgets. I can create them no problem, but remembering to actually follow them? Good luck.

1.     The first step to create a budget is to document your expenses. If you don’t know how much you tend to spend then it will be very difficult to create an effective budget. If most of your transactions are on debit and credit cards, then you can go back through previous months to track your spending. Or you can start tracking today so you have a better idea in the future.

2.     Once you have a good idea of how much money you tend to spend on various categories you can start building the budget itself. (Don’t forget about annual or semi-annual expenses like car insurance). Make sure you are aware of the differences between needs and wants when you are budgeting.

3.     Once you have a budget you aren’t done, you should continue to track your expenses and adjust the budget as needed.

So, now you have a budget. How does that translate to actually spending less money?  Here are some behavioral tips to help spend less money:

·       Now that you know about how much you spend on things start paying for them in cash. When you go to a grocery store with a $100 bill (or a $100 gift card) you are forced to spend less than that $100. You can’t go over, but if you had a debit card a $112 bill would approve even though it was $12 over your budget.

·       Change your daily habits to avoid temptation. Does your route to or from home pass by a fast-food restaurant that you just love? Did you just notice that you actually spend $50 a month there on coffee and French fries? Try taking a side street so you never see the sign. Do you habitually order delivery through your handy-dandy phone? Try deleting the apps, not seeing them on the phone can reduce temptation and the extra step of needing to redownload every time can slow you down when you’re thinking about ordering. Even if you don’t want to delete the app you can hide in somewhere in the back folders of your phone so you don’t see the icon and thing huh, think imma get myself some pizza.

·       If there’s a consistent ‘treat’ you like to get, think about low-cost alternatives. For example, I love pizza. Like, it’s not healthy, neither is my solution but we’re talking about money not fitness. I will often keep some tortilla shells, a cheese blend, and a bag of pepperonis on site. Then if I’m craving pizza, I can make myself a 400 calories pizza roll that costs less than 50 cents instead of spending the minimum of $10 (to deliver) which usually ends up being a $12 order which also has a delivery charge, tax, and tip and becomes something closer to $20 for a single craving?

·       Consider how your spending habits change when you’re emotional, are you more likely to buy yourself a treat and how much does that treat cost a month? Make the decision before-hand to redirect emotional buying to other positive behaviors instead. Things like working out, calling a friend, drawing a doodle of whoever pissed you off then burning it in the sink, or meditating. Whatever you do, don’t open up Amazon.

·       Ask yourself if you need something or want something before you buy it. Do you need those new shoes? Or do you want them? Taking the time to add one more mental step before actually spending the money can help reduce impulse purchases. My No Spend Year | Michelle McGagh | TEDxManchester is a great TED Talk on this topic.

·       Forget trends. Don’t even bother trying to keep up with all the newest fads. And if a fad looks really cool? Take a step back and ask yourself if you really think that this new item is actually useful and will add joy to your life, or if you just think it is because of herd mentality.

·       Don’t go into debt to buy things. This mainly applies to credit-card debt and doesn’t really apply to houses (especially if you plan on getting a duplex and renting out of it). If there’s something that’s really cool, it will still be really cool when you have the money saved up to buy it in cash. It might even be really cool and cheaper if a new model comes out in the meantime.

Pay down your debts. This is less advice to reduce immediate spending and more advice to avoid future spending on interest payments. There are two main schools of thought when it comes to paying down debt:

1.     Start with the high interest debt. This makes the most logical sense as high-interest debt will end up costing you more in the long run.

2.     Start with the lowest balance, regardless of debt: This makes the most emotional sense. People are human, and they like to see progress on their goals. The feeling of success when you pay off a debt completely can help spur you on to tackle the next debt.

Starting with the high interest debt is my preference. I want to save every penny possible, and that’s the way to do it. But if you know that you may have difficulty sticking to a plan, or if you want the satisfaction of paying off your debt then the second option is a fine one to take.

Changing your behavior and paying down debt are some of the harder steps to take when trying to spend less money overall. Here are some simpler, practical, pieces of advice:

·       Buy in bulk. When you go grocery shopping do some meal planning first and buy in bulk. If you have a larger family then stores like Costco or Sam’s Club can be very useful to get some discounted prices. However, if you’re like me and live in a very small household then buying some items in bulk at a local cheap grocery store can be just as effective without cluttering up limited storage space.

·       Explore secondhand shops for new appliances, clothes, furniture, etc. Online marketplaces like Craigslist and Facebook Marketplace can be great places to get good deals. There’s no need to spend $50 on a waffle iron when the Youth Ranch down the street or Bob around the corner is selling one for $5.

·       Price-shop. Amazon won’t always have the cheapest prices, and while convenience is nice they aren’t the only home delivery store. Shop around to see where you can get the best price for your purchases.

·       Don’t buy as much stuff, borrow it if you can. If anyone knows me then know how much I love books. I used to have multiple bookcase that I would move about once a year when I switched apartments. Over time I forced myself to give away or sell most of them, and now check the local library for my next read. And by now I mean pre-COVID-19. But post Covid I’m sure I’ll be back at it!

·       Look for long lasting, high-quality versions of products. A nice pair of shoes can last you five years or more in my experience. If you can, save up for the longer lasting versions so you don’t have to replace them as often.

·       Reduce any monthly bills that you can. If you consistently have rollover data that may mean that you should pay less for less data. If you’re going to the gym just to use the treadmill, consider walking around the block a few times instead. Decide if you really need all those streaming services that you pay for.

·       Adjust the thermostat, especially if your home isn’t especially energy efficient. Keep the apartment a little colder in the winter and a little warmer in the summer for power savings.

Finally, this is all well and good. But how do you actually follow through? The best person to answer this is yourself, but here are a few options:

1.     Get an accountability partner. You can go through each other’s finances to make sure you are hitting your goals. Having an extra set of eyes can be incredibly useful to not only spot places where expenses can be curbed, but to make sure that what’s on paper matches what you wanted there to be.

2.     Pay for everything in cash. This is reminiscent of Dave Ramsey’s cash budget. But if you have an envelope of cash labeled food, and that’s all the fast food and grocery money you have for the month it will be difficult to go over the limit. There’s also something more visceral in giving up cash as opposed to sliding a card that may make you think twice about going through with your purchase.

3.     Feel broke to be rich. Try opening a second bank account for your paycheck and bills, then set up a recurring transfer to your main checking account. If you never see the bulk of your money, and if your bank balance looks low every time you open the app to check it may be easier to avoid spending money. This isn’t a mindset that everyone wants to be in, but I’ve found that constantly feeling broke means I am far less likely to spend money on frivolities.

If you have more ideas on how to save money on a daily basis leave a comment below!

[zeetasposts]

HC of the warlords reacting to an MC that thinks she doesn't deserve love due to her disability and is insecure about her femininity? Thank you.

Hi, there love! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy it❤🥰🔥

Side note you didn’t really specify what kind of disability so I made it kind of vague so it can probably be interpreted as any kind of disability (physical or mental). Also, double side note to anyone reading with any insecurities,    the warlords will legit love you no matter what, you could be a ball of slime on the floor and they would still love and cherish you to the ends of the earth and back! ❤❤❤🥰

Anyway, I hope I didn't miss the mark too badly with this :P

HEADCANON; ODA FORCES WITH INSECURE DISABLED MC

Nobunaga 

Not a day passes that Nobunaga does not emphasize how much he loves you and tells you how beautiful you are.

He will do everything and anything in his power to make you see just how beautiful and cute you are. 

He will buy you the most exquisite princess gown and accessories and tell you how breathtaking you look in them

It breaks his softi boy's heart to see you feel so insecure about yourself.

“Why do you look so down fireball,” cue silence

“Tell me.”

You tell him you feel like you don’t deserve his love, and he should just cut his losses now and find someone more suitable to rule the…..

Cuts you off with the most passionate kiss

“Nonsense none other is as fit as you to rule by my side.”

“If anyone in this whole world deserves my love, it is you, my sweet.”

“In fact, I love the way you crinkle your nose up at food you dislike, I love the way your smile instantly brightens any room you are in, I love your boldness, I love that you are the only person in the world who would stand up to me and give your honest opinions, I love your beautiful eyes that remind me of an ocean of stars, I love feeling your soft hair falling between my fingers, I love how soft your skin is and finally fireball, I love you just the way you are”

You can help but let a tear slip

“Now then, fireball, if you still doubt my love for you, I shall show you exactly how much I love you.”

Cue sexy times

Since that day, Nobunaga would tell you every second of every day just how much he loves you. And he will happily pull you with him to the futon to love the shit out of you whenever you feel insecure or sad

Hideyoshi 

Mama bear will love you NO MATTER WHAT

If anything you should be complaining about the suffocating amount of love this boi sends your way and don’t even get me starting on the doting

In his eyes, you are the most perfect beautiful person he has ever seen

One day he comes back to see your tear-stained face

MOTHER MODE ACTIVATED

He will sprint to your side sweep you up in his arms and ask you what is wrong

When you tell him you feel undeserving of his love he goes from mother hen must protect little chic mode to MUST PAMPER THE SHIT OUT OF YOU MODE

This boy will kiss away all the tears and tell you exactly how much he loves you

He will draw a bubble bath for you and surprise you by getting in behind you

He will wash you back and cuddle with you telling you how beautiful and perfect you are the whole time.

After your bath, he will pamper you until you are absolutely boneless with sweet touches and caresses.

You are the sweetest cutes girl he has ever met, and we all know this boy has been around the block- so you best believe it's true

He will remind you every day of his love for you

Mitsunari

You are the only one who can instantly bring Mitsunari out his reading trance

He is extremely sensitive to your moods and emotions.

The two of you are sitting in his room reading together when you start overthinking; you look down at yourself and can't help but shed a tear

Mitsunari's attention is immediately on you.

His shining amethyst eyes are gazing at you, and the second he sees the tear slip down your cheek he throws his book to the side and rushes to your side

He gently wipes your tears away and cups your face, urging you to look up at him

You struggle to meet his gaze, keeping your eyes down

The riverbank breaks as you start to speak, and your tears are now streaming down your face.

You tell him all about how undeserving you are of his love and that you are insecure about your femininity

Blinks at you in confusion

“what do you mean you are undeserving of love.”

Is genuinely confused, what is wrong with you, in his eyes, you are absolutely perfect

He sees you as the sweetest angel from heaven, and he legit sends up silent prayers everyday thanking whoever brought you into his life.

You are his sunshine on a cloudy day. His everything.

He gathers you in his arms and whispers sweetly in your ears exactly how wonderful you are.  All while caressing your arms with his fingertips. 

He will kiss you sweetly, to remind you of his love

Will tickle you, just to see your beautiful smile back on your face.

He refuses to let you go, so the rest of the afternoon is spent nestled in his arms while he continues to read. He will kiss your cheek every now and again just to remind you of his undying love for you

Ieyasu

You have had the worst day

Not only were you feeling insecure but you had overheard some of the maids gossiping about you, which really hurt your heart

All you wanted to do is go home and hide under the fluffy covers of yours and Ieyasu’s futon

You were now gently sobbing in the futon when nosey Wasabi came in to see what was bothering you

The fawn gently got down to nestled next to you and placed her head on your lap in hopes of comforting you

You started petting her while telling her that you are considering breaking up with Ieyasu cause you feel undeserving of his love

All while unbeknown to you Ieyasu was listening to your whole conversation with the fawn through the other side of the sliding door

He feels his heartbreak a little for you, he better not see those maids who gossiped about you cause he will definitely have some words for them

He sneaks into the room and plonks himself behind you and nuzzles your neck; you were super surprised, you didn't even hear him come in.

His wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck

You try and hide the fact that you had just spent the last 30 minutes crying

Ieyasu whispers in your ear that he had overheard you talking to wasabi

“It's not true, you know, they are probably just a bunch of jealous spinsters who can’t take the fact that you are the most beautiful woman in the whole world.”

You shake your head and tell him he's wrong and start listing all the reasons why you simply aren’t. 

Before you can continue listing your flaws, Yasu cuts you off and tell you to say one simple statement for him

“Say you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You refuse

Ieyasu will give you a flurry butterfly kisses. “stop that’s ticklish.” You can't help but laugh through the sobs.

“Say it or I won't stop.”

“Okay, okay, I am…. The.. most, do I really have to say it out loud”. He glares at you and nudges you in the neck with his nose as if to say keep going. “beautiful woman in the world.”

