#absence duly noted

[squiral]

Lineup of the main folks from my comic Absence Duly Noted! Felt good to nail down some design choices with these guys

[mariasont]

Date Night - A.H

a/n: i have been so obsessed with the nanny recently so this is kind of based off that

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

summary: you get home from the world's worst date

warnings: none i think, IDK IM SO BAD AT THESE

wc: 0.9k

To put it quite frankly your date sucked. He was disrespectful to the waiter, made really unsettling noises while eating, talked incessantly about his ex, and worst of all, he didn't let you get a word in edge wise (a major issue because you really like to talk).

Saying you were disappointed would barely scratch the surface. The rarity of your dates, thanks to your demanding role as a live-in nanny for Viriginia's most occupied FBI agent, made your free time all too precious. Mr. Hotchner was home this weekend, which granted you some time off, well-deserved you might add, but you had wasted it on some sad excuse of a man who made you believe that chivalry really was dead.

You had a clear mission when you entered the house: to drown the evening's disappointment in a generous pour of red, slip into your comfiest pajamas, and indulge in trashy reality TV, which, by comparison, casted your night in a much more flattering light. You were beginning to accept that maybe, you were meant to be alone, only because men sucked.

You all but threw your jacket into the closet, kicking off the pumps that had spent the night punishing your heels, and bent to rub the throbbing pain, releasing a sigh steeped in disappointment.

"You're home early."

Your heart leapt to your throat, hand flying to your chest on reflex as you whirled around to face the sight of Mr. Hotchner lounging in the armchair, a whiskey glass cradled in his hand. The light from the lamp beside him served to accentuate the shadows beneath his eyes, no doubt caused by his job. So, what he was doing up was beyond you.

"Geez, Mr. Hotchner, are you trying to give me a heart attack here?"

A mock frown creased your face, and you sauntered over to his chair. You settled on the armrest beside him and smoothly relieved him of the glass, taking a small, savoring sip. Annoying him was one of your favorite pastimes, one that was all too rare with his usual absence.

"So, what's the occasion? Waiting up for me?"

He wasn't amused, clearly, his face unchanging. With a deliberate motion, he took the glass back, taking another casual drink, and despite his stern look he didn't move away from you. His eyes shot you a sharp glance, withholding any spoken response.

With a light tap on his shoulder, you hopped down from the arm of the chair.

"It's okay, you don't have to say it. I can read you like a book," you tossed him a wink, your dress flirting with the edge of modesty at the quick action. His eyes briefly betrayed him, moving towards the expanse of flesh now on display. "Ahem, Mr. Hotchner, my face is a little higher."

You gently nudged his chin upward with your finger, guiding his attention to your eyes. You loved his eyes, a cocoa brown color that reminded you of rich, velvety chocolate truffles, a comparison you were pretty sure had slipped out when he interviewed you.

"Careful," he cautioned in a low murmur, easing himself from the chair and setting his glass aside. "As your employer, it's reasonable for me to be concerned about your well-being, you are the woman who raises my child."

"Oh, absolutely, sir. Your concern is most reasonable and duly noted," you replied with an exaggerated formality, lightly tapping his cheek before neatly tucking your hands behind your back.

He traced his brow with his fingertips, as if to smooth away the beginnings of a headache, undoubtedly brought on by you. A sigh of exhaustion followed. "I trust I don't need to remind you of who signs your paycheck."

With a beaming smile, you sing out, hands moving to rest on your hips. "Totally clear on that, sir!" You turn and head up the stairs, your mumble just loud enough for him to catch, "A little raise wouldn't hurt though, just saying!"

He's close behind as he warns in a low voice, "Don't push your luck."

You stop so suddenly he almost stumbles into you and you feel his hands steady you on your hips, dangerously close to the curve of your ass as you glance back at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare, sir."

A slight shake of his head and those perceptive eyes convey all he doesn't say as his hands fall away, the space they leave behind feeling oddly empty. 

"So, the date didn't go well?" he asks as you reach the top of the stairs.

"No, I didn't say that. It was wonderful, perfect actually." You'd always been a terrible liar, and naive for thinking he'd fall for it. "He might just be the man of my dreams."

He gives you a look that tells you he sees right through your bullshit. "Let me guess, he probably ordered for you without asking, talked over you, and didn't even bother to walk you to your door."

"Uh, no, that's not--," you start, voice squeaking slightly. His unimpressed look makes you fold--something you found yourself doing way too often around him. "Okay, fine. But really, using those weird FBI skills on me? That's playing dirty, Mr. Hotchner."

"No 'weird FBI skills' required," he replies, the slightest smirk gracing his stupidly handsome face. "Your taste in men is just... consistently interesting."

"Interesting is better than non-existent, which I believe is the current state of your dating life, Mister."

He moves closer, the narrowing space nudging you against the wall. "Well, considering my days are filled with work, parenting, and apparently, babysitting you, dating isn't exactly a priority."

He was kind of hot when he was mad. His eyes narrowed at you. Okay, not kind of, definitely hot when mad.

"Oh, Mr. Hotchner, it sounds like you need a night off from all that babysitting," you purr, placing your hands on his shoulders as you grace him with a smile. "Why don't we discuss your options over dinner? My treat?"

A sigh of exasperation escapes him, a telltale sign that he's done with the conversation, which actually is how a lot of your discussions end. He steps back and opens the door to your room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mr. Hotchner, see you in the morning," you say, your hand pausing on his arm just a beat too long. "Sweet dreams--though I'm sure I'll be in them."

taglist: @hotchhner

[writing-for-marvel]

A Solid Foundation

Builder!Bucky Barnes x Fiancé!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friend suspects your fiancé of having an affair when he starts working late, but Bucky would never cheat on you, right?

Warnings: slight angst - discussion of Bucky potentially cheating (no actual cheating), soft fluff

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: thank you so much for this gorgeous inspiration my love 💕 this is my second entry for the Connect 4: Into an Alternate June-iverse Event by @buckybarnesevents, for the prompt ‘Modern AU’. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

“Where’s Bucky? You two just got engaged, I would have thought he’d barely be able to keep his hands off you - he does at the best of times.” Nat jokes before taking a sip of her wine.

She had been stopping off at your apartment on her way home to drop some supplies for your engagement party next weekend, when you invited her to stay for a drink, wanting to take your mind off your fiancés absence.

“He’s been working late recently.” You try to say nonchalantly, but Nat’s far too observant to miss the disheartened edge to your voice.

“He’s a builder. Start early, finish early, what’s he doing still working at 6:30?” You didn’t know the answer to that question. And though part of you is curious as to what he’s up to, you’re also nervous to find out the truth.

It’s Bucky, the man who has loved you through every high and low, treasured every part of you, especially on those days where your insecurities were at their worst. Who has done the silliest, most embarrassing things just to hear your laugh. Who trusted you enough to reveal his deepest trauma, who comes to your arms for comfort through every nightmare.

You find it difficult to believe that man would be capable of hurting you, even knowing he hadn’t been completely forthcoming with you the past few weeks.

“I’m not sure, he’s been a little secretive since we got engaged. I don’t wanna push him to talk about it, I just wish he knew he can trust me with whatever it is.” You say as Nat supportively takes your hand, something of sympathy in her eyes.

“Oh sweetie, you are far too pure for this world. Working late, the ring, the secrecy - has it crossed your mind that he might be having an affair?”

“It crossed my mind for half a second before I scolded myself. It’s Bucky, he would never cheat on me.” You state with conviction, the memory of each night you’ve fallen to a peaceful sleep in Bucky’s arms only supporting your belief that he would never put himself in that position with someone else.

“As much as I want to believe you, you know I’m a cynic. In my experience men are pigs, you give them an inch and they take a mile. I know he’s sweet and you love him, but at the end of the day, he is a man.”

But Nat doesn’t know Bucky intimately like you do, hasn’t experienced his selfless and generous heart day after day for the past two years, hasn’t been loved all-encompassingly by him like you have.

You’ve never even thought to question his loyalty to you - Bucky has never given you reason to.

You hear keys rattle in the front door and shoot Nat a look which unquestionably screams don’t bring this up.

Bucky smiles instantly when he sees you seated at the dining table, that same adoration and serenity brimming in his eyes as when he always comes home to you. Though you do notice his skin is somewhat flushed, as if he’s just been physically exerting himself, his hair looks a complete mess and appears slightly darker with sweat.

You know exactly what’s running through Nat’s mind at this very moment.

“I’m gonna let you two talk.” She declares with a perceptible tension in her tone as she stands and grabs her purse. “But I swear if you ever hurt her Bucko, you’ll die a slow, painful death.” She vows with a glare that seals her promise. Though you know Nat well enough to perceive she isn’t joking, Bucky seems to think she’s kidding.

“Duly noted Nattie.” He chuckles as he watches Nat shoot you an encouraging look and then make her way out the front door Bucky just walked through. “What was that all about?”

“She’s just being protective.” You justify, not knowing how to, nor really wanting to tell him that your best friend suspects he’s having an affair. “I told her you’d been working late recently.”

“What… she thinks I should instead be here doting on you hand and foot?” Bucky asks as he moves behind where you’re seated, his hands reach for the back of your neck and begin massaging the tension from your shoulders which had built up from your long week at work. “You know I’d much prefer to be here with you than working.” You shudder slightly at his words as he places a gentle kiss to the skin where your neck curves into your shoulder, your body subconsciously revealing that you don’t fully believe he was working.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He asks, feeling your muscles tense even further underneath his hands, and you internally curse yourself for letting Nat’s speculation get under your skin.

