#I know that it’s unreasonable to give someone a list of house rules by room but generally o doubt it would matter because my mother in law

[foldingfittedsheets]

Every time we open our home to loved ones I remember that I’m very autistic and all my little routines and habits and environments get disrupted and I get more and more agitated and have to consistently remind myself louder and louder that I love them and that my suffering is temporary.

[xexiar]

Nothing like looking at a grocery list and automatically thinking “this is a ridiculously amount of shit”

Then you question if it’s depressed brain or trauma brain telling you that majority of the list is not needing.

Like you don’t need that stuff. You don’t need anything past what you typically eat… when you do eat. You don’t have to get something to trigger you to be able to eat.

Just get the bare nothing that on a daily gives you the sudden urge to vomit, but it’s also the only thing you can stomach to survive. Not like anyone is going to notice when you go days living on pure will.

All they’ll see is the brief moment that you were in the kitchen. The brief moment that you managed to make a decent plate. But nobody will see when you have to forced the food in your system because you will die.

Nobody is going to know. Nobody ever cared for almost 30 years. When someone did point out your eating habits they call you fat when you’re dealing with starvation symptoms. Yet they’ll never notice the weeks at time where you barely ate enough to function

Being constantly told you have the perfect life because you have food in your kitchen, a roof over your head, parents are together, live in a nice house, go to school and have so many luxuries.

But they scream and shame you for even having an emotion that isn’t what they want. Constantly telling you that you don’t know pain because you live the perfect life. How everyone takes care of your needs.

What needs? Stepping out of your room is the equivalent of trespassing into someone else’s home. Even when you been told that is your house too. It never feels that way.

The kitchen, the bathroom, even living room and dining room are off limit areas. The only place that comes close to safe place that you’re allowed to exist is the four walls they dubbed “your room”. But not even that feels comforting.

“Your room” is just a box they allow you to take up space in. A space they can invade whenever they so wish. A space they can deemed unreasonable and will throw away your things for the sake of “cleaning”

Then when you’re forced out of this allowed space, you’re left exposed. There is even more evidence that there is no room for you. Constantly having your belongings no longer being yours whenever they wish to claim it.

Not being able to say no. Having no power when they decide to make room for everyone else it’s your belongings that must go. Even the threats of being kicked out are still lingering. They done it before, many times already.

They then decide that you must live with someone else to deal with their responsibilities. You’re once again promised a four wall cage all to yourself. But it still never belongs to you.

You’re still constantly reminded you don’t belong. Even when this “family” chose to take you in. They chose to have you and they still deem you a burden.

You are broken and not sure of yourself. Many times in 30 years you have attempted to lessen the burden of your existence. Somehow you’re left baffled you lived past 5 years of age.

So you finally break, in a surprisingly positive way. You finally break a rule. You ran away. Sure, you’re now technically homeless and hanging by a thread.

But the only thing keeping you from stepping over that deadly edge is that you finally found a place that understands. You’re finally in a place where speaking to a therapist doesn’t end with a family member using the knowledge against you.

To finally having a professional see you and not the hands around your neck. The damage of “home” is still ever so present. The words “love” “family” and “home” are meaningless to you.

But eventually you’ll find their meaning… since you’re finally healing

…

…

…

WTF! I just wanted to talk about the weird feeling I have about seeing my grocery list. Either way, this is half the reason I like Katsuki as a character.

[writemyaceattorneys]

hi! ohh could i request for some yandere miles headcanons

Of course you can anon! One set of Yandere Miles Headcanons coming right up for you! I hope that you enjoy them, I know I sure will and I’m the one writing them! 🤣🤣🤣🤣. Also feel free to ID yourself and give your preferred pronouns if you want to and I’ll add you to my anon list :)

I do apologise that these are a bit all over the place, I really just talk about things as and when they come to mind so I hope that these aren’t too confusing.

Spoilers: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Trilogy, ‘The Dark Age of the Law’

TW: Obsessive and Possessive Behaviours, Controlling Behaviours, Abuse of Power

♟Miles Edgeworth♟

♟ Just like what I said in my normal Miles Edgeworth headcanons, Miles Edgeworth is absolutely inexperienced when it comes to romance and would probably find it very hard to deal with these sudden and very intense feelings that are caused by being around S/O for long periods of time.

♟ It would be very much within Miles’ nature to try and avoid S/O as much as he can, keeping them at arm’s length in order to try and limit these feelings so that they do not further develop. He already feels deeply ashamed of himself for feeling so intensely about one person and after spending the entirety of his adolescence and a good amount of his adult life wanting to impress his mentor, he isn’t the best equipped to try and work on these feelings.

♟ His feelings would probably be made more intense if S/O refuses to take his distance as a hint that he wants to stay away from them. S/O might see their persistence as necessary to get Miles to open up to new people, but these good intentions will only cause him to fall more and more in love with them over a period of several months,

♟ Miles is definitely the type of person to try and interfere in his S/O’s life as unobtrusively as possible. It wouldn’t be his intention to completely smother S/O, although he would see it as his duty to make sure that they are looked after and protected from any form of threat. If S/O was in a position where they were financially insecure, he’d send them money anonymously and offer them a job at the Prosecutor’s office to stay afloat.

♟ As S/O becomes a lot closer to him, he might start pushing the boundaries a bit in terms of his involvement in their personal life. Performing his own background checks on their friends and family and secretly interfering in their romantic pursuits if their choice in partners doesn’t meet his very high standards. S/O wouldn’t be surprised to see an order for them to work some overtime on the night that they are going on a date.

♟ If S/O were to ever confront Miles about his strange behaviours and actions in the last few months, he’d be quick to shut them down. It’s his job to argue his point in court and he’d be very quick to dismiss their ‘evidence’ of his meddling as ridiculous. He would rationalise his actions as necessary in keeping those that are considered close to him safe.

♕ “There are people out there who are looking for any excuse to get to me by using those that I closely associate with, I am only looking to keep those people away from you.”

♟ Miles would only ever kidnap S/O as the last resort. He knows that he would be causing more damage than anything by forcing S/O to stay trapped within his home. He would be more likely to kidnap his S/O during the Dark Age of the Law, as he would be in the front seats as California’s Legal system seemed to break down before his own eyes and that’s only because he wouldn’t want anything to happen to them, lest some corrupt defence attorney or prosecutor get involved with their case.

♟ If anyone were to actually threaten S/O or someone made an attempt on their life, Miles would absolutely strike down on them with the full force of the law. His desire to get a guilty verdict above anything else would absolutely make a return. He would use every weapon in his arsenal to ensure that the person who tried to put his S/O at risk would be sent down for a very long time.

♟ Once the criminal got the guilty verdict that they deserved, he’d do something very uncharacteristic of himself and swoop S/O into a tight hold. His fear of losing them for good disperses slightly as he feels them wrapped in his arms.

♟ If Miles did end up kidnapping S/O, he’d be fully aware that they’d probably be less than agreeable at first, thankfully he’s a very tough nut to crack so S/O hurling insults at him probably wouldn’t get them very far, or at least, he wouldn’t show S/O if their words were affecting him.

♕ “You are acting irrationally, my dear. I’m doing this for your own safety and I understand that it’ll take you a while to realise this but please don’t think that I am doing this out of any kind of spite.”

♟ Of course, Miles would be very hurt if S/O never truly accepted his love for them, it would only go to prove that his mentor had been right about the fact that love was a weakness. He would do everything within his power to try and gain their favour over time to avoid this happening, he’d try to provide S/O with as much normality as he can.

♕ Walking out in his garden with the dog would be a big thing for him, he doesn’t want S/O to go stir crazy by just staying inside all of the time, plus the exercise is beneficial.

♟ In terms of punishments, he would never lay a hand on S/O. People who love each other don’t do that and despite Miles’ lack of love experience he at least knows that much. He’d probably be delusional enough to think that S/O was acting unreasonably and would just keep them in their room until they had calmed down enough to have a proper conversation.

♟ If S/O came to eventually accept and reciprocate Miles’ feelings, he’d absolutely be over the moon! S/O would still be the one to initiate a lot of the more outward displays of affection, however, Miles would be a lot quicker to reciprocate and initiate his own affections onto S/O, so expect him to pull S/O into his arms after a long day of work just to feel their presence by him.

♟ Once he sees that S/O is happy with him and willing to stay, he would definitely slack on some of his rules about them leaving the house. He would absolutely still monitor their every move but as long as they don’t try to escape, he would allow them to readjust back into society and start going out more.

[scripts4dreamers]

When you know

AN: There’s nothing like getting drunk and singing karaoke to bring two people together. 

Characters: Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia

Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

Prompt: “Hey ! Can you do a spencer imagine about him bringing his crush to the bar with the team and they have a drunk karaoke night and he confesses his feelings for her ? 🥺”

------------------

By the time the phone finally rang, it was nearly 8pm and you’d drifted off into a restless sleep on the couch in your living room. The sound woke you up and you groaned at your empty apartment, fumbling around until you felt the cool metal against your skin.

“Mmhmm?” You hummed, still half asleep.

“Y/N?” Spencer said.

Your heart jumped at the sound of your friend’s voice. You’d been waiting for him to call all day but, when you glanced at the clock and saw how late it was, you decided that you couldn’t let him know that.

“Go away.”

Even through the phone you could hear Spencer shift his weight from one foot to the other, “Y/N/N I’m sorry-“

“No, stop it, I’m still mad at you,” you interrupted without any real malice, “you promised me dinner, Spencer Reid. It’s 8pm.”

“I had a case,” he laughed, “what did you expect me to do? Rush home before we were done?”

“No, that would be unreasonable,” you answered, rolling onto your back, “I expected you to do your job faster so that I wouldn’t have to spend hours wasting away in my apartment.”

“Wasting away?”

“Wasting away!” You repeated, “you should see me, Spence, I’m positively faint from hunger.”

He chuckled through the phone and you could hear the exhaustion in his voice slipping away. The thought made you smile. If there was anything you prided yourself on, it was your ability to make Spencer Reid smile. He may have been a genius, but you were funny so, if you think about it, who was the real winner?

“I’m serious!” You insisted, “I should take you to court, mister. I’ll have you know it’s illegal to keep a girl waiting like this on a Friday night.”

“I think your definition of illegal could probably use some brushing up,” Spencer teased, “and by the way? It’s doctor.”

“Oooooh I’m sorry,” you smiled, “Doctor.”

Spencer laughed again, and you felt a familiar tingle rush through your stomach. You’d known Spencer for quite some time now but, no matter how often you talked, there was something about his voice that always made you weak at the knees.

You’d met at a coffee shop near your house when he’d tripped over your bag and nearly turned your crisp white work shirt into a soggy, caffeinated mess. As it happened, the coffee had narrowly missed you, and you’d insisted on buying him a new one, forcing him to sit down and relax. You’d ended up talking for nearly an hour and, when you arrived the next day, Spencer was already there, with your coffee order in hand. After that, well, you’d been inseparable.

Spencer hummed, “How about I make it up to you? My friends and I are going out tonight, do you wanna come?”

You sat up, “Friends? What friends? Your crime fighting pals?”

You could practically hear him roll his eyes fondly, “You know we’re not technically crime fighters, we’re closer to detectives in the classic sense.”

“Okay, fine, your detective buddies. Either way I’m so there. Where should I meet you?” You replied.

As Spencer listed off the address you rushed to your room, searching the closet for something suitable to wear. You’d never met Spencer’s friends before and you knew you wanted to make a good impression.

—————————

When Spencer hung up, he was somewhere between nervous and excited. It had been too long since he’d seen you face-to-face and the idea of you being right there in front of him in less than twenty minutes was nearly intoxicating.

“She’s coming?” Morgan asked.

“He looks way too happy for her to have said no,” Prentiss smiled.

“Ooooo we get to meet her?” Garcia asked, clapping her hands with excitement.

“It’s about time,” Morgan agreed.

Spencer blushed, “You guys promised you’d be nice.”

“What? I’m nice!” Prentiss argued.

“Yeah, Reid, you've got nothing to worry about. We’ll all be on our best behavior around Lover Girl, I promise,” Morgan said, crossing his heart.

“Derek,” Garcia chided, slapping his arm softly, “her name is, Y/N and she’s about to become my new best friend.”

Spencer smiled as Morgan and Prentiss jumped in, each arguing as to why you were more likely to be their best friend. It comforted his nerves, knowing how much his friends already cared about you. It made sense, after all they’d been listening to him talk about you for months now. In fact, it was Garcia’s idea for him to go back to that coffee shop in the first place. He’d never been more nervous than he was that day, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and hoping you didn’t think he was an absolute creep for getting the order right.

Luckily, you hadn’t, and that had been the start of the most agonizing few months of his life. They were incredible, of course, because you were incredible, but he’d also never felt more out of his depth. He’d had crushes before but with you things felt different, more urgent somehow, like the clock was ticking his time with you away. Maybe it was because he knew he wasn’t right for you, that he worked too much and kept you waiting and never had enough time, and he was just waiting for you to get fed up with waiting on him. Maybe it was because you were so wonderful that it didn’t make sense for someone to not be crazy about you, someone who could give you everything you deserved, someone who definitely wasn’t Spencer. Either way, every moment he had with you was precious, which is why he’d waited so long to introduce you to the BAU. He may have been an adult but, in his heart, Spencer Reid was still an only child and he’d never been good at sharing.

His phone beeped.

Hey! I’m outside...come say hi?

“Shhh!” Spencer said, his heart jumping into his throat as he waved his arms around to silence his friends, “everyone shut up! She’s here.”

Garcia squealed, “Really?”

“Be cool, babygirl,” Morgan smiled, “what are you waiting for, Lover Boy? Go get her!”

Spencer fought down a smile, “Okay, let’s go over the rules: no talking about work, no making her feel weird, no mentioning me talking about her, no inviting her to join the FBI for no reason and no embarrassing stories. Got it?”

“You’ve got it,” Prentiss promised, “like Morgan said, best behavior.”

Garcia looked like she was about to explode with excitement, but she nodded anyway and Morgan wrapped an arm around her shoulder comfortingly, giving Spencer a wink as he did.

“Deep breaths, kid,” he said softly, “it’s gonna be fine.”

Spencer nodded and pushed himself up out of the booth, shooting his friends a double thumbs up as he half walked, half jogged his way to the front of the bar.

When he saw you he froze for a second, his heart literally stuttering in his chest as he took you in. You were beautiful, the small part of his brain that was still functioning supplied, so beautiful that it actually hurt to look at you. He thought he’d be used to the way you made him feel by now but, whether it was the distance or some other magic unique to you, every single time still hit him like a ton of bricks and he was suddenly twelve years old again.

Just then you spotted him, and your face lit up with happiness, shocking Spencer back into action. You rushed over and pulled him close, letting him bury his face in your hair, breathe in your soft, fruity smell and relish in the sudden rush of comfort he felt being in your arms again.

“Spencer!” You cheered as you broke apart, holding onto his forearms and looking him up and down, “Oh my goodness, look at you! You look so nice.”

“Look at me? Look at you!” He responded, trying not to let on how hard he’d tried putting his outfit together, “Not bad for someone on the very brink of starvation.”

“Ah, you flatter me,” you joked, letting him go and adjusting your purse strap.

Spencer noticed the way you were shifting on your feet and fiddling with the hem of your jacket and he felt his heart pinch.

“Hey,” he said, “are you nervous?”

You laughed breathlessly, “That obvious, huh?” You smiled and shrugged, “I don’t know, I just want to make a good impression. This is your family, I want them to like me.”

Spencer bumped your shoulder with his, a rush of happiness bubbling up in his chest at the way you said family. He’d never told you that about the BAU, you’d just known. Just like you’d known a million little things about him that he’d never thought anyone would ever know. Just like you’d known on that first day that he needed someone to talk to. You just knew, and wasn’t that it’s own sort of genius?

“They’re gonna love you,” he assured, injecting sincerity into every word, “trust me.”

You nodded and took a deep breath in, steeling yourself against your nerves and forcing on a smile, “okay. I’m ready.”

And with that, Spencer walked you in. As soon as you stepped into the bar he felt your muscles tense. It was a small bar, cosy and warm, with a stage and a microphone set up for karaoke.

“It’s a karaoke bar?” You hissed, “You didn’t tell me it was a karaoke bar!”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” Spencer shrugged, “here we are.”

“Y/N!” Garcia greeted, jumping up, “Hi! I mean, hello! I’m Garci-Penelope! I’m Penelope!”

Spencer smiled as he felt your muscles relax and Garcia pulled you into a hug. You laughed, but responded just as enthusiastically.

“Hi! I-uh-I guess you all know my name then,” you grinned.

“Oh shoot,” Garcia said, “sorry, I broke a rule.”

Spencer shot her a panicked look, flushing bright red as you raised your eyebrows at him.

“Don’t mind Garcia,” Prentiss cut in, rescuing Spencer from having to explain, “we're all just really glad to meet you. I’m Emily.”

She reached out to shake your hand and, with that, you took a seat next to Spencer and normal conversation resumed. Morgan and Garcia launched back into their banter while Emily asked questions about your job and when you’d moved to the city. It was easy and normal and...so, so strange.

Spencer was almost painfully aware of how close you were; your leg brushing his under the table, your shoulder nudging his with every little movement you made. He tried to stay focused on what was going on at the table, tried to follow the conversation and add value, but he couldn’t keep the stories straight. Time didn’t make sense anymore. Spencer was completely lost in the unbelievable happiness of having all the people he cared about in one place.

At some point during the night, an immeasurable amount of time later, Morgan bought drinks. That was a mistake. It was a mistake because now you were tipsy and your head was on his shoulder and Spencer thought his head might actually explode with the effort of not blurting out how much he liked you right then and there. You were laughing at something Emily had said, just chuckling like it was the most natural thing in the world and Spencer felt his heart literally swell.

“We should sing!” Garcia said suddenly.

You gasped, slapping Spencer’s thigh with excitement, your whole face lighting up like it was christmas.

“Yes! Yes yes yes! We should sing!” You agreed, “Don’t you think, Spence?? Don’t you think we should sing?”

Spencer laughed and shook his head, “No! No, I don’t sing. Trust me, you don’t want to hear that.”

“Pleeeeaaaaase?” You whined, turning to face him fully and fluttering your eyelashes, “please, Spence?”

Damn those eyes, he thought to himself, feeling his skin flush under the weight of your stare. Maybe this would be easier if he was drunk. He couldn’t say no to you at the best of times but, when you’re pouting at him like that, with full puppy dog eyes? Oh yeah, he was beyond putty in your hands. Spencer could practically taste Morgan’s smug look.

He rolled his eyes fondly, giving in to the inevitable, “What would we even sing?”

Somehow, your smile grew infinitely bigger and Spencer’s heart did that thing where it jumped into his throat and stuttered at the same time.

“Thank you! You’re the best!” You turned to Garcia, “Well? You coming, ‘Nel?”

“You betcha!” Garcia smiled, pulling you up and towards the stage.

At the last second you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s hand, laughing your head off as you went. His skin felt like it was on fire where you touched him, little shocks of electricity running through every inch of skin that touched yours. It was a little ridiculous really, how quickly Spencer lost his head when you touched him. All that genius, all those years of schooling sharpening his mind into a finely crafted machine and all he could think about was the feeling of skin on skin, and the smell of your hair.

