#i don’t often imagine him with the hat but it helped distinguish space between what little background there is and his shiny bald head

[hannibalfan15]

so I got to that part in the book.is this anything.

[fragiledewdrop]

11 Questions

Rules: Always Post the rules. Answer 11 questions, then make up 11 new ones and tag 11 people. Inform the person who tagged you that you answered their questions.

Tagged by @vengefulnoob , which I am very happy about because I love these questions.

1) If you had the chance, would you go to the International Space Station?

Are you kidding me? Hell yes!

2) What are your greatest irrational and rational fears?

Irrational: spiders. They terrify me to a level nothing that can’t at least mutilate me should

Rational: dying young, but also dying old and sick and bedridden and alone. I am especially afraid of those illnesses that steal your mind and your memory. I have seen too many loved ones succumb to them.

3) What distinguishes love from lust or a crush to you?

Love is different from lust because when you love someone there are feelings involved that go beyond physical attraction and desire. The difference between love and a crush is more subtle: when you have a crush on someone, you tend to idealize them. They are beautiful, charming, perfect in every way. Well, no human being is like that. No two people fit together like puzzle pieces without jagged edges. At this stage, half of what you think about the object of your affections is the fruit of imagination or projection. I start to think and talk of love when I have seen beyond that rosy tinted veneer, when I have witnessed facets of the ugliness that hides inside everyone-flaws, bad habits, despair, neurosis, whatever is there- and that has not been enough to drive me away. On the contrary, it has  made my feelings stronger. When you love someone you are prepared to go through thick and thin with them, and you have to know what “thin” looks like for that particular individual.

Having a crush means seeing only the rose, loving means seeing the rose and its thorns and wanting to cradle it close to your heart anyway, bleeding be damned.

(There are limits to this, of course. I am not talking about accepting abuse, just the inevitable flaws that every human being naturally hides behind their best facade. And this is just one possible interpretation anyway. )

4) Who is the one person you’ve looked up to most in life?

There have been many, but I think it’s my father.

He is not perfect, but he is so strong and so gentle. He taught me resilience and sacrifice and loyalty. He taught me to welcome strangers with open arms, to help whenever I can. He taught me the difference between good and bad when I was not yet old enough to discern it on my own. He taught me to have passion for learning and that no field or job is inferior to another. He thought  me to think for myself.He taught me about nature and mountains and adventure. And, maybe without realizing it, he taught me about love through his actions. He taught me that people can change if they really want to.

He also taught me half the curses I know ,and impatience, and perfectionism. He taught me that the gentlest people need an outlet for their anger and frustration.

He taught me songs and stories and ballads.

I love him for all the good things and for all the bad things and I want to teach him how to be better and happier in return.

He is one of the best and yet most imperfect people I have ever met, and I wouldn’t be who I am without him.

(Nor without my mother, but this asked for one person and my relationship with her is a tad more complicated)

5) Given a choice of historical figure to take to the current day, who would it be and why?

Leonardo da Vinci , because I think that, give a little time to study, he would be great t inventing new way to harness renewable energy. He would be a wonderful ally in the fight against climate change. If nothing else, he would find a better solution than the Mose for the flooding of Venice.

Plus, he would be so enthusiastic about all the advancements in science in the last few centuries! I would relish the opportunity to tell him that he can perform autopsies without having to smuggle bodies through the night (in catholic universities too!)

6) Is humanity, in it’s totality, a thing to be celebrated or reviled?

I don’t have a clear answer to this question. I think about it often and my opinion changes.

I will say this: even though history and observation show that we are capable of great evil, they also show that, even in the direst of circumstances, we (or at least some of us) will find a way to do good. That is enough for me to have faith in us, and to fight daily to tip the balance in our favour.

7) At your lowest points in life, what has picked you back up again?

My family.

8) You’re about to see the most incredible thing the universe has to offer, something so spectacular that you will be unable to ever describe it or photograph or video it adequately, but you have the chance to take someone with you to experience it too. Who is it?

Either my brother or my best friend. I guess it would be the one who needs it most at the time, but it would gut me to choose.At least I know that they would understand.

9) Is it better to be born good, or become good through force of effort?

Okay, I’ve had this question on the back of my mind since I first read it, and let me tell you, it made for one intense dinner conversation.

My instinctive reaction is to reject anything that precludes the existence of choice and free will, but I tried to play devil’s advocate and think about the benefits of a world inn which everyone is born good. At first glance it would be perfect: no violence, no crimes, no terror. But then comes the question: what does it mean to be “born good”? How do you define “good”? Is there even a universal answer to that? And what about that theory according to which we are good as long as we act according to what we think is good? If those who killed Jesus really thought what they were doing was the right thing, than they can’t be considered evil, or even at fault. If those who crammed children into gas chambers really, truly thought it was for the good of the world, they are not evil. Hell, they might even be considered heroes, in their own eyes. I have always thought this kind of extreme relativism is wrong: there is something else, outside of what we think or believe, that determines whether an action is good or evil. But we have to allow for the possibility of this being a factor when we speak of people being “born good”.

There is also another problem. As beautiful as a world without evil might be, it is simply not the world we live in. It follows that, if some people are born good (and therefore incapable of evil), some people have to be born “bad”. What is the point, then, of teaching children the difference between good and evil, or of rehabilitating prisoners, if the evil in them cannot be washed away? And how long until the “good” people decide hat it is best (and indeed “good”) to kill all the “evil “ones, or exile them, or deport them? Are we really back to predestination? Why live at all, if you are born evil and there’s no chance for you to change it?

This system doesn’t allow for mistakes or redemption. In its effort to be good it’s actually merciless.

We are not “born good”: just look at children and how thoughtlessly cruel they can be with themselves, or with animals.

We are born in a gray zone, and we can make what we want of ourselves, including trying to figure out what the difference between good and evil really is. We can fall, and we can get up. We can change. That is beautiful, and I think it’s closer to the reality of things.

In the end I am always horrified by anything that denies me choice on an ontological level. I prefer to live believing I can build my own fate, even if it turns out to be an illusion, because otherwise, what even is the point?

10) Which D&D statistic is most valuable to you? (strength, dexterity, intelligence, wisdom, charisma, and constitution)

I have never played D&D, unfortunately, but I think I’d go with wisdom. I sorely need it.

11) How does this make you feel?

It makes me smile, It’s brilliant!

My questions:

1) Are things worth doing even if you know they are impermanent?

2) If you could see you favourite play or musical, live, anywhere in the world, which would it be, where, and in which language?

3) If you could magically learn to speak any language, which would it be?

4) Regardless of what you believe in, which scares you more: reincarnation, the idea of an afterlife, or the idea that we dissolve into nothing after death?

5) What’s the last book you read?

6) Liberté, égalité, fraternité : which is more important to you and why?

7) What’s your favourite beverage in winter?

8) To be or not to be?

