#Word Processing Outsourcing

[dataentryinc]

From Novice To Pro: Getting Started With Word Processing Services In 2024

All your Word documents go through word processing to give the best results possible. Today, creating and managing Word documents that can be used flexibly in terms of compatibility and processing has become crucial. And the advent of tech brings you numerous tools to do the same in no time. 

However, you need to know the insights of how things work on a deeper scale to ensure you can avail all the benefits of word processing before moving forward. And this is where outsourcing word processing services will guide you to impeccable results. If you are dealing with a large volume of word documents on a daily basis in your organization then you need to utilize the best of tools to make your word processing efficient.

Journey of Getting Pro with Word Processing Services

In recent times, multiple tools are available to perform the same task and you need to find out what suits best for your business operations. Here are some of the common word processing tools to choose from:

Microsoft Word: The simplest yet best user-friendly application for any of your word processing needs. You can avail of the Office 365 subscription packages for over-the-top solutions.

Google Docs: This collaborative document helps you maintain data across multiple platforms and connect in real-time with people across the globe along with unlimited cloud storage.

Apple Pages: This is useful if you are working with a Mac OS or iOS and need to manage and integrate data across other Apple products.

LibreOffice Writer: You can try this latest writing companion that works well with Microsoft documents and offers an open-source solution to many features 

Getting Started with Basics:

To start, you can avail the basic word processing solutions that work on the simplest tasks involving word documents. This includes creating and managing word formats, formatting the text and titles, and such elementary tasks. Depending on the type of document you have, the services help you to maintain your piles of Word documents and ensure all of them have the same layout that makes it easy to analyze the data within. 

Along with the textual editing, you can get the elements managed with word processing services. Images, tables, shapes, and charts make your data visually understandable and easier to interpret the long columns of text. This and the hyper linking across pages can be organized better with the perfect solutions offered to you. Ask the experts to know that even such tedious tasks require skilled hands for error-free outcomes. 

Move on to the Next Level

If you already have all your data in the proper format, the next challenge is to style it for its purpose. Your data serves you in multiple manners and each of those needs to be managed differently. It is the data processing experts who know how to manage each category of data distinctly and still keep them handy whenever required. You can alter the solutions in a way that caters to your particular needs without adding any extra hassle to the primary work routine.

Outsourcing word processing services offer you templates and styling options that convert your simple data into something easily readable while you are using a jumbled mess of data. While sharing data across many servers, it is important to track the changes and minimize errors or redundancy in data that can create confusion later. Real-time collaboration is a benefit of word processing only if used carefully for longer terms. Complex formatting tasks can also be handled well if you get a professional team of word processors who know their way around the simple yet puzzling operations.  

Become a Pro with Expert Level Solutions

Word documents give superior-level features in the simplest forms for the user to understand how to control the data flow. Microsoft Word offers you an automotive alternative to run and record repetitive tasks for huge data stacks. LibreOffice Writer is one such spin-off to ensure ease of data compatibility and managing Macros for advanced scales.

Mail merge is another feature of word processing, which helps you manage your personalized mailing and labelling. Word gives you numerous functionalities to manage your resumes, PDFs, books, records, etc. and all you have to do is gain expertise in making complete use of them all. Get the assistance of advanced design aspects for complex graphics with the help of a dedicated team that helps boost the performance of your core resources.

The Perfect Blend of Technology and Expertise

With the correct ingredients at hand, you are sure to make up the best-in-class outcomes for all your varied data. Word processing solutions from a steadfast outsourcing partner will get you answers to your data management issues. You will be able to glide through your records of text and images and extract the correct data as and when required. All these can be achieved by just trusting a reliable team of data experts who understand your needs and deliver exactly what you are looking for.

It is time for you to take advantage of what 2024 offers you to better handle the piles of data coming your way. This generation of tech and tools helps you ease off much of your workload while keeping your core team on the edge of the competition. Get the word processing services today to see how data management becomes trouble-free.

Source Link: https://latestbpoblog.blogspot.com/2024/07/from-novice-to-pro-getting-started-with-word-processing-services-in-2024.html

[edatamine]

Optimizing Business Documents with Word Processing Services

Business documents are crucial as they contain important information and content which is vital to enhance the look before sending it out. Understand how word processing services enhance quality and create lasting impressions.

[steddie-island]

Work today has mainly been redoing trainings for our new team members. The training their peeps put together are 25 pages long. We’re 4 hours into redoing this thing and are on page 8.

I finally chatted their leadership to say “ayyy it’s gonna be less work for us to just scrap it and start from where we’ve worked up to so far.” Like I’m so sorry they put all of this work in and it was literally for nothing. But their training is. Real bad. 😭😬

[uniquesdata]

Things to Consider While Outsourcing Word Processing Services

Documents are crucial to any business and hence demand proper formatting and easy management of bulk data. Word processing services enhance the quality and organize the document with appropriate layout and alignment. Consider outsourcing while considering a few key points to choose the best partner.

[ayeforscotland]

Keir Starmer says “Read my lips: I will cut immigration.”

Let me be absolutely clear here, cutting immigration is the wrong thing to do. It is fuelled by racism, and dressed up in economic language to pretend otherwise.

The UK has an aging population and declining birth rate. If we struggle to attract foreign workers, this will impact our economy and public services. A good example of this is the NHS.

‘Bad bosses’ are not hiring internationally before they’ve exhausted every option here. It’s easy to think of a large corporate doing that but even then it’s more likely they’d outsource a whole department in its entirety to another foreign company.

Also your dad’s marketing start-up or your mum’s construction company is not going through the lengthy process of hiring people who don’t already live here.

This also contradicts the UK’s push to have as many foreign students (paying as many tuition fees) as possible. These students have lives here, and should be able to work as they choose post-graduation.

This policy is aimed at those who read the word ‘immigration’ and pop a blood vessel, and it speaks wonders to how Labour thinks about the economy - no different than the Conservative Party.

[katakaluptastrophy]

You know when you're at a dinner party with God and things start to get...weird...? It's Maundy Thursday, and it's time for more Bible study for fans of weird queer necromancers!

It's currently Holy Week, the week where (Western) liturgical Christians reenact the events of Jesus' death and resurrection in real time. And today, it's Maundy Thursday, which commemorates the Last Supper, where Jesus ate with his friends before he was crucified.

Before we get to the Locked Tomb, what's so special about the Last Supper?

There are actually a few significant things that happen during the Last Supper, but this is where Jesus introduces the concept of communion:

Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood. - Matthew 26:26-28

This isn't actually the first time Jesus has told his followers they will need to literally eat him:

So Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. - John 6:53-56

If you're thinking that sounds a bit intense, you're not alone - the Bible says that "many" of his disciples left after being told that they were apparently going to have to eat Jesus to be saved and resurrected.

While many Protestant denominations take this symbolically, Catholicism teaches transubstantiation: that when the priest prays over the bread and wine at mass, they really do become Jesus' body and blood.

With this in mind, let's circle back to necromancers:

"Overseas to Corpus. (She likes the word corpus; it sounds nice and fat.)"

This is probably Corpus Christi College, Oxford (named after the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, where the church celebrates the real presence of Jesus in the eucharist). The symbol of the college is a pelican - there's even a fabulously gilded pelican atop the sundial in their main quad.

What do pelicans have to do with the eucharist? Quite a lot, actually... The pelican is a really old symbol for Jesus, because it was believed to feed its young on its own flesh and blood in times of famine. The pelican on the Corpus Christi sundial is pecking at its own chest.

The pelican, like Jesus, was believed to give its own body to save those it loved.

Okay, so we've talked about Jesus, and weird cannibal birds, but why is this relevant to necromancers?

Specifically, the necromancer, the Necrolord Prime. John Gaius styles himself as "the god who became man", echoing Jesus as "the word became flesh". His entire pastiche of divinity is a sort of bootleg Catholicism. But while Catholicism posits Jesus' offering of his own body as foundational to the salvation and resurrection of humanity to eternal life, John's godhood relies the exploitation of other's bodies as the foundation of an empire of eternal death.

I've mentioned before in discussing Lyctorhood, how vampires have been understood to represent a sort of inversion of the eucharist because instead of consuming Christ's blood to receive eternal life in heaven, they consume other people's blood for an cursed eternal life on earth. John, and the Lyctors who followed him, gained power and eternal life from the consumption, body and soul, of another person.

In Catholic theology, Jesus offered his own body to degradation and death for the eternal salvation of humankind, but John forcibly consumes someone else's in service of his own apotheosis and immortality, dooming humanity in the process. He wants to be a Catholic flavoured god, but without the suffering that entails. But he's perfectly willing to outsource that suffering to others.

There's something just achingly awful about Alecto liking the feel of the word "corpus" - "body" - when she so hates the body that John constructed for her. John describing Alecto as "in a very real way" the mother of humanity and the mother pelican on the Corpus sundial rending her own flesh for her children. John forcing the earth into a personification of femininity and playing Jesus on another's sacrifice. His daughter, unwillingly trapped in her own corpse walking around with the wounds of her significant self-sacrifice like the resurrected Christ but yet again another body exploited by John in support of his performance of godhood. It brings to mind a very different fantastical engagement with Catholicism, where in the Lord of the Rings Tolkien - riffing on St Augustine - suggested that evil cannot create, it can only mock and corrupt. The ethics of The Locked Tomb may be messier than that, but there's something indicative in how John shies away from his creative powers - his abilities to grow plants, and manipulate earth and water - in favour of his dominion over death.

The metaphysical world of The Locked Tomb is clearly not intended to be the same as that of Catholicism. But with hindsight, perhaps John was onto something when he was surprised that he didn't "get the Antichrist bit" from the nun too.

John isn't the Antichrist. But he is, thematically, anti-Christ.

If we're talking about John and Jesus, there's also, of course, the question of Resurrection. But we've got to go through Hell and back before we get there on Sunday...

[advanced-procrastination]

I hate how willing so many of my coworkers are to use chatgpt instead of their own brains. Sometimes I’m stumped with how to do something so I ask my team members for their advice as fellow educators, and one team member will invariably respond, “I put your question in gpt and here’s what it said”

Idgaf what chatgpt has to say. Chatgpt is not a professional educator with 20 years of experience, YOU ARE. Chatgpt does not know anything about our company’s best practices, standards, processes, or client base, YOU DO. Chatgpt literally just weighs the probability of one word going after another to create an appropriately constructed sentence; it literally does not understand the question or its own responses, and I’m starting to wonder if YOU do!

USE YOUR OWN FUCKING BRAIN, STOP OUTSOURCING THE TASK OF THINKING TO A PROGRAM THAT DOESN’T HAVE THE CAPACITY FOR THOUGHT

[multiharlot]

we can't be friends // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: you and matt try to repair what's broken.

warnings: reader getting angry, lots of emotions, being in therapy, mentions of pregnancy

very loosely inspired by we can't be friends by miss grande <3

series masterlist || masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

you two were seated in the waiting room of your OBGYN's office for your first sonogram when he'd blurted it out.

"maybe we should try therapy"

you furrowed your eyebrows as you snapped your head away from the book you were reading.

"what?"

"therapy. couples therapy."

you paused, just staring at him for a moment as you processed what he'd just asked of you.

"you think couples therapy is going to make me forgive you for cheating on me?"

matt winced at your harsh words, but you had every right to be angry. he felt lucky enough that you hadn't divorced him yet.

not that you hadn't thought about it. you did. you just could never follow through with it.

"i just thought that maybe it'd...help us move forward?" matt said, bracing himself for what you might say next.

you just nodded your head before turning your gaze back to the book you were reading.