“Where were you tonight?” It’s a simple, four word question, yet the weight of significance on his answer feels like your whole world could start crumbling before you depending on his response.

“I told you this morning: Steve needed me working late.” Bucky replies without hesitation. It’s a straightforward answer, yet there’s something about it you can’t quite believe - a half truth that he’s practised too much that doesn’t quite feel natural. “Why do you ask?” There’s a hint of worry to his voice, as if you’re getting a little too close to something he’d like to keep to himself.

“Nat thinks ‘working late’ is code for you cheating on me.” You comment, placing all the blame on your friends postulation rather than your own curiosity.

You hope Bucky won’t hate you too much for indulging in your friends theory, that he won’t completely resent you for insinuating he’s been unfaithful. Because you don’t think he’s cheating on you, but you also don’t believe he was working late tonight.

Instead, Bucky steps towards you and tentatively places two gentle fingers under your chin, tilting your face so that you’re gazing directly into his vulnerable, sincere eyes.

“Doll, you know I would never, ever, hurt you like that. I love you, you’re my whole world, I wanna marry you and spend the rest of my days making you feel as loved and cherished as you make me feel.” You sense the heaviness of your engagement ring on your left hand, you’re still getting used to carrying the small weight of it around with you everyday, though right now it feels substantial.

“I know you wouldn’t Buck, but since you proposed you’ve been a little secretive. Long days, working weekends. I mean you have to admit it’s slightly suspicious.”

He sighs, coming to some sort of internal decision when his gaze meets yours again. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you in an attempt to distract you from the topic of discussion.

“I promise you, I can explain everything, but I think it would be easier to show you.” His hands snake down your arms and when he takes both your hands, pulls you from your seated position at the dining table.

“Show me?” You query, having no idea what that could indicate he’s been keeping to himself.

“Yeah, care for a drive?”

* * *

The night is dark as you sit in the passenger seat watching the world pass you by, the empty roads only lit by periodically placed street lamps and the bright headlights of Bucky’s truck.

You have no idea where he’s taking you - you’ve never been to this part of town before and have no preconceived ideas as to what being here indicates for his unplanned surprise.

Bucky drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other rests comfortingly on your thigh, an indicator that he’s not upset about you insinuating he could be having an affair, and that where he’s taking you to is not a revelation you should be anxious about.

Soon enough he turns down an innocuous street and pulls the car to a slow stop. You're in the middle of a suburban area with expansive blocks of land, stopped a few metres behind an SUV that has stickers of a family of five and a dog on their back window. Looking over at Bucky, you find he’s staring at you with an excited expectancy from the driver's seat.

You turn to look out the car window and the reason Bucky’s been ‘working late’ hits you like a bus.

You’re parked in front of a half built house - at the moment it’s just studs and partitions, with an unemptied skip out the front, but you can see the skeleton of a beautifully spacious two story house.

He’s building you a home.

“Bucky…” You comment under your breath, unable to articulate the swarm of thoughts buzzing around your head and the pure love blooming in your chest like a flower as he rounds the car and opens the passenger door for you.

“I know it doesn’t look like much yet, it’s just the frame and foundation, but soon there will be a roof, walls, windows, and a proper floor. It’ll really start taking shape.” He's nervous, you can tell by his shaky tone of voice, which you find adorable.

“You’re building us a house?” Your stomach contorts with guilt when he smiles crookedly and nods. How could you have ever been suspicious of his long working hours when they were spent building a physical monument to his love for you?

“I wanted to build our dream house, somewhere we can grow old together.” Your heart just about bursts when these words fall from his lips. Though the night is dark, the moon and the small torch Bucky keeps in his truck are the only source of light available, you can see the fondness in his eyes.

You give him a sweet kiss before approaching the house, an outline in chalk on the ground indicates where a front porch will be built and the entry to the house is currently only the rectangular frame of timber.

Bucky starts walking you through the house hand in hand, explaining what he had planned each room to be used for. There's only wooden studs outlining every room and a concrete slab for a floor, but you can already imagine what the space will look like when it’s all complete.

The entry foyer has high ceilings where you can currently see the stars shining, a large winding staircase connects the ground floor with the one above. To one side is a large garage, an offset office and bathroom, to the other has a large sitting room.

As Bucky pulls you further into the structure, the house opens up to a large, open plan living area. You can picture cooking together in the kitchen, room enough for a large island where you can sit and watch as Bucky cooks you breakfast, sneaking kisses in between breaking eggs. A smile grows on your features as you imagine what the future holds for you two, and what you envisage is beautiful.

He shows you where he thinks the lounge room television would go, before steering you to the right to an open room where the walls don’t have horizontal studs like all the other rooms you’ve seen so far.

“And this will be your sunroom.” He comments, eying you with a smile as your jaw drops in awe.

“A sunroom?” You ask as your voice cracks and hot tears well in your eyes.

Your dream house always seemed so far out of reach, you wondered if you would ever earn enough to own a place of your own. But it didn’t stop you from wishing for your dream house. That concept had changed over the years, but the one aspect which remained the same was it containing a sunroom. A place where you could sit in quiet contemplation and read your plethora of novels in peace, the warm afternoon sun heating the room as you draped your legs over beloveds, finding tranquillity together.

Bucky really is making all your dreams come true.

“It wouldn’t be our dream home if we didn’t have the sunroom you always wished for. This entire wall will be a huge built-in bookshelf, then the rest will be just glass, looking out over our backyard and have the perfect view of the setting sun.”

You find yourself completely lost for words, unable to articulate how remarkable this entire house is, that he built it for you, and how you will forever come home to a physical reminder of just how much Bucky loves you.

“If there’s anything you don’t like I’ll change it. I want it to be perfect, I want you to love it.” He says as if he can’t see that you already adore every inch of the house he’s built, thinking that your silence indicates aversion rather than pure amazement.

“Bucky, it’s already perfect.” You lean over to kiss him, slow and sweet, because you need to express the overwhelming gratitude and affection for him doing something so special for you. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you when you were putting in your spare hours to build us a home.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry, doll, I shouldn’t have lied to you about where I was and what I was doing, but I wanted it to be a surprise.” His arms snake around your middle and pull you closer to him so none of the cool night air separates you.

“It is a surprise, such a wonderful surprise. I love you so much and I can’t wait to spend our life together here.” You say, looking up at him with wide eyes, only closing them to kiss the stubble on his sharp jawline.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know.” Bucky places a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft but heartfelt and full of tenderness.

For a moment you stay cuddled into his strong, warm chest, his arms gently stroking up and down your back in soothing motions, feeling completely loved and so excited to start your marriage in a new home together.

“Will you show me the bedrooms upstairs?” You ask with a small voice, part of you not wanting to move from Bucky’s embrace, but also intrigued to see how much more work he’s done in the name of love for you.

“Of course, my love.”

He kisses you once more, for emphasis, before guiding you carefully upstairs to show you the spacious master bedroom where you will be spending your first nights as a married couple.

If you're interested in seeing the floorplan I based the house off, you can find that here

[pochipop]

＃FNAF MOVIE !! ♡ — IT'LL BE ALRIGHT (MIKE SCHMIDT X READER).

#. synopsis! — mike is used to walking on eggshells, just waiting for another tragedy, and you really don’t want to be just another person who's let him down.

#. characters! — mike schmidt .

#. warnings! — vague references to past traumatic events (canon compliant) , references to a verbal argument .

#. word count! — 1.8k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

Mike is used to people leaving. They come and they go like stray cats who've found someone better to nab food off of, —leaving him with more ghosts in his life than he'd care to admit. At least these ones are metaphorical and melodramatic, though. His saving grace has been the fact that he chooses wisely who to introduce Abby to, just in case. She's been through enough, and she's so young that the absence of anyone would be duly noted. Not that it isn't when it comes to himself, it's just. . . He's learned how to live with loss. Maybe not effectively, but he does it, and for right now, that's probably as good as it's getting.

He's got more pressing matters to attend to. He always does. That's what he argued about with you, —what he fought tooth and nail to defend, even when you backed off. At the end of it, he knew he'd gone too far for no real reason. He wasn't arguing with you at that point, he was arguing with all the people that have left him starved for their affections and their care. The words he said to you were so far beyond your scope that it was almost pathetic to think about all the bullshit he unloaded on you like it was somehow your job to fix it, even when he knew it wasn't. So really, it's no wonder he's adding you to that list of people who've walked away.

For once, he truly deserved it. 

And now he's got to explain this to Abby. Because she likes you almost as much as he does, —almost being the operative word there. Mike sucks at a lot of things, and showing you he cares tends to be one of them, but he loves in his own ways. . . And now, he fears he'll have to do it from afar.

He sort of wishes Abby was the kind of kid he could bribe with ice cream for breakfast to break bad news to. It'd be easier to scoop her some off-brand Neopolitan and tell her she'd never see you again if that would help soften the blow. But it won't, and he knows that. He knows her too well to even try.

Still, he finds himself putting chocolate chips in her pancakes that morning in spite of himself.

When he places the plate in front of her, she narrows her eyes, as if to ask him what he's done so wrong. . . Asking what he's offering silent apologies for in the form of sweet pockets stolen away inside her favorite breakfast food. He opens the fridge in search of orange juice just to avoid her gaze.

Before she can even take a bite, he opens his mouth.