9) A place in your country that you wish more people would know about and visit?

10) Which do you think is sweeter: pleasure, or the expectation of pleasure?

11) Which do you prefer, this or this ?  (I hope they make you laugh)

I am going to tag the usual people. I I forget you and you want to do it, do it anyway. Firstly, @procasdeanating because I have a feeling you might like both some of the answer and the question; @vengefulnoob because your questions were interesting, and I hope mine are too (and that the answers were ok); @awed-frog even though you know you probably don’t have time (un abbraccio a tua figlia. Spero che qualcosa in questo post ti faccia sorridere); @justsomeonerandom17 ; @snovolovac ; @pod7et ; @yourobriensource (sono curiosa); @maryshelleey  ; @leeaneea ; @vivianecarstairs

Have Fun!

[jennifersylvesters]

not so subtle - part three

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x reader Word Count: 4.3k~ Warning: swearing A/N: meant to post this yesterday, but was a bit overwhelmed with interviews. i actually immensely enjoyed working on this part, especially because i got to add more dialogue this time around. this is a halloween part aka me trying to get caught up to the current holiday shenanigans. as always, feedback is always appreciated/loved aka give me validation

If there a holiday that reigned supreme in your mind, it was definitely Halloween. An excuse to watch themed movies and binge out on sweets? Who could say no to that? And with the day after making it possible to purchase discounted candy, it made Halloween the ultimate holiday that keeps on giving.

While you didn’t discuss it, you secretly loved dressing up for Halloween. You liked being able to wear absurd outfits that you normally wouldn’t be able to wear besides that specific day. And ever since freshman year of college, you enjoyed the freedom of wearing a revealing costume without the consequence of your parents insisting that you change into warmer clothes. You liked how some guys would get hot and bothered by your outfit, often flirting like mad with you. Of course you couldn’t flirt for to save your life, but the attention was nice. And it was true what they said in Mean Girls: “Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.”

This year you had been invited to tag along to one of the biggest Halloween bashes in Hollywood. Naturally your excitement had been at an all time high knowing that big celebrities would be in attendance. But it meant that you needed to step your costume game up. You couldn’t just go to a regular party store and grab whatever flattered you best. No, you needed something fun yet clever. It had to be appealing yet not generic that others could be wearing the same thing. You wanted to get attention on you, having guys ridiculously into you.

When you received your costume, you knew no one else would be wearing that, and that attention would definitely be on you. Except it wasn’t the way you hoped it would happen. Thanks a lot, Tom Holland.

Honestly it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Tom’s gestures of goodwill were now the worst. Long gone were the days of him just spotting you cash or comping your meals. Ever since the laundromat incident, he seemed determined to make it up to you. They just never turned out the way he hoped. The time he sent you a box of handmade chocolates? You just about choked to death when you realized he used salt instead of sugar. Those nice flowers he sent to your apartment? Turns out you were allergic to Peruvian lilies; the flowers made you break out like crazy.

Unless Emma’s name was attached to whatever excitement Tom seemed giddy about, it usually ended up a disaster. Your costume choice definitely fell into that category.

When you shared how ecstatic you were about getting to join Emma and Tom, you couldn’t help but wonder aloud what costume you should get. It was at that moment that Tom quickly volunteered to get you a costume. Naturally you hesitated. With how previous accidents had progressed, you couldn’t imagine things ending well in this scenario. You didn’t want to mess up this huge opportunity. But when Tom insisted you wouldn’t regret it, eyes pleading for you to take another chance, you reluctantly gave in.

Now you were wishing you hadn’t.

“How does someone get teletubby and tomb raider mixed up?” you seethed, stumbling around your apartment building. Your costume came the day of Halloween, the huge package arriving at your doorstep. Tom and Emma insisted you waited until they got there so they could watch your surprised expression. And surprised you were. Along with confused and angry.

Though Tom promised to get you a sexy costume, you had been delivered a bright red teletubby costume. Tom stammered as he claimed he ordered a Lara Croft outfit for you. Emma managed to convince you to at least try on the costume, stating you might actually like it when you wore it. Ha ha. Yeah right. If anything, it made your blood boil looking at how childish you looked.

“You look really cute!” Kimberly complimented your costume as you huffed around, trying to get used to the absurd amount of space it took up.

“That’s cause you’re wearing a costume you actually like” you snapped, turning to your roommate who currently wore a vagina costume. Honestly you weren’t even aware those existed till she proudly displayed it a week ago.

“I can now properly show boys where the clitoris is” she announced defiantly. “Who else can say their costume is a teaching moment?”

“Who would wanna say their costume is a teaching moment?” you grumbled under your breath.

“Teachers potentially. Maybe possibly even historians” she replied quickly, causing your irritation to rise.

“I think Kimmy’s costume is quite clever” her girlfriend, Sarah, piped up from the living room couch.

“Are you Sherlock Holmes?” Tom asked, eying Sarah’s ensemble. She tipped her deerstalker hat his direction as she flashed him a toothy grin.

“Ding ding. You are correct, Danny Zuko” Sarah responded. Tom beamed, pleased at himself that he got her costume right as well as her recognizing his attire. For the party he slicked back his hair like a greaser and gussied up as a member of the T Birds. If it wasn’t for his blunder, you might’ve complimented him. But he was currently on your shit list, which meant absolutely no compliments.

“Hope you don’t mind me asking, but why Sherlock Holmes?” Tom questioned, curiosity getting the best of him.

Sarah and Kimberly exchanged glances and sly smiles before Sarah turned to Tom. “Oh, you know. Just so when boys try to hit on me, I can say I’m on the case to find my heterosexuality which plot twist: it doesn’t exist.”

“Or you could do ‘I’ve just solved the case of whether or not this flirting works out in your favor. Turns out I will absolutely not be going home with you tonight’” Kimberly piped up. The two of them high fived one another before breaking out into giggles.

Even when the pair were being weird, you couldn’t deny how cute they were. Still, you were upset that you looked like a children's program character instead of a sexy goddess. Somehow your anger wasn’t just limited to Tom but to those having a better time in general.

“So you’re a vagina and Sherlock Holmes” you stated flatly. “You could’ve been Watson, Kimberly. Or a goddamn vagina and penis.” Both of them made a face at the latter body part. “Or fine! Two vaginas then! But nooo, you had to go and be a vagina and Sherlock Holmes. God, you guys are so weird” you rolled your eyes.

“We wanted to defy the typical costume choices, Y/N. And we’re just party hopping down Greek row with our friends; it’s not like we plan on impressing anyone. We just wanna have fun” Kimberly explained as she took Sarah’s hand in hers. She understood that your frustrations were misdirected so she kept her voice steady and patient.

Unlike you, Kimberly turned down Tom’s invitation to the Hollywood party. She had no interest in mingling with celebrities who would probably expect her to know their name. You knew how terrible she could get about differentiating the Chris’s.  

