#the librarian laughed at my email address

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Covetous | Chapter 8

Rating: E

Pairing: Macelle (Father MacAvoy x Belle) or Nostelle (Nosty x Belle), who is to say which

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7]

[read on ao3]

tws: alcoholism, homelessness.

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Though he tried to coax Belle into bed after an hour of calling all the stations near her flat and the library yielded no results, she insisted on sitting in her reading chair all night, staring out the window. He took the couch, too drunk to fight her, and passed out.

When he woke sometime around dawn, Belle was showered and dressed, clutching a white dress shirt in her lap while she dozed. Was it Nosty’s? Based on the photos around her flat, it was too small to have belonged to her father.

He didn’t want to wake her, but he also wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t expected to stay over, but he’d soon realized that Belle was going to drive herself into the ground if no one was there to make her eat, drink, and take breaks. It was a relief to see her sleep now, even though it was clear she hadn’t slept much in the night.

Figuring she wouldn’t be offended if he took a shower, he stumbled to the bathroom. She’d lain out a towel and washcloth with a scrap of paper on top that read Joseph. It was next to the mouthwash. How could she manage to be so thoughtful when she could barely remember to blink?

Belle was awake when he emerged in a towel, clutching the shirt so hard, he didn’t think even an iron could save it.

“Good morning,” he said tentatively.

“Morning.”

“Do you want some breakfast?” He wasn’t going to put her through his hideous attempts at eggs, but he could make toast at least.

She shook her head. “I have to go to work soon.”

“You have time for breakfast.” If he kept his voice firm, maybe he would feel firm. Belle nodded, and when she stood, he saw she was wearing two different shoes, one dark brown ankle boot and one black.

“Um, Belle?”

“There’s bread on the counter,” she said. “And jam in the fridge.”

Should he even tell her about the shoes? They were so similar, it didn’t even seem to impede her walking, but if he’d noticed, surely everyone would.

Once they each had a piece of toast spread with butter and strawberry jam, and Belle had let go of the shirt, he brought up the shoes. 

“Oh god.” She laughed, a sound he wanted to enjoy but it only squeezed his heart. “My head’s not on right today. I don’t even know what’s on the schedule at work. You won’t let me traumatize any kids, right?”

“Of course not.” He was another story, but he’d made it through the library enough times without incident, he could probably make it today. “And we’ll keep calling. At every free minute.” 

She nodded, eyes welling up. “Okay. We’ll keep calling.”

****

Belle considered it divine intervention that they made it to the library without injury since she couldn’t remember looking at the road even once on the drive. She didn’t bother with her usual opening tasks, just sat at her desk and logged into her email to retrieve her spreadsheet.

Joseph asked her a few questions about the coffee carafe and where all the light switches were, and she was so grateful for him being there. She hadn’t felt this out of sorts since her father moved to hospice, but there was no unknown then. Constant vigilance wouldn’t have helped her, she just took her time off where she could and then her bereavement leave when he finally passed. Now, what was she supposed to say? Hi, my usually-unreliable boyfriend of three or so days is missing, and I know he doesn’t have an address and has disappeared before, but I’m certain he’s injured, so I’ll be taking off an indefinite amount of time.

That would be absurd. Besides, if he actually was injured, she might have to take off to care for him. 

Joseph brought her a stack of books from the overnight book return slot, and going through the motions of checking them back in soothed her. There was nothing taxing about this repetitive labor, nothing that wanted to pull the loneliness further. It was just books being books, as they always were. Reliably.

“Should I call some stations?” Joseph asked. “They might be happier to talk to a priest than a friend.”

Girlfriend, she wanted to correct him, but what was the point? It wasn’t like she and Nosty had discussed it. They were still figuring things out. That’s what she’d told him they could do.

“Okay, thanks.”

They spent the morning alternating between helping patrons, setting up a room for a school visit, and calling police stations. Joseph stepped outside several times to chat with her friend across the street, and she felt guilty for not doing so herself, but what would she say? The only words that came to her were the old tried and true about books, and if she couldn’t talk about that, she would just talk about Nosty.

She dialed the next station on her list, debating whether bursting into tears would get her more help or not. No one could do anything with just a nickname and a description, and no one had been willing to help her at all.

“Newham police, Constable Graves speaking.”

“Hi,” Belle said, reaching for her practiced words. “I’m looking for recent arrest information.”

“Name?”

“Well, that’s the tricky part, and please pardon me for being difficult, but I’m so worried—”

“If you don’t have a name, I can’t help you.”

Men her father’s age often buckled when face to face with her, and she wanted to scream when she couldn’t get the same effect on the phone. Maybe she’d go around to every station in London in person. 

“Sorry, it’s just—he goes by Nosty, and he wears a kilt—”

“You’re looking for Nosty?”

Her head swam. Someone finally recognized him. Had Joseph felt like this last night when he’d discovered the hospital?

“Yes! Yes, I’m looking for Nosty.”

“What’s he done this time, then?”

She swallowed, reaching for a book just to have something to hold. “Nothing. I’m just trying to find him.”

“What for? He owe you money?” The constable guffawed and even more laughter echoed around him, like everyone was in on the joke. For a blissful moment, anger replaced Belle’s despair, but she bit her tongue. Yelling at the police wouldn’t help Nosty.

“Please, I’m just—”

“Hang on, hang on, just a minute.”

She sat in shocked silence while he placed her on hold. While she listened to the elevator music, Joseph sat next to her, bracing a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hello?” This man sounded much younger, and Belle hastened to gather herself.

“Yes, hi, have you seen Nosty?”

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.” In his quick accent, “ma’am” sounded like “mum.” “I just thought you might want to talk to someone who wouldn’t laugh at you.”

She grabbed Joseph’s hand, eyes welling with tears. “Thank you. You know him then?”

The young officer spoke so quietly, she had to press the phone to her ear. “We’ve arrested him before, but I haven’t seen him in awhile. Are you family?”

Should she lie? “Yes. I haven’t heard from him in a few days, and I’m worried.”

“If you like, I can take your information and ring you if I see him.”

The tears spilled over, and Joseph shoved a tissue at her. “Would you? Oh, thank you so much…?”

“Cliff, mum. Well, Constable Butler, to be formal.” 

“Thank you so much, Cliff.”

She gave him every way she could think to reach her, hung up the phone, and then curled up in Joseph’s lap like a child and wept.

****

MacAvoy had not wished for much in his life. He was fairly content to be miserable as long as he could continue numbing the pain, but he had wished for Belle, and now he had her, and along with her an all-consuming guilt for wishing Nosty out of the picture.

He had never held a human over the age of one while they cried, much less a beautiful woman that he—let’s face it—was in love with. He could sense his future fuckup just lurking around the corner, waiting for the moment to strike.

“Shh.” He stroked her hair even though it would fill him with guilt, but he already felt so guilty it hardly mattered. “Belle, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Why don’t we go to your office?”

She mumbled something and he thought he could make out desk.

“Okay, why don’t I put you in your office to relax for a little bit and I’ll watch the desk?” 

She agreed to this, so he led her in and deposited her in her chair. Without looking, she opened one of the drawers and pulled out a bag of gummy bears, offering him one before taking a handful and curling up with her knees to her chest to eat them.

“I’ll be right out there if you need me,” he said.

“If you pick up and dial two, it’ll ring this phone.”

He thanked her and shut her in, then paused in front of the door to gather himself. He half expected Nosty to show up after all that and stab him in the throat with his boxcutter, and at the moment, it would be a relief just to see him.

Nosty did not show up while he sat at the desk, and he did not show up once Belle re-emerged, a little red and puffy but otherwise put together.

She sat and rested a hand over his, startling him.

“Thank you so much, Joseph,” she said. “I don’t know how I would have done anything alone.”

“No one should have to deal with something like this alone,” he said, voice hoarse. 

She squeezed his hand, then let her fingers drop. “I’m glad I didn’t have to. And—and you know I’m here for you too.”

He could kiss her, he realized. He could lean forward and touch his lips to her red, tear-swollen cheek. That was not the behavior of a supportive friend, though. A supportive friend wouldn’t take advantage of a hurting woman trying to find the man she clearly loved. 

A priest also shouldn’t be thinking about when it might be appropriate to kiss someone. The answer for him was never. It was never appropriate.

He would just have to be happy to see her happy. 

****

MacAvoy didn’t go home with her again, but he was sure to be at the library before she arrived, and he spent a lot of time learning how to text faster so he could check in on her while she sat vigil by her window all night. 

The only times he saw Belle happy was when she was working with groups at the library. She put on a bold face for the patrons, but when she had to lose herself in a group event, he could really see her passion for her job. He was too in love with her to even offer to help—every time he meant to, he would look into her smiling eyes and forget the entire English language.

He called the hospital again on Thursday, but they still hadn’t seen him, and they couldn’t offer to call him with information. He was lucky they were willing to tell him anything, and he had the feeling it was only his credentials. A god-fearing man on the other line was a blessing if MacAvoy wanted to know something.

With Belle’s increasing hopelessness rubbing off on him, the non-news put him in a foul mood. Nosty had better be dead for the grief he was putting her through. MacAvoy made himself a cup of tea with two shots of gin, a little treat for himself that he’d discovered at Belle’s. It was a good way to not hate himself for drinking. 

Before he succumbed to the alcohol fully, he sent a quick check-in text to Belle, but she didn’t respond. He hoped that meant she was showering or eating, or maybe reading. She had confessed to him that she couldn’t focus on books, the one thing that had always brought her comfort. 

He wished she could read again. No—he wouldn’t wish it. 

“Dear God.” He crossed himself. “Please send Belle the strength to love books again. If there’s anyone who deserves your grace, it’s Belle French.”

Satisfied that he had gone through the right channels, he stumbled to the kitchen to scrounge around for dinner. He still didn’t eat much, but at least having toast at night meant he could report to Belle that he was feeding himself, and soon, he’d be getting his monthly stipend from the church. If he bought his own booze instead of going to the pub, maybe he could find things to eat that he couldn’t destroy. 

His phone rang as he was debating ruining another egg for dinner, and he nearly fell in surprise.

“Belle?”

“Will you come get me?”

His brain stuttered. Was he wearing shoes? Clothes? Where was his wallet? “Yes, of course, where are you?”

“At the front door.”

He stopped. “What?”

“Outside the church. I knocked a few times, but I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

“Be right there.”

His feet carried him so quickly, he almost fell three times, but soon he was yanking the front door open. Belle stood in the shadow, carrying a big purse and a bottle of wine. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked. “I can’t be in my flat.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He ushered her in, wobbly hand on her back as he led her through the church toward the rectory. There were some spare bedrooms she could use, even if they were probably a little dusty. 

He led her to the little kitchen first, and when he saw her in the light, he almost fell over. Her eyes and nose were red and puffy, and she had a little cut on the side of her forehead.

“What happened?” he demanded. If Nosty had laid his hands on her, he didn’t care that he was a priest, he was going to—going to—

Well, he would call the police, that was for sure.

Belle’s lower lip trembled. “Nosty’s—”

“What did he do?”

She stumbled back, and he flooded with guilt. She didn’t need him yelling at her if she’d run here to be safe. 

“I’m sorry, Belle.” He lowered his voice. “What happened to your head?”

She frowned, reaching up to touch it. Her eyes widened and then she laughed, the same humorless chuckle he’d grown to know.

“I didn’t even realize. I wasn’t paying attention on the phone and I scraped my forehead on the cabinet corner.”

Considering how absent Belle had been all week, it was a wonder she hadn’t done something like that sooner. 

“Who was on the phone?” Even a drunk idiot like him could figure out this was the important information.

Belle set the wine bottle on the table, then turned to him with her giant purse. “Where can I put this?”

So it was going to be like that. That was fine—MacAvoy could wait. 

He showed her to the spare rooms, letting her inspect each one before deciding, and once she chose the room closest to his, she asked where the laundry room was before stripping all the sheets. It had to be close to eight. Was she planning on sleeping at all?

He shadowed her all around the rectory as she washed sheets, wiped down surfaces with some cleaning spray he dug up for her, and hung up a dress for work tomorrow in the closet.

Once she’d moved the sheets over to the dryer, he blocked her exit. This was madness.

“Belle.”

She gave him a defiant look, jaw clenched. 

“Have you eaten?”

It was like he’d deflated her. She shook her head, and then let him guide her back to the kitchen. He didn’t know why he’d bothered—all he had was some bread and a few eggs.

Belle stared at the meager spread of ingredients, then turned to him with wet eyes. “I don’t know if I can cook. I’m sorry.”

“Belle, what happened?”

She sat at the table and pulled the wine toward her, picking at the label instead of looking at him. “Constable Cliff Butler called me.”

That could have been good news, but she didn’t sound like it was. “What did he say?”

“He said that he was out on a call today and saw Nosty in his usual place, and he was—” She swallowed, tears spilling down her cheeks. He knelt before her, grabbing her hands. They would give Nosty a beautiful funeral, one that would show God how much Belle loved him. 

“He was what?” he prompted.

“Kicking a football.” She laughed harshly, and then she pressed her lips together. Her shoulders shook.

Still holding her hands, he frowned, confused. What did that mean? “I don’t understand.”

“He was playing around. He left me like this, knowing it would destroy me, and he’s fine. Constable Cliff Butler was very happy to report the good news to me.” 

Oh. 

He stood and wrapped his arms around her, hardly even relishing the feel of her hair as he stroked it and whispered platitudes while she gripped his shirt and sobbed. 

“Come on,” he said when she started to calm down. “Let’s get some food.”

“Do you have wineglasses?”

He licked his lips. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

Before he could blink, she’d thrown his arms off of her and stood out of his reach, glaring at him with a fury like he’d never seen.

“You? You’re not sure? You’re going to tell me not to have one glass of wine?”

In hindsight, he could see how that was not his smartest move. He raised his hands in surrender, the confidence he’d gained with her over the week bleeding out of him. 

“I just don’t think it’ll help.”

“You don’t get to decide it won’t help,” she said. “No one makes decisions for me, especially not a man I’ve seen take four shots of gin in the last hour.”

He gulped. He’d thought he’d hidden it better than that.

“At least eat first,” he said.

“Eat what? A raw egg?”

She dropped back into her chair, then pressed her forehead to the table. He was so out of his element—congregants did not usually scream at him. Bartenders and waitresses did, but he was usually blacked out for that.

“I’ll get a pizza,” he said. 

“Fine.”

He left the kitchen to hunt down his wallet and waste a prayer on his credit card going through. Since he had no internet, he went all the way down to the office to find a takeaway menu, then called in an order and crossed himself when his card was accepted.

It was just around the corner and the man on the phone said it would only be twenty minutes, so MacAvoy, knowing it was cowardly, waited alone in the office. He should have gone up to comfort Belle, but he couldn’t bring himself to be raged at. He didn’t want to hurt her like Nosty had.

“God, please. Please give Belle comfort. She doesn’t deserve this pain.”

The pizza arrived after twenty-two minutes, and he was forced to return to the rectory. Belle sat at the kitchen table where he’d left her, but the rest of the room was not as he’d left it. While he was gone, she’d washed every dish, wiped down all the counters, and put away all the dishes he’d managed to wash himself. The wine bottle sat unopened on the table.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She didn’t look up.

“No,” he said. “It was out of line.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve been so helpful.”

He set the pizza down, pleased by the way she leaned toward it. Hunger was a good sign. “Maybe we can both have a glass?”

She nodded. “I would like that.”

He didn’t have wine glasses, so mugs would have to do, and he said nothing when Belle filled hers to the brim. 

“How much for the pizza?” she asked, grimacing when she took a sip. 

“It’s on me.”

“Joseph—”

“It’s on me, Belle.”

She licked her lips. “Thank you. For everything. I’m so lucky you found my library.”

He couldn’t believe that he lived in a world where he found a woman to love and that woman was grateful he’d blacked out in her place of work. God really did work in mysterious ways.

“I’m the lucky one,” he said. “Without you—” He shrugged.

“We can both be lucky at the same time,” she said. “It’s not a contest.”

He sat, considering this. If it was a contest, he would win, but maybe she was right. Maybe they were both just lucky that they’d found each other exactly when they needed each other.

“I’m glad you came here,” he said instead. “I’m happy to take care of you.”

She raised her wine mug. “Cheers to taking care of each other.”

He clinked his against hers, then took a gulp. It was much tastier than cheap gin, but his stomach rebelled against it. Didn’t matter. Belle wanted to drink wine, and it wasn’t like not drinking wine would keep him from being sick.

“Cheers,” he said. Belle was hurting and in his church, and he was going to care for her no matter what it took.

[chapter 9]

[simplyghosting]

Love/hate relationship with logging into accounts I made when I was 14 and seeing the absolutely bonkers usernames I created.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with tatooedlaura (Laura Sprys)

Laura has 28 fics at Gossamer, but the big treasure trove of her stories is at AO3, where she has 193 fics. Thank goodness for the richness of the X-Files and for talented, creative people like Laura who can find so many interesting ways to tell tales in the show’s universe. Big thanks to Laura for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Maybe reading mine but reading older fic in general is something I still do and something I still find entertaining. I do wish i could get into my old fics and post a warning that some of those were written before the author: ever had a drink, ever had sex, ever had a boyfriend, ever lived on her own, ever had a real job, or ever experienced much of anything in the real world.

Then again, fanfic is a perfect time capsule for the age and it’s always fun to see where the originals started and how they’ve grown.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

Back in the day and up and through today, it has always been a fun experience. From it, I’ve learned to love writing. I’ve learned that fans are crazy, weird, wonderful, generous, talented, committed, passionate, and imaginative. In a fandom, you can think whatever you wish and write about anything you like and because I’ve been around so long, I’ve gotten to watch the storylines shift and the relationships change ...

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Originally, I never had much interaction with people other than ones who sent emails commenting on my fanfic … the internet at my parents house was dial-up and I had to access through the AOL free disks that arrived in the mail so, for the most part, I didn’t have the bandwidth or the connection speed to do more than upload stories and download episode guides.

Good lord, I remember submitting a story and having to wait upwards of two days to two weeks before the new batch of stories was posted ... then ephemeral came around and you could actually have your story up in under a day ... all ya'll who started on tumblr and ao3, you have it great, let me tell you :)

One thing that stands out in my mind still (and I’m still friends with her on Facebook) was a woman from western Canada who I stumbled across somewhere while looking for the blooper reels. She offered to send me her copies on VHS for my collection. I don’t think she asked for payment and one day, a package arrived from a lovely woman near Lethbridge, bloopers playable, tapes labeled in clear printing. I still appreciate that 20 some odd years later :)

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Fandoms are crazy places. Tread lightly at first but enjoy what you want, ignore what you don’t, rewrite what you hate, and write what you love. Don’t be an asshole when you don’t agree with someone … when you do, tell them …

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was on board from the first episode. It was a show about two people who you felt were destined to be together but weren’t, and wouldn’t be for years. It was a cop show about aliens and a monster show with cops. I was in the right place at the right time in the right frame of mind and there was just something that clicked and I never looked back. Friends were not allowed to call me on Friday night and once it switched to Sunday, I made sure that my parents got us on early evening bowling league so we’d be home in time to watch. Even my boyfriend (eventual husband) knew to shut the hell up from 9-10pm, even if he was sitting next to me on the couch (with my parents in their chairs watching as well)

Also, my 56-year-old dad had a crush on Scully from the start so that was entertaining as hell as well

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I have been writing stories in my head for literally as long as I can remember. Watching some episode, I honestly don’t remember which one, I suddenly had an idea for a story about Mulder and Scully. I had never written a story with pre-existing characters before and it was totally foreign to me. How do you write a character with a current storyline. It was weird, it was difficult, it was some of the most fun I’d had writing up to that point.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to explain or describe the characters, think of jobs and mundane things … they already had those … and it was great.

Honest-to-God, my first fic was written, in pencil, on a yellow legal pad by flashlight while lying with my head at the foot of my bed so I could see my parents coming down the hall if they happened to wake up at midnight to go to the bathroom. Later fics were written by the light of an 10” TV/VCR combo with me still lying with my head at the foot of the bed. I still have those old legal pads somewhere and I remember having to type them in secret, having to wait until the house was empty for 20 minutes to an hour at a time. Uploading them was always unnerving because of the slow dial-up and the fact that I didn’t have my own email address, but had to use my dad’s. I’d have to make sure to check it whenever I could, intercept the feedback I’d get off gossamer.