"Listen, Abby—"

She looks up at him with those big, doe eyes, and he probably would have cut himself off anyway if not for the knock on the front door. Mike mumbles for her to hold that thought, then goes to check who's outside.

And there you stand a little awkwardly on his doorstep, a brand new bottle of orange juice in your hand. Once again, it's like you've read his mind, and he's as sick of it as he is thankful for it, especially right now. Still, he can't turn you away.

"Morning," you say, almost hesitantly. "I brought juice. . ."

He tries to think of something to say, but hears the quick pitter-patter of Abby's feet fastly approaching. She calls your name so happily, and you smile at her.

"Good morning to you too," you laugh, returning the hug she gives you with no hesitation.

Mike just stares, as if he can't believe you're even here right now. If you're just here to grab the items of yours strewn about his house, he feels like the least you could have done was wait until Abby was asleep or something.

"Can I have some?" Abby asks, pointing to the orange juice in your hand.

"Yeah, that's what it's for," you smile, handing the bottle to her.

She scurries off to the kitchen to pour herself a glass.

"Mike," you say softly now that she's out of earshot, "can we—"

"I'll get your stuff together," he cuts you off.

Your jaw slacks.

"What?" Is the only thing you can manage to muster up in response.

"You could've done this at a different time," he snaps, trying to keep quiet so Abby doesn't hear. "It's gonna be ten times harder on her now for me to explain why you're not coming back."

You stare at him, trying not to cry. Out of all the things you expected to happen this morning, such a drastic change of heart on his part wasn't one of them.

"You. . . You're breaking up with me?" You question.

He pauses, a lot of the frustration dissipating from his features, replaced by genuine confusion.

"Didn't you already break up with me?" He asks.

Your brows knit together quizzically. 

"No? What are you even talking about, I never said I wanted to break up with you," you point out.

Sure, you didn’t say it. But most of the others had never said it either. It was like flipping a lightswitch. One minute they were there, and the next they weren’t. That's why he'd gotten so good at keeping his relationships at a distance, and he'd taken the biggest leap of faith in introducing you to his sister.

"Yesterday evening?" He says, but it sounds more like a question.

"We had an argument," you acknowledge. "It was stupid, and you hurt my feelings. I'm sure I hurt yours too. That doesn't mean I want us to be over."

Mike stares at you like he's not sure what to say, because he isn't. He's not used to someone caring enough to fight for him, and for what festers between himself and someone else. He's learned to let go before the thread pulls too tight, —before it wraps around his throat and slices through every defense he's built up for the sake of protecting himself, his heart, and the little girl that depends on him.

"Mike," you say softly, almost cautiously. "I care about you. One bad night doesn't change that. . . Not for me."

God, it was stupid. It was so stupid. You weren't even mad at him specifically, and you're fairly certain he wasn't really angry with you in particular either. Long days on both your parts collided like a warm front to a cold one, and the things both of you said in the wake of it were uttered through venom and gritted teeth. Sweeping generalizations, a lot of rolling eyes, some tears that were more about frustration than they were anything else. . . But you still loved him at the end of it, even as you found yourself walking home alone.

In fact, that walk was particularly sobering. The crisp chill of the autumn evening was enough to convince you that you'd rather be back at his place where he keeps an extra toothbrush for you in the bathroom and emptied out a drawer just so you could have a place to store some clothes. The sleep you got in the night that followed was shallow at best, restless enough to leave faint bags beneath your eyes by morning, and you were determined to make up any excuse in the book just to swing by.

So you went out and got some orange juice, knowing there wasn't any left in the fridge, and you stood outside his door for a while, working yourself up just to knock. You thought about all the things you'd need to apologize for, and you were ready to push aside your ego if it meant Mike could understand just how much you care, even when you're upset.

He swallows, just to give himself something to do while he prolongs his own response, because he's just not sure what to say. Somehow, a part of him is whispering that this would be easier if you just didn't give a fuck. . . If last evening was the end, and he could go back to finding comfort in silence again.

That's how it's always been. Someone leaves, and he copes, and then he files them away with the rest. But here you are, and Mike knows he can't bring himself to put you in with the others.

"Mike, I'm—"

"No, I am," he breathes, reaching forward to pull you into his arms. "I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry that I suck at being a boyfriend, but I don't know what I'm doing and all I can tell you is that I'm trying."

He feels the tension meld away from you, and it's then, before you even open your mouth to reply, that he starts to think everything is how it should be.

"You don't suck at it," you answer lightly. "I know you're trying, and that's genuinely all I could ask for, and I'm sorry about yesterday evening. I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on you, and that wasn't right."

"We both took shit out on each other," he corrects, ready and willing to share the blame.

"True enough," you acknowledge with a weary smile, finally pulling away from his embrace.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "When things go wrong, I. . . I've just learned how to slam on the breaks. If I stop things before they feel like they'll suffocate me, I can avoid them. But I love you, and I know I don't want to avoid that."

"This isn't a one way street," you remind him. "Relationships are hard, and sometimes things happen in a way that they shouldn't, but I'm here for you, and I want to be here for you. . . It's not contractual. One bad night doesn't take away all the times you've made me feel like the happiest person on the face of the planet, Mike."

He sniffles a little, then lets out a relieved sigh.

"Are you hungry?" He asks. "I can make you some pancakes. Chocolate chip."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Chocolate chip? Are you apologizing to Abby for something?"

God, a part of him hates that he's so obvious, but another part loves that you know him so well. It makes him feel even stupider for just assuming that you'd be willing to throw in the towel after one rough night.

"No, not really," he shakes his head. (Not anymore, at least.)

Mike glances toward the kitchen, just to make sure Abby's still preoccupied with her breakfast, then steals a quick kiss from your lips.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

You smile.

"Me too."

"And I love you," he adds.

Your smile widens.

"I love you too. Promise."

With that, he pulls you to the kitchen, and you sit down beside Abby at the table. She tells you that when breakfast is done with, she'd like to show you some new drawings she's done, and you nod, telling her you're excited to see them. And you are.

Mike stands at the stovetop, his back to the both of you, not bothering to bite back his grin. 

He feels his foot ease off the break.

[sky-kiss]

Raphael is too prideful to go complain about Tav not following up for a victory dinner. Haarlep has no compunction with slipping through a portal to ask their current (only) plaything to come over for some fun.

A/N: HAARLEP, MY BELOVED. G/N Tav.

_________

“Raphael!?”

The devil is loitering at a table in the Elfsong tavern, nursing a drink of something decidedly beneath his typically fastidious standards. A young man has settled across from him. The youth’s expression is this side of dreamy-eyed. Raphael winks, stroking the back of the human’s hand. 

The illusion shatters the moment Raphael opens their mouth. “For you?” He bites his lower lip, chuckling. “Oh, little mouse. Always.” 

Tav sighs. “Haarlep.” 

They pout, waving the human away. The youth blinks, glancing between the hero and the incubus. Momentary hurt crosses his features, but he seems to understand when he’s beaten. Haarlep gestures to the vacated chair. “Have a seat. We’ve business to discuss.” 

Tav crosses their arms. It’s odd, seeing Haarlep wear this skin. There are no modifications: it’s the same human the adventurer has grown accustomed to dealing with over the past months. “I’m surprised he’s let you leave the boudoir, let alone conduct business.”

“Spiteful tonight, are we? Were you so excited to see the old devil?” Haarlep makes a show of inspecting their nails, eyeing Tav throw lowered lashes. “Raphael is not aware of my absence.” 

“How?” 

They massage their temple. “Do you care? What matters beyond your favorite playmate being here?” 

“Raphael I trust, more or less. You,” Tav levels an accusative finger at their chest. “Should not be loose in the Gate.” 

“Duly noted. And you do not need to fear, sweet thing. I’ve come for you. Nothing else.” Haarlep leans forward tapping Tav’s sternum. “Raphael has been in such a sorry state since you concluded your business. He’s sulked about the House this last fortnight.”

It’s a mutual feeling, though Tav would rather cut off their right hand than admit it. There’s been a devil-sized hole in their schedule since concluding their deal for the Crown. Adventuring around the Gate has been lucrative, yes, but it lacks the same…flourish. Haarlep must see it. The incubus smirks, resting their chin in the palm of their hand. 

“Mmm, he might be tempted to part with some of his treasures to see you look like that.” Haarlep grins. The expression is too open, bordering on feral, and transforms the entirety of his borrowed face. “Come back with me, hmm? He promised to call on you! Why not...make the opening move? Raphael has always been delighted by a little initiative.” That tastes like a lie. Mischief and chaos glitter in the incubus' eyes. Haarlep reaches out to catch Tav’s hand, bringing it to their lips. “And we could play again, hmm? Would you like that, mouse?” 

Tav swallows. Pleasure licks up their forearm, tingling where Haarlep’s touched. Why argue? They find themself nodding, their mouth dry. “He did promise.” 

“He did, pretty thing. And it would make him so happy. And it is my job,” Haarlep scoots nearer, fingers curling around the back of their neck. Infernal heat radiates from their fingers. “To keep Raphael happy.” Their lips pressed near Tav’s ear. “Say you’ll come with me, hmm? Come and make us happy.” 

And gods save them, Tav can’t resist. 

[meowzfordayz]

Author’s Note: this was actually supposed to be a lil nsfw fanfic (Shy!Giyuu turned Needy!Giyuu 😏), but then world building (re: cafe setting) got ahead of me, so yeah. 😆☕️

cafe meet-cute (ugly?)

Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000

CW: explicit language

cafe meet-cute (cute!)