“I mean, it is a bit strange of costume choice” Tom commented, attempting to take your side. He hoped that if he showed a bit of camaraderie, you might be a little more forgiving towards his blunder. Haha. Not today, Thomas.

“Says the kid who couldn’t tell the difference between tomb raider and teletubby” you snapped, hands resting on your waist irritatedly. Well, it rested on where your waist would be. The gigantic costume made it difficult for you to distinguish where any of your curves were.

“And how well do you know the female anatomy, Tom? Would you like to point out where the clitoris is on my costume?” Kimberly asked, something in her voice clearly egging him on. He knew better than to try and point out something like that, especially if he got it wrong; he would never live down that humiliation. So he shook his head and refused to make eye contact with either of you. The male took a seat on the couch next to Sarah who just laughed and patted his shoulder.

As Tom sullenly moped on the couch, Emma pulled you aside to your room.

“He meant well, Y/N” she attempted to reassure you.

“Yeah, that seems to be the typical Tom excuse at this point.” She gave you a look, letting you know to cool it.

“I get it. Obviously this isn’t the look you were going for-”

“Yeah, no kidding” you muttered under your breath.

“-But Tom was trying, okay? He really just wants to make you happy because he cares about you. He would not have gone through all that effort just to screw you over on purpose.” You knew she was right, but you just grumbled. “Tom thinks of you as a good friend, and you know he feels really bad about this.” Yeah yeah. “Just don’t hold this against him. Please? For me?”

Everything she was saying made sense, but a part of you wanted to hold on to your anger for just a little longer. Emma looked at you, waiting for a response. Letting out a dramatic groan, you nodded your head.

“Listen, Tom’s mistake aside, you are the cutest teletubby.”

“This isn’t exactly a sexy costume, Ems” you pointed out, but she persisted.

“Someone out there isn’t gonna care about sexy costumes. They’re just gonna think ‘wow! I cannot get over that adorable teletubby’. And they’re gonna want to get with you.”

“I feel like I should be worried about any guy that wants to hook up with a teletubby.” She rolled your eyes playfully at your comment.

“Someone out there is gonna agree with me and know you’re the cutest teletubby. You’re gonna be all that matters to them, Y/N. It’s not gonna be about the outfit; it’s going to be about you” she continued. “So do me a favor and not stay mad at Tom? Because your costume is gonna attract the person who’s right for you.”

The two of you shared a smile as she gently rubbed your mitten covered hand. “Danny Zuko’s really lucky to have you, Sandy” you joked.

Emma smiled and shrugged pretending to act nonchalant. “Oh, you know. Sandra Dee is truly the best” she responded as she flipped the synthetic hair of her wig.

The two of you headed out of your room and back into your living room only to come upon the sight of Sarah and Kimberly chanting for Tom to point out the clitoris. He looked downright miserable and unsure of himself. You snickered under your breath as Emma told the pair to knock it off.

Ten minutes later a large van came to pick all of you up to take you to the party. You could feel your jitters getting the best of you as you knee rapidly bounced up and down. “You look really great” Tom chimed as the vehicle came to a stop near the party entrance. You grunted out a ‘thanks’, knowing he only said that to make you feel better. Too bad it wasn’t working.

As soon as the car door opened, you hustled to make it in to the building. The last thing you wanted were paparazzi snapping photos of you as a guest. “Please don’t let me become a meme” you prayed as someone snapped a photo of you.

The building was packed, filled with star studded faces. You got multiple glances from those around you, but it wasn’t the way you hoped. Instead of “I’m totally into that chick” vibes, you received “that’s a massive teletubby” looks. You waddled around wishing something would just go right around celebrities for once.

Making your way towards the open bar, you felt something yank on your leg. Turning you spotted a small child in a dinosaur costume. “Erm, hello?” you greeted the girl as she gazed up at you in awe.

“Are you Po?” she asked, her tone hopeful you would say yes.

“I guess I am” you replied. Technically you were wearing a Po costume, which made you Po. You figured it wouldn’t be lying.

The girl’s face lit up as she proceeded to hug you. “Will you come meet daddy with me? Please?” she looked up from her tight hold.

You knew you shouldn’t get involved. After all, you didn’t even know this kid. Plus you just wanted to drink the night away if you weren’t going to enjoy your usual Halloween flirtations. You decided that you had to be firm and just say no. “Okay?” Crap.

Somehow she managed to convince you to pick her up as the two of you searched for her dad. “I’m India” she introduced herself.

“Very nice to meet you, India. Would you mind telling me where your father is now?”

“I think he’s around there” she gestured to your left and you followed her direction. “Oh! He’s right there!” she screeched as she pointed straight ahead. You winced at the shrillness ringing in your ear. “Daddy!” she squealed as she waved to a man also wearing a dinosaur costume. As her father turned around, you nearly dropped her as you realized who he was.

“Oh, there’s where you’ve been!” Chris Hemsworth called out as he approached you and his daughter.

“Y-You...You Thor” you croaked out, gesturing randomly with your free hand.

“That I am” he proudly agreed, taking no mind to your nervousness. “And are you taking care of my little girl?”

Right as you were about to say no, India chimed “Yes! Po is the best!” What the-

Two smaller children, one dressed up as a Dalmatian while the other wore a rhino costume, approached you eagerly. “It’s Po!” one of them cried out excitedly.

“Ah, it seems they’ve also taking a liking to you as well” Chris noted, watching as his twins comfortably moved to hold on to your legs. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind the two boys tagging along as well.”

“I-uh-I” you stuttered, unsure of what to say. It sure looked as if you were a caretaker with the way they all clung to you. Were you even allowed to say no to Thor?

“Excellent! Glad to know they are in capable hands” he clapped his hands in delight, ignoring that you hadn’t actually gave an answer. He rustled his eldest child’s hair as he headed off.

“Alright then” you weakly called out to no one in particular. Sasha wrapped his chubby arms around your left leg as Tristan tugged on your other leg. Oh boy. You definitely weren’t expecting this. Letting out a deep sigh, you figured you could babysit for a bit. After all, it couldn’t be that hard.

What started off as just playing with three children ended up escalating to multiple kids. Apparently no child could resist the idea of playing with Po. You weren’t even sure how, but one child - whose damn demon of a child was it? - managed to climb your back and yanked viciously on your round antenna. You just about flung him off before remembering children were living human beings with parents that could easily sue you. Nope. Don’t want that.

So you did your best to entertain them, feeling yourself getting drained by their unwavering energy. Who the hell decided to hop these children on sugar? “Pick me up again!” India demanded, waving her arms up towards you.

“Say ‘please’” you instructed. If you were going to be their play friend, you at least wanted to get a decent amount of respect.

“Pleaaaase” she pleaded, hands grasping at the air wanting desperately to be carried.