The stage was sticky. The microphone was pitchy and jarring. Everything was way too much, and completely dull at the same time because all he could see was you. You and Garcia were hunched over a screen, laughing and talking as you picked a song. The music started and you grabbed the microphone, smiling over at him like it was nothing. Spencer knew he should be nervous, he should be hating every second of being up on stage in front of a group of strangers but, for some reason, he wasn’t. He was happy and calm and like ten other adjectives that almost never described him in the hours after a case, but that seemed to follow you around like a shadow.

You opened your mouth, too drunk to be properly singing, but still sober enough to be almost on key, “Here’s the thing, We started off friends-”

Garcia joined in, “It was cool but it was all prete-end, yeah yeah,”

“Since you been gone!”

You waved him over and Spencer followed, letting you point out the screen where the words appeared line by line. To be in front of the mic, Spencer had to lean in towards you and woah that’s close. He could count every single eyelash and see individual flakes of glitter against your skin, but he pushed the image down, tucking it away into the back of his mind somewhere for him to take out again when he was alone. All this happened in a split second, just long enough for Spencer to remember where he was and snap back into the present.

“You dedicated, you took the time,” The three of you sang together, trying to stifle laughter when Garcia tried to harmonize, “It wasn’t long before I called you mi-ine, yeah yeah, Since you been gone!”

You closed your eyes, throwing your head back as you sang and drawing Spencer in even closer.

“And all you’d ever hear me say Is how I picture me with you! That’s all you’d ever hear me say!”

You opened your eyes, turning to Garcia as the music swelled.

“But since you been gone! I can breathe for the fiiiiiirst tiiiiiiime, I’m so moving on, YEAH YEAH” you screamed together, even Spencer giving into the music for a moment, “Thanks to you! Now I get! I get what I waaaaaaaant! Since you been gone!”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation and, when he did, you met his eye and followed suit, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laughed together, Spencer wrapped an arm around your waist and helped you up so that you could support Garcia as her back up singers. It was silly and goofy and fun, and Spencer didn’t really want it to end because it meant he could be close to you. It meant he had a reason to be close to you that wasn’t just his own selfishness and it felt like you wanted to be close to him too.

As the song came to an end and Garcia warbled out a final, “since you been gone”, Spencer found himself just looking at you, something thrumming just below the surface in his chest. His arm was still around your waist, just a friend supporting another friend, that’s all, totally innocent. Except that it wasn’t because he was looking at you like you were salvation and he could feel it happening, he just didn’t care. Because it was obvious, wasn’t it? It was obvious that he loved you. He’d maybe always loved you, ever since that day at the coffee shop and maybe that was okay. Maybe it was okay that he loved you even though he didn’t deserve you because, well, you knew him. You knew Spencer in a way that only one or two people in his entire life had ever known him and you still seemed to like him, you still looked at him like he was something special and precious.

Garcia pulled you both off the stage, bowing to the smattering of applause from the crowd and the whoops and hollers from the table where his friends were sitting. Instinctively, Spencer tugged you back, shooting Garcia an apologetic look, which she accepted with a nod and a subtle smile. His heart was in his throat but, when you turned and looked back at him, tilting your head in confusion, he felt sure.

“Hey-uh-can we-” he paused, smiling sheepishly as he felt himself flush, “can we talk, quickly?”

You frowned, concerned, but nodded and let him pull you aside, and Spencer loved you so much for it that he wanted to scream. Looking around, he managed to spy a somewhat empty corner of the bar, far enough away from the stage that you’d be able to talk without having to raise your voice. It wasn’t perfect, if he’d known-well-if he’d known how tonight was going to go he would have planned something more romantic, but he didn’t and the idea of knowing how he felt and not telling you about it made him feel sick. Because it all made sense now, the sense of urgency, the way his crush on you had never felt like a crush, the way one conversation with you felt just like three hours of uninterrupted reading. It all made sense and he needed you to know, right now, before he got called away on another case and you were apart for God knows how long. He needed you to know.

“Spence?” You asked as soon as you were in the corner, “What’s going on, did I do something wrong?”

“What? No! No-Y/N-you’re-” he started, forcing himself out of his head and back into the moment, “you’ve been incredible. You are incredible, which is sort of what I wanted us to talk about-or-no not exactly?” he rambled, his thoughts and feelings tripping and stumbling over one another in an attempt to find just the right combination of words for the way he was feeling, “I mean it is-you are-but I realised that you’ve always-ugh, sorry-”

“Hey,” you chuckled gently, taking one of his hands in both of yours, “it’s okay, just slow down. We’re not all super geniuses, you know?”

Spencer paused, taking a deep breath and letting his thoughts catch up with one another. God, you really were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, some part of him noted, and your smile….When you smiled at him like you were right then, like he was the only person in the room, like there was nowhere else you’d rather be than right there in that dingy karaoke bar, all his fears just kind of...went away. He could still feel them, if he really tried, but they were distant, locked up in another room, behind a metal door with a padlock on it. They were so far away and you were so close and wasn’t that more important?

“I’m in love with you,” he heard himself say, “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and I know that-I know that you don’t owe me anything, and I’m not trying to pressure you, or force you to do anything, I just thought you should know because-because it’s the truth, and I think you deserve the truth.” he paused, wishing that he could gauge some sort of reaction besides the slight widening of your eyes, “And the truth is that I’m in love with you, Y/N, and-”

Thankfully, you kissed him before he had to figure out how to finish that sentence. He barely had time to notice you leaning in before your lips were on his, soft and sure, like you were answering a question, or saying a prayer. Everything else faded away, nothing was as important as you and, without even thinking, Spencer kissed you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. Your fingers threaded through his hair and he sighed against your lips, some small part of his brain wondering if kissing was supposed to feel this good. Had it ever felt like this before? Had he ever wanted like this before? No, not until you. Because you were different, you’d always been different and, if the way you whispered his name against his mouth when he nipped at your bottom lip was anything to go by, you’d always been his, and he just hadn’t known it.

He could have stayed like that forever, wrapped up in your arms with the burnt sugar taste of your lips on his tongue, but eventually you had to break apart, even if it was only to breathe. Thankfully, you stayed close, resting your forehead against Spencer’s as you basked in the moment.

“I-love you too,” you chuckled breathlessly, “in case that much wasn’t blatantly obvious.”

“You know, I’d like to say I had a hunch,” he responded, “but I really didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, leaning forward to press another, much gentler kiss to his lips, “What, you thought I dressed like this for Morgan?”

There was something sinful about being able to let his eyes trace your body like this so openly, something private and intimate that made Spencer want to blush.

“I-uh-I tried very hard not to think about who you dressed like that for, actually,” he admitted, and then quickly continued, “not that you dress a specific way for anybody, or that there’s anything wrong if you do it’s just-you know-women can dress how they like, and there’s nothing intrinsically identifiable in the way a woman dresses that allows a person to truly know what she wants or doesn’t want. Not that you want anything, I just-”

You cut him off with another kiss and Spencer melted into it gratefully. He could feel you smiling into the kiss and, for once, he was grateful for his rambling. For once, Spencer Reid couldn’t think of a single thing he’d change about himself, because you loved him and that was too good a thing for him to want to mess with.

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​

[bjornthorsson20]

The Broken Side of a Flaming Soul

As he walked through the school corridors, Harry Potter decided he had enough. His best friend was being completely unreasonable about this, and he couldn't stand to see him lose a chance to finally admit to himself what the whole House could already see.

The Yule Ball was just around the corner, and everyone was already running around like headless chickens trying to find a date. After being shot down by Cho Chang, Harry had recovered fast and, after making sure Ron was ok with it, he was going with Ginny. On the other hand, Ron had resigned himself to not going, not even bothering to try and find another date after his embarrassing invitation to Fleur Delacour that'd been made in a sudden stupor caused by her Veela powers.

When asked, Ron would just shrug and answer, "there isn't anyone that catches my eye, mate", forcing a chuckle in the hopes he'd drop the subject. Harry did, but he could see straight through that lie. He knew the real reason Ron wouldn't ask anyone else; he already had someone in mind.

And that someone happened to be their best friend, Hermione Granger.

Everyone that knew these two, or had witnessed their interactions all these years could already tell they were made for each other. The only problem was that they couldn't see it, apparently.

Harry first noticed in 3rd year, after that Hogsmeade trip they spent without him. They came back giggling at each other, and blushing whenever they happened to catch the other glancing in their direction. Their hands almost touched, their fingers twitching a little. From that day on, they'd keep this behaviour when they were in the common room doing homework, even around Harry. Without noticing, Ron would sit a bit closer than usual to Hermione and their elbows would end up bumping at some point, which would make their cheeks turn pink. They would continue to stare holes through their parchment before Ron would distance himself a bit, repeating the cycle until it was time to call it a night. Hermione would then rush upstairs faster than a Snitch after muttering a good night to Ron (and only Ron).

Then the Crookshanks and Scabbers fight happened, and Harry was seriously worried they would just call it quits on their friendship entirely. Thankfully, that argument was solved rather amiably, and the two resumed their awkward relationship soon after.

So, when the Yule Ball was announced, Harry thought that it would be the chance for them to finally get their feelings out in the open after a glorious romantic night. But alas, Ron was being his pigheaded self, and simply refused to ask Hermione as his date on account of his dress robes being horrible. "Why even bother going?" he'd grumble.

Harry thought that was rubbish, honestly. Why would Hermione care what Ron wore for the Ball? He knew that Hermione wasn't superficial like that, so, surely Ron had to know. There had to be some other reason he wasn't telling him about, and Harry was going to get it out of him today. And make sure Hermione heard it as well.

Harry had to suppress a grin as he thought back to his brilliant plan to get the two together at last. One day he pulled Ginny aside in the common room and asked her for a favor. She listened intently and, as he went on, the grin on her face kept growing and growing. He was glad Ron and Hermione hadn't noticed him slip away, as they were too busy with their awkward "elbow bumping" homework routine to pay him any mind.

Finally, Harry's feet had dragged him to the library entrance as he shook himself from his thoughts and went in, already knowing the table he was looking for. He made a beeline for one near the back, separated by a bookshelf from the farthest one, where he knew a certain bushy-haired witch sat everytime.

Ron was already there waiting for him, with a book opened up as he leaned an elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. Harry was surprised to see Ron actually reading a book that didn't involve Quidditch, though he was definitely just pretending to read as he waited; Ron didn't read, that was Hermione's thing!

Harry quickly sat down as Ron finally looked up and fixed him with an unreadable expression. Harry grinned, hoping to lighten the conversation a bit before questioning his friend. Ron attempted to fake read again, but Harry wasn't going to let him avoid talking this time, so he pulled away the book.

"C'mon, mate, stop pretending to be interested in this. You're gonna talk to me." Harry took a look at the cover and snorted, "Immediate Transfiguration. Mate, you seriously expect me to believe you were willingly reading up on homework?" Ron snatched back the book and upon noticing his expression, Harry stopped laughing. Ron's face was set in a deep frown, gripping the book hard, and Harry noticed his lower lip tremble slightly before he bit it and stared a hole through the cover.

Suddenly, the air around them seemed very thick and tense, almost cold, as Harry glanced at his friend, stunned by the sudden shift in mood. That was, until Ron spoke in an unusually weak voice for him, which startled Harry.

"Yes, I was reading this book for real. Figured I could finally follow Hermione's advice and try to learn something to make myself worthwhile in class, saving McGonagall the stress and disappointment. But judging by your reaction, I guess I'm too much of a joke at this point to be smart in any way. I should've left it to Hermione. It's her thing." He spat the last two words venomously, further scaring Harry.

What happened? This didn't sound like Ron at all. Harry was seriously expecting Ron to look at him, laugh at his face and tell him he had gotten him good. But Ron kept looking at the book, and his hands had started shaking slightly.

Harry was about to break the uncomfortable silence when Ron spoke first.

"Harry, I know why you called me here, ok? So, let's get right to it so I can go back to our dorm and hide myself in there for the rest of today." His tone sounded detached, as if he had been rehearsing these lines in his head as he sat there waiting.

"Ron, I'm sor-"

"Forget it."

"No, lis-"

"Drop it." Even though Harry had said these same words to Ron when he tried apologizing to him after the First Task, the way Ron said them wasn't the firm, yet friendly, way in which Harry did. This time they were icy, as if Ron wasn't even going to accept his apology.

Deciding to just head on straight to the point, Harry asked, "Why won't you take Hermione to the Ball with you? Don't even try to say it's those dress robes, I know that's rubbish." He tried cracking a smile but his lips just kept a straight line on his face as he waited for Ron's answer. This whole thing just seemed silly now, and Harry desperately wished he could change Ron's mood somehow. This wasn't going as planned at all.

"You want the truth, then?" Ron's voice now sounded completely normal all of a sudden, as if he wasn't dreading the answer at all, something that immediately caused Harry's stomach to turn uneasily, nervous about what Ron would say.

Harry just nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment, and waited with bated breath as Ron sighed and sunk lower in his chair. He was still half expecting Ron to tell him it was the ultimate prank on him; for Fred and George to come out from under the table and join Ron in laughing at his expense.

What he heard instead made his heart sink.

"Ok, I'll give you the truth. The truth is, I'm not going to bother with something I know won't work. I won't allow myself to go to that Ball in those dreadful robes that'll make me look like a clown in front of the whole school, just so I can fool myself into thinking Hermione and I will have a great night that'll end with us declaring our love for each other. Because that won't happen, outside of my wildest dreams. I know Hermione doesn't feel the same way and I can live with that, although I'm not fucking okay with it. But who am I to say if it's okay or not? I can't be the selfish git trying to dictate who she should or shouldn't like."

He paused to look towards the ceiling as if bracing himself for the next part, before taking a deep breath and continuing.

"Hermione deserves to go to the Ball with someone that can give her a great night and a promise of something more, someone like, I don't know, Krum. Rich, famous, talented, and everything a girl wants for her future. I'll be bloody jealous, really, when I see her waltzing in with Krum or any bloke, for that matter, but that's just stupid. Being jealous of someone you aren't even dating is already low, and being jealous of someone who you don't even have a chance with is bloody pathetic. Really, who would take me? Poor, ugly, rude, vulgar, stupid, clumsy…"

Ron looked at Harry for the first time since he started speaking, and let out a mirthless chuckle at Harry's shocked expression. "I'm surprised Hermione and I are even friends; that she puts up with me when she can rattle off a list of all that's wrong with me, which just further proves I'm hopeless and I don't have a single worthwhile thing about me."

Harry was already feeling sick from everything he had heard. He tried to stop Ron from going on, but Ron just raised his hand and fixed him with a stern look, effectively silencing him, and resumed speaking.

"You are Harry Potter, enough said. I know you don't ask for the attention, but you're headed to greatness, mate. Your path has been set. Hermione is… do I even need to say it? She's brilliant, the smartest witch of her age and all that, and she's gonna rule the world one day. Even if I don't agree with how she goes about things sometimes, that whole S.P.E.W. thing shows she wants to bring a positive change to the world and she'll do that someday. Heck, even Ginny will do great one day, I just know it. Don't tell her I said that, though."

"Then there's me, honestly, can you point out a single thing you can say I'm good at? And, I don't want to hear you say things like "you're brave, you're funny, you're kind". No, I want actual talent for something." Ron stopped talking then to look quizzically at Harry, but by the time he realized he was supposed to answer, it was too late and Ron blurted out, "See? Nothing. None of the subjects here, nothing in these books, I'm not good at a single damn thing that at least 10 other wizards can't do better. I guess there's chess, but no one has ever taken that as something serious from me. It's just a game, anyway, not a career potential."

"So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, what people have been wondering all this time in the corridors is true. Why am I your friend, Harry? Why do you let me hang around you? Is it because I'm a joke, and it's funny to see me fail? Is it because you pity me, knowing no one else would have me? You can just, let me go, mate, don't let me keep dragging you down and distracting you from schoolwork. Merlin knows I can't even write in a legible enough way, so don't let yourself get dumbed down by me. One day, you're both going to realize I'm just deadweight anyway, so, just let me go. It'll make it easier for me to be alone and not have to constantly live in your shadows."

The silence that accompanied this speech would have been deafening, had Harry's ears not already been thundering with a million things in his mind that were just waiting to burst from his mouth in response to his friend. But Harry couldn't speak, he was quite literally stunned into silence by the slap that was felt by all of his friend's words.

Ron finally heaved a giant sigh before standing up, looking down to avoid Harry's gaze as he quickly muttered, "Put the book back on the shelf for me before you go, please", then promptly rushed out of the library.

Harry didn't move though, he literally couldn't. His whole body felt numb, aside from his heart, which was now clenching painfully in his chest.

Harry wondered what had happened to Ron. But there was nothing new. Ron had simply shown his vulnerable side. A side of him Harry had failed to notice before.

He heard a sob from behind the bookshelf, and a wave of guilt immediately came crashing down.

"What have you done?"

[hydra-collector]

touch

AO3

Ship: Analogical

Characters: Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders

TW: drinking mention, panic attack, food

Words: 1796

Summary: Neither Virgil nor Logan are particularly touchy people, but they become more and more comfortable with it as they grow closer.

Note: High school AU

“Virgil?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you consider us friends?”

“I mean, yeah, we’re sitting at the same lunch table and we’ve pretty consistently talked for like, a month. It doesn’t take too long for me to consider people friends.”

“Ah. Do you mind if we make an agreement for how we should proceed in our friendship, just to lay out some ground rules so neither of us overstep a boundary or don’t know when someone needs help? It could really be anything.”

“Oh, sure, I guess. Do I get to add on?”

“Considering friendship implies that both sides are as important as the other, I think it would be inappropriate if I didn’t let you.”

Logan began pulling out his binder, taking a piece of scrap paper from inside. He scribbled a title and the beginnings of a list.

“First thing, I would prefer if you didn’t take my glasses. Some people do it quite often as a joke, and it’s extremely irritating, especially considering I can barely see without them.”

“Okay, teach. How about… if I have a panic attack you- no, I can’t ask you to-”

“If what you’re asking is just that you’d like me to help you, I don’t see why that’s unreasonable.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Logan tapped his pen on the table as he considered what to add next.

“You can ask me for help on your homework, but I won’t give you answers.”

“Damn it.”

“You have to learn the material, Virgil.”

“Fine. So, if either of us has a crush or something, the other person will try to give them the courage to tell them.”

“That’s fair. It’s something friends usually do, right? I don’t have very many.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Okay, next thing. If I text you asking where you are, whether we were going to meet up or I’m simply concerned, you have to answer if you can. I had a friend at one point that didn’t respond and it turned out that they’d been getting drunk, and no one was even with them.”

“I can promise I’m not gonna get drunk.”

“Wouldn’t you appreciate someone that makes sure you didn’t get abducted or something anyway?”

“...Yeah, I guess.”

They sat there for a moment, both trying to decide what to add. Virgil looked up for a moment, seeming to think of something.

“Okay, so do you have any problems with touching?”

“Touching?”

“Yeah like, would it bother you if I tapped your shoulder to get your attention, or pulled you by the hand to get you to go somewhere, or hugged you if you have a mental breakdown or something?”

“I don’t have any particular qualms about it, but I do find it awkward if I don’t know someone very closely. Are you specifically affectionate with your friends?”

“Nah, I’m pretty much like you. I guess if it happens, it’s usually fine. Although I’d prefer it if you asked during panic attacks.”

Logan nodded, noting it at the end of the list.