I was such a damn rebel.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Well, I now know how to interact with people given tumblr and AO3 but it hasn’t changed much. I contribute a little more now that I understand posting on social media but mostly, I still just write like a fiend and post, read voraciously and give kudos and likes often, comment some and reblog.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

And nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever caught me like the X-Files did in regards to the fandom experience.

I have shows I watch and re-watch and re-watch but no two characters have ever had me writing and thinking and planning like Mulder and Scully. No other combo has ever made me write upwards of 300,000 or more total and still have plenty of stories to tell.

I’m okay with this.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Aside from Mulder and Scully and the gentlemen three of Frohike, Langley, and Byers … I love all Scully’s nieces and nephews in my ‘Life’ series … I also love Corduroy (picture books), Harold (purple crayon fame), Neville Longbottom, the characters from my own novels, Katniss (book not movie), Anne Shirley, Elnora (from the Limberlost), Will Stanton/Merriman/Barney/Jane from ‘Dark is Rising’ and 10,459 others …

I’m a children’s librarian so most of my favorite books are those written for the younger and YA crowd. I like my job :)

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watch this show all the damn time. I will think about Mulder and Scully when I have nothing else to think about, normally writing and editing whatever story I may have in the hopper at the time about them.

My husband laughs when I have the show on. He knows all the episodes with me and it’s one of my comfort shows that I don’t have to pay attention to when it’s on. During it, I have edited books, decorated cookies, been sick, been recovering, simply wasted a perfectly good day because I could.

My 17-year-old daughter keeps it on while she does homework and works out.

It’s a staple at our house and no one is allowed to make fun of it, even though we all know that parts are completely ‘make fun-able’

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I read fic all the time … I have worked my way through AO3 starting from the beginning and if it was more easily readable on a phone, I’d work my way, once again, through gossamer.

Restated from above: I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I have all kinds of favorites on tumblr but right now, I honestly don’t remember most of the names … I pretty much read everything that comes through my dashboard and every few days, i read through the newest posts on AO3 … I love you all!!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Of X-Files fics, I love my newer stuff … I read “Life” and its sequels every few months … ‘Your Place or Mine’ is another one I will read … actually, I’ll just say it .... I read all my own fic over and over again …

With fic, you get to write the characters as you want to see them and write situations that you want to see … I write for myself most of all and I love to read what I wrote :)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I write them all the damn time. I have tons of snippets and half-finished that I occasionally glean things from but while sometimes, old stuff morphs into new, sometimes, it just needs to gather that dust and live a quiet little forgotten life in some backhand folder on my dropbox account ...

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

First question is answered above.

As for other creative work, I have published two YA novels, have the third in that series in editing … I have five other novels in the hopper in various stages of ‘good lord this needs an edit or twelve’ …

I am writing things constantly in my head or on my laptop … most is crap … stome sticks … some turns into fic and some turns into books …

But the point is, I am writing, in some form, at all time :)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Some two sentence conversation will spark an idea … the line of a song will inspire an idea … a word will start a sentence which will turn into a paragraph which will tumble straight into a story … and sometimes, stuff just pops in my head for no damn reason at all ...

What's the story behind your pen name?

On gossamer, I am L. Sprys because that was my name at the time :)

On tumblr and AO3, I’m tatooedlaura because my name is Laura and I have, now, six tattoos (yes, I spelled it wrong in my handle but that’s life) … when I decided on the name, I think I only had two

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

They do now … it took me years to crack and tell them … my husband has never read them, nor have any of the people I have told (as far as I know)

Now, I don’t really care who knows … I’ll tell them I write smutty X-Files fanfiction and family-friendly X-Files fanfiction …

I am too old at this point to be embarrassed by what I like to do. If they laugh at me, I tell them they only get to laugh when they’ve published a book and I pull up my books on Amazon … I’ve only had to do that once and it shut them right the hell up …

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Gossamer: L. Sprys

Tumblr and AO3: tatooedlaura

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I love you! I see you! I appreciate you! I hope you enjoy! Don’t judge me for my grammar issues! I will never be able to spell the word ‘excersize’!

(Posted by Lilydale on April 27, 2021)

[chuuulip]

The First Kiss of Love

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female Reader

Warning:  Fluff with a smidges of angst

Words: 3262

Prompt: hey i was wondering id you could do a hannibal lecter one where the reader doesnt realize that hannibal likes her and she gets jealous when hes talking to another woman. when she calls him out on it he cant help but laugh. the reader is basically a oblivious dummy type and way too much of a klutz .

Summary: “Dr. Bloom is really beautiful.” your small, joyless voice continues its sentence. “Ah...yes indeed.” Hannibal replies casually.

A.N: This is for an anon that request some Hannibal fanfic. I’m sorry that it takes me so long xD I hope you like it! whoever you are ❤️ Thank you for @jewels2876​​ for helping me with this piece, love you ❤️ Also tagging fellow Hannibal fans 😉 @venusdemonroe​​​ and @detectivehannibal​​​ thanks for feeding me Hannibal content and discuss him with me ❤️

__

It’s been a couple of months since you’ve worked with Dr. Lecter. You were once a librarian; due to an accident, you lost your job as a consequence of a long time recovery.  Hannibal Lecter literally was an angel or your angel to be precise. Vividly, you remember the time you met him. By chance, Hannibal is in the clinic when you do your physiotherapy. He catches a small stack of books that you buy that day. He manages to balance the books in his left hand while his right-hand catches you before your face kisses the floor.

Long story short, both of you have some sort of conversation that leads to you applying for a job to be Hannibal’s secretary. You are excited but also nervous when you do your interview. You have no idea that Hannibal is a well-known psychiatrist not only just in Baltimore but also in Maryland. There is a fear that Hannibal will not choose you because of your clumsy tendencies. You are naturally what people will call a klutz. Physical activity somewhat hinders your ability to shine among others. You are either too slow or too weak. Not to mention lucky stars seem to distance themself from you. But not that day, the day when you get an email of your employment. Hannibal is pretty impressed with your CV and how good your skills on scheduling and data management, 

“Good morning.” the soft, accented voice of Hannibal greets you. Today, he wears a dark blue windowpane pattern jacket suit. He chooses a somewhat dark metallic floral pattern adorning the red-brown tie. His white buttoned-up shirt makes the color of his suit and ties pop. Hannibal always dresses elegantly, something that you always look forward to seeing.  

“Good morning, Dr. Lecter.” You stand up and follow Hannibal inside his office. He takes a seat on his brown leather chair. Everything looks immaculate as always.

“Schedule for today?” he unbuttons his suit jacket and you quickly help him hang the suit. “Thank you, my dear, you didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s alright Dr. Lecter.”

Sometimes when it’s only you and Hannibal in the office, he accidentally calls you my dear. You aren’t sure if it's because that’s the way he usually addresses someone he is in contact on a daily basis, or it means something more? Oh, you wish.

“Dr. Lecter…, for this morning you will have two appointments. Mrs. Potter and Ms. Randall. Also-- Mr. Franklin said he might need to reschedule.” Your slightly breathy voice points out other appointments Hannibal has outside the office. Your work had become kind of a blend between his secretary and personal assistant, to be honest. It was actually Hannibal's idea to engage you more into work that’s not strictly his office related. Not that you are complaining because it let you take a peek on Hannibal’s other persona. Not to mention that the payment is pretty generous. 

Not once does Hannibal ask your input on what type of thing should be added in his office, and by that, you are pretty proud of yourself. Not a lot of people give any thought about your opinion. Although Hannibal, like when his office has this sleek look and somewhat minimalist style, he always mixes something that you could say was classic inside his office. You have been inside his office quite a lot, but sometimes you help him tidy up his books and document. He’s somewhat more of a hard copy type of person than a soft copy one. Like you. You like the smells of an old book although some of Hannibal’s books smell too clinical for you. Like the smells of a hospital or a place with a lot of disinfectants.  

Pretty proud of your experience as a librarian in the past, and knowing Hannibal is a perfectionist himself, you practically turned the side of his office into a perfect mini library. The medical record shorts are alphabetically arranged while his other books are listed by genre, then in an alphabetical manner as well. When Hannibal stays longer in the office, sometimes you catch him drawing. A hobby that he said he has since childhood. One day he told you, “Growing up, I found my hobby really useful when I decided to be a medical doctor.” and you can’t help but agree. After he finishes with what he sketches at that time, he specifically calls you into his office and shows you the final product. That action simply makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Thank you, you can leave for now.” He gives you his subtle yet beautiful smile. Those eyes of his when he smiles always send some sort of quick rush to your brain.

Giving Hannibal a short nod, you quickly excuse yourself. You stumble upon your own shoe and almost fall, face first. Luckily you can prevent that from happening, hoping Hannibal doesn’t notice, although you think he did. Scurrying from his office, you station yourself on your spot. Continue typing and archiving what Hannibal asks you. 

Sipping your now cold latte, your eyes shift to the books next to your PC. It’s a book called Les Fleurs du mal renaissance, a volume about French poetry that Hannibal had lent you after you finish some short of psychology 101. You have read a few pages of it, and since it’s in French, it takes you some time to understand it. 

Sometimes Hannibal invites you to his office to let you read his book while he draws things. Trying not to get caught red-handed, you glance at him from the corner of your eyes, savoring the scene in front of you. Wondering what Hannibal actually does on his day off, is there anything he can’t do? Your brain likes to take a detour on what Hannibal does at home when he’s not seeing other people’s minds.

A soft clink of steps on the mahogany floor wood, momentary pauses your fingers on the keyboard. 

“Good morning Mrs. Potter.” you stand up immediately. Greet her with a polite, shy smile. One of the things you are still learning from working with Hannibal is being confident. Since the secretary is usually portrayed as bold and beautiful, while you on the other hand are quite the opposite, Hannibal makes sure you take your time to adapt from ‘less contact with people at work’ to ‘in contact with different people almost every day.’

“I’m here for my appointment.” her British accent tickles your ear. It’s rare for you to meet a Brit, especially as posh as Mrs. Potter. Although you never glance at a patient’s medical record, you do actually google them. When you find out Hannibal’s reputation, you know that most of his patients are a somewhat well-known person. Mrs. Potter is an owner of exquisite but limited jewelry store on the east coast. From several articles that you read, she has had quite a lot of scandal. Despite that, you will not deny her beauty. She may be quite older than you, but the way her cheekbones stay supple and very few wrinkles decorating her face sometimes makes you jealous. 

“Yes, sure. Please wait a moment,” immediately, you walk to Hannibal's office door that's just a foot away from your desk. Giving a soft knock, you open the door and inform Hannibal that Mrs. Potter is already here. He gives you a quick nod, and you open the door wider, to let Mrs. Potter start her session. 

Hannibal isn’t a strict boss. Or that’s actually what you thought about him. Of course, you are a professional employee as you can be, but sometimes you spend time reading the book you borrow from Hannibal between your desk job. Mostly because you already do whatever Hannibal tasks you with. On some occasions, you join Hannibal when he attends some appointments, such as when he needs to be a keynote speaker in a well-known conference around Maryland and DC. An experience that you guess is his way to widen your social ability. 

“Thank you Mrs. Potter. I’ll see you in the next session.” Hannibal’s accent cues you to stand up and bid your goodbye to Mrs. Potter. The rest of the day comes out like it usually is. Typing and arranging schedules for Hannibal while also scrolling on another book to read. Even though you were a librarian before, there’s just so many books and so little time to read. 

When it’s time for you to go home, you knock on Hannibal’s office door and open it slightly when he answers you with a soft, “come on in”. You excuse yourself while also giving Hannibal’s friend a smile. Although Hannibal doesn’t have a lot of appointments today, his friend, Jack Crawford visits the office and you know that means Hannibal will stay late until dinner time.   

*** 

The next day your work finished earlier than you thought so you spend some time at work to continue reading the poetry book. Some people may find it weird that you like to stay a little bit longer at work than going back home. There’s always this thought of knowing there is someone close to you, without the need to do conversations in every millisecond, calming. When your eyes shift to your gold bronze table clock, you haven’t realized that you are pretty late, as the sky already turns dark. 

You know Hannibal is still in the office and you plan to excuse yourself before it’s getting really late. You don’t want Hannibal to drive you back home since you feel embarrassed about it. He always makes sure you arrive at home safely when you spend more time at the office or going home pretty late since Baltimore isn’t the safest place on earth. However, there is always a thought in your head that Hannibal being a little bit protective towards you, his employee because you are just a much of a klutz and he feels responsible. 

You aren’t sure what possessed you to move too quickly and it just messes up your footing. The point of your left oxford shoes hit the castor office chair. Ungracefully you trip to the floor and bring the chair with you. The falling chair let out a loud bang while you landed on your hands and knees, grimacing in pain. 

You aren’t sure when but your brain kind of mid freeze for a second. When you look up, you see Hannibal crouching down and calling your name, worried, “-- are you ok? Can you stand up?”

“I--I’m ok Dr. Lecter,” you try to stand up but you hold up your right hand in a sign of I need a minute. 

Hannibal takes care of the office chair first, putting it back in its original position. He carefully lifts you up, supporting you and letting you sit back on your office chair. “I’m sorry my dear, but I need to check?” He asks you for your permission and you quickly give him your approval. With an expert examination of his hands, Hannibal checks your knees for any swelling or visual deformity. Since your past accident, you are prone to any joint and soreness on the knees. Delicately, he gives a little pat on both your knees. “I think everything is ok, you may need to have some pain killers.”

“Thank you Hannibal.” you blurt it out. Sometimes you call him by his first name when you aren’t in office hours, although rarely.

He graces you with that smile of his, subtle yet it always makes your heart quiver, the kind of smile you infrequently see. You notice that sometimes he has his professional smile, it is short and kind of cold. The smile you always notice when he meets his colleague. You don’t know a lot of Hannibal’s friends, but when he has some impromptu meeting with Jack, you slightly witness more smirk and sometimes there’s this naughty element like he is planning something evil, although humorously.

“Wait a minute, I will drive you home.” Hannibal left you to go inside his office. 

There’s a guilt in your stomach that you feel you are being a burden to your boss. When your concentration dispersed like vivid smoke, the corner of your eyes caught the beautiful woman you have seen a couple of times visiting the office. Unlike other women who mostly visit Hannibal for a session, this woman is indeed different. 

“Ms. Bloom.” You greet her. Your smile may look blankly courteous even, but you definitely are not in the mood to give her your big smile this evening.

“You look unwell, are you ok?” 

“I-- I’m ok.” you try to answer her, less tense.

“Alana?” your eyes shift to Hannibal as he opens his door.

“Hey, Hannibal. I try to call you but I thought I might as well just drop by.”

Hannibal’s eyes divert from you to Alana, and he gives Alana a quick nod, letting her quickly enter the office. “It will be quick. Can you wait for a while?” you give him a nod and smile at him nervously.

At first you aren’t sure why you are nervous but something finally clear on your head. Maybe you are jealous. You know a lot of women near Hannibal are not only beautiful, or rich, they are also acutely intelligent. Although you aren’t rich, you aren’t that bad looking and you will not say you aren’t intelligent but when you compare yourself to someone like Alana, there will always be inferiority engraved in your mind. Not to mention that she has known Hannibal longer and better than you.

Hannibal's office door opens and Alana exits the door with Hannibal following her. “I heard what happened to you from Hannibal.” Alana stops in front of your desk and gives you her sympathetic smile. “Get well soon.” She gives you a pat on your shoulder and says her goodbye to you and Hannibal.

“Shall we?” Hannibal changes his focus towards you and you nod in agreement. Let him help you out of the office. 

***

“So…,”

“So?” Hannibal glances at you momentarily while driving, asking you to continue what you have in mind.

“Dr. Bloom is really beautiful.” your small, joyless voice continues its sentence.

“Ah...yes indeed,” Hannibal replies casually. 

Your eyes glance at the dark street. Hannibal’s office is located in a quite busy place and it’s nice to see less traffic when you get out of the area. 

“Did both of you date?” you blurt it out. Your eyes widen in horrors as you blatantly just spill out something unprofessional. “Hanni-- Dr. Lecter, I-- I-- didn’t mean to pry on your personal life.” 

Hannibal looks at you and lets out a laugh. Something really rare, something that you even have witnessed. The crinkle on his eyes when he laughs lets his somewhat cool and calm demeanor melted. It takes you sometimes to register on what just happens. 

“I’m sorry my dear, that’s just quite funny.” Hannibal stops laughing and sends you a quick smile.

“Also that might not answer your question but the answer is no, Alana and I, we aren’t dating. I’m her mentor and our relationship is more of colleagues and friends.”    

You aren’t sure why you hold your breath, but after listening to Hannibal's answer, you let out a long exhale, feeling that something heavy has been lifted up from your shoulders. 

Hannibal’s Bentley stops in front of your apartment complex. Ever the gentleman that he is, Hannibal asks you if you need help. You decline his help as if you can’t embarrass yourself enough in one day. 

“Before you go, I have something to tell you.” Like a deer caught in a headlight, you look at Hannibal. He switches on the light inside the car and pulls his bag from the backseat. He handed you several papers that looked likely to be a job application. Your eyes widen, vision blurry as a sudden tears drop from your eyes. This is it, maybe Hannibal has enough of your clumsiness. He doesn’t find you worthy as he sometimes needs to ‘babysit you’ when you do something you don’t intend to do. 

Feeling that he may be approaching this the wrong way, Hannibal tries to comfort you. You put both of your hands in front of your chest, like a shield in a defensive manner. Try to accommodate his tall frame, awkwardly Hannibal turns his body to the passenger seat and embraces you. He shushing you and pat your heads 

When your silent cry turns into a hiccup but more calmer, Hannibal pulls away from you. With a stutter, you explain to Hannibal that you understand if he doesn’t want you to work with him again and you are thankful that he’s been a very great employer to you. 

“Hey,” Hannibal swipes the tears that rolls down on your cheeks with his thumbs, “--it’s not that. Look, my dear, the reason I handed this paper to you is not that I want to fire you, but I have been pretty impatient lately.”

You look at him, eyes full of question on what the fuck he means by that? Although you don’t let it out loud because you don’t want to make any rude comment. Because Hannibal doesn’t like that.

“I’m one of those people who do not agree with office romance.” 

Office? Romance? What the hell? No one has any romance in the office, you thought. 

“I have been pretty much intent to court you,” his eyes flicker to your lips and back to your reddish eyes. “Alana came today because she wants to give me the application personally, there’s a librarian vacancy in her University and I pretty much just want to hand it to you.” Your brain wiring, try to connect the words as if you forgot how to speak English.  

“Apologize if I’m being rude my dear, but I have observed you for some time and I encourage myself to just lay it all here so I didn’t make you upset. Of course, if I am proven wrong, you can stay and still work as my secretary. No harm, the position will always be yours.” 

“Hanni-- Hannibal, does this mean that you like ‘like’ me?” 

He answers you with a quick nod and the smile that always makes your heart flutter. You try to reach Hannibal but your knee prevents you from doing such a thing. Hannibal let out a small chuckle as he finds your difficulty quite amusing. 

You eye him in disbelief but your anger melts right away as his face gets closer to yours. His right hand's cup at the side of your face as his lips inches closer towards you. With eyes close, you feel the brushes of Hannibal’s lips. The kiss is soft and delicate as if he is just testing the water. 

You let your hands sneak at the back of his collar as you seek more contact. Both of your lips slide and glide against each other. Letting out a whimper, you grant Hannibal’s tongue to slip past your lips. Teasing and flicking languidly, exploring something that makes you shudders in want. 

After some time, Hannibal withdraws his lips from yours. Eyes fluttering open, you can see Hannibal’s pupils expand. He let his foreheads rest at yours while his hand still cups on your face. “So...I believe it is a 'yes''?” There's humor in his voice. 

With a broad smile and less reddish eyes, you answer Hannibal with a confident nod and grant him another kiss on the lips.

__

As always, like, comment and reblog are really appreciated ❤️. Let me know what you think about this xo

[babybluebanshee]

Things I’ve Had to Deal With as a City Librarian: This Again

The library continues to be a vexing place, and so I continue to chronicle the madness. This is my burden. My curse.

- A teenage girl (probably at least 14) kept coming in and checking things out on her mother’s card. The card expires, and we tell the girl she can’t use it until the mother comes in to renew it. Our director received a call a few days later from the very angry mother, telling him she would, under no circumstances enter our library to renew the card. She would do it over the phone, but she refused to come in. The director thought it was due to covid concerns (valid), but before he can say a word, the mother, completely unprompted, went into a tirade about how she hates libraries and books and thinks that ours should burn to the ground because it was a waste of space and money. The only reason she got a library card at all was because her daughter begged her to, and she refused to let the daughter get her own, because “children don’t need library cards”. Finally, the director let her renew the card over the phone, simply to get her to shut up. Tellingly, we haven’t seen the daughter in about two months now.