“Good job, kiddo” you praised her as you picked her up and gently bounced her up and down. She giggled at your actions, clearly enjoying herself. Well, at least one of us is having a good time. All you wanted was to look and feel sexy for tonight, but obviously that went down the drain. Damn.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Harrison walking around the building. No surprise that he chose a costume that showed off his abs, choosing to dress up as a gladiator. He really only sported the top armor, going mostly shirtless and causing girls to gawk and fawn over him. In some ways you were jealous that he got to flaunt something while you were being mobbed by children. But mostly your mind repeatedly played the same sentence: Fuck Harrison Osterfield’s gladiator costume.

About an hour of being the children's companion, you managed to wrangle them off of you when you could feel your bladder getting full. With the massive costume, you knew there was no way you could get into the women’s restrooms without constantly bumping and potentially angering someone. So you settled for occupying one of the bigger family restrooms with single occupancy.

Except you couldn’t use the actual toilet. Thanks to all the stuffing in the suit, you struggled to grab the zipper at the back. You swore under your breath as your hands swatted towards the zipper, unable to grab it. You fumbled around, trying to figure a way out so you could enjoy the sweet release of peeing.

Bam! The bathroom door swung open and you yelped in surprise as a girl in a playboy bunny costume stumbled in. You internally cursed yourself for forgetting to lock the door. Well at least it was only her.

Psych. The girl dragged someone else by the hand, pulling none other than Harrison into your view.

“Oops!” the woman chirped as she spotted you.

“Oh, sorry m-PFFFTT” Harrison begun to apologize to who he assumed was a stranger but absolutely lost it at the sight of you. Your face turned as red as the costume, completely embarrassed in front of him.

Harrison’s female company tugged on his hand, clearly wanting to leave, but he couldn’t stop laughing. He howled loudly, squatting as tears came out of his eyes from laughing so hard.

You couldn’t get fast out of there enough.

No seriously. You actually couldn’t. The costume made it difficult for you to slip between the pair. So you awkwardly stood in front of them, shifting from leg to leg, still needing to pee like crazy.

The playboy bunny obviously did not find the situation as hilarious as Harrison. To her you were just some stranger in a childish costume. She let go of his hand and with a flip of her hair, she left. Harrison didn’t bother stopping her as he let his now free hand rest on his knee. He stood up slowly, still chuckling every couple seconds.

“Oh, man. I really needed a good laugh” he grinned, wiping away tears from his eyes.

“Great. And I really need Emma. So can you get out of here and go get her for me?” you asked impatiently. Despite asking him for a favor, your constant irritation with him never wavered.

“What’d you need Emma for? So you can get laughed at some more?” His grin widened, and you shoved his shoulder.

“No, smartass. I need to pee.” He raised an eyebrow, and you continued. “I can’t get this stupid zipper down, and I need her help so I can finally use the restroom.”

“Well jeez, Lil Skunk. I can help with that” he pointed out. Oh. This was true.

You really didn’t want him around you in general, but the choice of denying his help was outweighed by your need to use the toilet. “Fine” you conceded with a huff.

“All you have to do is ask me nicely” he added, a mischievous look dancing in his eyes.

“Are you kidding me?” you snapped. Of course Harrison Osterfield would come with terms and conditions for kindness. Obviously the laundromat incident must’ve been a fluke. Or perhaps he had a concussion that night which made him unaware of how kind he could actually be without special circumstances attached. That sounds about right.

“C’mon now. Not too difficult” he commented, crossing his arms as he waited for your polite attitude.

Maybe it was better to just pee in this costume. Kids did it all the time. You could join their league.

“Y/N, all you have to do is say ‘Harrison, I would love for you to help me out sooo much’” he assured you, knowing full well it would drive you mad.

“Osterfield. Help me before I pee in this costume” you gritted out.

“Say please” he called out in a singsong voice.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not the magical word, Y/N” he tutted, shaking his head in fake disappointment.

“I’m gonna kill you, Osterfield” you fumed on the verge of murdering him.  

“All you gotta do is say please.” It sounded so simple, yet you struggled to say that one word he craved to hear.

You furrowed your brows, glaring at his easygoing disposition. Had anyone ever been strangled by a teletubby before? Maybe tonight would be the night.

“Please” you finally caved.

“Of course, Lil Skunk. Anything for you.” He batted his eyelashes innocently. Fuck this guy.

You yanked off the costume head before turning around so he could unzip you. Within a couple of seconds, he easily slid the zipper down despite you struggling earlier for what felt like eternity. You let out a sigh of relief as you finally felt the weight of the costume sliding off.

Harrison’s eyes widened as you stepped out of the costume, surprised to see you wearing nothing but a lacy slip and nice lingerie. Before he could comment, you bunched up the costume and turned around to face him.

“Move it, Osterfield!” you barked, shoving the costume in his arms. “Just wait outside with the costume. Now get out so I can finally pee!” you informed him as you pushed him out of the bathroom.

Once you finished your business, you peeked your head out of the bathroom. Some part of you wondered if Harrison took off without a second thought. You wouldn’t put it past him to play a trick on you, especially on such a fitting night. Yet he stood outside the bathroom, peering at you when you opened the door. He smiled, head tilted ever so slightly as he took in your appearance. “Should I call you Lil Teletubby from now on?” he teased.

“Fuck off” you grumbled as you opened the door further to let him in.

He shut the door and locked it before helping you put back on your costume. Your right hand weighed on his bicep as you concentrated on slipping back into the suit. No notice was paid as Harrison eyed your figure. Yanking up the top portion, you shimmied slightly to get comfortable before he zipped you up.

Plopping the head back on, your costume was now complete once more. You waddled out of the bathroom with Harrison, making your way back to the festivities.

“You wanna tell me now or shall I wait for Tom?” he inquired, gently bumping your padded shoulder. You groaned, deciding to just explain what happened. You knew if he asked his best friend, the endless stream of “I’m sorry” texts would follow in suit. No thank you.

“Tom decided to order my costume. Made a mistake and chose teletubby instead of tomb raider. How one does that I have no idea. But he somehow did. So now I’m wearing this” you summarized up the predicament that fell upon you.

“That div” he chuckled. “Well, the costume certainly fits your personality.”

“Go fuck yourself, Osterfield.”

“C’mon. That was a good one. I deserve at least a high five for that.”

“What you deserve a swift kick in the nuts. And you’re definitely making me want to do that.” He laughed, obviously unbothered by your potential threat.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to wear that.” You grunted as he proceeded to gesture to the party goers. “I mean, look around. You could’ve just thrown on a pair of cat ears with your” -he paused, clearing his throat- “uh, outfit underneath your costume. You could’ve called it a day with just that.”

“What’s your point, Lil Shit?”

“I just wanna know why you wore that costume.”

Your brows furrowed as you stopped walking, trying to figure out your answer. Harrison hovered a couple inches away, watching you piece your thoughts together.