~faqs~

Shy!Giyuu as a regular at the cafe where you work part time to afford college. He always looks so tired, but manages the faintest of smiles whenever you greet him.

Shy!Giyuu who didn’t really notice when you started working at his favorite spot, but did notice when he found himself hoping you’d be there on his usual, dreary Monday morning, your absence duly noted when he’s met by a monotonous, “Hello sir, what can I get you?” instead of your usual cheery energy.

Shy!Giyuu who makes a point of reading your name tag the next time he sees you. You know his name, so it’s only fair that he finally put in the effort to learn yours. “Thanks, [y/n],” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “You’re welcome!” you chirp, and he swears he feels heat emanating from your cheeks. Or maybe he’s leaning in a little too close. Oops.

Shy!Giyuu who, even when he’s in a rush, no longer orders ahead, because then what excuse would he have to chat with you? And when the line is long? He absentmindedly—not absentminded at all—dallies on his phone, ignoring people as they hesitantly creep in front of him, itching for your full attention once the cafe empties out again.

Shy!Giyuu who asks about your area of study, your favorite color, where you got your sweater It looks comfortable, if you’re resting enough 😕 (that slipped out on an especially exhausting day, and he’d promptly turned so pink that you’d politely stammered about needing to check the fridge temperature Can’t let the milk spoil! 😃 as he dropped his tip in the jar and just stared at you).

Shy!Giyuu who asks so many questions you wouldn’t know he was shy. Truthfully, he’s glad his few acquaintances—dare he call them  friends—don’t frequent the cafe too often. He’s certain he’d hear a mouthful from them otherwise.

“You talk to people?!” 🧐 <— Tengen

“They know your order? By heart?! Try something new for once, jeez.” 🙄 <— Obanai

“Seems like someone’s earned special privileges from the pretty barista.” <— 👀 Shinobu, after following a reluctant Giyuu into the cafe and watching him receive a free muffin

Shy!Giyuu who makes things a tad awkward when you eventually write your number for him on his cup (hidden underneath the cup sleeve — he almost misses it 😬). Awkward because he immediately saves your number in his phone, and proceeds to not text you.

Shy!Giyuu who’s never really dated, let alone experienced a ~meet cute, and definitely hadn’t envisioned himself in a sort of cafe-romcom situation. Aka, he’s in a panic (and utterly clueless).

Shy!Giyuu who’s grateful for your professionalism when he comes in two weeks later (he may or may not have been avoiding you, and “you” = his feelings for you), disappointed by the lingering stiffness in your tone, knowing it’s entirely his doing. He still blushes though when you shove a free muffin his way, I’m sorry on the tip of his tongue, fleeing on foot before it can take flight.

Maybe he does like you?! You ponder his behavior that night, lamenting to Mitsuri that, “I gave him my number weeks ago! Do you think he has a partner?! 😳 He must. Fuuuck. 😭 He’s so handsome. 😖 But MITSURI, nobody’s paying him to get to know me???! 🤔”

“Either he’s super bored,” Mitsuri giggles, “Orrr he’s super shy and totally crushing on you!!!!!”

Shy!Giyuu who nervously sets a travel mug of coffee on the counter, gazing away from the confusion in your eyes.

“Giyuu, it’s… already full?”

Shit. You didn’t mean to sound so dumb. 🙃

“It’s for you,” he croaks, face your favorite shade of red, “You make me coffee, like, a lot. So I wanted to return the favor.”

Giyuu, I literally work in a cafe you nearly deadpan I have unlimited access to coffee caught off guard by his gesture.

Internally screaming, actually.

“And,” he’s melting inside. You can practically see the steam billowing from his ears. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

He’s so close, he can probably hear how fast your heart’s beating. Not good, not good, not good. He definitely has a partner!!!!! Oh fuck, and now he’s here to let me down easy.

“For not texting, telling, you sooner.”

He gulps. You lick your lips. The thought occurs to him that he’d very much like to kiss you.

“You have a partner!” you squeak, exhaling like a deflating balloon, “Of course! Why are you apologizing?! I crossed a line! My bad!”

You nudge the travel mug toward him, so focused on your own embarrassment that you miss his expression falling, taking a deep breath to collect yourself.

“Hi Giyuu!” you hope you’re doing the right thing, starting over, “What can I get you today?”

Shy!Giyuu who, admittedly, turns tail and runs. 💀

Damn.

Shy!Giyuu who goes to class mortified yet… excited, recognizing the misunderstanding that occurred, cursing his lack of communication and deer-in-headlights reaction, eager to make amends. To make you see him.

He has to strongly resist the urge to bang his forehead into the desk.

Shy!Giyuu who recalls how his latte art gradually switched from intricate swans and tulips to hearts. Simple, but cute, and always capable of brightening his mornings.

Shy!Giyuu who realizes that, the first morning you ever created a heart for him was also the morning you gave him your number.

Shy!Giyuu who’s determined to clear the air, and take you on a date. 

Not a coffee date. 😅

I'm 99% likely going to conclude this w/ pt 2 later today (or sometime this week). 😉💙 Update: cafe meet-cute (cute!) aka pt 2.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Taehun with s/o who is smart, introverted (kind of) like his personality as well except for being a bastard. S/o who is like on more matured side. She was like a 'manager' or 'mom' of their group (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Thanks for the ask! I havent written anything for Taehoon in a hot second but anon why was this so hard to write 😭 is my brain fried? Am I just dumb? SURPRISE it's both.

And that guy's hair is out of control in this pic.

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Unnie/Noona

3 lil scenarios with the Yoo Hobin Company

You don't keep track of where Taehoon goes.

Not that you really care, but your boyfriend is pretty predictable anyway. He's either with you, practicing at the studio, playing at the arcade, or hanging at the Yoo Hobin Company house.

If he's at the latter without you, your absence will be duly noted by your phone pinging incessantly:

Rumi: Unnie, we miss you <3

Gaeul: Please come over!

Mangi: It'll be nice to see you :)

Hobin: HELP MASTER SEONG SAID HE'S GOING TO KILL ME

Snapper: AND ME

Snapper: pls hurry

You think the record is 297 messages and 40 missed calls from the collective. You were napping, you didn't avoid them on purpose!

But regardless of what you might have had planned, you have a soft heart for the kids. If they come calling, you would try to see them.

"Stalking me again?" Taehoon gives a teasing quip whenever you make your appearance.

The words have no bite, he loves having you around.

.

.

You're only part of the company by association, but it's sweet that you got invited along to their next holiday.

Only a shame that no one had the foresight to put any sort of itinerary together or even research the area beforehand.

Trying to help them out, you message the group chat with some suggestions of cafes and sights. In exchange, you hoped for some alone time with Taehoon.

You both enjoy lunch before meandering through a park together.

...Until you turn around and find five pairs of curious eyes belonging to the rest of the company staring back.

"Why are you here, piss off." Taehoon starts to launch a kick at Hobin but you manage to hold him back in time.

"Erm, can we help you?"

"Noona!" Hobin gives you what he must have thought were cute puppy eyes. (You're not a violent person, but you agree with Taehoon that he does have a punchable face.) "We don't know what to do next!"

Rumi chips in, "Can we please hang with you and Taehoon?"

So much for spending some time with your boyfriend.

.

.

Tonight, you could practically feel the Yoo Hobin Company physically unclench as you enter the room.

It might be due to the fact you're the only one that could rein Taehoon in when he's on a rampage.

Mangi had texted you as a matter of urgency.

"Who the fuck drank my beer?"

Ah, there it is. You take in the group, all looking tense as Taehoon looms over them.

Typical of your boyfriend to blow this out of proportion. But honestly? Why would anyone purposely try to set this bomb off.

Shit. You notice Snapper a little red faced and swaying. He actually drank it?! You better step in.

"Taehoon?"

"What?" he doesn't take his eye off them.

"Why don't we just go and get some more?"

"You know I hate people touching my things,"

"I know but I'm sure Hobin wouldn't mind putting some on company expense,"

"..."

"And there's probably some petty cash for the arcade."

That piques his interest. Taehoon stops scowling and turns to you, "Yeah?"

"Yep," you smile and take his hand, "Snapper, why don't you go have a look for some cash?"

Not needing to be told twice, Snapper takes this as his cue to make a swift exit.

"I'll help!" Gaeul pipes up, and scuppers off to join him.

Taehoon softens up at the thought of free beer and spending the night at the arcade with you.

Crisis averted.

[resowrites]

Hot Seat - oneshot.

Summary: Henry is interviewed about life post-The Witcher…

Characters: AU!Henry Cavill, Wife!OC, Interviewer

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 2817

A/N: This is something a bit different so I hope you all enjoy. Not that I should have to point it out but as with all my work, it’s pure fiction (as in completely made up) and not in any way meant to reflect reality. As ever, let me know your thoughts - R x

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Hot Seat - oneshot.

My first thought upon starting my interview with Henry Cavill is that I must have got my lines crossed. Instead of the 39-year-old Jersey-born actor, the featureless wall on the screen in front of reveals a woman. She quickly introduces herself and apologises for his absence. "Our puppy got into a multipack of toilet rolls and is still wreaking havoc, but he'll be right with you." This, as it turns out, is his partner Ollie. The 33-year-old financial advisor (she politely asks me not to give her full name as apparently "the people who care already know it"), has been with the actor for the better part of a decade though it's seldom publicised. They're occasionally pictured together but Henry, known for being one of the more private Hollywood actors, has given away few details about the relationship.