- A woman came in to print something from our computers, and asked for help because she wasn’t very computer savvy. Not too out of the ordinary, except for one thing - this poor woman had a horrible ear infection and could barely hear a word. I managed to help her get what she needed in a relatively short amount of time, despite having to practically scream at her to be able to hear me. 

- A woman with a 23-page fax came in. It was front and back, so I had to do it manually on the glass of the copier. Right as I finished the last page, she got a phone call from the people she was sending it to. After she hung up, she told me that I could go ahead and cancel the fax, they’d rather she send it via e-fax, and she had a scanner at home, so she could do it there. She didn’t even apologize for making me do all that work. 

- An elderly lady came in asking if someone could help her set up an email account. Since I had nothing to do, I decided I could help her out. I ended up spending about an hour helping her because she knew nothing about computers. She didn’t know how to type, how to use a mouse, or what an address bar or browser or password was. I had to help her through every single solitary step to finally produce a useable gmail. When I finally had her ready to go, she revealed the reason she wanted to get an email account - an old flame from when she was young had come back into her life, but he lived in Florida. So they wanted to keep in touch. They probably exchanged emails for about a month after she first set it up. Then she came in one day, slid a candy bar into my hand, and told me she was leaving to go down to Florida to be closer to him. I hope they’re happy.

- An elderly couple came in with a tree branch they’d found on their property, and asked if we had any books about identifying Missouri trees because they’d never seen one like the one they had before. Most of the ones we did have had been checked out, so I decided to google it for them. They were very impressed by this, and were even more impressed when I found a picture that looked exactly like the branch they’d brought in. Turns out it was a persimmon tree. We spend about half an hour after that talking about persimmon trees and how messy they could be and how the husband and his friends used to steal persimmons from their mean teacher’s yard. It was utterly adorable. 

- A little girl and her dad came in, both equally excited about getting library cards after recently moving to the area. The chattered about all the books they were going to get, even more so after I told them they could have up to ten at a time. When they were done, the daughter sheepishly asked if we had any books about ancient Egypt. So not only did I make sure to load her up with books and show her how to use the card catalogue, but I also discovered she didn’t know anything about King Tut, so we had a long discussion about mummies and archeology. Her dad clearly wasn’t as into it as her, but he tried his hardest to be enthusiastic, and actually said, “Yeah! Mummies! Woo!” at one point. I had to go in the back after they left because I was so overwhelmed by how cute they were. 

- We check our phone messages every morning. It’s usually just people who forgot to renew their books before we close, but occasionally we’ll get weird ones. Like the guy who left us a long, rambling message about how his oven wasn’t working, so he tried calling city electric, and they gave him this number, but this was the number for the library, so why had they given him that one? And why weren’t we open? “Doesn’t anyone in this town work?” It went on for twenty minutes like that. My coworker Rachel initially listened to it and pulled me over to listen to it too because she was laughing so hard. We hope that guy eventually got his oven fixed, and that he realized he called us on a Sunday. 

- Rachel was out policing and a man came in with a bag from McDonald’s. He sat at one of our computers and proceeded to burst into tears. I wasn’t there for this, so I don’t know what happened after, but Rachel did say she felt so bad for him she didn’t even tell him he couldn’t have food at the computers.

- A woman asked me to make some copies for her, and I had walked a bit away before I realized I hadn’t asked her how many she needed. She didn’t hear me at first, and proceeded to pull down her mask and lean her ear in to hear me better. I still puzzle over the logic there.

- One night, near closing, Lori went to check the men’s bathroom and found clothes strewn everywhere. Pants, shirts, a few pairs of underwear, and even a belt were hanging from the stalls, the sinks, and even the urinals. A JC Penney’s bag was in the corner, which was presumably what the clothes had been in. No one who was still in the library claimed the clothes. I have no idea what the director decided to do with them. 

- My coworker Rayne was helping a lady print off some tax forms. The woman was older, and told Rayne this would be her first time doing her taxes on her own since her husband died. Rayne expressed her sympathy, and the woman decided that was an invitation to tell her about finding her husband’s bloody corpse in their shed, and how it had gotten everywhere and stained her shoes a bit. She didn’t tell Rayne exactly why he was bloody before she paid for her copies and left, wishing Rayne a nice day. Rayne needed a good sit-down after that.

- I was cleaning our study rooms, and when I walked into the last one, I immediately gagged because it smelled like someone walked in, farted like a machine gun for an hour, then walked out. It was vile. I had to grab a bottle of air freshener and just blast it for a solid minute to cut through the smell. 

[girlofmanyfandoms]

Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles Chapter One

A/n: Ok, so the cult is getting stronger by the minute so if you haven’t been introduced yet, don’t be offended! I’ll try to go through everyone and introduce you in the next chapter. Erica (@the-never-ending-void) has asked not to be included in this fic.

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot 

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,382

Warnings: If you’re reading this, you already know what’s about to pop off

Lilah poked Cadence’s shoulder who promptly rolled over. Lilah poked her several more times, a bit more aggressively. Grumbling Cadence sat up quickly and smacked her head on the top of the bunk bed. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, taking in the strangely black, purple, and gold aesthetic room.

“Why’d you wake me up?”

“You got a notification,” Lilah said, eyes wide open, handing her the phone, slowly walking out of their shared room.

Cadence furrowed her brows, unlocking the phone before calling out to her roommate. “Wait, how long have you been up?”

“OREOS!” she called back. “Where are the keys?”

“On the kitchen counter,” Cadence replied, checking her emails. 1 unread message from Gray, the AI developer who she made small talk with during lunch breaks.

Dear Cadence,

Good evening! There’s a new play coming out on Mainstreet, called The Facade, and I was approached by the team to create a promotional piece. I was hoping you could help, and we would split the rewards 50/50. The play is about a murder crime, which is plotted out in a series of intricate riddles. The plot twist: the lead detective was the murderer, and had been delaying her trial while she was pretending to gather evidence, and stealing from a suspect to gain enough money to flee. And her second in command was funding the plots without knowing that her boss was the mastermind behind it all.

Ok, now that my boss has read above the cut we can talk freely. The offer is real, and I WOULD like to split it 50/50, I just can’t stand talking all formal, y’know? Anyway, since you said you do animations and stuff as a side gig, I thought maybe you could make the animations, and I’ll edit and do the social networking? Idk, I’m just spitballing here, let me know what you think.

Also, Lilah directed me towards this email, she’s really good at tracking people down.

Sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, I haven’t slept in weeks,

Gray

“Huh,” Cadence huffed, glancing at the clock. 3 AM. She had time. So, grabbing her IPad, she opened Procreate and got to work. The Facade. Sounds interesting enough. But what to draw? A lock perhaps? A silhouette of the main character? Before she could decide, her phone buzzed again, a voice recording this time, from Lilah.

“Hey, so I just ran into two of the actresses from The Facade and they said they want to talk to you about it so you can create a better promotional vid, meet me at the local library, k bye.”

Cadence wished on a shooting star that at least an hour had passed by so the buses would be running. But how wrong she was. It was 3 AM. It was raining. And the library was at least a mile away.

“This should be fun,” she mumbled, grabbing her set of keys, her IPad, and a raincoat before jogging the mile it took to get to the library.

_______

By the time Cadence arrived her hair was drenched and she was so out of breath and tired she thought she was going to pass out. She looked for any sign of her roommate, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, she saw three people sitting at a table chatting freely and crying laughing. The librarian wasn’t fazed in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to be enjoying it, leaning over the library’s registry system, talking with them. Quickly Googling “The Facade,” Cadence confirmed that the two ladies were the actresses from the play. The other one offered occasional comments, mostly just watching the occurrences that went on. Social anxiety kicked in and told her to run in the other direction, but she really needed the money. She forced herself to approach them.

“Hey, I’m Cadence,” I introduce myself nervously. “Lilah said you wanted to speak to me about promoting your play?”

“Cadence! Lilah mentioned your animations, and we thought it’d be a new, eye-catching way to get our work out there,” the first one chirped. “I’m Molly, by the way. I play the detective’s second in command.”

“And I’m Ivy,” the other one greeted. “I play the lead.”

Cadence expected the third person to introduce themself next, but the librarian took the initiative. “Hello, fellow human, you may address me as SPEENS, I accept liver sacrifices.”

“They do that all the time,” the third person assured her. “Tater, by the way. I’m not in the play, I’m just working on a novel with Molly. We met up here to talk to good ‘ol Speens when these bit-”

“Language,” Molly warned.

“When these lovely individuals,” Tater corrected, “decided to make this a research sesh for the book. As if we needed more work. I’m free to fly wherever the wind takes me.”

“Amen to that, sibling,” Speens responded solemnly, pulling five wine glasses and vodka out from under the desk like a bartender. Cadence looked confused, but not against it. “Say, where’s the rest of the crew? Lynn, Gray, Farris, and the lot of them?”

“Farris doesn’t work on the set,” Ivy reminded her. “They’re an archaeologist. Holes makes the sets for us.”

Speens wrinkled their nose, seemingly in disgust. “And the others?”

“Well, if you can take a break, we can meet up with them at the theatre. Even Farris, since I heard their last trip was a bust,” Molly offered.

Without a second thought, Speens put up a sign that read “The Librarian is Out.”

“Do they-”

“All the time,” Ivy nodded. “It’s kinda their thing.”

“But, yeah, Farris and Connor tend to hang around the set,” Molly explained. “They don’t bother anyone, no one bothers them. They’re a bit older, kinda like the authority figures of the group.”

“If authority figures would let you make a dumba-”

“Tater,” Ivy nudged.

Tater changed their wording. “-unwise move in order to see what would happen.”

“They’re responsible for us without being responsible for us, if that makes sense,” Ivy commented. “Let’s get going though, before someone blows something up.” She shot a sideways glance at Speens, who put a hand up in surrender.

________

Ivy swung open the doors to the theatre and immediately had to duck for cover. “What the HELL, Connor?”

They were holding onto some theatre seats, zooming back and forth the row on rollerblades, occasionally losing balance and having to sit down. After a particularly messy turn-around, they decided to crawl over to the red carpeted steps and laid there for a moment. Farris was perched in a seat a row down, calming watching as Connor seemed to be having an existential crisis. Upon seeing Tater and Cadence, Farris got up, carefully stepping around Connor. “New kids?”

“Farris, this is Tater, and that’s Cadence,” Ivy helped. “They’re helping us promote the play.”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted,” they vowed, though Tater looked confused. “What? I don’t make the rules. Oh, wait, I’m supposed to be the responsible one…. Ok, so I make the rules, but they can be bent if the alternative’s interesting enough. Right, Connor?”

“Uh huh,” he called from the floor tiredly. If he hadn’t spoken, he would have been deemed dead.

“Lynn and the rest of the gang are in the back,” Farris informed them, pulling a skateboard from under their seat and helping Connor stand. Connor’s rollerblades flailed a bit as he struggled to get up, but his arm was slung around Farris’s shoulder, supporting him.

“DO A KICKFLIP,” Connor prompted, his words slurred.

“Are you kidding, I haven’t skateboarded since I was six, I need an actual skate park to practice that,” Farris recounted. “And how drunk are you?”

“Yes,” he responded, giggling in a hiccupy way. “Does anyone have more vodka?”

“I got you fam,” Speens said, pulling out a suitcase of alcohol from thin air.

“Anyways,” Ivy interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’ll go get the others, wait here.”

Ivy returned with Gray, Lynn, Holes, Panda, and Meg, and introduced them accordingly. “Gray works on the special effects, Lynn designed everyone’s costumes, Holes makes the set, Panda is a theatre critic, and Meg is our concept artist.”

“So, other than animation, is there anything else you bring to the table?” Molly asked.

“Well, I do glass art,” Cadence supplied. “It’s probably not relevant, but when it’s still really hot and glowy, which is when you can shape it, it looks like it would make a good snack. Hell, it almost looks like Gatorade. I can show a picture if you’d like.”

Cadence took her phone out and everyone crowded around to see.

“More like Powerade, Gatorade doesn’t come in that kind of blue,” Speens added.

“F O R B I D D E N S P I C Y G A T O R A D E,” Connor yelled, startling Farris.

“NO,” Holes countered, clearly distressed. “Do NOT drink molten glass. You’d die!”

“You call it death, I call it adventure,” Molly smirked. “I’m here for it. C’mon Holes, live a little.”

“Sis, how have you made it to adulthood thinking like that?” Lynn questioned, looking a bit scared.

“And I know how to live, I’m living right now!” Holes countered.

“Sure you are, nerd.” Molly rolled her eyes. “And how many near death experiences have you had, huh?”

“Near death- okay, first of all, I am not a nerd-”

“You kinda are,” Tater mumbled. Holes gasped, putting a hand over her heart as if they were betrayed. “What? You are. You make a living off of reading books.”

“Used to, friend,” Holes clarified. “I’m a freelance artist now. I picked up this gig because of these fools. And good thing too, because now you’re about to poison yourselves! Second of all, um, none?! How many have you had?”

Molly clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Five. Blended corn, acorns, eating soap, eating paper, and an intense game of dodgeball. I haven’t even peaked with these experiences yet.”

“Immortal until proven mortal,” Connor finished for her.

Meg stood next to Molly and held her shoulders. “This girl, she’s going places.”

“Meg, not you, too, I swear to god-”

“sLuRp,” Ivy joined in, grinning from ear to ear.

Holes was getting hysterical. “What the actual hell is going on? Lynn, help me out here.”

“The Gatorade is Forbidden for a reason, kids,” Lynn tried to reason.

Gray stood up with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “Where can we get it?”

“From the crunchy forbidden chocolate powder, of course,” Connor chimed in. Panda gave him a high-five while Holes became paler and paler from the cult forming in front of their eyes.

“This one speaks the truth,” Panda shrugged.

“Ok, what even is crunchy forbidden chocolate powder?”

“Sand, duh,” Connor said matter of factly. “Add some vodka, a martini, and some olives, and you got one heck of a slushie.”

“So that means there must be Forbidden Chewy Lettuce and Flavoured Forbidden Chewy Lettuce,” Tater went on. “Grass and flower petals. Cursed, but not wrong.”

“Ooh, and crackle air can be limestones and sodium carbonate, pies are dirt, bread is wood, and hard candy is metal,” Panda proclaimed.

“Fidget spinners are Forbidden Bagels, too,” Connor helped. “I should know, I tried the other day and cut my lip.”

Farris ignored the last part of Connor’s rant. “The variety pack, I like the sound of that.”

“Farris you’re supposed to look after us and you’re condoning this?!” Holes shouted.

Farris mounted his skateboard. “I’m not condoning anything. I’m enabling and hyping them up without joining in. That’s some big brain stuff.”

“This is why they control the brain cell,” Ivy nodded. “WAIT, ARE MY CHICKEN NUGGETS BURNING?!”

“Ives, you literally set a timer on the microwave backstage, you’re fine,” Tater reassured Ivy, holding her from running to check on her meal.

“Oh, like you know anything about microwaves,” Ivy argued. “You microwave ice cream.”

“It takes too long to soften, and I’m impatient,” Tater defended, turning to address Holes. “And it is eaten with a spoon.”

“Do not start this debate again- you know what, Panda, get ice cream from the mini-fridge, we’re settling this here and now,” Holes demanded.

“I think the real question is why is ice cream so hard,” Speens mentioned as Panda brought a tub of Haagen Daz ice cream. Holes used a fork to attempt to chisel out part of the snack. It wasn’t very successful.

“I think that’s just how Haagen Daz works,” Cadence observed.

Holes saw this as an opportunity to gain some momentum in the argument. “Not just this brand! All ice cream works like that!!!”

“No,” Panda objected. “Not Breyer’s. That stuff is always just right when you need it. Hashtag not sponsored.”

“Did you just break the fourth wall?” Lynn asked. “You know what, I don’t wanna know, just for the love of all that is good in this world please don’t drink the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade.”

“Too late,” Cadence said. “It’s easily accessible. Also, I’m calling E so we can recruit her.”

“Holes, I know you’re hiding it from us,” Molly speculated.

“What are you talking-”

“You’re keeping the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade all to yourself because you know of its power and you want it all to yourself.”

“I don’t HAVE the Gatorade, and I’m explicitly telling you it’s going to kill you if you drink it!”

As the bickering went on, Lynn slipped off to the vacant staff lounge to pull out her phone. There had to be a supplier somewhere who would give them this. She searched for a few minutes, and, after a few dead ends, she finally found an investor. “Cha-ching. Forbidden Incorporated is in business,” Lynn smiled to herself.

“Forbidden Incorporated, eh?” Farris asked from the doorway. Lynn froze and cursed herself for forgetting to lock the door. Now Farris knew of her plans. “Tell you what, I’ll keep your secret under one condition: We split the money 50/50, and get equal control over the decisions. So, deal?”

Lynn hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could trust Farris, but seeing as this was the only way to stop Holes from knowing just yet, she had no other choice. “Deal.”

_______

A/n: So that was fun and took entirely too long to write. I hope you enjoyed it and if you’re in the cult and I didn’t include you, reblog this and I’ll make a list. The next chapter might focus on a smaller group bc there are like thirteen characters here and I’m tired. Peace out!

[taron-egrotton]

Dr. Egerton || Part One

Concept: The reader is a junior in college and Taron is a fresh graduate from medical school and lecturing freshmen while he’s in between jobs. One day the reader is stranded in school amidst a storm and a friendship is formed. Multi-chapter. Eventual fluff. A tiny smidge of an age gap.

You internally groaned as the rain gradually began pouring more and more, the buzzing sound of it almost deafening your ears. Your friend was supposed to pick you up at the main entrance of the University Library an hour ago, and your phone had just died a few minutes prior. You were locked out, too, because the Library has closed half an hour ago. Now you were standing by a patio-like structure that led to the Library to get some shelter from the rain.

You heard the sound of the back door of the Library closing, but you paid it no mind. It was probably the assistant librarian, who was a sophomore from the Liberal Arts Department. She seemed to dislike you somewhat, so you tended to ignore each other.

“May I help you?” Well. That was definitely not the assistant librarian. There stood Dr. Egerton, dressed in a navy blue dress shirt and pants. One of your roommates just attended a lecture of his, and she had texted your group conversation with your other roommates during the event that he was impressively smart.

And impressively handsome.

“Dr. Egerton!” you stuttered over your words for an embarrassing five seconds before exhaling a deep breath and calming down. It is true what they say, after all, the man was intimidating. “I-i-it’s nothing. I mean--I’m just waiting for my friend to come pick me up.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Egerton furrowed his brows and glanced at the pouring rain before looking back to you. “I was doing some research inside for a few hours now and you’ve been standing there for at least 30 minutes.”

“Y-y-yeah. I’m not so sure. My phone died and I couldn’t reach her.”

“You know her number?”

You nodded.

“Call her,” he reached into his pocket and opened the phone application before handing it to you. 

You shakily took his phone and dialed your friend’s number.

No reception.

You told this to Dr. Egerton and handed him his phone before he shook his head and told you to try again a few more times.

“Nothing, still,” you shook your head. Dr. Egerton nodded and took his phone back, shoving it into his pocket.

“You live just outside campus, correct?”

You nodded.

“Let me drive you,” he suggested. “My car is just a few blocks from here and I have an umbrella.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, sir. I have a book to keep me company.” You reached into your bag and pulled out a shabby copy of your favorite book.

“Hmm. Interesting choice. You’re into classics?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just Taron will do. Only my students and coworkers call me Dr. Egerton,” he smiled. “And how interesting is that book the 50th time around?” he joked.

“You probably shouldn’t ask me about my favorite book. I tend to go off on a tangent when I’m asked about a book.” You laughed nervously.

“Oh, go on. I don’t mind.”

You stared at him for a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t joking. Then, as if possessed by some supernatural force, all shyness dissipates. You tell him about the author’s tribulations as a female artist of her time, then you share how you see yourself in the female protagonist as you grew up. “It’s like the characters grow up with me, you know?” you went on. “George Orwell says, after all, that the best books tell you what you already know.”

“Orwell,” he repeated. “In my psych rotations in medical school I read a study about literature choices and how reading elicits responses in the brain. You’d like it. Have you taken Neuroanatomy yet?”

You shook your head. “I’ll have it next semester, I think.”