“I mean, as much as I’m not a fan of the costume, Emma was right about Tom. He put a lot of effort into trying to help me out” you admitted before giving your best casual shrug. “I dunno. I just don’t wanna feel ungrateful to such a nice guy, even if this definitely is in the top five dumbest things he’s done. Like there’s no way I would’ve been able to come here to a cool place like this if it wasn’t for him. And I mean, hey. There’s always next Halloween, right?”

Harrison leaned over and before you could even process what was happening, he kissed you tenderly on the cheek. “That’s very kind of you, love.” It was the second time he’s called you by that name, catching you by surprise. There was something soft and tender in his voice, making you feel special for the first time tonight.

Your heart raced as you bit down on your lip and you found yourself getting self conscious around him. Your eyes locked with one another and you took in the brightest blue eyes imaginable. Was he always this gentle? His eyes glanced at your lips, now gently parted and slightly glossy. Harrison turned away, rubbing the back of his neck.

That’s when you saw it: Harrison was blushing. The consistently cocky Harrison was getting red in the face. And it was over you? You didn’t even think that was a possibility, especially in your current state.

“See ya” he called out in a gravelly tone as he walked away, still refusing to make eye contact with you.

You watched his figure disappear into the crowd and were left with one question: what the hell just happened?

tag list: @sleepybesson, @butithasntkilledyouyet, @chims-kookies , @choke-me-sweet-pea, @highladyjel, @sleepwalkingdragon, @soccerstud004, @spider-mendes, @thefallenbibliophilequote

part four

[writingwitchly]

A toad story

Hey, could I have an imagine where the reader is in the train to Hogwarts for the first time and she becomes friends with harry, Ron and Hermione. And after they know her better, they say that she must be in Gryffindor, but the sorting hat says she is slytherin and the reader becomes Draco's girlfriend after all. Thank you, sorry for mistakes❤️💛💚💙💜 ~ @thebigsweet 

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader Word count: 2,7k Warning: a giant spider (for Ron, mostly) / fluff? / sliiight talk about war (but not even mentioned actually) A/N: Thank you for this request! I’m sorry that it took quite long, but the whole part about meeting Harry, Ron, and Hermione was quite hard, because they still didn’t really know what the Houses were about back in first year (and they didn’t have many peaceful trip in the Hogwarts Express later). Anyway, I quite like the result, hope you will too!

“Has anyone seen a toad?”

For the second time in an hour, you shook your head in answer to this question, observing the person that had asked it. It was not the shy, clumsy boy, the one that looked so desperate when he came by earlier, but a rather bossy-looking girl, with bushy hair and enormous buck teeth.

Disappointed that she had no better result than her companion during his previous visit, she turned around to pat him on the back. “Don’t worry, Neville, it can’t be too far.”

The next second, they were off toward the end of the train.

The conversations around you resumed as your gaze drifted back to the window and the landscapes passing by. The view was much better than from the small window of your room.

A moment of melancholy got over you. What were your parents doing in this moment?

It had surely been a bit of a shock for them to learn that you were a witch, and none of you could believe it. But when Professor Sprout -- an original, short but energetic woman -- had shown up to your door, offering you help to buy your school supplies, you were all forced to admit the truth.

The rest of the vacations went by so fast, between aprehension and excitation, that this morning, when you said goodbye in front of the Hogwart Express, your mother couldn’t hold back some tears.

After a few minutes of reflection, you raised to go to the bathroom, situated at the front of the train.

As you made your way through the corridor, some agitation in front of the door of a compartment attracted your attention. Intrigued, you melted in the group of students that were peering inside, and risked a glance too. With a gasp, you spotted a huge spider, of the size of a melon, facing a frightened, trembling green mass.

Without any doubt, it was Neville’s toad.

“It’s Lee Jordan’s tarantula!” whispered a short girl with auburn hair to her, apparently, Indian friend.

“I told you it was stupid, Marcus,” whined a dark-haired girl at your left. Her spoiled expression was almost as unpleasant as the face of the boy she was talking to, a tall and pale fourteen or fifteen-years-old. “You shouldn’t have grown it in our compartment. Now how am I going to get my Witch Weekly?”

“Oh, shut up Pansy,” croaked a blond boy at her right, his silvery eyes not daring to leave the giant insect. His tone was imperious, but the girl did not pay him much attention.

Tired of Pansy’s continuous whimpering, you decided to focus on the two animals instead. They were perched on the suspended luggage rack, on top of a big black trunk and several odd-looking backpacks.

There was something that didn’t convince you about the spider. It looked somehow familiar, because you had studied tarantulas in your last year Biology classes, and you could have believed it was an African Red Rump, the most venomous of all. By judging its actual size, it could have killed an elephant in a minute. But something was missing.

Suddenly, in a flash, you noticed what was so strange about it.

Slowly, and hoping that your assumption was right, you moved toward the door and, with a shaky hand, opened it under the incredulous gaze of the little crowd.

Murmurs of shock erupted, but the only words you could distinguish came from the blond boy, “Stop! Are you crazy? It’s going to kill you!”

You directed him a hopeful smile before stepping in the compartment. A loud sound echoed behind you, which, you had no doubt on that, meant that Pansy had slammed the door.

With a triumphant grin on your face and the little green toad cupped in your hands, you strode in the corridor, looking for Neville.

You found him and the bushy-haired girl at the door of a compartment. As the latter seemed to be in a deep conversation with whoever was inside, you decided to notify the boy first.

His joy to see you holding his pet was so strong that the cry he let escaped made the buck toothed girl swing round to see what was happening.

“You found it!” she said, a look of impression on her features, “Where was it?”

With a feeling of pride swelling your chest, you started retelling your adventure. When you mentioned the giant spider, you heard a loud gasp coming from one of the people the bossy girl was talking to. Edging a bit forward, you noticed a tall, ginger-haired boy, with a dark spot on the point of his nose. Shock was all over his freckles-spread face.

“You were alone in a closed space with a giant spider?”

His startled expression clearly stated how crazy he thought you were.

“It couldn’t bite me,” you explain, “It has had its fangs removed. It’s an often used way to make tarantulas a safe pet.”

Another gasp.

“All I had to do inside there was poking the toad with my wand. It jumped to the floor while the spider hid behind the luggage,” And, as you noticed their incredulous look, you added, “That’s both animals’ common behavior in case of danger.”

You couldn’t help but flush a little when the boy with glasses, who was sitting opposite from the redhead, blew a whistle of admiration.

“You could probably be sorted into Ravenclaw,” said the girl, as Neville stared at you, dumbfounded. “But I’d be surprised if you weren’t chosen for Gryffindor. I’m Hermione Granger, nice to meet you.”

She held her hand out and you shook it, happy to start this strange school year making new friends.

“Yeah, you’re surely brave enough to end up in Gryffindor. I’m Ron Weasley, and this is Harry. Harry Potter.”