"okay" you breathed out.

you'd wished that you hated him for what he did. you'd be well within your rights to hate him. but you couldn't. hating him was something you couldn't figure out how to do. and maybe it was the pregnancy hormones that kept you from it but every now and then, you found yourself crying to a god you weren't sure was listening to you, begging him to let you hate your estranged husband.

but you couldn't. and you weren't sure you ever could. which made the whole having his child thing all the more difficult and made you all the more angrier at times.

and now, you were here, on a strangers couch, clutching the pillow in your lap with matt seated beside you on the opposite end of the couch and a middle aged woman sitting in front of you. you'd felt odd. this woman was probably somewhere around the same age as you and now she was advising you on how to fix your relationship, not that you were even sure you wanted to.

"why'd you do it?" you mumble as you lean your chin onto the pillow

matt froze, he wasn't sure how to respond. he wasn't even sure why he did it himself.

"i..." he sighed once he realized he didn't have an answer.

you just nodded your head.

"was it me?"

"no! no, it wasn't you." he quickly responded, turning his body towards you.

"if i may, were you maybe unhappy with your marriage? or maybe just unhappy with marriage as a whole?" the therapist asks.

matthew furiously shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed.

"absolutely not i...i love our marriage. i love you. you're...the love of my life i just...i don't know. you are...everything that's good in this world. everything that i've ever wanted to keep safe from the evil seeping into this city. and i..."

"you feel like maybe you're that evil?' the therapist finishes his statement.

matt just sat there. he was no strange to self-sabotaging his relationships. he'd done them to every relationship he'd ever been in. it's all he'd ever known and maybe, subconsciously, that's what this was. because it certainly wasn't anything else.

"i can't...i didn't want to be the one to dampen any good thing that was coming your way i...you deserve better than me. better than the life i was giving you."

"you don't get to decide that! that was never your decision! i sat in leanne's apartment for a month trying to figure out what it was about me that made you feel like...like you had to outsource. i- we were fine!" you said, your volume rising and tears beginning to brim your eyes.

"we were more than fine i just-"

"you had so long!" you cried.

matt just sat there and the therapist furrowed her eyebrows.

"what do you mean by that, y/n?" she asks.

you sit there, letting out a long breath as the tears began to fall from your eyes.

"you had all this time to figure it out. every time you pushed me away, i waited through those phases. i waited for you to love me again because i knew that deep down you always did regardless of the way you tried to push me away. and when we got married i thought...i thought that was it. i thought maybe you finally accepted me and my love. but i was wrong." i cried.

matt sat there, tears brimming in his eyes.

"i do love you." he breathed out, his voice cracking softly.

silence filled the room. and the therapist clears her throat.

"y/n, considering the...circumstances. i think it'd be good to set an intentional timeline on how to move forward from here."

"doc, with all due respect, if i remotely knew how to move forward, we wouldn't be sitting in this office. i'd have filed for the divorce papers the moment i found out he cheated and i wouldn't be trying to shuffle through the rubble of our relationship for anything worth saving after it crashed and burned the way it did." you blurted out.

matt tenses as he hears the rage dripping from your words and he could feel his heart cracking as he listens to your confession that you'd wanted to leave him.

"why do you feel that you can't divorce him?" the therapist asks.

you scoff, shaking your head.

"we're having a kid together." you say matter of factly, leaning back into the couch.

"you can co-parent." she says, shrugging her shoulders.

"we can be co-parents and...just be friends." matt says reluctantly suggests, making you snap your head towards him.

"friends? you want to be friends? ...no. we can't be friends, matt. i can't be friends with you i-" and you stop, the emotions beginning to overwhelm you.

"do you think maybe it's not that you can't get divorced, but rather you just don't want to?" the therapists says, and you pause as you look up at her.

"i don't think that. i know that. i've had every opportunity to file for divorce. and i'd be well within my right to, marriages have ended for less." you mumble, the words leaving your mouth at a barely intelligible volume.

but you knew matt heard you. and your words, as much as they hurt, also gave him hope. hope that he could fix things.

"you would be. but you don't want to. and i think that's a really good start the pro-"

"listen, i'm sorry, but i'm tired of these phases where i'm sitting around being his good little wife and waiting for him to decide he likes me again. i'm tired of waiting around for his love. i am tired. and i don't have the luxury of time to figure it all out because we have a child on the way. i love him and i'm angry at him and i hate that we're in this position because of him, what do i do with that?"

tears slowly fall from matt's eyes as he listens to you confess everything you've kept in from him since he'd gotten back.

"yell at me." he says.

you scrunch your eyebrows and look at him with confusion.

"what?"

matt turns his body towards you and scoots closer to your end of the loveseat.

"yell at me. scream at me. throw things at me. hit me, even-"

"-okay so no" the therapist interrupts, sticking her finger up and furrowing her eyebrows as she purses her lips.

"-just be angry at me, baby. all i've gotten from you since i've been back is indifference and silence. you're keeping it all inside and it's just bubbling and festering. be anything as long as it's with me." he pleads, reaching out to clutch your hand in his.

you sit there staring at him, your eyes slightly wide and your mouth falling slightly open as more tears dripped from your eyes. you weren't sure how to respond.

"he's right, you know. not...not about the hitting part. or the throwing things at him part. but i think you're keeping everything in because you don't know how to talk about it. so instead of talking about it, you're biting your tongue. what do you think or feel that it's accomplishing?"

"because if i...if i press pause on this here, right now, then i don't have to face the music that i have to spend my pregnancy fighting to save and rebuild my marriage and trying to regain trust in my husband. when i thought about what our life would be like when we were having our first child, it wasn't this. and i...i don't want to be here. in this place. so if i don't talk about it, if i don't confront it, i can push it aside and i can enjoy my first pregnancy the way that i want to." you cry, taking your hand from matt's and clutching the pillow that you'd begun to use as a comfort object.

"i'm so sorry. i don't know how to fix this but i will. i'll wait this time. i'll wait until you trust me again. until you love me again. i'll do whatever it takes just...please, stay" matthew cried, scooting right up next to you and grabbing your face in his hands.

you two had spent the remaining 5 minutes of the session with your foreheads touching as matthew held your face in his hands. a physical representation of his unwillingness to let go of you.

at this point, the therapist was sure that neither of you actually needed couples therapy, but she was fine being the catalyst to having the necessary conversations. often, couples find themselves needing a safe neutral space with a mediator in order to have these productive conversations but as the therapist watched you two cling to each other, she just knew.

you two would not be coming back here.

once you'd left the therapists office, you and matt walked quietly down the sidewalk towards leanne's apartment where you'd been staying recently. neither of you had said anything since you'd left the session, but both of you wanted to say something, tired of sitting in silence all of the time.

"what do you want to name him?" you blurt out, taking a moment to glance up at him before turning your gaze back to the pavement.

matt lets a small smile grace his lips, grateful for the normal topic of conversation.

"we don't know that it's a boy."

"i do."

"you're only 2 months, it's the size of a raspberry."

"he's the size of a raspberry."

"it barely has a nose, let alone reproductive organs!" matt laughs

you smile and shrug your shoulders.

"mothers intution."

"not to say that you're wrong, but i think the ultrasound might tell us before your intuition." matt teases

"you can't even see the ultrasound anyways, so i don't wanna hear it." you chuckle

"fair." he smiles, nodding his head.

you two walk in silence for a moment before you speak up.

"what about jack?"

matt stops, looking over at you.

"you want to...you want to name him after my dad?"

"oh so now you're willing to admit it's a he." you smirk, looking up at him and he just stares at you with a gentle smile.

"i like jack." he agrees, before continuing to walk alongside you.

"me too." you nod.

"you know...i think we're doing pretty well at this being friends thing"

you stay silent, not offering a response as you approached leanne's apartment building where you'd been staying lately.

"want me to walk you up?" matt offers, and you stand there for a moment before shaking your head.

"i want to come home."

"h- you want to come home?" he asks, his tone full of hope and his eyebrows going up in slight shock.

i just nod my head before intertwining my hand in his and continuing our walk down the street. matt stays silent, afraid that if he spoke up that maybe you'd change your mind or let go of his hand. so he walked alongside you, enjoying the moment that you were permitting him.

neither of you had said anything when you approached the apartment building, or when you'd walked into the loft for the first time in two months, or when you'd put on one of his t-shirts and you both crawled into bed.

it wasn't until you were both laying there, unsure of what to do next, that you spoke up.

"i don't want to be friends, matt." you say softly as you turn on your side to face him.

"what?" he asks, furrowing his eyebrows and turning on his side to look at you.

"you said we were good at the being friends thing and i- i don't want that."

matt nods.

"okay. then we won't be. we'll be husband and wife. and i'll regain your trust and i'll rebuild your faith in me, little by little. i'll love you in whatever small doses you allow until i fix this. i'll wait and i'll beg and i'll crawl and i'll do whatever it takes. i love you, y/n. and i'll love you for the rest of my life" he says, reaching out and placing his hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

tears cascading down your cheeks, replacing the ones he'd wipe away.

"okay"

*************************************

taglist:

@luvr-bunnyy @glowstick-lesbian @anothersworld @Mrbillymontgomery @inas-thing @fuck-goes-on @eddiemvnsonss @nia_um @multibishh @takeyour-pants-off @Afootnoteinyourhappiness @slut4murdock @multibishh @alexxavicry @drunkangels @desert-fern @caseket @dvredevil-s-initivls @thychuvaluswife @scoliobean @babyblue0t7 @lewd-alien @Yourbane

[court-jobi]

Unsee

((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!prohero reader, afab pronouns used)

Words: 5.1k

Rating: T+

Warnings: CH 362 SPOILERS, Pro-Hero! Bakugou x reader, angstttt, HURT/COMFORT, light PTSD, anxious stomach/vomiting, discussions about death, lots of comfort, est.relationship and lots of softness + trauma sharing

Summary:

When you love someone, you love their past, present, and future selves-- even if you were not part of their story for the hills and valleys that have made them who they are. This was the way of heroes: risking it all, even to death. You should know this threat by now, as it's the life you make for yourself as well-- but it's so much harder to keep the mentality when it's your loved ones on the line. You learn the extent of one of the biggest trenches in Katsuki Bakugou's life, and it shakes you to your core.

A/N: since I first envisioned my lil biker! reader, I've had this exact interaction on loop in my head. Making it the internet's problem now. apologies in advance for the feelings I've dumped in this fic. Signed, "Bakugou would hold your hair back" Club President

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Weekday mornings pass by generally uneventfully nowadays, leaving you with not much to do except to wait for calls for hero pickups when the shifts change over. It makes you feel like a bit of a taxi service, but the relaxed vibe makes up for the emergency response times you’re faced with in the dead of night when you get a message from the on-call line. 

After a brief stop by your office space to glance at your inbox, you take a lap around the Service Lab in order to catch up with Hatsume. 

There’s no one better fit to upgrade your helmet models and even take a special interest in how to bulk up your hero costume in order to protect you better. That’s a revolving topic from Bakugou’s lips as well, so your bringing up the idea wasn’t a foreign one– a revelation that touched you, deep under the professional front you keep here in the office. 

Hatsume is highly sought after nowadays. Time in her own lab is where she should be calling home, but given her sporadic interest in all things support tech, she has been prone to taking outsourced Technical Outsource calls for nearby agencies– especially when said agencies employ her dear old schoolmates. 

When you join her today, she’s busy talking shop and ropes you right into the conversation by pulling you right into her personal space. As far as subject matter, it’s hit or miss if you can contribute anything to the conversation, though today you’re pleased to see that she's in full ‘Dynamight’ mode. 

A favorite topic of yours– and of all the tech assistants in the room. Mei, however, holds a far more casual opinion of Bakugou out of familiarity. They’re hardly on a first-name basis as you are, but hearing her peel back details about the larger-than-life sweetheart of yours is both fun and enlightening to hear. 