“Ah. Brilliant. You’ll enjoy it. In the meantime...” Taron reached into his pocket again and pulled out his phone. You watched him tap around for a few seconds before he handed the phone to you. He had his email application open.

You stared at him in confusion.

“I’ll send you a digital copy of the study. Enter your e-mail. If you don’t mind, that is. It isn’t everyday I meet a student--or a person, really--who actually enjoys learning and reading.”

As you were tapping out your email address, Taron spoke.

“Ah! What do you know? The rain stopped. I suppose you can get to your place safe and sound?”

You finished entering your email address and nodded. “Yes, sir. Taron, I mean. Thank you for the help.”

“Not at all. Good day, miss...”

“L/N. Y/N L/N.” You smiled.

Taron chuckled, taking his phone back. “I had an entire conversation with you and I didn’t even ask for your name. I’m so sorry about my devastating lack of manners. Good to meet you, Miss L/N.”

--

When you got home, you opened your laptop to check on your friend. And already, a new email notification popped up the second your laptop lit up.

(1) New email from Taron Egerton, MD, TRS Anxiously, you clicked on the notification.

Dear Ms. L/N,

It was an honor meeting you today. Attached to this email is a study by Dr. Robbins, a world-renowned Developmental Pediatrician and an old professor of mine. I hope you find it as enjoyable as I did.

Do tell me what you think of it.

Regards, Taron Egerton, MD, TRS (1) File attached / Download

You read over the email again, and then another time. Then you came to a realization. You reached for your cheek and felt it heating up.

You. Were. Blushing.

What the hell?

[catsafarithewriter]

For the prompts- "Is that a new hat? Nice, very pointy. Classic.” and/or “It’s not my fault! You make it all too easy to laugh at you.” Muta and Toto shading each other or Haru and Baron.

A/N: Someone already requested the “it’s not my fault!” prompt, so I’m going for “Is that a new hat? Nice, very pointy. Classic.” This is another Soulmate AU, because apparently I’m weak for playing with the concept. :D

Basically: there’s a business for everything. Even soulmates. 

(Also the first scene is inspired by The Librarians TV show. Also… this got long. Like... 6K long? I regret so much.)

x

Humbert von Gikkingen - or Baron, to the few that knew him - didn’t receive many visitors while working in his quiet little corner of the Bureau of Soulmate Regulation. 

Or any, if one didn’t count the handful of co-workers he shared the Sanctuary with.

So when there came a quiet knock at his office door, he didn’t bother to look up. Of the few co-workers he had, even fewer bothered to knock. Instead, he pulled up another file and began to write up the results. “Toto, if this is about the radio, I promise I barely went near the infernal machine, and Muta is the one responsible for the coffee machine–”

“What happened to the coffee machine?”

He snapped his head up and was greeted not with the tired expression of the Head of the Bureau of Soulmate Regulation, but of a woman he didn’t recognise. For a moment, he glanced behind him as if  half expecting there to be someone else she had come to see, before remembering he was the only one there. “Can I help you?”

“I, uh…” She faltered as she looked at him, her gaze slipping from his eyes and pausing instead on the ginger fur, the feline ears, the tail sweeping behind him… Then she visibly remembered her manners and dropped into a hasty bow. “I’m Haru Yoshioka. I’ve been hired as your… facilitator, I think?” She rose out of the bow, her face reddening. “At least, that’s assuming you are Humbert von Gikkin- Gikkanin-”

“Gikkingen,” he supplied. “Yes, I am, and no, I do not need a facilitator.” He returned his attention to the file at hand. “Door’s behind you; I presume you can find your own way out.”

She didn’t move. 

He glanced back up. “I’m sorry, does something seem to be confusing you, Miss Yoshioka?”

“Well… kind of.” Her hands were dancing over a slip of paper, turning it over and curling the edges. “It’s just, the letter I got seemed quite sure…”

He now saw the paper was a beautifully embossed piece of card, more akin to a wedding invitation than a letter, and his stomach sank. He held out a hand. “May I?”

“Oh. Sure.” 

He turned it over in his hold and, sure enough, there were the words he knew too well, written in flowing, nearly-illegible script. 

‘Miss Haru Yoshioka. You have been selected to interview for a prestigious position with the Bureau of Soulmate Regulation,’ it read. Simple. To the point. Almost insultingly brusque, if it weren’t for the obvious expense and care put into it. 

“I mean,” the woman said, missing his growing resignation, “it was kind of weird. I don’t remember ever applying for anything, definitely nothing that would prompt this, but the name and address was correct, and the man I met didn’t seem that surprised by it.” She paused. “Now I think about it, he didn’t even interview me; just sent me here to meet you.”

“No,” Baron said. “He wouldn’t have.” He sighed and passed the letter back , reaching for the internal phone with his other hand. “Please excuse me for a moment. Toto?” 

He pressed the call button several times before it responded with an angry buzzing. He pressed again, and it cleared into an acceptable phone pitch. “Toto?”

After a long moment, the Head of the Bureau picked up. He sounded like he already knew the incoming conversation. “Baron. How lovely to hear your voice. What can I do for you today?” 

“Toto, I have a woman here claiming she’s my facilitator–”

“Oh, good. Then she found her way to your office. The Sanctuary must like her.”

“No. Not good. Toto, why would you invite her here? We’ve already discussed that I don’t need a facilitator–”

Toto gave a short laugh. “I don’t send the invitations, you know that. The Sanctuary does. The Sanctuary sends the invitations and, evidently, it has decided that yes, you do need a facilitator before you blow up another computer. I’m sorry, Baron. The decision is out of my hands.” There was a pause, and then, “Oh, and Miss Haru, if you’re hearing this, welcome to the Bureau of Soulmate Regulation.” He could hear the smile in Toto’s words. “Good luck.”

They both stared at the phone as Toto hung up, and a dubious pause lingered. 

“So…” Haru said eventually, “does that mean I’m hired?”

“It would appear so.” 

“You, uh, don’t seem too happy about this.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Yoshioka. Trust me, this isn’t any fault of yours, it’s simply that I do not need a facilitator. You hear that?” he snapped, glaring at the office ceiling. “I don’t need her! I’m fine!”

“Sir… are you arguing with the building?”

“The building’s quasi-sentient,” he muttered. “You get used to it.” 

x

“So, um, I guess I should have asked this before now,” Miss Haru said, “but what exactly does a facilitator do?” She frowned at the blue nitrile gloves set before her. “And do I have to wear these?”

Baron paused, mid-way into bringing up the next case. “How much do you know about the Bureau of Soulmate Regulation?”

“Just what it says on the tin. You’re the people who match folk up with their soulmates. People send their details in, fill out a form, and you respond back with their match.” She hesitated and glanced round at the singular office. “To be honest, I thought there’d be more of you. It’s a big business.”

“This building is just one of many offices strewn across the world, but it isn’t a popular vocation.” He didn’t meet her gaze as he flipped through the file. “Only mages can actively cast the spells required to identify soulmates, but using your magic tends to have… complicated effects.”

“Like turning into a cat.”

He looked at her. 

“Wait, I’m sorry, was that rude?” she gabbled. “That probably was rude, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just say it like that, it’s just that you are, well, I couldn’t help but notice that you…”

He waited. 

“…sorry.”

He sighed and closed the case file. Better to get the awkward conversation out of the way now. “Yes, my… feline appearance is due to my use of magic. Yes, the transformation is solely superficial, yes, it will continue to happen as long as I work here, and no, I am not about to go chasing after a laser pointer.” Yet, his mind supplied. 

“Oh.” She glanced back to the gloves she had been given. “So is that what these are for?”

“You’re going to be coming into contact with magic while employed here. Officially, we cannot make you wear them, but they are strongly recommended for non-mages who work in a magical environment. Second-hand magic isn’t as strong as it is for mages, but it will still have… consequences if you are regularly exposed to it.” 

Her eyes flickered over him, and he knew she was considering the possibility of becoming half-cat herself. 

She put the gloves on. 

“And… my job? You didn’t answer that.”

Keeping his deadpan expression on her, he reached across and brushed a hand over the electric kettle. 

The fuse blew, and along with it every light bulb in his office. There was a curse somewhere else in the building, and Baron suspected the effects were slightly more wide-reaching than usual today. He grinned at her in the semi-gloom. “Side effect number two of regular magic usage: Electricity really doesn’t like it.”

The lights flickered back on. Someone had evidently located the fuse box. 

“Huh” Miss Haru said, and to her credit, she only looked vaguely unsettled by the electrical fault. “I guess that explains Mr Toto’s comment about exploding computers.”

“Firstly, I didn’t explode anything. It smoked, at best. And, secondly…” He faltered, not entirely sure where his train of thought had been going.

“Secondly, I guess that’s my job?” she offered. 

“Yes. Facilitators are hired to help mages whose magic has reached the stage where it becomes… inconvenient around electrical appliances.”

“Like exploding computers?”

He sighed. “Like exploding computers.”

x

For all his complaints about not needing a facilitator, Humbert at least remained professional enough to keep his irritation to himself. For that, Haru was grateful. 

Even if she did have to move the kettle into the next room to stop him from making his own tea. 

And shift the internal phone onto her desk. 

And put warning tape around the light switches. 

In any case, she quickly became familiar with where the fuse box and spare light bulbs were kept, more so than she did in her actual home, and life fell into a strange sort of routine. She’d arrive, turn on the lights in their corner of the Sanctuary, make them both tea with the exiled kettle, and then settle down to help whenever Humbert’s job required access to anything electrical. 

Sometimes it was picking up the phone, and other times it was replying to emails or updating Humbert on their contents. But mostly it was dealing with the influx of soulmate requests - transcribing the details onto paper for Humbert and then transferring them back onto the computer when he had the results. She wondered how he had managed before she had been hired. 

Explosively, if the previously computer comment was anything to go by.

“Someone would run down with the list in the morning and then pick it up at the end of the day,” Humbert answered when she finally decided to ask. 

“Sounds inefficient,” Haru said. 

“It worked.”

Slowly, Haru suspected.  

She didn’t say that though. She just put down a fresh cup of tea and ignored how tentatively he sipped at it. 

x

“You don’t like my tea, do you?”

She wasn’t sure what prompted her to be so direct - maybe it was a month of watching her co-worker superficially thank her every time she set a cup down before him and reluctantly drink it out of gratitude. Maybe she’d just had enough. 

He looked startled. “Miss Haru, I assure you–”

“You’re really not that subtle. So, what is it? Too much milk? Not enough sugar? Seeping for the wrong time?”

Humbert hesitated. “You make excellent tea - for store-bought tea bags. The fact of the matter is simply that I’m more accustomed to making my own blend - or,” he added, “I was before…” and he motioned vaguely to himself. 

“Oh.” She supposed that explained the cupboard full of loose tea leaves and other varied ingredients she’d found when moving the kettle. “You know, if you tell me how to–”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I quite enjoyed the process as much as the drinking.” 

He smiled politely in a way that didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Thank you, all the same.”

x

Baron jolted back as a tray was set firmly on his desk. He leant back, appraising the tea pot, the cups, and the assortment of boxed ingredients laid out before him. “What is this?”

“I would have thought you, of all people, Humbert, would recognise a tea pot when you saw one,” Miss Haru said, a knowing smile on her lips. 

“Yes, but more to the matter: What is it doing here? You know I cannot make tea–”

“What you cannot do,” she said, “is use a kettle. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but the rest of the tea-making process is pretty analogue, right?” She beamed proudly at him. “And, luckily for you, you have someone on hand who can fill a kettle.”

He looked at her anew. 

She grinned back. “Well?” She was almost brimming with excitement. “What do you think?”

Baron pulled the tea pot towards him. It was ceramic and red, a classic combination with a good quality weight to it. Inside was a detachable infuser, ready and waiting for a fresh tea batch. 

“Okay, now is the time to tell me you love it,” Miss Haru said, doubt beginning to creep into her voice. “

“I love it,” he said. 

“Oh, thank god. I was beginning to worry… Look, just let me know when you want to make a cup and I’ll get the kettle sorted.” 

“I really do,” he said, and he was surprised when his voice wavered. He browsed through the ingredients, all freshly bought variations of the old collection he’d had before his magic had made using a kettle impossible. “This is… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Humbert.” 

“Baron,” he said. 

She faltered. “What?”

“Please, call me Baron, Miss Haru. All my friends do.”

She grinned. “In that case, it’s just Haru to you.” She laughed. “’Miss Haru’ makes me feel like someone’s nanny.” 

He returned the smile. 

“As you wish, Haru.” 

x

She had to admit it: his tea blends were delicious.

x

“A stick.”

“Yep.”

Baron glanced at Haru. “You bought me a stick for Christmas.”

“I put a bow around it and everything” she said. “Look - it’s a little bowtie that matches yours. That’s real care and dedication. And it’s extendable!” 

“Why did you buy me a stick for Christmas, Haru?”

She grinned and retrieved it. It was, as far as sticks went, fairly fancy. It was metal and the pointer was shaped in the form of a cat’s head but, when all was said and done, it was still a stick. Even so, he watched with one raised eyebrow as she pulled it out, extending it from a foot to nearly a metre, and prodded the light switch. 

“Now you don’t have to wait for me to turn the lights on!” Haru cried. 

“That’s… huh.” 

Haru prodded the lights back on. “You don’t like it? Of course you don’t like it, what was I even thinking–”

“Of course I like it,” Baron said. He reclaimed the stick. “It’s very… you.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He tilted his head. “It’s the highest praise, Haru.”

x

“Did you ever think of testing yourself?” The question slipped from Haru as she watched Baron perform the soulmate spell. It was a complicated affair, made up of several parts, including a spell to specify the individual, a spell to transfer the data to a compatible magic format, a spell to find the soulmate, and another spell to identify the soulmate… to name but the few Haru had been able to spot. She leant over his shoulder, almost but not quite touching, and added, “You know, seeing who your soulmate is?”

“Not particularly,” he answered. “And, even if I were inclined, things are somewhat complicated due to…” He motioned to himself, and Haru bristled. 

“Do you think your soulmate would care what you looked like?” she demanded. 

Baron laughed. “That wasn’t what I was referring to, although I imagine it wouldn’t make things any easier. No, you see, the magic used to determine one’s soulmate doesn’t work with a mage. It has something to do with our own magic contaminating the results.” 

“Oh. So, even if you used your own magic to try…?”

“It still wouldn’t work.”

“Oh.” He laughed again. “Don’t look so sad, Haru. I made my decision, and I’m happy with it.” He smiled. “And, as you reminded me, my appearance doesn’t… simplify matters.”

“I didn’t mean it in that way, I just assumed when you said that, that you meant–” 

“Look at me, Haru. Would you date me?”

“I…” 

Moments passed. 

Her mouth dried, and she glanced away. 

Baron didn’t see her blush. 

x

She had become accustomed to Baron’s unusual appearance. 

It had crept up on her, in the same way he had gone from co-worker to friend; quietly, and with no fuss. 

She was sorting through an old cabinet when she found the scuffed picture frame - stuffed between an expenses file from three years back and a confirmation of the instalment of a new computer. It showed two people; a woman with long blonde, almost white, hair, and a man with curly ginger hair. The two were posed in old-fashioned clothes, grinning into the camera. 

Baron must have sensed her sudden stillness, for he shifted his gaze her way. “Haru, what has… oh.”

She turned the photo towards him. “Is that…?”

“Old,” he answered and he took the picture from her. “I thought I’d lost it - where did you find it?”

“Just… down there. Baron, who are they?”

He looked to her with a feline grin. “Don’t you recognise me?”

“That’s… that’s you?”

“And my sister. She convinced me to attend a regency fair with her, and took great delight in making the costumes. Of course, we both look a little different now…” He noted her expression. “You seem surprised?”

“It’s just…” And she laughed, embarrassed. “I guess I had kind of forgotten that you were ever…”

“Human?”

“That you didn’t always look this way.”

He twisted the photo back towards her. “Well, now you know. What do you think? I was quite the looker, back in my day,” he said, with a kind of detached humour.

“You still are.”

He stared at her. 

She stared back. Shoot, had she really said that?

Then he laughed, throwing his head back and placing the frame on his desk. “Yes, I suppose my appearance still draws quite the eye, that’s true. I guess some things never change.”

x

She was always careful to avoid contact. 

Baron didn’t think she even noticed it anymore, it was so ingrained into her habit that she now instinctively kept that distance. Still, her behaviour had shifted. If he had to describe it, it would be that she had grown comfortable around him. 

And, to be honest, he had with her. 

Maybe that was the reason he felt confident enough to ask why she had never applied to find her soulmate. 

At first, she only laughed. The sound was light, surprised. She raised an eyebrow back at him. “How do you know I didn’t? Maybe I already did and am happily married with two kids and a mortgage.” 

He raised an eyebrow back. “A mortgage? On this payroll?”

“You’re right, I guess that did make my lie obvious.” She continued to type up the most recent batch of results. “Next time I’ll be sure to omit that.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.”

Now she paused. The familiar clicking of keys ceased and she glanced to him out of the corner of her eye. “I… don’t know. It costs to find your soulmate, and I suppose I just didn’t have the money spare. Still don’t,” she added.

Baron hesitated. 

The next words came heavy on his tongue. “You know… I could always do a test for you, free of charge.” He didn’t know why the smile he offered felt thin. “It’d be no trouble.”

She stared at him for a long, long moment. 

“I…”

“Only if you wanted,” he hastily added. “I just thought…”

“I’m fine.” The smile she returned was nervous, although he couldn’t figure out why.

“I just ask because there’s always a risk that, even with only the second-hand magic around you, you might eventually become immune to the soulmate magic…” He was rambling. Why was he rambling? “And if that were the case, it feels only right to give you the chance to discover your soulmate while the magic still works for you–”

She leant in suddenly, drawing intimately close. “Baron, I’m fine. I’m happy not knowing who my soulmate is.”

“But what if that changes?”

She only looked at him. “I don’t need magic to tell me who to fall in love with.”

It was only as she backed away did he realise her hands had, if only briefly, covered his. 

x

“Is that a new hat? Nice, very pointy. Classic.”

Haru finished tying the bonnet’s ribbon beneath her chin and examined her reflection in the darkened window. “Thanks. Does it suit me?” 

“It looks lovely, but I’m fairly certain it’s not approved Bureau dress protocol.”

“Toto would have to catch me in it first.” 

“You also have it on backwards. Here, let me…” He was halfway to untying the ribbon when he remembered himself. His hands froze. “It… should be the other way around.” 

There was a flicker in her gaze, and then she set the hat in its correct position. “Like that?”

“You need to tilt it further back, or it won’t stay in place…” His fingers itched with the desire to straighten the bonnet, but now his mind was becoming preoccupied with other thoughts, notably how close they suddenly were. 

Haru huffed, a strange, amused sound, and took his wrists in her blue gloved hands. She brought his hands to the brim of her hat. “Just sort it out, Baron, before your delicate fashion senses get any more offended.”

“The magic–”

“You haven’t done any magic today, not yet,” she informed him. “Look, I did my reading; second-hand magic can only be picked up from either active sources, or inactive sources within an hour of being exposed.” She grinned. “You’re not contagious, Baron, so just tie the darn ribbon.” 

Still, he hesitated. 

Haru tilted her head up to give him a better angle, and her eyes were bright and close and beautiful–

“Why exactly do you have this?” he asked. He hoped she couldn’t tell how hard he had to work to get his brain back on gear. “Short of flaunting the dress code.”

“I’m seeing if it fits. Your sister lent it to me and I need to let her know by the end of the day whether it’ll do.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you have it.”

“I’m borrowing it because we’re going to a regency fair.”

“We as in, you and my sister, or…?”

“We as in you and me.”

He’d finished tying the bonnet in place and, he had to admit, it did suit her. He didn’t back away. “What?”

“There’s a fair in town this weekend and I know you don’t have anything planned - don’t lie, I checked with your sister - so I may have organised for us to go.”

“Why?”

“Because you used to go all the time and I thought you’d enjoy it.”

He took a step back. “Haru, have you considered that maybe there was a reason I stopped going?”

“Yes, and it’s balderdash.” She made a face at him. “Your sister still goes regularly, and she’s as much a cat as you! Why should you miss out on fun just because of a few whiskers and a tail? And don’t tell me about the whole second-hand magic thing, because we both know that as long as you don’t use magic, you’re not a danger to anyone.” 

He hesitated. “Haru…”

“Louise tailored your old costume and everything.” She laughed. “She, uh, may have made me a dress too - I didn’t ask her to!” she was quick to add. “She’s just so…”

“Impulsive,” Baron finished. 