You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Satisfied, Yasu kisses the back of your neck and states, “That’s much better; that doofy smile suite you much better.”

Since that day Ieyasu made a point of complimenting your appearance and give you lots of kisses to remind you just how much he loves you

Mitsuhide

Mitsuhide was sitting at his desk working through important documents when all of a sudden he heard something break

He looked up to see you crouched downs looking at the broken pieces of glass in your hands

Your eyes started to prickle with tears. You looked at the vase you had accidentally broken and couldn’t help but feel unworthy of Mitsuhide’s love

This didn’t go unobserved by the keen eyes of the kitsune

He swiftly got up and walked his way towards you, he then crouched down in front of you and took your tiny two hands in his bigger hands

You looked up at him, eyes red from unshed tears, the only word slipping from your lips “Broken.”

“Here, love, let me help you clean it up, careful not to cut yourself, my dear. Don’t worry; I never did like this vase; now it gives us an excuse to buy a new one together.”

You shook your head, “No, Mitsu, I'm broken.”

“You deserve someone who can give you more.”

Mitsuhide was confused; what did you mean. He thought you perfect. 

He cupped your cheeks with his hands gently wiping away the tear that managed to break free

You once again told him that he deserved much better than you and that you didn’t deserve his love.

He gently lifted your face until you were looking in his eyes. He again took your two small hands in his and nuzzled your nose with his

“My dear, you are most definitely not broken. If anything, I am the broken one. But do you want to know something amusing, my dearest?  Perhaps if you and I are broken, it can be said that we were both two broken souls on the hunt for love, and finding you have made me realize that our broken, crooked pieces were meant to fit perfectly together, just like a beautiful puzzle. Unfortunately for you, my love, I believe you are the mate of my soul, and now that I have found you, I most definitely will not be letting you go.”

He stepped over the broken glass, picked you up, and moved to sit with you on the futon. He enveloped you in his love. He sat so that you were nestled in his lap and your head on his chest. He caressed your face and hair and kissed away all your tears. No teasing today only sweet words of love from this kitsune

After that, he spends every day showering you in love. In the mornings, he would snake his arms around your waist and kiss your nose, reminding him just how much he loves you

The two of you are two broken pieces of a whole new beautiful soul. Since that day, you never again felt insecure and unworthy of love again because Mitsuhide was right; you had found your soulmate, and he is the most loving man alive.

Masamune

It was your and Masamune's one-year anniversary and he had cooked the two of you the most amazing meal

The two of you were self-reflecting on the year of bliss, the two of you shared

In the middle of your conversation, one of the younger maids entered the room to bring the two of you the dessert Masamune had prepared

She was known among the maids to have had a massive crush on Masa and was definitely the most bitter when the news broke that the two of you were dating

As she placed down your dessert, she whispered: “Soon, MasaMasa will realize that you are unworthy of his love and affection and that he is meant to be with me.”

She then moved to the other side of the table and placed down Masa’sMasa’s dessert all while giving you a look of disgust, and swiftly left.

This prompted you to start overthinking, and before you knew it, you were crying into your dessert.

Masa now looked at you with concern, “what is going on with you kitten, where has my happy smiley kitten gone.”

You told Masamune all the feelings and thoughts swirling around in your head

Masa immediately stood up and went to get the fluffiest softest blanket he could find.

He then wrapped you into the blanked, all snug like a little purr-ito

He stated ticking you and kissing away the tears

“No Masa stop, how am I supposed to defend myself, if you’ve wrapped me uptight.” You tried to worm your self away only to be caught 

He then pulled you into his lap, kissing and nipping your neck and ears.

Masamune knew the perfect way to bring the smile back on his kitten's face again… ACTIVATE CAT PUNS MODE

“Comon kitten, let me see that Perr-fect smile of yours. You know I love my little kitten, the meowst. You are such a purr-ty lass.

“You couldn't help but break out into laughter. “Please, Masa stop, ha-ha, you puns are terrible.”

“There is that paw-some smile I love so much.”

You couldn’t help but beam up at Masa, man you loved this silly man

Masamune spent the rest of that night showing you exactly how much he loved you

And needless to say, that maid was transferred to Mitsuhide’s palace, so he could keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t come near their precious princess again.

I hope yall enjoyed it and let me know if you want me to do this one for the other bois aswell <3

[andromedarune]

Bede x Hop Request:“Just Desserts” (p2)

REQUEST ~ “I have one, it’s a hop x bede where bede feels bad for being mean to hop, but is too scared of apologizing to him in fear of rejection. Due to his past at the orphanage and his overall fear of being left alone again. So he decides to send homemade desserts to hop with secret messages ,anonymously . Hop Figures it out when the desserts stop coming after bede gets sick badly ( maybe a bad fever from exhaustion, anything that stops him from baking will do). You can include opal or the other gym leaders teasing hop on who could be sending the treats. I hope this is okay.”

A/N: Alright, here’s the conclusion to my mini-fic requested to me earlier in the week! I definitely got carried away with the prompt, but I really wanted to nail the emotions being presented here (because there are A LOT). Not sure if I accomplished that, or much else, tbh... Oh well! Give it a read anyway and hopefully it’s decent? Thank you!

It’s hard to really say that his work could possibly follow a routine. There were the basic things that always remained the same, of course; he’d wake up a seven in the morning every day, feed Dubwool before he started eating his bedsheets, do whatever morning chores his mother had waiting for him, head to the lab, basically become free slave labor for Sonia for the next eight or so hours, come home to a few more chores, then pass out on the couch while working on some papers before magically waking up the next morning in his bedroom. That was probably the closest thing to a routine he’s ever had, all things considered. But Hop never really minded the idea of a routine or the lack thereof; so long as he got to have some fun at some point, he didn’t mind. And it was safe to say that being the new professor’s assistant was far from what he would consider a boring life.

But he wasn’t sure how he felt about getting comfortable with someone constantly leaving lovely gifts for him every single week.

The first one came in, leaving the assistant incredibly puzzled. It wasn’t anybody’s birthday, here, so that idea was dashed. Maybe Leon brought it for Sonia? Hop shook his head; he wasn’t so quick to assume something like that, especially since Leon had never mentioned anything about giving Sonia presents beforehand. Nevertheless, the youth brought his findings to his boss, who was equally as perplexed as him. So the two opened up the box as well as the letter. A beautiful cake, and an eloquent letter apparently dedicated to Hop. Now that was a plot-twist.

“Someone’s got a secret admirer~,” Sonia nudged his shoulder, still giggling at the way he was completely frozen in a state of perpetual embarrassment. Maybe he should have investigated on his own before bringing it to Sonia.

“D-definitely not!” Hop finally found his words, wincing at his voice crack. He thought he had enough of that when his voice started changing. Apparently it wasn’t done with him.

“Oh yeah? What did that letter say? Something about the ‘brilliant radiance of determination reflecting like the sun in your eyes’?”

“Sonia, please,” Hop slapped his hands over his face.

She laughed some more, giving him a good pat on the back.

“Relax - there’s nothing wrong with having a secret admirer. It’s actually really sweet and adorable.” She picked up the letter, flipping it around a few times in her hands. “Though, they didn’t seem to leave a name. Any ideas on who it might be?”

“No clue. I honestly didn’t think that anybody’d actually think of me like that…”

“What? Of course they do! You’re a total catch, Hop - not for me though, ‘cause that’s gross.”

“Yeah, gross,” Hop finally laughed, lowering his hands to inspect the cake a bit. It really did look good. Chocolate cake was always delicious. “So, should we eat this now or…?”

“Who, me? No way - this is your secret admirer. You eat it.”

Before Hop could argue, Sonia sashayed out of the room, snatching up some of the documents she had brought into the room. Once she was gone, the boy simply sighed, glancing back down at the cake. Well, best not let it go to waste. He sat himself down, skimming over the letter a few more times. Who in the world could it be?

A week went by, and he had forgotten about the letter and cake. But they, apparently, did now forget about him.

“Another?” he blushed down at the box on the ground. He didn’t even need to look inside to know what it was. Hop looked around, hoping to find a sign of somebody around the entrance to the lab. Nothing but Rookidees. He sighed, kneeling down to pick up the gift. I don’t even know if Lee gets stuff like this, he thought to himself, pulling the simple envelope up to investigate. Maybe they left a clue this time…

But, just like before, there was no discernable way to figure out the identity of the mysterious benefactor. He opted to hide from Sonia’s teasing, hiding himself up in one of the numerous study rooms that the main laboratory had to offer. The letter was similar to before; beautifully crafted words of admiration, noting the many qualities of the assistant that he hardly noticed himself. He could note, though, a strange familiarity in the writing. ‘I had never known shame until I saw myself in your teary eyes.’ So obviously they knew each other - unless this was all metaphorical. Hop was never good at metaphorical writing. But Hop didn’t exactly interact with a lot of people, these days. He’d occasionally get to hang out with Gloria if she had time off; maybe it was her? He shook his head at that. The girl wouldn’t know bashful if it hit her in the face. A shy confession like this definitely wasn’t her style. Maybe Marnie. He hoped not. They never really spoke to each other, even during the gym challenge, but that was mainly because Hop wasn’t sure if he was more scared of her or her brother. But fancy homemade cakes didn’t really fit her style, either, so that was out. Who else did he know?

Not really anybody else. He sighed, skimming through the letter a few times more before resigning to just eat the cake and return to work. It was, unfortunately, amazingly delicious. Better than even the fancy cakes up in Wyndon. Whoever this person was, they really knew how to bake; Hop just wished he could finally figure it out so he could thank them or something. Do you even thank secret admirers? How does all this stuff work out? Definitely too much for him to figure out.

Four weeks later, and it became an unfortunate addition to his routine. Friday would roll around, and Hop would eagerly rush through his work without even noticing. Sometimes Sonia would comment, other times, she’d just wink and saunter off. Hop tried not to think about it too much - anticipation really did get annoying, even for him - so he sought to busy his mind with work until the time came upon him.

The clock ticked on, and so did the day. Before he knew it, the sun was setting, the whistle of the tea kettle from the kitchen signalling the end of his shift. Sonia called him over to join her for some tea, usually her way of saying thanks for all his hard work. He had barely walked into the room when Sonia leaned onto the kitchen table, curious eyes searching for some juicy gossip from his own golden irises.

“So, I noticed that we didn’t get any… special deliveries today.”

Hop blinked.

“Huh, so that’s what felt off today,” he tried to say, hoping that he could save face just a little bit.

“So? Does that mean that you’ve figured out who they are?”

The teenage boy grimaced, running a hand across the nape of his neck. It was a little sore today; maybe he slept wrong?

“Uh, well, uh… not really.”

“Huh?” Sonia slapped the table. Oh no, it’s happening - she’s getting worked up over something that doesn’t involve her again. “You’re serious?! Your secret lover didn’t send you a gift today and you don’t know why?!”

“W-well, th-they’re, uh, not really, um - we’re not -”

“Hop this is serious!” she lunged for him, grabbing his shoulders. “This person has faithfully been leaving you sweet gifts every Friday for over a month, now, and just magically stops doing it out of nowhere?!”

“Maybe… they forgot?”

“TRUE LOVE DOESN’T FORGET, HOP!”

This lady really needs to lay off the chick-flicks. But Hop had learned the hard way never to point out stuff like that when Sonia was in one of her manic moods.

“S-sure it doesn’t…” he tried not to sound creeped out.

Sonia sighed, putting her hands on her hips as she sent him a sassy pout.

“I’ve seen this in a show once - the person with unrequited feelings reaches out in their own way to their crush, but then something bad happens to them, so the crush has to be the one to help them.”

“I don’t think that’s what happens in real life -” Sonia shot him another look and he promptly shut up.

“Yes, of course!” she smiled, ignoring Hop’s previous comment entirely. “You have to find out who your secret admirer is quickly or else something terrible might happen to them - if it already hasn’t! Maybe they’ve been hit by a car! Or were kidnapped! Or are terminally ill and only your love can save them!”

“How are you a nationally-acclaimed pokemon professor?” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s settled then - here’s your mission, Assistant Hop! Figure out who can bake a cake like that, and you’ll find your true love! Easy, right?”

Hop nodded, not really understanding what she was saying, but was desperate enough to just lie to escape her nonsense. She was probably just overexaggerating like always, but he also didn’t want this mysterious person to be hurt. Maybe something did happen to interrupt the once steady flow of kind words and delicious foods? And thus began his search.