Through your visits with her over the last year or so, you’re still not one hundred percent sure she actually knows what he means to you, because she barely looks you in the face as you cut your attention over old footage of him across all of her schematics monitors. Had she studied you as much as she studies Bakugou’s shoulder cannons, she’d spot your particular brand of appreciation by the tracing of a finger on your lower lip. 

"Yeah it's kinda nice sometimes to jump back to basics with Blasty,” Hatsume drifts into a relaxed state back at her table, “Simple fixes like this -darn thing- hmmmthere we go!- Yep, some things never change! Always smart to figure out how to store more sweat, defer more exhaust. Lil harder now that it used to be, having to worry about the magnets."

“Magnets,” you throw in a word, catching up to her thought process, “What, on his belt?”

“No, those clip into place! The way he complains about ‘em with his gloves though, I should probably look into making them easily detachable, too.. But no, I mean the ones he used to have across his chest, back when we made the first suit edits at UA: Year Three,”

Hatsume keeps a long, archived track record with Bakugou, if her nearby drive bogged down with version files is indication of how many changes she’s made to his hero costume and support items…

“-- because we were trying to offload weight from his arms, I tried to strap ‘em to his torso. Only we learned pretty quick the strength of magnet grade was affecting the charges where it was hitting along his chest.”

"Charges–” you pay more attention now, inspecting what she’s doing. Hatsume doesn’t look your way, but is listening, “In the grenades?" 

Do they go off at any second?? You assumed Bakugou’s smaller bombs were pulled in traditional fashion with a pin, as you’ve seen him use them in action firsthand. Hatsume has hard work, if she’s having to check each and every one of those, too…

"Oh! Haha no!" she chuckles brightly, "Sorry hun, shop term: ‘electromagnetic charges’! Each baby bombie has them, even when they’re not in use– but they don’t go live unless triggered. But in the rare event of a preemptive ignition, I didn’t want the chain reaction settin’ off his heart! Couldn’t use the strap anymore after that hoo-hah; too close to the loop device in the ‘ole ticker~"

Now that she’s talking organs, you start to get a pang of nerves. 

You know Bakugou’s quirk is biometrically dangerous, but till now, you’ve not worried about the risks it would cause him in that way. Even more, you didn’t know of any internal monitoring device he’d have to check for that sort of activity. Bakugou went to the doc here in this building, when he’s in too rough shape to handle himself. But beyond that, you’re stumped.

"Whyyyy would that matter? What’s inside him, again?"

Hatsume handles the internal wiring of Bakugou's cannons with ease-- now that nothing is connected to an active, explosive vial of sweat. With her outfitted eyes set on the tiny soldering work, Hatsume's got Bakugou’s chart up and briefly  flicks it over to the shared screen. 

"'Dat one, 'hurr," the a teeny tool in her teeth drops at her need to speak, "I pull a read on his heart monitor whenever I come around to keep tabs on things- same as the core staff here does! Works like a charm with the new heart, now that he's had time to build up muscle around it~"

You look for yourself at the screen as she chatters-- and are horrified at what you find there in a continuous crawl across the screen.

Can't move. You can't breathe. 

Can't understand how the hell Mei is still talking with such pep in her voice, when these pictures are taking nearly all of your composure away:

Nothing in your career prepared you to see stills of Katsuki lying stock still and caked with blood. 

You're pale as the ghost you're looking at– as gutted as he is in this photo: frozen in time. The archive thumbnails are mostly drone footage, but this much you can see clearly- and wish with everything in you that you could unsee it.

The reference photos on his hero account don't show the extensive medical layover you see here in his technical file. You run through every tiny detail in the stills above you on the screens. 

He's incredibly young. The soil around him, plants barely peeking out from the battle-torn ground; it's gotta be the big fight he rarely talks about. It's where he's got certain scars across his arms, chest, and the one cutting across his face; that much he's told you. They’re scars you’ve kissed and shown love and care for in his quietest moments, in which he felt the need to tell you why they stand out more than the others. In that much, Katsuki was honest… but not enough about this.

He never once mentioned organ replacement. 

He's never told you his arm was torn to shreds by his own doing. 

He never told you he’s living his second chance at life at the expense of another Pro Hero he’d never mentioned either--well, third if you could the brief blip while he was on the operating table after the battle. Didn't flatline for very long, according to these surgery notes, but still...

Surgery notes. Plural. There's many here. Wires sustain his oxygen and bloodflow, putting color back in his face. There's streaks across his cheeks- marred with tracks of soot and old blood, mixing with what must have been tears of pure exhaustion and rage and resolve. Yours sting at your own lash line. Every nerve ending clams up in your body: worse than the wreck that almost put you out of commission.

In your mind, Dynamight’s professional headshot is a flat, grumpy one. No smile to be found, but at least there's a spark behind the eyes.

He's not dead. 

He literally brought you a can of coffee this morning. 

He stopped you from getting up from the dining table too soon, needing to turn the clasp of your necklace around first because it was 'pissing him off'.

You know he's not dead– but you wish you'd never set foot in this room.

That old coffee's turned to lava in your gut.

"And these boots of his– they make too much noise! Talk about stealth-”

"Scuse- me, Hatsume.."

"--I know he’s not necessarily a known stealth hero, but– hey, when did she leave??”

He may not like how slick they go on when applied, but Bakugou had to admit it, these counterirritant patches were the best dang thing to ever happen to his shoulder blades. Menthol flooding his senses by heat activation, he was feeling better already after his first catch of the day.

After getting the note from Hatsume that his gauntlets were ready to pickup from R&D, he traipsed into her room while texting you. Just a short n’sweet message, hoping that he’d be able to cross paths with you before he’d need to go out again. The messenger app showed you were active within a few minutes ago, but you haven't responded to his messages.

He comes in, half listening to Hatsume’s rant to the staff technicians once again. He catches sight of his file, streaming up at the top of her video wall.

"Ugh, this again?” Bakugou barks out, “What am I, a sideshow to you science freaks?!"

"Hardly when we're the ones you need, Blasty," Hatsume huffed his way, "and besides, I think you better watch who you're talking smack to about this stuff anyway! And it wasn't online for my freaks, anyway. They know your work orders inside and out~ you should be nicer to them!"

You tell him as much, in his more crotchety moments… and you are always right. 

Bored of the medical records, he turns to his completed support items out on the reception table, "Then what're you blasting all this shit for? Haven’t had any arrhythmias for months."

“Just because you haven’t had any doesn't mean it’s not a good idea to circle back and check. We can learn plenty from stable periods, just as much as emergencies, ya know!”

Bakugou simply rolls his eyes, throwing a grumbly word of thanks to the technician who brings over the case for said equipment, and starts packing it into place. 

Hatsume slips her goggles up her face. Trying to read the Pro Hero before her wasn’t a hard task; he usually deflects when his weaknesses are on full display. 

"You want my advice Mr. Murder God?” Hatsume turns more solemn– an attitude she rarely radiates. 

“Sounds like you’re gonna give it anyway.”

“I think your teammates outta know what all's happened to you, cuz it sure isn't obvious to everyone. ‘Specially the ones who hang around you all the time… I think it’d be smart if they kept an eye out any emergencies, too- like your transport queen around here– Joyride, isn’t it?"

Katsuki flinched. He turns back from the table -past Hatsume- and centers back up to the full view of the record up on her computer. 

He’s not so irritated by its presence anymore… but rather worried about how long it’s been up there, in full view of the room.

"...She saw all this?..."

"Mmmmyea, pretty sure?" Hatsume was already engrossed in her current project, "Was in the middle of your pieces when she came by. She normally doesn’t as so many questions, but she sure was today till she-”

Kaminari slides into the lab -winded and nervous as all getout- nearly colliding with the reception table altogether. He almost hit Bakugou square in the face, since the hothead had turned ready to bust out of the room himself.

"Oh geez, (heh) there you are, Bak- (heh) listen-- your girl's barfing her brains out! You know if she's sick or something??"

Bakugou grimaced and seethed at his own negligence-

"fuuuUUUCK," he hissed rounding the table, before he remembered Hatsume- "YOU, DUMBASS-"

"Scuse you???!"

"TURN THAT SHIT OFF, AND WHEN I GET BACK, WE'RE HAVIN' WORDS-- AND YOU-" Bakugou yelled back to Kaminari, carrier of bad news as he was, "WHERE. IS SHE."

"Bathroom by the rec room- but, hey man, it's locked!!"

Bakugou didn’t take time to listen more as he books it down the hall, making a beeline to where you'd be.

Down the hall just a few corridors away, you hadn’t made it far to take your leave. Bakugou approaches where a couple sidekicks hear you coughing behind a door, and are presently failing to be let in. The sound is heart-wrenching, hearing you sick, but he’s in full protective mode and ready to take out the door himself if need be. 

He’s breathing hard, and scares them as he snaps and points harshly for them to move. They do, but not without one of them looking soured that he's getting in their face when they were only trying to help.

Coming to the door, Bakugou tries the handle despite Kaminari’s clear warning that it is indeed locked. He immediately rears up to bang his announcement, but rotates that fist to use just knuckles and taper his knocks down to a reasonable level. He's no less frantic in speech though, calling for you hoarse and breathy -mindful of his audience, only at first-

"Joyride...hon', it's me. Open up."

You're crying on the other side, but gasp when you hear him speak. An urp of a gurgle hits you in the quiet that follows, then another stomach-churning cough.

The rant of expletives that runs through his mind is enough to turn Bakugou’s own stomach... He palms his face for a minute, before letting his forehead drop to the door and speaks again.

"I can't help you if I can't see you, sweet’eart. I… know I got a lot to answer for." 

The chances of him greeting a furyless version of you all gone, Bakugou accepts his fate. 

"-And I figure if you're gonna yell at me, you should do it to my face. Please open the door."

After a sniffle and an incredibly uncomfortable beat of quiet where Bakugou is staring at the doorknob below him -gripping it in wait to open the second he hears the upper safety lock move-... he finally does, the moment you release it.

Bakugou steps in the single stall room -deftly fast- then locks it right up behind him. The girls on the other side fuss again, but he doesn’t give a spare thought to their efforts.

Down on the floor, not even fully sat back yet from your reach to catch the door, you're the most miserable sight. Stuffing a used-up paper towel that’s in reach by your stash, you're folding the unsoiled side to try and clear off your face and blow your nose for good measure.

What's worse, you can't bear to look at him.

With a careful sigh, Bakugou knows he's got a world of explaining to do- but has a greater worry over your slumped self on the tile floor. He’s seen you with the flu, and you weren’t this sick.

"Baby–"

One word and you're crying again, head down into your knees. Bakugou can only imagine what headspace you’re in, and the list of what he thinks he can say to console you is now down to zero. Actions it is, then. 

Bakugou kneels down, swiping your hair back into a rough pony by teething off a hair tie from his wrist to secure it. Just in case you feel sick again, it wouldn’t hurt, he reasons. Once freshened, he takes away your trash bucket next without a word. Collects all the used bits of your attempt at cleanliness into the trash, barely a care for how many there were to clean up. Whatever he’d need to do -whatever you’d allow him to do- that’s how he’s determined to serve.  

Finally, he shifts from a kneel to a sit. The blonde crisscrosses his stance under him, bringing you by both arms to pull you forwards, into his lap. 

At first you're confused at his hands' insistence, but since he's made himself in prime position to hold you, he's glad to see you fall to the open invitation even in a dire time like this. A little shaky, but still you clamber over to his lap on your knees until he can get you settled the rest of the way himself.