“I was going to go with ‘enthusiastic’ actually, but sure. I only asked after her advice, and the next thing I knew she had already found your old costume and was planning one for me, and…” She chuckled and shook her head. “She thinks it would be good for you to get out, Baron.”

“My sister thinks a great many things, and she’s as often wrong as she is right.”

“Like the rest of us.” She leant towards him. “Come on, Baron; it’ll be fun! You do know what fun is, don’t you? Or did you skip that day at school?”

Despite everything, he felt the edge of a smile on his lips. “Miss Haru, you are far too convincing for your own good.”

“Is that a yes?”

x

He had to admit it: the regency fair was fun. 

More fun than he’d had in a long time. 

x

“You’re in love.”

Haru nearly dropped the files she was carrying. “I what?”

Baron continued to mark through the paperwork, not even deigning to look up. “You’re wearing the same perfume as you did when you were first dating Machida and when you developed a crush on that waitress. Also, you’re wearing a necklace; a habit I have rarely seen outside of situations you want to make a good impression. Ergo, there is a new love interest on the scene.” 

Haru’s hand flew to the charm around her neck. “How could you tell? You didn’t even look.” 

He offered a knowing smile. “Feline senses.”

“Oh. Is it… is the perfume okay? It’s not too strong, is it? I can… sit downwind of you, if you want, not that there even is a downwind in an office, but–”

He smiled, and Haru’s heart skipped a beat. “It’s no bother, Haru. So, who’s the lucky person? Do I know them?”

She made a show of readjusting the files in her arms, eyes downcast. “Um… no. No, I don’t… You don’t.” She felt her cheeks heat up as Baron chuckled. “It’s…” 

“What’s this? The indomitable Haru Yoshioka, lost for words? I never thought I’d see the day.” He raised an eyebrow. “If it’s my sister, I only ask that you disbelieve 80% of the childhood stories she shares. She exaggerates.” 

“It’s… uh, it’s not your sister.” Haru hesitated. “Although she is really pretty.”

“Oh. I just thought, since you’ve been spending time with her… nevermind. So, who are they? I only ask because Louise will demand every detail when she hears of this.”

“He’s… well, he’s a he,” Haru mumbled, “and he works in an… office. Files and paperwork and… stuff.”

Baron paused in writing up the soulmate report. “Somehow, that surprises me.”

“Oh?”

“I presumed it would be someone more… exciting than that.”

“Office people can be exciting.” 

He faltered, and Haru suddenly wondered if she had dropped one too many hints, but then he said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean that you’re dull, I just meant…” He chuckled and looked awkwardly away. “There’s no way I can recover this, is there?”

“Not really.”

“How about if I try distracting you by asking you about this mystery man? What’s his name?”

She fumbled. “Uh… it’s.. um, Aaron.”

“How old is he?”

“Uh… about your age.”

“What does he look like?”

“About… your height. Ginger. Green eyes.” She blushed. “Is this a interrogation? Do you want to rig me up to a lie detector or something?”

“Actually, I’m just hoping it distracts you from my embarrassing comment earlier,” Baron admitted. “Is it working?”

“It’s definitely keeping my mind occupied.”

He beamed. “Grand. So what is he like, this Aaron?”

Again, she faltered, her gaze carefully shifting to the files she held. “He’s… uh, nice. Kind. Even when something irritates him, he does his best to be patient. He’s funny. And smart. And he trusts me, even when he’s nervous, and I love our conversations, and…” she hesitated, “he doesn’t know how I feel about him.”

Baron’s gaze turned sympathetic. “Have you tried telling him?”

“It’s… difficult. I think he just sees us as friends, and I don’t want to ruin that.”

“Haru, if the friendship is true, then you won’t ruin it even if he doesn’t return the feelings.”

“And he’s a little oblivious,” Haru added.

“Just be forthright. Just go up to him and say, ‘Aaron, I love you.’”

“I love you.”

“Yes! Like that!” Baron laughed. “If he doesn’t get the hint then, I’m sorry, Haru, but he’s too oblivious for you.”

Haru stared for a long moment. “Okay. Thanks, Baron. Good pep-talk.”

x

After Haru left, Baron hesitated. His mind ran over the conversation, picking up coincidences and hints and almost piecing them together into one complete picture.

Then he laughed and shook his head. 

“Don’t be silly, Baron,” he muttered to himself.

x

Baron’s sister, Louise, had taken the shapeshifting side effects of being a mage in her stride; something that Baron still couldn’t quite get used to. She sat back at the cafe, wide-brimmed hat settled between her feline ears, and a tailored pair of sunglasses perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. 

“You look like an undercover spy, Louise,” Baron said as he swung into the seat opposite.

Louise snapped the book she was reading down. “And you, darling brother, look like a librarian. A dull one at that. Honestly, you should wear the morning suit I bought you for last Christmas. Now that was a look.”

“It’s ridiculous and outdated, Louise.”

“It’s smart! And eyecatching!”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need to be more eyecatching.”

“So you might as well dress as if you’re having fun with it,” Louise reprimanded. “Not as if you’re apologising for existing.”

“I don’t–”

“How is Haru doing?”

He always forgot how disorientating Louise could be until he was sitting in front of her. “She’s… fine? Why do you ask.”

“No… developments since we last chatted?”

Baron hesitated. “What kind of… developments are we talking about?”

Louise gave him a stare and then snapped her book back to her face. “Nothing. Forget I asked.”

“What developments, Louise?”

“Nothing.”

“Louise…”

She groaned and dropped the book onto the table. “Fine. Has Haru had any… conversations with you about dating?”

“She asked my advice on a guy a few weeks back… Is that what this is about?”

“What guy?”

“Someone called Aaron? I didn’t ask for a last name - that seemed somewhat inappropriate–”

“Aaron?”

“Yes.”

“Aaron?” Louise repeated. Her sunglasses began to wobble as she repressed the laughter. “Oh my god, she can’t lie for buttons. What else did she tell you about this ‘Aaron’?”

His sister’s hilarity gave Baron pause. “Just a few small details - he’s kind, works in an office, about my height and age, ginger…” He trailed off as Louise’s grin only grew more knowing. “Louise… what is it?”

“You, Humbert, are the most stupidest person I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.” She laughed and raised her hands to the sides of his face, gloved hands sinking into his fur. “Clap two slices of bread between your ears and call yourself an idiot sandwich, Humbert; the person she was talking about was you.”

“You can’t be sure–”

“I can, because I’m not an idiot sandwich.” Louise grinned. “And because she may have told me as such a while back. Now, are you going to go talk to her about it or do I have to do that for you too?”

“Release my face first.”

x

“Toto, I think I might be in love with Haru.”

The Head of the Bureau of Soulmate Regulation laughed and swivelled his chair to face Baron. “Oh thank god, you’ve finally decided to join the party.”

“What?”

Toto leant back from his desk with a grin. “We’ve all known about how you two feel about each other for months. It’s about time one of you did something about it.”

“In Haru’s defence,” Baron said, his face heating up, “she has told me at least once.”

“What happened?”

He winced. “I… may not have noticed?”

Toto cawed a laugh. “Naturally. So, now you have caught up with the programme, what are you going to do about it?” Toto tilted his head. “You do intend to do something, don’t you?”

“I - yes, of course, but–”

“But what?”

Baron hesitated. He still wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t some elaborate trick from his sister to get him to confess what he’d been trying to ignore all this time. It wasn’t that he thought his sister cruel, but more that the idea that Haru - funny, intelligent, fearless Haru - would have fallen for him was laughable.

Some of those thoughts must have made it onto Baron’s face, for Toto scowled and rose to his feet. “Oh, no; you’re not wimping out of this now.” He grabbed Baron’s collar and hauled him out of his office and down to Baron’s. 

“Toto, is this really necessa–”

“Yes.”

Even the Sanctuary was working against him, it seemed, for the usual trek between the two offices took no time at all, and Baron had little chance to think up any convincing argument before he was suddenly standing before Haru in their little corner of the Sanctuary. 

“Haru, Baron has something to tell you,” Toto said, and shut the door. 

And, suddenly it was just the two of them. 

The two of them and a whole unspoken secret. 

Haru glanced curiously to the slammed door and then to Baron with a raised eyebrow.  “Okay, that’s strange… even for Toto.” She laughed and nodded over to Baron’s desk. “By the way, the soulmate identity spell you left running is almost done so, uh, maybe you should keep an eye on that while you tell me whatever Toto has dragged you back to say.”

Numbly, Baron moved over to his desk. 

“Haru… we’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we?”

“A year and a bit, yeah.” 

“And we’re friends, aren’t we?”

She gave him an odd look. “I hope so. Otherwise I’m going to have to return your Christmas present - and, no, it’s not another stick.”

“Haru, please, I’m trying to be serious here.” 

Another odd look, and she turned in her seat to face him. “Okay. I’m listening.” 

“Haru, when you first arrived, I was very certain that I did not need you.”

“Shouted it at the Sanctuary, if I remember correctly.”

“Haru.”

“Sorry. Listening.” 

“When you first arrived, I was very accustomed to working by myself, I could not imagine working alongside a facilitator. Especially not one who had so little background in magic, who barely understood the risks of second-hand magic, I couldn’t imagine why the Sanctuary had chosen you–” 

Haru was beginning to make a face, and Baron quickly shuffled the conversation along.

“–but now I see its reasoning all too clearly. Haru, you are clever and creative and kind, and you are never afraid to speak your mind and give others the push they need. When you first arrived, I couldn’t imagine working alongside, but now I can’t imagine working without you. Haru, you are my very good friend, and it can stay that way if you want, but… we could also be something more…”  

There was a long silence. 

“If I seemed unafraid,” Haru eventually said, “it was only because I knew you trusted me.” She shook he head. “And, anyway, you’re wrong. If I were truly unafraid, then I would have told you how I felt a long time ago.” 

“You did.”

She laughed, the sound half-born out of embarrassment. “I would have told you properly. Should have. Not hidden it behind some silly hypothetical crush.”

“And I should have listened.” 

“It’s not your fault. I already knew I was dealing with an obtuse idiot. I should have made it so obvious even you couldn’t ignore it.”

There was a flash of light behind Baron. The soulmate identity spell had finished. He ignored it. 

It could wait. 

“Haru…”

“Do you love me?”

So blunt, so clear-cut. She was leaning towards him now, those searching, bright eyes he had come to know so well in the last year boring into him. He couldn’t lie. 

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything sooner, you great goose?” she demanded, but she was laughing now. She reached out, hand cupping his cheek, and began to shorten the distance between them. 

“Haru - second-hand magic–” he began.

“Small doses don’t harm anyone,” she said. “Mr Baron Humbert von Gikkingen, I am about to kiss you, if that’s alright with you.” 

“I… yes. Yes, that’s…” 

She grinned at his flustered response. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, Bar--” 

She was so close, he could see her eyes flicker away and grow cold all in a moment. She blinked several times and suddenly dropped her hold. As if stung. “Oh.”

“What...?” Baron glanced behind him to see the cause of her distress, and saw the spell identifying the soulmate for request number 12 of the day shimmering above his desk. 

And the face of Haru Yoshioka stared back. 

[notquiteaghost]

there isn't enough nonbinary jon sims content, here is... well i started writing this as headcanons but this is really a not!fic about nonbinary jon sims. it’s 3′300 words

it contains: nonbinary trans masc autistic jon, jongeorgie, lesbian georgie, trans guy martin & tim, trans woman sasha, team archives trans solidarity, and not-insignificant amount of internalised transphobia and references to misgendering & general cis people bullshit

(also ftr i am heavily basing jon's experiences here as a nonbinary autistic person on my own experiences as a nonbinary autistic person) (this is like 80% projection) (what else is fandom for!)

also on AO3 if you prefer your 3k of bullet points to have better spacing

tiny baby [jon] who knows she isn't very good at being a girl but doesn't have the words to articulate why

her grandmother thinks kids clothes should be durable and practical so even tho jon is not a kid who climbs trees or plays football, her wardrobe is exclusively straight jeans & 'boys' t-shirts & large jumpers

she keeps her hair roughly shoulder length because that's the length it's always been but strangers still 'mistake' her for a boy a lot. this makes her feel a way she again hasn't got the words for

when she starts secondary school she continues to dress 'masc', never starts wearing makeup, never gets any interest in dating, generally fills out the checklist for everyone else assuming she's a lesbian

she knows she's definitely not a straight girl, so she shrugs and decides sure, she's a lesbian. it's a moot point, mostly, seeing as even if she did have any interest in dating she's the only gay person her age she knows

but she does get involved in some community support stuff – she spends a lot of time in the library as a teenager, and one of the librarians is a lesbian who takes jon under her wing a bit

coffee mornings and book clubs and things like that. sixteen year old jon and a dozen queer women all in their late twenties at the youngest. they joke a lot how often they forget jon isn't also a thirty-something

(this is that autism feel of having no interest in your peers but getting on great with adults)

and then she goes to uni, and then she meets georgie

georgie is a Very Out lesbian. she goes to clubs, she's heavily involved in the lgbt society, she has a rainbow flag hanging in her bedroom window. yknow.

jon likes her a lot, and still isn't really sure if it's romantic or not, but assumes that's more due to being gay than anything else

(no one has told jon about asexuality yet)

so when, one night when they're meant to be studying in georgie's room but instead are mostly drinking shit cheap wine and complaining about their professors, georgie looks at jon with this soft look on her face and asks to kiss her, jon says yes

and then they date

they're both living in one of those massive student houses with a thousand bedrooms crammed everywhere and only a kitchen for a communal space. georgie has lived there since coming back to finish first year, and jon moved in halfway through second year after a somewhat disastrous flatmate situation

so after they graduate, moving in together seems like the natural progression of things even tho they’ve only been dating for two months

jon is still, when asked, identifying as a lesbian and using she/her, but is also still dressing what other people now call butch. she always feels kind of weird about that term, but again, just chalks it up to the mess of complicated feelings being a gnc lesbian does genuinely involve

and then, finally, jon meets some actual trans people

jon has, circumstantially, known trans people. thanks to georgie, jon goes to a lot of lgbt soc things, and is passingly familiar with most of the lgbt people on their campus

but there’s a big difference between nodding at someone when you see them in the library and having an actual, proper conversation about gender

so, jon goes to a lot of social events because georgie does. without georgie, jon would probably not leave the house except to go to work and to the library (jon is not doing postgrad. jon’s library habits do not particularly reflect this)

mostly at these events, jon sits in the corner and reads, and only talks to other quiet antisocial people, while georgie circles back periodically to report on her social butterfly escapades

and at one, one of the other quiet antisocial people is a trans guy

he’s called harry, and he asks about the book jon is reading, and after they’ve been talking a while he says, “sorry, you probably get this a lot, but what pronouns do you use?”

jon just blinks at him and says “what”

“well, i’m trans, so i’m always really cautious about assuming,” harry says, easily, and this does not answer the question jon was asking

jon.exe has crashed

she(?) eventually says, “uh. she? i’ve never– she”

and harry, who has spent the last forty minutes discussing dante with jon and is already sure they’re going to be friends, says “want the trans 101? you’re making a face like you need it”

three hours later georgie finally reappears with the intent to actually interrupt (she’s drifted past periodically, but jon was always deep in conversation with harry, so she left them alone) and get going, and jon gets harry’s email address and is then very quiet as they walk arm-in-arm back to their house

just as they turn onto their street, jon says, “i, ah. i think i might be trans?”

georgie, who has for the past couple months been having something of a crisis after realising she definitely loves jon but she isn’t in love and she can’t figure out why, says “oh thank god”

jon, very bemused, “that wasn’t the reaction i was expecting”

“i think we should break up,” georgie replies, and jon stops walking. they’re four feet from their front door, but it’s late, no one’s about, so georgie decides sure, they can have this conversation in the street

“you– because i’m trans?”

“i love you, i really do,” georgie steps closer, takes jon’s hands in hers, “but i’m not in love with you. and it was driving me crazy trying to figure out why, but if you’re not a girl–”

“i can’t tell if i should be offended by this or not,” jon says, somewhat dazed, “i’ve been trans for an hour, georgie, i don’t know if this is transphobic yet”

georgie laughs, and presses a kiss to jon’s cheek, and says “it’s nearly midnight, we both have work tomorrow, let’s table this for later. we can look up names and what word i should use when i complain to other people how you always leave your shoes in the middle of the floor when we aren’t both on the verge of passing out”

and that sounds reasonable, so jon nods, and kisses georgie on the mouth, and then they go inside

the next day jon stops by the library on the way home from work and checks out almost every baby names book they have. georgie comes home and he’s sat at the kitchen table making a spreadsheet

“you don’t have to make it this complicated, you know,” she says, hooking her chin over his shoulder to read what he’s already got. the spreadsheet has a lot of columns.

“it’s my name,” he retorts, and she hums agreeably, then points to ‘jonathan’, which has relatively few ticks in any pro columns (god, this nerd), and says, “isn’t that your grandfather’s name?”

it is. he doesn’t talk about his grandfather a lot – doesn’t talk about his family a lot full stop, but she knows, even though he died when jon was still a toddler, the stories his grandmother told had a significant impact

“my parents didn’t name me after anyone,” jon says, quietly

georgie nods. she doesn’t say they’re not here now to offer an opinion, because that’s far harsher than jon deserves to hear, and it’s not like she ever needs to remind him of it either. he’s definitely already beating himself up for taking so long to come to this realisation there’s no one left around to tell him how they’d have reacted

“i think it suits you,” she says instead, and jon nods, and then she moves away to make a pot of tea and some pasta (it’s technically jon’s night to cook, but she was anticipating coming home to find him already hyperfocused beyond the point of no return)

a week later, jon looks up from the spreadsheet to where georgie is curled up on the sofa reading and says “ugh, fine, you win, you were right”

(georgie hadn’t pressed her point any further, jon is just like that)

“jon?” she asks, and he makes an exasperated noise and nods, then closes his laptop dramatically and stands. most of his spine pops when he stretches

“this calls for celebration” georgie says, also standing, “franco’s or monsoon?”

“franco’s. i’m going to eat a pizza the size of a car”

so then jon is actually going by jon, and using he/him, and isn’t dating georgie anymore but is still living with her and spending most of his time with her and factoring her into all his major decisions

he talks to harry, and other (binary) trans people, and reads a lot of blogs, and after a few months gets a referral to charing cross gic

by the time he starts at the magnus institute, he’s had top surgery and has been on T for years, and passes as cis completely, and he doesn’t know how to articulate it but this is. bothering him.

he’s not exactly… he likes being stealth, he doesn’t need to flaunt his personal life. he can understand the impulse, but he doesn’t share it. his feelings about gender and romance are no one’s business but his own

but. everyone assuming he was a girl itched – being miss simms, georgie’s girlfriend, she, it felt like wearing a coarse knitted jumper. it was exhausting

and, for a while, everyone assuming he was a man was a relief. it didn’t make his skin crawl, it didn’t make him want to scream, it was nice. it felt good.

it didn’t feel right. but it didn’t feel bad, either, and jon has never been gendered in a way that felt right. he thought that was just part of being trans

except. he moves to london, and he starts at the magnus institute, and he wears shirts and slacks, and the long skirts and patterned dresses some of his colleagues wear keep catching his eye the way men in three-piece suits used to, and that terrifies him

he was lucky, in a way, having no family left to care when he transitioned – if anyone reacted negatively, he could just cut them out of his life, and his social circle was already queer enough that was hardly necessary

but that doesn’t mean he escaped internalising a whole swathe of shit about what being trans should mean and how he should act and what he should want and if he wants to wear skirts then is he even a man? was he making it up all along after all?

naturally, he deals with this by ignoring it. he’s a man, men don’t wear skirts, he doesn’t wear skirts, that’s that.

he manages to keep that up until he’s made head archivist, and he’s given three assistants who are all also trans

(he doesn’t know if elias did it on purpose. elias knows he’s trans, of course, because he’s never bothered to get the name on his diploma changed, but the way elias reacted lead jon to assume elias may also be trans. and if that’s true, then selecting only trans people for the archives staff feels like a kindness more than anything)

and, the thing about them all being trans, is even if jon and martin are both rather fond of being stealth, and sasha and tim aren’t used to being out at work, and none of them are exactly friends, they’re the only people who ever come in the archives, so the archives very quickly becomes the Safe Trans Zone

they all vent a lot about cis people. sasha will walk in and the first words out her mouth will be “the next person to ask me if i’d had the surgery is getting their own surgery when i cut their tongues out”, and tim will make a commiserating noise and offer her the pack of donuts martin brought in

so when, on one of the rare afternoons when jon leaves his office to lean against tim’s desk and brainstorm organisational system ideas, martin walks back from the break room upstairs with a scowl and says, bitterly, as he sits back down, “oh so when cis guys wear nail polish it’s inspiring and breaking down gender roles but when i wear nail polish, jenny from HR gets to side eye me and ask if that means i changed my mind, because surely i’m the one who’ll do that and not all the men who didn’t have to do hours of therapy to establish they are definitely, one hundred percent for sure a guy!”

tim and sasha both make the standard commiseration noises, and sasha says something about the supervisor at her last job trying to say it wasn’t appropriate for her to wear trousers, and jon stops listening and runs away moves back to his office

he hadn’t noticed martin is wearing nail polish, is the thing. or, he had noticed it, but he hadn’t thought about it, and now he’s thinking about it. he’s thinking about it a lot

martin had– martin is a guy. martin is definitely a guy, if something of a feminine-leaning gay guy, the kind of feminine-leaning no one ever questions in cis guys, and it hadn’t occurred to jon to question martin, either, even though he’s trans, and. and.

he’s still circling round a revelation he can’t quite make himself have an hour or so later, when martin sticks his head round the door

“you, uh. you alright?” martin asks, incredibly tentatively. it says a lot, jon thinks, about how nice martin is, that he’s asking even though there’s a 90% chance jon will tell him to fuck off “you kind of disappeared abruptly, earlier. i didn’t upset you, did i?”

jon stares at him for a long moment, then says, “can i see your nail polish?”