“Anything else?”

“That’s it, I think.”

~~

Virgil sat beside Logan, hand holding up his chin as he neglected the bangs covering his eyes. They were set on his homework, a pencil resting in his other hand.

“I understand what I’m doing now, but I still don’t get how. Do I put this here or-”

Logan pushed Virgil’s hand to the other side of the equation, copying the number there instead.

“It doesn't go beside the va- Virgil, are you alright?”

He wore an odd expression on his face, looking between this hand and Logan.

“Oh, yeah, I’m… continue, I just zoned out for a second.””

“Okay. It doesn’t go beside the variable because…”

~~

Virgil caught up with Logan, who was seemingly heading home. He had a bit of money he’d been meaning to spend after school, and who better to share a meal with than Logan? He’d never eaten the school lunches (to be fair, neither did Virgil) but he wasn’t sure if he brought anything today, so he likely hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He usually brought lunch, or snacks at least, especially with his lectures about good eating schedules.

“Hey, Lo.”

“Hello, Virgil.”

“Wanna go get something to eat? I’m feeling particularly altruistic. Plus, nobody’s home right now so I’ll have no one to hang out with.”

“Well, I suppose I don’t have anything to do. Except homework. I always start on my homework the moment-”

Virgil rolled his eyes, grabbing Logan’s arm and bringing him to the bus stop at a jog.

“Virgil-”

“It takes you what, an hour to do your homework? You can spare a little time to hang out and chill with me. Do you go anywhere like, ever?”

Virgil dropped his arm when he realized he‘d been holding it. He busied himself by pulling out bus money.

“Plus, we can go to that cafe you told me you liked. It’ll be fun.”

“I go places, Virgil.”

“When was the last time you went somewhere that isn’t your house, my house, or school?”

“...Six weeks ago, I believe.”

“My point. Get on the bus.”

~~

“Today was awful.”

“It's only lunch, Virgil.”

Virgil put his head on his folded arms, silently hoping lunch would never end. He was pretty sure he just failed three tests and was about to fail another. He should probably employ study help from Logan, but he was so exhausted. And hungry. Aside from the tests, he’d forgotten both to eat breakfast and bring his lunch, which was probably another contributor to his awful mood.

“Are you going to eat? That usually seems to help if you’re feeling negatively.”

“Don’t have my lunch,” he mumbled through his sleeves.

“You can have mine. You told me earlier you have a test after lunch, you need it more than I do. I’m not very hungry anyway, I wasn’t even planning on eating it.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

Logan fumbled through his bag, pulling out the box he kept it in.

“Sure.”

Virgil slid over, opening the box. He felt an arm wrap loosely around his shoulders. It wasn’t quite a hug. Virgil leaned slightly against Logan, eating quietly, unable to tear his mind off of the warmth in his chest.

~~

No, no no, not that song-

Words of death, destruction, and misery pounded at his head, trying to get in. Calming thoughts, he tried to replace them with. Think of beaches, and fluffy animals and Logan instead of-

Logan? Does Logan make you happy? Well we’re friends, friends- he doesn’t love you, he never will, not even platonically, you’re having such a fucking reaction to this-

“Virgil, can I touch you?”

Logan? Logan’s still here? Tell him yes, you need him- someone.

He managed a nod, feeling warmth cover his ears, felt Logan’s hands press them, blocking out the words. He leaned closer to the source of the warmth, burying his head as close as possible.

Is that okay? Will he hate me?

“Virgil, could you tell me about where you are and what you were just doing before this happened? Please remember where you are, the song isn’t real.”

“W-we’re in your room. I came here, because- because there wasn’t anybody home today and- and you s-said I could come talk and we- we were talking about music and we played My Chemical Romance but then they started playing that and I couldn’t breathe and I need my-”

He groped around for his backpack, digging desperately until he found his headphones. He put them on, holding them tight to his ears. Logan took his phone for him, opening YouTube because Virgil wasn’t really going to be able to use it at the moment with his hands so shaky.

“What do you want me to play?”

“Um- s-sometimes I listen to Be Calm when I have a panic attack but if you just wanna put some album on that’s fine too-”

He tried to breathe, feebly asking Logan to do the pattern, who tapped it out on his hand. He let the music consume him as it filled his ears. He leaned forward when it had been enough to calm his breathing back to normal. Logan wrapped his arms around Virgil, holding him closer than they’d ever dared to be before. Virgil barely even noticed, just glad to have something warm offering comfort. After a while, he hugged him back, feeling his body relax a little from the touch.

“Thanks, Lo.”

~~

Fuck fuck fuck-

Virgil swore he was going to tell him today. He was going to say “I like you” and then get rejected or not. Simple. If he was rejected, their relationship would go back to normal and they would forget it even happened.

Will it go back to normal? Will he think you're weird or something and stop being friends with you?

He had to tell him.

Virgil had followed him to the bathroom. He knew it was a stupid idea, but he wouldn’t do it if he waited until after lunch, and he was pretty sure no one but Logan even used the bathroom next to the lunchroom.

“Logan can I talk to you?”

“Friends typically converse, so I don’t see why not.”

Do it quick. Don’t give yourself time to overthink it.

“I, um, I get it if you don’t- I’ll just- like you.”

“...Don’t people usually interact with those they enjoy the company of? I assume you would like me, based on the amount of time we spend together.”

“Like… romantically.”

There was a pause as Virgil looked at the floor, prepared for rejection. He would've seen the blush on Logan’s face if he dared to glance up.

“Of course, I get it if you don’t feel the same, we can be friends still, or if you don’t want to be friends anymore that’s fine too-”

“Would you like to kiss me?”

Virgil finally looked up, finding that Logan had approached him, standing close before him. He felt the warmth on his cheeks and could see it darkening on Logan’s face as well.

“...Yes.”

“Then please do.”

That was the invitation he needed, barely waiting a moment to crash his lips against Logan’s, his heart somersaulting and his mind wondering if this was possible.

He couldn’t help but press harder, turning them around so Logan was pressed up against the wall. He pressed his chest closer until he wasn’t sure it could get any closer. Logan’s glasses were pushed up by Virgil’s nose, his hands reaching up towards Virgil.

“Virgil-”

“Virgil can-”

“Do you want me to stop, I’m sorry, I can stop-”

“No just- will we have to come up with a new agreement?”

Virgil laughed quietly. “Oh, I guess. What, like boyfriend rules?”

Logan leaned back towards Virgil’s lips.

“Something like that.”

[bailey-whalieee]

Things Are Different Now

TWO

✮

After the incident on Friday, Maggie spent the rest of her weekend boarded up in her room refusing to leave bed unless it meant going to the bathroom or for a shower. Her father’s grew suspicious after the fact she refused to go to the doctors office for a check-up.

Honestly, avoiding them really wasn’t her best option, but at this point what else could she do.

Monday snuck up on the girl uncharacteristically fast, and the moment her door opened and the lights turned on, she hid underneath the blankets. It earned a huff of annoyance from Steve and Bucky.

“Maggs, doll, time to get up,” Bucky sighed, pulling the duvet off of her head, “c’mon..”

No.

Please don’t make me go, she thought to herself.

Her eyes were swollen and red, making Steve furrow his eyebrows. Maggie woke up three times during the night due to a recurring nightmare that wouldn't go away. She took three melatonin pills and listened to mozart for most of the night and still, the screams and the military style boots haunted her dreams.

“Maggie, get up honey. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be, kay?” Steve softly commanded, patting the mess of hair on top of her head.

Begrudgingly, she peeled the covers off of her body glaring at her two father’s who just chuckled and exited her room. Ding!

Who the fuck was texting her this early?

M&M

police are all over campus today. looking for kid’s who were at the party…

6:36 am

Her heart stopped beating for a second. All the air in her lungs evaporated and expelled itself. This couldn’t be happening. Holy shit. She was at the party. Steve and Bucky would be so disappointed if they found out she went and then didn’t even have the nerve to stop the man.

Maggs

please tell me you’re joking..

6:39am

She rushed trying to find a decent outfit which consisted of a random jumper, leggings, and high-top converses. Maggie didn’t bother to even brush the mop of hair instead choosing to throw into a bun and heading down the stairs.

M&M

maggie deadass, there are fbi agents crawling all over the halls.

6:40 am

Maggie paused mid-step into the kitchen until a clearing of someone’s throat knocked her back to reality.

“Sweetheart, your sweatshirt is on backwards..” Steve informed, taking a sip of his coffee causing a chuckle to elicit from Bucky. She quickly fixed the issue and grabbed a water bottle out of the pantry.

“Maggie, did you hear about what happened at that party? Can’t remember if we talked about or not?”

Her body came to an immediate halt, they know, she was fucked. Maggie could feel her heart thumping at an unreasonable pace and her throat tightened unpleasantly. Gods, now her dad’s knew about this..

“Doll?” Bucky called out, pulling her out of her inner battle.

Gulping, she turned on her heels, “um, I should probably be getting to school. Bye dad, papa.”

Both of their faces were puzzled as she rushed out of the door and the door slammed shut. Harsh breaths escaped her lungs as Maggie sprinted down the cement walkway, evoking a deja vu moment to hit her like bricks.

Immediately, Maggie stopped in her tracks. The gun shots. The blood. The bodies. The screams. The end.

They were like mental snap-shots she made in her mind and no matter how loud her music was or whatever she did to distract herself, nothing would ever erase them. She couldn’t shut it out.

7:50AM

“Fuck!” she stared at time on her phone.. Maggie was late, very late. And that meant a phone call home plus a tardy from her first period teacher. Again, she chased pavement until she arrived at Midtown High.

The late bell had already rang and Emma wasn’t wrong about FBI agents crawling around the school. She passed six police officers just by walking down the hallway, who gently smiled at her as she skidded by.

‘Act natural and they won’t suspect a thing,’ Maggie thought to herself.

But, slipping into first period math wasn’t exactly natural, especially when you were Maggie Rogers-Barnes. She sat in the back trying to avoid the students around her, popping up the hood to her sweatshirt and slouching into the desk. It seemed to work. Nobody noticed her nor did her first period teacher even spare a glance.

“Good morning students, I’m sure most of you are aware of the shooting that took place over the weekend. We ask you to come together as a community to love one another and support each other during this trying time. Friday night we will be honoring the students who passed away, if you have any information that would be helpful on the investigation please come to the front office.”

Maggie clenched her eyes shut trying to forget about everything around her. Her head fell gently against the desk letting sleep wash over her.

✮

It seemed like no matter what Maggie kept running into FBI agents and cops throughout her school day. Guilt ate her alive, but she couldn’t say anything.. Everyone would look at her differently and not to mention the anger both of her father’s would feel.

So, when the DA requested for Maggie to come to the office for an interview, every step held guilt. She went against every instinct in her body. Every little voice telling her to speak up and do the right thing.

Maggie Rogers-Barnes had officially broken all three rules her father’s placed, and the amount of hate she abhorred for herself was shocking. She wanted to tell the truth, but she couldn’t.

“Hello, Maggie. I’m defense attorney Lewis Brooke, and this is Agent Erin Alim. We just want to ask you a couple questions, if that’s okay?” he introduced, allowing her to sit down.

She nodded, picking at the skin around her nails, “of course.”

“Were you at the party when the shooting took place?” Lewis asked, clicking the top of his pen.

She tried to focus on anything, but the legal pad and the lists of names crossed out on it. “No.”

He perched one eyebrow, almost as if he didn’t believe her, “but you do know the students who were at the party? Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt them, maybe even another classmate who would want to hurt them?”

“The only person who I really know is Emma and Peter. I don’t know who was at the party, I’ve just heard of their names, ya know?” she shrugged, chewing on her cheek.

“You’re free to go,” he gave a curt nod, sighing.

Gathering herself, Maggie got up to leave. “Oh and Maggie,” she turned on her heels facing the DA, “I know both of your fathers. Worked with them actually, so I trust that you would tell me if you knew anything. You’re a good kid. I don’t doubt that you would come forward if you knew what happened. Have a good day and if you hear anything, you know where to find me.”

‘I’m most definitely fucked now.’ She thought, giving a brief smile and quickly exiting the office. If her dad’s knew the defense attorney and found out about what happened at the party and figured she straight up lied, god’s they would disown her..

Maggs

you can’t tell them anything, emma. nothing. if they ask if we were

at the party, we werent. got it?

2:25 pm

The final bell sounded above her and kids of all ages skidded and ran down the halls of midtown high. It kept Maggie sane knowing she could at least go home now, even if she didn’t really want too.

“Maggie? Hey!”

Peter Parker waved over at her with a rather big grin appearing on his face.

Being a daughter of two avengers, Maggie and Peter were bound to be best friends. Uncle Tony had practically adopted the boy and Maggie spent most of her life living in the tower up until, four years ago.

So, they spent quite a lot of time together. Even now. Peter and Maggie had routined game nights at Tony’s and movie nights.

“Peter.. Hey,” she sighed, holding onto the strap of her backpack.

His brow furrowed as they began to walk down the crowded hallway, “are you okay?”

Maggie nodded quickly trying to avoid the situation. Peter was a bit of a tattletell.. Although, it completely came out of love especially if she was in trouble or hurting.

“Pete, I gotta go. I’ll see you around,” she rushed out, stumbling out the side door.

Peter tried to call out to her, but she just kept her head down and disappeared into the crowd of kids. Her feet stumbled over one another, almost hitting the pavement at the pace she travelled.

✮

Steve’s laugh echoed throughout the kitchen as Bucky made a huffing noise towards the half cooked failure of a casserole. He tried, and that’s the only thing that mattered to Steve. But, they were going to have to opt for take-out tonight.

The edges were burnt to crisp, and the middle congealed together; a soggy, crisp mess.

“Looks like we are getting chinese again. ‘Least Maggie will be thrilled,” he sighed, tossing the oven mitts to the side.

Steve shook his head pecking his cheek softly, “it’s alright, Buck.”

The inedible food found itself into the garbage can and the two men sat across from each other sipping on their mugs.

“Did you notice how exhausted Maggs looked this morning? God’s Bucky, I almost wanted to tell her to go back to bed. Makes me worried..”

“I know, Stevie.. She was off this weekend, for sure.”

The front door finally opened and their daughter walked through, footsteps heavy and weighed down by a nuisance they were all familiar with. She let the backpack hit the floor with a thud that reverberated through the house.

She contemplated going to her room and hiding again, but her dad’s were already suspicious.

Maggie resided on the couch, body stretched over the whole couch taking most of its space. Her eyes were trained on the wall before her, the buzz of the television coaxed her eyelids to droop the slightest.

Waves of tiredness hit her like a bus.

“Hey doll, can we talk? I’m sure you probably already know what happened though?” Steve’s soft voice astounded.

“Dad I don’t really-”

“Maggs, trust me. We both know you don’t wanna talk about this, but we have too. Sweetheart, we just want to know if you’re okay, s’all,” Bucky hushed, running a hand down her spine comfortingly.

Tears began to build up in the corners of her eyes. She sat up trying to hide the fact that the tears were begging to fall down her cheeks, but something just broke within her. Maggie couldn’t stop the dam from breaking.

And they began to fall down her flushed face.

“Honey..”  

She tried to keep the sobs to a minimum, but it felt like the world was weighing her down. Maggie couldn’t tell them the truth, she couldn’t open up about what happened and it tore her apart.

“I’m so scared, dad.”

Both Bucky's and Steve’s face dropped. Encircling her in their arms, she shook and trembled against them. Her cries turned into soft, futile whimpers.

“Doll, I can promise you that no one is ever going to lay a hand on you or even attempt to hurt you, okay?” Bucky cooed, wiping the fallen tears off her cheek.

‘I wish that were true.’

Maggie clenched her eyes shut hiding her face against Steve’s sweatshirt. His arms wrapped against her protectively and she took in the familiar scent. It brought her back to her early childhood, when she would get nightmares and hide her face in either of her father’s chest.

“We gotcha’ sweet girl. Nobody is going to hurt you,” he smoothed down her hair, shushing her whimpers.

They stayed like that for a while. The two men comforted her cries until her once labored breaths calmed and little snores erupted from her mouth. Steve and Bucky smiled, kissing her on the top of her head.

Both being too oblivious to realize that she just wasn’t scared. She was terrified..

✮

taglist: @rose-moon-mist​

[something-tofightfor]

Four Times Over

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word Count: 6101

Rating: M (language, mention of sex, mention of drug use)

Author’s Note: I honestly think I might be unreasonably in love with this version of Logan.

Halloween one-shot #3, for our favorite #Blackhat. (Here Comes the Sun-iverse)

Summary: Planning costumes for you and Logan to wear to a charity event isn’t as easy as you might think. 

Tag list: (Please let me know if you wanna be added, removed, or moved to a different category!)

General:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @obscurilicious @sweetybuzz25 @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @gollyderek @poindexted @ificouldhelpyouforget @elanor-of-imladris @thesandbeneathmytoes @luminex3 @geeksareunique @weallhaveadestiny @mfackenthal @thesumofmychoices @yannii04 @beautiful-thinking @drinix @agentlingerie  @blah-blah-fuckit-shit  @dreams-with-thoughts  @wangmangagavroche​ @malionnes

Logan Delos:

@nananananananananananabatman​ @damalseer​ @chibiyanai​ @life-is-a-melody @songtoyou​

No Specific List:

@banditthewriter @padfootagain @madamrogersstorytelling @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @ymariejp @mr-robot-x@rageshots @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @malik-payne @lynne1993 @traeumerinwitzhelden @ladyblablabla @dreamwritesimagines @audreychaz @tc-elliot @kind-wolf​ @honeyydippaa​ @binbonsadoration​ @ificouldhelpyouforget​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ms-delos​@jeanettexkillian​ @avengerswhore @elioelioeli0​ @projectcampbell​ @giggleberts​

“We’re not doing a couple’s costume, that’s stupid.” Logan was laying on his back on your bed, one arm behind his head as he looked over at you. “I have no problem wearin’ a costume, it’s for charity, but do you really want to be that couple?” You continued to scroll down on your tablet, eyes on the screen as you looked at pictures of people in costume. Logan… 

 “Logan, we are that couple. Look at what we’ve… what you’ve... “ You raised your fingers from the surface of the screen, looking at the rings on them and failing to keep the smile from your face. “I hate to tell you, Logan Delos, but you’re not the -” Logan shifted onto his side, reaching over to pull the tablet from your hands and setting it down on the nightstand. “Logan, what?” He moved closer to you, lips pressing against the bare skin of your shoulder as the hand that had crossed your body gripped your hip, holding you in place. 

 “I’m not what?” His voice low in your ear, Logan pulled you toward him easily. “Tell me what you were going to say.” Sighing, you turned your face toward his, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. You kissed him quickly, wrinkling your nose as you pulled away, Logan leaning closer to follow your movement. 

 “You’re not a playboy anymore, Logan.” He sighed, kissing you again and you felt his hand slide up your back,fingertips gliding up your spine. “The way you are with me is -”

 “It’s the way I’m always gonna be around you,” he mumbled, lips moving over your cheek and toward your jaw, your head settling against the pillow. “So get used to it.” He grinned, pulling back and licking his lips, hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you. “You married me, remember? I’m no different now -”

 “That’ true.” You blinked, staring up at your husband. “I did.” I would again, but there’s no reason to tell you that. “I’m just saying, Logan, that I’m sure people expect us to show up in some dumb couples costume because…” You closed your eyes, thinking. Logan had been to Halloween parties in the past, showing up in costume with someone on his arm, but they’d never matched, never gone as a pair, and you wanted to be the exception to that rule. I can’t tell him that, he’ll think I’m being ridiculous. And you knew that you were, especially as his lips descended to meet yours again and Logan moved on the bed to cover your body with his, the most welcome weight in the world. I just have to figure out the right costumes for us. 