Chest to chest, legs astride him, he'd hoped he'd catch a better look of your face as you came over-- but no such luck as you duck your head in. His chance at helping you remains though, as you’re holding him tight around the neck and shoulders and clearly aren’t averse to him. Frightened enough for one day -maybe even a lifetime- Bakugou lets you cling on, and simply holds you tight in return.

All that matters to him is that you're positioned as close as humanly possible. Protected. Safe to cry and ready to just absorb it. He knows it's what he deserves, and considers himself your personal sponge.

To your hiccups making you jump against his chest, he just pets through your hair quietly hushing you to stillness.

"I'm here." He takes a tepid breath. "I’m not there, baby, I'm right here."

You stutter, but simply try to control your own breaths.

"i--... I'm so.. so.. 've never been so upset.."

"I know."

"I feel so'sick.. y’looked–"

The impulse to kick aside that damn puke bucket is raging within him-- but knowing your possible need for it, he brings it close instead. 

"I know, babe.”

He'll get you set before you head out on patrol today. If you ever settle… but for now, he's focused on the one thing he can control, and that’s getting you as comfortable as possible.

From here, you can't look at him, but you can look straight ahead- which shows you Bakugou's full back in the mirrored wall. The movement when he breathes, his neck craning as he lowers his head to sink over your shoulder. How you're being held so tightly it shows in each muscle group.

You can't see it, but feel it: cold breath blown from his lips, to comfort onto your heated neck. Bakugou's lifted up your haphazard ponytail, trying to introduce some cool touch to you in this small space.

You gather it's an apology, done his way-- seeing as he's unintentionally created this catastrophic response in your body.

As you've told him in your most private moments, you've only really felt this raw outlash of emotion in the workplace once before: the day you found out your sweet brother in arms, T’challa, passed away so expectedly. You suppose that's why this is jarring you so strongly now; losing him was the first major loss in your life, years before you met Bakugou.

This is so different, but all the same. A core figure in your support system- your inner circle– here one minute and gone the next. This was the way of heroes. You should know it by now, but it still breaks your tender heart. Even looking at snapshots of Katsuki at his lowest has you heartbroken and shocked.

You're a dichotomy of strength: tough enough to ride headfirst into a mission, but also prone to such intense emotion in your most private moments that you retreat into yourself and deal with an anxious gut all by yourself. Anything to protect the image you keep.

Only today, that exterior means nothing to Katsuki. Not when he alone can try and hold you back together while you try and fix yourself enough to speak coherently.

He's been holding himself together solo for far too long, too; you’ve known this from the first day he out and out confessed ‘I’m bad at this’ when he asked to simply hold your hand in public. You can feel it in your conjoined breaths, cycling back and forth for comfort. He’s unsettled, too– his new heart’s going far too fast.

“Did you actually die out there?” you manage in broken whispers. 

Tell me I just thought the worst.

“... I did,” Bakugou answered calmly, “But I didn’t wan’ you to see how. Not alone.”

“Would you have shown me? Ever?”

“Doesn’t exactly come up at the breakfast table, angel.”

‘But it should have by now.’ 

Bakugou senses the retort and simply pets through your hair again, another apology written by touch. 

“But… I coulda picked any other time, by now. You know everything else. I swear.”

Everything meaning injuries, you hope to God… “No more?”

“No more surprises. I promise.”

Secure enough to take a deep inhale, you try to lift your sights heavenward. 

Such a sobering thought you have to operate in on the daily, knowing hero work is among the deadliest professions. You could lose your best friends at any time, anyone you love. In that vein, you are trying your best not to be selfish with your need for Bakugou’s safety…. Yet you still hold that small hope that as long as you have each others’ backs, you have a shot at staying ahead and staying alive- together. 

Back then, you didn’t know each other. Katsuki Bakugou lived an entire life before he met you, one you were still learning.

"I didn’t know how bad it was for you…” you remember the site of the attack, what surrounded him- or rather, what didn’t. So much of that battlefront had been laid low. That told you as much as the injuries, how bleak everything looked.

Bakugou takes a centering breath himself. His grip on you never lessens. 

"It was the worst day of my life,” he shares, “I fought the world's greatest villain. Almost watched my hero die… Almost lost my best friend, all on the same day. Bad memories all around, for all of us."

Memories that seep into sleep.

"S'that what you dream about? When it gets bad?"

Taking the shot at Shigurake, sent flying back by his own ricocheted blast, giving it all- fruitless as it might have been in the moment when every bone in his body felt like it was bleeding out of every pore. 

You know somewhere in that event, the best friend Katsuki speaks of must have been on the brink of death in an emotional full-circle moment, for he never speaks ill of him in all the ways that matter. He’s a dork, but he’s his dork. You identified their relationship as special from the moment you’d met Izuku Midoriya but… in a deeper way than you’d found the words for yet. They’re twin stars, bound by something stronger than you even think you share with Katsuki some days. Or maybe it’s just different– not one bond that’s better than another. 

You've heard him waking in a panic those nights: how he calls for Izuku, and wakes up in tears. Even in recent months, he doesn't always explain why he’s crying, only that he wants to bury it for the night… and that you help him do that. 

On the subject of those nightmares, today’s discovery of that era of Bakugou’s past becomes painfully clear.

And so, he answers honestly, "...yeah." 

“That’s so scary, Katsuki. You were so young.”

He feels around with one hand between your crammed bodies- for yours. Your head's still hung over his shoulder, but you crane back to watch what he's doing.

 He puts it in place over his heart, forehead knelt to yours.

"Here. This is me, now."

The heartbeat under your palm is strong- a little fast, at the moment.

"They asked me if I’d do it again, if given the chance. N’for the longest time, I woulda said ‘yes’. That’s what I figured heroes say, in the face of the unknown.”

Before you can let that thought gut you again, you feel Katsuki press his thumb in one singular spot: your empty ring finger.

“But I faced the unknown. It was– really light, actually. But all I wanted was more time. I wanted the time to say words. Say more, or- do more. I had to make it right to the ones who mattered. I’m still trying to make it right. And I was given that chance to raise hell, and won. So when I see that shit, I’m grateful. I’m stronger now because of what happened then.”

You look to his face now; the older, stronger, seemingly immovable version of that younger self that still makes its appearance when he’s more pensive. He is still stuck on the look of his thumb where your third knuckle should be…

“Looking at it today though, there is more that war gave me than just making me the hero I am now.”

You press into his heart, “What’s that?”

“If I’d stayed dead,” he treads carefully, “I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have someone who– cares for me, like you do. Who would care about that shitty kid who just barged ahead, even with warning signs going off everywhere.”

With a raise to kiss your hand, Bakugou lets his voice go raspy.

“You looked at that idiot and threw up- all because you cared,” he sniffs with a laugh, “Got a second chance at life, and got a complete knockout who gives a shit about me.”

Abrasive but honest; you laugh in full force. The odd thought passes you: why people watch gory, scary movies for ‘entertainment’ makes no sense to you. If they want horror, just take a gander at a pro-hero’s medical file. 

You cradle Katsuki’s head in for good measure and lay an appreciative kiss on his head. 

“Of course I give a shit,” you say hoarsely, “tho I prefer to say things like that with honey than vinegar, Kats.”

“Yeah, I know ya do… I count on it.”

When you hug him now, it’s a gentler connection. Bakugou still rubs his hand up and down your back, but out of affection instead of dire comfort. 

Finally you feel assured enough for now: you reconciled his past enough to have confidence in his present. He’s bold and never short of giving his all, but to know he acknowledges this living on extended time and has a unique appreciation for the cornerstones around him gives you calm again. 

Bakugou truly is your hero– who you know will drop everything to make sure he protects what’s closest to him first and foremost. 

When you sniffle and lick at the corner of your mouth, it still tastes sour and you finally register a pang of self awareness. You have to smell foul talking so close to him right now.

“I shoulda thought about gum or something..-sorry.”

“Would you stop,” Bakugou droned, taking out your insufficient ponytail now that you finally seemed settled, “I’m with you just about every morning the second you wake up, and I don’t give a fuck.”

Sweetly you silently thank his efforts with a sweet nod to how he put the hairtie back on his wrist. “Still, don’t mean to make it your problem.”

The hint of a smirk starting to come back to his face, you couldn’t completely eradicate his worry with one little bat of the eyes. 

“You are my problem. One I’m happy to fix up when I break it. We’ll get you freshened up when you’re ready. And only when you’re ready.”

You notice your position now on the floor of this bathroom and find it endearing how he managed full cuddle mode in such limited space. Surely the locked door was the straw that secured this.

But the knock was sure to halt it–

“Hey man, leave them alone!-”

“Um, hey ‘Joynamight’?~” Kaminari tested from the other side, “Haven’t heard any hurling in a while, are y’all good?”

“We’ll be GOOD when I SAY WE’RE GOOD!” Bakugou fired back, “HOLD YOUR DAMN HORSES, SPARKPLUG!”

Muting all laughter at the old school rivals was a challenge, but you did so while trying to gracefully detach from your loving partner. He let you with a steadying set of hands to yours to help push yourself up. You offer him steadying arms to pull him back up as well before putting your trashcan back to where it belonged. 

A rinse of your mouth later, you fan your face as best you could in a last-ditch effort to look like you haven’t been bawling like a baby. While he awkwardly stood to the side to give you a minute, you caught Bakugou thumbing at his waterline, too, with a stiff upper lip to get himself back in business. 

Once you rejoined him for a last hug, he readily accepts you with a rush of kisses to your forehead– just how you like it. It’s the mushiest he gets with you physically– guaranteed to get you back to your happy-go-lucky self. Once done, he smirks back at you pleased, petting your hair perfectly back into place. 

“You good?”

“I’m good~”

“OKAY, WE’RE GOOD, SHITTY HAIR!”

“Hey I was the one tellin’ him to lay off you guys!!”

“YEAH AND I CAN HEAR YOU SNICKERING FROM HERE.”

“Damn, for a guy with hearing loss, he sure can pick you out pretty well-”

Bakugou finally swings the door open, pissy as usual, “I HEARD THAT!!”

While Kirishima and Kaminari jog on, Bakugou pockets his hands and holds back for you. Once you exit, you figure you better brave a trip to the kitchen and make a round 2 of breakfast. 

“Something easy, ok?” he warns gently.

“I will. Won’t go fainting on ya~”

Knowing you’ll be on the roads later, Bakugou will impress a stable diet on you more than most.

“And no coffee.”

“Well, tie my hands completely, why doncha, Dynamight?” you sigh dramatically in the doorway.

He takes your chin in a bossy move, “Hey- m’lookin’ out for you, dummy.”

He sounds gruff and looks like he means it in the coolest of ways… but you hear everything in between the fussy brows and piercing eyes:

I care about you-

I’m sorry-

I know you’re this way because of me-

Never again-

Find me if you need me-

I love you- I love you- I love you-

“I know you are, Blasty~”

“UGH, she’s still calling me that shit too?!” Bakugou recoils further, shooting daggers down to the Tech Room, where he knows Hatsume is the one who fed you that old nickname.

You giggle as he stomps away, but he still throws back a last threat that you need to drink a fucking water before you go the fuck anywhere.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Love and Liabilities: Chapter Four (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: As you prepare for the impending trial and attempt to find ways to relieve your stress, the biggest stressor in your life has a funny way of showing up when you least expect it.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Lawyer!Agatha is back after a little hiatus! This is a bit of a shorter chapter to get me back into writing after a few months. I’m hoping to be updating a bit more regularly but I’m (sadly) growing even more busy & stressed, so I promise to do the best I can! As always I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think. My asks/dm’s are always open!