As terrible as it felt, the first person Hop went to was Leon. His big brother no doubt had handled situations like this before, so Hop swallowed his pride and approached his brother on the subject. Once he finally got Leon to stop laughing, he explained the whole situation from start to finish.

“Well,” Leon stroked his chin, at least pretending to seem semi-serious, “I don’t think I personally know any high-caliber bakers. But if I’m remembering things correctly, I think Opal is said to have legendary baking skills that practically nobody can compare to.”

Hop grimaced, but Leon quickly waved his hands before his brother full-on threw up everywhere at the thought of Opal being his secret admirer.

“No, no, no! I’m not saying she’s the one sending them - I’m just wondering if she taught the person who’s sending them.”

Hop leaned back a bit, trying to think. He didn’t really know too much about Ms. Opal (other than that she was an eccentric rich lady at an unknown age who seems to enjoy dressing people in bright shades of pink). But if there was a chance that she knew the identity of his mysterious benefactor, then he was willing to investigate a bit further. He opened his mouth to thank his brother, but a dark scowl suddenly flashed over his features. Leon blinked.

“Uh… everything alright there?”

“I just remembered,” Hop growled, “that if I want to even get close to Opal, then I’ll have to see that jerk again.”

“Who, Bede? Like I’ve said a thousand times, don’t worry too much about him. I hear he’s really mellowed out these days. Maybe all that pink finally seeped into his brain.”

Hop scoffed, but otherwise kept all his venomous comments at bay. He thanked his brother for the help and hurried out the door, making his way towards Ballonlea.

Ballonlea was always a difficult place to get to. A big contributor to that issue was due to Glimtangle Forest, which was basically a mystical maze that had posed as a major threat to countless gym challengers as well as general travellers for years. This is why most people opt for a flying taxi whenever they need to get to the city, but even then, some mystical fairy nonsense occasionally will cause a detour for whatever poor soul happened to be flying over the forest. Thankfully for Hop, this wasn’t the case, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervously twiddling his thumbs at the apprehension of having to navigate that nonsensical forest when in such a hurry.

He jumped out of the taxi, offering a berry to the Corviknight before making his normal dash for one of the most ornate buildings in the quaint town. It wasn’t hard to find Ms. Opal’s house when it was so amazingly decorated - it was borderline gaudy with the amount of pinks and purples passionately strewn about the house’s complex design. He wasted no time, bounding up the fancy front steps, grabbing the old-fashioned door knocker, and knocked. A few breaths passed him by as he shoved his sweaty hands into his pockets. What was he even nervous for?

After a couple of moments, the door opened, revealing the ever intimidating Ms. Opal, the now retired fairy-type gym leader of Ballonlea.

“Well, if this isn’t a… pleasant surprise,” she smirked, seeming almost deviously pleased in the teen’s awkwardness. “Running errands for the professor today, hm?”

“A-actually, I, um….” Hop took a deep breath and gathered his resolve. “I’m actually here to ask you something.”

She nodded, tapping the ground a couple times with her cane.

“Of course you are. Come inside, then.”

Before the assistant could protest, the elderly woman was already shuffling away deeper into the depths of the house. Hop could only sigh as he followed behind her. It was painfully frustrating; she took tiny steps and dragged her feet along the somehow pristine wooden floors, so Hop had to take the world’s slowest pace at the constant protest of his long legs. But over the course of a year, he’d managed to attain some semblance of calm, deciding that it would be best if he didn’t complain too much around the person he was seeking assistance from. Once he got the information he wanted, he could run around to his little heart’s content.

Eventually, Ms. Opal halted just before a beautiful white staircase, spiraling all the way up into the rather tall ceiling above.

“So, tell me,” she mused through sharp, invasive eyes, “what was it you were hoping to ask of me?”

“I… was curious to know if, um… Well, uh… if you happened to have any knowledge in baking. L-like, y’know, a cake, or something…”

Opal’s eyebrows twitched upwards just a centimeter. She brought a hand to her chin in dramatic thought.

“In my earlier days, I was quite proficient at it. But I don’t bake nearly as much as I used to.”

“Then… is there, um, a chance that you might have taught someone how to bake like you?”

She paused, staring intently at the boy with an amused expression. Hop was beginning to wonder if he really wanted the answer to this question. Before he could make up his mind to flee, she let out a small chuckle.

“Ah, but of course. My protege has been trained in everything I know how to teach. Head up these stairs and you’ll find your secret admirer.”

A stone of dread sank into the depths of his gut. Maybe Ms. Opal had more apprentices? It definitely couldn’t be the person he was thinking it was, right? No, that would be silly - impossible, even. But there seemed to be no turning back now. Hop swallowed his fears and slowly began his way up the stairs, trying to ignore the apprehensions racing through his fingertips.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Bede rolled onto his other side, desperate to find a position that made existence a little less agonizing. A dreadful fever had overtaken his body, unrelenting in its rage for the past four days, leaving the normally active youth bedridden the entire time. Hatterene was on nursing duty, constantly checking her trainer’s temperature and switching out his face towel in an attempt to ease the fever. Sylveon was stubbornly nestled under the covers, desperate to get as close to his body as physically possible. Not like Bede could really scold it even if he wanted to; he didn’t want to waste his energy on pointless yelling. So, he reluctantly stayed in bed, allowing his devoted pokemon to care for him while he waited for his body to recover. But a knock on the door earned a frustrated grown from him.

“What?” he hissed, trying to speak through a throat chalked full of phlegm. Hatterene nudged his shoulder, reminding him to watch his emotions. She was a sensitive thing, that Hatterene. Bede sat up, watching the door open and fully expecting to get an earful from that old woman again. So it’s safe to say that his heart entirely stopped when he saw Hop sheepishly shuffle in, wringing his hands nervously before his chest.

This… this couldn’t really be happening, right? No - he must be dreaming. Yes, that’s it. This was just a fever-induced nightmare. Bede would wake up in a moment’s notice and be in his bed once more, alone with only the company of his pokemon to rely on, just like always. Just like always. Just like always.

“Um…” Hop kept his eyes on the ground, brows knitted tightly together. Bede wasn’t sure if the boy was frustrated, sad, or confused. It all just looked like a blur of emotions constantly shifting across the assistant’s tan face. “... It’s… been a while.”

Bede opened his mouth with full intent to say words, but none dared to come to fruition. So he closed his mouth, pushing his aching body up to his elbows. How pathetic he felt right now, sick in bed with this person who confused him so annoying bad being unable to look at him. Maybe it would be best if Hop just left. At least then Bede would be familiar with the feelings in his chest. He didn’t know what he was feeling right now.

“So…” Hop cleared his throat, attempting to meet Bede’s eyes, but quickly looked off to the side. “I… I just wanted to ask if… if you’re… um…”

The light-haired boy felt a bead of sweat tumble down his brow. Surely it was from the heat of the fever, right? No way was he this nervous. No, no, Bede always kept his cool. Especially when beign confronted by the person he sort of kinda maybe almost possibly liked. Not that he did, anyway. Because that would be stupid. And Bede definitely wasn’t stupid. Right?

Hop sucked in a sharp breath of air, balling his hands into fists as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Are you the person who’s been sending me those gifts?” he threw the words out, trying to ignore his own flurry of conflicting emotions going through him at the moment. He didn’t know how to feel about either possible answer. Could he be happy with either one?

The intensity in the air rose a few degrees, making every breath laborious. Bede glanced towards Hatterene for some sort of support - he didn’t really know why he did. She smiled back at him, cooing a few unintelligible sounds.

Well, by the gym leader’s logic, if Hop was destined to abandon him like everybody else, then it really didn’t matter if he knew the truth, then, right? It didn’t matter of Hop found out this terribly dreadful secret Bede’s been carrying with him for over a year. According to the assistant, Bede was still Bede. Cold. Egotistical. Conniving. After everything that had happened, it was ridiculous to hope that Hop could ever forgive Bede, and nobody could blame him. And even if he could, it wouldn’t last. No, Bede would surely find some way to screw things up, or wouldn’t be enough to make Hop happy in any condition. Hop would leave, and eventually Ms. Opal will leave, just like the chairman and his foster parents and his parents that never came back and

“So what if I am?” the words hissed past his lips, far more venomous than he meant. Oh well. It didn’t matter. The outcome would be the same, anyways.

Hop flinched back a bit at the sharpness of the other boy’s words, but his conflicted expression remained stable. Once he collected himself, he took another deep breath. Slower, this time, as if to savor the taste of oxygen flowing through his lungs.

“Why?”

A painfully simple question. Remarkably, it was also one Bede hadn’t really expected. He really should have thought this through.

Why did he bake those cakes? Why did he write those letters? Why did he send them to Hop? Why did he feel this way? Why, why, why?

It eventually became obvious that Hop wasn’t going to hear a response. Bede had opted to glaring holes into his duvet, fingers tangling themselves within the fluffy pink fabric. Ah, pink, the color of so many things: sweetness, innocent attraction, adoration, and - evidently - embarrassment. There was no way to hide such a shade from the plush of his cheeks. How bothersome.

“... Did you really mean what you said in those letters?”

Bede looked back over at Hop for the briefest of moments, and immediately wished that he hadn’t. Much confliction remained, but there was something else there, now, amid the tempest of clashing feelings depicted on the teen’s face. Perhaps Bede really was having a fever dream. No way there was actually a bit of hopefulness in Hop’s eyes.

Maybe that’s what pulled out a strange sentence from Bede’s mouth.

“Every word.”

Hop shied his gaze away, seeming a bit more bashful as he rubbed the nape of his neck. Now Bede was really confident that he was the color of embarrassment. Maybe a bit too red though. The assistant stuttered an awkward laugh, trying to ease the thickness of the air while Bede shifted a bit more upright. Sylveon didn’t appreciate that motion, evidently, and crawled onto it’s trainer’s lap. Instinctively, Bede ran his fingers through the creature’s fur, desperate to distract himself from his non-fever related warmth. He looked back over to Hop, who seemed to still be processing the gravity of those words, and another sentence slipped out without Bede’s permission.

“Are you going to leave?”

Hop met his gaze, surprised.

“What?”

Bede took a small breath, losing just the smallest smidge of confidence in his words as he took the initiative to repeat them.

“... I said, are you going to leave?”

“Do you want me to?”

Here it was. The moment he had been unknowingly dreading. If he says yes, then Hop will no doubt walk away forever, and Bede would be back in his element of loneliness. Or, he says no, and takes a risk he never expected to take willingly. He would be clueless, a Magicarp out of water, left with nothing to keep himself steady but the hope that Hop would guide him through the confusion. Could he really take that chance?

“... No.”

Bede couldn’t keep his eyes on Hop. This was it, the deepest layer of his person; everything he was had been revealed in only a handful of words, leaving nothing but a fearful child afraid of being left behind by the people he loved. And now Hop could see the truth behind Bede’s every action and every word. This was blind faith in its simplest form, the gym leader unsure of what exactly he was hoping for.

“Okay.”

His eyes shot back up, genuine surprise (and a tinge of fear) written all over his flustered face. Hop stared back at him, hands shoved deep in his pockets with a curious expression on his face. What could that guy be thinking when he stared at Bede so intently?

“O-okay? Okay… what?” Bede’s voice died down syllable by syllable, reduced to nothing but a faint whisper by the end of it. Hop gave a timid smile. Perhaps a bit afraid, but a little hopeful, still. Such a strange expression on such a tender face.

“I’ll stay.”

[eloquent--asshole]

My Date With the President’s Son Volume 2

a/n: So I just want to say WOW y’all have been so patient waiting for this. I was not expecting to get so many messages for a part 2 and I really appreciate everyone who has read or sent an ask! And I’ve been sitting on it for the last couple weeks because I wanted it to be well.. in my eyes, perfect. I hope you all enjoy :)

If you’ve missed it you can read Volume 1 here

I don’t remember how long I stood in that hallway in the White House. I don’t remember when I let my tears start falling. I don’t remember when Niall came around the corner and enveloped me in a hug. I don’t even remember what I saw on the drive home when my vision was blurred with tears.

What I remembered is how Harry’s normally olive eyes turned black. How his voice shook me like I was experiencing an earthquake. I remember how tight my chest felt hearing how upset he was. And I remember my breath leaving my body as I heard his bedroom door slam shut.

What once was Niall’s hard and cold attitude toward me turned warm and gentle when he dropped me off. “We’ll figure it out, okay? He just needs some time to calm down. I’ll talk to him” I recall him whispering, giving me one last hug before I got out of his car.