“oh!” martin’s cheeks flush, just slightly, as he steps inside the office and lets the door shut behind him “uh, yeah, of course. it’s a little chipped, now, but, yeah”

martin’s nail polish is a light, pastel blue. it’s neat, and even, though his nails aren’t that long, and jon thinks he remembers martin saying something about mostly painting his nails to try and get himself to stop biting them. jon’s never really gone for nail polish, but it’s. nice.

“it’s, uh. it’s a good colour, on you,” he says awkwardly. martin flushes even more

“oh, um, thanks? did– are you alright?”

if jon was a different kind of person, this is where he’d open up to martin, and this would be the beginning of them becoming actual friends

jon is jon, though, so he just shoves all his emotions back in the box they escaped from, nods, and says “i didn’t sleep that well, is all. not really up to socialising”

(an aside about s1 jonmartin dynamic: jon is very good at shittalking martin when martin isn’t around, but in the face of martin’s genuine care and concern, he defaults back to a far more friendlier tone than he’s aiming for. he knows, on a level, that he and martin could be good friends if he ever got his shit together, but that is something else he’s currently repressing. he doesn’t need friends! he isn’t desperate for social contact at all! what’s loneliness!)

martin says “ah, okay, i’ll just– i’ll leave you alone, then”, and then jon makes himself focus on work, and then when he gets home he opens the group chat he’s still, thankfully, in with the trans people who got him through his first gender crisis and sends ‘help i don’t know if i’m a guy after all’

three people immediately send back a link to nonbinary.org

and that’s the rest of jon’s evening

he reads through every article. he reads several articles multiple times. he opens several new tabs, and gets a notepad to make a list of books, and eventually remembers to reply in the group chat

a week later, he bites the bullet and writes an email to georgie

nothing long, just, they still tell each other about big life events

and then, another couple weeks after that, when martin brings him tea, he says, “ah, martin, could i– do you have a moment?”

“of course,” martin says, and lets the door swing closed again, “what do you need?”

“i, ah. this isn’t very professional, so, you don’t– you are perfectly welcome to say no, of course, but i. um. would you– come clothes shopping with me?”

(ideally, jon would have asked georgie, but as much as he loves her (still), they haven’t talked properly in years, and she is cis. the best cis person he knows, but still a cis person. and he’d just, rather have a trans person, for emotional support, and no one in the group chat lives particularly nearby anymore) (or, well, some of them are, but when he asked they all told him to get over himself and ask one of his ‘lovely’ coworkers)

(why does he ask martin and not sasha?) (well, dear reader, he is nursing the beginnings of a crush) (not that he knows it. but that’s absolutely what’s happening here. martin is sweet and lovely and jon definitely finds him annoying and overbearing. yes. nothing else. no other emotions.) (his chest feels all weird when martin smiles because he doesn’t like him. that always happens around people he dislikes.)

“oh!” martin says, surprised. “uh, yes, of course, is– is there an event or something…?”

jon takes a moment to stare at the wall above martin’s head before he makes himself say, “i. am non-binary, and i need– different clothes.”

“oh, god, have we been–”

“no, no, this is a, a very recent development. he is still fine,” jon says, quickly, then pauses, then adds, more haltingly, “i think. i might, if – they, as well, maybe? just, to see”

“of course. d’you want me to tell tim and sasha?”

martin, jon thinks, is maybe not all that bad “yes, please”

“cool,” martin smiles, “i’m free this weekend? for shopping?”

“this saturday would be good, yes”

and then jon and martin go shopping! it’s probably not that successful of a shopping trip, because it takes jon like four shops before they admit what exactly it is they’re looking for, but they go to several charity shops and have fun trying to one-up each other with the most ridiculous/inexplicable item of clothing, and at the end of the day jon has three skirts (a knee-length black a-line skirt, a full-length black skirt, and a full-length black skirt patterned with red flowers), two necklaces, and a skater dress they probably can’t get away with wearing to work, but they really liked the way the skirt moved when they spun

other things that happen include lunch at a cafe where the staff definitely think they’re on a date and only martin notices and also martin is dying, both of them only managing to walk past a secondhand bookshop twice before they cave and go inside, and then emerge half an hour later both holding three books (two poetry anthologies and a sci fi novel; a psychology book and two history books), and martin somehow talking jon into trying on skinny jeans and then, again, leaving this mortal coil

jon doesn’t buy the skinny jeans, which is for the best really

the first time jon wears one of the skirts to work, sasha does a victory lap around the archives because “hell yes skirts are so much more comfortable, and now you swish! tim you should get a skirt. skirts for archives uniform”

and jon is still a prickly antisocial bastard but now he’s an outly nonbinary prickly antisocial bastard, and sometimes they walk into the archives at 2PM smelling of tobacco and holding a bottle of vodka, and then the archives staff all do shots and dramatic readings of the most ridiculous fake statements, because sometimes that’s how you cope with cis people, and that’s! valid!

[stahlop]

Must Love Dogs (5/5)

This is it! The final chapter. Thank you all that followed me along on my first ever fanfic! I definitely have many more ideas that I want to write down. Thanks again to @profdanglaisstuff for being my beta. I don't think I'd have such a great story without your guidance.

Chapters 1 2 3 4

Ao3

“Can you be in love with someone after one date?” Emma said as she sat on a barstool at the diner. 

Ruby’s mouth dropped. She reached over and felt Emma’s forehead. Emma scoffed and batted her hand away. 

 “Is Emma Swan, constant critic of love with walls 10 feet tall, telling me she’s in love?” Ruby said shocked.

All Emma could do was nod. 

“That must have been one hell of a date.” Ruby smiled wickedly, “I need details.”

“It was an amazing date.” Emma gushed, “And that’s all it was. We didn’t even kiss. It was just a magical night.” Emma couldn’t help but have a huge grin on her face and a twinkle in her green eyes. 

“What was a magical night?” Mary Margaret asked sliding onto the stool next to Emma.

“Emma here thinks she’s already in love,” Ruby repeated. Mary Margaret looked over at Emma sympathetically.

‘Oh, honey, I know that scares you, but that’s a good thing.” She said rubbing Emma’s arm. “I knew the moment I met David that he was the one.”

“Yeah, but you’re …you and I’m me,” Emma said, “only, I’m not even scared about it. It’s like, every wall I’ve ever had he scaled with a few emails and a night out. I’ve been holding on to all this ...stuff for years, convinced I was meant to be alone. Most of the guys I met online weren’t that much better than the skips I chase after. Like I was trying to prove to myself that there weren’t any good men out there. And Killian, he just ...he makes me believe that I can be loved ...that I’m allowed to be loved.” 

“Damn girl, you’re going to be giving Mary Margaret a run for her money with hope speeches like that.” Ruby said.

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said wiping away a tear from her eye, “ I always knew you would find love.” She grabbed a napkin off the counter to dab at her eyes. “So,” she said, once she regained her composure, “when are you seeing him again?”

“Tonight, actually.” Emma said blushing. “He invited me for a home-cooked dinner at his apartment with a friend of his and his friend’s girlfriend. And he wants me to bring Ditie over as well.”

Mary Margaret clapped her hands together. “That is so wonderful!” she gushed. 

Emma rolled her eyes and asked Ruby for a hot chocolate. It was wonderful. Everything was wonderful. And Emma Swan didn’t do wonderful. Yet, she wasn’t scared. That screaming in her head that told her this man was bad for her or that she needed to run wasn’t there with Killian. There wasn’t even a whisper. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man. He had a great personality on top of his good looks. She thought that even when they were older she would still be able to look at him and feel the same things she felt now. He seemed to be reliable and dependable, yet a little dangerous. All in all, he felt safe. 

“I wonder if this is what it feels like to be in love.” Emma thought, the warmth in her body having nothing to do with the hot chocolate Ruby had brought to her. “And would it be so bad if it was?” 

EKEKEK

They had agreed for Emma to come to Killian’s place at 8 o’clock. There was some sort of boating festival going on in the harbor and the website had said there would be fireworks. Killian had thought it might be fun to eat dinner and then watch the fireworks from his balcony.

Emma followed the directions on her GPS to the address Killian had given her. He had said it might be a little hard to find. Apparently, his apartment building didn’t have a name and was not much more than an old converted warehouse behind a huge cannery. 

Ditie was sitting securely in her cage in the backseat of Emma’s bug. If for some reason Ditie and Jolly didn’t get along, or the fireworks ended up scaring her, at least Ditie would have a safe place to go.. Emma didn’t know how she would fare with fireworks only having had her since August.

The sun was setting as she came upon the cannery. There weren’t many street lamps beyond the large building and it was thoroughly creepy. Emma was beginning to wonder if all her instincts had been completely off about Killian and he was leading her here to kill her and thrown her body in the harbor. But they had such an intense connection, she shrugged that off. Just because he lived someplace a little off the beaten path didn’t mean he was any different than how she initially saw him. It was just that fear creeping in and she was determined to keep it out of her date. She finally saw a small apartment building in shadows about three car lengths away with Killian leaning against the front door, one hand holding a leash with what must have been Jolly at the end. 

“He looks like James Dean.” Emma thought as she looked him over in his leather jacket and tight jeans.

He looked up from his phone that was in the other hand, and Emma could see a big smile on his face illuminated by the phone screen. Jolly struggled on her leash to see who was driving up. Killian directed her to a small parking area around the back of the building, which was even darker than it had been at the front, and waited for Emma to get out of the car at her own pace while he gave Jolly the command to sit.

Emma got out and let Ditie out of her cage, securing her leash to the harness before letting her out of the car completely. She grabbed her purse and the cage even though Ditie was attempting to make a break for it to see where they were and what that dog scent was.

“Hi.” Emma said as Ditie dragged her over to where Killian and Jolly were waiting. Ditie immediately went over to Jolly where they both sniffed at each other, checking each other out.

“Hello, love.” Killian replied, lifting an eyebrow and licking his lips in such a seductive manner it was making Emma want to melt right on the spot. Should she have such intense feelings already?  “Shall we go inside?” Killian had put his phone in his back pocket and now rested his free hand on the small of Emma’s back to guide her toward the apartment complex door.

Killian’s apartment was on the third floor and there was no elevator. Emma thought that taking the stairs was probably for the best, because she had no idea how Ditie and Jolly would react to being in such a confined space together. So far they seemed to be getting along, but Emma knew it could be a whole different story in Jolly’s home.

Killian insisted on carrying Ditie’s cage up the stairs. He set it down to open the door. Two people were already inside getting dinner ready. Emma could see the apartment was small, not much bigger than a studio, but with a modest bedroom. It had room for a couch, a few arm chairs, a television, a desk, and a small dinette set next to the tiny kitchenette where the two people were preparing food.

“Hello!” said the girl, a lovely brunette in a yellow t-shirt and jean shorts. “You must be Emma.” She reached over to shake Emma’s free hand. “I’m Belle, and this ruffian over here is Will.” The other man turned around to say hello as well before continuing with what he was doing in the kitchen.

“They insisted on cooking, even though I’m a brilliant cook myself.” Killian whispered into Emma’s ear. It gave her chills. She was pretty sure Killian noticed.  He grinned at her, “Can I take your jacket, love, or do you need to warm up a bit first?” He asked his voice barely more than a seductive whisper next to her ear. Oh yeah, he had definitely noticed. She gave him a look as if to wonder how he could tell he’d given her goosebumps when she was in a jacket and long sleeves. “You’re something of an open book.” He said. 

Emma quickly took off her red leather jacket to reveal the cream colored, long-sleeved shirt underneath. Along with her skinny jeans and black, knee high boots, Emma thought she looked pretty good. Killian was certainly looking at her like he’d like to devour her. He took her jacket and placed it next to his on the coat rack. Emma noticed he was wearing a dark blue button down shirt with a black brocade vest, along with his tight jeans.

“Welcome to my humble abode. I know it’s not much, but it’s home.” Killian said scratching the back of his neck. Will gave a laugh from the kitchen at the whole scene.

Emma reached down to take the leash off of Ditie. She and Jolly immediately started sniffing and frolicking around the small apartment.

“Best friends already.” Killian noted. 

Belle came over from the kitchen and handed them each a glass of white wine. “Will and I went to the fish market today. I hope you’re good with fish and shrimp tacos for dinner.” Emma nodded.

“How did you find this place?” Emma asked. “It’s not like you would have seen it from the street and decided to check it out. I almost thought you were going to murder me or something.” She said with a laugh.

“Ah, well, the complex is owned by the cannery, and they usually only rent out these apartments to people who work there. Will got them to rent me one when I needed it by promising them a discount on my graphic design work. I usually don’t freelance, but it’s a good location.” Killian chuckled. “Will and Belle live upstairs.” he clarified. 

Emma took a sip of wine as she took it all in. The apartment was small but it had many personal touches that she loved. A wall that featured pictures of Killian’s friends, and a man she assumed was his brother since they had the same eyes, were over his desk. He also had what looked like local artwork hanging up, mainly of boats and the ocean.

“Belle did those.” Killian said, coming up behind her, startling Emma a little. “She’s a librarian by trade, but she and I took a few art classes together at BU. That’s how we met. She occasionally has an art show here and there and I like to support my friends.” 

“They’re wonderful.” Emma said keeping her eyes on the paintings. If she turned toward him she would pull him into, what she hoped would be, a searing kiss, but they weren’t alone.

“You’re paintings are wonderful.” Emma said again turning toward Belle.

“Thanks!” Belle said.

“I keep asking her to paint me in the nude, but she seems to think no one but her would want to see that.” Will joked. Belle swatted his chest but giggled at the thought.

“And she’s right, you wanker.” Killian added.

Killian told her how he met Will at a British pub a few miles away that he and Belle frequented (even though Belle was Australian). “Will basically became my friend because he was enamored by Belle,” Killian teased, “but it all worked out because I ended up finding my apartment.”

“And I got the girl!” Will bellowed. Belle elbowed Will this time.

Emma and Killian went and took a seat on the couch, wine in hand. Both Jolly and Ditie came over and sat near their owners, waiting to be petted.

“I’m so glad they’re getting along.” Emma said indicating the dogs who were in heaven now that they were getting attention from their owners. “I was afraid that they might not like each other.” 

“Would that have made you not want to see me anymore?” Killian said with a slight pout. Emma laughed.

“No. I probably would’ve found some kind of dog whisperer to make them get along. It’s weird, in the past if they hadn’t gotten along, I probably would’ve taken that as a sign, but …” Emma trailed off as a blush rose on her cheeks.

“But …” Killian said taking a piece of stray hair and pushing it back behind her ear. He started to lean in towards her, eyes half closed. Emma started to lean towards him too and then --

“Dinner is served.” Belle said placing dishes on the dinner table. She looked over at Killian and Emma on the couch, realizing that she just interrupted their moment. “Sorry.” Belle cringed. This time Will nudged Belle for hindering the almost kiss. Killian let out a huff of frustration, as did Jolly who was upset that his owner had stopped paying him attention.

“I guess we should go eat.” Emma said. She noticed the tips of Killian’s ears were red, she figured her cheeks were probably the same.

He grabbed Emma’s hand and brought her over to the table. Will and Belle had made a fabulous spread. Besides the fish and shrimp tacos, there was a pepper and corn sauté, garlic bread, and what looked like mashed sweet potatoes with marshmallows and cinnamon on top. Killian pulled a chair out for Emma. After she took her seat, he sat down in the chair next to her Belle and Will sat across from them.

“It looks amazing.” Emma said as they started passing around the plates of food.

“Thank you, Emma.” Belle said. Will attempted to say thanks, but his mouth was already stuffed with the garlic bread.

Dinner was wonderful affair. Emma got to know Killian not only from what he told her, but also from his friends’ perspectives. From what Belle said, Killian had been overly serious at BU, having just come from the Royal Navy. He had been very rigid, rising with the sun, going to bed early, always making sure his notes were meticulous. 

“He’s relaxed quite a bit since then.” Belle said laughing, having just told a story where Killian had almost freaked out when she’d jokingly switched his note-taking pencils with his drafting pencils. Killian rolled his eyes.

“I liked structure and order in my life. My childhood was chaotic and I took to having structure like a duck to water.” Killian explained to Emma. “Obviously, I’ve become less informal since then.” He leaned back in his chair as if to show off just how laid-back he could be.

“I get it.” Emma began. “My first few apartments had only enough stuff in them so that I could move quickly if I needed to.  Everything had to fit in my car, and you’ve seen how small that is.” Killian arched an eyebrow.  “Just something I picked up from having to move every few months. It took me a year at my current apartment before I bought an actual bed frame and furniture. I literally only had a mattress, a small chest of drawers, and a few books and kitchen utensils. Ruby and Mary Margaret forced me to make it livable.” She gave a nervous chuckle and took a sip of wine. Killian took her other hand and kissed the back of it. An awkward pause followed.

“Shall we see if they’re readying the fireworks?” Killian asked, breaking the tension in the room from Emma’s confession. Everyone agreed. They got up, Killian insisting they leave their dishes and he’d take care of them later, and headed out to the balcony. They were greeted with dark purple clouds that looked full of rain and lightning flashing within it.

“I don’t think there will be any fireworks tonight, mate.” Will said clapping a hand on Killian’s shoulder and heading back inside. 

Killian and Emma stayed out on the balcony, heads lifted, looking at the stormy sky.

“I’ve always liked storms.” Emma said. Her voice sounded a few octaves lower. “They were always soothing to me in a new place. The booming of the thunder, the brightness of the lightning, and then the pitter-patter of the rain. And then when it was over, everything bad was washed away and I could start new again.” She continued to stare at the purple sky.

“Aye. I’ve always had an affinity for storms as well. The electricity, the heat and heaviness of the air.” Killian swallowed as Emma lowered her head and looked over at him. He was now staring back, his blue eyes practically gazing into her soul.

“Emma,” he said, brushing her cheek with his hand. Emma had enough of waiting. She knew what she wanted and that was Killian. She grabbed his shirt collar and brought his lips to hers. His lips were warm and he tasted of marshmallows and wine. He seemed almost taken aback at her assertiveness, but then kissed her back with the same vigor, hands looping in her hair. They kissed for what felt like hours until they had to come up for air.

“That was--” Killian said, their foreheads barely touching, their lips just centimeters apart.

“A great substitute for the lack of fireworks.” Emma said surging forward to capture his lips again. Killian laughed into the kiss.

“Aye, well, who needs fireworks when we’re making our own right here.” Killian said. Emma laughed at that. She was about to go in for another kiss when she heard the telltale whining of scared dogs.

“I think we have some dogs that don’t care for the storm as much as we do, love.” Killian sighed. 

They headed back inside to take care of their dogs. Emma couldn’t really be mad. After all, if it hadn’t been for those two dogs, she wouldn’t have met Killian. She may have never opened herself up to love. Who knew that adopting a dog named for the Goddess of Love would actually help her find her true love?

So a few of the real stories behind things that happened in this chapter. 

