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grumpygreenwitch · 8 months ago

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The Witches and Wizards Job 20-21-22

The bad news is that I missed yesterday's update. I apologize! I have no excuse except that wrestling Tumblr's queue into compliance tries my patience unto violence.

The good news is that the story is finished! So now, instead of once a week, you'll get updates once a day until everything's posted.

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TWENTY

Hitter and wizard headed back to the loft, Mouse on a leash that Eliot doubted very much would give the young dog a pause if he decided to challenge it. He took the time to examine Harry out of the corner of his eye.

The wizard was, in many ways, an open book. His emotions burned close to the surface, in his eyes, the tight line of his mouth, the way he walked and carried himself. The hitter had never met someone who was both so aware and unaware of his surroundings; Harry was always expecting an attack, he just didn't seem to know he was doing so. His anger at the situation with the selkies still burned in his eyes, distracting him, blinding him. He couldn't compartmentalize, like Leverage did. He'd seen something unfair, and he was mad about it, and he would do his damnedest to fix it.

He was, in sum, a good person.

"Harry,"

"Hm."

"When she said they smelled you -"

"They didn't. A friend did." The wizard seemed to think on those words for a moment before he nodded tinily to himself. "And it's literal. It's the smell of my magic. It's a new smell to the area, and without the lake to ground me it's probably very obvious. I told Sophie, I figured she'd passed it on: they'll know I'm here. Everything on this side of the river can -"

Mouse growled a quiet warning and both their heads came up. At the same time, a young man pacing in front of the loft entrance looked up. He had the kind of perfect looks, flawlessly tousled hair and incredibly expensive clothing that you only see on a billboard, advertising fancy watches or men's cologne. He had sunglasses on, and for a moment Eliot thought something looked wrong with the face behind them, but he was more focused on the man making any sort of sudden move.

Harry's face was made of stone. Eliot didn't need to see anything else to recognize bad magic.

"Oh, good," the man breathed when he saw us. He had a faint French accent. "You are wizard Harry Dresden, are you not?"

"Nope." Harry kept on walking.

The man frowned, trotting and planting himself directly in the wizard's path. "But -"

"I am. The answer's no."

That instantly started to ring alarm bells in Eliot's mind. With the women, Harry had been polite, uncertain but kind. This man was getting nothing but blanked.

"Please." The man pleaded, managing to get in Harry's way once again. "Please, I need your help."

"I'm on a job already." Harry pointed at Eliot. "For him."

The man glanced at Eliot. Before the hitter could so much as say a word, or even think it, the stranger's eyes flicked away; he'd been dismissed without a thought, without a care. That was a very personal pet peeve, though for the moment Eliot was willing to count it an advantage. When you didn't think someone was a threat you never watched them very closely.

"I won't take much of your time, I will pay for it -"

"I'm on retainer," the wizard snapped, forced to stop once again. "That means I do the work he wants, nothing else, nothing more."

That brought the stranger up short. He looked, really looked, at Eliot. In return, the hitter made himself look at the man, truly look at him, even though some primeval part of his brain kept telling him not to do so. This time, he saw the blink of far too many eyes behind the sunglasses, and when the man spoke again, he saw the odd way parts of his mouth didn't move.

The stranger spoke in a tone that managed to be both embarrassed and coy. "I am not sure I am comfortable speaking freely in front of… food."

Harry beamed at him. The wizard might have no poker face to speak of, but when he did sarcasm it came out like a masterpiece. "Then you don't really need my help, do you?"

"But -"

Moused growled.

The stranger bared perfect teeth, hissed low and stepped back. Two men and one dog moved past him.

"It's my wife -"

"Then I absolutely don't want to help you."

"No, wizard, my real wife!" When that still didn't stop them, he cried out. "She might be cheating on me!"

Several people stared, slowing down minutely before they moved on. Next to Eliot, Harry stopped.

Sighed.

Dropped his head.

What power those words may hold over the wizard, Eliot didn't know. But he did know that Harry couldn't, wouldn't walk away any more, and he didn't want him to believe he had no options. A lot of what powered the wizard's actions was so… lonely. In him Eliot was seeing echoes and ghosts of the man he'd once been, before he'd fallen from all grace. He knew being alone had been a very contributing factor to that fall. And he'd be damned if it happened to anyone else on his watch. "Harry?" he asked very quietly.

The wizard flicked him a quick, surprised glance. That, Eliot knew, was another odd quality of the man; he wasn't keeping secrets or holding back information or going off on his own out of a sense of greed or mistrust; it wasn't a con for him, he wasn't running a job. He was just so used to being alone that it didn't occur to him to act otherwise.

With one word, Eliot had reminded him he wasn't alone. And with one startled look, Harry had got the message. The hitter saw muscles work restlessly along the wizard's jaw before he turned to face the stranger. "And if she is?"

The stranger shrugged. "I want to live, wizard."

Harry's mouth went to a thin line. That, apparently, was the right answer. Unfortunately, it was as obvious to the hitter as it was to the stranger, who took a half step forward. "I will leave," he hurried to add. "I will go as far away as you wish me to go if you bring me proof."

The wizard's breath puffed out of him in a tiny, angry sound, and he pointed sharply. "Go sit in the pub, I'll deal with you when I can." He whipped around to walk into the building, whirled once more, hurried down the steps and added, very tightly, "And don't eat anyone!"

That was the opposite of reassuring, wasn't it? And still Eliot couldn't help but be amused. He kept his questions to himself until they were going up the stairs. "So what was that all about? I take it the crack about food was for me?"

"Yeah."

"What is he?"

"Uh, spider, sort of."

"He's… what, he's a spider, he's made of spiders, he's got spider magic, what? Information, Harry. And while you're at it, why don't you want to help him? You were much nicer to the selkie ladies."

"They get a raw enough deal," the wizard muttered.

Harry opened the door to the loft. "Hardison, wizard in the house!"

"Couch's free!" the hacker called out from before the bank of screens.

"I've got a job for you too."

"Uh, excuse me?" Hardison turned to stare after the hitter in insulted disbelief as the wizard and his dog dutifully took their spots as far away from the computers as possible. "I've spent all morning trying to create a profile out of fairy tales. Fairy tales, Eliot! I've been translating so much Russian I think I've learned the language by, by infection. I -"

"Is this a new fridge?" Eliot asked, in the process of grabbing a beer.

Hardison gave him the most pointed of looks. "No, it is not."

Eliot said nothing, he merely nodded minutely. "Harry, you want anything?" The coffeemaker chirped something that didn't sound nice and the hitter gave it a wary squint. "That isn't coffee?"

"Beer's nice."

Eliot provided, and then moved over to Hardison's work area. "This shouldn't take you long. Just need a look into this guy's affairs."

"Eliot! Does it look like I have time -!" Hardison was already taking the printed piece of paper. "Who even is this dude?"

"Scumbag."

"Yes, thank you, that answers absolutely nothing."

"Fourteen years ago he stole a selkie's skin. A seal-woman, a shapeshifter." Harry pitched his voice to carry; he'd had plenty of practice with Eliot earlier. "The magic in the skin bound her to him," he pointed the bottle at the piece of paper.

"Bound her, bound her how, because I'm not liking what you're telling me, Harry."

"Married. Has a kid. Guess whose skin's gone missing now." Eliot grinned, thin and feral. "Like I said, scumbag."

Hardison sighed in resigned exasperation and moved over to his keyboard. "Is this going to fry my systems, Dresden?"

"It shouldn't."

"So what sort of criminal is he, then?"

"Uh… none?" the wizard ventured.

Hardison stopped typing and turned. "Harry, what's wrong with the man, is what I'm asking."

"Literally, nothing." It was Eliot who replied. "This isn't one of our cases, Hardison, it's his."

The hacker visibly stuttered to a halt. He looked at the printed page, at the wizard with his horse-sized dog half-asleep on his lap. He looked at Eliot and at the screens. "Alright." He went back to typing. "Meet William Wellington Wattsford, what a name. Lawyer."

"Figures," Harry muttered.

"Harry, how far can he stash the skins, is there a range on the magic?" Eliot stared at the man on the screen, as perfectly nondescript a creature as one could be found, slightly balding, a little on the lanky side, fit by virtue of his gym membership.

"Yes, actually. They should be within the city limits. The further away, the more likely the link between selkie and skin will snap."

"What happens then?" Hardison asked warily.

"She goes insane and kills him. And dies. Or she just dies, and the curse on the skin ricochets and kills him horribly. I mean, it'd be a great solution," the wizard agreed thoughtfully, "except for her dying."

"Jesus, Harry, is there anything about magic that doesn't kill, explode, set things on fire or create general mayhem?" Eliot demanded.

Harry shrugged and pointed at himself. "Ta-da?" Mouse's tail wagged once, as if he'd said something funny.

"Well, there's his house." The hacker pulled up a map, typed again and little flags appeared all over it. "And there's anywhere else his name pops up. Man, it feels weird looking up someone so… normal. Job, kid's school, gym, therapy - yeah, that surely helped not make you into a skin-kidnapping psycho, didn't it," he muttered. "Log cabin."

"Bank." Harry pointed out.

Hitter and hacker looked at him, then the screens. "It can't be that easy," Hardison protested.

"Why not?" the wizard countered. "Who's gonna believe a tale about a selkie-wife?"

Hardison had to accept the rationale of that after a moment. "Is this really what your work is like?"

"Yeah. Only I can't do that," the wizard waved at the computers, "so there's a lot of legwork involved, a lot of people-watching. She's a stay-at-home mom, so it can't be in any of the places where they spend time as a family. It can't be near the kid, she's on mom's side. He'd get weird looks at work trying to stash a full-sized seal pelt, let alone two. It's at a bank. Safe deposit box."

"Harry, I feel like I ought to ask, what happens if she gets her skin back?" Eliot's tone said he had hopes and dreams about the answer.

"She'll leave him."

"Th- that's it?" So much for the hitter's hopes and dreams.

"That's all she wants. She wants to go home, to her family, to her people. She -" Harry tried to explain. "You're thinking of her in human terms. She's not human. She just looks like it because it's good camouflage. Even if you're starving and seal's all there is to eat, you're not gonna shoot a person if you can help it, are you?" He shrugged. "The lawyer, he's not even an afterthought."

"Somehow, I think that would hurt his ego even more." Hardison looked deeply pleased. "Is there a reason we, us, can't give her the skins back?"

"No." Harry looked deeply amused, and suddenly very interested. "If it was me, once I figured out where they were stashed I'd just tell her. The friend who sniffed me out? If he's what I think he is, he'd get them back for her in no time flat. Me, I'm just not the sort that goes around breaking into banks, like you people."

"No, no, excuse me, I do not break into banks." Hardison picked up his phone. "I have a Parker for that."

"What about the dude down in the pub?" Eliot asked.

"What dude down in the pub?"

"Oh, you know. The one Harry specifically warned not to eat anyone."

"Excus- I'm s- What did you - There is a man down in the pub and you specifically had to warn him not to eat anyone?" Hardison had forgotten to dial.

"Spider." Harry mumbled.

"What?"

"Oh, yeah, he's not a man, he's a spider." Eliot beamed.

"WHAT?!"

"Kin. He's spider-kin."

"That's freaky. You do realize that, right? That is freaky."

"Just - just put the pub cameras up, Hardison," Eliot huffed. "You still haven't told me why you didn't want to help him." He directed that at the wizard.

"I try not to help bad guys," Harry admitted tightly. "Spiders are predatory. And assholes."

"He changed your mind, though. When he told you about his wife, his real wife."

Harry rubbed at his face wearily. "She'd eat him."

Eliot drew in a deep breath. "I'm guessing you mean literally."

"Yeah. Spiders keep groupies, tons of them, so they can pick and choose their food -"

"Please do not speak of people as 'food'. I am people," Hardison requested indignantly.

"Not to him. To him you're a burger. Many keep wives or husbands, they make for good cover."

"But that's not cheating, because you can't cheat on a burger," Eliot followed the train of information and ran ahead of it.

"Exactly. The only actual cheating is between their own kind. And he has to do everything he can to keep his wife happy. If he doesn't, like with some spiders -"

"He goes on the menu," Hardison finished. "That's why he's so desperate that he came looking for you - is this what you do back home?"

"No, not for him. Back home he'd know better than to show his face at my doorstep. But yes, otherwise. Cheating spouses is a big part of what I do. I'm actually cheaper than a PI. Faster, too."

"How?" Eliot asked, and both hacker and hitter turned to look at the wizard, openly curious.

"Uh, spell to see if they're actually cheating. Nine out of ten times they are. Tracking spell to follow them until I can get pictures."

"You can use a camera?"

"An old one, but yeah. And those cheap disposables, if I'm quick getting them developed."

Eliot and Hardison looked at one another, and Hardison grinned. "Alright. And having seen me work," he pointed a thumb at the screens behind him, "how would you go about it?"

Harry frowned, his focus suddenly and completely on the screens. "I'd get a picture of his wife."

"Reasonable," Hardison crossed his arms and waited. "Why?"

"Because if she's cheating, it'll be with someone who looks like part of her circle of groupies. And he will have his own circle as well." Harry lifted a hand and gestured. "Circle to circle to circle, I'd follow the faces, the ones that repeat." He grinned ruefully. "I just can't do picture searches on a computer.'

"I get the feeling the only thing holding you and your magic back is, um. Your magic, man," Eliot said, then pointed. "There, upper corner, that's him."

Hardison brought the camera in closer. And stared. "Him?"

"Yup."

"That's your man?"

"Yes."

"Uh, spider?"

"Yes, Hardison, that's him." Eliot's voice was turning into a growl.

"The one playing with a smartphone?"

All three men crossed a startled look. On the screen, the stranger looked up when a drink was brought to him, then returned his attention to his phone, tapping rapidly.

All three of them launched themselves down the stairs, leaving Mouse to hold the fort. As they hurried to the pub, Eliot asked one last question. "You'd let the guy get eaten, wouldn't you?"

Harry grimaced. "I wouldn't throw him a rope if he were drowning, but -"

"But he asked for help."

"No, he agreed to leave. That's one less heavy-duty predator in Boston, among people who can't see him coming. I'll take that win all the way to the bank."

Eliot grinned, then fell back as both Harry and Hardison moved forward. Something crackled in one of the hacker's pockets and, grimacing, he handed his phone over to Eliot, whispering something to the hitter before he hurried to catch up to the wizard. Eliot made a call as the other two walked away.

Harry slid into of the booth's benches, opposite the spider, who looked up in surprise before relief flooded his expression. "Good afternoon. Harry Dresden, wizard. This is my employer, Mister Hardison. Nothing happens if he doesn't allow it."

Hardison had too good a poker face to betray the surprise he felt in hearing the hard, stony tone Harry was suddenly using. He was also, like the rest of the team, quite good at picking up cues on the fly, particularly when they were so blatant. "Mister Dresden is doing some very important, time-sensitive work," he told the predator across the table, putting just enough Sophie in his voice to make the spider sit up and take notice of the, ah, talking burger. "He has pleaded with us to hear your case. Please, convince us." It was both invitation and challenge.

The spider fumbled his phone to one side. "Ah, yes, you see -"

"I understood magic made the use of modern technology impossible," Hardison pointed out casually.

"What? … Oh, the phone. No, no, it's not technology, it is magic." When Hardison gave him a mildly disbelieving look, the spider surrendered the phone readily. "No, you see, we don't use the human connection. We use ours. We use our magic to weave our devices directly into the electronic web the humans have wrapped around the world."

Hardison was flicking through screens, listening with half an ear until the meaning of the words actually sank in. "You w… You wove your way into the systems. Because it's a web. They're all webs."

The man spread his hands. "It's a family talent. It makes for a very profitable business."

"That's how you found him, isn't it," Hardison nodded in Harry's direction.

"Yes. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you, wizard Dresden, you warp the very lines of Boston's web. For us, you are far too obvious when, ah. Well, when existing nearby."

Harry shrugged awkwardly.

"How profitable?" the hacker asked. "If I wanted you to wire my phone the same way, how much would it be?"

The spider smiled, very much a business smile, hollow and professional. He gestured for his phone, and when it was handed back to him he dug out a stylus from one side and wrote something before passing it over to Hardison.

Who nearly choked on the six-digit figure. "For one phone?"

"As I said, very profitable. Of course, if you were willing to loan me the services of the wizard for just this one small bit of business -"

"I'll do it," Harry said before Hardison could protest. "But I'll need a picture of your wife."

"Yes, of course!"