This, however, doesn't stop her from graciously chatting with me while we await his arrival. Having a son with her name, I ask if it's short for something else. "No, just Ollie. My parents were fans of Laurel and Hardy," she says with a shrug. So she's not actually Olivia? "Nope, though I suppose it could have been worse, they could have called me Stan," she replies drily. I tell her my wife and I are expecting a girl in the summer. "Oh how lovely - don't give her a boy's name." Duly noted. I then ask after Kal, Henry's longtime canine companion, and she assures me he's still alive and kicking. So what prompted the puppy? "Anniversary gift," she says between sips of water, though she doesn't give a name or clarify who gifted who. Moving on, I ask if she has any tips for interviewing Henry. "Talk slowly," comes her immediate response. It's not difficult to see how he fell for her, big twinkly eyes and a throaty laugh betray a quick wit that's similar to his own. I venture to ask what it's like being in a relationship with him. "Agonising. I mean his looks alone, I'm at a loss," she deadpans before another laugh. And the fame? "Honestly, it's not something I really think about. Our day-to-day life is very normal."

As if on cue, Henry enters the room with a large and very fluffy puppy trying to wriggle free of his arms. His eyes flash briefly with concern but she gives him a reassuring smile, thanks me for my patience, and wishes me well. She then pats Henry on the chest, tells him to behave himself, and disappears with the puppy in tow. The screen now fills with his impressive frame though his demeanour is infinitely milder - if slightly harried. "My apologies John. Akita's - can't live with them, can't live without them." Much has been made of the peaks and troughs of his Hollywood career. At one point in the early aughts, he'd missed out on multiple high-profile roles (Henry Cavill: Hollywood's unluckiest actor?) Finally bagging Superman in 2013 with Zack Snyder's Man of Steel, he proved capable of big returns and even bigger popularity (Henry Cavill: Superman for a new generation).

In 2013's Man of Steel (image credit: Warner Bros.)

This makes news of his recent departure from both Netflix's The Witcher (ostensibly because of creative differences), and DC's Superman franchise (due to the recent hiring of James Gunn as the studio's creative leader), all the more stupefying. But whether or not he really is Hollywood's 'unluckiest' actor, this isn't a term that reflects his life outside of the job, something which definitely marks him out from his contemporaries. In addition to a much-protected relationship (neither he nor his publicist confirms the status of it despite appearing to wear a wedding ring), he hails from a loving family and has a close-knit group of friends. He withdrew from a recent project (for reasons unrelated to the project itself), but is now in talks to appear in and produce an adaptation of Warhammer 40, 000 after Amazon recently secured the rights to the popular tabletop game.

In 2019's The Witcher (image credit: Netflix)

It's actually not the first time I've met Henry. Our paths once crossed some years ago in a hotel lobby though this brief encounter was part of a jam-packed press tour. Today's meeting isn't scheduled for a considerably longer time, but there's more than enough to discuss. A colleague did however warn me that despite a more ingenuous nature, he can make for a difficult interviewee. For the first part of our interview, I would be inclined to agree. Though pleasant, his answers border on glib and this is perhaps unsurprising given the recent twists and turns of his career. Happily, he warms up as our fourty minutes go by and on this occasion, is more revealing about life away from the cameras…

J: First thing's first, are you watching the Six Nations (an annual international men's rugby union competition)?

H: Yeah, it's been dismal though (England won just two out of five matches)… doesn't bode well for the World Cup does it?

J: No it doesn't. Now I know you can't say much at the moment about more recent as well as upcoming projects, but I wanted to get your take on the development of IPs for modern audiences. More than ever it seems a rather precarious business…

H: I think that's a fair assessment. There's lots of competition and only a finite amount of resources, so balancing what audiences want against the financial gains is tricky.

J: So what's the solution?

H: Are you trying to get me into trouble (laughs)? It depends. I mean, you can experiment a bit more with big projects. But for niche ventures, I think it's probably better to lean on the source material and fanbases already there.

J: But do you think there's a general fatigue with certain genres at the moment?

H: Perhaps, but that's why it's all the more important to look at the project as a whole. More often than not, if a project sinks it's on the project, not the audience.

J: Surely events such as the pandemic have had a huge impact though?

H: Yeah, definitely. But I don't think it's that difficult to produce big and/or successful entertainment because if anything, the need has never been stronger. It may just require studios to slow down a bit and think harder about each stage of development.

J: Do you feel more at peace with your career these days?

H: I would say so. I mean it's not an industry you ever feel secure in because that's not really the nature of it. But I still feel the same rush and excitement. I think there's a tendency to forget that actors act for the same reason people enjoy consuming our work. We like to escape and have fun as well.

J: What has it taught you about yourself?

H: Well for one it's bettered my patience (laughs). There's also nothing like acting to improve your physique (laughs).

J: Do you still feel the same pressures to look and perform a certain way?

H: I mean to an extent it's just the expectation and I completely respect that - if you're spending millions bringing, say, Superman to life, whoever plays him must at the very least, look like him.

J: And what are your thoughts now that that franchise will be moving ahead without you?

H: Well, for one, I'm not as devastated as everyone seems to think (laughs). I had a blast making those films and I was looking forward to expanding on what was created but the workouts were something else. As were the press tours (laugh).

J: Would you say that's one of the biggest drawbacks now for actors?

H: I suppose. I mean who honestly wants to be hooked up to a lie detector and asked leading questions (laughs)? I find it a bit unfair at times. I'm not suggesting for one minute that actors aren't immensely lucky or privileged. Of course, what we do is comparatively easy. But the amount of exposure will always be a double-edged sword, no question.

J: You've said in the past you're not a huge fan of social media, do you think it's essential to what you do?

H: Perhaps not essential but it's undeniably very useful. And I have no issue in sharing parts of my life with those who find it interesting. But I also don’t see the harm in a bit of mystery, there's no need to upload and share absolutely everything.

J: More male stars are speaking up about the double standards in how they're treated by fans and the wider public. Are those sentiments you share?

H: Yes and no. I mean most of the time it's harmless and of course very flattering, but I think it's always best to put others at ease rather than risk making them uncomfortable. Of course, everyone has different ideas on how to do that (laughs) but as the old saying goes, do unto others…

J: I imagine it's different when that attention is also directed at those closest to you?

H: Oh absolutely. My friends and family didn't sign up for that but luckily they're good-natured about it.

J: It seems the lines are becoming more and more blurred though…

H: Yeah, and that's a shame. But it's also why you need to be prudent about how much of it you elicit and engage in.

J: But do you take issue with the amount of gossip? I imagine it's hard knowing it's out there when there's not much you can do about it.

H: I try and look for the silver linings, I mean if people are that invested it means you at least have some relevance still. Besides, I have a very happy, successful life outside of what I do and that makes all the difference.

J: I am curious to know how you've managed to make that work…

H: Well I don't want to give the impression that it's easy because it's not. Spending so much time away from the people you love is easily the worst thing about this job and it's something I'm always trying to improve.

J: You're also approaching 40, has that caused you to stop and take stock?

H: Thanks for the reminder (laughs). Nah I'm in a good place about it actually. Well, for now… (laughs).

J: Are there any roles, in particular, you still wish to play?

H: Not really. I think most people see me as an action star and I'm happy to remain so. It seems to be what I excel at though I've also enjoyed branching out into more comedic roles. More of those would be nice.

J: So you've no burning desires for the future? What about regrets?

H: I wouldn't say that (laughs). There's some stuff I've yet to get around to, as for regrets I've very few.

J: Such as?

H: Well, some of the films I've made for starters (laughs). Although that's not really fair as there's always something to take away from those experiences.

J: What about personally?

H: Um (pauses), nothing springs to mind. I wish I'd met my better half a lot sooner. But we've been together for over seven years so I can't complain.

J: If I remember rightly you'd just started seeing each other the last time we spoke.

H: That's right! God, where's the time gone?

J: How were the lockdowns for you both?

H: You know, as scary and traumatic as that time was, I can honestly say it reaffirmed to me that I'd made the right choices.

J: Did she feel similarly?

H: Perhaps not at first (laughs).

J: You certainly seem to share the same sense of humour. You know she introduced herself as the maid?

H: (Looks around) I hope you didn't fall for it… (laughs). And she's far more warped, trust me. She's just better at hiding it (laughs).

J: Care to give some examples?

H: Oh God, where do I start (laughs)? To be honest I'm not sure I can without making her look completely mad… though that wouldn't be an unfair assessment (laughs) (slight pause). She's a nightmare to text. Her idea of messaging me usually involves repeating a word until I manage to guess what on earth she's on about (laughs). I was in London a few days back and I messaged her asking how her morning had gone and she just kept responding with the word 'log' (laughs). So there I was, in a meeting with my business manager, trying to figure out at the back of my mind what she meant. Did she want to log a complaint (laughs)? Was I supposed to bring home a chocolate log? Did we need more firewood (laughs)? Turns out she'd just tripped over one while walking the dogs. See? Mad (grins).

J: My wife's like that but with GIFs.

H: Yeah, I get those less often but to maximum effect (laughs). Like I remember when I was getting fitted for the suits I wore in The Man from Uncle. I sent her a picture of my favourite and she immediately winged back a gif of Sterling Archer (from FX's 2009 animated sitcom Archer) (laughs).

J: Is she indifferent to what you do?

H: It's not that she's indifferent, she's just not taken in by it and thank God because it helps keep me sane.

J: So she likes to keep you on your toes?