My husband lived in an artist community which was basically a bunch of not well built studios behind an art studio in an area of town where there were absolutely no street lamps. I legit thought I might have been completely wrong and I might get murdered. Luckily, I wasn't wrong and we had a wonderful dinner with another couple that lived in some of the other studios. 

Unfortunately, our dogs did not get along. They didn't get along for the first 5 years of our relationship. They didn't get along until we had our first child and then it became an us against the baby situation.

This date was on the 4th of July and we went up on the roof to see if we could see fireworks. We didn't, so we made our own with our first kiss.

I knew I was in love and going to marry my husband after our second date.

I actually did name my dog Aphrodite and I always referred to her as my Goddess of Love after my husband and I met.

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged when other chapters post.

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89

[bambamwolf87]

New Neighbors chapter 4

A/N: thanks for your patience!!! I already started chapter 5.

@lokiloveforever @hymnofthevalkyrie @jghillegass @lokilvrr @ghostlypenguinpost @miniwroetofreezymd @morticia4rgomez @daisycubbins @xlokisicequeenx @anchors-deep-in-the-sea @lykaonimagines @highfuncti0ningfangirl @give-me-tom-hiddleston @cat1212 @instantnoodlese @fandomnerd66 @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @littleblue-babyicicle @kpmarvel23 @fyeahlitaajpunk @dangertoozmanykids101 @jcalpha1 @amethyst-skeleton @moonfaery @goddessofmischief16 @saharaknight

Summary: Loki is living in the Avengers Tower. You have recently moved into it, as a hired employee by Pepper Potts. First person you met was Loki, the day you moved in.

Chapter 4

As the week dragged on, you just try to stick to a routine. Pepper informs you the group reached their destination the day after Loki left. You don't know why it should bother you so much. You're just an employee, but Pepper noticed more than she let on.

She always worried about Tony, so she recognized the look in your eyes. You only just met the famous Valkyrie, hadn't even learned her real name yet. But you had more interactions with Spiderman, a child! A brave and smart young man, to be honest. If you could have a little brother, you wish it would have been him. And Mr. Stark, he is just so easy to be around.

[[More]]

Thor looked worried sometimes… but when asked, he puffs up and puts on a macho man air… On the 4th day of their absence, you're sitting down for breakfast, your table has been joined by Ned and now Thor.

Ned asked the blonde, “So, umm, any clue what this mission is Mr. Thor?”

Thor chuckles at how the boy addressed him. “No, Loki didn't tell me. He just left me a note of his pending departure.”

This bit of news surprises you. He only left his brother a note. Yet, he told you in person the night before him heading out. It made that last interaction feel even more special. You decided to keep that tidbit to yourself.

“Thor, I'm surprised you would sit with me.”

This is said with a half smile, remembering the last conversation that you had with him, in how he thought you were inferior to him. He looked like a child who had been scolded. Looking sheepishly towards you.

“I realized that I might have been out of line during that exchange. I owe you an apology.”

Nodding at his words, “Apology accepted. I guess we all have people we miss gone for this secret mission… but aren't they always a secret until it's over and done with?” you end with a laugh, trying to brighten up the mood.

You get a buzz on your phone. It was an email from dusk_and_daggers… Loki! You forgot to save it in your contacts. Opening it:

~To the little Librarian:

We were successful! I'm learning more about cell phones and technology from the spider kid. Hanging out with Magnhild has been awe inspiring, the last Valkyrie. Watching Stark with the child is enduring. I got to observe a new side to him… he'll be a great father someday.

We shouldn't be but another day to clean up. See you for a new life lesson by Friday.

                           Your Dusk and Daggers ~

(A/N: Magnhild is pronounced: MAH-hilt)

You have a huge smile on your face as you've been reading the email. Ned was showing Thor something on his tablet, but you had giggled at Loki's signature. The sound drawing Thor’s attention.

“Laughing at me? What for?”

You shake your head from side to side.

“No, I was laughing at an email. The team will be back tomorrow sometime.”

Thor wanted to celebrate, he invited you to his quarters after dinner. Thor was gracious, as usual. Walking into his apartment, it was definitely his space. Lots of red and shades of gray or silver. Sitting on a full length red leather couch, Thor brings a couple of glasses, both full with fizzy drinks. Assuming that it was just soda pop, you take one without any hesitation. It tasted like grape flavor. Thor was rummaging through the DVDs he had amassed.

“What movie do you watch when excited and celebrating?”

“I have an idea, a movie marathon… one you've probably never seen before.”

You go to your room to grab a DVD box set. Returning, you put the first one in. It starts off with a small merchant telling the tale of Aladdin and the Arabian Nights. Thor shrugs and sits back to watch this animated film.

He is a great host, taking your glass to refill it a couple times per movie, asking questions here and there. You get to explain how Aladdin is an orphan. He says Iago reminds him of Loki, which isn't too far off. Especially in the second film. The last installment, makes him tear up a bit. Who says Gods can't be sensitive? He's just a gentle giant of a man. Thor laughed at some of the sass in the dialogue through the three films. His favorite thing was the friendships.

After the fourth drink, you're feeling a bit lighter, but chalk it up to having a good time. By the middle of the last movie, you're yawning. You dozed off before the end of it, your head resting on the arm of the couch. Thor gets a blanket, covering you, and turning everything off. Taking himself to his bed. One last fond look at you, he thinks he's glad to have made a new friend.

The next morning, you are awoken by a loud voice, your head was pounding. Opening your eyes hurt, as you looked for the source of the voice.

“Thor! Have you seen Y/N? She wasn't in answering her door or phone. She isn't with anyone else, either.”

Thor comes out from what Loki assumes was the shower, with a towel wrapped around his hips, another drying his hair, that was growing out to his shoulders. He whispers,

“She's on the couch, asleep! You're going to wake her.”

This takes Loki by surprise. Y/N asleep in Thor's apartment? His little librarian, with his brother? Shaking his head to shed that thought. She didn't belong to him.

You slowly sit up, holding your head. Both brothers turned to look at you, concerned with your current position. Loki got to you first, him kneeling on his knees beside the couch, to be level with you.

“What's wrong? Did the blonde brute hurt you?” You tried to laugh, but it hurt to make the movement and sound. A migraine from hell that came with an all over body ache.

“No, but I feel like I'm hungover. I can't understand why though. I only had grape sodas last night. Right, Thor?”

Thor half smiling, “Ummm, it was that flavor, but not soda. It was grape vodka and soda water. Natasha had taught me how to make it, it being one of my favorite Midgard drinks. I made it for our celebration!”

You rolled your eyes, as you laid back on the couch. You got drunk and didn't realize it. Having only been drunk a handful of times in your adult life, in the last 5 years, this was the worst hangover ever.

“Shit, I have a meeting with Pepper today! What time is it? I have to get myself together and look presentable.”

Loki hushes you, “Calm down, its only 8:30, you haven't slept the day away. Can you walk to your apartment?”

You sit up and swing your legs over to sit up properly. Standing upright, but this makes you dizzy. Losing your balance, you wobble and fall back into the cushions. You try again, until Loki shakes his head at you.

“Stop, I'll carry you over, if you would allow me to?” Blinking at his words, you slowly nod. You hated depending on anyone, independent to a fault. This could be an exception. Loki put an arm under your knees and the other behind your back, curling his hand above your waist. He lifts like you're as light as bag of potatoes. Wrapping your arms around his neck, laying down on his shoulder.

Walking through the hallway and using your keycard to unlock your door, Loki looks for your bedroom. Setting you down upon the made bed, he leaves to return with two pills and a glass of your iced tea.

“Here, this is what I seen others take for headaches. I don't know if you would let me try to heal you. I'm not sure if it would make any difference. Since you're not wounded, there's nothing to actually heal.”

You accept the offering of pills and drink them down. You try to smile up at him, but it's more of a tired grin.

“My meeting is at 1pm, so I'm going to rest until lunchtime. Hate to ask for help, but would you please make sure that I'm up by 11:30? So I can shower and eat before I go.”

Loki nods, kissing your forehead. He walks out to go visit Thor.

Loki scolds Thor, “She is a Midgardian, they can't consume their alcohol in the quantities we can. You oaf, she might get sick, how much did she have? Did you need to get her drunk to be with you?”

Thor looks confused and a bit hurt by the accusation. “She drank them, I didn't force her to. I didn't mention that they were alcoholic beverages, I thought she knew.”

Thor was getting dressed, putting on a t-shirt and tucking it into his jeans.

“She announced the good news of your mission, we wanted to celebrate. The child called Ned had a curfew, so it was just Y/N and myself. I misjudged her before. We're just friends, but I wouldn't turn her down if she wanted more. She is beautiful and has musical voice.”

The last couple sentences of Thor's made Loki clench his fists at his sides.

“I know, she's different from other women… I just can't believe you were that reckless with her well being.”

Thor did look guilty. “How can I help her or make it up to her. I didn't mean to cause her to be in such pain.”

“First off, tell mortals when their drink has alcohol or better yet, ask them if they want the alcohol first. Secondly, keep some Tylenol on hand for them, so to help ease the headache.”

Loki storms off out of Thor's apartment.

He has an almost two hours to kill while you rested. His idea to spend time with you was shot. He was angry, but more at himself than Thor. Of course she would like Thor, most women did. Gone for a few days and come back to her in Thor’s apartment. Was this jealousy?

End of chapter 4

A/N: hope you like it! My proofreader loved it.

[acoldfrenchfry]

I was ALMOST asleep just about drifting but was awoken by a memory at my public library when I was a youth. To the librarian who laughed at my email and said "good luck getting a job with ninjaliv as your email" WHO'S LAUGHING NOW I got a job with acoldfrenchfry as my email address

[elanorjane]

Picture of Beauty (Ch 3/?)

Summary: Fashion house Jefferson-Mills needs inspiration. Photographer Gold believes a librarian he photographed by accident has what it takes. Now it’s up to Gold to turn Belle into a model worthy of Paris Fashion Week. Based on the movie Funny Face.

AO3“I believe I found the answer to our problem.” Gold dropped the photographs on the desk in front of Regina, who shuffled through them. They were the prints of the photo shoot at the library and they were a vast improvement. The books gave the images, and the model, depth.

“You’re right, she looks smarter already.”

Gold shook his head, “Not her. Her,” he pointed to the librarian looking alarmed as she pretended to sell a book to the model, who posed disinterested and tired. In another, the girl was gazing down at the book in her hands with a whisper of a smile on her face. She looked romantic and beautiful and he’d buy anything she was selling, including dresses.   

Regina gaped at him, “The milkmaid? You’re joking.” She steepled her fingers over the photos, pushing them across the desk back to him.

Gold had expected the skepticism. He plucked the photo he’d taken of Miss French when the shutter of the camera had caught her by surprise. He remembered the moment when she had looked directly into his eyes, straight through the camera lens, her eyebrows perfectly arched and a little bit haughty. It had made a shiver run down his spine. “Regina, you’ve done aloof, emaciated, and charismatic. Let’s try character, spirit, and intelligence for a change.” He bent over the desk, placing the photograph directly in front of her.

She ignored the print, scrutinizing him instead. Her lips curled into a knowing smile, “This fashion house is not your own personal dating service.”

Gold shook his head in frustration, “Don’t be ridiculous. I am simply a peruser of beautiful things.”

“Is that what you call all that crap in your house?” she interjected.

He took a deep breath, “She is, objectively, a beautiful thing. She’ll photograph well,” he put bluntly.

Regina crossed her arms, still unconvinced, “Let me get this straight. You want me to pick a regular girl and build an entire collection around her?”

Before Gold could continue his reasoning, Jefferson strolled in, plucking an apple off the sideboard and chomping into it, “What’s up?”  

Regina sat back in her chair, “Gold wants to use that thing from the bookshop to sell clothes.”

Jefferson gasped, "Oh, she's a doll!” he exclaimed. “Literally, she's doll-sized."

Regina, sensing that Jefferson had discovered a bone and was preparing to run with it, held up a hand, "Don’t even ask, the thought of her makes me shudder."

Jefferson rushed at her, "I want to make doll-sized clothes for Gold's future wife, pretty pretty please!" He draped himself across the desk so she couldn’t ignore him. Gold opened his mouth to object to his description. “Wait!” Jefferson froze and the entire room went silent. “Wait, I got it!” he straightened. “The idea for the spring line.” Regina leaned forward, anticipating his next words.

Jefferson whirled to Gold, his long coat billowing, “You!”

Gold was perplexed, “Me?”

Jefferson danced around him, “You! The both of you! You and the librarian and your future children.”

Gold immediately bristled, “Now wait a min…”

“I’m going back to the homeland,” Jefferson announced. “Well, your homeland.”

“My homeland?”

“Shetland Island to be precise. I can see it now; artisanal crafts, woven rugs,” he looked to Regina, who was hanging onto his every word, “Celtic worsted wool plaid.” She clapped her hands.

“I’m from Glasgow,” Gold deadpanned. “Shetland Island is an entire ferry ride away.”

Jefferson snapped his fingers at Regina, “We’re going to need Shetland lace!” He lifted a sketch pad off the desk and started drawing.

Regina, thrilled to see Jefferson inspired and producing for her, sprung into action, shooting a series of emails off to Leroy in production. “We need the librarian’s measurements.” Regina was still doubtful about using the girl, but if it was going to get her the results she wanted, so be it. “Do we even know this bookworm’s name?”

“French,” Gold offered distractedly. “Her last name’s French.”

Regina gave him an eyebrow lift full of meaning and picked up the phone.

“There’s a large body of water between them,” Gold persisted. “The North Sea.”  

Jefferson turned back to a befuddled Gold, “Yes, darling, you can tell me all about it later. Now get out of my workroom,” he steered Gold out of the office, shutting the door behind him.  

“I need to you to get that girl from the library in here,” Regina spoke into the phone. “I don’t know, tell her we want to make a monetary contribution to her little pile of kindling.” She hung up, looking at Jefferson, “We’ll have to drug her to get her to Paris.”

“No,” he insisted, “true love will do it for us.”

_______________________________________

Belle double checked the address scribbled on the scrap paper and peeked up at the intimidating double doors before her. She’d received a message from those horrible fashion people who had wrecked her library. They wanted to make a donation for taking up so much of her time, but they requested they hand the check to her in-person. She had no desire to see any of those people, well, the majority of them, ever again. But a public library was in no position to turn down money, no matter who it came from, so she knocked.

“Come.” She hesitated at the abrupt demand but entered.

Belle literally stepped into another world. Everything was in black and white, including the lamps, pillars, and furniture. The walls were covered with harsh winter trees. To her right was a boardroom table that sat twelve.

“Belle!” She jumped at her name. The terrible woman who had banished her from her own library, Regina, approached. She took Belle’s hand in hers even though she hadn’t offered it, “It is Belle, isn’t it?”  She smiled, and Belle felt no warmth behind it.

“Yes,” she answered, stumbling a little as Regina scrutinized her. Whereas the woman had completely dismissed her in the library, now she was circling her, studying her with a shark-like focus.

Belle stiffened when Regina’s nails closed around her shoulder. “Straighten up, pull your shoulders back,” Regina ordered. “Posture is important. What are you, 5’2”?”

“Wha- yes.” She cleared her throat, “Storybrooke thanks you for your generosity, Ms. Mills.”

“My what? Oh,” she batted a hand, returning to her inspection. “Does that apron ever come off?” she took an experimental tug at the smock Belle wore to keep the book dust off her dress.

“Hey!” Belle gathered up her dress.

“The body’s good. You’ll do,” Regina pronounced. “You’ll have to,” she added to herself.

“Do for what?” she asked alarmed.

Just then, several of the workmen Belle recognized from the library burst into the room. A few of them held measuring tape and others clutched handfuls of cloth. They descended upon her without preamble. The fabric was thrust against her face and measuring tape was wound around her arms and neck.

“Lose the purple,” Regina commanded. “It washes her out.”  

“Hey, stop,” Belle jerked her arm out of someone’s grip. “I said stop!” her voice rang out above everyone’s murmuring. “This is my second and last encounter with you people. You keep your hands off me, all of you. I came here for a donation for the library. I do not need to be measured or primped, I’m fine the way I am! I’m leaving now and if anyone makes so much as a move to stop me, I’ll scream.”  

Belle broke away from the bodies circling her and sprinted out the doors and down the first hallway she saw. She heard Regina’s voice echoing behind her and one of the men hollering, “She went that way!” Belle broke into a light sweat as she hurried left. If she could just get away from these people, she’d never need to see them again. She heard work boots behind her. In front of her was an option of several identical doors. She picked one at random and threw the door open, slamming it behind her and collapsing against it.

“Didn’t you see the light on?” someone growled in the darkness.

Belle took in her surroundings. She was in a darkroom, the kind you developed pictures in. All the lights were off save for a few red light bulbs. She blinked, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dimness.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized immediately, “I’ll go.” She put her hand on the knob.

“Miss French?” a kinder tone asked. “What are you doing in here?” The photographer from the other day emerged from the edge of darkness. His jacket, vest, and tie were off and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.

Belle couldn’t help the relief that flooded her. Now filled with curiosity, she walked further into the room, “I didn’t know anyone still used rooms like this.”  

He smiled wryly, “I like developing the old-fashioned way. As long as it doesn’t hold up publishing, they let me do what I want.”

Work boots stopped outside the door. “You check the doors on the right,” one of the men called.

Belle looked at Gold with panicked doe eyes, “Please, don’t tell anyone I’m here,” she whispered.

“Who are you hiding from?” he mimicked her hiss.  

“Regina. She said she wanted to make a donation to the library…but I don’t think that’s why I was really brought here.”

Someone pounded on the door behind Belle, “Gold, you seen the library girl?”

She shook her head vigorously and Gold almost laughed at her comic desperation but kept it in check.

“No, go away, I’m working,” he called out in a growl that matched his earlier tone. The men retreated and Belle relaxed again.   

Gold returned to the trays of developer, picking up tongs and moving prints from fixer to the stop bath, “Well, you see that’s my fault. I thought you’d make a good model.”  

“A model?” she asked, confused. “But...I’m so short,” she finished weakly.

He smirked, “I wouldn’t take you to Paris if I didn’t think it would work.”

“Paris?” she perked up.

“Yes, for Jefferson’s show at Fashion Week.”  

“I couldn’t do that,” she answered automatically. She couldn’t leave the library, her father, her town.  

“It won’t be as bad as you think. Even if it is, you’ll be in Paris. You can drink all the Parisian coffee you want,” he teased.  

An image of sitting at an outdoor cafe once visited by Julia Child, the Eiffel Tower in the background, popped unbidden into Belle’s head. She’d been conjuring similar images her entire life. And when was she ever planning on living them out? “A means to an end,” she offered warily.  

“Or a means to a beginning,” he countered enticingly. He put the tongs down and faced her, “I’ll offer you a deal.”  

“A deal?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes, a deal. You agree to model for me, you get to go to Paris.” She bit her lip. “You did want to see the world after all,” he added as if it meant nothing to him. “You do a few photo shoots with me, walk the runway for Jefferson, and it’s done.”

He made it sound like making the leap from librarian to international jet-setting model was something she could do. It was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. Still, just last week she was hoping to get a postcard from Paris. Now she was offered the opportunity to write her own. She’d been safe and sound her whole life. Here was an opportunity to be brave and venture out into the world, which is what she’d been claiming she wanted. She could tolerate Regina and her people for a week. They’d see she was no model quickly enough and leave her to explore on her own.   

“Deal.”   

[babybluebanshee]

More stuff I’ve had to deal with as a city librarian

Kind of a part two to this post

- An old man in a wheelchair came in wanting to print something from his laptop. We don’t have wireless printing at my library, so I apologized and told him we couldn’t do that. He asked why we didn’t have a printer, I explained to him that we did, it just didn’t have wireless printing capabilities. He kept getting mad, asking why our printer wasn’t “hooked up”. I guess he didn’t understand what wireless printing was, and I don’t think he really cared enough to listen to my explanation. He ended up rolling out, screaming, “THAT’S WHY I HATE COMING TO THIS GODDAMN TOWN. IT’S FULL OF FUCKING IDIOTS.” 

- A teenage boy came up to the desk with an armload of books, wanting to check them out, but since he lived out of state, he wanted to know if he could mail them back to him when he finished them. He got mad when I told him no. 

- Six different books about eating disorders were returned through the book drop, all checked out to the same person. Hope everything is okay with her.