"And access to her social media," Hardison added.

"I, uh, I only have some of her passwords."

"Whatever you have." Hardison found a business card and handed it over. "Send all the information here. We'll use your contact information to communicate any findings."

"With the understanding," Harry stepped in, his voice dead cold, "that I expect you to do exactly as you said you would if you get your proof."

The spider spread his hands. "Mas oui! My word, wizard. I will leave. I like being alive. You need only name the destination."

Harry chewed on his lip. "What's the biggest Red Court site you know of across the pond?"

"Uh, Brussels?"

"There, then." A flinty little smile on the wizard's face suddenly put Hardison in mind of Nate at his most lethal. "And once there I suggest you rarefy your palate."

The spider nodded, threw two twenties on the table, and slipped away hurriedly. Wizard and hacker watched him go. "You know it's gonna take like, ten minutes for me to find out if she's cheating, right?"

"Yup."

"You know Eliot's right, right?"

Harry started laughing.

"I mean it, man." Hardison gave him a very level look, then remembered he wasn't supposed to, and looked away. "You're sharp, Dresden. You're good at what you do. It's a weird, hinky, explode-y kind of skill, but you're just as good at it as we're at ours. The only problem is that it is explode-y." He stared at the spider's business card. "Why couldn't we do this here in Boston? Why couldn't we help you do it, back in Chicago?"

"Because they won't come to us." Eliot slipped into the booth with them, pushing aside the glass and the twenties so they'd be easier for the waitress to pick up. "Because we're humans. Tactical nuke."

Harry nodded wryly. "I'm a wizard." He gestured lightly. "I'm half in, half out. But humans? Humans don't like things to get weird. Humans get twitchy when things get weird."

Hardison understood just as swiftly as Eliot had. "They don't trust we won't call the cops. Or worse."

"I called Parker. She's on it." He gave them both a quick look. "She's not having a good day."

Hardison immediately roused, frowning in concern.

TWENTY ONE

Parker was not having a good day.

Jessamine Lochlin, apparently, had not known about a secret art auction that might or not include the priceless Sokolov portrait. She had not appreciated Parker knowing about it and refusing to provide her, or the authorities, with the information needed to find said auction and recover the portrait. Things had been said. Tempers had flared.

Why was friendship so complicated? It wasn't like that with Hardison, or Eliot, or even Sophie. It was a little strange with Nate, but he did try. Was it just because Jess was not a criminal?

She got herself a coffee and stalked angrily down to the T. She liked the T. She liked trains. There were so many people, so many stories. She could take a dozen phones, a double handful of wallets, and put them back with no one the wiser, skimming over the lives and the stories of the people who carried them, finding out their little sins and their hidden graces. Like the sour old man who didn't like people but kept pictures of all the foster dogs he'd adopted out. Or the scowling, scary lady that kept a laminated little card in her wallet to remind her not to be afraid of the outside world. Or the nice man with all those fake gold chains and tattoos who kept a journal full of baking recipes in one pocket and two butterfly knives in the others.

People weren't always what they seemed, but when Parker turned out not to be what she seemed, then they got angry and shouty and and and -

Her phone rang with Hardison's number. "What."

"Hey." Eliot's greeting got immediately derailed by concern. "You OK?"

"Jess is mad at me," she admitted at once to one of the few people she trusted implicitly. "Why do you have Hardison's phone?"

"He's with Harry. What happened?" The sounds of the pub dulled, replaced by the faint echoing quality that said Eliot had stepped out and was going up the stairs.

"She didn't know about the auction. And she's mad I won't tell her about it."

"Ah." A pause. "You want something fun to do?"

"There's nothing fun to do," she grumbled at him.

"How about getting into a safe deposit box and walking out with the contents?"

Oh. Ok, that was fun. She stopped walking. "Where?"

"Two banks. Two boxes. I'm texting you the info. Hardison said you have an alias in one, and you can probably wing Sophie's alias for the other."

She took the phone away from her ear and looked at the information coming up on the screen. She was less than a block from one of the banks. She began to walk again. "What am I looking for?"

"Um."

She frowned minutely. Eliot only got um-y with info when it was weird info, but his definition of weird was… Well, weird. "What?"

"Fur coats."

Parker's mind began to fly through some swift calculations. "Full size? Half size? Scarf size?"

"F… Full size. Maybe a little bigger. And there'll be two of them."

"So just the coats? We don't want money or documents or anything?"

"You know, I'm not sure. This is Dresden's case, not ours. So use your judgment. The guy's human, but he's a scumbag."

Oh, there was magic involved. Suddenly Parker's day was looking infinitely better, even if the sour tang of her parting with Jess still hurt. "Alright. I'll need you to come get me at the Shawmut Bank location in two hours."

"Alright."

Parker pocketed the phone and stopped, looking up the street at the Fleet Bank dead center of the block. It was a sham, she knew. There were a dozen names for what was, essentially, one bank in Boston metro, in most of New England. But Bank of America kept some of the names to preserve an illusion of choice. Fleet was the one with her alias, and she couldn't remember what she'd stuffed in the safety deposit box. It was either a spare costume and a lockpick kit, or a lockpick kit and a rig. Or maybe a rig and a copy of Eliot's chili recipe. Or a lockpick kit and a change of clothes?

She was pretty sure about the lockpick kit.

She tousled her hair, took off her jacket. She got a pair of sunglasses from a woman arguing about the price of newspapers with the newspaper seller. She bumped into a man with a grin, a blush and an apology, and took his keys and his belt, moving his wallet from one pocket to another as a decoy. She plucked a phone from another man's pocket and a silk scarf from a woman's purse. She 'found' the phone of a man that was loading shopping into his trunk and handed it over, to many thanks, while she acquired one of the empty reusable shopping bags off to one side of the trunk. She untucked her shirt and settled the belt loosely around her waist, changing the character of the clothing with nothing but a hat, a belt and her posture. The scarf went around her neck while she typed into the phone.

She walked into Fleet with a smile to the guard and a quiet little, "Hi, Frank" in Boston's unmistakable purr, a privileged daughter of that august, eclectic city. He flushed minutely and returned the greeting with uncertain courtesy, trying not to show that he didn't know who she was.

The manager was equally disarmed, all the more when he was shown the confirmation text for an appointment to check the young lady's safe deposit box. He was nothing if not apologetic after checking her information against their accounts, though he kept his eyes from bugging out at the amount of money involved, if only just. He got even more flustered when his own phone began to buzz insistently, hanging up just as he got to it. Twice. Then three times.

A few minutes later, a supervisor was escorting Parker to the side vault where the safe deposit boxes were kept. The manager, upstairs, was not getting anywhere trying to return those pesky calls. The stolen phone was in one pocket of the supervisor's smart blue business suit. The battery was in the other.

Parker picked the lock to her own box. Damned if she knew where the key to it might be, or if she even had one. But it was a dinky little lock, and she had no trouble using the few seconds between the supervisor finding and using her own key for it to do the deed, the stolen keys hanging from her hand and jangling reassuringly, like a good little decoy, the lockpicks tucked between her fingers, invisible. The supervisor left. Parker looked around and nodded to herself. It had been quick, dirty, there were a dozen holes in it, but it had got her what she wanted. Out of curiousity she peeked into the box and frowned minutely, pulling out a box of Girl Scout cookies and a rig. She'd been so sure of the lockpicking kit!

… She opened the box of cookies. Inside it there was a single sleeve of cookies, and a spare lockpicking kit.

"Ah-ha!"

She got the other safe deposit box out and frowned. The entire box, the largest the bank could offer, was full of a white, gravelly substance. There was a little black book on top. She picked up one pebble and rolled it between her fingers. Sniffed it. The smell was startlingly familiar, and she licked it.

Salt.

She pocketed the book. Little black books were usually very, very valuable in one fashion or another. Then she stared at a box full of salt, which did nothing but sit there quietly.

No one kept a box of just salt in the bank.

Parker rolled up her sleeve and began to worm her hand into the salt. She had to be careful; salt spilling everywhere wasn't going to be easy to explain, and she didn't want to burn the alias unless she had to. Her fingers brushed something lavishly soft a few inches under the surface, and she huffed. This wasn't going to be easy.

Seven minutes later she was out and on her phone. "Eliot."

"No, it's me," Hardison replied. "You alright?"

"Yes, just annoyed. Two banks, two fur coats."

"Well, that's smarter than I expected of the man, honestly. But are you alright?"

She blew out a long, exasperated breath. "Friends are hard," she muttered.

"They are," Hardison had to admit. "It's one fight, Parker. People argue. People disagree. Doesn't mean she doesn't wanna be your friend, just that she's mad at you right now. That might change tomorrow."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Well… Sometimes friendships are like that. They just don't work. You move on, you find another friend."

"I don't want another friend," she growled. "I gotta go, I found my car."

The car key in the stolen keyring belonged to a very plain, dark brown sedan. She drove to the Shawmut Bank; here, at least, she could streamline the process: she actually did have an appointment to open Sophie's safe deposit box, and Hardison had apparently had the time to create an electronic ID for her. She was escorted in with little fuss, though the lock to the box was a little trickier to pick. She was left alone once again.

She found another box full of salt, a few folders on top of it, and sighed in exasperation. "Magic's beginning to look like just a lot of trouble," she muttered, once again working as carefully as she could to get the fur coat out. On a whim, she replaced the box in its nook and laid the coats out side by side on the empty table.

They were beautiful. Parker's understanding of what was appealing was limited to what she liked, but it would have been impossible not to see the glory of the furs before her. One, the larger, was a dark dappled silver, nearly black on one half, the dappling fading until it was the palest gray on the other side. The smaller one was true silver, its pile much thicker, with black spattered at random here and there. There were no clasps, no buttons, no hems, no seams of any kind. Just two flawless pieces of fur softer than anything Parker had ever touched. They looked more vivid, more alive than any piece of fur or leather clothing she'd ever seen or worn or touched or stolen in her lifetime.

She couldn't get over a deep sense of wrongness to see them there, on that table, surrounded by the cold, hard lines of the safe deposit boxes, pinned under the harsh halogen lights.

Parker pocketed the folders, rolled up the furs and shoved them back into the shopping bag. Eliot was waiting for her just outside, and she threw the keys of her stolen car into said stolen car through an open window, hopping into the hitter's truck. "Go," she instructed, waiting until they were on Storrow Drive to ask, "What did I just steal?"

"Pair of selkie coats."

"Cool. What's a selkie coat?"

Eliot grinned and began to explain.

By the time they got back to the loft, the thief was seething. "HARRY!" she shouted as she charged in. Nate and Sophie, who'd just walked in, winced.

"Parker, what's wrong?" Sophie asked placatingly.

"Nothing," the thief declared tartly as she put her shopping bag down. "As long as Harry can put a curse on someone. A really bad one. Like, full of warts and, and clowns and -"

"Oh-kay." Nate put aside their dry-cleaning and moved over. "From the beginning, please?"

"He's not here, he's back at the safehouse," Hardison came out of the back with a shallow box fresh from the 3D-printer.

"Fine," Parker whirled around and stalked off.

Nate looked at the rest of his team. They gave him back the most guileless looks. He believed none of them, and that included Sophie's, who'd been with him all afternoon. But those same innocent looks also told him this was a fight that he was not likely to win. "Part of the case?"

Eliot shrugged. Hardison looked mildly confused.

"Right. I'm gonna go get a shower, get ready for dinner."

They all watched him pick up one of the dry-cleaner bags and disappear up the stairwell. Sophie turned and cocked a single brow at both men.

"Some people found Harry," Eliot admitted quietly.

"Found him, found him how?" She was immediately alarmed.

"One said she smelled him," the hitter explained.

"And the other found him through the web," the hacker added.

"Through the internet?" The grifter was puzzled.

"No, the web. It's -" Hardison suddenly realized why the wizard always looked so pained when he had to explain something. "Look, it's complicated, but it checks out. We dealt with them."

"Dealt with them?"

"They weren't looking to make trouble," Eliot said mildly. "They needed his help."

"So you freelanced with the wizard." She gave them both a very stern look.

Hardison shrugged. "One was a cheating wife. That took like fifteen minutes once Dresden told us what to look for."

"The other was this one." Eliot picked up the shopping back and showed the contents to Sophie.

She gasped just to see the beauty of the rolled-up fur on top, reaching out to run admiring fingertips over the dappled pattern, the unmistakably fine fur. They watched her go from admiration, to confusion, to understanding and horror and cold, cold fury in just a couple of seconds. "Eliot, tell me this isn't what I think it is," she breathed.

"It is." Calmly, he added, "And her daughter's."

Sophie stiffened. "A daughter," she murmured. "Is he even the sort that's going to be sorry when they vanish?" she demanded tightly.

"Sorry, probably not," Hardison admitted. "Embarrassed and socially destroyed? Oh, yeah."

"Parker also snagged these." Eliot offered the hacker the folders, and the grifter the little black book. "We kinda strong-armed Harry into taking the job, seems only right to follow through to the end."

"Good," was all Sophie said after leafing through the book and handing it back, picking up her own bag of dry-cleaning and stalking rigidly off. "Shatter him."

TWENTY TWO

While everyone else in the team gleefully engaged in further levels of what Hardison called 'hardware mode' and Nate called 'wanton destruction of property', the mastermind took Sophie to meet Vanya Fedorov.

"You rarely doubt your assessment of a client," Sophie said as he helped her off the car Fedorov had sent for them.

His face went through a dozen different emotions. To be fair, a good part of it was that the grifter had been taking his breath away and shutting down his brain since she'd come out dressed in an absolutely gorgeous violet silk dress that draped in waves over her like blessings from on high. Nate hadn't been able to string more than two automatic thoughts together every time he looked at her. She was wearing cascade earrings and a matching necklace, and her hair was up in an artfully disarrayed bun. The graceful line of her neck would have toppled empires.

Then she laced her hand through his arm, and Nate remembered he was the lucky one.

He settled on honesty as they walked up to the frosted glass doors of a gracious Greek restaurant. What he'd told Dresden back in Chicago still stood. "I'm biased," he admitted to her. "I saw it, I felt it. I'm still biased. I keep catching myself looking for explanations. Looking for, for…" His free hand groped for words. "Comfortable lies."

"It's kind of a critical change in thinking, Nate. I thought I believed, until I had to."

"Yes, but I don't have time to indulge myself. If we're right, and things are coming to a head at this private auction, we need to deal with what we have. With what is. And I don't know if my bias judged Fedorov fairly."

"You want to know if he was lying to you."

"Among other things." When she cocked her head at him he flailed a little. "Just, you know. Just try to get a good read on the man." She was grinning at him and he scoffed at himself.

"Alright, alright, I'll do my best," she reassured him, brushing lightly at the lapels of his black jacket, where a 'I<3Boston' pin was mostly hidden out of sigh, a gift from Dresden, who was 'getting sick and tired of having everyone's heads scrambled'; her own pin was a cute little Duck Tours boat, pinned under one of the folds of her gown. "But I trust your judgment, even if you don't."

The restaurant was half-empty, it being the middle of the week. A flowering wisteria, a magnificent work of stained glass, sprawled over the ceiling, lights burning in the blossoms as accents. Music, a fine strumming guitar, filled the air with warmth. Somewhere, a woman was laughing in the throaty undertone usually reserved for lovers. Closer at hand three older men were arguing over a bottle of ouzo and the remains of their dinner, their body language one of deep camaraderie for all their angry gesturing. Farther to the back, Sophie could hear what sounded like a family, their voices full of contented enthusiasm.

All this information came to her as it always did, to be soaked up and filed away for future use, the human element that did most of her work. It meant the one jarring element caught her attention instantly, even as she surrendered her delicate white jacket to Nate.

Vanya Fedorov was already there, waiting for them. He'd taken a table that put his back to a wall and gave him a line of sight to most of the restaurant, the entrance, the bar and the kitchen door. He had a glass and a shot in front of him, both half-full. He was wearing a dress shirt in deep burgundy under a dress jacket as black as his hair. Sophie's impression was the same as she'd had back at the museum: of a wolf, tongue lolling, content to lounge while waiting for a chance to rip someone's throat out.

Ah, she did so love Russians.

She frowned minutely: Fedorov was not alone. More, his mood was definitely suffering for it.

She examined the second man. He was standing next to the table, speaking quietly. He was older, built just as powerfully as the Russian enforcer, dressed neatly. Unlike Fedorov, he made no effort to hide the presence of his gun, though his gray suit was so exquisitely tailored that it was barely noticeable. The tattoos over his knuckles had been rendered all but illegible by old scars. His gray hair was cut and sternly combed back, and he had brown eyes as hard as the lines of his face.