Tag List: @chiar4anna @harknessshi @neverfindmegone @aggieslittleslut @ris-ris-mind @tr333sus @sabstance-blog

Present Day

The whooshing of the wind in your ears combined with the cool air filling your lungs fueled you to increase your pacing as you ran through the deserted park. It had been nearly a week since you reunited with Agatha, and your brain had been hellbent on torturing you ever since. Nothing could take your mind off the infuriating attorney, not even work. You had spent the past few days pouring over every word in the various documents Agatha presented during the pretrial conference, hoping to find something, anything really, to solidify your case.

It was times like this when you missed working in corporate law. Although you had only been a junior attorney at Stark & Strange, you had unlimited access to paralegals and attorneys at your disposal. Unfortunately, working for the government meant not only taking a significant pay cut, but also limiting your outsourcing. You didn’t regret your decision to leave the firm, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the perks.

Since burying yourself in piles of work proved useless, your only real escape from Agatha came from running. The familiar burning sensation began to fill your lungs as your body begged for a break, but you forced yourself to continue. Your legs felt heavier than when you first started, and as you rounded the corner of the trail you had to work twice as hard to not slow down. Even though you were growing tired, the rush of endorphins was a welcome change from the haunting memory of searing blue eyes burning holes into your own.

Agatha would be far too pleased to learn how much of your time and energy was being wasted trying to forget her. However, being the soul sucking succubus she was, you wouldn’t be surprised if she was already aware of the pain she was causing. A swell of anger suddenly overtook you, a feeling you had long grown familiar with when thinking of her, and you used it to finish the final stretch of your run. The thudding of your feet on the pavement along with the loud thumping of your heartbeat acting as a painful reminder of the woman you so desperately wanted to rid yourself of.

Swirls of scarlet, orange, and yellow painted the Manhattan skyline as the sun gradually rose over the city, and the quiet beeping of your phone from your back pocket signaled the end of your run. Nearing the end of the trail, you slowed your pace down to a steady walk, allowing yourself to do some breathing exercises in the process whilst checking your email. It was early enough in the morning that there wasn’t much for you to go through, but you knew it was bound to be yet another busy day.

You had timed your run to give yourself just enough time to head back to your apartment to get ready for the day and get to the office before the rest of your colleagues. The stress of the looming trial was becoming overwhelming, and you had to be prepared for whatever chaos Agatha would inevitably throw at you. Unfortunately that meant you were working nearly double the amount of hours than normal.

Luckily you were able to take a quick shower, find clean clothes in the back of your closet, and managed to get to work before anyone else had arrived. You would hopefully have an hour or two to yourself before you were eventually interrupted, and you intended to use every last possible second you could. As you strolled the corridor, you were tempted to stop to make yourself a coffee, but decided to get settled before adding caffeine to this situation.

Absentmindedly dropping your bag to the floor after you entered your office, you refocused your attention on reading a memo that one of your colleagues had left for you. Making mental notes of what needed to be addressed, you turned to open the blinds when you stopped dead in your tracks at what was in front of you.

Agatha Harkness sat in an armchair in the corner of your office, an amused expression painting her face. You nearly fell over at the sight of her, how did she get in here? The door was locked when you had arrived, wasn’t it?

Agatha, unaware of your current inner ramblings, took a sip of her coffee before repositioning herself, recrossing her legs as she gave you a disappointed look. “Your lack of situational awareness is truly astonishing. I could have been a murderer.”

Adrenaline continued to course through your body as your heart thumped loudly in your chest. Taking a deep breath, you ignored her sarcastic remarks as you leaned against your desk, attempting to calm down.

“What-what the hell are you doing in here?” You spluttered out, unsuccessfully trying to regain your composure.

The attorney frowned, as if that was an absurd question. “This is your office, is it not? I wasn’t sure at first, but the withering plants were a bit of a giveaway.”

Typical Agatha. They weren’t dying, were they? You made a mental note to ask your paralegal to water them a bit more.

Ignoring the jab, you took another deep breath, your body still on edge. “Do I even want to know how you got in here?”

Taking a moment to think over your words, she shook her head. “No. Now drink your coffee before the ice melts.”

It was then that you noticed the untouched cup of iced coffee on the edge of your desk. Narrowing your eyes at it, you gave her a suspicious glance. “How do I know you didn’t poison it?”

Agatha rolled her eyes, as if that was the most ridiculous thing to ask her and she didn’t just break into your office. “Honestly, dear. You’re far too paranoid this early in the morning. Drink. We both know how irritable you are without caffeine.”

When you refrained from grabbing the cup, Agatha huffed, her stormy blue eyes swirling in annoyance as she rose from her seat. Taking a step towards you until your legs were nearly touching, she snatched the cup, the silence in the room disrupted by the clanking sound of the ice swirling in the cup. Hovering over you, she used her free hand to grab yours, the soft feel of her touch briefly taking you back to a time where it would have been more welcomed.

Your breath hitched as the rich, musky scent of her expensive perfume washed over you, and you fought the temptation to look into her eyes. How many times had you found yourself in this exact same position with her, you mused lightly as your brain attempted to regain its ability to function. Agatha’s fingers intertwined with yours, as she leaned in even closer, her lips grazing your jawline and you closed your eyes, fighting against the urge to lean into her touch.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head. “No. This can’t happen again.”

Agatha pulled back, her eyebrows slightly raised. “What can’t happen again?”

Giving her a pointed look, you tried to ignore the feel of her fingers still interwoven with your own. “I don’t think we need to relive that mistake, do we?”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Agatha replied, swishing the cup of iced coffee as she lifted it up. “I seem to recall you rather enjoying yourself during that mistake, or was that someone else who pulled me into a closet and jumped me?”

“I did not jump you! You’re the one who came onto me,” you hissed as your irritation grew exponentially.

“Easy, tiger,” Agatha teased, raising the cup until the straw was nearly touching your lips. “I see the caffeine withdrawal is already kicking in.”

“Agatha…” you trailed off, ignoring your brain protesting that this would hurt even more than your last encounter.

Dropping your hand, Agatha gently cupped your jaw, tilting your head upwards until you were forced to meet her eyes.

“Sip,” Agatha murmured, raising the cup once more to your lips.

Her words were soft, but you both knew it wasn’t a request as much as a command. A part of you knew this was a mistake, that you couldn’t give into her yet again after being strong for so long. But then you looked into her eyes and found yourself getting lost in the fiery intensity she always seemed to carry. Logic and reason held no weight against the pleasure that was being at the mercy of Agatha Harkness.

Wrapping your lips around the straw, you lightly sucked, savoring the creamy, cold taste of the iced coffee on your tongue. Agatha’s eyes darkened at the sight; using one hand to brush your hair behind your shoulders while the other remained glued to your jaw, fingers brushing lightly against your skin.

“Good girl,” Agatha quietly praised, running her fingers through your hair, tugging lightly at the loose strands.

As you released the straw from your mouth, Agatha set the cup down, tightening her grip on your hair before capturing your lips in a kiss. Her lips were warm and gentle against your own, but it wasn’t long before she began nipping on your lower lip, biting down harder when you let out a whine. Moving forward, she pressed herself fully against you, while you instinctively wrapped your arms around her waist. Her tongue expertly sought out your own, and it felt like she was trying to get every drop of coffee from your mouth.

Panting, you were the first to break the kiss, tilting your head as Agatha proceeded to pepper persistent kisses down your jawline, each leaving you more breathless than the last.

“Agatha…” you whimpered, the last bit of self control slipping away even as you tried to hold onto it. “We can’t do this again.”

The attorney chuckled softly against your skin, tickling you ever so slightly in the process. She took a moment to look up at you then, with her ever blue eyes hazy with want and perfectly swollen red lips, and you remembered a moment in time where this had been easier. It was almost too easy to forget the pain of the past when she looked at you in that special way; as if she saved those intimate, sweet glances just for you. You used to believe you were able to bring out a different side of her than the rest of the world saw; that you understood who she was at her core.

Having her here now made the whole situation even worse than you previously remembered. It complicated things, and if there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was unnecessary complications. You found it difficult to remember the seemingly obvious reasons why you left her all those years ago when she was standing within your reach; the light that once dimmed in her eyes was once again ablaze. Gone were the demons of the past, in its place was the woman you had once fallen in love with.

Unfortunately, you were snapped out of your thoughts as you heard chatter from the hallway; your colleagues had arrived for the day. Agatha’s head tilted at the sound, and the moment was broken as she took a step back.

Clearing her throat, she folded her arms across her chest. “I was hoping you had given more thought to dropping the case, that’s why I dropped by.”

Annoyance took over any feelings of longing that had been threatening to emerge, and you frowned. “You do realize that this could be perceived as intimidation, right? That on top of trespassing could mean you potentially lose any upper hand in this trial that you believe you possess.”

Agatha fully cackled, which only served to enrage you further. She picked up a few files that she must have previously set on the desk. “You always were so full of pride and ambition, dear. I’m not surprised to see it still has a hand in clouding your judgment. It’s a pity. I always thought you had a lot of potential.”

Flabbergasted, you shook your head. You should have known better. Only Agatha would be capable of attempting to manipulate you over your shared past to better serve her motive. Shoving past her, you finally opened the blinds to your office, the once sunny morning replaced with dark gray skies as rain furiously poured down. As you turned around to tell Agatha to get out, you were unsurprised to find she was already gone. Typical.

Settling down at your desk, you opened your laptop and started going through your checklist for the day when you noticed something on the edge of your desk; a file folder. You quickly realized Agatha must have left it behind by accident, which was strange; it wasn’t like her to do something like that. It was unclear what drove you to opening the file, but looking back you’d blame it on your own morbid curiosity. Inside there were over a dozen pages of what appeared to be hospital records for two people, one being Wanda Maximoff.

As you settled in to read, your eyes drifted to the neglected iced coffee. A part of you wanted to throw it away, but the caffeine driven side of your brain led you to grab it. After all, it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

Flipping the page over as you sipped, you paused as you actually tasted the coffee for the first time without distraction.

This is your exact coffee order. Iced coffee, extra ice, one pump of vanilla and a splash of oatmilk. After all of these years she still remembered, remembered it perfectly.

You weren’t sure why you hated that as much as you did, but it burns in your mind as you keep reading and drinking, trying to wash her taste out of your mouth.

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Our Love is Six Feet Under- Nakahara Chuuya

featuring: Nakahara Chuuya (bsd), gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned) warnings:- angst throughout, major character death, major light novel (stormbringer) spoilers!! a/n:- my, my, this idea has actually been rotting in my brain for over a month and its my longest fic till date. i loved writing it i hope u guys like it too <33 heavily inspired by 'six feet under' by billie eilish

wc: 3k || masterlists

You feel like you’ve been through worse than hell and back when you drag your eyes open. It doesn’t take you long to assess your situation and remember what had happened to you in the first place to get you attached to a hospital bed with various machines around you.

You promptly wish you’d rather have died instead, or never woken up. Not having had to deal with the pain that stabbed your heart like a thousand serrated, unforgiving knives would be a million times better than being alive. It would have been so much better than being the only survivor. 

Technically, you should feel no personal guilt over the Flags’ deaths. Its not like you had been hired to protect them, and what you had been paid to specifically do is the only thing that matters when you’re an assassin. Especially when the Port Mafia is the one who outsourced you. The blame of their deaths could, in no way, be pinned upon you.

Having feelings is what gets someone killed in the world you live in, a dark world in the deepest shadows of the city. Having an ability is no reason to be confident of yourself, not when the country is littered with ability users everywhere. And yet having an ability as unique as yours is how you managed to save yourself from the certain death brought upon you all by the King of Assassins.