Ron made a pause, as expecting you to react to something.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you all,” you answered, not sure if you should act surprised to meet the boy named Harry. His friends obviously thought so. “I’m Y/N L/N.”

You waved them goodbye and hurried down the corridor again, remembering that you had to take a trip to the bathroom.

“L/N, Y/N,” called professor McGonagall.

As a heavy silence invaded the Great Hall, you directed your shaky legs toward the stool, and forced your sweating hands to grab the hat. You placed it as firmly as you could on your head, considering the fact that it was twice as big as it.

“Mmmm… Many qualities,” whispered a voice in your ears as soon as the darkness had invaded your eyes, “Some flaws, of course, but many qualities. Let’s see which prevails…”

The interior of the hat smelt like moist and mold.

“A good memory, friendly personality, firm mind…”

Unable to think coherently about anything, you let the voice continue its reasoning, grabbing your robes to stop your arms from shaking.

“I see, you’ve been told that you belong to the House of the braves, but is it what I really consider the best? Y/N, I hope that you’ll like your House.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Snow is falling from the white winter sky, making the courtyard of the Entrance Hall look like the inside of a huge, glowing snowball under the shy rays of the sun.

You’ve been looking forward to this Hogsmeade weekend since the start of the school year, but not because of what you’d do in the village. Actually, you aren’t even going.

The most thrilling part of it all is staying at Hogwarts. Alone. With Draco.

“Go with Blaise, Pansy, I’ll join you there,” you hear him say from the Entrance Hall, “I still need to review something about Defense Against the Dark Arts with Y/N.”

Your blond friend has had a hard time to convince his usual crew to leave him behind, especially because his number one fan can’t stand the fact that he’ll be with you.

At the mention of your name, the girl shoots you a nasty look, heavy with loath. You shrug, used to this kind of consideration. It started back in first year: She held you responsible of the fact that the African Red Rump hid in her backpack when you rescued Neville’s toad.

After several years, nothing has improved: Your blood situation doesn’t help at all, as you’re a Muggle born, but she is probably more bothered by the attention that Draco has been paying to you.

Anyway, the hatred is reciprocal.

“Bye-bye, Petty Pansy,” you say in a half-innocent, half-mischievous voice, “Have a great morning.”

She sticks her tongue at you and then turns tail to follow the rest of the group, now a good hundred of meters away.

Draco climbs up the stone steps toward you with an annoyed look on his face, the one that he wears when he is about to reprimand someone.

“You two drive me crazy,” he breathes, as if tired.

While you walk in silence toward the exit that leads to the grounds, you study his face. The dark shadows under his eyes and his extreme pallor have been worrying you.

He’s been acting odd since the end of the holidays, disappearing suddenly and reappearing hours later. You’ve heard him getting out of the dormitory a few times, at night. He hangs out with Crabbe and Goyle a lot more than before. A lot more than with you. 

“Draco,” you say carefully, as the light of the day welcomes you again, this time in the grounds, “You told me that today you would explain me what has been keeping you busy.”

A bitter smile curls his lips.

“I’ve never said this, Y/N.”

“Of course you did!” you snap, “Two days ago, in Potions, you said that-”

“‘I have something to tell you’,” he finishes, “But it’s different from what you want to know, I’m afraid.”

You roll your eyes, unhappy of his lack of confidence.

“I don’t want to tell you what I am doing,” he says gloomily “Because-”

“‘It would put me in danger’” you cut across him this time, repeating what you’ve heard at least a hundred times since September, “I know.”

Then, after a pause, you add, “I just hope you’re not idiotic enough to do something too risky, that’s all.”

The sour smile on his face turns into a genuine one.

Oh no, he’s going to tease me.

“Says the person who got closed in a compartment with a gigantic spider,” he laughs.

Again, you roll your eyes, a look of amusement on your face though.

“It happened six years ago, you repetitive prat,” you answer, “And I still need to remember you two things: First, it was your beloved Pansy who closed the door-”

He pushes you, playfully, claiming that he doesn’t want to be remembered of his ‘beloved Pansy’ if she’s not around.

“Second,” you let out between laughs, “I knew that it was perfectly safe to get in there, because the fangs had been rem-”

“And what if it was a magical creature, you nitwit? I was afraid for you because it could have spit fire or whatever!”

“Well, turned out it wasn’t one!” you shout back. “You were such a coward.”

He pushes you again, but this time a lot harder, and you lose your balance. You grab his arms to steady yourself, but the only result you get is to make the both of you fall on the ground, his body on top of yours.

You feel the icy snow on your back, and a burning sensation flushes your cheeks, which must happen because of the cold.

Or because I’m under him.

This simple thought makes you shiver.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks with an irritating smirk, noticing your glowing cheeks.

“I can’t breathe,” you say, avoiding his question. But as you try to roll to your side, he pins your shoulders down.

“If you can talk, you can breathe. Now, resist a few seconds more because I have something to tell you.”

His sudden seriousness troubles you.

A swirling feeling in your stomach, that has been tickling you a lot lately when you’re around Draco, intensifies the blush on your face.

“I’ll be brief so you don’t die of suffocation, which would be very annoying. I’ve been thinking a lot lately -- yes, I do think, don’t you mock me -- about the things I want to do. You know, stuff like…”

“Yeah?” you encourage him, ready to jump on the occasion and tease him.

“Well, like marrying,” your smile disappears, “having a family,” your gaze scans his face, looking for any hint of humor, but there is none, “living happy… Oh, don’t look at me this way, you know that I am able to like people, even to- to fall in love.”

Next thing you know, Draco’s body is not over you anymore. A bit shook by what he was saying, you raise as well.

“What I mean,” he continues, “Is that, because of the actual situation, all the things that are happening outside, I will maybe not be able to do all these things. We never know what can happen, right?”

He looks for your approbation, which is stuck in your mind between your amazement and your incredulity.

Where is he going with this speech?

“The point is,” he says as if you had asked the question, “That I want to do some of these things before it’s too late. Not the bit about having a family, nor marrying, but at least- ask someone out- someone I care- someone I fell in love with.”

Somehow, deep inside, you seem to know what he means, and you supposition is proven right when his hand cups your chin to drag you forward.

In less than it would take a niffler to steal a coin, you find your lips against Draco’s pale ones, enjoying their sweetness with your eyes closed.

The kiss is just like you’ve imagined it -- because, now you can be honest, you’ve dreamed about it for years: shy, insecure, and… heartwarming.

His other hand softly grabbing your waist, your arms brushing his neck, your noses touching…

The only sound that accompanies you, apart from the accelerated beating of your heart, is the smooth movement of the lake’s water under the cold wind.

It’s so good to feel his warm body pressed to yours again that you almost don’t feel the back of your robes sticking to your skin, wet because of the snow you were lying on.

When the lack of air forces you apart, it costs you a few seconds to bring your racing heart back to its regular pace.