 --- 

 “Any progress on the costume front?” You were sitting at Juliet’s kitchen table for a drink, Isaac and Emily playing in the other room while Mark and Logan watched a football game. “Mark and I picked the ones that we’re wearing.” She leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “He’s going as a cowboy, which is kind of…” She laughed and you did too, knowing that Juliet’s memories of Westworld featured a lot of cowboys. 

 “I suggested that to Logan, that I’d dress like an actual cowgirl, and I thought his head was going to explode.” You’d also suggested that Logan simply pretend he was in Westworld for the event, but your husband had shaken his head, mouth pressed in a firm line. “No. That’s… only there. You know I can’t think about you in a hat and boots, let alone see you in ‘em for so long without helpin’ you take it all off. Gotta keep that separate. No cowboy costumes for either of us.”  “What are you going as, Juliet?” She leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling. 

 “I’ve finally lost all of the weight I gained with Isaac, and Mark’s been… really encouraging about it.” Juliet took a breath, clearing her throat. “I know I’ve got two kids, but I still want to…” She shook her head and you heard the hesitation in her voice. “We won’t have the kids that weekend, and I just…” She’s embarrassed that she wants to wear something revealing? “Mark and I always joke about the fact that I wrangle the three of them so well, and so… I’m going as a ringmaster, but it’s…” Juliet pulled her phone out, opening her photos and swiping through them. “He’s always going to tell me that I look… will you tell me what you think? I can’t ask Logan, that would be weird, but…” Juliet slid the phone across the table toward you, a nervous look on her face. 

 “Juliet, you look amazing.” Your eyes widened at the image on the screen; Juliet in her costume, the tri-fold full body mirrors allowing you to see all angles of it. “Your chest looks amazing with that jacket.” You pinched the screen to zoom in, shaking your head. “Is that a corset?” She nodded and you spent a few more seconds looking at the picture. From the tall black heels and shimmering stockings to the highwaisted shorts and the tiny hat perched on her head, every piece of the costume suited the woman. “That’s a great look, Juliet. Everyone’s going to be staring at you.” 

 “Really?” She breathed out a sigh of relief, taking her phone back from you. “I’m so worried, but I just…” She hung her head for a moment, pausing. “William’s going to be at this party, it couldn’t be helped since he’s working for Nexcone now, and I also want to…” You wanna stick it to him, I get it. Show off what he’s missing out on, even though it’s been years. But you hadn’t known William would be there and the information was a shock to you, even though it was likely that Logan had known, as he’d received the guest list a week prior. Wonder why he didn’t tell me. “Hey.” She put both hands flat on the table, cocking her head toward the fridge. “Let’s get another drink and we can brainstorm for you guys.” 

 --- 

 “What about…” You sighed, fingers trailing in the water. “A Ghostbuster?” Logan shook his head. “A… priest?” He laughed and you did too, knowing that it was a no. Nothing priest-like about this one. “Gangster? Doctor? Han Solo? Luke Skywalker?” Logan paused as you said the last two, his arms going still beneath the surface. Maybe? 

 “No, I don’t like any of those, they’re too simple.” Give me something to work with, Delos. Come on. “It’s gotta be something that no one else will do.” You were about to open your mouth and suggest that Logan dress up as a police officer or some military member but decided not to, knowing that if you saw him in any kind of uniform, you wouldn’t make it out of the house to get to the party. 

 “Logan, we only have like ten days to decide, we’re running out of time, and you’re not being helpful.” The float you were on squelched as you flipped onto your stomach, crossing your arms under your chin as you stared at your husband, floating a few feet from you with his arms curled around a beach ball in the surprisingly warm October sunlight. “This is impossible. You’re impossible.” He laughed, using one hand to slick his hair back and away from his face, the thinly stubbled cheeks rounded as he smiled. “

 “Why don’t we decide on your costume, hmm?” He kicked beneath the water, floating closer to you and letting the ball go in favor of crossing his arms at the head of your float, face only a few inches from yours. “Got any ideas for yourself?” I have plenty, but you’re not going to like any of them. Logan simultaneously wanted to show you off and keep you to himself, and while he didn’t mind you flashing skin when necessary - two of your wedding dresses had been strapless and one had an open back - you knew that he preferred when you weren’t on display for people that weren’t him. But it’s Halloween, that’s the point. “Well?” You stayed silent for a few seconds, thinking, as you watched droplets of water roll down is lightly tanned skin. 

 “A witch?” He wrinkled his nose. “A skeleton? A cat? A princess?” Logan licked his lips. 

 “A sexy witch? A sexy skeleton? A sexy cat?” You laughed, eyes closing as you lowered your head to the raft beneath you. “What about a sexy firefighter? Or… Little Red Riding Hood, or…”

 “I could go as Rapunzel, Lo.” You looked back up at him, lips twitching. “Or even as Belle, you seemed to -” You were interrupted as Logan swiftly flipped the raft, dumping you into the water, but you surfaced laughing, Logan’s long arms wrapped around your waist and his mouth against yours without a second’s worth of a delay. 

 “Doesn’t matter what you pick.” He kissed the corner of your lips, teeth clicking together quietly as he pulled the upper half of his body away. “You’re gonna look incredible.” He held you up as he moved over to the edge of the pool, and it wasn’t until your feet found the ledge beneath them that he loosened his grip, hands sliding down from your waist. You hooked your arms around his neck, staring into Logan’s eyes as you though, memorizing every detail of the way that the water trickled down his skin for the thousandth time. So are you. “What about a sexy nun?” He kept a straight face for nearly three seconds and then you watched as his shoulders started shaking, head dropping down to his bare chest as you shoved him away from you, splashing while you laughed too. Jesus, Logan. 

---

 Two more days passed without any input from Logan on the costume front, and you were starting to get worried. Every suggestion that you made to Logan was turned down without hesitation by your husband. Werewolf, ghost, astronaut, video game characters … Logan wanted nothing to do with any of them, and you knew that if you left him to his own devices, he’d show up at the event in a store bought costume instead of putting any thought into it. I have to figure something out. You couldn’t blame him for being distracted, Delos had taken on a new client and Logan was working long hours to ensure that their teams were ready for access to the software, but it was still frustrating. You sent him a quick text - Headed to Juliet’s for dinner, I’ll see you when I get home  - and then tucked your phone into your purse before leaving the house, still thinking about your options. 

 But even an hour and a half later, you and Juliet full from dinner, Isaac in bed and Emily in her room reading, you hadn’t come up with anything. “I’ve got so many designer dresses and stuff that can be used as costumes, maybe you can look through…?” Juliet shook her head, taking a long drink from her wine glass. “I can’t help you with Logan, Mark’s a good six inches shorter than him, but maybe…” Juliet stood, gesturing with her glass. “Come on, let’s go into the basement.” You followed her down the stairs and into their large storage space, wondering what you could possibly do with formal clothing as a costume. “You can use anything you find in here,” Juliet said as she walked through the room. “Shelves over there, and then there’s a bunch of stuff hanging on the walls.”

 Thanking her, you spent the next twenty five minutes looking through clothes; ballgowns and cocktail dresses, actual costumes and even some of her old clothing, but it was useless. Nothing jumped out at you, and you didn’t want to offend any of the designers that had given her clothing by using the items as costumes. “Juliet, thank you, but I don’t…” She didn’t respond, and as you turned toward where she was standing, you saw why. “Is that…” You trailed off, stepping toward the other woman, who had pulled a garment bag out from the end of the rack, her fingers moving over the plastic. 

 “I felt so alive, you know?” Juliet unzipped the bag slowly, tongue sticking out between her lips. “I picked it out, and I tried it on, and it just fit. We did a magazine spread with it, I… I don’t think you would have seen it, but...it was beautiful.” She pushed the sides of the bag back and the fabric within expanded, coming into view. “I thought I was going to be so happy. I didn’t want to listen to anyone that said otherwise, not even L…” She swallowed, looking over at you. “I should have listened to him. I should have listened when William proposed and he gave me shit about it and when Logan came back from that trip, and when he was in the…” Juliet hung her head. “It would have saved me a lot of …” 

 “But then you wouldn’t have Em.” You shrugged your shoulders. “And Logan forgives you, Juliet. You were young and in love and you didn’t… you couldn’t have known, he hid it so well from everyone.” 

 “Not Logan. Logan always knew that William was a piece of shit.” Yeah, he did. You’re not wrong about that.

 “Juliet, come on. He tried with William, but he pushed him too hard.” You reached out, running your fingers over the delicate beading on the bodice of the dress, the lace stiff beneath your fingers. “He wanted to he happy because you were happy, Juliet. He’d never take that away from you.” You nudged her with your elbow, feeling yourself smile. “I’m sure you looked amazing in it, Juliet.” She nodded, agreeing to show you pictures of her in the dress when you went upstairs. She kept them? 

 “I wanted to keep the dress for Emily, in case she wanted to wear it, but… I don’t know. Seeing it again, it feels wrong to put someone else - my daughter - into a dress that started such a shitty marriage, doesn’t it?” Juliet turned toward you, her dark eyes wide. “I should donate it, someone would get use out of it, that couldn’t be bad luck, right?” You bit down on your lip, looking at the dress. “Or maybe I should burn it.” She’s going to throw it away. You stayed silent, looking down. You’d worn three different dresses - one for each of your weddings to Logan - but the one in front of you, the one Juliet had worn with William was entirely different than any that you’d chosen. It’s more old fashioned. “What do you think?” She said your name and you pulled your eyes away from the dress, staring at Juliet. I can’t ask that. 

 “Juliet, I could…” You swallowed. “I could use this as my costume.” You heard her gasp, but you continued. “Even if it doesn’t fit right, you…” You reached over, pulling the hanger from the bag and lifting the dress. “I could make this work.” You glanced over at the other woman, who was chewing on her lower lip. “Juliet, you said William’s going to be at this party, right?” She nodded, and your eyes went back to the dress, thoughts churning. He said no couples costumes, but… this could work. “I have an idea.” 

--- 

 Later that night, you stepped into your house, listening for Logan. “Bedroom!” He called out your name and you set your keys and purse onto the counter next to the garment bag, grabbing your phone before you headed up the stairs and toward the back of the house. “How’s Jules?” Your husband was on the bed, wearing only a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt, his eyes on the large TV mounted on the wall. “You were there late.” Wordlessly, you set your phone down on the bed and started taking your clothes off, pulling your shirt over your head. This is unfair, but I have to. “What are you doing?” Wearing only a bra and your leggings, you climbed into the bed, straddling your husband and flattening your palms on his chest as you leaned down to kiss him. “I’m not gonna complain, but what…” Logan swallowed, licking his lips as you pulled away, straightening up. He put his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking over the material at your waist gently as his other fingers flexed. 

 “We were looking for costumes, Lo.” You grinned, flipping your hair over one shoulder. “And I think we found… something perfect.” You moved your hands, pushing up his shirt to scratch your fingers through the trail of hair below his navel, which caused him to groan, shifting beneath you as his eyes closed momentarily. “I know you said no couples costumes, Logan, but I think I found the loophole to that.” You waited as he stared up at you, pupils enlarged and his lips parted, and in that moment you knew that he’d do anything you asked. “I can wear it on my own, but I… it’ll be better if we’re…” He nodded slowly and you reached back, grabbing for your phone and opening it to the pictures Juliet had taken only an hour or so previously. “Here.” 

 You handed him the device, watching as his eyes widened, a breath getting sucked in between his lips. “Is that… that’s her goddamn…” Logan glanced up at you and then back at the phone, tongue wetting his lips. “What did you guys do to it?” You laughed, pulling your phone out of Logan’s hands and tossing it off to the side before you reached behind you, unhooking your bra. 

 “Is that a yes, Logan?” You pulled the material from your body, flinging it into the corner and Logan nodded, eyes never leaving your face as he brought his hands up to palm at your chest, drawing a quiet sigh from your lips. “Lo?” 

 “Tell me what I need to do and what I need to wear.” His voice low, Logan nodded his head, waiting for you to lean down again so that he could kiss you, hands slipping around to your back. “Fuck, that’s perfect.” 

 --- 

 “That’s a gorgeous dress.” The woman that was working on your makeup stepped in front of you, bringing one of the brushes in her hand up to your eyes and telling you to look down. “It’s a shame you had to…”

 “It was my sister in law’s first wedding dress.” You let out a breath, staring down at your lap, where your right hand was resting atop the fabric of the skirt. “It ah… didn’t end well, as I’m sure you know, and she decided it was time to get rid of it, so we thought...” You heard the woman holding back a laugh, even as she applied the dark makeup to your skin. “I, uh, let her do the honor of…” You thumbed a large and jagged tear that started at the bottom of the dress and rose to over your thigh, still looking down. “She enjoyed it.” 

 “I’m sure she did,” the woman agreed, setting the brush down and picking up a larger one before dipping it into dark powder and using it near your hairline and down your jaw. “She throw it into a puddle or something, too?” You laughed, trying to keep still but the woman stepped back. “I’m done with your face aside from the lipstick, so you’re good.” You looked up into the mirror and almost didn’t recognize yourself - all of the visible skin on your upper body was a blue-gray hue, and the long, wavy wig that you wore was an even brighter shade than your skin, the ends curling around your elbows. “Hold your left arm out.” You did as the woman asked, and you watched as she bent down, a tiny brush in her hand, to add in the final details on the arm - which had been blacked out with body paint before she’d used white to draw on bones, making it look like your left arm was skeletal. The same effect had been done to your ribcage, a glimpse of it peeking out from the large tear in the bodice of the dress, and your right leg, but the detail there wasn’t as miniscule, and she’d finished quickly. 

 “This looks amazing, I can’t…” You shook your head, still looking at yourself in the mirror. “I’m so glad we called you guys.” The woman thanked you, her attention still on your hand, where she was using golden paint to add on a wedding band around your finger, Logan’s rings all locked tightly in the safe for the evening. “Will you put the flowers and my veil on, too?” You looked down, taking a deep breath. “I know this wig isn’t going anywhere, but…” She laughed, straightening up and nodding as she reached over, picking up the circular headband that you’d spent three hours making the day before, using fake flowers and adding paint, coffee grounds and dirt to make them match your dress before attaching the remnants of Juliet’s veil - and the bouquet that you were planning on carrying. 

 As she pinned the flowers into your hair, you finally grinned, turning your head from side to side. It literally looks like I’m dead, there’s even a flap of skin on my cheek.  “Stand up, I want to make sure…” You did, hands dropping to your sides as you stepped away from the chair and looked at the woman, lips pressed tightly together. “It’s done. You look…” The woman smiled, nodding. “Let me take some pictures for my portfolio and my site, if that’s alright with you.” She did just that, waiting until you’d picked up the bouquet to take the final few, and then exhaled in frustration. “We forgot the lipstick, I -”

 “Don’t bother.” You heard Logan’s voice from the doorway and immediately looked up and over your shoulder at him, even though you would have been able to see him in the mirror. Oh, wow. “It wouldn’t last.” The woman laughed again, shrugging and you turned to face Logan, wanting to get a good look at him. “Wow.” You watched as he swallowed, looking you up and down. “That dress… looks so much better on you… like that…” He stopped speaking, flexing his fingers a few times before he crossed the room and made it to you, one of his hands going to your waist. “Can I touch her skin, or…” You fought back a laugh, rolling your eyes. 

 “Of course, Mr. Delos. It’s airbrushed on as a base coat, so unless you’re being um... “ She cleared her throat. “Rough with the skin, it should be fine. The left arm and her right leg are a little more delicate, but…” Logan nodded, staring into your eyes and then he leaned down, gently kissing you on the mouth, breath fanning over your skin before and after.

 “Thank you.” He spoke quietly as he stood up straight, turning to face the other woman again. “You did… an incredible job with my wife, and your assistant was the same with me.” You nodded in agreement, again looking at Logan, whose costume was simpler than yours - an old but still well-fitting suit, silver-blue tie, his skin made pale via makeup, cheekbones more pronounced than they usually were. He had dark circles around his eyes and no product in his hair, which fell on either side of his forehead, freshly cut only a few hours earlier. Can’t wait to get my hands on that later. Neither of you had been willing to compromise on Logan totally shaving his face, but his beard had been neatly trimmed, and was shorter than you’d ever seen it. 

 After taking a few photos of the two of you together, your makeup artist followed you and Logan downstairs, where her assistant was already waiting. The pair said their goodbyes, Logan tucking cash into both women’s hands as a tip. When the door shut behind them, Logan pushed you against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, careful not to touch your left arm as he kissed you, sucking on your lower lip for long seconds as you put your hand in his hair, tugging on it hard. “Logan.” You swallowed, groaning and he dropped his head against your shoulder, taking a deep breath. “Logan we need to get going, we’re going to be late, we -”

 “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you in a dress like that.” He spoke in your ear, breath hot. “I don’t care if it looks like it got dragged behind a train, or if it’s the dress that I had to watch Jules marry that fuckin’ asshole in.” He kissed you again, both hands on your hips as he held you in place, and you knew that it was because he was trying to keep himself from touching your face or your hair. “Seein’ you in a wedding dress means as much to me now in a costume as it did the first time, and you pickin’ that one for the reason you did? I’m rock fucking hard right now.” Oh, Logan. “I love you, Mrs. Delos.” His voice changed and softened and he kissed you a third time, this one gentle and quick, “Let’s get to this party.” 

 You nodded as he pulled himself away from you, reaching into his pocket to let the driver he’d hired for the night know that you were coming out, and within a few minutes, the two of you were sitting comfortably in the backseat of an SUV, your feet on Logan’s lap and your heels on the floor. Logan took pictures of you as you sped through the night, you taking his phone from him and returning the favor, and within twenty minutes, you arrived at the hotel where the event was being held - flashbulbs nearly blinding you as Logan helped you from the car, hand wrapped tightly around yours. As you posed for pictures, you couldn’t help smiling up at your husband, eyelids heavy beneath the long, fake lashes you wore. Who’s going to figure out that this was Juliet’s dress first? Logan didn’t let you go until you were safely inside of the building and away from the crowd, and even then he didn’t step far away from you, the two of you pausing occasionally to talk to friends and business associates, the compliments about your costumes flowing freely. 