It was supposed to be another normal day, right? You were off-duty, so you were hanging out with the Flags at the usual place, who you had become ‘acquainted’ with over the past few months of working together, Mori’s orders. If you could dare to curse yourself and them by calling you guys friends, you would. One of them, possibly the one you were closest with, had left for some mission with a foreign investigator, long story. So you were chilling out with the others, playing billiards and all that stuff. 

If someone had told you that would be your last memory together, you would have atleast clicked a picture for keepsakes. Or you’d have cherished the moment more, rather than treating it so casually. After all, you never know the value of what you’ve lost until you’ve lost it. 

In the present, you shut out your emotions- they’re too much of a storm for you to be able to deal with. The grief at their deaths, the horror at the memory of the sight, the overwhelming grief- you needed a break. You slipped back into unconsciousness, a weight lying heavy on your chest that would surely never leave you until you die.

********

The funeral seems much too loud and way too quiet at the same time, or perhaps thats just your thoughts. You’re silent in the shadows, yet again, watching the processions and the choir wordlessly. You don’t speak anything. You don’t think you have the right to. 

You haven’t dared to talk to Chuuya, or even approach him. He was the only member of the Flags who was not present when Verlaine struck, and thus the only one alive. He was incredibly close to them, you know, because you yourself were close to them, to him. Barely anyone had spoken a word to him, not even the boss. His aura was such that if you even dared to approach him, you’d probably either have your lungs squashed by gravity, or his own carefully crafted facade would break down. 

If, as someone who wasn’t even part of the Port Mafia or the Flags, you had been affected so badly, how was Chuuya coping? Was he? Yet, out of habit, you can’t help but keep an eye out for him. Silently, selfishly even, perhaps you’re hoping he can find it in himself to forgive you.

The foreign investigator has shown up again, looking much too cheerful for someone entering a funeral, and goes straight to Chuuya. You can feel that he’s pissed off, but a few words from Mori, and Chuuya stands up in a forced manner, going to leave with the detective. 

You manage to meet his gaze finally, but you don’t think you’d ever be prepared for it. His eyes bored straight into yours, eyes that had once looked at you with mirth and laughter, and dare you say it, love, eyes that were always an open gateway to his emotions. They held nothing but silent accusations, hidden anger, all pointing their sharp ends towards you. Not a single friendly feeling. 

Not a word is exchanged as he walks right past you, but there’s no need to. You’ve gotten the silent message he’s sending you crystal clear- he will never forgive you for this.

You think you deserve it fully, you understand. Even now. How twisted, really, but you got it. When he lost the Flags, he lost a part of himself too, but he still remembered you. And remembering you was a constant reminder of them, of your failure to save them, of the pain that came with. 

Though it hurt you, you knew that distancing yourself from him was the best thing to do. If you pursued him again, there was no telling what he might end up doing, but it certainly wouldn’t end well. Chuuya likely knew this too, and he clearly didn’t want you to come back. So you wouldn’t. This funeral would be the last time you associated with the Port Mafia, and thus Chuuya, even if it hurt you to do so. But again, considering feelings is what gets you killed in this world, and you’d rather not die so soon, although you actually don’t mind. 

And well, what did it matter if somewhere, sometime, Chuuya secretly wished you’d ask him to return?

********

Visiting their graves has become a monthly thing to you, due to your inability to let the past stay in the past. Perhaps its your own, guilty way of attempting to make amends, perhaps its your way of keeping their memory engraved in your mind, perhaps its to ensure that they aren’t forgotten, even if you know well they will never be. Deep inside, its a way for you to mourn the dead, as well as the loss of the living. 

You bring flowers every time, stay a while, occasionally leave something for them. Sometimes, you talk to them, sometimes you apologise over and over again, sometimes you stay silent, letting your thoughts still for a while. If nothing else, you just stared at the small rose plants that were growing there, one behind each of the five graves. It always amazed you, that such a delicate flower could grow in such a barren place. It sure seemed like they’d be blooming soon, and whenever you visited, you always made sure to check on them.

Time passes, but the wounds do not heal from inside, they just scab over, concealing the pain at first glance. You’ve gotten better at hiding it, yes, but that does not make it any better. You’ve become stronger, risen in rank as an assassin, honed your skills further. You’ve become reputed for carrying out your tasks in a swiftly lethal, unclouded way that left no traces. Almost a year has already gone by since the incident, and you still havent forgiven yourself. Nor has Chuuya.

That’s why, on their death anniversary, when you feel his cold gaze on you for the first time in a whole year when you were at their graves, you don’t hesitate to get up and start to leave. It’s best for him to not see you again. You’ve cut off all contact with the Port Mafia, except for when you occasionally got hired by them, and even then you finished it quickly, wasting no time. Interacting with no one. 

So that’s why it surprises you, when he holds up a hand, walking past you to lay the flowers on their graves. “You can stay.” He speaks emotionlessly, not looking at you. He sounds older, more mature, which was to be expected, you supposed. You remain standing where you are for a few moments, not facing him as he walks over and sits behind one of the graves. “As long as you aren’t doing anything wrong, of course.” He adds. At that, you sit in front of the grave he’s leaning against, replying quietly with a “No, I was merely paying my respects.”

It was anyways evening when you came, soon, the moon starts its ascent through the sky, as silence settles between the two of you. Not a word is exchanged between the two of you as you sit on opposite sides of the same grave, in each other’s company. The only people who could truly understand each other’s pain and suffering.

You settle for silently staring at the roses. Small buds have formed, but they don’t look well- its as if the whole plant is starting to wilt, little by little. They haven’t flowered even once yet,and you wondered if those roses would bloom before the plant died. Could they? After all, the weather was changing- it was raining more often these days. Maybe they couldn’t take it. Even now, a light drizzle had started as you sat, but it took you some time to realise, because you didn’t feel the rain at all, only noticing the faint red hue around. You didn’t mention it, nor did Chuuya.

Perhaps, whatever once could have been between you and the guy opposite you was symbolised by those roses- it could have bloomed, if given the chance, but life abandoned it,  left it to wilt in the aftermath of the storm. Any possible chances for you two were like the beloved ones who had left you now- six feet under the ground, dead, marked by a grave. This was merely the hand that fate dealt you, you had no choice but to accept it

********

“I can’t see the moon tonight.”. You murmur, almost to yourself, as you remain seated against the graves. It had been years, and even till now, neither of you had stopped coming to the grave to pay your respects, you arriving first every time and waiting for him. Your own visits weren’t monthly anymore due to life, more sporadic, but you still did visit from time to time, and you know Chuuya did too. And every year, on the fateful day that the incident happened, both of you never failed to show up, at the same time. Sometimes you exchanged a few words of greeting, a line or two about life. Other times you sat in silence till the moon’s glow started to dim, leaving as noiselessly as you came. Over time, this became your and Chuuya’s last remaining shared tradition out of all those that used to exist, your last link to each other. Seems like none of you was truly able to stay away from the other after all, huh?

“Say, Chuuya, next year, can you check for me whether the moon is visible or not? I feel like there really is something different about it on this day.” You ask him. He curtly replies, “Yeah no, you can do it yourself when you come back here. There’s no big deal about it anyways.” There’s no real bite in his words though, but it still saddens you. You wave it aside though, as you stare at the rose plants, like you always do. 

Over the years, those roses have wilted, died, and new plants have grown in their place. Not a single one of them ever bloomed though. You want to ask Chuuya to check on those plants next year too, but you don’t.

Tired from your day at work- it was more hectic and dangerous than usual- you lean against Chuuya’s shoulder. He remains motionless- he doesn’t push you away, but he certainly doesn’t pull you closer either. This is another thing you developed over the years- if either of you felt like you needed a shoulder on that day, the other would offer it. And you wanted to do it one last time.

Eventually, you two get up and brush yourselves off, preparing to part ways. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on Chuuya’s for a second more than usual as you open up your umbrella- it always does rain on this day, but today it seemed a bit gentler yet stronger- as if the skies were quietly lamenting over what was to come. 

Right before he left, he quietly spoke, the whisper floating between you. “Don’t think everything’s alright between us, because it isn’t.” He always does say something like this before he leaves every time, and again, there’s no real bite or meaning behind those words, just a formality he wishes to continue. 

You let a sad smile rest on your face as you gazed at him, before responding, “Don’t worry, I know.”

“Take care, Chuuya.”

As you started walking off alone, feeling Chuuya’s eyes still on you, ensuring your safety like the gentleman he was, you wondered if you had truly tied all the remaining loose ends of your thread of life, or did you still have regrets? It was very likely- no one could say they died without any regrets at all. And besides, no one’s end was written in stone, unless they carved it themselves. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was ever all too much for you.

The next morning, you call your boss to let him know that you’re ready to take on the mission. It was an important one, involving both a long period of infiltration for gathering valuable intel, and then the assassination of the target at the end. It was a high-risk mission too, but you were used to those, weren’t you?

Why would this mission be any different?

*********

Another year rolled past. This year, Chuuya hadn’t been able to visit the graves at all after the first two-three months because he had been sent overseas for a long-term mission. During the months he’d been in Yokohama, he hadn’t caught a glimpse of you- of course he hadn’t, he made sure to avoid the days you came, preferring to merely see the traces of yourself you left and leaving his own. After that he only got the chance to return there on their next death anniversary, and even for that he had to fight tooth and nail. He was a man of actions, and he would never be the one to break the tradition.

But he’d never imagined that you would break it either. You too were a person who valued actions, or had you changed over the years? 

His sharp eyes scanned the graves cautiously, but there was not a single trace of you. The only life around were the rose plants, not a soul in sight.

Rage, resentment and hints of sorrow bubbled up in him, taking him by storm as he strode over and angrily sat down by one of the graves. He was silent the entire night, letting his rush of emotions subside, staring at the gates as if he was expecting you to suddenly pop out. He stared at the moon, and at the roses. Did you not notice that they were about to bloom when you last visited? Because they were in full bloom that night, for the first time in years, delicate, fragrant petals shining in the moonlight. The moon, too, looked beautiful that night, a full moon surrounded by clouds. It was raining, heavier than usual, but the moon was never hidden. A memory entered his mind- last year, you had asked him to check whether the moon was visible this year.

“Well, it’s visible, and it sure is beautiful, but you didn’t even show up. Why?” He bitterly spoke out loud.

In the soft blowing wind that accompanied the rain, a stray lone rose petal lying on the ground gently floated in air, appearing as ethereal as smoke. He rose up to leave- you clearly weren’t showing up- eyes following the petal as it blew about, landing on a grave not of the Flags, but right beside, almost as if the deceased had specifically asked it to be there. It seemed relatively new too, for he hadn’t seen it the last time he’d been here. He walked over to it, to read what was written on the gravestone.

A moment passed, then another. And another. And Chuuya doesn’t know how long he spent there, kneeling in front of it. He was slowly getting drenched, because his ability had deactivated itself at some point of the night, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the neatly written words staring back at him, taunting him.

At some point, he understood why he was alone that night. Why you weren’t there to give him company, solace that night. It was because you couldn’t, and so you’d left whatever remained of yourself there, beside him, beside them, eternally. He just hadn’t known.

He could barely breathe, he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to, because his chest felt so heavy then. Eventually, he noticed where the petal had landed- it was a small letter, slightly wet and yellowed, kept in such a way that the rain wouldn’t destroy it. Someone must have kept it there on your request, and so he took it  out, eyes taking in the faintly smudged but still intelligible words.

‘I’m sorry, Chuuya, for everything. I hope you can forgive me someday, even if I myself never could. Thank you for staying with me, for existing.

-Love, [Y/N]’

A silent tear slipped out of his eye, then another. “Idiot.” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’ve always been too hard on yourself. I think I forgave you a long time ago, I guess I just never wanted to acknowledge it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being too late.”