“Does this mean- that you’re asking me out?” you breathe, not seeing any other plausible reason.

“Would you say yes if I did?” Is the answer you get.

If I’d say yes! I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since when I sat in front of you during our Sorting Ceremony.

“I thought I was lucky to be your friend,” you respond instead, “because I am a Muggle-born. I would have never believed that you’d pay me much attention, you know.”

“Well, obviously Pansy thought the same,” he rolls his eyes. His parents have taught him to despise Muggle-born. However, there is something wrong about this conception, and it clicked in his head when you demonstrated how braver, smarter, funnier than many purebloods you are. When you were sorted into Slytherin, he felt the same excitement as you did springing in his chest. “But this is not what we’re talking about. Would you say yes if I asked you out?”

“Why don’t you figure it out by yourself, Malfoy?” you say, feeling a bit more sure now that your senses are getting back to normality.

“Fine then. Y/N, would you like to go out with me?”

Wow. It sounds better when he says it than when you dream of it.

“Yes, Draco, I’d love to.”

[promiscuous-jalapeno]

Songbird-Ch.2

Mystic Messenger Mafia AU

║ch1║║ch3║║ch4║║ch5║║ch6║

Word Count: 2,758

[VIOLENCE]

     The night air blew a rather unpleasant chill up your skirt, and you squinted to gaze at the neon sign just above you. The Stranger Lounge, one of the hottest joints in town, and your destination for the evening.

     “Hey there, dolly,” a sandy-haired boy called over to you as he leaned against the brick wall of the place, snapping his suspenders with a wink.

     You paid him no mind as you opened the door and stepped inside. The cigar smoke hit you as hard as the music. There was laughter and chit chat from men and women alike throughout the space. Girlies with feather fans were dancing on stage for a sea of small white round tables, covered in a cream colored cloth. Along the back wall were large U-shaped booths, for the more distinguished clientele. Men in suits with fat cigars stuck between their lips laughed with young beautiful women. This is where married men came to play, and the object of their fantasies came to make a quick buck, or at least earn a new fur coat.

     It was a rambunctious space, but it wasn’t where the action was. Oh, no. For the select few in the know, there was a much better spot. It lay below, hidden in the basement of this establishment. You made your way around tables of obnoxious cackling men and doe-eyed girls all clapping as the dancers kicked their legs in the air. Down a hallway and passed the kitchen where the laughter and music was drowned by the clanking of dishes and yelling of the cooks.

     “God damn it, Jimmie! Where the fuck are my steaks?! You killin' the cow yourself you slow son of…” their voices trailed as you walked further.

     Through another hallway and finally to a set of stairs leading you down a low narrow corridor. At the bottom lay a heavy wooden door. And behind that door lay criminals. Always the same familiar dryness in your throat as you took each step into the darkness. The click of your heels echoed off of the cold brick, counting down your last minute before entering this proverbial lions den.

     In the distance you could see a couple standing at the base of the steps. The metal slot of the door scraped open hard and a set of eyes leered through the slit.

     “Cat’s miaow,” you heard the fella say confidently and then smile to his girl. The grate slid shut with a bang and then there was silence.

     “Hey!” he began to bang on the door until it opened once again, “cat’s miaow! That was the password last week!”

     “Well, it ain’t last week no more, is it? So scram!” the gravelly voice spoke from behind the door.

     He pulled the girl back up the stairs, muttering curses under his breath and brushing into you as you passed each other.

     “But Johnny, you said-“ she whined and his face got red.

     “I know what I said, okay?!”

      The password to get in was ever-changing. This helped keep out any unfavorable people who had somehow managed to get in. But for those special few, such as yourself, you had a card. This could be shown at the door and allow you to gain entrance no matter what. Most of the carriers were gangsters and the affiliates of such. People you wouldn’t want to upset by making them figure out through the grape-vine how to get in.

     You fumbled through your handbag at the door, looking for the card when you heard the clicking of locks. The door creaked open to the sound of a familiar jazz band playing and the thumping of half-full glasses on the bar top.

     “I know who you are, no n-need for that, Miss,” the doorman tipped his hat to you as walked through the smoky interior.

     The ceiling was low and the lights were dim. A few warm bodies bumped against you and you found yourself seated at the L-shaped bar. The counter was slightly wet and you pulled your hands back to avoid it. A sea of brightly colored liquor bottles lined some shelves all the way up to the ceiling. Some of them, you imagined, worth more than you made in the last few months combined.

     “Sorry about that, little lady,” the handsome owner swiped a rag in front of you to clean the mess.

     You swiveled in your stool to watch the band play for a moment. The music from the instruments vibrated in your chest and you smiled watching the crowd of men and women drunkenly dance away in front of the stage.

     “Gunna dance a bit?” he asked you.

     “Not tonight, Zenny,” you sighed and faced his red eyes once more.

     “A drink, then?” he pulled a clean glass from underneath and set it in front of you with a smile.

     “You know I can’t stand that coffin varnish,” you laughed.

     He had known, of course. Instead, he was pouring you some water in the glass. A white bandage was wrapped around his knuckles and he slid it towards you, the ice clinking.

     “Hey! How’s that hand? It looks brand new, already,” you exclaimed.

     Just two days before he had been in a tussle with another man bent on causing a raucous. Zen wiped the floor with him, but his hand had been badly hurt. You’d never even know, watching him work the bar tonight as he was.

     “Ah, it’s nothing,” he rubbed his hand, “bandage is basically for show at this point. I’m all healed, really.”

     Beneath that warm and charming smile was a tough guy. A character who grew up on the streets and made his way in life by understanding respect and hard work. And on top of that, he had a beautiful singing voice. Girl from all over town flocked to watch him at the mic, making their dates jealous as they got moon-eyed over him.

     It was strange, to like someone like Zen. In any other scenario you would have him arrested. But here you were, sitting in this blind pig he ran, laughing with him. Having connections with the very people you set out to investigate was not something you had planned for. Often, you lay awake at night pondering whether or not you could really see this thing through. Could you sit across someone like Zen in that courtroom, your finger pointing towards him as he sat in shackles? All eyes on you, all ears listening to your testimony. You let the water swill in your mouth for a bit before swallowing it along with the thoughts and anxieties that had built up in the moment.

     “They’re in the back room, waiting for you I’m sure,” he mentioned while filling up another man’s glass.

     “Yeah, waiting for me to bring the drinks,” you said with sarcasm.

     “Hey, what do we always say? There could be worse things. For people like us, there could be worse things,” he replied.

     He wasn’t wrong. Just remembering the bullet from the other night had you suddenly delighted to carry a tray of jag juice around for the men.

     “Butt me?” you asked.

     He pulled a cigarette for you and lit it when you placed it between your lips. You gave him a wave before heading off through the crowds and into another room. Although the music carried through, there was no dancing here. Only gambling and heavy drinking. In the center of the room you saw Saeyoung seated in his usual spot at the table, holding a hand full of cards while puffing from a strong cigar with a smirk.