"Ready?" Nate asked.

"Wait," she murmured, and felt him go perfectly still behind her.

The older man was trying to hold onto his rising temper, and failing. Vanya was being far more successful, though he was no less irritated. He was also adding a lot less to the conversation; it made it easy to identify the clipped 'Nyet' that was all he offered to the older man's latest tirade.

"Do you actually want dinner?" Nate asked mildly.

Sophie knew he was right; the mood at the Russian's table was growing dangerous quickly. "Alright." She let Nate take point, using him as cover to keep watching. The older man offered an envelope to Fedorov; Vanya took it and promptly threw it carelessly across his table. "I'm still not interested," she heard him say in Russian.

"Vanya, you need these people!" The older man's voice was a snap.

"I'm sorry, are we interrupting?" Nate asked pleasantly. Both Russians turned their temper on him.

Both of them drew themselves up sharply straight as Sophie took a half-step forward and laced her arm with Nate's. Fedorov automatically rose from his seat. "You are not," he assured them both, his tone forcibly pleasant. "My uncle was just leaving."

"Ah, Mikhail Sagorov." Sophie offered her hand. "No finer mind for business and secure transport along the East Coast," she added in Russian, her voice a purr.

The older man flushed, instantly thrown off-guard. He took Sophie's hand and barely squeezed, though she could feel the strength dormant in that grip. "One does not expect beautiful women to find such things interesting," he admitted.

"There is much no one ever expects I will find interesting." She let her hand linger.

Mikhail Sagorov gave her a measuring look. Gave his nephew a puzzled look. Glared impotently at Nate. No one offered answers to the wealth of questions Sophie had thrown at him with a few measured words and an enormity of the unspoken. "I will leave you to your dinner," he said in English. "We will speak later, Vanya."

Vanya started laughing almost before his uncle was out of the door. "You are terrifying," he told Sophie.

"Me? Never," she beamed at the compliment as Nate helped her into her seat.

"My associate, Sophie Deveraux, mister Fedorov."

"Ah." His handshake was firm and friendly, his expression full of amusement. "So not an art curator?"

"I can be, if you need one," she flirted shamelessly before her expression grew serious. "Is everything alright, have there been more… situations?"

"No, no, it's not that. It's been quiet since the museum, thankfully." He looked relieved. "No one died then. As far as I'm concerned, that's a win."

The waiter came to tender their menus. Fedorov ordered them vodka. Nate, with a profoundly resigned sigh, spoke in the silence that followed. "You were right."

"I will never be believed if I tell anyone you offered me those words," Vanya replied mildly after a brief pause. "But you are going to have to be more specific, Ford."

Sophie could see Nate struggling to accept that he had to say the words out loud, that he had to send them out into the world. "About your grandmother," she said very gently.

Fedorov, about to reach for his glass of water, froze. He picked up instead the shot of vodka and downed it smoothly. When he put it down the blue of his eyes was hard and uncompromising. "I see."

"She's not the problem," Nate added.

"She is - Grandmother is not the problem?" Vanya stared at him in disbelief.

"No. She's one of the targets."

Before, the Russian had simply been shocked into stillness. But his sudden motionless at those words filled the space around the table with deadly menace. "Who?" he asked, and the one word was a dark, lethal promise.

"I guess that depends on how deeply you believe," Nate replied casually, picking up the abandoned envelope, examining it idly. "What's this for?" He handed it over to Sophie.

She found a different sigil embossed in the heavy vellum under her fingers, but she didn't take her eyes off Fedorov, even though she couldn't readily identify it.

"Who?" the Russian repeated.

"Well- "

"Who, Ford?" That black menace was looking for a target, and if it couldn't find the right one it was liable to settle for the nearest one.

"Khan Koshan," Sophie said very quietly.

They both saw understanding come to the Russian enforcer almost immediately. His mouth opened, but he snapped it shut with the same motion. "It would be him," he muttered tightly after a long moment. When the waiter returned he was instructed to leave the bottle, and Vanya poured himself another shot that he merely played distractedly with before he leaned back with a nod. "I will wire your payment."

"We're not off the job," Sophie told him.

"This is not for you. I'm not even sure who -"

"Fedorov, you don't understand," Nate worked on organizing his thoughts. He picked up his shot of vodka and took a moment to organize his words as well. "He already knows we're involved. We can't be off the case." He downed the vodka with a grimace.

"Ah." Vanya stared thoughtfully at his drink. "It was not my intention to put you in the line of fire, you and your people."

"I know." Nate shrugged minutely. "I took the job to prove you wrong."

The Russian snorted laughter at that. "Well."

"What can you tell us about him?" Sophie asked delicately.

"About the Raven?" Vanya sighed. "The old stories are full of him. He's a meddler, a manipulator. He will come to you when you need help, and make promises. He will offer what you want, disguising it as what you need. He does not betray, understand that. He merely uses your own desires against you. Tricks of words and gifts."

"He's a grifter." Sophie smiled wryly.

"Not a very good one, but yes."

"What about his heart?" Nate asked.

"The stories or the jewel?" Fedorov asked, confused.

"See, he knows about the jewel."

Nate rubbed his forehead. "You know what, let's get the easy one out of the way. The jewel."

Fedorov shot Sophie an amused looked. "The Emerald Heart of Koschei the Deathless. It's supposed to be an African emerald the size of a man's fist, set in platinum and diamonds. A myth, a fairy tale, if it weren't because the story doesn't fade, because the descriptions always match. Everyone knows about the Heart, but no one has ever seen it."

"I told you," she declared smugly.

Nate chose to move onto a fight he had a moderate hope of winning. "And the other half?"

"We've been told," Sophie offered, "that he took out his heart to give to a woman, as proof of his love. That her rejection poisoned it, and him." She sipped at her water. "Our source thinks that last bit is bull."

"Your source is well-informed," the Russian grinned, "and smart. You have the bare measure of a truth. He did cut out his heart. He did mean to give it to a woman - to his mentor, the one who taught him everything. As proof of her love for him, he wanted her to take on the burden of keeping it safe."

"Ah," Nate breathed.

"Well, of course she would refuse," Sophie declared, toying with the envelope.

"She did not refuse," Fedorov corrected her. "But there was a trap in the heart, a means for him to steal her power, if she had agreed. So she simply did not take it. That limbo is what cursed the heart. She wouldn't take it with the trap, he wouldn't surrender it without her agreement. It bound them together."

"He's just greedy, isn't he?" Sophie declared.

"My milk-mother used to say he is lost to what he sees but cannot hold. A hungry man at a banquet that does not realize he cannot possibly eat all the food there, wants to hoard it all for himself because hunger tells him so. So it is with him and magic."

"Your what?" Nate blinked at the archaism.

"I think the closest English word is nursemaid. The one who took over when my mother died." He grinned thinly. "The one I did not grow up with, of course."

"Mm. In those vast, wild Vladivostok forests," Nate added mildly.

"Just so."

Sophie held up the envelope. Fedorov scowled and took it. "My uncle wants me to go to some sort of art auction. A private affair. He wants me to meet the people there, people who will help with our business, he says."

"You should go," Nate said mildly.

Vanya blew out an irritated breath. "Ford -"

"You should take Ekaterina with you."

The Russian ran out of words mid-sentence.

"It is an art auction," Ekaterina's pleasant Russian burr pointed out. "It is sensible to bring a curator if you mean to bid, no?"

He stared at her in shock, unable to see Sophie past Ekaterina. "How -?!" He threw his hands up, rejecting that line of questioning, laced them before him on the table, and stared levelly at both of them. "Why?"

"Bunch of reasons, really," Nate admitted readily. "I suspect it might be the site of the next 'incident'. I think your Raven's going to be there."

"Will Grandmother be there?"

"I'm not sure yet, but odds say yes."

"And you're sure she's the target?"

"As sure as I can be of anything at this point," the mastermind admitted wryly.

Fedorov seemed to think deeply on all of this. Nate refilled his vodka shot. Sophie picked up her water.

It nearly ended up all over her lap when someone bumped her chair. "Excuse me!" she exclaimed, turning around. It was their waiter. He was walking by, sedately, slowly. His shoulders were twitching minutely. The air smelled of the sea. A flute was trilling quietly.

Sophie frowned.

Where was the guitar?

Where were the three arguing men?

Why did the sea smell wrong?

"Nate," she said. Just the one word. Her tone was all the warning he needed to immediately abandon whatever conversation he'd been having with Fedorov and look around.

"Where is everyone." It wasn't even a question from Vanya; his hand was already under his coat.

"They left." Nate reached out a hand and put it on the enforcer's arms. "Maybe we should do the same."

Sophie was already on her feet. Automatically, responding to all she'd seen on the last few days, she grabbed the salt shaker from the table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the mastermind put a hand over the lapel of his coat and twitch, fighting the urge to jerk it away, but just barely.

The waiter met the manager before the front door. They each opened one half of it, moving with the jerky, uncertain motions of puppets at a show. A delicate breeze swept in.

"Thank you, thank you, so kind, so sweet," the trill of the flute sang in Russian, a woman's voice of such utter beauty that it hardly seemed real. "Such kind children, such sweet children, you should sleep, yes. Sleep, sleep, sleep." The heads of both men lolled down, boneless, and they fell obediently asleep on their feet

Sophie smelled burning silk. Without looking, she knew the cheap tin pin had just burned a hole in her dress.

Something as large as a horse slipped carefully past the open door. The wisteria blossoms began to sizzle and burn out.

Sophie backed away a step.

"Kitchen," Nate whispered.

The thing at the door immediately whipped around, long neck twisting like a snake. A woman's face, flat and unearthly, cocked at them.

Fedorov caught Nate's shoulder. The gesture was so quick that it drew the attention of both mastermind and grifter. The Russian put two fingers to his mouth.

The thing at the door trilled, the flute's song rising in an inquisitive note. "Are there little ones here?" The creature hummed to itself, its voice a singsong. "In here, but there's out there. In here, but there's games to play. In here, but there's fun to have. Out, out, little children, out to play." It stepped forward and the last of the lights burned out.

Sophie stepped carefully out of her shoes. Silence, Fedorov had gestured. Did that mean the thing was blind? That it needed sound to find them? She picked up a piece of silverware from the table and flung it across the restaurant. The sound of it clattering was frighteningly loud in the quiet.

The thing was suddenly immense, five times its original size, hissing like a teakettle. "Silver. Knife." The flute turned into an angry, plucking violin. "No. Not the little ones."

Nate and Sophie crossed a look, then glanced at Fedorov. The three of them were backing away to one end of the bar. The Russian enforcer bumped a chair and they all froze.

The thing jumped onto a table. In the dim light from the streetlights outside, struggling through the frosted windows, Sophie saw immense talons, like an owl's, sprawled on the pristine tablecloth. Glass went tumbling down to shatter on the floor. The thing's neck swung this way and that in a way that was inhuman, but still maddeningly familiar. A vast train of some sort followed it.

Then it unfolded its wings in response to the breaking glass, and Sophie had to bite back a little sound of disbelief. It was a bird. A bird with a woman's face and a woman's voice attached to a serpentine neck, a raptor's body, with a peacock's tail, with talons that could all too readily go through one of them and poke out the other side, with a voice that could charm people into doing whatever it wanted them to do.

A bird, that ruthless part of her mind that never slept pointed out, that had shepherded everyone out, that was still trying to shepherd everyone out.

Why?

She peeked quickly at Fedorov. He looked tense and keenly focused. She and Nate had an excuse; why was Fedorov unaffected?

She lifted a hand, catching both men's attentions. The grifter pointed at the creature, and then at Vanya. His expression ran through surprise, fury, resignation, and then stone-cold defiance.

The creature laughed, and the flute came back, lilting and merry. "Silly silly silly bird, broke the cup, broke the bed," it sang, almost to itself. "Now where where where is the little one, the little prince. Where does he play, where does he hide? Come out to play, little prince, come out to sing, come out to dance, come out, come out, it's time for bed, it's time to go."

It crouched down and leapt at the table where the three of them had been sitting, talons leading. It cut it to pieces effortlessly, slid past, crashed into a chair. Everything went flying in an almighty cacophony of broken wood and torn fabric, breaking glass and tinkling silverware. It flapped immense wings to catch itself and whipped around. "Caught you!" she sang triumphantly.

The three of them were already around the bar and hurrying along in the dark as much as they could, freezing when the sounds of mayhem died on the other side of the counter. Nate peeked over it briefly.

The bird-creature was crouched over the table, neck arched. She was sniffing at the mess she'd made. A low, disconcerted little sound came out of her and her head came up, cocked this way and that. In the gloom her eyes shone dull and white, like a snake's when it's ready to shed. "Not here? Yes here. Not here but yes here, where here?"

Without warning she leapt to the bar counter. Nate dropped down hastily. Fedorov dropped to a crouch.

Sophie opened the salt shaker and poured the contents out in a shaky circle around her bare feet. She then picked up two glasses, found the bottle she needed on the shelf and straightened up. "Sorry," she said calmly in Russian. "You just missed him."

The bird-woman launched herself directly at Sophie, and crashed to a skidding halt on the counter before the grifter, wings half-mantled, head bobbing. "Are you dangerous? Are you mean?" the violin shrilled. "I will gut you, I will flay you, I will eat your -"

"Stop," Sophie said, sounding bored. She put down the two glasses and grabbed the bottle, pouring two generous portions of vodka. "We're both here for the same reason."

"We are not!" the creature drew up straight, then sniffed. Hesitated. "Are we?"

"We're both here to protect Fedorov." Sophie picked up her glass, paused. "Unless you're not. In which case we do have a problem. You are here to keep him safe?"

"I am," the bird agreed at once. "Not safe out here. Too many eyes and ears and tongues." The long neck twisted around. "How to know you're not one of them? Dancing dancing dancing on the strings. Perhaps I should gut you and find out from your entrails after all."

"Fat lot of good my entrails would do you right now." Sophie slid the bottle aside. "Look, we both have the same job, we both bungled it. He had an argument with his uncle -" She kicked at Nate, who was too aghast to start moving when he should've, and finally the two idiots underfoot started creeping away. "- and you know how men get when they're upset. So. I'm thinking I should go to all the places I know of that he likes or something. Start all over again."

The bird drew herself up stiffly, insulted. "All entrails are useful if you know how to read them," she declared haughtily.

"I'm sure the entrails have a lot to say. I wasn't talking about them," Sophie shot back sharply.

The bird huffed, then ducked her head. "I should not have come," she admitted mournfully, her voice a haunting, low woodwind. "Not right now. Two days, maybe three, it would have been fine. Oh, I should not have come."

"But you did," Sophie held up the glass and tapped her nail lightly against it. "Taste of home?"

"Oh, I shouldn't."

"Who's going to tell?"

The creature licked her lips. An immense taloned foot came up and caught the glass, and she sipped at the vodka. "Oh, like home, like home," she hummed.

"Right?" Sophie tapped her glass against the bird's, and they both drank. "Well, I might go check his home, maybe his office -"

"I went to his worky-work nest. He was not there."

"Eh, men are strange like that. They like to put their nose to the grindstone when something upsets them, he might go back if his mood's black enough."

"Too true, too true," the bird agreed. Nate and Fedorov were already disappearing past the kitchen doors. "Who are you? What are you? All I smell is silk and flowers." She paused, finished her drink. "And vodka."

"Wouldn't you like to know," Sophie said, letting just a touch of smugness seep into her tone. "Well, I'm off if you don't have anything useful to add. Can't let him get too far ahead of me."

"Pah. Groundbound thing."

Sophie recoiled and shot right back. "Blind old hen."

"I will get my eyes back," the bird countered with angry dignity. "You'll not grow wings if you don't have them already!"

"I haven't needed them yet."

The creature shrilled at Sophie, an angry teakettle whistle, and hopped down from the counter. "No groundbound thing will beat me to my charge!" She flapped her way to the door and charged out into the night, airborne and away in a second, taking with her the sound of flutes and the scent of the Balkan Sea.

Sophie slithered down to the floor behind the counter, shaking like a leaf. She was still there when Nate came back looking for her, clinging to the glass of vodka as if it were a life-raft, but she threw it away and clung desperately to the mastermind instead with a strangled little sound.

"What were you thinking?!" he demanded.

She gave him a shaky little grin. "I'm a grifter," was all she said.