H: Oh yeah, our life's never dull (laugh). The last time I was away filming, I'd stupidly warned her beforehand not to go anywhere near this rare Warhammer figurine that a friend sent me. So cue the photos of it in the dust container of the Dyson, at the edge of Kal's food bowl as his face was in it… she even sent me one of it in the washing machine just as it was filling up with water. That one warranted a phone call (laughs).

J: Oh dear. Did it survive?

H: Annoyingly it was absolutely fine… she's done worse (laughs).

J: Such as?

H: Er, well there was the time I was in New Zealand shooting the helicopter sequence for Mission Impossible: Fallout. I've talked about it before so I'm not going to rehash it but the conditions were extreme so everyone was pretty miserable. What made it worse was that a few weeks before, she'd broken her hand - the story of how she did that is actually funnier than the one I'm about to tell—

J: What happened?

H: … No, I can't say. She'd kill me (laughs). Anyway, being halfway across the world I couldn't get back to her and was in a bit of a state about it. So to cheer me up, one afternoon she sends me a video of her at the physio's office and in it (laughs)… she's wearing one of those old-fashioned prosthetic split hooks (laughs). What's amazing is how she somehow managed to rope the physio in, like as soon as he comes into the room she puts her phone down so as not to film him (laughs).

J: Where on earth did she get a split hook?

H: I know right? She told me Etsy but God knows… apparently the physio provided the arm it was attached to (laughs). So there I was, suspended above the Southern Alps, laughing the hardest I've ever laughed in my life.

J: Did you show it to Tom Cruise?

H: Oh yeah.

J: And what did he say?

H: She's a keeper (laughs). I'd play it for you but it got deleted when I changed phones a little while back.

J: Well, that's disappointing. What happened to the hook?

H: When I finally came home we had some champagne to celebrate and when I went to the drawer, I found she'd chucked it in there with the bottle openers (laughs).

J: Are there any more stories you can share?

H: Yeah, but I think I've said enough (laughs).

J: What makes the two of you such a good match do you think?

H: She's got a long fuse which certainly helps (laughs). We were just meant for each other (shrugs).

J: Did it feel that way quite early on? I know it did with my wife.

H: Oh yeah, almost instantly. When you know, you know.

A week after we meet I receive a gift at the office - a box of homemade cookies (which are heavenly) and a beautiful baby blanket. Accompanied is a note which first apologises for the gift's tardiness 'Henry ate the first batch,' thanks me for a good interview and then encourages some skepticism of the tales told as 'they're only mostly true.' Either way, I concede that he is indeed a lucky man.

Enola Holmes 2 is on Netflix.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@elizabetharegina @fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo

[seancekitsch]

But what if your Bodyguard! AU gets angsty bc Emhyr sends Cahir to raid caravans instead of guarding his lovely Viscountess? What then?

ok for those of you that are new i recommend reading my bodyguard au! drabble series and buckling in because i play god when it comes to mashing book and show canon together to make sense of both versions of a character just to make an au

“Won’t you say goodbye to me?” Cahir begs, his third time circling the stool you keep moving around to refuse to meet his gaze. 

“Won’t you die like all the rest?” you spit back at him.

“That’s not fair and you know it!” 

He’s right, it’s not. But these raiding parties are a death trap and you refuse to let Cahir see the tears in your eyes. 

“Leave and find your life’s adventures and get back in the Emperors stupid good graces and be his doting little lapdog and I’ll find myself a boring husband before a fortnight is out and live my life of servitude to him,” you hiss, finally stopping in your running and letting Cahir come crashing into you. 

“If that’s what you wish,” Cahir says, barely above a whisper. Your breath hitches as he leans in, almost as if he’ll try to kiss the side of your head or your shoulder, but he doesn’t. 

He leaves, and you break down into your tears, collapsing onto you vanity.

Hours turn into days, and days turn into weeks. You refuse to leave your apartments, your bedroom and your sitting parlor. You don’t attend feasts, you don’t attend parties. Your ladies in waiting, now down to two, flit in and out of the rooms but never stay for long. Granted, they never did when Cahir was here either, but now it seems moreso that they’re avoiding you. As far as you know, Cahir is dead in a forest and so are you. Even your good friend the Count of Magne calling upon you doesn’t shake your woe. You don’t care who knows of your deep sadness since your bodyguard was sent away, all gossip immediately less important than the ring of yours that Cahir wore on his chain the night he left. All that mattered was that ring and whatever mass grave it would end up in. Or honestly, whatever trash heap Cahir threw it in after you were so cold to him. 

You hear whispers of unrest in Thanedd, and barely bat an eye. Who cares? They’ll either come for the Nilfgaardian vassals or they won’t. All balls and parties stop, and everyone freezes to prepare for battle for a moment. You barely notice, you haven’t been past your balcony since your bodyguard left and all of the noise of the castle only drowns itself out in your wine and your baths. Your absence is duly noted and gossip has spread but you couldn’t give a fuck about your status at parties or the state of your region. You almost hope the northern armies come for you first, one of the leaders of a Northernmost vassal. Your head might look cute on a pike, at least if they let you style your hair and makeup first, you think, you hope they at least have that dignity. You barely dwell on it, you just let yourself go numb to it all. 

“They’ve retreated over the Yaruga,” your lady recalls, combing your hair while you bathe. 

“Great,” you sigh, not hiding the fact that you don’t care. 

“Great? We lost,” she insists, a bit rougher in her combing in her annoyance at your response. 

“Let them all kill each other,” you suppose, picking up your flagon and drawing it to your lips. 

“How dare you?” she speaks out of turn, “Your future husband, the future Viscount of this region may be out there.”

You chug, letting you head tilt all the way back. 

“Trust me, I know he is.”

You’re shaken from your haze by a rock hitting your window. Not quite asleep, not quite awake; you haven’t slept well in a while. You hear it, and you refuse to turn over. There’s nothing that could be important enough, not unless your bodyguard came through your doorway again to stand at his post just to the left of it. 

But the rocks keep coming, and coming. And they get bigger. You throw on your blue dressing gown, never mind that it was Cahir’s favorite, and go to the window intent on telling whoever it is to fuck off. 

You’re greeted by the faces of a woman, short haired with a quiver of arrows at her back, and a man, a long haired bard with a lute on his hip. 

“Let a tired woman sleep,” you shout, ready to close your window again.

“We have a message! A message of true love!” the bard shouts. 

“True love is dead,” you spit, and slam the window shut. The largest rock yet comes sailing into the window, this time cracking it. Spiderwebs of broken glass spread in its wake. 

“You’re fucking kidding me!” you shout as you throw the now broken window back open, only to be greeted by the face of your (ex?) lover and bodyguard among the intruders. 

“We weren’t lying!” the woman shouts back. She wasn’t. He’s here and he’s alive, he came back for you just like he said. White flame be damned, what’s become of you in this time though? Would he not think you kept true to your word and wed someone else? 

“Cahir,” you whisper, but it’s as if even in the darkness he can see your lips form around his name. 

“My Viscountess, I’ve come against your wishes,” He shouts, his grin wide enough to be seen from a distance. You smile, but only briefly, and then you leave the window. 

Cahir wonders for a moment if you’ve gone to alert other guards, if you have a new bodyguard, or…. He doesn’t think about it. He only motions for his two new friends to run if need be, and positions himself to draw a sword. You don’t return to the window. 

“Stupid idea, really,” Cahir admits, and motions to them to leave. 

“At least you tried,” Milva says, slightly cringing as she does. 

“Perhaps this will hurt less after some ale and we make money off of the song I write about—“

The bard is cut off by another voice. 

“Really? You’re leaving again?” 

Cahir turns to face the Viscountess that’s plagued every dream of his since he left, the woman who practically wished him dead two months ago, the woman he would marry tonight if she let him. You’re in only your dressing gown and those damned riding boots, the ones with his laces in them. You drive him insane, even now.

“You vile, crazed woman that’s what you wanted!” he answers, the argument he walked away from when he left picking right back up. 

“No it’s— I—“ you look shocked, for maybe the first time in all the time he’s known you, “Well, If you leave again you better make sure we both die. I wished it. I wished us both dead the last time.” 

Your quivering lip, even in the moonlight, tells him all he needs to know. He quickly crosses the distance between the two of you, cupping your cheek in his warm palm while the other hand comes around your waist. Like muscle memory, your arms wind their way across his back like ivy on a tower. 

“Who says we have to die?” He asks, and your eyes get a little watery. He’s never actually seen you cry, not like this. He decides he hates it. 

“Well, if I couldn’t have you…” you trail off, not wanting to really admit what little you’d been up to. 

“You have me. Quit frowning and pack a bag,” He orders, “And put some clothes on. As your bodyguard I shouldn’t be letting you out looking like such a scandal.” 

You lean into him, not yet ready to let go. 

“But this is your favorite.”

“So it is. Throw it in the bag.”  