***

Sunday came and went as I laid in my bed, not daring to check my phone for any potential messages from Thompson.

“Hey, Y/N.” I glanced over my blankets to see Derek, Summer’s boyfriend, standing in my doorway. I moved my gaze back to the wall, barely acknowledging his presence.

I hadn’t told Summer or Ashlie about what had happened. All I said was that whatever Harry and I had was over. I heard Derek sigh before coming to take a seat next to me on my bed.

“How are you?” his voice was tender, like it scared him thinking I may throw a punch. I like Derek. He’s always been kind. When he and Summer started dating in college, he fit right in with our tight-knit group. He always knew what to say to Ashlie or me when one of his fraternity brothers would piss us off and helped us pass our chemistry exams.

“I’m okay,” I sighed, pushing the blankets from my chest. “I’ve been better.”

“Summer and Ashlie are worried about you, you know.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and quirked a grin, “Said they haven’t seen you like this since Professor Neuman wouldn’t let you take that final you missed.”

I cracked a smile with him. Of course that’s what they would compare this to. “Okay, Professor Neuman knew how badly I needed to pass that class.” I looked down at my hands sitting on my lap, “Besides, she was a bitch.” I mumbled.

He let out a cackle, “Yeah, that she was, kid. That she was.” I noticed Derek fiddling with his thumbs, avoiding eye contact with me. “Look, Y/N, I’m by no means a love expert. But whatever happened, and whatever will happen, I know that you’re tough and you can handle it. You work for the fucking FBI, dude. You need to remember who you are.”

“Derek, that’s the problem right now. I don’t know who I am. I took a mission thinking it would be a breeze because my boss and team had my back. And it blew up in my face when I couldn’t keep my personal life separate.” I paused so I could sit up against my headboard. “Am I really the girl that can’t keep up with the guys because I’m emotional? Niall has been working with Harry since President Styles got into office. How can I – “ My eyebrows scrunched, and I shook my head, trying to find the words. “I don’t want my personal and work life to be so tangled.”

Derek kept his gaze steady on me while taking in the information I just unleashed. “Okay… So untangle it.” My eyes flicked to meet his.

“What?”

“You heard me. Untangle it. Separate those again and come back to it.” With that, he got up and headed for the door. “Also, do you want some pizza? One’s being delivered in about 5.” I could only nod in response, still taking in his advice.

***

Thompson called me later that Sunday night. Should I even answer? “Hello?” I greeted Mr. Thompson.

“Hey, kid.” His voice was eerily quiet. “Niall called me.” Oh, great. Niall told Thompson everything. “He told me Harry found out… About the mission.” I felt the confusion cover my face, my mouth went dry, and a clammy feeling started on my palms.

“Oh, Mr. Thompson I – ”

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Thompson interrupted, “While I’m working on damage control this week, you’ll still be working. But I’m going to stick you on desk duty for the time being.” He grumbled. What? Not fired? “We’ll discuss your employment next week after we’re finished with damage control.” There it is.

When Thompson hung up, I lay my phone back on the nightstand. I had a few notifications from Ashlie and Summer asking if I wanted to talk, which I ignored. I should go for a run or to the gym. Something, Y/N. Something.

***

Walking into work was terrifying on Monday. Eyes followed me around the office as I went to my desk. I settled in and turned on my monitor.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” I looked up to see Thompson standing next to my desk.

“Mr. Thompson,” I welcomed him.

“Miss. Y/L/N, we’re moving you for the week.” What? “We’ll be sticking you in an office. Just for your peace of mind.” I nodded my head and picked up my bag to follow him down the hall.

We stepped into a compact room near the back of the office. The office filled with filing cabinets and papers askew from other workers. Thompson gave me a curt nod and excused himself to go back to work.

Sighing, I set my bag on the desk. The wavering lights were dim, almost dim enough to hurt my eyes. I turned on the monitor and logged into the database. Desk duty is probably the worst thing to do. All you do is research. Although, researching criminals sometimes got interesting.

I researched some of our most wanted suspects, finding where they were living, what they were doing, anything I could find. I came across a file that particularly caught my interest. Greg Patterson – Attempted assassination. Why haven’t I heard of this? Maybe it’s from a long time ago.

As I dug deeper into the file, I noticed that he had a connection to Harry, and to the government. Greg was a congressman’s son. Unfortunately for me the file didn’t have much in it except some basic information and a picture.

Last known location: New Orleans, Louisiana – December 2018.

Wanted for: Attempted assassination.

Reward: $1,000,000

I started looking at Harry’s social media connections, checking Facebook friends, Twitter followers, Instagram followers, everything.

Harry had posted nothing in the last week. Harry’s always on social media. I would know.

I scrolled through Harry’s Twitter followers, a username catching my eye. G_Pattsy. I clicked on the profile and was met with a picture of a single emerald eye; I looked back at the computer to compare the colors. Greg’s pictured shows that he has brown eyes, not green. I looked harder at the picture. Wait. That’s Harry’s eye.

I scrolled to the most recent update. It was a picture of the Washington Monument saying So good to be home😈.

Not good, Y/N, not good.

I printed the documents I had up and grabbed them, immediately going to Thompson’s office. The door was slightly cracked.

“Mr. Horan,” I heard Thompson’s gruff voice, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I peeked into the room to see Niall standing in front of Thompson’s desk and Thompson facing the windows overlooking the 695.

“Sir,” Niall’s voice shook, “I haven’t seen him in two days. I don’t know where he could be.”

Haven’t seen who? Harry?

“Then you better fucking find him. You better get the entire TEAM sweeping this city to track him down!” Thompson roared. His voice ringing through my ears, and I’m sure Niall’s.

“Yes, sir.” I scurried from the doorway and hid behind a file cabinet. I watched Niall exit Thompson’s office and rush out of the building. My thoughts whirled to Harry. Where is he? I should call him…

I waited a minute before deciding to interrupt Thompson with this information I just found on Greg Patterson.

“Come in,” Thompson demanded after my soft knock. His face lightened only a bit when I entered the room. “Miss. Y/L/N, what do you need?” His voice is dismissive. He’s not happy with you. What had been Thompson’s relaxed demeanor from our time on the mission was replaced by his original hard exterior.

“Mr. Thompson,” I started, walking over to the empty chairs and taking a seat, “I was doing some research and I think there may be a potential threat to the Presidential family.” Thompson’s brows drew together, taking on a frustrated expression.

“What are you talking about, Y/L/N.” Thompson’s voice was so low, I almost couldn’t hear it over the soft hum of the air conditioning.

“Does the name Greg Patterson sound familiar?” Thompson glanced at the papers in my hand and reached for them. He started flipping through the few papers I brought with me before meeting my gaze.

“What did you find?” He interrogated.

“I believe he’s back in D.C,” I informed him, thinking of the picture printed on the page with the screenshot of his Twitter update.

“Damn it.” Thompson reached for the phone on his desk and began dialing numbers. “You’re dismissed, Miss. Y/L/N.” I hesitated to get up from the chair. I found this information. I want to help. “Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson stopped me, “Have you been in contact with Mr. Styles as of late?” I shook my head. He nodded and motioned for me to leave. “Get me Joe.” I heard him bark into the phone as I shut the door.

***

If it was two weeks ago, I’d be seeing Harry after work. This week, after work, I would go home and sulk in bed.

On Thursday night, I finally decided I should do something instead of sulking about how I failed. How I failed the director of the FBI because I couldn’t keep it together. How I failed Harry because of my lies. But most importantly, how I failed myself by putting my job above my feelings and letting it interfere with my personal life.

I got up and grabbed my leggings with the pistol holster in the back. I slipped the one I kept in my drawer into its holder. They trained us to carry a gun at all times. Whether it’s in my purse, my boot, or my waistband. I always had it. Harry never knew you had a gun on you.

I looked over to the hoodie laying over my chair. It’s Harry’s. I wonder if he wants his clothes back. A few times when he was over, he brought an extra shirt, hoodie, sweatpants, because “I think you’d look fantastic in my clothes.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. I grabbed the hoodie and tossed it to the pile of his things lying in the corner of my room.

I went to my closet and pulled out a long sleeve NASA t-shirt to slip over my head. Why didn’t I just become an astronaut?

“Hi, you!” Summer welcomed me happily when I walked into the kitchen area. She turned to face me, and I caught Ashlie’s eyes from her position on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, I’m going to go for a run. I’ll be back,” I stated, opening the front door and shutting it behind me. I could just make out Summer and Ashlie having a conversation through the door, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.

I let my feet carry me closer to the downtown area, my music blaring in my ears. I ran past an alley and saw a man limp against the brick wall. He was being cornered by 3 others in black jackets, hats, and I could just make out sunglasses covering their eyes from one that was slightly turned to the side. I came to a stop just past the alley and took my headphones out. I noticed I was stood next to an entry of a bar. I listened to see if I needed to intervene.

“Come on, Styles. We know you’ve got something on you. What is it?” The voice was muffled from facing the other direction, but it was hard, callous, and aggressive. Harry? I reached around my back and grabbed my gun, peeking around the corner of the building into the alley. I looked at the ground to see if there were rocks that would shuffle as I stepped forward.

How stupid are they? Not one of them is facing the street to see if anyone is coming by. My eyes wandered around them, not seeing any guns or knives.

“I don’t have anything, I swear.” Harry pleaded. His face was cast at the ground. He was clutching his shoulder. “Greg, I swear.” Greg? Greg Patterson? Oh, God. Help me.

I took a few more steps, so I was standing about 6 feet away and raised my gun, pointed at the man talking.

“Step away from the boy,” I muttered. Harry’s head snapped in my direction. His eyes looked thankful to see someone standing there but grew withdrawn when he saw it was me. Greg slowly turned to face me. A lopsided grin taking over his features.

He twisted his torso to face Harry again, “Hey, isn’t this that girl you were seeing for a bit? Turned out to be a narc?” He took a stride towards me, “What’re you gonna do about it baby girl?” he belittled, lifting his shirt to let the light glimmer off a knife sticking in his waistband.

“Unless you want me to shoot you, I suggest you get out of here,” I said, my voice turning hostile.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He taunted, taking another step toward me.

“Oh, yeah?” I quickly pointed my gun at the ground a foot in front of him and shot. The fire rang in my ears, “Do you seriously want to test me?”

The two other men grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him out of the alley passed me. “You will regret doing that, bitch!” I heard him yell. They started running when I aimed at the wall and released another bullet. I glanced at Harry, who was still slack against the brick wall.

“Harry,” I rushed to his side. “Are you okay?” I gripped his arm and went to put it around my shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do that,” He griped, pulling himself out of my grasp.

“Oh yeah, and let them kill you? No way.” I laughed sarcastically. Harry started walking towards the street, rubbing his shoulder.

“They weren’t going to kill me,” He brushed off.

“Harry, that guy had a knife,”

“A little nick is nothing compared to what I’ve been through recently.” He paused. Ouch. “What are you even doing here? What, did Thompson send you here or something?” His tone was demanding,

“What? No. I’m just out.”

“Sure you just happen to be passing a bar I used to frequent. And just so happen to make an appearance when I catch a bit of trouble?” His interrogation sent a chill down my spine. He turned on his heel to look at me, inches from my face. “I didn’t need you to defend me.”

“Harry, what are you even doing here? Without security? Your entire team has been looking for you for four days! And I was just trying to help…” I whispered, my eyes falling to the ground.

“I don’t need your help, okay?” His voice rattled my eardrums. I took an involuntary step back. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes were glowering, fixed on mine. “I think you’ve done enough ‘help’ in my life. And I certainly do not need your permission, or Niall’s, to leave my own fucking house.” He spat, turning toward the street again.

“Say what you want, okay?” I said, my voice shaky, tears brimming my eyes. “But I care about you, Harry. I wanted to tell you! I have cared about you the entire time. You were and are getting back to being an absolute mess, Harry. Okay, maybe I was used as a prop by the FBI, but –“

“See that’s just it, Y/N,” Harry turned to face me again. His eyes soft, glistening with a few tears. “They used you as a prop. You used me to advance yourself. I thought,” He paused and ran a hand through his long locks, looking at the ink shaded sky. “I thought you were feeling the same thing I was.”