#the dresden files #leverage #nathan ford #sophie deveraux #parker #alec hardison #eliot spencer #harry dresden #my writing #fanfiction #crossover #urban fantasy

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erodasfishtacos · 4 years ago

Note

could u please do like a harry x youtuber/influencer!reader and like lots of fluff🥺

Hi bubbie! Here you go :)))

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Language

Harry was panicking. His mum and sister were going to be here in less than two hours and he’s burnt the eggplant parmigiana he had worked tediously on.

He grabbed what he had left in his fridge - ground beef, shredded cheddar cheese, and a little bit of bacon.

It was the type of foods he usually strayed away from so sometimes when his shopper would bring this stuff home - he’d avoid it and admittedly sometimes it would go bad sitting in the fridge.

The singer pulls up YouTube onto his phone - hoping something would come up when he typed in the ingredients on the search bar.

He clicks on the first video by cookingwithnofucks. A chuckle at the name as an advertisement plays.

A cute, bubbly girl appears on screen in a beautiful modern kitchen. She has a shirt on that says ‘fuck the patriarchy and eat pizza’. A high ponytail and minimal makeup.

“Okay - today we’re making a cheeseburger casserole,” the girl chirps, “It’s a heart attack in a dish but it’s so fucking good.”

Harry finds himself smiling as he crinkles his nose - it sounds absolutely disgusting but he’s intrigued more by the girl on the screen.

“Shit, I forgot to introduce myself. Hiii, if you’re new - I’m Y/N and I do cooking shit. Subscribe to my channel and all that jazz,” she titters while cutting open her beef package.

Harry follows along step-by-step, shaking his head as she doesn’t describe the instructions nearly well enough and is generally all over the place.

It’s a fucking cooking channel and at one point the meat starts burning. She just laughs and says, “s’just a little crispy!”

The casserole turns out looking even better than Y/N’s to be honest. It’s done in just the right amount of time for him to shower before his family arrives.

He makes sure to subscribe to her channel - eyebrows raising when he sees that she has 16 million subscribers.

Harry wanted to spend longer, looking at her social media but there was a fixed time so he locked his phone and went to get ready.

Anne - always the sweetheart just tells Harry that the casserole is delicious even as a bit of grease runs down her fork from the fatty meats.

Gemma wasn’t as kind, grimacing at the casserole and remarking, “You truly are turning into an American, huh?”

Laying in bed that night, Harry swipes back onto YouTube. Going back to the page he just subscribed to - under a pseudonym. He clicks on another video.

“Uh, okay. So I’m cooking...fuck, it’s called unicorn bark. It looks like a magical animal puke but it looks delicious so we’re going to try it.”

Harry realizes he’s been watching this girl cook for nearly an hour. Different videos from desserts to dinners.

She curses like a sailor, fucks up almost every recipe, and makes a mess everywhere. But she’s smiling and talkative which makes him quite memorized by her.

“I hate editing,” Y/N groans, letting her head fall dramatically against the desktop. Her best friend and dog looked at her oddly.

“I keep saying you need to hire someone, you stubborn bitch,” Laney retorts, clicking through her Instagram feed.

“Fuck off,” she tells her friend with no real heat. The video was almost fully edited - how to make spicy as fuck jalapeño poppers.

There is a calm silence for a while until Laney gasps, “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Y/N asks, not really caring as she clicks her mouse to trim a segment.

“Harry fucking Styles just followed you on Instagram and Twitter!” Laney shouts, her dog - Rufus popping his head up in confusion.

Y/N looks at her friend to see if she’s really serious and sees no signs of deception. “Oh my god,” Y/N replies. She loved Harry Styles in One Direction and as a solo artist - a fangirl if you will.

Y/N was a well-known influencer and has run in the circles of many celebrities. She’s even met Liam Payne but she’s never been able to bump into Harry.

Her alerts tell her it to be true, she swallows as she looks back up at Laney, “He dm’ed me.”

“Open it! What did he say?” She squeals, squeezing herself on the chair next to her, peering over her shoulder at the phone.

Y/N is a bit nervous, trying not to have a mini aneurysm as she opens the message thread.

HarryStyles: Hello. Just wanted to let you know that your cheeseburger casserole recipe saved my ass last night. Cheers x

“He’s totally coming onto you,” Her friend states instantly, bouncing excitedly - she also had a bit of a crush on the singer.

It takes the two of them a minute to cool their shit before Y/N manages a reply.

Y/N/LN: Well I guess it’s only fair. Your songs have made a few of my nights much better. I’m a bit of a slut for Fine Line.

Harry laughs behind his screen at the cheeky reply he gets back. He’s usually never this forward - especially on social media where he likes to fly under the radar.

HarryStyles: Well if you fancy my music that much, I totally love for you to come to a show. I’m performing in New York City in two weeks.

“This has to be a joke, right?” Y/N sputters to her friend, eyes wide at the invite to a concert she already had tickets to.

Y/N/LN: I’m not going to lie, I already have tickets to the show. However, I don’t have any backstage passes to meet the man of the hour. Do you know someone who can hook me up?

It does wonders for Harry’s narcissism to know that she already had tickets for his concert. Was he really going to do this? He hasn’t met up with some like this since his One Direction days.

He had to remind himself - she may just be friendly and take this as a totally casual interaction. Which would be normal, Harry really shouldn’t be so infatuated with someone he’s watched cook on social media.

HarryStyles: I think I can arrange that. Shoot me your number? I’ll have them sent digitally to you with instructions on how to get backstage.

Y/N is a bit dumbfounded at how fast they agreed to meet up. A harmless backstage tour - he could just be a fan of hers and totally not interested, right?

Over the next few weeks, they never really stop texting. Harry sends her pictures of the recipes he copies off her channel - that usually always look better than the original. He sends her clips of him goofing around during tour rehearsal. FaceTimes her when he’s finally home for the night.

She sends him videos of her watching Harry Styles Best Moment Part Five. A few photos she snaps throughout the city of him on billboards and buildings, in Times Square. YN facetimes him when she’s frustrated with filming or watched a sad movie.

It didn’t make sense to either of them how seamlessly they’d clicked - especially without meeting. They were a perfect balance for each other. Harry - laidback, organized, level-headed. Y/N - eccentric, all over the place, adventurous.

Jeff had told him that he’s been gaining media attention from his social media interactions with Y/N. They like each other’s photos, begin following each other’s friends, and comment goofy things on their posts.

“Listen, I have a great idea,” Y/N begins - which Harry learned is never good. “You should film a video with me sometime.”

Y/N knew she was going out on a limb and instantly regretted the questions she’d been building the courage to ask for days when it’s quiet on his end. There’s static for a moment and Y/N needs to fill the silence.

“It was - I was just, uh, I know you’re probably too busy. I was -“ She stutters, embarrassment flooding her.

Harry cuts her off, “I’d love to.”

“Yo-you would?” She asks timidly. Was she really going to have Harry Styles in her apartment? If so, should she take down her poster?

He laughs sweetly, “Why do you sound so surprised? I can’t wait to come to New York, love.”

Y/N giggles, “Not the fact that you’re performing in front of a sold out crowd at MSG? I don’t think seeing me will top that.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meetin’ you in person since I came across your channel. You so lovely,” Harry replies, his voice a little softer but more serious.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admits, picking at a thread in her jeans.

“Me too,” Harry murmurs, despite not wanting to admit it - he wanted her to know this was new territory for both of them. He didn’t want her to think that this was something that he did often. But a little too prideful to admit it’s the first time he’s ever done something quite like this.

“What if you don’t like me?” Y/N whispers, she...well she didn’t compare to the models he’s been seen with before. She’s regretfully fell into the rabbit hole of looking up his past flings and relationships.

Harry barks out a disbelieving laugh, “You can’t be serious, darling. I’ve been gone for you since I saw you burn that ground beef.”

Harry was having a bad day - scratch that. An awful one. He tried to go get coffee at eight in the morning and got bombarded by fans, he left the shop without even ordering. They followed him back to his car and it took him fifteen minutes to pull out.

His favorite Mickey Mouse Gucci suitcase he was bringing along on tour had busted. The zipper unraveling and the trim falling off as a result. It was a one-of-a-kind.

Then he’d been stuck on a Skype meeting about tour merchandise with a group of business partners for the last three hours - all he wanted was a fucking nap.

When Y/N’s contact vibrated across his screen, he’s itching to answer but declines as he needs to give these people his attention.

When she calls again, Harry feels a prickle of annoyance. It’s not even at her - to be quite honest. It’s just the shitty day and everything’s piling up.

He always got like this before he kicked off a tour - stress level maxed out and his ability to handle minor incidents nearly shot.

I’m busy

Okay! Sorry, just have a super exciting surprise for you, bub!

I really do not feeling like talking. I’d rather be left alone.

Oh, alright. Hope everything’s okay! Do you still want to facetime later?

Harry leaves her on read because he doesn’t want to slip up and take out his frustration on her. He’d been known to do that and he didn’t want her to think he was anything but besotted with her.

Y/N feels a little hesitant as she begins the uploading process to her channel. The red loading bar told her it’d be twenty-minutes before it’s going to be posted to her 16 million subscribers - one of them being Harry himself.

Twenty-minutes for her to back out and cancel the upload. She starts having doubts about it when Harry never replies to her text which is unlike him.

She takes Rufus out to avoid staring at the loading screen with unnecessary anxiety and uneasiness.

Harry is just getting home from a business dinner with the touring company’s management team. The tension and anxiety from today piling up on his shoulders and he just wants to call Y/N and crash in bed.

He tosses his keys in the little bowl in the entry and kicks off his dingy white vans to the side. His phone dings with an alert from Gemma.

You two are the literal cutest ever. It’s quite gross.

Harry slides onto a stool in his kitchen, confused by the text message before she’s sending the link to him.

Fine Line Inspired Cupcakes!

Harry isn’t quite sure why his heart starts pounding furiously in his chest. A sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes that this was probably the surprise she was excited about.

He clicks on the thumbnail.

“Hiiii, it’s Y/N. Okay, well today we are going to bake some Fine Line inspired cupcakes. And if you haven’t listened to the album - get your ass out from rock you’re living under and stream it on Spotify!”

She has her hair down in long, waves and a loose cropped shirt that says TPWK in rainbow embroidery.

Harrys mouth is dry and he can’t take his fucking eyes away from the screen.

“Soo, I was thinking the first batch would be cherry flavored? ‘Cause he has a song titled ‘Cherry’. Let’s start there. First - I need to find my measuring cups.”

In true Y/N fashion, she scours her kitchen - cussing and yanking stuff out of her neatly organized cabinets before huffing and storming off to the side.

She comes back into view, a little frazzled but smiling when she holds up the ring of plastic measuring spoons, visible bite marks notched into the material.

“My asshole of a dog had a little snack,” Y/N shows the camera before shrugging, “Let’s get this shit started. Okay, you’re going to need one cup of sugar - no wait, two? I can’t read my fucking handwriting.”

Harry’s absolutely enamored by this scatter-brained, giggly girl who manages to produce cute blue and pink cupcakes that very vaguely resembled his album cover. His heart felt a million times too big for his chest.

He was enraptured for the entirety of the thirty minute video without taking his eyes away once.

To be honest, he hadn’t felt this way since his last relationship which was over a year ago at this point.

It’s not even a thought as he’s requesting a FaceTime with Y/N.

She answers after a few rings. She has a green face mask painted on her nose, chin, and forehead with gold eye masks under each eye. She is so fucking ridiculous it’s not even funny.

What is even more ridiculous is how gone Harry is realizing he is for her. She was quirky, unfiltered, carefree. If he was honest - he hadn’t met a girl like that in a very long time - especially a well-known influencer.

“Hi! How was your day, grumpy?” Y/N asks brightly, making a goofy face as the mask begins to tighten and crack on her skin. Not holding the earlier conversation against him and deciding to just move forward. She understood how stressful it can be.

“M’sorry. I was a bit grumpy,” He admits, “I loved your new video, darling. Did you make those just f’me?”

He can tell she’d be blushing if her face wasn’t covered, a bit bashful as she mutters, “You already know I did it for you.”

“You’re too sweet to me, only six days until we meet,” Harry replies, voice taking on a slow, lazy drawl.

“Six days,” Y/N repeats, eyes crinkling as she smiles with excitement.

“Is this outfit too much?” Y/N panics. Even though there’s literally nothing she can do about it - they’re already walking towards the backstage entrance of the massive arena. It’s still about two hours until the show starts but Harry requested her to come earlier.

Laney sighs, “For the millionth time, you look fucking sexy and Harry’s going to want to rail you right when he sees you.”

Y/N shoves her lightly with a faux annoyance as they meet up with a burly man who’s blocking the entrance to the backstage hallway and rooms.

She gives him their names and pulls up the passes on her phone before he’s nodding with any expression and letting them pass.

They’re not quite sure where to go from here so they begin to wander down the long hallway toward what looks to be the main area that people are milling about.

Y/N is nearly on the ground when someone rounds the corner without looking and walks right into her. Both of them let out huffs of air as they collide and attempt to stabilize themselves.

But there are large hands grasping her arms and holding her steady. In typical Y/N fashion she’s already cursing, “fuckin like a brick wall, look out next time.”

Then she’s looking up to Harry staring back down at her with an amused expression. He doesn’t let go of her and instead tugs her against his bare chest. He’s warm and a bit sweaty - like he’d just worked out. He was only in a pair of thin, running shorts, nike tennis shoes, and a little clip holding his hair off of his face.

Y/N can’t help but wrap her arms around his waist, returning the embrace and amazed by how right it feels to be in his arms. Her face tucks right against his collarbone and it’s like they’d known each other for years.

Pictures and videos don’t do this man justice. He’s gorgeous - sharp edges and dark inked skin. Tall and muscular but dimples that are carved in his cheeks.

“Nice to meet you, m’Harry,” Harry rumbles, removing one hand from Y/N’s shoulder to reach out his hand to her friend.

Laney shakes his hand before asking, “Laney. I’ll leave you two lovebirds be. Where’s the food?”

Harry chuckles against Y/N’s wavy hair, “Down the hall to the left.”

Laney’s trailing off without another glance, she was very food motivated despite her skinny frame. Also not wanting to intrude of the very personal first moments of their meeting.

The popstar pulls back to look down at the girl he’s fallen for in mere weeks. She’s as beautiful as he thought she'd be - if not more. He can’t help himself, “Would it be too forward to kiss you?”

Y/N smiles widely, running a hand along his jawline, “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since you stayed up on FaceTime with me until two in the morning as I cried after watching The Notebook - despite me seeing it a million times.”

Harry ducks forward to press his lips softly to her, large hands come to cup the side of her face as they connect. He’s so gentle as he moves his mouth against hers. In true Y/N fashion, she’s bold and has no hesitation slipping her tongue into his mouth.

He’s so fucking in love with her. It doesn’t make much sense - it’s definitely not logical but he’s realizing that’s okay.

“Oii, get a room!” Someone shouts from down the hallway teasingly.

Harry flips them the middle finger and pulls back, pink lips swollen and puffy, dimples on full display, “Let me take you out to dinner after the show, darling.”

“You going to wine and dine me, Styles?” Y/N giggles, unable to contain the pleasant warmness he’s spreading through her body.

“Mmm, have t’make sure you’ll want to keep me,” Harry murmurs happily against her lips once again, pressing kiss after kiss to her to make sure she’s real, “Definitely want to keep you.”

Y/N bites teasingly at his bottom lip, hand planted on the soft but firm skin of his stomach, “You’re never getting rid of me, hope you know that.”

“Was hoping you’d say that, now let me introduce you to my band.”

-- ---- ---- -- 1 year later - -- --- --- --

“Hi bitches! Today is a super special day. We have the one, the only Harry Styles filming with us. I know that’s not really that special since he’s on here all the time with me. But we’re celebrating our one year anniversary!” Y/N smiles, bumping hips with Harry who stands dutifully next to her.

Anyone viewing can see the absolute heart-eyes and adoration he has for the girl standing next to him. He’s still as lovestruck and gone for her as he was the first time they met. Harry’s fans were thrilled - for the first time in years, he’d opened up again.

They weren’t very public on social media beside’s tagging each other in memes and posting the occasional picture. Y/N was constantly uploading cooking videos from wherever in the world she was with Harry on his tour, she’d also begin making vlogs about different foods she’s been experiencing.

---

“Okay, so here in Peru - they’re known to have this really fucking spicy beef with noddles. So obviously, I’m going to make Harry try it first,” Y/N laughs as she props the camera up on the side of the table on a napkin holder.