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

one of the reasons why i consider the death engine the major turning point of solaris and fabby's relationship is because i think fabby is the only person to have visited her during her recovery... i'm sure she didn't have the strength for it to sink in any more than subconsciously, but what a punch in the gut it must be, to almost die, and have next to no one come to see you...

hivemind's excuse was that he didn't want to reward her "turbulent be(e)havior" with his company. her insubordination over the phone with zor was duly noted, and that in tandem with her terrible failure put a sour taste in his mouth... it's one thing to talk back to the doctor and carry on with the plot. but if you're going to snap at a superior, then you had better do your job.

daniel couldn't have cared less about her comfort, honestly. but even if he did, visiting solaris would look like picking sides, and he's not willing to blur the lines when it comes to his loyalty to zor. it's her own damn fault she's in that mess. she should have to suffer the consequences.

charlie... considered it. he really did consider it. but ultimately, he couldn't bring himself to do it. no one expected solaris to survive, really... if she was going to die, he would rather his memories of her be untarnished by whatever hell the explosion must have put her through. a selfish reason, yes, but it's a habit zoraxis only amplifies.

even after it looked like solaris was actually going to pull through, charlie still didn't visit. though, mainly because he was scared to see how mad his absence had made her. to his credit, he got fabby to pass along a card to her. which she did, but not before chewing him out for about the hundreth time.

and anna... well, after solaris deliriously asked why she hadn't visited, fabby needed to sit down and break the news to her. about where anna went, and why.

[severussnapedamagedlove]

Do Not Ask - LOTR One Shot

(EomerxOC, Helm's Deep, Love, Fluff, Gore, Blood, One Shot, Grief)

Helm’s Deep was full of the last remains of its people. They were all gathered in the aftermath of what was set to be the battle of their lifetimes, for it saved them all. Blood coated the grey stone walls. Black and red blood of both enemy and ally. It smelled as battlefields do; the foul stench of rotten corpses, excrement and hot iron blood.

Eomer frowned as he stepped through the Keep. It was thick with bodies. How far they’d come into their last defense, how close Rohan was close to being an extinct race of Men.

His legs burned as he climbed the final ascent of stairs. He entered a grand hall. Only it was not lit with torches and the smells of roasting foods as he remembered it.

Women and children were out of the caves. They were frightened. The looks on their eyes as they searched for their survivors reflected a fraction of the terror in their warriors eyes. The things on this battlefield were harsher than most. Uruk-hai made war a vile, horror filled with atrocities too filthy to be recounted.

Eomer was Third Marshal of the Riddermark. His place was out in the field in search of survivors. It was where he was needed. He fully intended to join his Eored once his search was complete. There were two he needed to find first.

Selfish need drove him further into the room. It was duly noted that it was out of line for his position. Still, he walked farther inside the hall until he saw them. All he needed was a glance. One look, and his heart would be settled.

He caught sight of his sister. She had her hand pointed, where supplies were to be set as they tended to the wounded. Her eyes were rimmed red. The caves were a savior to the men’s mind, but it did not save their loved ones of the sounds of the deaths. It only amplified the fears of what might come find them in the cave whether it be freedom or death.

Eowyn found his gaze. Her body gave slight give, weakness to her knees, a kind breath out of her chest, as she gave a wobbly smile.

He, too, shared the same relieved breath.

There was a face he sought out in the crowd. Through the endless waves of faces, some familiar, some not, he yearned for a face that was known to his heart by instant fluttering.

The longer the absence, the harder his heart pumped.

Where was the face he longed for?

It took too long to walk through the survivor people until he located someone who was bound to know. An elderly woman with crooked fingers and a boy near thirteen in age. The boy’s clothing dragged on the floor behind as he walked.

Eomer placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maynard. Where is your sister? Her face is lost to me.”

The woman and boy exchanged looks. Their faces told of a restrained guilt. He was not let in on their silent exchange. Tensions in his gut quivered. The battle fear was not yet over for him. There was relief still to be awash his body in victory. Their hesitation did not ease him.

            “Speak,” he barked.

Maynard gathered the billowy fabric up to move. “We don’t know.”

Eomer stood straight. His eyes squinted as he took in the boy’s slumped shoulders. The woman’s deepening frown.

            “I’m sorry, my lord.” The boy trembled.

He staggered a step, startled by his own thought he’d come to.

She wouldn’t.

Now he saw it. The clothing was sizes too big for the young boy. A young boy who – if by recollection – should have been out on the battlefield alongside his countrymen.

The elderly woman held a stiff face as he turned to her in anger.

            “Do not ask to send our young ones,” her voice said, “when there were perfectly fit soldiers ready to fight.”

Eomer flew to the battlegrounds. He searched the dead before they made safe the castle. There were wounded to tend to, provisions to secure, men to regroup, efforts and rebuilding all to be concerned with yet his solider heart could not rest until he found her.

The frantic wavy grip of his throat struggled to keep breathing as he looked through bodies. Their helmets pulled from their heads. Blood, mud, disgust smeared around. A singular stench of death on the wind. It cloaked the stronghold with its inescapable melancholy.

He moved through the bodies on the wall – what was left of it. There were men with crushed ribcages. Their insides leaked out onto the stone.

His stomach flipped. Eyes turned to sadness at the innocent round eyes of children that gazed up from their limp corpse.

All he pictured was instead her: light colored eyes of sky blue with perfect golden hair, more flat than wavy. The coloring of her cheeks perfectly pink turned white, ghost-like in death. Broken bits of her body torn from her flesh like an animal consumed the life straight from her living tissue.

He fought every want to succumb to his emotion. They were bottled so tight, ready to release. He did not know if he would weep or scream. Perhaps, it was the brewing of both: his sorrow at losing the woman he loved so deeply and the anger at himself for not keeping her safe.

A foot solder approached behind his back. The clinking of the chainmail against the armor chest plate echoed in the silence of the dead.

The loud clank of a helmet dropped to the stone.

            “Keep that helmet on, solider,” he said through his gritted teeth. “There is still reason to fend for your head.”

            “Is your head forfeit then, my Lord?”

It was a voice he convinced himself would never sound in his ears again. He turned around.

There she stood, much like a man, in her armor. An empty sheath hung from her belt. The chill of morning left her breaths clouds sourced from her chapped lips.

She panted heavily. The effort to remain standing dwindled as she swayed.

            “Brona,” escaped his lips in disbelief.

Eomer rushed to hold her in his arms. His hands trembled against her body. It was real. No figment of his imagination. It was her. Alive.

He pulled her against his chest. Her weight impacted him fully. She was exhausted.

            “Yes, my Lord. I am here.”

            “Why did you not come find me?” He murmured. It was a selfish yearning in his heart. To have known she was there would have had him fight harder. Harder to protect her. Harder, to keep them all alive.

She winced as slid his hand between the plates of her shoulder and pulled them down her arms. “You’d have sent me back to the caves.”

Glimpses of her flesh below her tunic showed deep purple and black bruises. Red rashes at her neckline were from the metal chainmail too close to her neck below the armor. He pulled the last heavy pieces off her body showing what woman laid inside. She was not small, nor slender, but woman all the same. A woman who loved flowers and song and enjoyed riding in the yellow light of dawn.

He collected her body into his arms. It relaxed, limply hung by a thread of her energy.

The cots were assembled for the wounded. Eowyn tied a knot at the back of her head to keep it out of the way as she wound a linen wrapping around a bleeding arm. She directed the others tending to the injured around the room.

She rose, wiped the blood from her hands to the white apron tired around her waist, when her eyes caught at Eomer. Her face went pallid.

Not a breath exited her chest as she rushed across the room. A finger ran along her friend’s face. “Is she?”

            “No.” He shook his head. “She’s passed out from exhaustion. Dehydrated.”

            “Bring her here.”

There was an open space on the floor. A wooden crate was covered with spare comforts that were available. A flat pillow and course blanket.

He frowned. He pulled the cloak from his uniform. It was a luxurious cloth. He slid the fabric over top her body.

His sister handed him a bladder of water. “Drip some into her mouth. I’ll massage her muscles. It will ease the pain.”

He tried to hold the bladder steady. His hands trembled too much. It flicked water over her cheeks down her neck.

Eowyn frowned. “I’ll do this.” She took the water. “You massage her.”

The room was thick with energy. The battle left many wounded, some beyond repair, and many young men dead on the fields that surrounded the grand hall. There were cries of loss, cries of reunion, cries of pain around them.

Neither sibling said a word as they worked on their friend.

Eomer gave a long glance at his sister. Her hands worked at the joints of Brona’s shoulders, rolling them and stretching the muscles with her long fingers. She discovered a split in the skin of Brona’s underarm like the slice of a sword come from behind.

A cold sweat formed at his spine.

War was no place for those with tender hearts. It was horror and gore. It was for the field of monsters and those who became monsters in their fight against monsters.

His innocence was lost on those death fields. The slain bodies full of blood and hate and anger and other worldly tissue filled his mind with no impact anymore. It was like a tapestry woven of a scene. He saw what was before him, but it did not illicit emotion. Just a barren stare.

There was no hope for him. But his love. The beautiful pieces of her soul were light and delicate and glee. They were the bits that he adored. She felt emotions that he could not bring his heart to feel.

What had she endured that night? What savage action had killed that spirit, he wondered. Would she even be the same?

            “Did you know?” He bumped his sisters arm with his shoulder. His fingers worked at massaging the left hand. It was the one that held the sword. The grip on a sword for extended periods of time cramped the hand woefully.

Eowyn swallowed but said nothing.

            “Eowyn,” he said sternly.

            “I only suspected,” she replied with no give in emotion. There was fear for her friend, but no guilt in what had befallen her. “There were too many around. I-I could not see what happened until it was too late.”

            “She could have been killed.”

His sister put a palm against Brona’s cheek. She leaned into the touch. “You don’t know what its like. That feeling. Left behind, to wait for everything you love to be stolen from you bit by bit.” His sister placed a gentle kiss atop her forehead. “There is ache in surviving. Being the only one to not be killed in bloody battle. To carry on with the weight of the dead as a reminder of why they perished. It would have killed her, Eomer. Killed her. To have Maynard slain in battle while she lived. She would have not been the same woman we love. I could not ask that of her. Could you?”