“I was!” I shout, not caring if any passer-byes could hear me. “I was feeling the same thing you were! I wanted to tell you everything! I –“ I took a deep breath to compose myself and looked into his darkened eyes – “I was scared.” I admitted, my voice lowering to a mumble. My eyes flashed around the alley, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Scared of what?” He questioned, furrowing his brows. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “Of Thompson?”

“No.”

“No?” He affirmed, confused. “Then what were you so afraid of?”

“Well, yes. Thompson. But I was afraid of you…” My voice trailed; my eyes fixed on the pavement between us.

“Me?” He brought his palm to his chest “You were scared of me?!” His tone deepened. “What did you think? That I’d have you fired or something?”

That was something I hadn’t thought of. Can Harry have me fired? Did he have that much say in the FBI staff?

“I was scared,” I played with the hem of my shirt, “It scared me to think that you’d wonder if everything I told you was a lie. And I was scared you’d be done with me, and that you’d just…” I briefly met his expressionless gaze before settling it back on the ground, “Just walk away without getting a chance to know me. The real me.”

“Well,” Harry stiffened. “I’m sure we’re both glad we don’t have to worry about that anymore.” My gaze snapped to his. “I know exactly who you are, you’re nothing but a con artist who got exactly what you wanted.” He turned his back to me and walked out to the street.

“This is not what I wanted!” I called, he stopped in his tracks, “At the end of the day, I wanted you to know the Y/N that is compassionate and strong. I wanted you to know the Y/N that started falling for the kind, caring and utterly incredible man that you are.” Without a response, he kept moving. I waited for him to round the corner before following. I watched as his back disappeared into the boisterous bar.

I stood on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes before deciding he wasn’t coming out. I turned on my heel to continue my jog home.

***

My heart began racing like never before every time I thought about going into work on Monday morning. Meeting with Thompson. The looks I would get from my colleagues as I packed up my desk. The only contact I’ve had with Thompson since Tuesday was him texting me to tell me about our meeting on Monday morning.

Friday and Saturday brought me to the gym. Employees of the FBI had exclusive access to a gym on the north side of the city. I stepped on the treadmill and began my jog, upping the intensity every couple minutes. Beads of sweat formed on the back of my neck. I wiped them away, staring out the window at the trees across the field. My feet began to pound harder as I thought back to Thursday night and my actual run-in with Harry.

How could he be so hardheaded to think that someone sent me there?

I looked down at the moving treadmill under me. A pair of feet caught my eye, climbing onto the treadmill next to me. I turned my head to see Niall standing there. I scrunched my eyebrows at him as he motioned for me to take out my headphones.

“Hey…” I said as I pulled them out and pressed the pause button. The treadmill came to a stop, and I faced Niall.

“Hey, Y/N.” He greeted, a hint of a smile on his face. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I panted, trying to catch my breath. “And you?”

“I’m alright.” The silence took over as both our eyes wandered around the empty room. “I’ve been wanting to get ahold of you.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Harry’s been to the office a few times, since that night.” He started, my eyes widening. That’s why Thompson moved me. So we wouldn’t see each other. “I don’t know what’s going on but – “ There’s something he’s not saying.

“Are you still working with Harry?” The question slipped from my lips before I could fully process the question I wanted to ask.

Niall harshly blinked, taken aback by what I asked. “Oh – “ he mumbled, lowering his eyes to the space between us. “Yeah. Harry was pretty upset with me, but I think he’s doing better.” I figured.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Y/N, Harry’s just really hurt. You know, by everybody. Not just you.” Niall’s sympathetic tone seeped into my mind. “And, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, Niall?” I asked, picking up my water bottle to take a sip. “It’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve known better than to let my emotions get in the way of this.” I finished after gulping my water down.

“No, it’s my fault too. I should’ve seen it.” He concluded, his eyes staring out the window at the trees. He glanced at my face before continuing, “I should’ve seen the way you two were looking at each other. I should’ve seen how real it was for both of you.”

Why was Harry at the office so often? Was more than just my job at risk now?

Niall stepped off the treadmill and headed for the front door. I watched him as he exited the building, my legs not allowing me to follow and ask more questions.

***

Do you ever try so hard to forget something, but then it keeps popping in your memory even more? That’s how I feel with my conversations with Harry and Niall. What is Niall not telling me? What does he know that I don’t? And how can Harry forgive Niall and not me?

Derek broke my thoughts when he walked through our front door, 3 friends in tow. “Hey, Y/N. How was your day?” He asked, heading towards the kitchen.

“It was – “ I glanced at his friends and felt anxiety consume my heart. I can’t place the feeling, but it certainly wasn’t a pleasant one. “fine.”

Derek nodded, filling a glass from the cabinet with water. “Oh, Y/N. These are some friends, Mike, Tyler, and Greg,” Derek said, taking in my blank expression, and pointing to each man standing in my kitchen.

I couldn’t place the faces, but I felt like I’ve met them. “Hi,” I said, giving a slight wave. “Um – Have we met before?” I asked, gesturing between me and the men I learned to be Tyler, Greg, and Mike.

Greg looked at his friends then back at me, “I – I don’t think so?” A smirk took over his features with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe in a past life.” Flashes of a knife went through my brain. Greg. G_Pattsy.

“Anyway, where’s Summer? She said she’d be home,” Derek spoke, obliviously breaking up the tension slowly building around him.

“She’s in the shower,” I said getting up from the couch. “I have to run an errand.” I grabbed my purse from the counter, side-eying the men standing there once more.

“Problem, sweetheart?” A chill ran down my spine from his menacing tone. “Don’t worry, I know the effect I have on people.” Oh, we’re going to have a problem.

“Don’t ever for a second think you’d have the privilege,” I uttered over my shoulder, slamming the door on my way out. I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number I could think of. “Hey, can you meet me?”

I hung up and made my way to the nearest bar. It was only 8 pm, so it wasn’t that packed. “Hey, you,” Louis said wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “What can I do for ya?”

“Do you want something to drink first?” I laughed, motioning to the liquor sitting behind the counter.

“Oh, yeah.” Louis waved the bartender over and taking a seat on the chair next to me. “Bumbu, rocks, please.” The bartender made his drink and placed it in front of him. Louis took a sip before turning in his chair to face me completely. “So.”

“You’ve known Harry for a long time, right?” I asked, running my fingers around my glass, avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah, since I was about 3, I think.” He said, gazing off into the distance. “I heard about what happened. That it didn’t work out, and I’m sorry. You two seemed good for each other.” Louis confessed, placing a hand on my shoulder. How though? How did we seem good for each other?

“It’s okay.”

“Anyway, yeah. A long time.” He spoke, bringing his hands back to his lap. “Why?”

“Can you tell me about his friendship with Greg Patterson?” I asked, lifting my eyes to meet his.

“Greg? Patterson?” He questioned as I nodded. “Well, there’s not much to tell. Harry and Greg were friends through high school. After that, Greg kind of fell off the grid. Got into a… a more dangerous crowd. Harry didn’t say much about what happened.”

“But what did he say then?” I pressed. Louis looked at me with a frown, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Uh – “ He ran his hand across his jaw, leaving it there for a second. “I know they got into a tremendous fight. Greg landed in the hospital, Harry walked away with a few scrapes and a broken nose.” Louis lowered his hand, clasping the glass in front of him. “Something about drugs.”

“Was Harry selling?” I asked nonchalantly. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and tucked some strands behind my ear. I took a glance at the door, eyeing the couple walking in. “Or buying?”

“No, no. Harry never got into that.” Louis waved off, shaking his head. “But he knew people that were. Greg wanted in. He didn’t believe Harry wasn’t in on the deals.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“Who, Harry? Not since the benefit.” Louis glanced at my blank expression. “Oh, Greg? I never knew him. Just of him.” Louis knocked his fist on his chin gently, deep in thought. “You know, I think I heard from someone that he was back in the D.C. area though.”

I thought about Louis’ last comment almost the entire way home. I thought about how the man that is wanted for attempted assassination has gone this long without being found. More importantly, I thought about how that same man had been standing in my kitchen not even two hours ago and every possible way that Derek knew that man and brought him to my house. Does he know?

I pulled up to my building and shifted my car into park, taking notes of the blacked-out SUV sitting a couple of spaces away. I eyed it, warily. Many people drive blacked-out SUVs, not just Harry. I had to remind myself. I slowly got out of my car and walked towards the door, eager to know if Derek was still inside.

I couldn’t see if anyone was in the SUV, but I prayed the Thompson didn’t have it out for me now.

“Derek?” I called as soon as the door latched. “Are you here?”

“In here,” I heard him call from Summer’s room. I made my way, checking my phone for anything from Thompson. “What’s up?” he greeted when I entered the room.

They were sprawled across the floor, Boy Meets World playing softly on the TV. “Can I talk to you about something?” I asked, taking a seat on the floor next to them. He sat up and stared at me expectantly. “How’d you meet those guys from earlier?” Derek’s mouth slightly parted, confused. “Like did you meet them recently? Or have you known them for a while?”

Derek’s eyebrows scrunched together, “Do you know them?”

“No, but I was just wondering.” I shook my head, trying to laugh it off.

“Did Greg say something to you? I’ll kick his ass.” Derek slammed his palms on the ground like he was ready to track him down. “I swear if he fucking said something, I’ll-“

“Derek, no” I laughed, “I think I’ve seen him around or something.”

He raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck, “Okay, good. I met them in NOLA, actually.” I raised my eyebrows. That’s right. Derek went to New Orleans like two years ago. “They were cool, got us into all the good clubs down there,” he looked at Summer who was nodding her head in agreement. “Told him to hit me up if he was ever in DC. Guess he decided to take me up on the offer.”

“I think I may need your help.”

***

The next day, I was once again sat in the conference room. It was around 9:00 pm and my breath was hitching every other second. I’m nervous about how everything will go. Thoughts swirled my mind. How will Niall react? What are we going to do? I can’t believe I looped Derek into this. This is insane.

“All right,” Thompson started, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. My gaze shifted around to each person in the room. Niall, Joe, Thompson, Derek, and a few others from secret security I didn’t quite recognize. “Derek, first and foremost, thank you for joining us and helping us.” Derek nodded nonchalantly. “Here’s the plan.” I started spacing out. I knew I wouldn’t be a part of it. No matter how much I wanted to be. I’d be in the van, with Joe, Thompson and the others. Of course, Niall got to make the arrest. He’d be with them, watching from afar.

What felt like an eternity passed before Thompson’s voice rang in my ears again. “Understood?” His voice was loud, angry, stern. Everything you would expect from the Director of the FBI. Everyone started getting up to pack the van and move. “Y/N,” Thompson stared at me. He motioned for me to wait while everyone else filed out of the room. “You don’t have to come.”

“Sir?”

“If it will be too much. Just let me know.” He said gently.

“Mr. Thompson,” I said, my voice hinting irritation, “This is my job. I love my job. And I want so badly to see that sucker put away. I’m not letting what happened interfere with this. At the end of the day, it’s my duty to protect and serve.”

He gave me a curt nod and gestured for me to exit, quickly following suit. We made our way to the vans and got in. Niall and Derek got into their respective cars to meet up with the suspect and the bait. Everyone had their gear on, ready to intervene if need be. Everyone except me. “It’ll be for the best. He won’t be thrown off.”

When the van started moving, all the men started chatting about work life, home life, “Did you hear about Linda in the office today?”, and everything going on in the White House. Thompson’s voice kept me sane. This isn’t a crazy dream I had thought up. This is real life. I kept my mouth shut through it all. Everyone knows what happened. Niall probably told everyone at the White House what happened. Don’t dig yourself a deeper hole.

We pulled up to the dingy bar that somehow became remarkable after one encounter. Niall pulled up behind us and got out of his car. He came up to Thompson’s window to get his earpiece and mic before heading off into the bar. The static on the radio in the back of the van let us know the mics were on. The voices and music started flowing through within seconds.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice came through. “Thought I might find you here.” His voice was hard to hear with all the background noise, but I distinctly heard a chair screeching across the floor. Niall’s sitting down.

“What are you doing here?” Harry’s words slurred, he sounded far away. How much had he had to drink already? Suddenly I didn’t know how to breathe. Oh, how I missed the sweet voice that I no longer had the privilege of hearing.

“Just came to check on you. I know you’re still upset.” His voice was sympathetic. For once, I was grateful it wasn’t for me.

There was a lengthy pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry’s voice sounded beaten. He sounded rough. And though I couldn’t see him, I knew his eyebrows had a crease between them. “I mean, how could she do something like that? How could you do something like that?” Okay, going right in then.