Harry - who has a concert in a few hours - frowns at the steaming dish in front of him, “Darling, I don’t want to try it first. It’s going to burn my mouth. Not gonna be able to sing.”

“You’re sucha baby sometimes,” Y/N rolls her eyes, slurping up the noodles with her fork while making a silly face at her boyfriend. She pulls back, straight-faced, “It’s not hot at all. Tastes amazing, though.”

Harry takes that as an initiative to shovel a spoonful into his mouth. It only takes half a moment until his taste buds erupt in fiery flames from the spices, “You bloody little brat, y’tricked me! It’s so fuckin’ hot!”

Y/N smiles widely, laughing much too loudly in the restaurant when Harry chugs the glass of water next to the plate while glaring at his love. “I’m sorry, s’just to easy with you, lovie,” She replies, leaning over the table to press a kiss to his lips.

He’s a sucker for her and kisses her right back despite his mouth being an inferno. His heart was on fire for her and that burned much more intensely.

---

“No, love. The instructions say baking soda, not baking powder. They’re not the same thing,” Harry sighs, attempting to read her scribbled, sloppy handwriting. She’d already spilled milk on half of the paper.

“S’interchangeable, right?” Y/N hums, cracking an egg into the bowl and Harry automatically knows to look to fish out the eggshells that’d she’d let slip in because she sucks at cracking eggs but always wants to do it.

Harry reaches over her, grabbing the vanilla extract and a teaspoon, “It’s not, baby. Lemme do this real quick.”

“Will you make me a grilled cheese after this?” She asks, nuzzling into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist as he finishes adding the wet ingredients to their bowl. Harry stopped questioning her thought process a long time ago.

Harry swipes his finger into the mixture of icing off to the side and rubs it right onto her nose, cackling at her pout and squeaking when she pinches at the fleshy skin of his hips. She in turn dips her finger into the sugary cream and pops it right into her mouth.

Harry eyes darken, watching her lips purse as she sucks off the icing. It was a dirty move on Y/N’s part and she knows it. It has her boyfriend dragging an icing-covered thumb along her collarbone before leaning down to slowly lick up the sugary trail with his tongue.

When Y/N slides her fingers into his hair and lets out a pretty moan, Harry’s standing back up, trailing over to the tripod and saying into the camera, “We’ll be back after a little commercial break,” and is then turning off the record button.

It takes little to no time for Harry to have Y/N’s bum on the countertop, mouth on her neck, and hand in-between her thighs.

And when they finally posted a very edited final cut of the video - well there may be a couple of fans who notice the how flushed Y/N is halfway through and a lovely purple mark on Harry’s neck that wasn’t there in the beginning of the video.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing request #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic rec #harry styles prompt #harry styles x influencer y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles drabble

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goth-girlfriend · 3 years ago

Note

Just wondering and no pressure here! Are you ever gonna finish the Endeavor fic? Love ur works bby and stay safe out there! <3

Yes yes yes 😤😭 Anything for you sweetheart and especially anything for Enji. Take care of yourself ❤️❤️

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“What?” I yawned out loud to myself pushing myself up. My arm was sore from sleeping on it, I looked around and blinked at the light that had made itself known. I tried to push to sit up being held down by a familiar weight. I yawned again, before rolling over under Enji’s arm. I pressed my back against his warm side resting on my arm that wasn’t sore. I pulled his arm around my waist to feel like I was being held in place.

“Ah, security.” I sighed using his shoulder and bicep as a pillow, “Not soft at all.” I snuggled against the firm muscle until I heard a throaty chuckle. His chest shook lightly and I looked up at him he was awake. His eyes lidded from sleep still fighting against consciousness, I watched a faint smile pull at the corners of his lips, I couldn’t fight the most likely idiotic looking grin that surfaced. I laughed and shook my head as quietly as I could. I turned in his arm and hugged his chest. I watched as he moved his free arm behind his head, his bicep bulged at the unintentional flexing.

“Good morning.” I smiled and let my head fall against his shoulder while I looked up at him. It felt perfect, this moment. The morning sun filtered by the beige curtains lighting the room in gold with a few thin slits of white sunlight breaking through. The white duvet stopping at waist, open sleeping shirt, messy hair, pressed into his side sighing content. The rumble of the AC filling the silence, soft breathing, its perfect. In this moment, in this place, there is no history, there is no future, its us in this moment. With nothing to ruin the moment I sighed and closed my eyes feeling the faint heat of his rising chest.

“Good morning.” He finally answered, voice deeper than usual, I felt him shuffle, before I felt his lips pressed onto the top of my head. I felt my eyes flutter involuntary, and my heart swelling. I smiled closing my eyes enjoying the closeness, perfect, this is perfect.

“DDAAAAAAADD!!” I blinked a few times remembering where we were, I watched as he groaned rubbing his face with his hand and sitting up leaving me behind.

“Yes, Fuyumi?” He called starting to stand up doing a few basic stretches.

”Y/N IS GONE DID YOU HEAR ANYTHING THIS MORNING MAYBE SHE LEFT TO GET BREAKFAST?!” She screamed through the door, I watched the door handle jiggle, thanking God I locked it last night.

“Yes, I heard someone moving this morning. It could have been (L/N), why don’t you go look around down stairs, I need to shower and get ready.” He yawned before he stood popping his back.

“Mmm...” there was a pause and some shuffling.

I heard Sho’s faint voice “Fuyumi, look y/n sent me message this morning saying she was going to a nearby convinience store to buy some things she had forgotten. She’ll be back soon.” I sighed thanking God once again that I had told Shoto my password all those weeks ago.

“Alright, DON’T MIND DAD!” She screamed before I heard them walk away, Great, now how am I supposed to leave? I looked around, “Does that window open?” I asked pointing to the window in the room. “It‘s a balcony.” Enji pulled back the curtains revealing an pretty good sized balcony with fancy railing. I was wearing sleeping shorts and a long sleeve shirt with some socks, I‘ll fly down, and just walk back in... but I went to the store.... so I need to come back with something. “Can I have ten dollars?” I smiled sheepishly looking at Enji.“

He sighed before turning to the dresser and pulled out a bill out of his wallet. I grinned and thanked him, “I’ll be back in, five or ten minutes.” I shrugged and opened the Balcony window. Taking eagle form, I dived down into an alley way barrel rolling and lading back on human feet. I walked out and stopped outside a tourist shop. The shop owner was placing out a box of mini hero figures, the same figures from that night we patrolled. These were a new release with the change to get Gold or Silver All Might, Endeavour or Hawks. I got excited and rushed in, I “went to the store”, but I never said what for. the packs were on sale, 2 for $5.00. And lucky for me, I had managed to get a $50. Each box comes with 12 lucky bags each bag has 3 mini figures, there are only 10 Pro hero’s currently released in this line. I have a ten percent chance of getting Endeavour, All Might or Hawks, if you add the 6 new figures to the line thats 16 characters in total. Meaning there are three possible Endeavor, All Might and Hawks,,, But, the chances of getting a special edition, would be 2 of 16 which should be 12.5 out of 100. If I multiply by three that raises the chance 37.5 of 100. So out of all 36 Figures that means I have to at least get 1 limited edition Per box, bu counting in these are the first boxes to pull in customers, they overload the limited ones to make it look easy so people will be convinced to buy them because it’s “easy” to find a limited figure... meaning... “ill give you $50 even for both boxes.”

I turned to look at the cashier guy who seemed unimpressed but nodded, “I usually sell boxes for $30 dollars each but I feel generous 25 each plus taxes.”

“How about $20 plus taxes.” I counter offered. He squinted at me before he made another offer, we went at this until we were back at my original offer. “Alright, this is my last offer,” he huffed and stared at me hard, “$50 dollars cash, no taxes, and IF you become a Pro Hero you do advertising free for my shop.”

I laughed and nodded, “Deal.” He packed the boxes and I paid him before we parted ways. By the time I made it back to the hotel Fuyumi rushed to me with a look of worry. “Where were yOU I WAS WORRIED?!”

I smiled, “I was in the middle of a very serious conversation about some very serious things.”

“A toy store, that bag says you were at a toy store.” Shoto said sounding very unimpressed.

I smiled and let out a sheepish laugh, “well...” I looked down and hid the bag behind me, “I never said I went to buy anything important.”

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“Ow......ow.......nooooo stop.” I whined feeling one more tug at my hair and finally it fell down.

“There, we’re done.” Fuyumi fluffed my hair a bit before smoothing it out again, “Now lets go, before Natsuo starts causing a fuss.” She ushered me to move and I did leading our way to the elevator.

“Alright,“ I sighed slouching a little... “....Wanna see something cool?” I asked standing back up, Fuyumi cocked a brow by smiled a little, “Alright, I do actually.”

I dug into my pocket and pulled out a gold endeavor figure, “Boom, its your dad.“ I took her hand and placed it in her palm, “You can have that, I have another one.” I smiled when she let out a slight laugh. “Thank you, I’ll keep him with my keys.” We stood in a comfortable silence until the doors opened and we started to move out I asked, “Soooo, what are we doing after this award ceremony?” I asked tilting my head in curiosity.”

“I don’t know, she said he lips pulling to the side in a displeased way, “They didn’t let me plan out this trip so its a surprise for the both of us.” My only answer was to nod while I smiled down at the ground, “Sounds Fun.”

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”Aren’t those kids from UA?” The voices of photographers were loud with there questions as flashes went of left and right, “Why are they with Pro Hero Endeavor?” “I don’t know but these kids could pull in the views!”

“Todoroki! A question if you Will!” “Hey Midoriya Over here!” “L/N! Can you pose for a few photos!” “Todoroki look over here!” Midoriya whats it like to learn from Pro Hero All Might??” “L/N! L/N! Are you affiliated with Todoroki or Midoriya?”

As much as I love getting my photo taken, I knew sticking around for pictures and questions in this scenario is probably the last thing I should do. So instead I stayed close to Natsuo almost sandwiched between him and Fuyumi. I stayed betwen them as we kept moving, Sho and Deku were behind us not rushing, Sho seemed unaffected and Deku was looking down red faced and embarrassed. It was kinda cute. I looked back ahead watching Enji ignore everyone moving forward with purpose and carrying himself with pride. I smiled watching him I know not everyone can see him or respect him as the number one hero but, to me, He can be so much more if only people would give him a chance. I know he’s not the most kind person in public, but with the right sidekick or partner that could change easy. When Hawks was with him those brief days, his like ability actually raised. So I know all it takes is someone pushing him to be more interactive with his fans, he knows now there are some that like him, bit i also understand why it’s so hard for him to accept it...

“Alright, were in, lets go find some seats.”

The ceremony went by slowly, I was bored listening to a bunch of speeches but at least made it look like I was paying attention. I couldn’t even sit by Enji because Fuyumi took my place, and then I managed to get stuck between Natsuo and Sho and they kept talking and we had to refrain from laughing to loud at a few things. Midoriya was so interested in everything that was happening and i started to pay attention when they actually started calling name, Sho and Natsuo stopped after Fuyumi told them to shut up. Which I appreciated now that things were getting interesting. I listened to the awards leaning forward more and more as more hero’s showed up collecting awards and moving on with speeches each with their own rounds of applause. I got this twisted feeling about Eniji going so I whispered to Sho who voiced the idea of us cheering for their dad and Fuyumi praised him for caring about their dad and he took the praise. So when Enji was called for an award of Achievement and a few other things the crowd applauded but how it normaly had so I stood up pulling Sho and Natsuo with me which caused Fuyumi and Midoriya to stand we clapped louder and cheered “For the new Number one Hero!” I screamed and then the five of us cheered more as others started to stand and clap louder. I looked at Fuyumi who smiled back and nodded. After the crowd calmed down and sat he gave a short speech, almost another thirty minutes of closing speech we finally got to leave.

“Finally! I’m free!” I cheered running straigh into Natsuo’s back as he stopped out of nowhere. “My face.” I groaned pushing away from him, it was in that moment I realized how big he actually was, “Wow, you’re actually tall.” I leaned to use his head to block the sun.

He looked back over his shoulder at me, “huh? Did you say something down there?” He... he just... he just bullied me for my height... “I-...” I look esta him and swallowed, “IM TELLING FUYUMI YOURE BULLYING ME!”

I watched his eyes widen and turned to rush to Fuyumi and he screamed, “wait...NO”

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“Natsuuoooooo?” I poked his cheek as he sat pouting arms crossed, “Nat...Suo? Nat... pssst hey Nat, you still mad?” I poked his cheek again and smiled watching him force back a smile. “Come one, you cant be mad.” I poked his cheek causing him to smile briefly before he forced it back again, so I quickly summoned a feather and poked his cheek distracting him before using it to tickle his other side causing him to laugh.

“Alright fine fine, I’m not mad anymore.” He wheezed as I pulled my feather away, plucking it from the air. “A hero’s work is never done.” I gave an exaggerated sigh and he a single laugh kinda like a scoff, “Some hero you are, you get innocent pedestrians hurt to save them.” he crossed his arms and snapped his head the other way, unamused I felt me brows go up, “Innocent? Pedestrian? You?” I paused when he gave me an offended look. “I don’t think so.”

“Natsuo-“ We turned to look at Shoto, the two of having been sitting outside on a stone bench after Fuyumi scolded him strongly and I pulled into it.

“Yes?” He asked standing up and popping his back.

“Our father, asked if you could head back with Fuyumi to the hotel to pick up her bag of clothes. She left it when she was rushing out. Well meet for lunch before we do anything else.” Shoto said leaning his head to the side slightly.

“Oh,” he looked at me and then over his shoulder at the doors we had both just sulked out of, “yeah, well take a Taxi. I’ll get Fuyumi and we’ll leave.” He nodded and turned to leave.

I moved to stand by Sho, “So?” I asked elbowing him slightly, “how was last night?” “Well, I could ask you the same.” He side eyed me, “Take your phone with you next time you jump out a window.” I didn’t miss the amusement in his eyes, “Right,” I nodded and he closed his eyes a small smile on his lips. “Now, where are we going for lunch?”

“Oh! I read about this American style fondue place! It’s supposed to be really good! So I kinda wanted to try it and I was going to suggest it but, it’s pricey so, eheh, ya know.” I shrugged and Shoto’s brief look of amusement came back, you want what Kaminari told me is a Glucose Guardian, someone who pays for what you want.” I choked, “Sugar daddy.”

“What?”

“What. Nothing, so, lunch? I’m hungry? Also I’m riding in front move.” I rushed past him jumping into the passenger seat before he followed after Deku had met him. I was buzzing in my seat and the took Enji’s hand the moment he was sat and started driving, I squeezed his hand staring out the window, watching the building and cars pass. It felt so nostalgic, but how could it be nostalgic?

“Where are we eating?” I turned to Enji at his question, before looking at Sho through the mirror, “There’s this place Y/n was talking about.” I felt a squeeze to my hand meeting Enji’s stare as he looked at me briefly before looking at the road, “Where is it?”

I smiled and used my free hand to grab my phone, “it’s not to far from here, we should be able to make it in ten minutes if traffic is good.” I clicked away typing the address, “Yup, go straight, take a right at the light, and it should be a large glass building on the corner! It’s a fondue place, more American style!” I tried to talk and explain while squeezing Enji’s hand at the excitement I was feeling. Upon getting to the restaurant we waited a while, having sent Fuyumi and Natsuo the address we waited at least half an hour until we got a call.

“Dad, I don’t think we’ll be able to do lunch today, a really bad wreck caused a traffic jam on this side of the city, it’s an estimated two hour wait until we can move, well find a place to eat once we get closer if you all want to go ahead and eat we’ll be fine.” Before he could answer Shoto spoke “Thank you for your sacrifice.”

“We should go then?” I questioned looking around the car.

“Yes.” Enji said turning the key and opening his door to get out.

After we all got out the car, we started our way towards the restaurant. I awed at it, we made it in met with a nice man, “Welcome to The Melting Hot Pot! How many will be in your party?”

We all looked up at Enji, “Four.” We all nodded, it felt as if we were judging him.

“Would you like a private room or to be seated in our public seating area.”

“Private.” He nodded and the host nodded, “You can follow me this way.”

“Will this be you’re first time dining with us?” We all slid into seats in the large luxurious looking booth, it’s was in a room with a sliding screen door for privacy.

“Yes it will.”

“Great! I’ll give you the crash course before you’re waiter comes to attend to your table.”

After about seven minutes and looking at a menu the Host left and we started to talk about what sounded good.