     Yoosung stood along the wall but rushed to greet you as you walked through. You took a seat on a nearby plush chair and blew a puff of smoke.

     “There you are!” Yoosung smiled as he stood above you.

     “Here I am,” you grinned back.

     “They’re in good spirits tonight, I think.”

     They, meaning Mad Hatter and the rest of the gang at the card table. Some of them were Capos for the family, you knew that from all you had researched. Others were local business owners who occasionally did work for the outfit. You could scan the room and put a name to each face. Except one…a younger looking male holding a drink tray was standing in a corner.

     His thick dark hair and quivering nature had you unsettled. While everyone seemed to be enjoying the night, he seemed to do not much but stare at the card table. You took another drag of your cigarette and narrowed your eyes onto him, inquisitively.

     “Who’s that?” you asked Yoosung.

     “I’m not sure. He seems pretty quiet. I think Zen might’a hired him? Pretty shy, but can you blame him?” he shrugged.

     “Lucky! We’re thirsty,” Saeyoung taunted from the table.

     Yoosung jumped up to grab his tray of glasses while the men threw more money onto the table and carried on with their conversations.

     “You take a drink, first,” Saeyoung gestured to a full glass and urged Yoosung to drink.

      “No…I don’t…” Yoosung shrunk into himself at the thought.

     “Come on, be a man and drink with us, Lucky!” he pat Yoosung on the back roughly and caused him to choke on the liquid.

     Everyone was laughing at Yoosung’s face, he was clearly trying not to spit out the harsh alcohol burning his throat and lungs.

     “Get outta here,” Saeyoung laughed, only to trip him as Yoosung tried to walk away from the table.

     A few of the drink glasses spilled on the carpet as he tumbled and the table was roaring. You tossed your cigarette in a nearby abandoned glass, going to help Yoosung clean up the mess, when Saeyoung spoke in a more serious tone.

      “You aren’t laughing,” and as he spoke the space went still and quiet. The only sound being the band from the other room who simultaneously picked up the pace with a new song.

     At first you thought he was looking to you. Your heart went into your throat and you froze, only to see him looking directly behind you at the dark haired boy.

     “Was that not funny enough for you? Are you worried for poor Lucky, here?” he took the cigar from between his teeth and with a smirk pointed it towards Yoosung who had straightened all the glasses and was picking up bits of ice. “Lucky, come here. You’re alright, aren’t you?”

     Yoosung ran to his side with a nod. Saeyoung puffed on his cigar for a moment before clenching it in his teeth once more. He smiled and pretended to dust Yoosung off, straightening his bow tie and vest for him.

     “See? Kid’s alright,” Saeyoung held his palms open as if he was showing Yoosung off to the room.

     The boy said nothing. You stood only a few feet from him now and could see his eyes were unblinking. His hands trembled slightly at his sides as if he was deciding to reach into his pocket or not.

     “You’ve been staring at me all night. If you keep staring without saying anything I’m going to pluck your eyes out of your fucking skull,” he took a swig from his glass and sighed.

     The room was thick with tension now. Everybody was staring at this boy, Yoosung’s mouth hung open. He couldn’t be more than 15. He was small and skinny, his eyes were still that of a child. His lips were moving but his words were a whisper. If you hadn’t been so close you wouldn’t have caught some of his mumbling.

     “Killed him…killed my dad,” the boys voice was hoarse and quivering. He had a crazed look in his eyes.

     His fingers slowly reached for his hip and you took a quick breath when you glimpsed the outline of a gun. Your eyes flashed to Saeyoung who was making a move of his own. Of course, he wasn’t a fool. But you had to do something. Lifting your skirt you whipped your own gun out and brought it down with a rich thud to the back of the kids skull. He went hurling to the ground on his knees and you kicked him in the side. Not too hard, but hard enough.

     “I think this kid’s bent,” you played it off, “probably been sneaking drinks all night. Come on, you. Time to go home,” you heaved and picked him up by the collar, dragging him towards the back door and into the alley.

     Your heart was racing and you tried to keep your hands from shaking so much after you let him loose. Bending down you got close enough to whisper.

     “You bitch. He killed my pop,” he said angrily through tears.

“Go home. Kiss your mama. You have no idea what you almost got yourself into,” you stood up, “don’t be such a dummy. You have to take care of your family now.”

     You left him out there and walked back inside, glad to hear that the normal chatter has resumed.

     “He wants to see you,” one of Saeyoung’s body guards appeared from your side and nodded his head in a gesture to follow him.

     The room looked like an office. You’d never seen it before, perhaps where they did the book keeping. What you wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone in there to read through some of the documents. You made a mental note of where it was. Perhaps one day, if Zen let you in. Maybe if you said you forgot something…If they had names, any names at all to connect them to other syndicates and families, or to where this booze was coming from…

     The red haired man stood up from a chair and walked until he was arms length in front of you. Very rarely had you been so close to him. Only now could you see just how handsome he really was. How could someone so cruel be so good looking?

     “How do you know that kid?” he asked with a dull face.

     “I don’t,” which was the truth.

     “And I don’t believe you. He’s about to pull a gun on me and you saved him anyway? Don’t lie to me,” he smiled, his gloved fingers traced your jaw line for a moment, “do you know who sent him, maybe? Maybe you did, and gave him a whack when you got cold feet?”

     His hand now had a grip on your jaw, and you realized he had been pushing you back and now had you pressed between him and a wall. The tips of his fingers pressed in further and he tilted his head while looking at you with a curious grin. Your chest was beating so hard you could almost swear everyone in the room could hear it, but you knew it was only your imagination.

     “If you get your paws off me, I could talk to you,” you spit back, not knowing where this fire was coming from.

      The few men in the room made an ‘ooh’ sound and a few chuckled at Saeyoung being had. He moved his face closer to yours, looking deep into your eyes as he released his fingers.

     “She may be cute as a kitten but this one has claws, boys!” he laughed and stepped away.

     They were all smiling as well. It was like being part of a joke you knew nothing about. You straightened your headband and took a quiet deep breath.

        “I’m just fucking with you,” he took his hat off and ran his hand through his red hair as he leaned on the front of the desk with a smile, “I know who that kid is. Oh! I see that look on your face. Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’m not going to do anything to him. He’s just a squirt, right?”

     The men all seemed to relax again and some even lit up a smoke as they sat down in their chairs.

     “There’s something about you. I don’t know what it is, but I like you. You’re observant. And you’ve got a kick to you,” he brought a glass of hooch over and placed it in your hand.

     Even the smell was strong enough to knock you back on your butt. You let it wet your lips but nothing more. Was the underboss…inviting you to drink with him?

     “Anyway, I’ve got your nickname figured out,” he adjusted the flower on your headband with delicate fingers, “I’m going to call you Kitty.”