“Harry,” Niall stuttered, “We were just trying to do what’s best. Look, I’m not here as your guard tonight. I’m here as your friend. If you want to get fucked up and party, I’m here. If you want to get fucked up and talk, I’m here.”

About 30 seconds had passed before I stopped holding my breath. “I just, I could really see something with her.” He has to be careful. Niall’s lack of response confirmed my thoughts. He knew that we were all listening. “Anyway, thanks for letting me do this, Niall. Thanks for being here. It’s been a rough week.” I could basically see the smile on his face, dimples making a full appearance.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice broke. “I know you’re hurting. But you’re not alone, okay? She’s hurting too.” A smile crept onto my face. Thanks, Niall. I didn’t dare look at Thompson, scared he would see the brokenness and weakness hidden in my eyes. I kept my face straight, fading the smile to be more serious for the situation, and for the sake of being within a foot of my boss.

“So you like this bar, huh?” A voice from another speaker broke through, much clearer than the last. A gruff voice I recognized from my kitchen. Someone remind me why I thought this would be a marvelous idea.

“Yeah, been coming here for a short while with my girl,” Derek’s voice was smooth, he had always been a talented actor. Hiding me and Ashlie in his room and straight-up lying to his brothers saying he hadn’t seen us. Pretending to be someone else’s boyfriend so a creep at the bar would back off. Sometimes I’m still amazed and the stuff he can pull off.

“Awesome.”

A couple of minutes passed as Derek and Greg made their way to the bar, we were outside of. Their voices on the speaker grew cluttered, voices from all around them being picked up. Joe turned down all the speakers, so the van wasn’t being bombarded. Soon after, Derek, Greg, and his two friends arrived and entered. Now it was only a matter of time.

The unfortunate part of tonight was, our eyes were Niall. We don’t have any cameras in the bar, or on our people. All we had to go off of were conversations. Greg and Harry were completely in the dark. But we needed them together to make the arrest. What if Harry gets hurt? You’re at fault for that. My eyes widened at the thought. But if you had said nothing, Greg might’ve tracked Harry down and the outcome would’ve been so much worse. My conscience was trying to rationalize everything happening, but I couldn’t keep up.

“Y/N, I want you to go inside.” I looked over to Thompson to see his serious face.

“What?”

“You heard me,” He reached into the center console pulling out an earpiece and a body camera. “Here, put these on. And go.” I took the pieces with shaky hands. I strapped the camera onto my torso and stuck the piece in my ear.

“Ted,” Joe leaned through the seats from the back, ‘Are you sure about this?”

Thompson looked at Joe with enough blaze in his eyes to put hell to shame. “Yes, she’s discreet enough to not be seen.”

My body was on autopilot walking into the bar. I looked around. Derek had strategically placed himself and Greg at the bar near the bathroom. Niall had taken Harry to the opposite side of the bar. Niall looked in my direction with wide eyes. I hurried to the corner, narrowly avoiding Harry’s eyes as he turned around. I could still hear everything from Niall and Derek’s mics. I was the eyes of the men in the van.

“Hey, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” I could just make out Harry’s voice above the music and other people talking. I pulled my hood up and looked at the table, catching his feet walking passed. I angled the camera to follow him, hopefully.

I saw Greg take a glance over his shoulder at the passing body. “I gotta take a piss.” Spotted. Greg had spotted Harry. Greg got up from his stool and followed behind Harry.

“Derek, go wait about 6 feet from the bathroom, let us know what happens but don’t do anything. We don’t want you getting hurt. Horan make your way outside to the east alley. That’s the only other door to the bar. Y/N, stay there.”

“Got it” “Moving” Derek and Niall’s voices filtered through the noise. Niall made his way out the front door. My mind went to the alley. The same alley where Harry looked defeated. The same alley we fought because of my job. The same alley he could’ve been killed if I hadn’t been there.

“They’re moving, heading towards a side door,” Derek stated, making me forget anything I was thinking. I felt the color drain from my face. I saw Greg and Harry walking down the hallway.

The door burst open. The last thing being seen was Harry being shoved to the ground as it slammed shut. I felt my heart break at the scene. I couldn’t hear what was being said. Niall was too far away,

“Move!” Thompson screamed; my eardrum felt like it was about to bust. I heard a gunshot go off. Muffled voices and commotion coming through my earpiece.

I got up, grabbed Derek by the forearm, and rushed out the front, knocking a few people out of the way. People on the block were ducking for cover or scrambling into the nearest open shop.

By the time we got to the corner of the building, Greg was being put into handcuffs. Niall helped Harry up and placed his hands on his shoulder. “You okay?” Harry nodded, blank-faced.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned my head to look at Thompson. “Good job, kid.” It was short, but it made me feel secure. I did something right. “Come on,” Thompson ushered me back to the van. Derek walked towards Niall, Harry, and the other men.

I walked towards the van and clutched the door handle. I turned my face towards the alley. My heartbeat sped up as I locked eyes with familiar olive ones. I sighed and pulled open the door, climbing in.

Looking back to the alley, Niall, Harry, and Derek were walking toward the street. Niall gave a thumbs up in our direction. “Horan, you can take Harry home, or to another bar. I will sweep the area before we leave.” As Thompson continued talking my eyes glazed over, thinking about how crazy tonight had been. Derek helped save Harry’s life. Niall helped save Harry’s life. I saved Harry’s life. Who knows what would’ve happened if Greg found him out and about by himself?

I watched as the three boys disappeared down the road. Who knows where to? Harry was glancing back every few seconds. Almost as if to convince himself he saw me. And Derek, well, he had just made friends with my coworker and Harry. The men in suits walked Greg across the street towards the van behind us. “The boys are going to take Greg in that van. Do you want me to take you home?”

“Ted,” Joe spoke from the back, “I’ll take her.” My eyes shifted between Thompson, and Joe. Thompson pursed his lips, giving Joe a nod. “Come on, kid,” Joe said as he pats my shoulder. I took the body cam and earpiece off and handed them to Thompson.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Thompson spoke slowly as I opened the van door. I nodded at him before shutting the door. What happens to my job now?

“You need a drink,” Joe commented and motioned towards a bar across the street. I didn’t say a word as we began walking towards the entrance of the bar.

We sat at a table near the back, waiting for our drinks. “So,” Joe started. “How are you?” How am I? Really?

“I’m okay,” And it was true. I was okay. I had my breath back, the boy I had fallen for was safe, the guy who was wanted for trying to kill said boy was being put away, and I’d be okay if I had to transfer or be fired if it meant I could leave everything that had happened in the past.

“Y/N, I’m not your boss. You can talk to me. Person to person.” Joe smiled, putting a comforting hand atop mine on the table.

“Honestly?” I asked. Joe nodded, giving me the go-ahead. “I’m so exhausted and disappointed.”

“Disappointed? With what?” He asked, grasping his drink after the waitress sat it down. Joe thanked her before turning his attention back to me.

“I’m so disappointed in myself,” I stated.

“Why? You’ve done brilliant work. I would know. We’ve been watching you since you got hired.”

I let the confused expression on my face speak for itself. Completely ignoring his second statement I questioned him, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Know about what I did.” It was Joe’s turn to be confused. “How I completely messed up my mission by putting my feelings above my job. How I couldn’t keep it together. How I let myself, Harry and the FBI down. How – “

“Woah Woah Woah, Y/N. Slow down.” Joe laughed. “What are you talking about? You didn’t let anyone down.” He paused, glancing at the glasses between us, “Look. I’ve worked with the Styles’ for over 5 years. Sometimes we have to do dreadful things in order to get good results. When that happens, we often forget all the wonderful things we did. You did a good job, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short. And don’t let anyone else either.”

“But what about Harry?”

“Harry? Honey, that kid's crazy about you. He’d be crazy to let you go.” I took a sip of the rum and coke I had ordered. I had grown to like them after having tasted it on Harry’s lips at the benefit. “After seeing you two gallivanting around at the benefit, we all knew.”

“Knew what?” I asked, taking another look around the room. Young couples all around. Being handsy under the table, whispering into each other’s ears, grabbing each other’s hands to pull the other towards the door.

“We all knew that something real would happen.” I let my gaze settle on Joe again. “You were scared, and that’s why you ran and caused some trouble. Stop running. He might surprise you.” Joe dropped the subject after that and refused to answer any of my cut-off questions. He brought our attention back to work and regular life. We finished our drinks and walked outside. The cool air felt nice on my warm skin.

He pulled out his car keys and unlocked the Mercedes sitting in front of us. “When Ted called me about this, I knew I was going to pull you aside.” He shrugged off my unasked question. I pulled open the door and slid in. The drive was short and quiet. The only sound being the soft playing radio tuned to the Queen station on SiriusXM. “I’ll see you soon, kid.” Joe winked when he pulled up to my building. I gave him a tight-lipped smile and got out, taking a deep breath before walking up to my apartment.

I pulled out my keys and turned to the stairwell when I heard footsteps coming behind me. “There you are,” I twisted to see Derek walking up the steps. “Been waiting for you to get back. That was crazy, right?” I laughed as I unlocked the door.

“Wild.”

***

It was exactly 8 O’clock on Monday when I looked at the clock on the wall. The atmosphere of the conference room brought me back to the first time I had an interview with Thompson. His demeanor was tough, cold, and stern. My nerves reminded me even more of that day. My legs bounced under the table, my palms were sweating, and my eyes couldn’t settle on a single object for too long. I was completely prepared to possibly turn in my badge, gun, and ID.

When Thompson entered the room, his intimidating nature followed. He closed the door and sat across from me at the table, setting some papers down between us.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson started, taking a second to clear his throat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Thompson,” I greeted him, exhaling a shaky breath.

“How are you?” I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. How am I? That’s how you want to start my termination?

“I’m – I’m nervous,” I confessed.

“Nervous?” he casually asked. “Why are you nervous?” Thompson started shuffling the papers he had laid on the table. I glanced at them, trying to figure out if they were the agreements I signed when I first started.

“I – “ I pointed to myself, “Am I getting fired?”

Thompson snickered at my question. “Fired? Why would we fire you?”

“I thought – “ I paused, blinking harshly. Am I being punked? “since Har – Mr. Styles found out. I thought I would be fired.”

“Y/N, Mr. Styles has made it very clear we would be stupid to fire you.”

“What?” The question fell from my lips. I was taken aback. Why would Harry tell them not to fire me?

“When Niall called to tell us he let it slip last week, we called in Mr. Styles to talk about it and explain why we did it.” Thompson started, “We talked about suspending your employment for 6 months or transferring you out of D.C. He was pretty adamant about it. But Mr. Styles came in yesterday, unannounced I might add, to tell us if we suspended you or transferred you, well. We’d be out of our minds. In better terms.”

I fell back into my chair. So I’m not fired? Thompson answered my question before I could ask, “We’d be stupid to let you go. Especially after Saturday night.” My eyes flicked to his. “Y/N, one thing I noticed when we first met was how much you reminded me... of me. You are strong, ambitious, willing to do whatever it takes. Those are qualities we need in this job.”

“So, I’m not fired?”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “But we’ll be putting you on desk duty for the next two weeks. For disobeying orders of the mission.” Damn it.

I nodded my head, accepting my two-week punishment. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson.”

“Don’t thank me.” He said, waving me off. “Thank Mr. Styles.” He dismissed me and I picked up my bag, ready to head for the door. “And Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson said, stopping me. “Don’t mess it up.”

I left the conference room confused. Why would Harry save my job?

I took a seat at my desk and pulled up the database. Researching was tough, but even more so when my mind kept wandering to Harry. Why’d he do it? Why would he come in here to tell them not to fire me? Maybe because you saved his life. Who knows what Niall or Derek told him? The questions filled my mind for the rest of the day. So much so, I could barely get any work done.

***

I left the office after a few of hours of researching some wanted suspects. I found myself strolling the streets, coming to a halt as I passed the café where Harry and I first met. I wandered inside and ordered a grande iced vanilla soy latte. A drink I genuinely came to enjoy from my times with Harry. When my order came up, I took a glance around the café to pick a place to sit. My eyes landed on a familiar stranger facing the window.

Stop running, Y/N.

I took a seat next to him at the bar, sitting my coffee down, and facing the man. I propped my head on my hand, with my elbow resting on the bar top. “Is this seat taken?” I asked him.

He cracked a smile at me, turning his face to me. “How’d you find me this time?” Harry probed.