 Logan was in his element mingling with people, and after nearly an hour, you excused yourself to get new drinks and find something to eat, eyes scanning the room for Juliet and Mark. You found them sitting at a table, making a note of where they were in order to pull Logan in that direction when possible, and had just picked up your drinks when a voice reached your ears. “Marrying him finally killed you, hm? Dead and buried is probably still better than having to live with him.” Grimacing, you steeled yourself for the confrontation, turning smoothly to face William, who stood before you. “I haven’t seen Logan’s face look that pale since was still shooting -”

 “Wow.” You cut him off, raising an eyebrow and lifting one of the glasses to your lips. “I see you really went all out on your costume tonight.” William’s lip curled, his own eyes moving down to the scrubs he wore, a surgical mask hanging loosely around his neck along with a stethoscope. “You recognize this dress?” You spun in a slow circle, and when you finally stopped, facing him, you saw that his eyes had widened, mouth hanging open in shock. “Thought so.” You cleared your throat, leaning in. “Juliet’s the one that made the alterations to it, Billy.” You paused, looking down to finger the large tear at your waist before your hand smoothed over the dirty, tattered fabric of the skirt. “Took scissors to it and then, I shit you not, Billy, she took it outside in the back yard and stomped on it.” You took a breath, stepping closer and meeting William’s eyes. How far do I go? “We -”

 “There you are.” You felt him and heard him at the same time, Logan’s body pressing up against yours from behind. “I was wondering where you were with my drink.” He took the glass from your hand and you heard the ice clink against his teeth as he sipped it, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. “William.” There was a tense silence as the two men stared at each other, the disgust clearly written on William’s face. You hadn’t been this close to William since the bar in Las Vegas on Logan’s birthday, and didn’t think that Logan had either. “Bring a date with you, William?” Logan’s voice was venomous, and at his next words you stiffened in surprise. “Couplea Hosts here if not, I’m sure that’s more your -”

 “Fuck you, Logan.” William shook his head. “I -”

 “You’re not my type, Billy. Never were.” Logan raised the glass again, draining his drink. “Stay the fuck away from my sister tonight. I know I remind you every time I see you, but…” Logan stepped closer to William, using your body as a buffer by default. “Emily’s not here tonight, so you have no reason to talk to Juliet.” He sniffed. “None.” William opened his mouth to speak again, thought about it, and then turned away quickly, disappearing into the crowd. “Finish your drink, and then we’ll get you another one and we can go -”

 “Lo.” You turned to your husband, reaching up and touching the side of his face after you set your glass down on the table to your right, shaking your head. “Hey.” You shook your head. “I get it.” He stared at you, brow furrowed slightly. “I get it, Logan.” And you did - the need for him to get back at William in any way possible. Firing him wasn’t enough. Juliet divorcing him wasn’t enough. Taking back his position at Delos wasn’t enough. Logan needed to keep driving home the point that he’d won, and despite very nearly killing him, William had not. “Six years isn’t enough time, Logan. It won’t ever be enough time. But don’t let him ruin the night, alright?” Logan took a deep breath, his gaze softening. He nodded twice, leaning down to kiss you on the corner of your mouth, lips lingering for longer than necessary. He saw the dress, he knows Juliet finally got rid of it.

 “You’re right.” He grinned, one hand going up to run his fingers through his hair, the long strands of it falling immediately back over his forehead. “As usual.” You laughed out loud, tilting your head back and reaching out to hit him gently on the chest with your bouquet, Logan catching your wrist, his fingers closing tightly around it. “Stop.” He shook his head, fighting back a laugh of his own and pulled you into his chest, lips making contact with the top of your head directly in front of the flower crown you wore. “I won’t bring him up again tonight, I promise.” You nodded as Logan turned you back to face the bar, his hand finding yours and your fingers winding together. “Weird not to feel your rings, isn’t it?” You stepped up to the polished wooden surface of the bar, Logan holding up two fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Haven’t gone without ‘em since Nassau last Christmas.” 

 “Yeah, but it’s only for one night, Lo.” You leaned your head against his shoulder, waiting for the man to bring your drinks back. “Besides, if I was a real corpse bride, the people that killed me woulda stolen my jewelry before they threw me into a shallow grave.” You shrugged as Logan stiffened next to you, grip on your hand growing tighter before he let go. “What, Logan? That’s just the legend, I -”

 He reached out, taking both of your drinks from the man with a nod before he handed you yours and then held an elbow out to you. You took it happily, transferring your bouquet and drink to your right hand. “I’m glad we did these costumes.” Logan cleared his throat as he steered you through the crowd and toward the tables, his eyes scanning the room. “Not because of the way it…” He stopped, but you knew that he was hinting at William’s reaction. “But because it fits for us, and it’s like we’re takin’ what they say about us and ...” You hadn’t thought about it that way at first, even though you’d imagined what Logan would say and think, seeing you in a fourth wedding dress, even one that held such bad memories… but it was his turn to be right. 

 “They’re over there, Logan. By the window.” You raised your left arm to point out Mark and Juliet, still sitting at the same table as before, and you admired the work that the woman had done on your arm, the detail in the tiny, painted on bones of your fingers. I wish I had a talent like that. You shook your head as you kept walking, thinking about Logan’s words. “You told me not to pay attention to the press, Logan.” You shrugged as he paused, waiting for people to pass. “And now you’re worried because they think we’ve had ‘too many weddings’?” He nodded. “I mean, three in a single year was…” You thought, wetting your lips. “A lot, Logan, I’ll admit it.” He laughed, the sound comforting to you. “But you know what?” You stopped him, still ten feet from Mark and Juliet’s table, the hand rising again to his face, your thumb moving over the skin of his cheek and stopping briefly to press on the birthmark there. “You’re the only one I’m ever gonna wear a wedding dress for, and I’ll do it as often as you need me to.” Or you want me to. “And this time, tonight? It was my idea.” 

 “Your idea the first time, too, Mrs. Delos… at least with the timing.” He leaned down, carefully pulling his arm from yours and settling both of his around your waist. “You and your charitable donations.” He sighed your name as he kissed you, this one not quick, not gentle. Logan kissed you as if there weren’t any other people in the room, like there wasn’t some shitty cover of a Halloween song playing in the background, like the two of you hadn’t just gone off on William a few minutes earlier. You tasted the alcohol on his breath, could feel the coolness on his tongue from the ice in his drink. “Love you forever, Mrs. Delos.” Though he said a lot of things that made you want to roll your eyes at how un-Logan-like they sounded coming from his lips, that was a phrase he’d never said before. When your eyes flew open and found his, he looked just as shocked that he’d said it as you were to hear it. Shit, that… 

 “You said it, Logan. Must be true.” You recovered quickly, your lips twitching. Don’t dwell on it, not right now. “But if you kiss me like that again, all this makeup’s going to be for nothing, and we’re going to have to leave this party hours early.” He laughed, clearing his throat and you again began walking to his sister’s table, heart hammering behind your ribs. Love you forever.  Forever, Logan? Really? But you believed him, believed every word that came out of Logan’s mouth, because in the nearly four years you’d been together, he’d never once lied to you, and you didn’t think he was about to start - especially not with something like the way he felt about you. 

 “By the way,” he said quietly, leaning down to speak into your ear. “We are leaving early.” You turned your head to look at him, confused. “I’m gonna have to help you get all of that makeup off before you get into bed, and I think it’s gonna take a while.” He kissed your cheek and then straightened up. “Hey, Jules, Mark!” As you and Logan settled into seats at the table, you found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation about the other costumes in the room, instead focusing on the way that Logan’s fingers felt as they stroked your forearm, up and down, over and over. 

 Love you forever, too, Lo.

---

[podmore]

strange bedfellows

did someone say... platonic bedsharing

(read it on ao3)

“Mate,” Ron groaned, “You’ve got to get a bigger bed.”

Face still buried in his pillow, Harry mumbled back. It was meant to be something along the lines of “Feel free to get your own,” but came out as a rather pathetic whine that caused a snort to rise from Harry’s other side.

Harry froze, feeling Ron go still where their sides pressed together. After a moment, a snuffling snore rose up from under the silk headscarf that was all that was visible of the bed’s third occupant, buried under a mound of blankets. Both men breathed a sigh of relief, Harry’s muffled by the pillow and Ron’s by reasonable caution. Hermione was a terror when woken before noon on a weekend.

By mutual unspoken agreement the two men extricated themselves from the blanket pile, moving as fast as possible while maintaining complete silence. Communicating solely by hand signals and insistent eyebrows, Harry followed Ron up through the rich morning sunlight and downstairs to the kitchen. While rolling his neck, Harry used his hands to push himself up back onto the countertop, legs dangling aimlessly. He kicked his heel into the cabinet below in the process and released a very manly meep, quickly suppressed and left unnoticed by his half-asleep friend.

After rifling through the meager contents of the fridge, Ron asked around a mouthful of sloppily-assembled sandwich, “You coming tonight? Nev asked after you last time.”

Harry snorted, rocking forward. “Neville just wants someone even worse at holding their drink around to take the heat off. I thought we decided after the Incident that I was better off leaving early on pub nights.”

They both winced in deeply ingrained shared trauma. This was not, in fact, due to the war, but rather to the other legendary conflict that left them with battered psyches and grim spoils: Friday night pub trivia.

“I know, mate,” Ron grimaced, leaning against the counter next to Harry, “but the Slytherins are trouncing us. We need you there as, er... moral support?”

“Nice,” Harry muttered, knocking shoulders with his best mate. “Real nice. Can’t wait.”

Ron shrugged, face open and entirely too innocent. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll watch out for you, make sure nothing goes wrong this time. You don’t have to drink, even.”

—

Ron was a filthy liar.

The pounding of the drums woke Harry far too early, squeezing a pained noise from him that he instantly regretted as he felt the vibrations in his skull, mouth far too dry for the swampy feeling of his stomach.

There were, of course, no drums, and Ginny had no compunctions about telling him so in an unreasonably chipper voice from where she was spread out next to him. She somehow managed to still look put together with Luna’s bottlecap necklace slung jauntily around her neck and a smear of what might have been green paint or worse near the edge of her freckled jaw, and Harry had no hesitation in pushing her off the bed. The loud squawk that followed was well worth it, although it made colors flash madly behind his eyes.

“Why,” Harry ground out, “the fuck did we do drinking games. Why the fuck.”

Ginny shrugged, only a slice of her visible in Harry’s eyeline over the edge of the bed he was plastered to with the weight of his sins. “I thought it would be funny?” She yelped when a tiny plastic pineapple found its way out of Harry’s wild hair and bounced off her forehead with prejudice. “Hey, I was right!”

“I,” Harry said with all the sparse dignity he could muster, “am removing you from the wards. Immediately. Traitors are not welcome in my home.”

Ginny cooed. “Oh, Haz. That’s what you said last time and the time before. Face it, you love me.”

“Less and less every day.” Still, Harry submitted to the bitter tang of defeat. Changing the wards would require movement, and he was fairly sure he was incapable.

“Besides,” Ginny continued gleefully, stretching out with her arms up and back arched, “I haven’t even told you what you got up to last night.”

“What I got up to? Don’t try to shift the blame. You’re the one who got me drunk.” Talking. Too much talking was doing his head in.

“Ye-e-es,” Ginny hand-waved the technicality, “but you’re the one who suggested body shots.”

A flood of horror shot through Harry’s already rioting stomach as he lifted his head off his pillow and away from the suspicious drool stain. “I didn’t.”

Ginny only nodded solemnly, her eyes sparkling madly. Smirking, she opened her mouth only to be hurriedly cut off.

“I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want to know.” Harry thunked his head back onto his pillow, flinching a little at the impact. “I’m never drinking again.”

—

“And then?”

Harry blinked, startled out of his reverie. “What?”

A deep, heavy sigh rose up from behind him, and Pansy blew a perfect smoke ring over his shoulder, never one to miss a chance to use the pretentious cigarette holder she thought made her look dashing. “And then what, moron? Did you and Weasley the Youngest have horrifyingly vanilla Gryffindor sex?”

“No! What? No,” Harry spluttered on the alarmingly toxic cloud. “That’s... No. Who said you could smoke inside?”

“Hm,” Pansy ignored his question easily. “I suppose she at least isn’t really the vanilla type, and you were the one to suggest—“

Harry threw up a hand to stop her. “We did not have sex, vanilla or otherwise. Please stop bringing up the body shot thing, I’ve blocked it out.”

“Why, darling,” and Harry could hear the faux surprise dripping off her tongue, “Whoever said anything about body shots? One might think it weighed on you.” She tugged gently at a lock of hair behind his ear. This being Pansy, ‘gently’ left him wincing and rubbing the smarting spot as she slid elegantly off the bed and stubbed out her cigarette on the ashtray she’d Transfigured out of his alarm clock. That would be hellish to replace. He went through at least one a week, and Hermione was getting rather suspicious at this point, having nagged him into recording all his expenses.

“Give Malfoy my love,” Harry said snidely as Pansy bent to retrieve her purse, watching her as she lingered for a moment before rising and casting a spell to smooth down her robes. Pansy loved to be watched, and hated to be touched. Harry, being rather the opposite, had found a certain stability in their chats. He even missed her when she left, some days. Today would not be one of them.

She blew him a kiss over her shoulder on her way to his drawing room and presumably its fireplace where she would certainly use far too much Floo Powder just for the private joy of inconveniencing him. “Tell him yourself, Golden Boy.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but she was already gone. He hated the Slytherin penchant for dramatic exits, he really did.

—

Hermione barged into the room without knocking, every line of her screaming efficiency at the cost of normal social rules. “Harry, we need to talk— oh, hello Neville. Stop screaming, it’s just me— we need to talk about the House Elf Rights Bill.”

Having had all the covers yanked off of him in Neville’s attempt to hide his bare chest, Harry had no choice but to stop feigning sleep. Besides, barriers meant nothing to Hermione anymore now that she actually helped make laws and saw the folly of rigidly adhering to a messy, contradictory system. “Hermione, please, you know I love you—”

“Yes, right,” Hermione cut him off while pulling an alarming amount of papers out of her handbag to toss them solidly onto his chest, “That’s nice, but we don’t have time for pleasantries. I need this bill before committee by next week. Where are we with the endorsements?”

Neville, still wrapped protectively in the quilt, stood and began an awkward shuffle toward the door, voice somewhat muffled by the blanket as he muttered, “I’ll just… be going, then.”

“Hermione, just— Neville, wait—” Harry cringed at the thump of Neville’s covered head at the doorframe. “A bit to the left there— Hermione, I told you I don’t want to use my name to get everything done in government. It’s unethical.” He was quite proud of himself for that argument, having debated various worthy excuses with Neville the night before over wizard’s chess.

Judging by her fearsomely arched eyebrow, Hermione was rather less impressed. “I’m well aware you’re terrible with publicity, which is why I need you to use your name to get other people to use their actual political cachet. I’ve compiled an updated list,” she said brusquely, indicating the stack of papers currently occupying his chest, “And I need you to get started on it. Actually, this really should have been done already, I don’t know what we were thinking, we’ll never make it—“

“Hey, no,” Harry jumped to assure her in a desperate attempt to stave off a full-blown crisis mode melt-down a la the Goblin Liaison Office Crisis of 2001. “It’ll be fine, I’m going to go talk to…” He glanced down at the pile still cradled in his arms and read off the first name, “...Malfoy, right now.”

He paused. “Wait. Malfoy?”

Hermione sniffled, and Harry was decent enough to avert his eyes, meaning he was forced to stare at the rather unfortunately shaped water stain some earlier occupant had left on the flat walls. “Yes, Harry, remember? He’s done all that charity work with that foundation for marginalized wizarding groups and we really need a rising star to back us right now. The Wizengamot’s still stuck in the Dark Ages, and these things take so much time without influence to speed them through, and I hate playing the game as much as you do, but—“

Harry managed to juggle the papers enough to put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, stopping her to take a deep breath. “It’ll be fine! It’ll be fine. I’ll talk to him.” He managed to suppress a shudder at the thought, but the outlook was still grim. “I doubt he’ll want to see me, though.”

“Hm.” Hermione peered at him through red-rimmed eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Also, did you realize Neville stole your quilt?”

Harry spun on his heel to see his empty bed and let out a long, heartfelt groan. It was going to be a long day.

—

“I mean really, Malfoy? How much of an influence can he have?”

Luna hummed. “You’d be surprised, I think. Draco does have a bit of pull these days. Would you mind handing me that pin? This twist is about to fall out, and I haven’t quite figured out that third hand spell.”

Harry dutifully passed the pin back over his shoulder. “Shame, that sounds useful. What do you think Hermione meant when she said not to be sure Malfoy didn’t want to see me?”

“Yes, I think maybe adapting it from the third eye spell might have been a mistake,” Luna mused, tugging another lock into place and very gently securing it to what Harry assumed to be some sort of braid but was rather afraid to look at to confirm his suspicions. “Very different meanings, metaphysically speaking. I thought it was rather obvious, myself.”

“Then why start from that in the first place?”

Luna tucked an errant curl behind Harry’s ear, seemingly oblivious to the way it sprang out again immediately after. “I meant that Draco just wants to be your friend, Harry. That looks good, doesn’t it? The flowers add a nice bit of color.”

Harry, entirely unaware that there had even been flowers to be put in his hair, blinked. “Malfoy wants… to be my friend?”

“Well, I assume so,” said Luna, with a laugh that sounded like a rusty can opening yet was still somehow charming. “Otherwise him doing a shot off your belly button would be a rather awkward way to begin your professional negotiations.”

Harry groaned, falling back onto Luna’s outstretched legs. “I’m going to kill Ginny.”

—

“I can’t believe you got me drunk, again,” Harry mumbled into his pillow. “You’re the worst.”

An audible sniff came from beside him, and Harry could practically hear the aristocratic disdain. “You’re a lightweight, Potter. Merlin, it’s freezing.”

Rolling over, Harry blinked blearily at Malfoy, who was looking rather stiff sitting upright in his dress robes at the edge of the bed. “Neville stole my quilt. Are you going to just sit there all night?”

“I rather thought I would be returning home, actually. You received my endorsement, I was seen with you conversing amiably in a public venue to improve my image. We both got what we wanted, and now we can part ways.” Malfoy’s chin stuck out, reminding Harry of a younger, pointier git posturing for his classmates.

“Come on, Malfoy. I’m too drunk for you to Apparate.” Harry hoped he wasn’t drooling, but his mouth had gone rather numb and it was hard to tell. “Besides, we’re friends now. You have to stay over, that’s the rule.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, pausing for a moment. “That’s not… how anything works. You do know that?”

“Shhhh. Shhh shh shh.” Harry pushed at the other man’s shoulder, helping him sink stiffly into the mattress. “We’re friends. Don’t fight it.”

“I don’t…�� Malfoy petered off, hesitant. “Are we?”

Harry nodded, nose scrunching into the pillow. “If you want.”

A long silence ensued, during which Harry almost drifted into blissful unconsciousness before Malfoy brought him back around with a quiet voice. “I’d… be amenable to that. I suppose.”

Harry snorted. “Good. Shut up and sleep, Malfoy.”

Another silence, and then, “Potter, it’s freezing. Your horrible feet are freezing. I will freeze if we stay here. They will find my body and you will be blamed for my untimely death.”

Letting out a soft groan, Harry reached back and poked Malfoy in the too-bony side. “Huddle for warmth, then. I don’t care, just go to sleep and hope I don’t actually kill you for the hangover I’ll have in the morning.”

After a pause, Harry felt a slight warm pressure at his back, and fought down a smirk at the thought of Malfoy having to choose between suffering the chill and spooning his childhood rival.

“Potter.”

“What, Malfoy?”

“We will never speak of this to anyone, correct?”

Harry shuddered. “Absolutely not. No one can ever know. They would be insufferable.”

Malfoy’s chin poked into Harry’s back as he nodded too quickly. “Thank Merlin for that. I’d lose all self-respect otherwise.”

Harry would have snarked back, but he was too exhausted to work up the energy, letting his weak elbow jab speak for itself.

And if an arm ended up over his waist overnight in an apparent search for warmth, well. Harry couldn’t let Malfoy have the satisfaction of seeing him crack first. They’d see who could keep a secret longest.