Eomer sat there for a few long hours while his duty called at him to rejoin his uncle and regroup his men, he remained by Brona’s side.

His sister’s words echoed within his head.

The shrill heartbreak of cries that came from the caves when the boys were pulled from their mothers. Old men pulled from grandchildren. The women of his country asked to give more than they were willing to survive.

He’d not allowed himself to consider what was done to Brona when they came for her brother.

The fact she changed her clothes with him, made herself a man, just to save his fate from being skewered by an Uruk-hai lance.

Tears were in his eyes when her eyes started to slide open. Her brow flexed in confusion as she looked around her. They stilled when she caught sight of him on side of her cot.

                    “Eomer,” she breathed.

Her hands touched his cheek. A slip of water fell from his eye. Her thumbs wiped it away.

                    “Am I dead?”

He shook his head. “No. You should be, but you are not.” His hand trembled as it cupped her cheek. It held her close. The coloring of her face returned. Peachy pink hue touched the tops of her cheek as she stared up at him with those loving eyes. The fear of losing her had near come to fruition. “Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for what I asked of you. Our land was in need. Our people nearly extinct.”

She held the hand against her face. “Forgive me for doing what I must.”

Eomer pulled her into his lap. Her body slowly wrapped around his. Lips pressed against his cheeks. They both forgave what awful betrayal they had done to one another without fulling realizing the devastation it could have caused.

The land was safe. Their loved ones survived the long battle.

The world was far from perfect. It had more trials to endure, but they did not doubt the strength of one another as they faced the terror that grew in the east. For a dark cloud hung over their life, but it did not shade their love.

For more stories on Eomer Eadig and Rohan, please check out my Eomer collection on fanfiction.net!

[sangcreole]

@auburnandamberangel continued from (x)

Armand looked up from his hidey hole inside a large egg chair, bespoke made and large enough to happily hold two people. Made of the finest brocade and velvet, modern but not all at once. This library was one of the few usually not accessible by their visitors, secluded off of one of their private suites. "Apologies for abandoning you to the latest throng of visitors, I needed some quiet time." Sliding a lace bookmark into his book and reaching a hand out to Louis. 

For better or for worse, Trinity Gate never seems to sit quietly these nights. It is as much a comfort as it is an endless annoyance, to have their very abode open to blood drinkers of any lineage or disposition. Holding court has never been of Louis’ interest, but as the head of the household, he understands his duty to each and every venerable guest that crosses the threshold. 

It’s easier, of course, with Armand by his side. 

Everything is easier with Armand by his side. And when he is not there, his absence is duly noted. It prickles, like a thorn in Louis’ side, impossible to ignore as every thought finds it’s way back to Armand. The other’s must notice—some even have the audacity to ask—but it isn’t long before Louis is able to politely excuse himself down the hall and toward the one place he knows his lover must be.

A small, silent smile graces Louis’ features as soon as he spots him; a lightness behind verdant eyes reserved only for those closest to his heart. He bows at the waist as he accepts the offered hand, pressing a petal-soft kiss to his lover’s jeweled fingers. 

“No apologies,” he replies, trying to fit himself into the remaining space in the chair as gracefully as possible. “I only came to see if there was something I might do to provide some other comfort.”

[spaceschist]

@carbondated asked "just thought i’d give you a heads up." // for Sam

An ancient mineshaft, but not just any mineshaft—it was an extra-terrestrial one, a treasure trove for both geologists and archaeologists alike. The ship's scan, coupled with their handheld devices, initially suggested an absence of life, but experience taught Sam that such assurances could be deceptive. The heavy metal deposits within the shaft interfered with their scans, necessitating a surface excursion to gather more accurate data. Sam was never one to complain about surface exploration.

Sam, adjusting her helmet in response to River's warning, peered up from beneath the ledge, only to discover a cracked beam. A cautionary realisation settled in, a reminder to prioritise safety over impulsive actions—her penchant for the latter was duly noted in her personnel report. With a silent "oh" forming on her lips, she carefully maneuvered out from under the overhang.

"Thanks," she expressed, her gratitude laced with a touch of sheepishness. "Probably not the best place to be buried alive." Sam found solace in River's presence. While archaeology wasn't her expertise, there was a significant overlap between their fields—a shared passion for delving into the mysteries of the past, be it civilizations or environments.

"So, want to compare notes?" she suggested, brushing her hands together to pat some of the dust off her gloves.

[mechanicaldance]

a soft hum emitted as the embrace was more or less returned. It was true, everyone was busy and mostly occupied, but Ballora had grown attached to Russell. His absence, for whatever reason, was duly noted. She had to check up on him.

“Why would monsieur not be missed?” The dancer questioned in her thick accent. “The girls miss you dearly. You are their favorite,” she added, as she gently reached to squish the mechanics cheeks.

@pizzaplex-mechanic

[renukamd]

How to Register a Sole Proprietorship in Bangalore

A sole proprietorship company is owned and operated by a single individual and is typically established within a quick 15-day timeframe. It often emerges in an unorganised sector among merchants or small business proprietors. A notable advantage is the absence of a mandatory registration process, including the exemption from GST registration. However, it's essential to note that the liability in a Sole Proprietorship Company is unlimited. This type of business registration, particularly Sole Proprietorship Registration in Bangalore, is a prevalent choice in our country.

Simplified procedure to guide you through the process:

1. Business Name Selection:

   Choose a unique and suitable name for your Sole Proprietorship. Ensure it meets the guidelines and availability criteria.

2. Document Preparation:

   - Gather necessary documents, including:

     - PAN card of the proprietor

     - Aadhar card of the proprietor

     - Address proof (utility bills, rental agreement, etc.)

     - Passport-size photographs

     - Canceled cheque or bank statement

3. Registration Form Filling:

   - Visit the official website for business registration in India.

   Please Complete the required online registration form with accurate details. Provide the business name, proprietor's details, business address, and other relevant information.

4. Submit Documents:

   - Upload scanned copies of the necessary documents per the platform's requirements.

5. Payment of Fees:

   You can pay the registration fees online through the designated payment gateway. The costs may vary depending on the services and features you choose.

6. Verification Process:

   - After submitting the application and documents, the registration authority will review and verify the details provided.

7. Acknowledgment and Application Status:

   - Once the verification is complete, you will receive an acknowledgement or an application reference number. Use this to track the status of your application.

8. Certificate Issuance:

   - The authorities will issue the Sole Proprietorship registration certificate upon successful verification. This document serves as proof of your business's legal existence.

9. Business Bank Account:

   - Open a business bank account using the registration certificate and other relevant documents.

10. Compliance Requirements:

    Familiarise yourself with local and national compliance requirements. If your business turnover exceeds the threshold, this may include obtaining a Goods and Services Tax (GST) registration.

11. Post-Registration Formalities:

    - Display the registration certificate at your business premises. Ensure you comply with all regulatory requirements to run your Sole Proprietorship smoothly.

Consult with a professional or use government-approved portals for a smooth and error-free registration process. However, as government regulations may change, the specifics may vary, so always refer to the latest guidelines.

Documents Required for Sole Proprietorship Company Registration in Bangalore

The specific documents required for Sole Proprietorship Company Registration in Bangalore may vary based on local regulations and the nature of your business. However, generally, the following documents are commonly needed:

1. Identity Proof of Proprietor:

   - PAN card of the proprietor

2. Address Proof of Proprietor:

   - Aadhar card of the proprietor

   - Passport, voter ID, or driver's license

3. Passport-size Photographs:

   - Recent passport-sized photographs of the proprietor

4. Business Address Proof:

   - Utility bills (electricity, water, or gas bill) of the business premises

   - Rental agreement, if the property is rent

5. Bank Documents:

   - Canceled cheque or bank statement in the name of the proprietor and the business

6. Registration Application Form:

   - Duly filled registration form with accurate details

7. Additional Documents:

   - Any other documents required by the local registering authority or as per specific business activities

It's advisable to check with the local authorities or consult a professional to ensure you have all the necessary documents for Sole Proprietorship Company Registration in Bangalore. Additionally, the process and required documents may be subject to updates in government regulations, so staying informed about the latest requirements is crucial for a smooth registration process.

Conclusion:

Proprietorship Registration in Bangalore offers a straightforward and efficient avenue for individuals venturing into small businesses. The process, typically completed within a quick 15-day timeframe, requires carefully considering the business name, gathering essential documents, and navigating through an online registration form. The unique advantage lies in the exemption from mandatory GST registration, making it an appealing choice for merchants and small business owners. However, it's crucial to acknowledge the unlimited liability inherent in a Sole Proprietorship Company.

The outlined step-by-step procedure provides a practical guide for the registration process, emphasising the importance of compliance with local and national regulations. To ensure a smooth and error-free registration, consulting with professionals or utilising government-approved portals is recommended, as well as adapting to any updates in government regulations for an informed and seamless registration experience in Bangalore.

[squiral]

Hey hows it going?

I'm an artist who tries to make art whenever I can. I work full-time as a software dev so finding the time when I'm willing to stare at a screen even more can be a challenge but when I do I'll post here! I'm working on a graphic novel, 'Absence Duly Noted' (working title) about my OCs Nick and Mark. Exploring themes of mental health, disability, identity, and where you derive self-worth!

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