“And don’t worry, the moon looks beautiful tonight, and so do the roses. They’ve finally bloomed. I think you would have loved to see them, wouldn’t you?”

this took me ages to write, but i hope u like it hehehe anyways votes, reblogs and comments are really very much appreciated <333

[scaredpigeons]

Aqua Regia II: putting down the roses, picking up the sword.

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Neuvillette x Fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

You get settled into your new position, but are you really.. settled? You realize something a bit embarrassing about your new boss too, best keep that one to yourself.

Authors note: this is where we get the slightest bit suggestive. I just cant help myself. HES A DRAGON COME ONNNN

The first thing Neuvillette notices is that his office is startlingly tidy. 

Now, he is not a slob by any means, and he prides himself in that fact— but since taking over Lady Furinas responsibilities, he’s found that keeping things as organized as he used to had become increasingly more difficult as the days went on. 

He rounded his desk, sitting down with wide eyes as he looked around at the new organizational structure of his desk. 

There is an incoming and outgoing bin on either side of his desk, filing folders clearly indicating which documents each folder holds, there's even a fresh pot of ink, and brand new pens placed neatly in an elegant holder. Across the room, against the wall in his direct line of sight is a very large calendar, Large print outlining each day's primary tasks. 

As he’s gawking at the lack of clutter, you waltz in, just as lovely as before, and he finds himself staring at you a bit more openly, though your gaze is trained upon the tray holding his favorite tea set, and a few bottles of clear liquid that he knows is fresh water, straight from the cooler. 

“Bonjour, Monsieur Neuvillette, I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

He nods as you set the tray down on his desk, carefully placing his teacup and saucer down in front of him. 

“Honey lemon, for your tea this morning.” You set the bottles down to the left of him, removing the tray to a vacant table as you continue speaking. “You have two meetings this morning, firstly with Madame Petra Voleange, who wishes to discuss the accommodations you spoke of for her son who was sentenced to the fortress last week— the young man in the wheelchair who was picking pockets.” 

You handed him a folder, which was clearly labeled and neatly sorted. “I spoke with the Duke, and this is all the information on what can be provided. Your second meeting is with Kemia, a researcher from Sumeru who wishes to gain your permission to gather information on local flora to aid in her botanical medicine research. The information she provided when booking should be in the top left hand drawer of your desk.”

He slid open the drawer, nodding at the folder placed on the top of the pile. 

You handed him another folder, much thicker and darker in color. 

“This is for today’s trial, which starts at 2:30pm. I’ve given you a mandatory two hour block starting at noon to take your lunch, and go over the information we have.”

You put a delicate hand on the backs of the two large bottles of water you placed on his desk, and he found himself staring at the way the condensation clung to your skin. 

“These are from Mondstadt’s finest spring production. I puttered around last night and was able to sweet talk a distributor into sourcing bottles from all seven nations, and he’s willing to send a bi-weekly shipment for us. Sedene told me that you are fond of the different flavors from all over Teyvat, and I saw that you only get shipments from the different nations individually, so I thought that finding a sole distributor who could outsource them for us would be much more efficient.”

He blinked at you, processing your words carefully. 

You stared right back, and as the silence grew, so did the pink on your cheeks. In the back of his mind, he thought it rather endearing that you seemed so flustered, so eager to please him. 

“Please say something, If you don’t I'm going to continue to ramble to try and convince myself that I’m doing everything correctly.” 

A soft breath escaped him, and then it fluttered into a chuckle, as much as he tried to stop it. Your gaze went wide, and you stood shock still, waiting. 

“This is wonderful, much more than I ever would have asked for.” He said, softening his gaze. He saw you relax, and smile back at him— and something inside him twitched.

 Since retaining his full dragonhood, he’s been struggling with new and confusing emotions, instincts, and for some reason every time he was in your presence he felt things he’d never experienced before. 

But—He felt so incredibly grateful for your assistance, so he tampered these strange emotions down, not wanting to speak of them and scare you off when you had just begun to better his work life.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Thank you. I was so worried I had overdone it and you would be upset.” 

“You seem to have a lot of anxieties when it comes to your work performance. Your heart rate spiked the moment you walked in, and only now has calmed to an adequate level.” 

You gaped at him, and of course your heart rate returned to its accelerated speed. 

“I mean no offense by this,” he floundered— albeit gracefully, softening his tone. “I just mean to say that I wish you would feel more at ease here. You’re doing exceptionally well.” 

A strange smell permeated the air around you, sickly sweet and very enticing. He’d smelt something similar before, though much fainter, but he couldn’t remember when, and he knew for sure that he had never smelled anything so mouthwateringly divine as this. 

Was it a new perfume? Why hadn’t he noticed it before? 

 You seemed to turn an even deeper shade of red, before you nodded, bowing slightly before scuttling out the door, stammering about paperwork and your other tasks— carrying that sweet aroma with you. 

Strange, he thought. I’ll have to do more research into what this could be. 

He’d been experiencing many new senses since regaining his full power, perhaps a heightened sense of smell? He was not sure. All he really knew for certain was that he was thoroughly enjoying your presence here at the Palais. 

———————————————

The rain poured heavily this evening, casting everything in a deep gray filter, the dark clouds rolling over the city sky in thick droves. 

The trial was terrible. A child murderer had been left unchecked for too long, killing two boys and a girl, leaving one victim alive yet traumatized beyond repair. 

The young girl's mother had attended the trial, interrupting during the defense's deposition to scream at the accused, demanding retribution and revenge for her poor daughter, and the lives of the children that were lost before her. 

In the end, the woman had to be escorted away, and the trial continued. Justice was indeed served. But the look of broken rage on that mothers face stuck with Neuvillette the entire time, though he pushed it to the back of his mind to remain impassive to anything but the facts. 

The rain fell in thick sheets, soaking the streets and making everyone either run for an umbrella or to find shelter. He sat at his desk, back to the window as he listened to the sound of the water beating against the glass. 

With his attention drawn toward his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear you enter. He glanced at you as you walked past his desk, placing one of your hands on the window as you looked outside at the mess. 

“Wow,” you said. “It’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?” 

Neuvillette felt guilty. 

“Ah, my apologies, the rain must put a damper on your mood.” He said before he could even think to filter himself. 

He wasn’t exactly trying to hide what he was, but he didn’t think you’d quite figured it out yet. 

“Why are you apologizing, silly?” You smiled. “I love the rain. It’s so peaceful and calming.” 

His interest was piqued, and he turned towards you in his chair. “Oh?” 

You nodded. “I’ve always loved the rain. Something about water being the lifeblood of the earth, you know? The cycle continuing, nourishing us— Washing away the old, bringing in the new.” You flushed a little then, looking down at your feet. “Ah, forgive me, I must sound a bit odd.” 

“No,” Neuvillette said, seeing some clouds part ever so slightly outside, a ray of the sun peaking through to shine upon the Palais, upon you. “I quite enjoy the rain too, on more pleasant occasions.” 

You grinned at him. “Perhaps we could take a walk then? It looks like it’s slowing down, so we shouldn’t get too many odd stares if we keep to the grounds of the Palais.” 

“You wish to walk in the rain? I do not have an umbrella with me, unfortunately.” 

You shook your head, walking quickly just outside the door, where you procured a navy blue raincoat with a large hood from some void outside his office where you kept your belongings. 

“I never use umbrellas, I love the feeling of the rain directly, don’t you?” 

Something in his chest pulled, and he cleared his throat. 

“Ah, I do. I didn’t think many others felt the same.” 

“It’s quite warm today, so I don’t think you’d run the risk of catching a cold— as long as you don’t mind getting your nice clothes wet, I think we should do it!” 

You beamed at him, not knowing that he had never had to worry about catching the common cold before, yet you worried all the same. 

You seemed to be unaware of just how you affected him, how brightly you shined to Neuvillette. 

He’d not known you for long, but he genuinely hoped that you continued to stay here, working with him, because he was actually starting to look forward to coming to his office, coming to work. 

The rain clouds cleared just a bit more.

—————————————

You’re going to lose your job. 

If you cannot get a hold of yourself, of these childish, ridiculous, fantastical ideas you’ve managed to curate in your head— your boss is going to realize you’re insane and fire you. 

At least, this is what goes through your head when you look in the mirror at the crack of dawn, preparing yourself for work. 

Just over a month at this wonderful, enjoyable and well paying job, and your wonderful brain decides to throw you into a myriad of dreams in which your boss, the chief justice and newly reigning figurehead of the nation of Fontaine, was the main focus. 

It started off innocent. Dreams about normal and mundane things that happen at work. This was perfectly normal and fine, it happened with nearly every job you had. 

You reminisce on days where your dreams consisted of you bagging produce at a local fruit stand as a teenager— oh, such simple times. 

But as the weeks carried on, your dreams tended to metastasise into something less than appropriate. 

It started with his eyes. 

One day at work you caught him observing you. Now— this was not unusual, Neuvillette was a very observant person, and when in a comfortable environment, such as his office, he was not very subtle. It did not bother you, especially when you were doing such mundane things as filling out reports. But this time, when you looked up to check on him, your eyes met— and for a moment you held his stare. 

His eyes held such a depth of colour, so striking and vibrant, yet so pale and mystical.  And the way he looked at you stirred some aching, foreign thing inside you. It was like he was looking into your very soul, at the blood running through your veins. You flushed, naturally, and hurried off to procure the fresh water for his lunch break. 

You tried to pray away the heat that was quickly rushing south, antagonizing yourself thinking that somehow, someway, he was going to find out that just a singular look had you nearly swooning like a hormonal teenager. 

This look then proceeded to haunt nearly every dream, and the most recent one was something straight out of one of those light novels from inazuma. 

In the dream, you’d been arguing about something, which hadn’t happened in the waking world yet, so your brain just conjured some petty and random cause. You’d gotten frustrated, turning to stomp off. He’d caught your wrist as you were walking away from him, and had pulled you close, staring into your eyes like he was going to devour you. 

You had awoken covered in sweat, desperately needing a cold shower. 

It wasn’t even all that scandalous. You dreamed of his eyes, of light touches, familiarity, closeness. And like a fool, this still sent your heart into overdrive, barely being able to look at him throughout the day. Ever since he’d mentioned being able to hear your heart beating out of control, you tried to get a handle on your nerves around him, but this new issue only seemed to make things worse. 

One day, around the two month mark, you thought you’d been caught. 

It was just another day, you didn’t even remember what you’d said to make him laugh, but it was a short, slight wheeze that pulled almost involuntarily from his chest. It made you grin, it made you feel light. 

“Oh,” he shook his head, chuckling out your name and smiling down at you from where he stood by the window. “Your sense of humor never fails to impress, you really are a joy to work with.” 

Your heart jumped into your throat at his words, at his light and familiar tone, at his genuine smile. You felt your face heat up, and your thighs twitched with the urge to squirm, feeling some rather inappropriate things for your current setting. 

You wanted to smack yourself. You were a professional person, someone who took their job extremely seriously. You were not some degenerate whose knees buckled whenever they received praise from a handsome man, a handsome man who just happened to be your boss.

Neuvillettes nose raised a bit, and he breathed deep, as if he was smelling the air. “See, there it is again.” He said, stepping closer to where you sat at his desk, working on the weekly reports. “That scent, I only ever smell it when you’re here. Are you wearing some kind of perfume?” 

Your eyes widened. What smell? You thought back to your morning routine, deodorant, a light moisturizer on your skin, you wore your bulle fruit perfume this morning, loving the bright and citrusy scent it gave you, lasting throughout the day. You told him this, and he shook his head, brows furrowing in contemplation. 

“No, it's not that,” he said. “It’s difficult to explain, it's sweet yet earthy, rich…and incredibly enticing.” He sort of mumbled that last part, though he seemed to be speaking more to himself than you anyways. 