Malfoy had no idea what he was in for.

[angeltriestoblog]

Second sem (and freshman year) recap

It’s pretty hard to believe, but another chapter of my college journey is finally over and done with. Since I had ended the first half of the school year in such high spirits, I didn’t really believe upperclassmen when they warned that things were only going to get harder from there. In fact, I even thought I’d be the one to prove them wrong! I mean, with a class schedule that looked like this, how would I run out of time for all the things I both needed and wanted to do? My Tuesdays and Thursdays were practically free, save for that one Math class I had to attend in the morning that I surprisingly never cut.

For the most part of the semester, I was in a chill state compared to everyone else. I claimed that I had successfully adjusted to the demands of higher education to the point where I found what once was an unreasonable workload to be manageable. I was able to make time for my home org’s activities and devote enough attention to the only project I was deployed to, which I touched on a bit in my first recap blog post (linked here in case you want to jog your memory). As previously mentioned, I was assigned as one of the Documentations Heads under the Information Management department of the Career Building Program, a three-phase event that gives its participants a glimpse into the corporate world. We kicked things off with a resume writing workshop that I was lucky enough to join. The facilitator assigned to me gave useful insights that I was able to apply in the creation of my own curriculum vitae, which I am keen on using when it’s my turn to apply for internships and jobs in the future. I obviously don’t have much on it yet, seeing as I’m just a freshman, but the idea of filling it up with more experiences over the years is exciting me in ways I cannot explain.

Our group was even given the opportunity to explore the studio of the country’s biggest network, where we were briefed by executives in communications and IT and toured around the sets of our favorite shows. We even ran into Luis Manzano while he was filming Minute to Win It! Unfortunately, I wasn’t scouted by any representative from Star Magic and spontaneously put in a love team with Donny Pangilinan, but I guess that’s alright.

I also went to Talent Night with some friends (not in pictures: Gela's boyfriend and ICA barkada), which is shocking since I’m honestly not the type to attend parties like this. I’ve always been the girl who stayed home and binge watched YouTube videos on a Friday night. But, I guess the drunk confidence of those I was with rubbed off on me and I managed to pull through! It was also a plus that Timmy Albert was one of the performers: I do pass him by along the corridors quite frequently, but it’s just different seeing him sing and play an instrument in front of a crowd, especially since I’ve loved Roses and Sunflowers even before I got into Ateneo.

One surprise that I definitely did not see coming was participating in Daloy, our annual program that revolves around corporate social responsibility. This year, we decided to shed a light on how this could be seen in the Philippine clothing industry, so it seemed fitting to hold some talks featuring prominent figures in this field, as well as a fashion show to exhibit the collections of local brands that advocated sustainability. I was really interested in the concept when I first heard of it, and initially wanted to go as a mere audience member - little did I know that I would be tapped by the committee to model! To this day, I don’t know how or why I was chosen: from what I know, there were even screenings held a week prior to the event to determine who would get to walk the runway. But, I was messaged three days before and in that short span of time, I had to fit clothes, find pieces in my closet to match them and perfect my walk (which took several tries on my part, given the fact that when shy, I’m stiff as a board).

Agreeing to join was a huge step out of my comfort zone - the closest I’ve ever come to strutting on a catwalk was back when family members would ask me to “walk like a fashion model” as a kid during reunions. So, the fact that it had all paid off in the end, and that I was even complimented for the way I looked and performed beyond what was probably expected, was definitely a huge confidence boost for me. I couldn’t have done it without Nelly, Daloy’s project head who patiently guided me through the entire process before the show.

Shoutout as well to the other ACTM upperclassmen who were so friendly to me this school year. We may not have any pictures together, but you deserve a spot on this post nevertheless: Gella, my "boss" (hehe) who was always so patient when I asked questions and even went out of her way to say such kind words about my writing; Sam Que who made me feel like we had already known each other for so long even if we had just talked for the first time, and Ysagab who constantly reassured me that I was doing a good job even if I was looking like such a rookie.

My presence in events wasn’t limited to those of ACTM, though. I also went to the Loyola Film Circle’s Under the Stars, where I was able to see the live performances of OPM acts and watch one of my favorite chick flicks beneath the beautiful night sky. Since it took place the day after Valentine’s, I was surrounded by Ateneans and their significant others (who didn’t hold back at all when it came to publicly displaying their affection), but I didn’t even mind since I was content in the company of both my college constants and high school friends.

I dropped by Sulyap as well, which was the culminating activity of the Ateneo Heights Writers Workshop and the launch of the chapbook of their fellows. It was one of the busiest Fridays of the school year, but I still made it a point to go, because I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to be a part of something organized by my dream org, Ateneo’s premier literary publication. As much as I love my course and the people in it, I have to admit that I haven’t been able to exercise much of my creative side. So being in a room full of like-minded individuals and hearing them speak lengthily about their works and the process that brought them to life was a refreshing experience, a much-needed break from the usual routine. My personal favorite was Unica Hijas by Mikaela Regis, which revolved around a lesbian couple trying to make their relationship work despite the fact that they study in a conservative, all-girls high school - a setting which is all too familliar to me.

It’s also worth noting that I was sorta able to tick a particular item off my freshman year bucket list. And I say sorta, because… well, you’ll see. It’s been a dream of mine ever since to watch a UAAP basketball game live, show up to the arena in a bright blue shirt, cheer as loud as I can when a player makes a point and raise my fist in the air while Song for Mary plays in the background. But, even if I’m consistently in school by 6am, I was never able to get tickets - I couldn’t match the efforts of some fans, who would camp overnight just to get their hands on them. But, just when I thought there was no more chance for me to show my school pride at a match, my friend Mika offered me a free ticket to the Ateneo Lady Eagles’ volleyball match against FEU at the Filoil Arena one Wednesday. We weren’t really on speaking terms before because we were from different cliques, but after bonding over K-Pop, I saw how nice and chill of a person she actually is. So, I didn’t want to turn her down even if I was hesitant to go at first. You see, I was never a fan - in fact, I didn’t know how the game went despite the PE lessons I had back in Grade 5. (Ms. Abella, if you see this, I’m sorry.) But, it didn’t take a lot of convincing for me to agree and I ended up enjoying way more than I thought I would. Fortunately, I was able to catch on when it came to the rules of the sport: the energy of the crowd was contagious as well, and the performance of the players was way too good it was impossible not to shout either out of triumph or frustration. Once we made it to the finals against UST, I even found myself waiting for announcements on where to buy tickets. I didn’t get any though, because they were either sold out due to the ever-increasing demand (ALE fans don’t play around) or there was a conflict in schedule (hi, Enlit play).

Despite this, I streamed the last game and screamed like I was actually in the venue myself. Apologies to all our neighbors, who probably thought someone was getting killed in the house beside theirs. I was so proud when they brought home the championship after three years, I even bought a Team Ateneo shirt (it’s not that hard to guess whose name is on the back) and went to the bonfire with my friends Gwen, Julia and Lou. I had hoped to meet and take a picture with the players, but they were already far too wasted when I arrived. Like, seriously. I saw Maddie Madayag chug a whole bottle of Mule right before my eyes.

So, you could say that it was all fun and games (quite literally) for me until hell weeks eventually rolled in. Plural form intended. I found out that all my professors were just holding back every major requirement until the very last stretch of the semester. Suddenly, my schedule was chock full of presentations and final papers, comprehensive exams and extra classes that put my time management and endurance to the test. I spent many days in Matteo Down just like before, but also started going to the floor above it in case I wanted to suffer in the company of more people. The studying would only continue once I got home: I’d pull all-nighters despite my brain’s and skin’s desperate cries for help, as manifested in my worsening acne. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that stressed in my life, and it’s scary to think that that’s only the tip of the iceberg in the Ateneo.

Coping mechanisms I’ve picked up to help me deal with these unavoidable circumstances would be trying every restaurant along the Katipunan area whenever I had free time (which I will elaborate on more extensively in another blog post, so do watch out for that!) and eventually discovering Pancake House’s corned beef hash, which I love so much I once had it thrice in the span of a week. Another one would be the addition of yet another emotional support K-Pop boy to my collection. After watching My ID is Gangnam Beauty over Holy Week break, I fell in love with Cha Eunwoo and his god-tier visuals, mild demeanor, impressive English skills and heartfelt determination. This led me to binge watching reality show episodes and furiously putting the entire discography of Astro on loop. If you look at my Last.fm, you could see how Crazy Sexy Cool easily climbed to the top of my most played songs, sitting prettily at the #1 spot with over 300 plays in just a little over two months.

Although I constantly had to bear the pressure and stress on my shoulders over the past academic year, I am eternally grateful to Ateneo for equipping me with lessons both within and beyond the realm of academics that have helped me grow into someone I never imagined, but am happy to have turned into anyway. When my naive and starry-eyed self first entered college, I had such high hopes for what my experience would be and proceeded to map out the next four years of my life in accordance with the vision I had in my head. Having just broken free from the metaphorical chains of my previous school, I found it to be the perfect time to transform into a student who excelled academically, had a long and winding list of extracurricular activities and easily built a vast network of connections thanks to her pleasing and magnetic personality. If I got lucky, maybe I’d have one of those so-called “college blooms” and even get myself an actual boyfriend!

This isn’t something unique to me, I bet a lot of people entered this new stage of their lives with the same mindset so I wasn’t the only one in shock upon realizing that it doesn’t always play out that way in real life. Because of these ridiculous expectations we have implanted in our heads, that basically state that we have to be successful in everything we do and fast, we subconsciously keep ourselves from enjoying the process. In our desire to aim high and aspire for perfection in all that we do, we could end up failing to acknowledge the small yet equally important wins we gain along the way: the friend we make outside of our block despite the sheer discomfort we experience in meeting new people, or the answer we gave in class that impressed our most intimidating professor could appear minuscule when placed beside our goal of being straight-A student who’s active in seven orgs. In addition, we deprive ourselves of the allowance to make mistakes, stray from taking the detours and breaks we need to remain functional human beings and often drive ourselves to the point of fatigue and burnout. And when we are still not flourishing and thriving as planned, we fall prey to toxic comparison: we pit ourselves against others who don’t have the same background or circumstances as we do and question why our progress doesn’t match with theirs.

This is obviously such a toxic way to go about things. Talk about sucking the fun out of what’s supposed to be the four most enjoyable years of our lives. Thankfully, over time, I did some growing up, if you will, and channeled the power of acceptance - both of what I am and what I am not, and the will of God (or whichever supreme being you've placed your faith in) who meticulously planned out what’s ahead of me before I was even old enough to know what school was. I now work to the best of my ability, confident that all I have to do is put in my share of the hard work and see where it takes me, and am also more gentle with myself when I make mistakes.

On a somewhat lighter note, I’ve also been able to form my own opinions about very controversial issues on campus: an example of which would be what I think is the best CR - the answer is definitely Arete. You can’t go wrong with its triple killer combo of aircon, bidet and strong WiFi connection. The only possible downside could be the fact that there are usually a lot of people, so it’s not the best option if you’re planning on being loud and… um, smelly. The secluded and fragrant Leong Hall and ever-reliable New Lib restrooms come in second and third place respectively, while honorable mentions include the 2F Kostka CR (but only from 6:00-7:00am, when no one else is around) and this one specific stall in the Socsci building that's spacious enough that I can bring all my belongings inside with me.

Another point for discussion would be the superior place to eat on school grounds: this might cause an uproar, I’m aware, but I still believe it’s JSEC, despite the stark price difference compared to other cafeterias on campus. I was set on trying something from every stall before the school year ended, but I was too fixated on my top picks: I don’t have any regrets though. In fact, I wish I had more of the beef salpicao with calamares on the side from Casa Paella, the Superbowl from Blendabowls and The Coop fries with garlic aioli served on the side. Besides the fact that the food served is satisfying beyond measure, I enjoy the chit-chats I have with the ates and kuyas manning the stalls, who never fail to ask me how I am and tell me about the cute chinito boys they see on campus that they think I might like.

Although I can’t completely rule out Gonzaga, because of this particular stall with quality liempo and a kuya who always gives me a five peso discount. (I’ve been told he does this with girls he finds cute, but I have yet to confirm that). Also, it’s the only place on campus that I know of that sells fresh fruits by the kilo - perfect for those days when I try to convince myself to go on a diet before I relapse and binge eat at Pancake House.

A lot of people do say that ISO sisig is worth the cross-campus walk it’ll take to get there (e-jeep rides are more recommended! An experience in itself! Especially if you’re seated in the back, where there’s a constant feeling of being sucked in a vacuum! But, I digress) - it might just be a matter of preference, but I think it’s overrated. A destination that deserves more attention is the Cervini Hall cafeteria just by the university dormitories. I’ve only been there a grand total of two times so I don’t exactly have any specific favorites on the menu that I recommend, but I’d definitely still go for the homey ambience.

As for superior study places, Matteo Down has been tried and tested several times: I do prefer getting a place opposite to the entrance though, because it does get distracting having to see people enter and go out the door so often. What was supposed to be a study session often ends up becoming a game to see how many people are wearing a striped shirt today. I usually spend time on the fourth floor of the Rizal Library, and get the couch as often as I can because of the comfort (and charger) it provides.

Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to power through this year without the help of my closest friends: Sevi, Gwen, Raya and Christine. I always had this nagging fear in the back of my head that I wouldn’t be able to find a tight-knit group once I got to college, but thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for letting me be my true self, for entertaining even my most random thoughts and for accepting all the kalat that comes with being my friend. I sincerely hope that we stay together and have more Gino’s dates in the future along with Chloe!

To Gela, Jill, Shar (and Dom, but we don’t have any pictures together except for the last one HAHAHA) - I didn’t expect at all that I’d be writing about you guys. I was so intimidated by all of you at first, because I felt like we were so different in terms of our upbringing and environment. But after getting to know you, I came to realize that you are seriously some of the most down-to-earth, chill people ever. Thank you for always providing quality chismis, volunteering to find me chinito boys to date and giving me apps to make my IG stories look cuter.

To the rest of X1, we weren’t exactly the most united and we knew that - it’s just that we were probably the most diverse out of all the groups in our batch, and with that comes clashing personalities and differing opinions and interests. But, nevertheless, I am content with the time we managed to spend together, where I was able to get to know all of you!

To the friends that I made outside of my block (and even my course), thank you for laughing at my jokes and telling me that I'm fun to talk to. Hopefully, we get to hang out more and maybe even have common classes in the future hehe

To my Enlit section, we barely spoke to one another during the first semester so I fell under the impression that you were all stoic and no fun to be with. But, I was proven wrong eventually. I wish I was able to talk to more people in LL, but to the classmates I was closest to (Dootie, Cyrah, Czarina, She and Jessa), I will never forget our side comments and mini-rant sessions. I heard we’re having another English subject come sophomore year, and I really hope I end up with you guys again.

All in all, there is no other word that could sum up the experience that was my freshman year in college better than “adventure”. It was every single emotion on the spectrum All At Once, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world - in fact, during the first half of the semester, I admit that I’d entertain thoughts of alternate universes where I’d be an Iska/Lasallista/Tomasino out of sheer curiosity, but now I just can’t imagine myself anywhere else. Anyway, enough with all that drama. I’m going back to school in three weeks to start my summer term, which we fondly (lmao) refer to as intersession. So, there’s technically nothing to miss.

Hope the rest of you enjoy the summer break that I unfortunately will not be able to experience until I graduate from college! Wishing you nothing but love and light, always.

Angel

[st-str-strangerthingsfic]

Chapter 7: September 18/19, 1985 The Compromise

Chapter Selection: [Chapter 1]–[Chapter 2]–[Chapter 3]–[Chapter 4]–[Chapter 5]–[Chapter 6]--[Chapter 7]--[Chapter 8]--[Chapter 9]

The weekend was spent in silence and El tiptoed around whenever Hopper was in the house (which was the entire time). He refused to leave and was convinced she might take off again. Even though he was the chief of police, he wasn’t thrilled about playing prison warden. He spent the nights away rubbing the worry from his face while cigarette smoke rose the stamped butts in the ashtray on the kitchen table. He didn’t know what to do. He knew he couldn’t keep her out of school, not now that she was doing so well and talking so much more. It was cruel and unusual punishment even for him.

He switched the dial on on her supercomm that he had confiscated the night she snuck out. That night was a messy haze of anger and fear. He’d come home exhausted after sitting through a complaint by Mrs. Marshal followed closely by a false alarm burglary. The soft sound of music radiated from her room. He hung his hat and took his belt that held his gun off and set it on the bench by their door. After grabbing a beer and taking a sip, he paused by the kitchen table. The house felt uncharacteristically empty, the music pouring from under her door was eerie. 

He could usually hear her at least faintly humming along or tapping the static on the supercomm or the shuffle of papers on her desk as she moved through her homework. But those familiar sounds that he had grown so accustomed to hearing and loving were absent.

“Hey kid,” he called out. He took another sip of his beer and set it down gently on the table. “El!” he called a little louder this time. Silence, save for the warbling blonde from her record player. Hopper slowly approached her door, hand instinctively on his hip although he’d left his gun on the bench. He leaned on the door frame and knocked softly.

As he tried to turn the knob he was met, for once, with a locked door. He jiggled the handle “Hey kid, open up, we’ve talked about this. No locked doors, remember?” He tried again and then stopped leaning an ear against the wood to listen for her shuffling feet or muffled voices or anything. His panic grew and he knocked again, louder this time:

“Kid, let me in or I’m going to break down this door.” Nothing. “I’m going to count to five!” Sweat started to pool at his temples.

“One!”

What if something had happened?

“Two!”

What if someone was in there with her?

“I’m not kidding! Three!”

His shaking hands steadied for a moment: what if she had Mike in there? His panic evaporated into something greater. His face turned down into a scowl and he pushed a shoulder against the door, once, twice, three times and piece of the doorframe broke off. The door swung off of one of its hinges with a clatter and Hopper surveyed the empty, dark room. He checked the closet, under the bed, and then his eyes fell on the open window. And just beyond that, the open shed. He swallowed hard, his panic returning. She’d gone. Run away. From him. Fear and pain dropped into the pit of his stomach, something he hadn’t quite felt since…Sarah.

That night was one of the worst for him since Eleven had come into his life. All of his fears and worry pooled around one continuous thought: that she had chosen to leave rather than being taken from him. He knew what that had felt like, this was something different though.

And then when he’d seen her roll up with Mike by her side, his heart returned. And then that fear turned to anger. He hadn’t handled things well, but she didn’t understand, couldn’t understand what that had done to him. She couldn’t understand what her risk entailed.

But he knew now he couldn’t keep her from school. He stood up and walked to her room and leaned just inside the door frame. Her door leaned against the wall in the hallway—he’d have to fix that soon, but remove the lock.

“Hey kid,” he began, softly. Her frame was hunched over her desk, taking notes again, flipping through an open textbook, and paying him no mind. “Eleven, listen, I—.”

“I’m going back. You can’t stop me. It’s not fair.” She said matter-of-factly, sort of similar to the way Hopper listed things out to her when he wanted to be clear. A small smile pulled at his lips.

“I know, I wanted to talk to you about that,” he walked into her room and sat on her bed. “Kid? Can you, can you look at me please? Just for a second.” His face was softer now. His voice calm and endearing.