“Oh, I didn’t,” I laughed. “I just came here for some coffee. I had a fantastic first ‘date’ here.” I said putting air quotes around the word date. A comfortable silence fell over us. “Why’d you do it?”

“Why’d I do what?” he asked, grabbing his cup to take a sip of his coffee.

“Why’d you save my job?” I asked, dropping my hand, so it hung over the edge of the bar.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you were pissed at me,” I stated raising my eyebrows.

“Yeah, I was.” He confirmed. “But also, after last Thursday – and Saturday for that matter – I started thinking. And I realized that everyone, at some point, is going to hurt you. Even the people who truly care about you and want what’s best for you. We can’t control that. What we can control, though, is how we react to that, and we get to determine if the person who hurt us is worth it.”

“What’d you come up with?”

“I came up with some people are. The people that make you look at yourself and want to be a better person.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath. “Harry I – “

“I don’t want you to tell me you’re sorry, Y/N. You’ve already said it.”

“What do you want me to say then?”

“I want you to tell me what you want.” I scrunched my face at his request. “Thursday night you told me this isn’t what you wanted. So tell me what you want.”

“I want us to start over. I want you to know my actual life.”

Harry stuck his hand out to me, “Hi, I’m Harry. And you are?”

I looked at his hand before taking it in my own, “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Hi Y/N, I’m the President’s son. What do you do for a living?” He let go of my hand and placed it around his cup.

“I work for the FBI,” I smirked.

“Oh, that’s nice. I’ve heard outstanding things about their work. An agent saved me.”

“Saved you?” I giggled.

“In a way, she saved me from myself, really. I was a proper mess.” He broke into a grin and laughed.

“Oh, really?” I laughed with him.

“She kind of made me realize that I was, yeah.” He looked down at his thighs before his jade eyes met mine. “Do you want to go for a walk?” I nodded as he started to get up. He held the door open for me. We walked out and he interlocked our fingers, rubbing circles into the back of my hand.

We started down the street. I pulled his hand as I stopped on the sidewalk. “Hey, Harry?” I bit my lip and looked at my feet. “Are you sober right now?”

“Yeah?” His eyes held the confusion that laced his voice. I reached for his face and pulled his lips to mine. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into him. He pulled away briefly, “At least we don’t have to worry about them,” He mumbled, nodding his head toward the blacked-out SUV sitting across the street. I giggled as he pulled me back for another kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, we could be real.

[ask-de-writer]

THE TAIL OF THE GHOST : Tales to Read AFTER the Lights Are OUT! : (1 part)

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THE TAIL OF THE GHOST

by De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

2317 words

© 2016 by Glen Ten-Eyck Writing begun 10/30/16

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author. ////////////// Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

He awoke to the almost feathery sensation of tail hairs flirting softly across his face.  Again.  The soft, sweet voice of the young mare offered, “Up, Old Warrior!  It is time for us to battle another night away!”

Opening one eye, the Old Warrior beheld two things.  One, the young mare was right.  The sun was setting.  Time for him to get up and fry a few hay twists for breakfast.

The other was a bit more awkward to see.  The young mare herself.  Other than the fact that her mane and tail were darker than the fur that covered the rest of her, there was simply not much to be seen.  Her outlines were slightly hazy and he could see the wall mount with his old battle honors and medals right through her.

Years ago, needing to reduce the size of a peacetime army, Master Sargent Warrin had been mustered out for his age and infirmity.  Some Infirmity.  True, he was missing the tip joint of his right wing.  That had failed to slow him down any.  Only dumb headquarters brass saw it as an infirmity.

When mustered out, Master Sargent Warrin had got from his forward post in the forest to Fort Everfree Edge faster than the overweight but “fit” pegasus Lieutenant that had delivered his Orders.  The scene that followed had got “insolence” added to his mustering out Orders.

All that he had done, after all, was point out to Base Commander Morrgripe that the UNFIT pony that they were mustering out could out run, out fly and carry a heavier battle pack in the air or on foot than ANY officer in the Fort.  That might have been bad enough, but the 950 golden bits that he had won while proving it, including a bet from the BC, had earned him the insolent tag.

Then the Prance border heated up a few years later.  For the fourth time!  They tried to get him to sign a forced reenlistment.

He had taken great pleasure in rubbing the Infirmity Muster Out in their faces!  At that time he was employed flying express post for Princess Luna’s Royal Road Commission.  AND had racked up SIX commendations for his swift deliveries!

He was smiling as he looked up at his second wall mount.  The commendations for swift post and two of Luna’s Crescents for gallantry in dealing with deadly civil emergencies were in it.

The sweet little mare poked her head through the wall near the stove where he was seasoning his frying hay twists with assorted dried flower tops.

With not a care in the world, she walked on into the kitchen, hooves about 10 cm above the floor.  “Smells lovely, Old Warrior.  I wish that I could eat some along with you.  That is something that I miss a lot.

“Until you came, ponies that stayed here at this old chateau were afraid of me.  I just saw you smiling.  Was it remembering your Insolence or was it the Fast Post Service that you were remembering?”

He looked up and offered her a small plate of his seasoned hay twist.  “It was a little of all three things, Sweetie.  The third being you, of course.  Mostly you.

“Here, this plate is yours for now.  If you cannot eat what I cooked for you, at least you can smell it and share breakfast with me that way.”

Her eyes twinkling, the little mare, Sweetie, sat.  On the air.  And sniffed appreciatively.  He poured her a small cup of the strong Rom black tea that he favored.  She smelled that too, a blissfully happy expression on her face.

He watched in fascination as she reached out a hoof and the day’s mail appeared in the same ghostly form as herself.  When she took back her hoof, all of his day’s mail was solidly there on the table.  She seemed to be pleased at his expression.

He sorted his mail and made a sour expression when he opened one with the Army Retirement Board seal on it.  He brightened considerably at the contents of a different envelope  It bore the seal of Chancery Court of Princess Luna’s Royal Road Commission.

“I have to go down to Everfree Town, Sweetie.  I wish that you could come with me.  I enjoy your company.”

She smiled like a conjurer doing a clever slight of hoof trick.  “I can.  I have followed you to your garden that is in the glen.  Because it was daylight, you could not see me but I was there.  I am hard to see in bright lamplight too.  That does not stop me from seeing you, only you from seeing me.”

“I thought that you were haunting this chateau.”

“I was.  Then you came.  You were not afraid of me.  You even started waking at sunset and spending the night awake, just so that you could see me and talk to me.

“It took some time for me to learn how to talk to you so that you could hear me.  Nobody else can hear me at all.  I love being able to talk to you.  The stories that you tell me of your adventures are endlessly fascinating.  I especially like the one about your meeting Princess Luna on the Prance frontier.”

The ex Master Sargent Warrin grinned!  “You learned how to move real things and that led you to writing too!  I must say that I admire your determination.  I would have loved to have you in a platoon of mine!

“Now, let’s go to Equesrian National Bank and try to settle this business!”

Sweetie smiled happily, “I love going out with you!  What is Equestrian National Bank?”

Bemused, the old warrior paused in the doorway and looked over at Sweetie, who was simply strolling through the wall of the chateau.  There was no porch under her but she did not seem to notice that.

He mused, “Forgot how long ago you died, Sweetie.  A bank is a business that takes money from many ponies and then loans it out to businesses, farms and home buyers.  They make money off of the loans and then share some of what they make with the ponies they got the money from.

“Usually, everypony sort of wins.  While they hold my money, they keep track of how much I have and add on my share of what they earn with it.”

Sweetie had no wings but she easily kept pace with him, seeming to trot along like a pegasus on a well made cloud.  Except, of course, there was no cloud!

With a luminous smile she explained, “I have managed to change from haunting the chateau to haunting YOU!  That means that I HAVE to stay close!  That makes it easy to keep up.  The magic of haunting and all of that.”

He flew with happy strokes of powerful wings.  She trotted ahead and flirted her ghostly tail in his face sometimes!  It made him get a goofy smile on his face every time that she did it.  He spiraled down to the Equestrian National Bank and walked in.

He requested a meeting with Mister Horshiz, the branch Vice President of Operations.  Instead of having to wait, Mister Horshiz, a really sour gray maned red pony, demanded, “There you are, Warrin!  Why are you six days late on the rent for the Royalmont Chateau?  You owe us 1500 golden bits plus six days of penalties!”

Warrin looked askance at him.  “Not possible.  I was PURCHASING the chateau from Princess Luna, who owned it.  There is a title deed transfer that my agent told me has been delayed.  My making the purchase was the Princess’ idea.”

“I have the DEED right here!”

Horshiz held out a blue scrolled edge document.  Warrin’s battle trained reflexes snatched it faster that Horshiz could pull it back.  His eyebrows rose at what he saw.

In a saccharine voice he asked, “Where is the original?  This is a Chancery Copy and it has been altered.  The Royal Seal is a copy, not an original, as required by Crowns Law.”

“That is a trivial detail!  Pay the past due rent and penalties or be evicted at once!” Horshiz demanded.

Sweetie’s voice caught Warrin’s attention.  “Keep him talking love of mine.  I see some very interesting things in this file on his desk!”

Warrin grinned like a shark seeing a helpless swimmer.  “When Princess Luna’s personal property deed was so severely delayed in transfer, I wrote to her.”

He held up his envelope with the seal of the Royal Road Chancery Court on it.  He read, “Dear Master Sargent (Ret.) Warrin:  It is with great pleasure that I enclose your latest Royal Road Fast Post Commendation for assistance in the recent Dappleton Grist Mill dam failure.

“In spite of your Retirement from our Postal Service, your heroic over flight in thunderstorm weather and precise damage assessments made all of the difference for some hundreds of our subjects.

“In response to your request for an audit of the title problem concerning the Royalmont Chateau, I have disturbing news.  The Title Deed was sent to the Everfree Town branch of Equestrian National Bank to have the deed transfer to you notarized and the transfer registered.

“Celestia and I jointly agreed, after the Dappleton disaster, to gift the Chateau to you for your many services to our Realm.  Along with the deed, all needful fees and a full refund of all the monies that you have paid were sent to the Bank.

“The deed, fees and refund were directly stolen.  A Royal Audit has shown other irregularities concerning your accounts at the Everfree EQNB.  Among these, your retirement payments from both Our Army and the Royal Road Post System have subverted.  The direct golden transfers on the Royal Treasury are being made to Everfree EQNB.  They are issuing DRAFTS, which they fail to pay until thirty days have passed, giving them unlawful access to the use of your honorable retirement funds.

“The whole scheme has been directly traced to General  Morrgripe of Fort Everfree, who appears to have a grudge against you concerning how your took your Muster Out.  Something about losing a bet.

“I may add that due to My personal friendship, stemming from your heroic shielding of my person with your body during a surprise attack by Prance forces, it was my request that you be kept in our Royal Armored Pegassi.  However, in the end, such decisions do properly belong to the Base Commander.  Then Colonel Morrgripe ordered you Mustered Out.

“I will never forget that you lost your right wing tip when protecting me during the Third Prance Incursion.  

“Both General Morrgripe and Branch Vice President Horshiz have been summoned to Our Royal Court to answer charges Under Our Royal Wing, concerning the theft of My personal property and gift.  They must also face the subversion of our Royal Retirement System.

“Please find enclosed a fully transferred Title Deed formally Sealed by both my sister Celestia and I.  This Deed supersedes any previous documents and is already Registered in all of the appropriate Courts of Law.

“I remain your loyal friend, Princess Luna.”

While Warrin was reading, he noticed with amusement that he could, just barely, see Sweetie.  She was laying her hoof on documents from the file on Horshiz’s desk.  Like when she picked up his mail at home, the documents faded slowly away while Sweetie grinned.

For his ears alone, she said, “We called them Sharing Associations when I was alive.  Losing needed documents is still a favorite ploy, I see.  He is losing some that he will wish that he still had!”

Warrin grinned even more widely.  He held up his copy of the Chateau’s deed.  “You are effectively dead, except that you will be working on the Royal Roads!  This one is ALREADY registered by the direct order of BOTH Princesses.

“I was coming to let you know that both the payment by draft and the Deed issues had been taken care of.  I was going to let you off the hook on all of this and shaft General Morrgripe, whom I do detest.

“Unfortunately, you just had to try to extort a rent from me for a property that I own outright as a Royal gift.”

Sweetie strolled through Horshiz’s desk and laid her hoof just above Warrin’s lap.  A number of documents faded into existence in his lap.