“Wisconsin cheddar cheese?” Shoto asked.

“Flaming turtle... sounds painful...” Midoriya was staring at the opposite side of the menu.

“Maybe... we should start with a salad? Before we start looking at the fondue, there’s.. Wisconsin Wedge... California... Caesar... and a house, so, what sounds good?”

We tried to talk it out but no luck, we ended up right where we started, until Midoriya looked at Enji, “Mr.Endeavor sir,” I held back a laugh.

He hummed staring at Deku, his face didn’t change making him seem angry or annoyed, “What?”

Midoriya flinched.

“Maybe you.... you have more experience with this than we do, do you have a-any... advice?”

Enji nodded, “Get a California Salad, you’re allowed two cheeses, well get the Wisconsin Cheddar and Quattro Formaggio, for entree you’ll get a classic plate that comes with Pork, shrimp, chicken and steak cooked in a Mojo style broth, and for two desserts you’ll get a flaming turtle and Yin & Yang mix.”

We all stared at him, “Have you been here before?” I asked interested.

“No,” he held up a rectangular piece of plastic lined paper, “It’s a recommended course.”

“That’s very convenient.” I mumbled and we all looked as our waiter slid the door open finally entering.

“Hello, sorry for being late, what can I bring you to drink.”

“A tea, please.” Shoto and Midoriya spoke at the same time.

“Alright, two sweet iced teas,” and for you, she turned to me, “A spirit free watermelon cooler.”

“Good choice, and for you sir?” She turned to Enji who was looking at the menu, “A Billionaire’s Coffee.” He didn’t even look at her.

“Alright,” she looked at us, “I’ll get your drinks and be right back to take your order.”

She left and we casually just sat there looking around at the decor.

“I like the low lights, it’s nice kinda cosy.” I talked out loud to no one, before I looked at Midoriya locking eyes contact, “perfect place for a date.”

He chocked on air and brought his arm to his face blushing stuttering out things I didn’t understand. I laughed a bit, enjoying the show before he calmed down when the waiter appeared.

“Alright, what are we getting?” She looked at us and all I did was look up at Enji, he sighed, “We’d like to try the Complete Fondue experience for four.” He tapped the plastic with his finger and she noted it, “in that exact order.”

She nodded again, “An exact copy of the full experience, now before I head out, does anyone want to add a lobster tail or any extra meats to their plates?”

“No,”

“No thank you.”

“No, I’m good.”

“No.”

“Alright then, I’ll be turning on the burners, they will get hot, please do not touch them.” She pulled out a small metal stand with a promotional flyer and placed it on the burners before she left.

“I’m excited.” I reached over under the table and took Enji’s hand and brought it back to my lap squeezing his bigger hand between mine.

His hand squeezed mine, I smiled up at him before looking down at his hand, callused, warm. Scars were present but hardly noticeable, I ran my thumb over his knuckles, losing myself in the patterns I began to draw, feeling myself fall into a feeling of nostalgia.

“Y/n,” I looked up at the sound, “Hm?” I hummed in response looking around.

“Are you fine?” Shoto asked his voice soft but his brows were furrowed.

“Yeah, just thinking about school and the internships.” I shrugged, “We’ve been through a lot with everything that’s happened, it’s hard to believe we’re just first year.”

“Hm.” Shoto nodded and I pulled a hand up and lates it palm up on the table.

“Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I see and the more we do, it kinda scares me,” I looked at a scar it ran from the side of my wrist to the back of my hand, it was a deep wound from my Internship, “But seeing everything also makes me realize,” I balled my fist up smiling, “There’s so much space for new hero’s to rise and it excites me knowing one day I’ll be out there fighting for a chance to be number one.”

“Ambitious.” I flinched at the waiters voice who slid the door closed as she entered, “You must be in a hero school then.”

“I, yes, I am.” I nodded and looked away.

“I’ve never heard of you, you must not be that well known. Everyone however would be able to notice our lovely new number one hero Endeavor.” She smiled and patted Enji who just gave her a side eye and she quickly pulled her hand away.

I let out a mix of a scoff and a laugh, “You must live under a rock, or be uncultured, I’m from UA, were our sports festival is streamed publicly almost everywhere throughout the prefecture and surrounding cities, not to mention I was in the news quite a few times with Endeavor and Pro Hero Hawks, I was on headlines and on front page covers of newspapers and magazines, if you can’t recognize me it really goes to show what kind of woman you are.” I made a face and she made a face back.

Before we started a stare down another person walked in, “Alright, here comes a hot pot, everyone be careful.”

As the second waiter was setting up the meal I couldn’t help but mumble to myself, “Bite me, it’s what rabid dogs do anyways.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

After eating and Midoriya and I burning ourselves multiple times on hot cheese fondue we finished our desserts and started to head out.

We stepped out into the dark, the afternoon sun had set and the cities night life was crawling out into the streets, lights lit up outside patios, rooftops had flames lit lighting tables, tinted windows were lit up showing the chandeliers that hide during the day. Ladies in fancy dresses and men in suits and flashy attire. It was in that moment I realized how wrong our relationship is, I’m in UA, I’m only 16, sure the consent age is lower then that but, I, this is morally wrong in some eyes... I could ruin Enji’s career if anyone ever found out... I felt a sense of worry fill me. No one knew, I didn’t care before. So what scares me now?

“So! What are we doing tomorrow?” I looked at Enji and Shoto as we walked, Midoriya was unintentionally hidden by Shoto.

“It’s a surprise.” Shoto answered very bluntly and I squinted at him, “Very helpful.”

“How are Fuyumi and....” I paused the name leaving me and looked down, embarrassed, thinking, his name just couldn’t be Naruto because it’s pretty close to that anyways, “Natsuo! Heh! I remembered.”

“Fuyumi messaged me, they tried a curry at an Indian restaurant near the hotel, Natsuo also now holds the title for eating a plate of the spiciest curry in under an hour.” Shoto said flashing us his phone which had a very red smiling Natsuo holding a certificate and a $200 dollar check.

“That’s... impressive.” I was impressed, but it seemed like a painful thing.

I felt my phone buzz, I answered if, “Hello?”

“Hey y/n! It’s Fuyumi, I’d you don’t mind when you get to the hotel can you stop by the hotel shop and pick up something for indigestion or upset stomach, maybe heart burn?”

“Oh,” I smiled, “Yeah, I can do that, we’re on the way back about to get in the car, the streets are empty so we should be there soon, so, I’ll get it for you.”

“Thank you, sorry for the burden but I feel bad for leaving Natsuo while his stomach is hurting this much.”

“Don’t worry! I’m a hero, it’s what I do.” I smiled getting into the car as we reached it.

“Still, thank you y/n.” She sounds like she was smiling, I could feel it, in that moment how much she really cared for her family. It kinda warmed my heart in a way I can’t describe.

“Alright, see you then.” I ended the call and explained everything on the way over, Enji sighed and rubbed his forehead before pinching the bridge of his knows shaking his head. I smiled, noticing the edge of his lips twitch upwards a bit before he forced it down mumbling out Natsuo’s name and something I couldn’t hear.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Tag list

@waffleees-world @daedaep69 @gabrielislovegabrielislife @sabrinakishi @mae3solo

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lilypixels · 3 years ago

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...............all of them.....?

It took me an hr to do this....🥲💀

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Teacupsss

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Lollipops

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Uhhh cotton candy

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Probably quiet and smart lol I did my school work and was friendly with everyone so I was a favorite and heard all the nice things 🙈

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

I kinda like bottles more but like the glass ones with the caps that could slice your fingers-

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

I’m for all but sports lol

7. earbuds or headphones?

Earbuds

8. movies or tv shows?

Shows cause I’m the type to watch an hr long episode vs hr long movie idk why but I’m rarely in mood for them

12. name of your favorite playlist?

Drop the beat (ie songs that are upbeat and I like most)

13. lanyard or key ring?

Hmm...I guess lanyard?

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Skittles or twizzlers

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

I had lots I had to read in school but only ever finished a handful lol my favorite I think was maybe Macbeth? I would say Odyssey but I don’t think we read the full thing cause I remember being disappointed about something like that...

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Sitting with my legs bent up in seat with me in some way

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

Converse and some nice but cheap sneakers from Walmart

18. ideal weather?

Not too hot, not too cold, mild like before/after a rain (most the time), idc if it’s raining or sunny but as long as temp is comfortable I’m fine

19. sleeping position?

On my side most often

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Phone and notebook

21. obsession from childhood?

Oh gosh uhhh I guess my like of dolls maybe? Or obsession with anything ✨unexplained✨ like ghosts, aliens, cryptids, etc

22. role model?

Kim Namjoon lol just kidding (sorta)

23. strange habits?

Ok I know I have some and my friends would be more than happy to point them all out but hm let me think...idk if these count as habits but I’ll never place a mirror facing a bed (this is more superstitious I guess than habit,,,) I can’t stand my food touching, if I have a tray like in cafeteria I have a certain spot for everything and uh my mind just went blank-

24. favorite crystal?

Moonstone, lapis lazuli, and I feel obligated to say garnet cause it’s my birthstone

25. first song you remember hearing?

Circle of Life maybe who knows xD

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Walk or clean,,I’m more active and about with warm/nice weather

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

...stay inside where it’s warm

28. five songs to describe you?

Not this again😭 uhhh idk you tell me ajdbd

29. best way to bond with you?

Indulge me when I go off about things I like or learn 😔✊ I know I’ll talk your ear off and I’m sorry but know I don’t often talk about these things with people so once I start it’s hard to stop,,and it makes me really happy when people do listen to me about these things and send me related items every so often or even look into it themselves to learn more 🥺

30. places that you find sacred?

For some reason this feels like a trick question...um cemeteries and anything with ages of history I guess

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

Oof do I really have a true outfit?? I have shoes for this which are just black platform sneakers I call stomping shoes

32. top five favorite vines?

I never,,,watched these,,,

33. most used phrase in your phone?

“Yes”...?

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

State Farm and McDonald’s, always

35. average time you fall asleep?

10-11...usually...

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

Uhhh that one with the ginger dude (I think it was someone’s yearbook photo??) I don’t remember much else about the meme but it was on ifunny, or whatever the app was, a lot

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

Suitcase

38. lemonade or tea?

Easy, tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

...neither

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

Dude these questions really testing my brain power here- for senior prank someone put cereal in some bathroom sinks I think

41. last person you texted?

My mom

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

I’m gonna say jacket since I wear those often

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodie or cardigan

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Usually whatever shirt I’m wearing that day and some pj/lounge pants 🤷

47. favorite type of cheese?

Mozzarella

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

I-what kind of question is this? How does one even answer this?

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

What comes around goes around lol (yes I’m a heavy believer of karma)

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

Lol who knows, probably something dumb me and my siblings were doing or something we watched cause there’s been plenty times of that xD

51. current stresses?

Homework vs free time e-e

52. favorite font?

I like the gothic looking ones but it’s usually not practical to use so idk

53. what is the current state of your hands?

My hands...? They’re fine ??

54. what did you learn from your first job?

How to care for babies and little kids, how to put on a diaper lol

56. favorite tradition?

I can’t remember a particular one off hand but I’m trying to start few new ones like decorating cookies for Halloween uwu

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Uhhhhh like personally or...? Cause we’ve overcome homelessness before, um finishing assignments idk😭 oh maybe bullying?? That’s all I can think of since I still struggle with a lot,,

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

Alright let’s do thisss: creativity (mostly in writing sense), I can bake/cook, I have amazing organization skills and many work places have used that lol (bonus is I don’t mind, I actually really enjoy it, very peaceful), surprisingly good balance all things considered, I’m a quick learner

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“I’m too tired for this.”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Good question good question🤔 I don’t think I’d last in any of them/have a terrible side character role so 💀

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

“Life’s too short to hold grudges.”

62. seven characters you relate to?

Dude this is gonna get embarrassing I can feel it🤠

Itaru, Iori, Sogo, Belle, Simeon (obey me), Nozaki (he’s clueless about romance irl and doesn’t know when someone has a crush on him yet can write romance well enough and yeah it’s me lol), and uhh Swindler/Ordinary Person in Akudama Drive (still can’t believe no one really has names in that anime but the way she gets wrapped in everything felt like something that’d happen to me lol)

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Like nightclub...? I’m skipping this ajdbd

64. favorite website from your childhood?

Probably the Barbie site, me and my sister played all the dress up games almost daily istg

65. any permanent scars?

Appendectomy scars and then looks like I have one on a toe but it’s possible it still might heal...

66. favorite flower(s)?

Nightshade, foxglove, baby’s breath, bellflowers, roses

67. good luck charms?

I don’t think I have any...

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

Lemon

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Let me think...I read something once about flowers having ears(?) but like not ear ears just something about having a part that picks up sound waves

70. left or right handed?

Right

71. least favorite pattern?

Lolll animal print I think

72. worst subject?

Physics...the worst science

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

6...?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I don’t remember, it probably happened when i was 6. I do remember losing one of my front teeth during my birthday one year and I was happy since the tooth had been loose for some time xD

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Chips I guess or just like fried in skillet

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

A succulent probably

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Neither ew

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

They are both about equally terrible

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Earth

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Fireflies

82. pc or console?

I am on pc side now

83. writing or drawing?

Writing

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Podcasts I guess

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Barbie

85. fairy tales or mythology?

Mythology, it’s too fun and chaotic lol

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Hm...cupcakes

87. your greatest fear?

Uh,,,I don’t have many fears but I guess one would be falling from a great height? So I would get scared of crossing a bridge and it collapsing or riding a plane and it falling easily

88. your greatest wish?

World peace🥲

89. who would you put before everyone else?

My mom maybe...?

90. luckiest mistake?

I honestly don’t remember but something I do remember is I out semicolon instead of period and turned out to be correct grammar lol

91. boxes or bags?

Boxes

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Sunlight or fairy lights, I don’t require much either way and prefer more natural lighting

93. nicknames?

Lassie, twinkle toes, Ash, poody butt (by 3 yr old I sometimes watch and play with lol he means it affectionately; I call him monkey butt and it’s catching on slowly instead)

94. favorite season?

Starting to be fall just a little more but I like transition times most

95. favorite app on your phone?

Let’s go with twitter

96. desktop background?

It is a moriarty and gang pic

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

2: mine and my moms

98. favorite historical era?

Ooo tough one but I’ll say renaissance as some of the coolest things came from that time

#if there’s something messed up in this string of text #ignore it cause I’m not proofreading again ajdbd #I did not realize there were so many questions pls #asks #jade why 😔💜

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 years ago

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

December 16, 2020

Heather Cox Richardson

The reality that Joe Biden is about to become president and Kamala Harris is about to become vice president is sinking in across Washington, and today gave us some indications of what that’s going to mean.

Stories about what exactly happened in the Trump administration are coming out, and they are not pretty. Politics trumped everything for members of the administration, even our lives.

Today Representative James Clyburn (D-SC), who chairs the House Select Subcommittee on the Coronavirus Crisis, revealed documents from senior appointees in the Trump administration overriding the work of the career officials in the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Those documents show that the political appointees at the Department of Health and Human Services called for dealing with the coronavirus crisis by pursuing a strategy of “herd immunity,” deliberately spreading the coronavirus to try to infect as many people as possible, with the theory that this approach would minimize the dangers of the pandemic. While doing so, they downplayed what they were doing, tried to hide the dangers of the virus, and blamed the career scientists who objected to this strategy for the rising death rates.

Although the White House has tried to distance itself from senior Health and Human Services Adviser Paul Alexander, last summer he was widely perceived to speak for his boss Michael Caputo, the Health and Human Services Assistant Secretary for Public Affairs whom Trump had appointed, and for the White House itself. Alexander, a part-time university professor from Canada, defended Trump against scientists, accusing CDC Principal Deputy Director Dr. Anne Schuchat of lying when she provided accurate public information about the worsening pandemic. When she suggested everyone should wear a mask, he claimed: “her aim is to embarrass the President.” Alexander attacked Anthony Fauci for his attempts to protect Americans. “He just won’t stop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” wrote Alexander on July 3, 2020 (yes, I counted the exclamation points); “does he think he is the President???”

Alexander advocated spreading the infection to younger Americans: “So the bottom line is if it is more infectiouness [sic] now, the issue is who cares? If it is causing more cases in young, my word is who cares…as long as we make sensible decisions, and protect the elderely [sic] and nursing homes, we must go on with life….who cares if we test more and get more positive tests.”