She put her pencil down and turned her dark brown eyes toward him. A frown lay plastered on her face, but she couldn’t meet him with any other emotion at the moment.

“Listen, I think things got a little heated the other night and I wanted to apologize. What you did was,” he lifted an eyebrow at her, “wrong. But, I don’t think the punishment should be removing you from school. I want to come to a compromise, but you gotta meet me halfway kid.”

Her eyes were considerably lighter and she nodded her head vigorously. School! She could have school! And Mike at school! And everyone else at school!

“Okay. So compromise: You’re still grounded for two weeks. No supercomm, no going over to Mike’s afterschool and no weekend visits. But,” he let out a loud breath, “once the sentence is up, we can incorporate one special thing a week.”

“Special thing?” El raised an eyebrow

“Yeah, kid like, going to a movie with Mike, or doing the science fair with Dustin or—.”

“A sleepover? With Max?” El’s eyes lit up. Hopper chuckled.

“Sure kid. Here or…or at her house. But here’s the thing. One special thing a week means you pull no stunts.” He held an index finger in front of him, trying to be menacing.

“St-stunts.” El squinted her eyes in confusion again.

“Yeah, that means, no sneaking out, no joy rides, no breaking anymore rules. I give a little, you give a little. Compromise. Remember?” El nodded her head so vigorously she thought her neck might snap. She rushed over to Hopper in a squeal and tackled him in a hug. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m just trying to keep you safe kid.”

“I know. And,” she leaned back meeting his eyes, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know…To know what it was like.”

“I know kid. And you’re gonna get that more and more but you have to work with me.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

Mike stood next to the bike racks early Monday morning with his thumbs looped through the straps of his backpack nervously shaking his leg. He stared at the drop off area, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he said under his breath.

“Mike!” Dustin, Lucas and Max pulled up to the bike racks. Mike whipped his head around for a second and then looked back out at the drop off area.

“She’s not here yet?” Lucas asked. Mike didn’t answer but pursed his lips in frustration.

“He wouldn’t really keep her out of school, would he?” asked Max her tone dropping in worry.

“Don’t worry, Mike. She’s coming.” Dustin gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Mike’s eyes shot over to his bike. He could just go over there and get her. Hopper couldn’t keep her like this. She wasn’t a princess to be locked away in a tower, but he would sure as hell be that guy who busted her out if he had to. He looked down at his feet kicking at the dirt trying to decide if that would make things worse for El. He didn’t want her to get in even more trouble.

“Mike look!” Dustin was standing next to him now a toothless smile pulling across his face. Mike looked up anxiously and saw the chief’s truck pull up. The first bell rang for class and El jumped down from the cab, swinging the door shut and took off running, running. She gave a wave over her shoulder but her eyes stayed fixed on Mike as she sprinted down the short hill from the drop off. She flew into his arms, accidentally knocking Dustin back a little.

“El!” Mike cried, forgetting they were at school. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and tried to pull her in even closer. Her breath was hot on his ear and she was pulling in quick breaths from the excitement.

“You’re here!” his lowered tone squeaked a little in his excitement.

“I’m here” she said back ecstatically. The two finally pulled apart, smiling at each other and El was passed to the rest of group, hugging with excited squeals of delight.

“How did you convince Hopper to let you come?” Will asked. He was thrilled to see her. After Mike had recounted what had happened at the double wide with tears freely falling from his eyes, Will was determined to try and help. He would convince his mom to go break down Hopper’s door and pull Eleven out herself if he refused to let her leave. He knew Hopper wasn’t unreasonable, just protective, but Mike had made it all sound so bleak.

El shrugged, “Compromise.”

“Compromise?” Mike’s eyes lit up. “What’s the compromise?!”

“I’m still grounded for two weeks, but after that I can do one special thing a week. Sleepovers, or movies, or science fair, or anything!” Mike pulled her into a hug again lifting her up and spinning her around. He had no idea why Hopper had such a change of heart but this news sent him flying.

The final bell rang and they all looked panicked at one another. They’d completely lost track of time in their excitement. They sprinted off to class, Mike’s hand clasping El’s firmly in his. Things couldn’t get any better.

But, just as El charged up the steps with the others, she saw a flicker of face peering around the brick. Dark eyes, black sweeping hair. But before she could stop, they were through the doors and crashing down the hall, not bothering to stop at their lockers on the way.

It couldn’t be, could it? Kali. El thought and her eyes widened in surprise.

[masquerading-brambles]

So. A tag meme. I was tagged by @ouibeastie  and took three days to get around to it (sorry about that, by the way, I got a bit sidetracked)

Anyway, I don’t know eleven people well enough to tag, I don’t think. If you got tagged here, feel free to ignore it.

Rules:

1. Post the rules.

2. Answer the questions given to you by the tagger

3. Write eleven questions

4. Tag eleven people.

What’s the last song you listened to?

The title theme from the original Gold and Silver. I haven’t actually played Gold or Silver recently, but I really like the soundtrack.

What’s your aesthetic?

Alternates wildly between ‘empty’ rooms in horror films (monsters that you probably dont want to look at included) and warm libraries with cats. Or both. It varies from day to day.

If you could have any pet, what would you get?

A Tundra from Flight Rising. Fluffy and warm. Large. Eats plants. Could probably fly on one. It’s good.

Do you have any go-to things to help you feel better?

Pokemon is a bit of a comfort game for me. X and Y in particular. The soundtrack alone gives me a good atmosphere for winding down, and I have a few books that I tend to turn to when I’m really down. Sometimes, I write little self-indulgent fluff pieces when I’m in a Mood(tm), and when all else fails, sitting in a dark room with cats and music I really like is the best way to attempt removing stress.

The last one doesn’t happen very often, because apparently being alone in your own bedroom is an Unreasonable Expectation, but I do what I can.

What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever been a part of?

I’m 90% sure that my current house is haunted, if that counts. Unless it’s possible to move a pen outside the house while you’re at the library and everyone else is out, it’s haunted. Otherwise, I once predicted a canon character six months before they were released.

What’s your favorite animal?

I like foxes. They’re the best.

If you could spend a day with someone (real or fictional) who would you choose?

Either Crookshanks or Symmetra. It depends if that someone had to be human. Widowmaker would be on the list, but I am intimidated and I would also probably say something stupid and die. It’s mostly a case of ‘I like screwing with the setting and seeing all the interesting ways I can fuck up the timeline with just one character but I probably wouldn’t actually want to meet them in real life’.

Most of my list of favorite characters fall into that category. Most real people fall into the category of ‘i do enough interaction with real people already and I would like to have five seconds to myself please’

What was the last song you loved so much that you listened to it over and over until you hated it?

Creepin’ Towards the Door. I doubt that anybody here has ever heard of it. It’s catchy until you listen to it fifty times and get it stuck in your head. Old-timey jazz is only good for so long.

Coffee or tea?

Tea. You coffee-lovers can drink your bitter bean juice, I’m going to chug five cups of cold caffinated tea and regret everything.

In all seriousness, I can’t stand the taste of coffee. It’s not really my thing.

If you could go back in time, when would you go to and why?

2010. I have about three years to earn money and get a spot in the kickstarter for Flight Rising. I know, I know, obviously I have my priorities straight.

Eleven questions, in which I run out of ideas:

1. Would you prefer being a dragon or having a billion dollars?

2. What kind of bird is your favorite?

3. Movies, books, or a TV series?

4. What are you working on right now?

5. Would you prefer being locked in a haunted house or an empty, featureless, noiseless room for 24 hours?

6. Cats or dogs?

7. Do you have any books or podcasts you would reccomend to your followers?

8. Would you read all of Shakespear’s plays in one sitting for a million dollars?

9. If given the chance, would you want to be immortal?

10. Are you a skeleton?

11. What’s your favorite video game?

Eleven(ish) people:

@corvidcraft @meepmorp-and-suffering @puffins-and-bears

three is eleven dont worry

if you want to do the questions just ping me in your response

[airbnbfestivals]

I'm thinking of leaving a bad review. Am I being unreasonable?

I'm in the middle of a 2 week stay at an AirBnb in London, England. I'm thinking of leaving a bad review for the place. I've stayed in AirBnbs before and it's been great and the places have been as expected, but this place is really sub-par in my view.I'm staying in a private room, on AirBnb the ad stated I'd be sharing the 3 bedroom house with a small family (host, his wife and toddler). Great, I thought. What wasn't mentioned on the ad was that the host, his wife and the little girl share one room and elderly grandparents live in the other room. This is a permanant arragement as far as I can tell, they're not just in town visiting. Also, there's a guy (a relative I think) who sleeps on the couch in the living room several nights a week, and has all his stuff in the living/dining room. I have to walk through the small living room to get to the single bathroom, which makes it difficult to go to the toilet at night without disturbing the couch man. It also makes it difficult to eat breakfast in the mornings if he's still asleep as the dining table is right next to the couch he sleeps on.In addition, the listing had the living room and kitchen as available for use, but I kind of get the vibe from the host's wife that I shouldn't be using them. The host's wife is also quite rude and has some strange rules, such as that the curtains in the living room need to be closed at all times and not to put the lights on (the living room is like a freaking mausoleum as a result). One morning I woke up before her and opened the curtains and turned the light on (just because it was so gloomy otherwise), she woke up, came into the room and shut the curtains and turned off the lights whilst giving me a dirty look. I was also berated by her for taking too long in the shower, I came out of the bathroom to her standing there saying 'why you take so long in the shower? This is not hotel'. I was in the shower for about 8 minutes, for the record.If I'd known there'd be 6 other people in the house (and sharing one bathroom/toilet) I probably wouldn't have booked this place, so I'm going to say the listing was deceptive in that regard. Also I'm going to mention the guy living on the couch, I feel like potential guests should know that they have to walk past someone sleeping every time they want to use the toilet at night. I will also mention about the host's wife's rudeness. Do you guys think I'm being unreasonable/unfair here?Also I am a little worried about the host giving ME a bad review as retaliation. Get $20 off your first AirBnB stay.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Love your blog so much! Just curious does the Jamie in FMM Carey any weapons?

Flood my Mornings: Some Sunday Morning 

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Aisles (Jamie visits a modern supermarket)

September, 1950

Some Sunday morning is goin’ to be 

Some Sunday morning for someone and me! 

Bells will be chiming an old melody, 

‘Specially for someone and me!

“I truly dinna understand it Claire,” Jamie said, shaking his head at me. 

“What?” 

“I canna remember ye ever being musically inclined, back in the days before, but seems every moment I turn around, now, you’re fair bursting out into song!” 

“What can I say, darling?” I sighed dramatically, batting my lashes. “You put a song in my heart!” 

Our eyes met and we both burst into gales of laughter at the sickly-sweet endearment. 

Sickly-sweet….but accurate, I thought, my heart feeling light. 

We turned the corner onto Burnham Avenue, pushing Bree before us in her pram. It was a little chilly for a September morning, and there was a whiff of winter in the air; not enough to keep us from our usual Sunday walk before mass, but enough that Jamie kept his arm around me as we walked, and I snuggled happily into his shoulder. 

“Summ-summy-morneeen,” sang Bree.  

“Oh, so she’s a wee songster, as well!” Jamie said, amused, peering down at her. “I’m to be overrun by you tuneful lot, then!” 

“I think I picked it up from Uncle Lamb,” I mused. “He used to sing under his breath as he dug or wrote. Used to drive me bananas, in fact,” I said, laughing. “I’ll do my best to cut it out, I promise!”

“No, no,” Jamie replied hastily, grinning. “It’s charming, Sassenach, truly. I only wish I could join along wi’ y–” 

Jamie stopped dead, staring ahead as I was… at the swarm of police cars at the end of the street. 

“God, it’s…just terrible,” I said for perhaps the dozenth time. I could see the reflection of my hands shaking as I finished pinning up my hair in the mirror. 

Approaching the melée of flashing lights and sirens, hearts pounding, we had joined the small huddle of concerned neighbors, hearing the story that trickled back in low whispers.

The Nortons. That was their name. We had never known that, just recognized them from occasionally crossing paths at the park or market: a husband, wife, and three small children, all with white-blonde hair, such that Jamie had always referred to them fondly in passing as ‘the ducklings.’ The father was a banker, someone said. The mother was often to be seen in her yard tending flowers. Nice people. Normal people.  

An armed man had broken into the family’s house in the night, threatened them, then beat and bound the parents before locking all five of them in a windowless closet. The vandal then stripped the house of its valuables and made off into the night. It was nearly eight hours later that a paperboy happened to hear the children’s cries and the family was rescued. No lasting injuries sustained, thank God, but all five severely and understandably terrified by the ordeal of the night.

“Terrible,” I said again, shuddering at the memory of the five blanked-wrapped figures clinging close together in their front yard. 

As I finished affixing my hat, Jamie walked down the hall to join me in the foyer. He had said nothing the entire walk back to the house. He’d remained silent as we’d washed and dressed and gotten Bree ready, preparing for the service. 

“We’d best get on our way, I suppose,” I said, less than enthusiastically checking my wristwatch and scooping Bree off the living room rug. “Only fifteen minutes to mass.” 

“I’m no’ going to mass this morning,” he said with almost no inflection. 

“Oh, good,” I said, relieved, though a bit miffed that he hadn’t said so before I’d made a to-do of getting myself and Bree dressed and coiffed. “I’m not much in the mood eith–wh–?….Jamie, where are you going?” For he had taken up his hat and overcoat and was putting them on, clearly meaning to go out. 

He didn’t look up. “To buy a weapon.” 

Taken aback by this blunt answer as I was, I supposed it was only natural given what we’d just seen. He’d slept with a dirk under his pillow for the first three years of our marriage, had he not? I shifted Bree in my arms, letting her play with my hair. “I’m not sure there will be many stores open on a Sunday morning where you can buy a decent knife. You may want to wait until—”

“No’ a knife, Sassenach. I’m going to buy a pistol.”  

“Like hell you are.” 

He stared at me, for a moment perfectly blank with surprise. I stared right back, one eyebrow raised in defiance. He was actually speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. I heaved a sigh, half-laughing. “God, men and their love of toys.” 

“Toys?” Jamie whispered, sounding as though he didn’t believe his own ears. 

“Toy-toysies-toys!” came a far more cheerful voice at my ear. I knelt to set Bree down on the living room floor, opening the basket that held a small selection of toys and books. She set to her work, happily finding George the Rabbit and her favorite wooden blocks. 

Jamie was still standing in the foyer, I could see from the corner of my eye, giving me a patient look as he explained, “It’s to keep in the house, Sassenach, the pistol. I dinna mean to carry it about wi’ me.”

“Even so,” I said, rising and facing him with my arms crossed. “Absolutely not.” 

Jamie’s face hardened and reddened now. “After learning what we did this morning…? How could you possibly not wish to see us better protected, Claire?”

“The burglar didn’t discharge his weapon, Jamie. He didn’t shoot at the family. He just had a gun.”

“Ye think every scoundrel will be satisfied wi’ that? The Nortons were lucky, that’s all. We willna be caught empty-handed like they were.” 

“Jamie, darling,” I said through slightly gritted teeth, “this is a different time.” 

Jamie made an angry sound in his throat, gesturing sharply. “But there’s still evil in the world, no? I read the newspapers, Claire–I ken fine that there are as many sick bastards now as in 1743, if none so recognizable at first sight. So dinna give me that tripe that there’s no danger to be had in 1950.”

“Yes, but this isn’t the bloody Highlands, either,” I snapped, picking up my coat and purse and brushing past him, feeling the alarming heat of true discord boiling between us for the first time in recent memory, and wanting to blink my eyes and have all melt away.

“And what’s that meant to signify?” came the sharp question from behind me.

“This is an advanced civil society the like of which no one of your century could have even dreamed,” I said crisply, opening the door to the closet at the end of the hall. “There’s rule of law that keeps your ‘sick bastards’ from extorting and murdering people with impunity.” 

“Oh, aye? So it’s all well and good if Claire Fraser is shot and killed, because the perpetrator will go to prison for it in the end, is that it?” 

“AND–” I ignored this jab out of hand. I was angry and getting angrier, but I was slow and fussy with hanging my things l, not ready to turn and face him as I barrelled forward. “–the other side of that ordered society is that even if Jamie Fraser thinks it’s merited, he can’t just shoot someone at the slightest provocation!” 

“I dinna intend to shoot at any provocation….” He was straining to keep calm, but I could clearly hear the danger rising between his clenched teeth. “…except that someone enters this house to do violence against my family.”

I turned on my heel and gave him a look of steel. “Jamie, I won’t have a gun in this house. They’re dangerous and unnecessary.”

“’Unnecessary’?” He was almost six feet away, but even at that safe distance, his own look could have sliced me in two. I jumped back in reflex as he snarled, “You would rather be shot–rather *our daughter* or the next bairn be killed before our eyes– than have me keep a weapon under our roof? Is that what you’re telling me?” 

I threw up my hands in abject frustration and panic. “Jamie, that isn’t bloody fair!”

“How? HOW is what I’m saying unreasonable, Claire?” He was shaking with rage. “DAMN YOU, Claire, TELL ME!”  

“What if Bree got hold of your bloody pistol without you knowing and thought it a toy and pulled the trigger?? She could—”

He was seething, deep scarlet, moments from complete eruption. “Ye think—I’d be—so careless—as to—”

“Accidents, Jamie!” I said, throwing up my hands and bustling into the bedroom to escape that look. “Accidents happen! Don’t you ever see that in your newspapers? And it’s not just Bree I’m worried about—YOU could shoot someone out of your bloodyminded warrior instinct and be put away for life to rot in some prison cell, and THEN where would we fucking be??”

His voice was low and lethal from the doorway, barely a whisper.  “In all the years you’ve known me… in ALL the dangers we’ve faced…have you ever known me to act rashly in danger? EVER?” he hissed. “Have I ever struck or killed by accident?

“Jamie that’s beside the—” I turned, pleading, and suddenly he was only inches from me, his breath hot on my face. “Dar–Darling, listen, you have to trust m—”

“NO!” he bellowed, leaning down so close to me that I tried to step back but was trapped by the wall, trapped by those blue eyes blazing. “No, Claire, I DO NOT have to trust you on this. What ye choose to wear, what profession you pursue: concerning those I have chosen trust you, no matter how much they might gall me–.but I will not TRUST you and Bree to the CHANCE that invaders will be merciful or stupid!  Do ye hear me?”

“Jamie, I–”

“I will NOT live knowing myself to be at a disadvantage to those that would attempt to harm my family. And the fact that you would leave ME to be shot first wi’ only a knife in my hand–That your–your–PRINCIPLES are more important than–”

“…Da?” 

We both snapped our heads to the bedroom door, where Bree stood clutching George, eyes overflowing with tears, her sweet face a mask of horror.

Jamie made a sound….a pitiful sound…shame and despair….and turned away from us both, retreating to the space between the bed and wall.

I went at once to Bree and swept her up into my arms, patting and soothing. “It’s alright, baby, hush, now, everything’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine…but God, he was right. 

It wasn’t my ‘principles,’ though. As much as I did think it dangerous to allow the easy purchase of guns generally, that wasn’t the reason I didn’t want one in our house. 

It was that I was afraid of being afraid again. I didn’t want to live once more in a world where people sought to attack, maim, rape, and destroy me and those I held dear. Knowing evil exists in the world is one thing; acknowledging that such dangers might find me, my loved ones–that was what had pierced me with terror; as if arming against danger would call it forth. 