She hugged him, which felt like being surrounded by the softest of feathers.

Whispering in Warrin’s ear, she said, “Come, my love, let us go to our home and leave this pony to his fate.”

Agreeing, Warrin stood, folding the documents into his shoulder pouch.  He turned to the stunned Horshiz, “I would love to see you try to claim either rent or eviction.  The first thing that the court will do is look to see who owns the property.  The Registry will show that it is ME.  That will make you prima facie guilty of fraud.  You know it, too.

“A pleasant evening to you.”

He stopped by the Police Station and delivered the documents that Sweetie had purloined.  He explained, “These are part of the evidence in a case Under the Royal Wing.”

He produced his letter from Princess Luna.  The desk pony checked his Wants, Warrants, and Summonses file to confirm the Royal Summons and took the documents, saying, “I will be see to getting these forwarded to the Royal Road Chancery Court.”  Shaking his head in disbelief he added, “Stealing from Princess Luna?  Not a wise thing to do!”

Warrin’s flight home to the Chateau was in no way hindered by Sweetie getting in front of him and flirting her tail in his face from time to time.

~THE END~

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[rockshortage]

I passed out and completely forgot to send this in earlier, but can we get 1, 17, 50, 55, 64, 69, and 78?

yeeee

1. What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Hm. Hector isn’t a very nickname-friendly name. Neither is Messerli…Idk if I like/wanna use it but if I had to make something up, I could picture “Metz” being one, derived from Messerli. It’s also a surname and basically means the same thing, just easier to say.

[to save people the trouble of looking it up if interested: Messerli pretty much means ‘little knife’. Messer is knife, and -li is the swiss diminutive suffix. It’s an occupational surname, for a person who made knives, as is Metz.]

17. What is your OC’s imagination like?

Bit on the fence on this one. He can have some outrageous ideas, but usually they’re still constrained to a field he’s familiar with. Dreams and ideas are generally limited by what Hector thinks is feasible, even if maybe not feasible now, or with his skill level, or just extremely challenging.

So I’d say his imagination is pretty grounded, and as a result not all that exceptional.

50. What secrets does your OC have?

Plenty, probably! But not so many he actually remembers.

There was the original idea that Hector isn’t quite the innocent bean he sometimes appears to be, that he’s killed people pre-war. Still not out of pleasure or anything, but because he needed to in order to sustain himself (no, not for vampire stuff). Like, his body is still affected by the passage of time, just less significantly. But at some point some organs just aren’t gonna be in good condition anymore and he’ll need replacements to avoid being like. In horrible pain all the time. And it’s not super easy to find people with matching tissue types, and people who have it documented in the first place. So as much as he only wants to target those who have done some really bad things in their lives, he just doesn’t have the luxury of that choice. But I say was because I’m not sure if and when it would fit with the timeline. Yes there’s plenty opportunity for Hector’s organs to get shitty faster than they can regenerate, but. Like I said, confusing timeline. So this idea goes on the shelf until I actually create an overview of what happens when.

55. What are your OC’s thoughts on death?

Both afraid of it and not afraid. Or rather he’s not really afraid of ending up dead, but he is afraid of ending up in an inescapable near-death situation. What if he gets so fucked up that he looks dead for all intents and purposes, but whatever it is that keeps him going is still working, and he’s aware and feels everything, but he can’t move, can’t emote, can’t do anything to help himself or ask for help. Extremely terrifying.

In a sense, he’d welcome death sometimes, if not for the risk of not actually dying when he gets so horribly injured he’s beyond repair.

64. What are some habits your OC has picked up?

None of these are really habits but- I’m doing my best

In learning How To Be Overboss, and with Gage being his number one teacher, Hector picks up a few of his mannerisms. Haven’t…actually decided what they are, since that would require me knowing what little mannerisms and maybe tics Gage has.

Hector also picks up some manners of speech, because that’s just How You Learn Language and learn how to blend in with the natives. Sometimes the foreign accent English has a little southern in it. Sometimes a little Boston. Sometimes overly formal and using big words, and then there’s some obscure swearword he heard one of the raiders say once that he probably doesn’t fully understand.

69. What is your OC’s favorite kind of weather?

Thunderstorms! Deep rolling thunder that you feel in your chest, lots of lightning strikes, and pissing rain like there’s no tomorrow.

Then there’s also foggy weather, where everything is enveloped in a heavy blanket you can barely see through, it’s very quiet in an almost unsettling way, it’s chilly and you both feel safe and like there’s something lurking just out of sight. Seeing the shadows of big structures in the distance but not being able to make out the details, you just get the sense that they’re imposing. Did that big shadow just move?

In short, bad weather is the best weather because fuck you, sun

78. What is your OC’s favorite time of day?

Anything that has no or little daylight, basically.

Dusk when the sky gets orange, temperatures start to chill, the sun is slowly sinking below the horizon, announcing the best time of the day is just starting.

Deepest night where everything’s dark and you can’t see shit but no one else can see you either, you’re free of all responsibility and expectations, because the world is asleep and you’re the only one awake.

Earliest fucking morning for the same reasons, but dawn is slowly creeping up, and as much as that sucks for reasons of the sun returning, it sure is pretty.

[frangipanidownunder]

For the 5 hcs: roaring 20s au or author/publisher au!!

1

He stands at her table, skinny latte ready. Her eyes roll up to take him in but she doesn’t move her head. He does see the slight purse of her lips, the flare of her nostrils and hears the small tap of her index finger against the page of her journal.

           “Dr Scully. Do you mind if I join you?” He sits anyway. She reads on, hair swinging over her face. He scans the document, catching some of the words but none of the meaning. “I really enjoyed your senior thesis,” he says, then puts his card next to her coffee.

           She sits back in her chair, sceptical smile playing on her lips. “You’re the one who asked the question about extraterrestrials. What was that all about?”

           “Just seeing where you sat on the plausible vs implausible scale.”

           She shifts slightly, opening her mouth to speak before closing it again. “What do you want, Mr…” she looks at the card. “Dr…Mulder?”

           “I think you have a book in you, Dr Scully, and I’d like to be the one to publish it.”

2

He doesn’t expect to hear from her so soon. He’s running and only answers the phone when he reaches the crossing.

           “Dr Mulder, it’s Dana Scully. We met at the Future of Science Conference.” Her tone is clipped, like she’s trying to hide her words away.

           “You’re intrigued by my proposition.” She doesn’t respond. “But you’d like to meet in person to discuss it more?”

           She suggests the First Ladies Water Garden and they watch the fountain sprays catch the late afternoon sun.

“You’re an Oxford educated psychologist whose sister disappeared when she was eight. You spent time working as an FBI agent, in Violent Crimes, but you quit suddenly. You own a small publishing house called Reticula that specialises in paranormal non-fiction and you also co-publish The Lone Gunman newsletter.” She turns to him. “I find it difficult to believe that you might be interested in what I have to say. Perhaps you should be talking to my partner. What can I possibly bring to your table?”

He looks at the way she’s standing, face tilted, eyebrows raised, hips square to him, shoulders back, hands clasped, feet in high pumps, suit-jacket buttoned. She’s wearing an intrigued, expectant half-smile.

He should say ‘credibility’, he should say ‘integrity’, he should say ‘authority’ but he smiles and says, “earnestness.”

3

He thinks she’s beginning to turn. She listens as he outlines his proposal, asking pertinent questions about potential audience, sales history, promotional requirements. They’re walking back towards the car park when urgent footsteps close in on them.

           “Scully!” A woman’s voice calls out, curt, almost angry.

           Scully slows, looks up at him, apologising with her eyes. “My partner.”

           “Ah,” he smiles, “maybe she might like to co-author?”

           “I doubt it,” Scully says, low. “That would mean sharing.”

           “Diana Fowley,” the woman barks. “Special Agent.” She extends a hand. “You’re the reason I haven’t been able to get hold of my partner.”

           “Sorry,” Scully says, “we were just about finished. I’ll be in contact.”

           “What do you do, Mr…?”

           “Mulder. Doctor Fox Mulder. I’m a publisher.”

           Fowley laughs. But it’s heavy with cynicism and the way she grips his hand so that he has to extract it with some force, makes him feel that the balance in the partnership with Scully is out. “And what could you possibly be talking to Dana for?”

           He doesn’t answer, just nods at Scully and thanks her for her time.

4

She stands at his table, skinny latte ready. His eyes roll up to take her in but he doesn’t move his head. He hopes she sees the slight purse of his lips, the flare of his nostrils and hears the small tap of his index finger against the page of the manuscript.

           “Dr Mulder. Do you mind if I join you?” She sits anyway.

           He reads on, hears her sharp intakes of breath. “A lot of your FBI records are redacted. Why would that be?”

           He shrugs but hears Paterson’s vicious mauling voice in his mind, reminding him what a useless pile of shit he was, and tearing into him for his failure to act quickly enough to stop more innocent children from being murdered.

           Fowley presses on. “Your pursuing of Agent Scully is a mistake. Her area of expertise is too narrow for your domain and I truly cannot understand your fascination.” She slides her fingers to meet his. “Unless, it’s a purely romantic attachment on your part? And if that is the case, Dr Mulder, I can assure you that you are wasting your time on that endeavour. She has a nickname at the Bureau.”

           He bites. “And what’s that?”

           “Agent Orange. Because she burns everyone who gets too close.” Fowley smiles brightly at her own joke. “I do believe that I might have more to offer your publishing house. It seems to me that our way of thinking is much more aligned. Scully has been assigned to debunk my work. She sees everything in black and white, where you and I, we view the world in colours.”

           Pushing his chair back, he apologises. “I have to go. And I’m pretty sure that if you’d thoroughly checked my record, you would have seen my diagnosis of protanopia.”

           He’s missed a call from Scully and when he hears her message, he imagines her aflame, melting hearts, and feels his own heat up in his chest as he gets in the car.

5

He meets Scully at Wan Loy and orders the banquet for two. She is dressed more casually and it suits her, makes her look younger, softer. Not like a woman who sets fire to people for fun. He can’t get enough of her.

           “Agent Fowley approached me today.”

           Her eyes widen. “What did she want?”

           “She wanted in,” he says, dipping a dumpling in soy.

           “But she doesn’t fit the profile.” Scully sips her wine. Outside, it starts raining, water splashing violently against the windows.

           “And you do?”

           She rolls her shoulders. “Look, I might not fit the profile of your other authors, but I can fit the brief. The cases I’ve worked on, the things I’ve seen. Some of them are downright…”

           “Spooky?”

           She laughs. It suits her. She takes in a deep, slow breath. Something is changing within her. “My work has been my only outlet for too long. Over the last few years, I’ve had some…health issues and it forced me to think about the future. My future. Agent Fowley has developed some liaisons with people who don’t fit comfortably with my worldview and…” she stops, looks at him. That same earnest expression that he saw from the outset. The honesty she can’t hide. The truthfulness that runs in her blood. “You want a book about the arcane and the mysterious but explained in scientific terms? I can write it.”

           He doesn’t doubt it. He gets the feeling that Dana Scully’s writing, if it’s anything like her heart, could drag you in, envelope you, never let you go. A tingle runs up his spine. “I read about that case you investigated in Texas where bodies had been completely exsanguinated and bore strange marks, like the holes that fangs might leave.”

           “Agent Fowley suspected vampirism,” she says, rolling her lips together. “She killed a boy…it was terrible.”

           “But what were your findings?”

           She bites into a rice paper roll. “I found out that Agent Fowley can’t sing. And that some alleged vampires are pretty good looking.”

           He smiles, pulls his collar away from his neck. Dana Scully is warming him up in ways he hadn’t expected and he’s here for it. “Do you like bagels?”

           “Only with real cream cheese,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

           “I have them every morning for breakfast.”

           The rain hammers harder and her laugh is sucked up in the noise. “That is quite possibly the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard, Fox.”

           He figures he deserves that. Lightning flashes across the sky and he feels like he’s losing time. “So, you’ll sign with us?”

           She nods, looking out at the lashing rain. “What’s the title of our book going to be, Mulder?”

           The waiter brings silver trays of sizzling beef. The air is filled with aromatic ginger and garlic. “Do you have an idea?”

           Her eyes gleam. Of course she does.

“I was thinking ‘Death is a Drama’.” Her face lights up brighter than the sky in the storm. His heart thunders in his chests. Beginning, middle and end, he thinks. The perfect story.