- We did a banned books week event where we take people’s pictures with a banned or challenged book in front of a green screen, then photoshop it to look like they’re getting a mugshot to post to Facebook. We had a lady who was absolutely baffled by the concept. She kept asking “why’s it green? Where’s the backdrop? You’re not just gonna post a picture of me standing in front of a green cloth, are you?” We had to explain it to her four times and she still didn’t seem to get it. 

- There’s a family that comes in that’s just the weirdest little assortment of people. The teenage daughter is homeschooled, and is the epitome of those “not like other girls” cringelords. She checks out grade school chapter books, and brags about how fast she can read them. She once told me she was getting into this really obscure singer called David Bowie, and asked if I’d ever heard of him. We have teen movie nights, and her dad mentioned maybe she could go, and she sneered and was like “but there’s gonna be other people there!” I don’t find it all that strange, considering what the mother is like. She told me during banned books one year that some books should be banned because they’re “filthy”. She calls our library director a hairy troll, and not in a fun kidding way. We still don’t know what he did to piss her off so much.  The most hilarious part is that the dad seems like a cool dude who just wants to reads Westerns and do genealogical research, all while being 110% done with everything relating to his wife and child.

- The sheer number of people who are terrified of the idea of giving us their information to make a library card. We don’t really ask for anymore info than is necessary to get ahold of people if we need to, but you’d think we were asking for people’s social and credit card numbers the way some react. We had one lady claim we were trying to steal her identity because we asked for her email address.

- A man came in asking if we had On the Road by Jack Kerouac, because he’d seen it on one of those “books to read before you die” lists. I looked it up by title and nothing came up. I told him as much, and before I could suggest looking it up by author, he started saying it was disgraceful that we didn’t have such an important book in our library. He left before I could say anything else. Later, I checked up Jack Kerouac and found that we did have On of the Road, in a collection. As someone who had to read that book in college, I think I helped that guy dodge a bullet.

- All our computers shut down fifteen minutes before the library closes. It keeps people from staying after closing. We can’t stop the process once it starts. There’s always at least one patron who gets super mad about that, and will ask if we can’t just...turn off the automatic process. One lady swore in my face when she learned that she couldn’t keep playing her online slots.

- I’ve helped more people print out texts and Facebook messages for stalking cases than I care to think about 

- I overheard a woman tell her fussy six-month old baby girl that “pretty girls don’t do that”. About threw up.

- We got to dress nice the week before Christmas, and one day I wore a dress that showed off my cleavage a little because I have big boobs and that fucking happens sometimes. Some woman told me that I should cover up more because she “has a teenage son” and he “doesn’t need to see that”. The teenage son wasn’t even with her. I wanted to tell her he’s probably seen his fair share of titties if he’s a teenager, but I want to keep my job or something. I had to go to the back to yell for a while. 

- A young woman and her boyfriend came in asking if we could scan something into a computer for her to edit. I said no, since we don’t have any kind of photo editing software on the computers. She then asked “Okay, but i need to scan my driver’s license. Can I?” That set off some alarm bells, but I told her it honestly didn’t matter what she needed to scan and edit, we didn’t have the software. After she left, I discovered my director had heard everything, and he told me people used to try that when he first started working there to get out of paying tickets for expired licenses. 

- A patron stole craft supplies from an event. We know exactly who it was and what they took, because they did it right in front of the librarian running the event. Two pairs of scissors and some twine. We have no clue why they did it, but they’ve been banned and we’ve started making craft kits to give out so we can account for everything.

- A woman sincerely suggested we burn a few books because they featured scantily clan women on the covers. You have to fill out a form when you want a book to be reconsidered for the collection, and that was her suggestion for what we do with the material, adding that we should “preserve the morality of this country”. I read over the form the day after it happened and I nearly collapsed in a laughing fit. It almost - ALMOST - made me less angry about it. 

[sp4c3-0ddity]

Ink on a Page, 3

an Inkheart AU (sort of)

Category:  Gen Word count:  ~5200 Chapters:  3/?

Summary:

Pidge has lived a normal - if unstable - life with her mother for the last fourteen of her sixteen years, but even the fantastical books she reads never could’ve prepared her for the wild twist it takes when an ‘old friend’ of her mother’s appears unannounced at their door.

Chapter Two Summary:

First days are hard

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Or read from the beginning

Or below the cut:

Chapter Three

On Tuesday morning, Pidge sat beside her mother outside the principal’s office at her new school, legs swinging impatiently while they waited for their appointment to enroll her.

It was a dingy public school in Virginia, not quite what she’d expected from D.C., between the damp moldy smell and the peeling lilac paint on the walls. In fact, Pidge couldn’t even tell what the school’s colors were, much less its mascot.

Finally, the office door shot open, bouncing against the wall with a slam, and a black-haired boy in a red leather jacket stormed out, posture stiff and a scowl on his face. He scanned the room, as if looking for something, but when he found it – or didn’t – his face smoothed. He hefted a black backpack and left, ignoring the receptionist’s call of “Keith!”

Pidge covered her mouth to muffle an involuntary giggle, but when Colleen shot a stern glance at her, she tried to relax her face into something more neutral and less amused. “Someone’s having a bad day,” she couldn’t resist quipping.

Colleen rolled her eyes but smiled grudgingly.

Another minute later, the principal – a Mr. Iverson – emerged from his office and approached them. “Mrs. Holt?” he asked, holding his hand out to Colleen.

She glanced at it and stood, and they shook hands. Pidge then followed them into the office, and Mr. Iverson closed the door behind them while they took seats in front of the desk.

“I’m sorry about the wait,” he said, settling behind his desk. “We had an unprecedented disciplinary issue.” His face flushed red, but he otherwise looked unaffected by this ‘issue’.

Pidge didn’t respond, despite her curiosity, but Colleen replied, “It’s nothing, Mr. Iverson. I’m just happy we can enroll Katie so quickly.”

“Of course,” Iverson said.

While he and her mother discussed forms and emergency contacts and vaccines, Pidge played with her watch. Her hands itched for something to do, to at least hold a book in her hands while she waited, but Colleen refused to get her a cell phone – something about not being able to afford one, which Pidge thought a silly excuse since everyone owned one in these ‘modern times’.

She wouldn’t even buy Pidge a prepaid phone like she had for herself; then again, there was no one Pidge would call or message if she did have a cell, and she at least had an email address.

Pidge slouched in her seat, feet tapping an impatient beat. There was just so much she could do during this time, like research universities, or read, or figure out what the hell Voltron was…

“…she has to do is see the registrar to set up her course schedule, and then she can start her day.”

“That’s great to hear, Mr. Iverson,” Colleen said brightly. She stood up, tapping Pidge’s shoulder to get her to follow.

Iverson showed them out of his office and to the registrar’s, leaving them again after telling them to ‘have a good day’. Pidge rolled her eyes and asked her mother, “Mom, how long did you tell him we’d be here?”

“Don’t be that way, Pidge,” Colleen said. “Just act like you always do, as if we’ll live here for the rest of your life.”

Pidge scowled. “I’ve never acted like that.”

Colleen sighed but didn’t retort; she was quick to hand Pidge off to the registrar though, claiming she had to go into work. She kissed Pidge’s cheek and said, “Have a good day, and I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah.” Pidge forced herself to smile for her mother, but it dropped the moment she was faced with the registrar, a middle-aged lady with graying brown hair and thick-framed black glasses. She looked over her transcript unsmilingly, and after a few minutes of silence – apart from the steady dripping of a water cooler in the hallway – a printer whirred to life and regurgitated Pidge’s schedule.

The registrar handed it to her. “Make sure everything is agreeable.”

Pidge scanned the paper, raising an eyebrow when she noticed she’d been enrolled in AP literature rather than AP language, like she’d been taking at her last school. But she said, “Looks good.”

“Then go to class,” said the registrar, attention leaving Pidge and returning to her computer.

“Thanks,” Pidge said. She picked her backpack up and left the office, and when the receptionist verified it was already second period, she meandered towards her history classroom, past plain and decorated lockers – her homeroom teacher would probably assign her one the following morning – and bathrooms and water fountains.

All public high schools were much the same, Pidge decided, and she should know since this was her fifth in less than three years.

As luck would have it, only her third period teacher – for her piano elective – had her stand in front of the class and introduce herself, at least by lunchtime. But rather than following her classmates to the cafeteria after class, she detoured to the library to check out her course textbooks.

“Good morning,” the librarian greeted her.

“Hi,” Pidge said. “I need my books for class.” She passed the librarian her schedule.

She read through it and said, “All right, wait here.” She left, leaving Pidge alone at the circulation desk.

The library, at least, was bigger than she’d dared to hope after seeing the state of the rest of the school, and she glanced around with interest. A worthwhile place to spend her lunches, even after today, and she grinned when she spotted a broad boy that looked like he was in her grade reading at a table.

The librarian returned with a stack of books under her arms, and she checked them out for Pidge one by one, including a copy of Frankenstein. Then, she pushed them towards her, along with Pidge’s temporary library card, and Pidge hefted them and moved off to an unoccupied table.

She flipped through Frankenstein, wondering at what part her AP lit class was, before setting it aside with the other textbooks and pulling The Monster in Miami from her backpack to read instead, hoping to at least reach the protagonist’s little brother’s funeral before the end of lunch period.

But someone else had other plans.

“Hey,” said an unfamiliar voice, and Pidge glanced up at the boy she’d spotted reading. He pointed at her book and said, “How do you like it so far?”

Pidge looked down at her book’s cover and said, “I like it enough to reread it.”

The boy chuckled. “It is pretty fun.” He showed her his book, and Pidge’s eyes widened when she recognized a well-loved paperback copy of the sequel. “You read this one yet?”

“Not yet,” Pidge admitted. “I just got a copy of it, but I wanted to reread this one first.”

To her surprise, the boy pulled back the chair across from her and joined her. “Hopefully you won’t be disappointed.”

“Are you?”

“Not yet, actually!” he said brightly, flipping rapidly through the book. “I’m on page fifty and no one’s died an awful, unnecessary death.”

“Yet,” Pidge said, flashing him a smile.

“Right,” he said. He set the book aside and offered his hand. “I’m Hunk.”

“Pidge,” she said, shaking his much larger hand.

“Are you new here?” the boy – Hunk – wondered.

“It’s my first day,” she told him.

“Oh, what grade are you in?” Hunk asked. “Ninth?”

Pidge wrinkled her nose, unsurprised he thought so. “Eleventh,” she said.

“Oh,” Hunk said, smiling at her apologetically. “I am too. Maybe we have some classes together?”

Pidge understood the implication and reached into her backpack to tug out her slightly wrinkled schedule. She passed it to him, and he smoothed the paper out and examined it.

“Hey, we have physics together fourth period,” he said cheerfully. Then he raised an eyebrow. “You have AP lit even though you’re not in twelfth grade?”

Pidge shrugged and said, “The registrar probably made a mistake, but I doubt I’ll be here long enough for it to make much difference.”

Hunk looked at her curiously. “You move around a lot?” When Pidge nodded, he laughed and said, “I’ve lived here my entire life. I don’t envy you though, since I like it here.”

Pidge smiled wryly. “Really?”

“Well, yeah! Don’t you?”

“I—”

The bell ringing the end of lunch interrupted her, and Pidge took her schedule back and stuffed it into her backpack. She collected her books and said to Hunk, “Guess I’m off to class.”

“Wait, we have the same next class,” Hunk said. “We can walk together.”

Pidge frowned, but reluctantly agreed; at least she wouldn’t get lost on the way.

Physics passed without incident, and without the teacher asking her to introduce herself to the class; all she did was assign Pidge an empty desk and tell her she was exempt from an exam the next day.

AP lit, however, proved to be a trial.

Not only did her teacher – what was a man with a doctorate doing teaching at a public high school anyway? – force her to stand at the front of the class to introduce herself, but he also quizzed her about the entire plot of Frankenstein…despite the latest assigned reading being up to only the third chapter.

Dr. Yurak sat behind his desk, looking quite comfortable there while Pidge sweated under the scrutiny of her classmates, all of whom were older than her thanks to her neglecting to tell the registrar that she didn’t belong in this class. “So how does the monster plan to die?” he asked.

Pidge suppressed a relieved smile; she’d read the book two summers ago for fun. “Setting himself on fire, after Victor dies.”

Dr. Yurak’s smirk faltered. “And does he succeed?”

Pidge rolled her eyes and said, “Who knows? He disappears on a raft, and Whalton never sees him again.”

He leaned towards her, tapping a fingernail against the surface of his desk, the clicking grating to Pidge’s ears. “And what do you think the theme of the book is?”

Pidge shrugged, but she said, “Isn’t it obvious? Victor developed a hypothesis and performed an experiment based on that, without considering the ethics of it.” She clasped her hands together, growing more comfortable in the surety of her explanation the longer she spoke. “He reanimated a bunch of stitched together body parts – that he went grave robbing for – and for all intents and purposes created life. And then he absolved himself of any responsibility for his experiment, completely disregarding its will, and was forced to pay the consequences of his own misguided attempt to create life.” She glanced sideways at Dr. Yurak and added, “So he played God, and his folly was pretending like he didn’t until the outcome stared him in the face.”

“And the theme…?” Dr. Yurak prompted.

“If you must conduct a scientific experiment, make sure you’re willing to see it through to the end; even without considering if the experiment itself is ethical, the scientist is responsible for observing and mitigating the consequences. I mean, even the inventor of the semi-automatic rifle regretted its role in American gun culture, so you can argue that he’s partially to blame for the frequency and ease of modern gun violence, even if tragedies like school shootings were never his intention.”

Pidge smiled, pleased with her answer, though her classmates only stared at her in silence. Her smile faded, and she said, “Uh, spoiler alert?”

“Sit down,” Dr. Yurak commanded briskly.

Pidge did, unsure why he dismissed her so quickly – and why he’d sought to quiz her in the first place. He stood up to start teaching, but before he spoke a word, a boy with blond hair glanced her way and met her eyes.

“Nerd,” he said, just audibly enough for everyone – including the teacher – to hear.

Pidge heard the insult in his tone, and when Dr. Yurak paid the boy no mind – when he began teaching – her heart sunk into her stomach, a lump forming in her throat. It was silly, feeling like this, rejected after a teacher humiliated her in front of her new classmates on her first day at this school, and yet…

Pidge made sure her tears stayed unshed.

[siren-dragon]

Overdue (Ardyn Izunia x Reader) Ch.1

Hey everyone, guess who started a new fanfic! ^_^

This one is based on @artistic-fangirl-shenanigans lovely fan art of a librarian Ardyn, so this will be a Modern!AU story. Big shout out to @ardynium for the title and proof-reading. Anyway, let’s get this started!

Hey, where are you guys?

Stuck in traffic, sorry -_-. We’ll be there soon.

You groaned aloud in annoyance as you read the text Aranea had just sent, knowing that traffic in Insomnia was an absolute nightmare. And while you did appreciate Ignis and Aranea picking you up for the concert, perhaps it would have been best to have taken the train. Add to the fact that you now had to pee, and your day was getting more worse by the minute.

You glanced at the portable toilet several feet from your left, shuddering at the brief thought before stomping off in the opposite direction. There had to be at least one clean public restroom nearby, the question was where…

After an extremely focused walk of about ten minutes, in which you almost barreled over a cyclist, you found a relatively small building nestled amongst the currently out of season cherry blossom trees of Lux Park. You read the nearby sign and nearly cried in relief at the words Central Insomnia Public Library. Rushing up the staircase, this time careful to avoid any other people, you hurried inside and straight to the bathroom. After finishing your business, you calmly walked out of the restroom and froze, brow furrowing in confusion as you finally noticed the sight before you.

The library you were in was, in one word; old. Not in a classic Victorian or Gothic style that would remind a person of Beauty and the Beast, but old in the sense that the classic 70’s style died out years ago for a reason. The lobby you stood in consisted of the librarian’s desk and another desk beside it hosting a Catalog Computer; the very appearance of such an old model making you cringe slightly. Several chairs laid sprinkled around the room with metal bookshelves lining the walls, holding what appeared to be new books and books currently on hold, before the lobby opened up into its main room. You wrinkled your nose slightly at the scent of old parchment, plastic, and air freshener; the aroma almost making you believe you’ve traveled back in time.

‘Maybe I should go….’ You thought nervously before turning right into what felt like a wall.

“Ooof!” you exclaimed, falling back on your ass, the sound of paper fluttering in the air briefly before a loud THUMP followed suit, echoing across the lobby.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry, I did not see you-“

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” You said, moving to pick up the fallen books, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Lost in Wonderland, we’re you?” the distinctly male voice said, amusement evident in their voice.

“Yeah…I guess you could say that.” You replied, confused at the man’s words as you grabbed the last fallen book, “here you go, I hope they aren’t-“

You paused mid-sentence and stared at the individual before you with a look of dumb infatuation, much like the time when you introduced Prompto to your friend Cindy. The man before you was tall, at least 6 feet, dressed in a fashion that reminded you of an old high school English teacher. Collared dress shirt with a grey, cable-knit sweater vest over a pair of faded dark green pinstriped trousers and a red-orange scarf wrapped around his neck; completing the odd ensemble. And despite the out-of-date fashion he was currently sporting, your eyes remained locked onto the man’s face. Wild magenta hair, tossed messily into a man-bun framed strong features, with a hint of stubble scattered across his jaw. Amber eyes looked down at you through thick spectacles, giving you an expression of curiosity as your heart beat began to skyrocket.

“Thank you kindly, my dear.” The man spoke, taking the books from your hands.

“I trust you are not injured?”

“No, not at all! I should have watched where I was going, I’m sorry.” You apologized loudly, causing a few people to glare at you.

The man chuckled, the sound as smooth as melted chocolate. “I am glad, an accident would have certainly spoiled both our days.”

You smiled, “it’s no problem I was just-” You paused momentarily, thinking of an excuse that would be better than ‘I had to pee really badly and this library had the closest clean restroom.’ You bit your lip slightly, glancing at the bookshelf beside you before an idea appeared. “ ….going to borrow a book is all.” Reaching out to the shelf, you snatched the closest book you could find. “Here it is, finally found it.”

The man glanced down at the book you choose, an amused smirk coming across his lips. “You wish to check out a dictionary?”

You looked down at the book you were holding to find that it was indeed, a dictionary. A crimson blush spread across your cheeks before you gave the attractive stranger a innocent grin. “Of course, you can never know too many words….”

It was an obvious lie, but the handsome man simply smiled, a look that appeared more devious than friendly. “Then allow me to assist you,” he replied, gesturing to the Check Out desk.

You looked to the desk before switching your gaze back to the stranger with wine colored hair. “You work here?”

He pulled up an ID badge that was pinned to his trousers’ pocket. “Head Librarian, at your humble service.”

You looked at the simple picture of him, those overly-large glasses still perched on his nose, before your eyes drifted to the name listed. Ardyn…Izunia, what a strange name.

“Now then,” Ardyn spoke, puling you away from your thoughts. “If you will kindly follow me…”

You followed him to the front desk, with Ardyn walking around it to the computer, briefly allowing you a lovely view of his backside and making you curious as to what lay hidden underneath all those layers….You blinked in surprise, mentally slapping yourself for such thoughts about a complete stranger, no matter how ridiculously attractive said stranger was.

“Alright, now all I require is your library card.”

“Erm….I’m afraid I don’t…have one.” You mumbled, your face flushing in embarrassment.

Ardyn laughed, “not to worry, my dear. Such problems are easily remedied.” He typed onto the keyboard for a few minutes before turning to face you once more. “I will need your name, home address, and email address please.”

You rattled off the requested information, with Ardyn typing it into the system. He glanced back at you briefly afterward, smiling, “(f/n), is it?....beautiful name.”

“Thank you….” You replied, feeling oddly hot.

“And here is your book, due back in 2 weeks. Should the book become overdue, you will receive a warning notice via email before being charged any fines. This pamphlet here has all the necessary information for you.” Ardyn spoke, placing said pamphlet in your hands, “Do have a lovely day, and try to avoid any other pedestrians.” He teased, a playful smirk spread across his face.

You laughed sheepishly, “will do. And thank you for the help.”

He waved farewell to you as you left before disappearing behind a pair of shelves. You watched him leave before walking out into the sun-drenched park, holding your newly borrowed dictionary limply in your hands as you processed what just happened. Looking back at the building you felt your heart jump at the thought of the magenta haired librarian and the mischievous smirk he tossed your way.

“Oh fuc-“

There we have it, the first chapter! Let me know what you guys think and I’ll be starting on chapter 2 as quickly as possible. Also be sure to check out @artistic-fangirl-shenanigans art so that you can all see what Ardyn looks like.

Take care guys!