…which was utterly foolish, I realized as soon as the thought crossed my mind. The English deserters in that long-ago glade after our first wedding had not attacked me because I carried a sgian dubh–the having of it had simply allowed me to do what needed to be done to defend myself…and Jamie.

His face was averted, hung between his shoulders as he leaned with both hands against the wall; but I could see his shoulders shaking, and hear the desperate effort to which he went to suppress (almost suppress) bitter sobs.

I came close behind him, slowly, Bree sniffling and gasping on my shoulder as her own tears failed to subside. I laid a hand softly on his arm and said firmly, but I hoped not coldly, “If we must have it….we’ll keep it locked in the bedside drawer.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. Then after a long silence he turned fast and crushed us to him. “I’m sorry….sorry, Claire….I didna mean… I ken ye dinna want this…but…” 

I crushed him right back, or as best I could with only one free arm. 

No, I didn’t want this, but he was right: never once had I seen him err in battle or hand-to-hand combat. In decisions? In words? God, yes; too many times to count. But In blows? When lives were on the line? Never. There was no one on earth I trusted more than him, not just in some romantic, theoretical way; but also in the capability of his mind and body to act with decision and incision. 

I hated this…but I was choosing to trust him. 

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. And you, a leannan,” he said to Bree, “Da is verra sorry he frightened ye.” 

He spoke gently in Gaelic to her–I love you, sweetheart–and kissed her cheek, wrapping his arms around us both again and exhaling heavily. 

“Claire, I–” he said, haltingly, and I could hear the pain in it; the regret. “I ken there’s no valor in this. It’s fear that screams at me to insist upon this thing, rather than submit and trust that all will be well. It’s just that…” His mouth went dry and he had to swallow. “I’ve nothing in the world save you two.”

“You think I have?” I choked out, his fear seemed to creep across the space between our feet and snake up my leg into my heart. 

He pressed his cheek hard into the top of my head. “I pray wi’ all my soul, Claire… that we never once have to unlock the drawer.”

Song: Some Sunday Morning from San Antonio (1945)

[next chapter]

[devontroxell]

The Agency Guide to Working Effectively With Freelancers

Freelance talent can help your agency save costs and get more done, faster. Learn how to work effectively with freelancers in our latest post.

Flexibility, lower overhead costs, expertise – there are so many reasons to hire freelancers.

At a time when workloads and financials are uncertain, working with freelancers can be particularly attractive.

However, not all agencies are comfortable hiring freelancers. And once hired, not all agencies are good at maximizing their returns from freelance talent.

In this guide, we’ll demystify the entire process of hiring and managing freelancers. You’ll learn:

The top three reasons for working with freelancers

How to build lasting relationships with freelance talent

Where to find great freelancers

Why Hire Freelancers

The last few months have revealed the fault lines in a lot of agency models.

Work has been inconsistent and there is general uncertainty about the near future.

While the prospects are certainly positive for agencies in the long run, you can be forgiven for being circumspect about hiring full-time employees at a time like this.

The result is that a lot of agencies are struggling to meet deadlines because they don’t have enough talent (or the right talent).

Hiring freelancers can bridge this gap.

From an agency’s perspective, freelancers bring three things to the table:

Flexibility: You can hire and fire freelancers at will. There is no notice period to serve, nor do you have to spend weeks onboarding them. You can work with a freelancer for a single project and part ways when the project wraps up.

Savings: Freelancers cost substantially less than FTEs. You don’t have to pay recruiters, nor do you have to spend money onboarding or training them. Most freelancers also have access to their own tools and work remotely, saving you money in office rent and tool purchases as well. A good freelancer can be productive from day one with little to no overhead costs.

Expertise: Some projects require niche expertise that you might not have in-house. For such one-off cases, it makes far more sense to bring in an outside expert than to hire a full-time employee whose expertise you might not need in the future.

A LinkedIn survey of businesses revealed the same thing – experience, costs, and bandwidth are the three biggest reasons for hiring freelancers.

Additionally, hiring freelancers makes far more sense today since most agencies have already fixed the biggest point of resistance: remote work.

You might have been wary of working with someone who couldn’t share the same office as your team. But in 2020, work from home is the norm and you’re likely already used to working with a distributed team. The productivity question of hiring freelancers is largely solved.

Of course, it’s not all roses and rainbows. Working with freelancers comes with its own challenges, from cultural fit to reliability questions.

We’ll address these issues in the next section.

How to Work With Freelancers

Working with freelancers is not the same as working with full-time employees. The flexibility and low overhead costs also mean that freelancers are not loyal to your business and will have their own routines, habits, and availability issues.

You have to be willing to meet them halfway. Give them what they want – freedom, flexibility, and timely payments. At the same time, give your team enough elbow room to fit in an outside expert.

Let’s take a closer look at the key points of resistance to working with freelancers and how to overcome them.

See Things From Their Perspective

Why do people become freelancers?

While money is a strong motivation, it’s not the only one. Studies show that workers freelance for reasons ranging from flexibility and financial necessity to skill development and experience.

If you want to build successful relationships with freelancers, you have to understand these motivations. Give them what they want and they can be valuable experts you can lean on, not just guns-for-hire moonlighters.

This begs the question: What do freelancers want?

Three things, by and large:

1. Certainty

The freelance life is inherently unstable. You can’t be sure if you’ll have work next month. And even if you do, there is no guarantee that you’ll be paid on time – or paid at all.

A survey of European freelancers found that some of their biggest concerns are related to “certainty” – getting paid and finding steady work.

How you can help

Offer freelancers certainty and stability. You can do this:

Paying invoices in full promptly

Offering freelancers a guaranteed minimum amount of work every month

Informing freelancers ahead of time if you’re changing your plans

I understand that being able to hire and fire freely is one of the perks of hiring freelancers. But if you want to have lasting productive relationships with them, you have to give them some semblance of certainty – almost like a semi-permanent employee.

2. Commitment

Freelancers constantly worry about clients changing plans overnight. Or not being given enough of a runway to do their best work.

You can’t be at your creative best if you think you’ll lose the gig any minute.

How you can help

For every freelancer you hire, give them some time to ramp up. Not as much as you would for a full-time employee, but enough that they can understand the campaign and the team.

Stretch things further by giving freelancers a certain number of billable hours each month – should the project permit it.

3. Respect for their time

Outside of financial motivations, flexibility is the biggest reason why people decide to freelance. Being able to set your own hours is a massive perk – one that many top freelancers won’t compromise on.

Agencies often don’t see things the same way. To them, freelance talent is just like full-time talent – they can be pinged any time with any request.

The result is usually a messy breakup.

How you can help

Understand that freelancers usually juggle several projects at the same time to make ends meet. While your project is certainly important to you, it might be lower on the freelancer’s priority list – especially if it’s a smaller project.

Fix a specific time to resolve issues and discuss the project. Don’t call them up randomly; schedule calls and chats ahead of time.

Respect their time and they’ll respect yours.

Address Your Own FUDs (Fears, Uncertainties, Doubts)

Agencies that don’t frequently work with freelancers often have deep-seated reservations about the freelancer-agency relationship. They might believe that freelancers don’t fit into existing teams, or that freelance talent is somehow “inferior” to FTEs.

Before you can build strong freelance relationships, it’s important to address all these fears, uncertainties, and doubts, such as:

“The freelancer won’t integrate with the team”

This is a common concern – that freelancers won’t be a good cultural fit for the team.

By all accounts, this concern is legitimate. A freelancer working 10-20 hours/week is unlikely to even want to fit into your team’s culture.

There is no fix for this problem. You will just have to accept that freelancers will be an addendum to the team, not a part of it.

Try to get freelancers for tasks that don’t rely on teamwork. Use them as outside experts who can jump in to solve a problem, not as a cohesive part of the team.

If you’re engaging the freelancer for the long-term, consider adding them to your team-specific communication channels – at least the bits where you share non-sensitive stuff. Getting the freelancer into a group chat around the watercooler can help them feel like they’re a part of the team.

“The freelancer will take too long to be productive”

Every agency works differently. You might have your own set of tools and best practices built up over the years.

Expecting a freelancer to jump right in and be as productive as the rest of your team is unreasonable. It takes some time for even the most experienced freelancers to ramp up production.

Fix this by fixing your expectations. Give freelancers sufficient runway to get up to speed. You should also be flexible in your tools and routines. A freelancer might have his/her own best practices. Incorporate them into your workflow instead of asking them to work according to your rules and failing.

“The freelancer won’t deliver”

The belief that freelancers can’t/won’t meet your quality and time guidelines is surprisingly common.

This concern mostly stems from a lack of experience and trust. If you’ve never worked with freelancers, or don’t trust them enough, you might believe that they’ll be unable to deliver.

To fix this problem, you can:

Hire top-quality freelancers with a proven track record (even if they’re more expensive)

Hire for specialists instead of generalists, and match them with the right projects

Hire from trusted platforms where past performance can be vetted

Tip: The vendor search feature in Workamajig makes it easy to find the right freelancer for the right project.

You can list freelancers as “vendors” in Workamajig and search your database for the right vendor for each project

Give Freelancers Better Briefings

Agencies frequently hire freelancers because they want outside expertise.

Because they’re hiring an “expert”, agencies often take a hands-off approach to managing freelancers. They usually have elaborate processes to onboard new hires, but when it comes to freelancers, they just assume that the “expert” would know how things work.

The truth is that while expert freelancers would know their own work, they have no idea about your team, project, or practices. If you leave them to figure it out, they’ll just fumble around wasting everyone’s time.

You can fix this by going the extra mile in your briefings. Include information such as:

The current state of the project, key milestones, and deadlines

Brief profiles of the team, including current management structure

Any specific preferences – both for you and the client

IT & security information – what tools you use, how to login, how to secure data, etc.

Similar past projects so that freelancers know your standards and expectations better

Remember that freelancers have to mold their ways to meet your expectations. This can take time – give them ample time to get up to speed.

Treat Freelancers Like Short-Term Team Members

To get the best possible results with freelancers, you have to change how you view them.

Don’t treat them as disposable labor. If you adopt that mindset, you’re less likely to invest in cultivating relationships with them. This might be fine if you want to hire someone for a cheap one-off project. But if you want freelancers to be a core part of your talent strategy, this approach will result in disaster.

Instead, treat freelancers as valuable short-term team members. People you can lean on now and in future projects.

This minor shift in mindset changes your entire approach to the freelancer-agency relationship. You start investing in them and their success. You start trusting them more. And you help them integrate into your team.

More importantly, this approach helps you build a talent pool of trusted freelancers you can tap into again and again.

Apart from these tactics, the standard rules for hiring new employees apply to working with freelancers as well. Give them clear objectives and deadlines. Help them understand the project. And monitor their progress with regular standups.

Some additional tips to keep in mind:

Clarify payment terms upfront. Payment disputes are a major cause of freelancer-agency strife. Both you and the freelancer should be 100% onboard whatever payment model you choose – hourly/monthly/flat fee.

Get your paperwork right. If you’re working through a freelance platform, there might be some payment protection built in. Regardless, you should sign a contract that clearly outlines the terms of the engagement. If the project requires it, sign an NDA as well.

Clarify the reporting hierarchy. Make sure that freelancers know the reporting hierarchy both for the project and for your agency as a whole. They should know who to get hold of in case of a problem.

Agree on content rights. Freelancers will sometimes want to use the work they’ve done for you in their portfolios. Make sure that you agree on this upfront. You should know whether you’ll have full ownership of the IP, and if the freelancer is free to share the IP under his/her own name.

Tell your clients. Although not always necessary, if you’re a small agency, it’s a good practice to inform clients that you have freelancers helping you. Else clients might raise complaints if they want your work displayed on a freelancer’s portfolio.

The next question is – where do you hire freelancers from?

I’ll look at some answers below.

Where to Find Freelance Talent

There’s been a Cambrian explosion in platforms that connect freelancers with agencies/businesses. The market is so massive that there are hundreds of players spread across different verticals.

Broadly, you can divide freelance platforms into three categories:

General purpose

Niche/industry/skill specific

Skil matching services

You’ll want to tap into both these platform types to get the best candidates.

General Purpose Platforms

These platforms cater to all skill sets and projects regardless of their size and scope. Some of the leading players in this category include UpWork, Freelancer, PeoplePerHour, Fiverr, FreeUp, FlexJobs, and Workamajobs.

There is further stratification within these platforms. FlexJobs, for instance, has positioned itself as a more premium service, while Fiverr targets cheaper services with faster turnaround times.

Such platforms usually have a massive talent pool. While that might sound nice on paper, it means you have to vet candidates yourself.

Approach these platforms if you:

Don’t have very specific skill requirements

Want a skill set that isn’t covered by niche platforms

Want a commodifiable skill (such as creating an eBook cover)

Niche-Specific Platforms

These platforms usually focus on a set of closely related skills or verticals. Here’s a short list to help you get started:

Tech: TopTal, Lemon.io, Gigster, Gun.io, AngelList

Design: DesignHill, Dribble, Behance, 99Designs, DesignCrowd, WorkingNotWorking

Marketing: Credo, Contently, ClearVoice, Torchlite

Niche-specific platforms work best when you:

Know what skill you’re looking for

Are willing to pay a premium for vetted talent

Instead of letting just about anybody in, these platforms usually work with only proven freelancers.

On the downside, you’ll have to pay substantially more – both to the platform and to the freelancer.

If you have a project that requires top talent, niche-specific platforms should be your first priority.

Over to You

Freelancers can be an incredible force multiplier. They can bring outside expertise to your projects without adding to your overhead costs. They also give you room to grow or shrink your teams as necessary.

Effective freelance-agency relationships are built on trust and mutual understanding. You have to see things from the perspective of freelancers and address the issues they frequently deal with. At the same time, you have to address your own reservations and prejudices.

One way to make working with freelancers easier is to use a platform like Workamajig to manage your resources. Click the link below to see how Workamajig can transform your business.

The Agency Guide to Working Effectively With Freelancers published first on https://wabusinessapi.tumblr.com/

[gordonwilliamsweb]

You Can See Friends and Relatives During the Pandemic Surge — But Do It Carefully

Cooped up too long, yearning for a day at the beach or a night on the town — and enticed by the easing of restrictions just as the warm weather arrived — many people have bolted from the confines of home. And who can blame them?

But Houston — and San Antonio and Phoenix and Miami and Los Angeles — we have a problem.

COVID-19 is spiking in Texas, Arizona, Florida, California and other states, forcing officials once again to shut down bars, gyms and the indoor-dining sections of restaurants.

But that does not mean we can’t spend time with the important people in our lives. Our mental health is too important to avoid them.

You can expand your social bubble beyond the household — if you heed now-familiar health guidelines and even take extra precautions: Limit the number of people you see at one time, and wear a mask if meeting indoors is the only feasible option or if you can’t stay at least 6 feet from one another outdoors. Disinfect chairs and tables, and wash your hands, before and after the visit. If food and drink are on the agenda, it’s best for all involved to bring their own, since sharing can raise the risk of infection.

Arthur Reingold, a professor of epidemiology at the University of California-Berkeley’s School of Public Health, and his wife, an epidemiologist for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, have begun spending time with another couple around their age who have a large patio. “They have us go around the back; they don’t have us go through the house,” says Reingold, 71. “We sit on chairs that are a good 10 to 12 feet away from each other, and we talk. We bring our food, and they bring their food.”

And they don’t wear masks. “I personally believe the risk from that situation, even without a mask, is pretty minimal,” Reingold says. “But if people wanted to try to do that and wear a mask, I don’t think that would be unreasonable.”

And while we are on the topic of masks, please remember they don’t make you impervious to infection. “Your eyes are part of the respiratory tree. You can get infected through them very easily,” says George Rutherford, a professor of epidemiology at UC-San Francisco. If you are medically vulnerable, or just want to be extra careful, consider wearing a face shield or goggles.

Most of us have wrestled with the question of how big a gathering is too big. It’s impossible to give an exact answer, but the smaller the better. And keep in mind there is no such thing as zero risk.

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In the U.S. as a whole, the average infection rate is currently about 1% to 2%, which means one or two people in a group of 100 would typically be infected, says Dr. Yvonne Maldonado, a pediatrician specializing in infectious diseases at Stanford University’s School of Medicine. In any individual setting, however, these percentages don’t necessarily apply, she says. And a gathering in an area where the COVID-19 rate is surging — or already high — is more dangerous than one of the same size in a place where it’s not. So stay informed about the status of the pandemic in your area.

Be wary even of friends you’ve known and loved a long time. That may sound callous, but you need to know something about the behavior and recent whereabouts of anyone with whom you plan to visit. Don’t be shy about asking where and with whom they have been in recent weeks. If they are a close enough friend for you to want to see them, they should understand why you are asking.

A chart from the Texas Medical Association that generated controversy on Twitter in recent days listed numerous activities, ranked from lowest to highest risk. Among the riskiest behaviors: going to a bar, a movie theater or any other crowded venue — and eating at a buffet. You could ask questions based on that list, or a similar one, to determine if it’s safe to visit with someone.

With regard to play dates for your children, public health experts say you should apply the same safety precautions as for adult get-togethers. “Children can play together, especially if their families have been socially distancing, the activities do not involve physical contact, and they can engage in the activities with sufficient physical spacing,” says Stanford’s Maldonado.

Another question, never far from my mind, is whether it’s risky to let a plumber or electrician or handyman into the house. I’ve put off needed house repairs for several months because of my uncertainty about it.

I put the question to the public health experts I interviewed for this column, and they agreed: As long as you both wear masks and stay a healthy distance apart, the visit should not pose a significant threat. But ask the person what precautions he took on visits to other homes. If he works for a company, check its policies for employees who go from home to home.

Shannon Albers is hugging loved ones again – with certain COVID-inspired modifications. “After 89 days I finally got to hug my mom, and she started crying,” Albers recalls.

Because I have two large dogs, I have also wondered whether they could be potential virus spreaders — not through their respiratory droplets, but because the virus might land on their fur. When I’m out walking them in the evening and see neighbors with their canines, we usually keep our distance, but once in a while somebody wants to pet one of my dogs, and I’ve been tempted to pet theirs — but have resisted.

My experts say I shouldn’t worry. It is theoretically possible to catch the virus off a dog if somebody just sneezed on it, but that’s an unlikely scenario. The dog’s owner poses a bigger risk.

For those of us who have craved more human contact, it may come as a welcome surprise that some public health experts think it can be safe to hug people (though not dog owners you don’t know) if you follow certain guidelines: Do it outdoors; wear a mask; point your faces in opposite directions; avoid contact between your face and the other person’s body; keep it brief and wash your hands afterward.

Shannon Albers, a 35-year-old resident of Sacramento, says she started hugging people again after reading a story about how to do it safely in The New York Times.

“After 89 days I finally got to hug my mom, and she started crying,” Albers recalls. “We were standing on the driveway, and I said, ‘Do you want a hug?’ She immediately tightened her mask and started coming down the driveway, and I said, ‘Wait, Mom. There’s rules.’”

Chronically ill and elderly people may not want to risk it, says UC-Berkeley’s Reingold. “But if you are out drinking beers with somebody in a crowded room, I’m not sure the hug makes a difference, frankly.”

This KHN story first published on California Healthline, a service of the California Health Care Foundation.

You Can See Friends and Relatives During the Pandemic Surge — But Do It Carefully published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/