“Rather puzzling, and it tends to happen in conjunction with your fluster, though I haven’t quite pieced together why you’re still so anxious around the workplace, I've been quite diligent with reminding you how wonderful of a job you’re doing.” 

You did squirm this time, feeling a visceral throb between your legs, and a sudden weight drop in your chest one after the other as a thought warmed its way into your head. 

Could he…. Could Neuvillette really be smelling your arousal? And on top of that, not understanding that was what it was?

For lack of a better phrase, you would say that you’re incredibly screwed.  

[project-sekai-takes]

assuming that mizuki makes the n25 2dmvs, she does not use adobe, as was hinted in her. fuck i forgot the card name. the one that comes with the relief nightwear outfit. anyway this pisses me off to no end. almost none of the pjsk 2dmvs are recreatable in adobe. either the card is wrong or mizukis editing style has been used, like, twice in the whole games lifespan.

also they rarely discuss how mizuki actually... makes the mvs. theres one sequence i can think of, and it just kinda throws out words that i guess make sense in the context of mizukis thought patterns. but i really get the feeling that whoever wrote that section didnt really have much experience with making 2dmvs

oh and like!! this isnt me hating on the sekai devs lmao. theyre game devs not animators. they dont particularily go in detail about any other part of the nightcord process, except maybe composing. they dont go in detail about any characters hobby, they only talk enough that someone who has no experience whatsoever can go "wow thats cool." even within the characters thoughts. and thats not a flaw of the game, just smth ive noticed.

tl;dr: sekai outsources all their 2dmvs. mizuki cannot teach you how to animate guys please

.

[uniquesdata]

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[brotrustmeicanwrite]

I fucking hate AI but heavens would it be useful if it wasn't such an unethical shit show

First, just to be clear, I'm talking about actually using AI as a tool to support your writing process, not to generate soulless texts made from stolen data instead of writing yourself.

Back when ChatGPT first became available it was still pretty useless so I had a lot of time to learn about how it's made, how it works and the ethics of it before ever touching the technology. I decided pretty quickly to never use it to generate text (or images) for actual writing and art but I still wanted to experiment with what else it could do (because I'm a nosy bitch that needs to know and poke everything).

And HEAVENS was it a blessing for writing with adhd

The last time I wrote more than 200 words in a day (outside of school work obviously) was 7th grade. I wrote over 8k just in notes the day Google's "Gemini" (formerly "Bard") became available to the public.

In order to not jeopardize my existing work I decided to make a completely new story with Bard's help that wasn't linked in any way to anything I had made before. So I started with a prompt along the lines of "I need help writing a story". At first, it immediately started generating a completely random story about a green tiger but after some trial and error, I got it to instead start asking questions.

What do you want the theme of your story to be?

What genre do you want to write in?

What time period do you want your story to take place in?

Is there magic?

Are there other sentient creatures besides humans?

And so on and so forth. Until the questions became extremely specific after covering all the bases. I could tell that all I was doing was essentially talking to an amalgamation of every "how to write" blog and website you've ever seen and telling it which part I wanted to work on next but it still felt great because the AI didn't actually contribute anything besides a few suggestions of common tropes and themes here and some synonyms and related words there; I was doing all the work.

And that's the point.

Nothing in that exchange was something I couldn't easily do on my own. But what happened was that I had turned what is usually a chaotic mess of a railway network of thoughts into a clear and most importantly recorded conversation. I can sit down and answer all those questions on my own but what usually happens when I do, is that every thought I have branches out into 4-7 new ones which I then attempt to record all at once (which obviously doesn't work, yay adhd) only to end up lost in thought with maybe 20 lines of notes in total after 6 hours at the table. Alternatively, either because I get bored or just because, I get distracted by something or my own thoughts about a different unrelated topic and end up with even less.

Working within the boundaries of a conversation forces you to focus on one specific question at a time and answer it to progress. And the engagement from the back and forth is just enough entertainment to not get bored. The six hours I mentioned before is the time I spent chatting with what is essentially a glorified chatbot that day, way less time than what I spent on any other project, and yet I have more notes and a clearer image of the story than I do about any of my real work. I have a recorded train of thought.

In theory, this would also work with a real human in a real conversation but realistically only very few people have someone who would be willing to do that; I certainly don't have a someone like that. Not to mention that someone doesn't always have time. Besides that, a real human conversation involves two minds with their own ideas, both of which are trying to contribute their own thoughts and opinions equally. The type of AI chat that I experimented with, on the other hand, is essentially just the conversation you have with yourself when answering those questions, only with part of it outsourced to a computer and no one else butting into your train of thought.

On that note, I also tried to get it to critique my writing but besides fixing grammatical errors all that thing did was sing praises as if I was God. That's where you'll 100000% need humans.

tl;dr writing with AI as an assistant has basically the same effect as body doubling but it’s an unethical shit show so I’m not doing it again. Also I forgot to mention I did repeat the experiment for accuracy with different amount of spoons and it makes me extra bitter that is was very consistent

[youcouldmakealife]

Stuff That Helps Me Write: Procrastination Busting (Novelty Edition)

So, last week I was talking about the interest based nervous system versus the importance based nervous system, and how people with interest based nervous systems are driven by urgency, novelty, challenge/competition, and interest, versus the more common importance based nervous system, which is driven by importance (to yourself or to others), rewards, and consequences.

I don’t know whether ADHD or autism has a larger impact on my life — they often impact different areas, and they frequently compensate for one another in the areas they do overlap, when they aren't forming an unlikely alliance hellbent on my destruction. But my writing process is 100% run by ADHD. So because these tips are the ones that work for me, and my writing process is, top to bottom, ADHD as fuck, they’re probably going to be pretty heavily slanted toward ADHD peeps, though of course YMMV.

Tackling novelty first, because, well, of course I am. This can also appear as ‘novelty/creativity’, but honestly, I think that’s a little redundant: doing, say, a creative version of a task is simply injecting novelty, and I think novelty is a much easier concept to understand for most people than creativity is. Novelty can be boiled down to single words we learn the meaning of at a young age (new! Different!), whereas creativity has fifteen different definitions, every single one of which might spark debate. So for our purposes, I’m sticking with just novelty.

Here are some ways I inject novelty into my writing process:

Roll the dice.

This doesn’t have to be dice, though the 20-sided ones are absolutely great for this. You can use decks of cards, random number generators, slips of paper, whatever — one of the best ways to make yourself do a bunch of shit you don’t actually want to is to attach those tasks to numbers (or colours, or suits, or whatever), and let fate decide. This can work in a lot of ways: you assign each task to a number, say, or you roll the dice on how long you have to work on it, or what order you’re doing them in, or whatever. I tend to be much more chill about doing a task when The Dice are the ones telling me to do it. It’s stupid. It works.

Roll the dice (pt 2)

This is also a fun way to create prompts: say each number is a character. You roll the dice: okay, I’ll write about David. Now I’ve associated the dice with a word, or a concept, or whatever. Okay, David and touch. Insta-prompt, no creative thinking required.

Prompts

Speaking of prompts and lack of creativity: I have tricked you all. Oh ho ho. You think you are getting a fill to a prompt you want to see (and, admittedly, you are, as long as I haven’t wandered off course, which cannot be guaranteed), but in return I am getting writing ideas without actually needing to have them! I don’t think I would be able to write 100+ stories a year if I had to think up every single idea myself, but if you outsource the creativity — well, win-win. Someone gets their prompt filled, and I get the spark of inspiration I need to fuel my writing.

Obviously this one needs to be adapted just a bit for other scenarios, but you can gather inspiring things (lines from books, poetry, lyrics, whatever) for future inspiration, you can look for online writing prompts or tell yourself you’ll write to fill a category (senses, say, or seasons, or elements, etc etc). Basically, if you don’t know what to do, forcing yourself to respond to a prompt, or follow a theme, often provides just enough constraints for creativity to happen.

When you’re stuck, move on to something else

It’s very common productivity advice to focus on just one thing and do it start to finish before you move on to the next. Don’t do it.* It’s a trap.

I do agree with the ‘one task only’ advice inasmuch as multi-tasking… doesn’t actually exist (if we’re talking something like ‘writing and listening to music’, or ‘doodling during a lecture’, that can go great, but that’s not really multitasking, so much as adding complementary stimulation. If you’re trying to, say, write an essay during a lecture, at least one (and probably both) of those tasks will suffer.) but beyond that, no.

It’s probably great advice if you’re neurotypical but I genuinely cannot think of a worse suggestion for anyone with low frustration tolerance and fucky dopamine. I hit an obstacle in that ‘just one thing’ I am doing? Cool, great, guess it’s time to stop doing it forever.

If you’re working on several different things (especially if those things use different skills and/or headspaces), when you get stuck on one, you can pivot to work on something else and let your subconscious do all that cool underrated stuff in the background, and maybe when you return to it you’ll have figured out a way around whatever your obstacle is. And even if you haven’t, at least your frustration tolerance will have been reset.

If the project you’re doing isn’t working for whatever reason, especially if you’re growing frustrated (nothing good ever follows after the point you snap at your blameless computer), do something else, and come back to it when you’re in a better headspace. Some things you have to muscle through for various reasons: say, you procrastinated on it and it’s due tomorrow. But most things you don’t. So don’t.

*I’ll straight up say I can ‘do just one thing’ for longer periods with less stress now that I’ve been medicated, but it was an awful, painful process when I wasn’t, so I still don’t really recommend it for those who have fucky dopamine.

Do! Multiple! Projects!

Yes, this can bring us to the ‘start 17 projects and finish none, don't you dare look at my WIP folder’ ADHD trap, but there’s a pretty good place between extremes. The main reason I work on multiple series at a time (plus outtakes!) is so that if I’m stuck on one, or it’s not inspiring me, or I’m just not in the right mood, I don’t have to stare at my blank screen feeling like a complete failure, I can just scoot on over to work on something else that's calling to me. Do I always do the most important thing? Or the one that’s due next? Or even the one I want to work on? Perhaps not, but I do spend the vast majority of my writing time actually writing, which is more than a lot of people can say.

It helps to have projects in different areas of your life and different stages of completion, for extra variety (and therefore novelty), just beware the ‘I have 5% left of this project to do, shouldn’t take more than 7 years’. When you do reach that final stage, that is when it’s a good idea to get laser focused on ‘just one thing’.**

**Big caveat with the above tips on NOT focusing on 'just one thing' is that I’m specifically referring to ‘typical’ tasks, not hyperfocus. If you’re hyperfocusing on something, and it’s not hurting you (ie keeping you from feeding yourself, basic self-care, sleeping, genuine obligations, etc), you ride that high as far as it takes you, baby. The ability get 5 days of work done in 5 laser focused hours would cost a fortune if they could replicate it, by all means use it to your advantage. But you do need to rest and recharge after: it drains the hell out of your mental resources and cannot be depended on indefinitely. It’s the very best tool in my toolbox. If I use it without allowing myself to recharge I will lose access to it indefinitely.

Change something about the process

It doesn’t need to be a big thing. I can switch from using my laptop to writing by hand. Or write in my bedroom rather than my office. A lot of my internal resistance to tasks is ‘this is boring’ — I’m lucky that doesn’t often happen with writing, because it’s inherently interesting to me, but sometimes you’re just stuck, and a change of scenery, of tools and equipment, of context (say, go write the POV of another character if you're stuck on a scene) is enough to shake the blah. I’m going to go into that in a lot more detail when I hit ‘interest’ and ‘challenge’ because those are both great things to inject when things have gone stale, but a lot of the time, it doesn’t matter what the change is: the fact there was a change is enough.