Alexander wrote to Caputo: “There is no other way, we need to establish herd, and it only comes about allowing the non-high risk groups expose themselves to the virus. PERIOD.” On the same day, he wrote: “Infants, kids, teens, young people, young adults, middle aged with no conditions etc. have zero to little risk….so we use them to develop herd…we want them infected…”

On July 24, he wrote to FDA Commissioner Stephen Hahn and Caputo: “it may be that it will be best if we open up and flood the zone and let the kids and young folk get infected” as a strategy to get “natural immunity…natural exposure,” an argument that illuminates Trump’s insistence this summer that schools and colleges must open.

But the idea that young people are safe from the virus is wrong. Today, an article published in the Journal of the American Medical Association reported that while Americans older than 65 have borne the brunt of the coronavirus, young adults are suffering terribly. From March through July, there were almost 12,000 more deaths than expected among adults from 25 to 44. Young Black and Hispanic Americans make up not just a disproportionate number of that group of victims; they are a majority. Those extraordinary death rates have continued. Younger adults are indeed endangered by the coronavirus; the idea it is harmless to them “has simply not been borne out by emerging data,” doctors Jeremy Samuel Faust, Harlan M. Krumholz, and Rochelle P. Walensky—Biden’s pick to run the CDC-- wrote in the New York Times today.

Another report today showcases two former CDC political appointees who are now speaking out to call attention to the silencing of career scientists at the agency. Kyle McGowan, a former chief of staff at the CDC, and his deputy Amanda Campbell watched as political appointees in Washington ignored scientists, censored doctors’ messages to the public, and cut the agency’s budget. “It was… like a hand grasping something, and it slowly closes, closes, closes, closes until you realize that, middle of the summer, it has a complete grasp on everything at the CDC,” McGowan told New York Times reporter Noah Weiland. “Every time that the science clashed with the messaging, messaging won.”

Politifact, the Pulitzer Prize winning fact-checking website from the Poynter Institute, named the downplaying and denial of the seriousness of coronavirus its “Lie of the Year.”

Today it became clear the administration dropped the ball in other important ways. We have more information now about the extensive computer hack that appears to have been conducted by operatives from the Russian government. It’s bad. Hackers placed malware on commercial network management software upgrades to gain access to government computers, along with those of major U.S. companies, as far back as last March. They have been able to root around in our secrets for months. Hackers accessed the Treasury and Commerce Departments, the State Department, the Department of Homeland Security, and parts of the Pentagon, among other targets. The intrusion was discovered on December 8, when the cybersecurity company FireEye realized it had been hacked and alerted the FBI.

Today the FBI, the Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency (CISA), and the Office of the Director of National Intelligence (ODNI), issued a joint statement acknowledging “a significant and ongoing cybersecurity campaign” and indicated they are not sure yet what has been hit. “This is a developing situation, and while we continue to work to understand the full extent of this campaign, we know this compromise has affected networks within the federal government.” It is clear the U.S. has been hit hard: Trump’s National Security Adviser Robert O’Brien has cut short an overseas trip to come home and deal with the crisis.

In the New York Times, Thomas P. Bossert, Trump’s former Homeland Security Adviser said, “the magnitude of this national security breach is hard to overstate.” He insisted the U.S. must call out Russia for this attack (assuming it is confirmed that that country is, indeed, behind the attack). “Trump must make it clear to Vladimir Putin that these actions are unacceptable. The U.S. military and intelligence community must be placed on increased alert; all elements of national power must be placed on the table.”

“President Trump is on the verge of leaving behind a federal government, and perhaps a large number of major industries, compromised by the Russian government. He must use whatever leverage he can muster to protect the United States and severely punish the Russians.”

The New York Times called this breach “among the greatest intelligence failures of modern times.” Senator Richard Blumenthal (D-CT) called it “stunning.” “Today’s classified briefing on Russia’s cyberattack left me deeply alarmed, in fact downright scared. Americans deserve to know what’s going on,” he tweeted. Blumenthal also recognized the severity of the coronavirus early: he tweeted on February 25: “This morning’s classified coronavirus briefing should have been made fully open to the American people—they would be as appalled & astonished as I am by the inadequacy of preparedness & prevention.”

And yet, there are signs that the country is reorienting itself away from Trump and modern-day Republicanism.

Former New Jersey Governor Chris Christie, previously a staunch Trump supporter, has released an advertisement urging people to wear masks and admitting he was wrong not to wear one at the White House. It seems likely he is eyeing a future presidential run, and clearly is calculating that it is wise these days to distance himself from Trump’s anti-mask politics.

Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY), who has refused to advance a coronavirus relief bill since the House passed one last May, seven months ago, is now trying to make a deal that includes direct payments to Americans hurt by the pandemic. He explained to Republicans today that Republican senate candidates Kelly Loeffler and David Perdue, who are running against Democrats Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff in Georgia, are “getting hammered” because the people want the bill and the Senate is holding it up.

Finally, Bloomberg last night ran a story by journalist Craig Stirling highlighting the work of economists David Hope of the London School of Economics and Julian Limberg of King’s College London, who examined the concept of “supply side economics,” or the “trickle down theory.” This is the economic theory popularized in the 1980s saying it’s best for the economy not to support wages at the bottom of the economy—the demand side—but rather to free up capital at the top—the supply side—because wealthy entrepreneurs will create new jobs and the resulting economic growth will help everyone. This idea has been behind the Republicans’ forty-year commitment to tax cuts for the wealthy.

In their study of 18 countries over 50 years, Hope and Limberg concluded that this theory was wrong. Tax cuts do not, they prove, trickle down. They do little to promote growth or create jobs. Instead, they mostly just help the people who get the tax cuts.

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #Criminal GOP #corrupt GOP #political #election 2020 #COVID-19 #global pandemic #incompetent GOP #malevolent GOP

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pixiealtaira · 5 years ago

Text

I was tagged by @chocoholicannanymous to post the first lines of the last ten fics I wrote...on. They all were WIPs..all of them. It might be a bit embarrassing to admit that this doesn’t even make a dent in the WIPs in progress. Nope...not a dent.

I realize I tend to long first paragraphs often, so I went with between 3 and 6 lines...

Pretty much nothing as a name...so I’ll refer to it by the title of the doc.

So, with our further fluffiery...from what I worked on latest to ten back....

1) Modeling AU ---glee WIP

Santana, Rachel and Kurt were filling the condiment bottles and chatting as they watched while the group of 4 singing wait staff finished their last song. Or rather Rachel and Santana were chatting and Kurt was trying to ignore them while not letting them know he was ignoring them, or at least not letting Rachel know he was ignoring them. He wasn’t incredibly happy with anyone that moment, although he was at a better place with Santana than with Rachel. It could have been because he and Santana had had it out a bit earlier so the air was partially cleared, but not cleared enough for him to be helping her chat with Rachel.

2) NaNoWriMo 2017 ---- glee wip, also second part to the story above but nano wants new works...so I made it one (this year nano was a failure...ended up with too much family drama going on and the son was a senior in highschool)

Kurt Hummel trudged into the costume workshop attached to the theater department at NYU. He wasn’t sure Rosie, who he was supposed to meet up with was even there yet, as it was ridiculous o’clock in the morning, but the back entrance door was open so he figured someone responsible was inside.

“hello?” Kurt called out.

“In the room with the sewing machines, back right hand door.” Kurt heard yelled back to him.

3) NaNoWriMo 2016 ------glee wip...again this year of nano was a failure...but that was because I was sick for most of it

The summer after Blaine’s massive meltdown and tantrum and the subsequent break-up was looking to be…difficult. Horrid. Soul crushing. Kurt saw no relief from it. There was no one to ease the feeling that somehow he was solely to blame. He had no one to talk to, really. Artie blamed Kurt and wouldn’t give him the time of day. He was the only one still in New York City. He hadn’t heard from Elliot or Dani since before he was bashed back in February…he remembered asking about why he hadn’t and getting a vague brushing off and then the bashing happened and then every moment was focused on Blaine again…making sure he wasn’t feeling inadequate or ignored. And no body at work spoke with him, at least not at the diner.

4) CM-Glee cross --------Criminal minds Glee crossover WIP...I am determined to finish this and it’s companion fic...I will...at some point

If one had asked, which of course no one ever did, Spencer Reid would have actually told that anyone who’d asked that he would have rather been anywhere else than where he was. He’d have liked to have had the opportunity to give some input, to have some options! Yes, he’d had some …issues, especially when things were dealing with teens, but it wasn’t like everyone else he worked with had always done everything exactly right each and every time either. (Morgan and any pretty women they worked with in any way shape or form…for example. Hotch stopped Spencer from talking before he got that pointed out though.) These weren’t even really teens, for the most part…at least not high school students. Out of the six deaths, only one was a student. Spencer did not see the reason Hotch had stared at him the whole time he gave his lecture on not letting themselves get too emotionally involved. Nor did he see why HE and HE alone had been left at the police station when they arrived. He was actually an agent, for Pete’s sake.

5)nanowrimo 2013 ------glee and criminal minds crossover WIP...yes you read that date right,however this ficis over 80000 words and I think could be finished quickly if I could just get past one fricking scene

After Kurt’s summer from hell, Kurt Hummel had hoped that things would be better for the school year, or at least the same things wouldn’t be bad. He was really tired of the repetition of misery that was his life lately. However, when it came down to it, school had been going just like it had the year before. Granted, he’d only been tossed into the dumpster once so far. (He suspected it was because he was harder to toss this year after putting on a few inches in height.) However, the locker slams had become brutal again and slushies were still a routine.

6) why Kurt speaks fluent french ----I suck at titles. Glee WIP. Somehow half what was written for this got lost...on some hard drive or flash drive was another 5000 to 10000 words, but I have not been able to find it so we spent a bit over the summer rewriting.

Elizabeth Hummel looked around the parking lot of Hill Side Elementary School, and wondered once again where the hill that she’d figured it was named after actually was. It certainly wasn’t anywhere near the school. False advertising…that ought to be a good reason not to have Kurt go to there, although she was pretty certain her husband would disagree. Elizabeth hated the school. She had hated it from the start, really…from the moment they got the letter in the mail that told them that due to the schools nearest them being under construction still and the next closest school being under renovation and so only being able to house half the students it generally did…her child was slated to go to Hill Side.

7) Kurtoberfest day 16 holiday recipes --- WIP, almost done, maybe, au where Finn is alive

Kurt remembers the day Finn Hudson’s career path was chosen. Finn had come to New York to ‘hang’ with his brother and sneer at Rachel and torment Santana. (Ok, Finn said he’d come to hang with Kurt, but he spent more time sneering at Rachel and tormenting Santana than hanging with Kurt, to the point of refusing to go site seeing to places Finn had wanted to see in favor of bugging the girls.) Kurt and Finn had been watching old comedies waiting for Rachel to get back so Finn could bug her when Kurt switched from Sister Act to Kindergarten Cop. Finn had never seen Kindergarten Cop. Kurt was frankly dumbfounded about that fact, seriously. Kindergarten Cop was like a staple of movie viewing. Finn watched Kindergarten Cop with an intensity that Kurt had only ever seen him give to 45 buck steaks and a basketball ball game on TV once that Finn had bet 300 dollars on. Finn didn’t even notice when Rachel came stomping into the loft and then left again.

8)Kurtoberfest prompt 17 harry potter au ---glee and HP crossover

When Harry Potter left Britain, and the wizarding world, he decided to run to someplace he could get lost in. He beat dear old Voldie, he’d won the damned war for them, and all he got from it was fits from people who didn’t like how he did it…he should have used magic, not non-magical means and he certainly shouldn’t have used a snake to help…and proof of just how manipulative certain people had been in his life, which thankfully the goblins had helped him with after he proved to them he did not sign anything giving anyone means to form marriage and partnership contracts with anyone. Half the Weasley’s weren’t talking to him, and he was fine with that after finding out that Ginny had been feeding him love potions because he wasn’t responding the way she wanted and that Dumbledore had sold him off to her mom, essentially in trade for her pledging the aid of all her children to Dumbledore’s cause. He also didn’t appreciate that Dumbledore had promised Harry’s magic to the ministry in exchange for the ministry turning a blind eye to certain things Dumbledore had done…like sealing his parents wills with no authority to do so.

9) Severus Snape meets a Small Harry What If ----Harry PotterWIP one of like 8 with this name in my WIP folder. This one has a big harry and a small harry and is a bit dark

As Severus Snape watched over Flitwick’s classroom, full of Gryffindor third years, he cursed the fact that the quarantine of a house also included their head of house. He cursed the outbreak of – what was it…ah, yes… the Chicken Pox – some silly Muggle disease a first year had brought back with them after a family gathering during the short spring break which had spread through the Ravenclaws like a wildfire.

10) T and T Kurt....Glee WIP Just how did Kurt’s tiara collection get started?

Elizabeth Hummel looked around the dressing room area of the pageant and briefly contemplated her sanity…or lack of…in getting involved with it all. She was tired of the tantrums and whining and screaming done by both mothers and children. Luckily her child wasn’t involved in any of that. Her child was seated off to the side.

“Katerina Bates, please come stand by mummy.” Elizabeth called.

The child slid off the chair they were seated on and hopped over.

“Elli. Not Katerina.”

“Katerina today. You can be Elli tomorrow.”

Yeah....there were six other in that Kurtoberfest bunch being worked on, three other HP and three other CM fics..because I told myself I would finish a WIP this summer and my mind said NOPE, Will no concentrate on One. Nope Nope Nope.

Also wrote lines for beans for Clever Jack and the Magic Beanstalk because of course the magic beans needed a whole mini scene song and dance number to themselves...of course they did.

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rhodesmystery · 6 years ago

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Omgg I have so many questions abt Natasha but to begin with - 7,8, 16. 27 because I was always curious about her magic. And 29 - about that breakup... Sorry if it's too much and take as much time as you need, tbh I'd like to send you the whole list haha 🌸

YOU ARE TOO KIND and I am VERY embarrassed but thank you SO MUCH!!!!!!

7. Socioeconomic background – and how it affects their behaviour.

So, her family is pretty well off. Both sides. Her father’s side has sketchy kind of results of money, as no one can confirm or deny if they’re tied up with illegal business but they’re also involved with like advertising and music so who honestly knows. Natasha doesn’t question it, obviously, also because like the more she spends away from her dad and that home, it’s just not really her problem? At least that’s how she sees it (unfortunately). Does make travel easier for her though.

As for her mother’s side, the Urquhart family does well on their own, even without connections to other pureblood/halfblood families through marriages. The Urquhart family raises and trains Sainglens - which are slightly smaller Abraxans, with solid black coats similar to Friesians (I made them up for something ages ago but am still fond of them so they stay even though the idea doesnt count anymore lol). Even with like generous gifts from her grandparents on holidays and birthdays, Natasha was very comfortable.

In saying all that, it’s really obvious it does skew her kind of. Understanding. Of everything. Natasha can catch herself a lot before saying anything but sometimes it gets out. She can buy gifts, and eats well, dresses nice, in both muggle and wizard society. Can casually buy Charlie a new wand. She’s not quite that level of “what does one banana cost? $10?” but there are times when yeah, she lets the ball drop, and there’s a bit of ire. Money doesn’t buy her happiness, though. Aquila, her uncle, at least encourages regular donations and activities here and there to keep her grounded.

8. Their family house – how does it look like? What’s the interior like, is there garden outside? Trinkets, furniture, books?

The Rhodes family home consists of an apartment in Manhattan, that’s honestly a little isolating and cold, plus the family manor that’s outside the city limits, that is older than most people, and makes Natasha feel out of sorts. Both of her rooms in those places are actually surprisingly sparse, with the bare minimum of clothes, maybe a few plants, blue sheets on her bed. The walls have clear discolouration from posters being taken down, and some chips in the paint because of blutack.

The Urquhart manor is pretty much her home. Her room is bright yellow and open windows with a squishy old armchair in the corner that belonged to her great great grandmother. There’s a few bookcases shoved up against the walls, the red wood clashing with the white vanity sitting next to it, that’s covered in beaded jewellery and stickers and photos that are laughing and dancing. There’s a footstool that Natasha is pretty sure walks on it’s on when she’s not looking, and she’s got her posters there now, papering one whole wall. Stuff is hanging and there’s paper cranes flying around her ceiling and there’s so many little things to find, from the crystal ball to the little dog figurine to several brooms and exactly twelve pairs of odd socks lying on the ground.

16. What’s their taste like re: interior design, art, gadgets? If they have (had) money - antiques or modern design? Ikea or whatever? Art collecting, fashion, wine? Pokemon cards in the 90s?

Natasha is honestly pretty messy havoc with making things work if only because they have to exist. Her mother’s insistence on having minimalism didn’t take, because surprisingly it was her father who encouraged her to pick up and collect things, so she’s very fond of picking up rocks and feathers. As far as collecting goes… clothes, definitely. And magazines. Lots and lots of magazines.

27. MC’s magic – white, black or some shades of grey? Are they mainstream or do they push the envelope with niche stuff? Are they showy or subtle, systems oriented or intuitive? What’s their strong and weak points? Can they go wandless or wordless? Do they do tarot, divination or alchemy? NECROMANCY???

For the most part, Natasha has the white magic, except when its something like red sparks, of course. Very controlled and tight, however, with not overly large brushstrokes (thanks, Lyra). It works well for her, at least, because she isn’t throwing heaps of energy into her work either, so it gives her a little more stamina to work with too. Maybe it has her looking like she isn’t trying, which can be a serious downside when Natasha is seriously trying to duel, but people take it as her being slack.

Natasha likes the mainstream stuff, don’t get her wrong, but she completely has looked into other magics available. Whilst she’s not the most creative, or at least, not the most dedicated to creating, there have been a few spells made by her. Mostly in the form of waypoint stuff, just to help friends when exploring. Niche stuff that’s kind of whispered about, and she has delved into fancy hexes and jinxes that are frowned upon, especially some that were made by people unknown and just passed down through the years. Those are the showier magics though, the flashy bangs and noises that she gets into when she lets herself go. Which is why they’re very rare for her to perform, not because she can’t, but Natasha just hears her mother’s voice and disapproval.

She’s a strong dueller, by a long shot, with nice footwork and a good centre of balance. But she fights too tightly to her core. It can lead to her being exposed, especially if there is someone to defend. Suddenly having to throw out her barriers isn’t a strong suit, as Natasha has a long line of learning to defend number one, first. Not anyone else.

There are some things she can do wordlessly, but they’re more lower level charms. As for being wandless, she can’t do it. At all. Natasha relies on her wand like crazy as that focal point. If anything, the only thing she could potentially do wandless is legilimency, but that’s a stretch. I’ve said before that if someone is open with strong emotions, she can skim them, especially with eye contact. But when it’s the spell and actually directed vocally, it’s a helluva lot stronger. And divination runs through her blood. She jokingly makes up stuff to freak out Trelawny, but sometimes she’s honestly not wrong. On certain days it’s a sneaking suspicion. On others, a heavy dream that plays out part by part. Natasha tells only her great great grandmother, and no one else.

Don’t ask her to do potions. She’s absolutely shite at it. Charms and transfigurations are her strongest points, with defence against the dark arts pulling up the rear.

29. MC’s close people dynamics – it can be anything from aromantic soulmates to romantic dynamics, the special people for your MC and how these relationships change over time?

Bill is her life long nonromantic partner. Nothing will ever break them up. Ever. At one point, they joked about if they weren’t married by 30, they’d marry each other for tax benefits. Natasha is largely influenced by Bill, and doesn’t know who she would be without him. Even when Natasha seems to have disappeared from the world for a time, Bill always receives letters, updates. They keep in constant, almost regular, contact, and their letters are pages long, so that neither of them miss out on anything.

Penny is a very solid point of origin for Natasha. It might’ve taken a while for them to get to that point, but Penny is a hallmark in the history of Natasha. Since first meeting, it’s just been a solid friendship, with lots of tears and late nights and like Natasha is open with very few people, and even deeper again with others… but Penny knows her. They may mess around and Natasha might be her guinea pig for potions, but if you need to find out something about Natasha, where she is, what she’s doing? Penny. Find Penny.

Tulip is another unlikely friend. For the most part, they seem the opposites. Tulip comes across as the perfect, ambitious, conniving Slytherin, and Natasha the studious, wise, careful Ravenclaw. Tulip’s parents are law abiding, hard on everything, please follow suit. Natasha’s parents flaunt the law where they can, only encourage strictness when it comes to protecting oneself, but let Natasha grow.They have joked more than once that maybe they were switched at birth. They fit each other’s jigsaw pieces. Their rough edges match, forming a softness only they understand. They don’t really talk much, but honestly they don’t need to.

Talbott kind of influenced a shift in Natasha though. With him, not only did she awaken her animagus form, but it helped her reconcile a lot of her internal struggles with being in Slytherin, and who she should be as a person to her parents (especially so, when her form was that of a great eagle, which honestly broke her heart a lot more than she let on). Whilst they didn’t really solidify a friendship until later in their education, Natasha treasures Talbott. There might’ve always been a sneaking suspicion, of her telling herself to leap, but she doesn’t. Not that it stops them from being friends. Natasha made sure to friend Talbott hard.

And as for Charlie… it took a lot for them to get to a point, where they finally understood each other, and there wasn’t anymore confusion and stalled conversations and awkwardness. It took them breaking up more than once, going months without speaking, then spending a whirlwind six months together, but they got there. Charlie is her best friend, confidante, lover. Natasha doesn’t bother working out the math, of how they got from point a to point b, because it would be difficult to map out, let alone make people understand. Both her and Charlie are open, just as much as they are closed. Private people, who also crave a certain sort of company. And having to go from close quarter living, to their own spaces, letting themselves breathe, really helped. Might’ve helped them get level headed about what was actually happening, and how their lives crossed over.

#eldritchscreech #*replies #hphm #hogwarts mystery #jacob's sibling #*natasha #THIS GOT LONG LMFAO #SRY I GOT WORDY AND I MISSED THINGS BUT #YKNOW #WHATEVER #I'm very thankful for the opportunity THANK YOU #also can i just raise my hand and say #talbott..... boy i die #I'm too stuck on natasha to make a new mc #just bc it would be copy paste with a different name #but BOY I DIE

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xtruss · 4 years ago

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Feature

When Imran Khan Blew Me Away

Facing up to the legendary Pakistani allrounder in his prime took not a little courage

— MARK NICHOLAS | June 6, 2020

July 5th 1980, Hove. Damp weather had taken a turn for the better and play began on time in the Championship match between Sussex and Hampshire. Keith Stevenson, an honest outswing bowler who had joined Hampshire from Derbyshire a couple of seasons earlier, quickly removed Gehan Mendis and Tim Booth-Jones. The pitch was true and quite pacy; Hove was a fine place for county cricket. The folk in their deckchairs and straw hats muttered disapproval at the loss of two early wickets but rather perked up when Imran Khan made his way to the wicket at No. 4, a place higher than on the card. Floating behind the Pakistan allrounder were great clouds of charisma.

He wore the Sussex cap and from its band flowed the signature mane that rested upon the nape of his neck. The martlets on his sleeveless jumper appeared as if newly embroidered and occasionally, when the morning sun broke, shone like little blue sapphires on his chest. Imran Khan was some sight. Outrageously handsome, athletically built and light on his feet, he carried himself like an emperor. When he reached 15 or so, he closed the face of the bat too early on a little push to mid-on and the ball looped from the outside edge of his bat into the hands of the Hampshire left-arm spinner John Southern. It was a catch you would lob to a child. Southern dropped it.

We shall never know why, though clearly he took his eye of it. I was stationed at midwicket and watched in horror, as did our team from their various viewpoints around the field. Hampshire weren't much good that year and such pickings were rare. The deckchairs talked in whispered words of disbelief and relief. Southern pulled his jumper from the back of his neck over his head in order to cover his face. The moment was frozen in time: Southern the subject of shame, Hampshire's team the subject of ridicule, Imran the benefactor of hopelessness.

"As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport," says Gloucester in King Lear as he wanders on the heath after being blinded by Cornwall and Regan. The quotation reflects the profound despair that grips him and drives him to desire his own death. He suggests that there is no good order in the universe. Instead of divine justice, there is only the "sport" of vicious, inscrutable gods, who reward cruelty and delight in suffering.

We were Imran's sport that day all right. He made 114 high-class runs, hitting a six and 16 fours before racing up the hill in the final 40 minutes of the day to claim two wickets with fast inswingers that terrified the recipients, of whom I was one.

Let's deal with the hundred first. Imran's batting was methodical, a thing of planning and practice. He had little of a Pakistani's wristy flair, and none of the looseness that has sometimes characterised the Pakistan game. He was a dodgy runner between the wickets, probably because he called runs from his own vantage point and not with another person in mind; but he didn't run much, at least not in the way of a run-thief. That was about the only flaw. We missed one of those too, Imran stuck halfway down with Paul Phillipson and the throw ending up across the boundary beneath the scoreboard.

He did everything else with time to spare and most of it with elegance. He played very straight - like gun barrel - and moved himself efficiently into line before looking almost exclusively to hit the ball back from whence it came. I remember the six he hit because it was exactly how he hit sixes: a little shuffle of the feet towards the bowler - Southern again - and then a lovely free swing of the bat that sent the ball sailing into the deckchairs. They more than whispered at that - they chortled and poured a glass of pale ale. He was out caught on the boundary off our other spinner, Nigel Cowley. I guess he was bored. Imran's return to the pavilion was the journey of a Roman triumph.

Soon enough he was back out, stretching limbs and wheeling arms. He took the new ball with Garth Le Roux, hardly a slouch himself. The change bowlers were Geoff Arnold and Ian Greig. We were lambs to the slaughter. Imran almost always bowled up the Hove hill and Le Roux down it, which was the case on July 5th 1980.

I repeat, he was a sight - sprinting in, leaping into his delivery stride and unleashing hell. The sprint was short-stepped and reached a good pace before the jump that, in his pomp, set him side-on and close to the stumps at the point of delivery. His left arm worked hard both as a part of the jump and in the follow-through, which, unusually for a fast bowler, broke away to the left and off the pitch area almost immediately after releasing the ball.

From the years at Oxford University in the early 1970s, when he was a chest-on medium-pace inswing bowler, he developed into one of the most sensational and adaptable fast bowlers of all time. Imagine if he had played the large part of his career in England, say, or New Zealand, rather than on the burnt-out, grassless pitches of Pakistan. Imagine the wickets column then! A loose wrist perfectly positioned behind the ball allowed for inswingers that were his stock-in-trade; the outswingers that he developed with the changes to his action were the luxury

Now here he was at Hove, the Pathan warrior, waiting for me.

First he bounced out Tim Tremlett, a fine county bowler made makeshift opener for a while. Then he pawed at the ground as I took guard - the kid with the crazy dream versus Imran Khan, the greatest cricketer Pakistan has ever known. He whistled a couple past my nose at such pace and with such steep bounce that I barely offered to play beyond a trigger move back and across the crease and the pick-up of the bat. These balls hammered into the wicketkeeper's gloves at head height 25 yards behind me. Then, half-ducking, half-fending, I gloved one that ripped back at me and shot past leg gully down to long leg for a single. The blow sent a surge of electricity through my nervous system, but I was off the mark and away from "Immy".

The umpire at Imran's end was Barrie Meyer. "We haven't met, son, but if I had anything to offer, I'd say stay down this end. You've got a chance against big Garth because you can see the ball in the hand all the way through the run-up and delivery. With Immy, it's lost and then suddenly appears like a bullet from a gun. Good luck." Oh, right. Thanks.

Hove was the quickest pitch in England. As so often in sport, the legend outlives the facts, but the difference on this day and on this surface between our popgun and their heavy artillery was, well, ridiculous. Even I bowled four overs for goodness' sake, and they had Immy, Garth, Horse and Greigy.

There is a tale about me not wearing a helmet but that was a year later, in a Benson and Hedges Cup match. It was a gorgeous day, the pitch was flat - flat like batting heaven - and yes, I wore a sun hat, the Majid Khan-style hat with a wide brim and a hint of style. As I walked out at No. 3 I heard Imran at long leg shout to Garth, who was bowling, "Look Garth, no helmet." They bombed me until the shell shock dismantled me. In defence, helmets were not de rigeur; in fact, they were a choice you made each day, for each pitch or opponent.

On this day in 1980, I wore a helmet but had not worn one before and it was both cumbersome and tricky for sighting the ball - rather an important part of batting. The Perspex visor misted up - well, began to, but I wasn't there long enough for a blinding mist - and it extended a long way out from the face, so it was hard to tuck my chin into my left shoulder in my stance. Thus, I stood quite open, which would have been fine if I had practised that way, but in county cricket there was no time for practice, only play. Oh, and we had only a few helmets so they were shared around. I think mine was white, or blue, or green. I mean, please.

Anyway, Chris Smith sneaked a single off the second ball of Imran's next over and there I was, up the wrong end again. Looking back, it was a thrilling experience but at the time it quickly turned to humiliation. The gulf in standard was so big as to be dangerous. He got me out, of course he did. I nicked a bouncy thing around off stump and nearly shouted "Catch it!" to the keeper behind me. He dived to his right and did just that. I was immediately overcome with sadness at such inability. I was also embarrassed. Sitting in the dressing room, I welled up, reflecting on the truth that I wasn't good enough. It rained for most of the rest of the match, so there was no repeat or redemption.

Eight months later I had a phone call at home from Keith Fletcher. Didn't know him from a bar of soap but was mighty intrigued that he was on the end of the line. He asked me to come with an "England" side to play three matches against a combined India-Pakistan team in Dubai and Bahrain.

I roomed with Basil D'Oliveira, stood at cover for John Snow, and batted with Fletch and Graham Roope among others. Imran bowled a little below Hove pace in a football stadium on a matting pitch under floodlights. I was Man-of-the-Match and Immy, as I suddenly knew him, was friendly and complimentary at the reception that evening. I have been a fan ever since.

I first saw him live in 1979 at the Sydney Cricket Ground during World Series Cricket. By then he was really quick, and with Le Roux, Mike Procter and Clive Rice formed an attack good enough to beat Ian Chappell's Australians in the Supertest final. The cricketers all seemed so glamorous and we came to "see the white ball fly", as went the advertising slogans. Barry Richards made the hundred that saw the Rest of the World XI over the line and a new order of cricketing heroes emerged through the prism of rebellion.

Kerry Packer's astonishing raid on the game had seen most of the world's best players desert the established corridors and sign on to play in the closest thing cricket has ever seen to a rock 'n roll circus. It was a seminal moment, as big in sporting terms as the Beatles and as much fun as the record that changed the look and feel of the seventies, David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust. We watched open-mouthed as the Chappells, Rod Marsh and Dennis Lillee; Viv Richards, Clive Lloyd and Michael Holding; Barry Richards, Procter, Rice, Le Roux, Imran, Asif Iqbal, Derek Underwood and Tony Greig played with a white ball under lights, dressed in tight, coloured clothes with bell- bottom trousers and butterfly collars. These guys were Kerry's band, and boy, could they play guitar. Of them all, Viv and Immy shone brightest and played loudest. There was something of Hollywood in them both and the same aura remains to this day.

Imran (standing second from right) with the likes of Glenn Turner and Basil D'Oliveira in a Worcestershire line-up in 1973 © Bob Thomas/Getty Images

My next encounter with Imran was at the old Northlands Road Ground in Southampton in 1987. Hampshire were playing Pakistan in a warm-up game before the last Test and Imran came for a bat but not much else. In fact, he sent Mudassar Nazar, I think, to toss the coin, having hung around at the team hotel himself until the order of the game was decided and then cruised in at No. 7 for a hit late in the afternoon. He made 40-odd and didn't appear again until the third morning, when I suggested a declaration that would set up a lively day for the good crowd. We stood outside the club office, in front of an audience of spectators having an increasingly heated debate. He wanted practice for his team prior to securing what became a fabulous series win over England; I wanted a bit of enterprise and a run chase. I said he had a duty to the game, he said he had a duty to his team. He called me an arrogant public schoolboy, I said it took arrogance to know arrogance, and to and fro we went, like spoilt kids. The game fizzled out but within a few days Pakistan made 708 batting first at The Oval - Immy made 118 of them, Javed Miandad 260 - to end any hope England had of levelling the series, and, I guess, fully justifying the game plan at Southampton!

You could argue he was just a bit too cool for school during that match but Imran has always seen the bigger picture. He was an exceptional leader of men on the cricket field and has gone on to achieve the ambition most thought impossible, the leadership of Pakistan off the field. Of the myriad gifts, his greatest may be the way he holds it together under pressure. This is achieved through both resilience and self-belief; single-mindedness and desire. No one in cricket worked harder at being good. Imran's discipline and unwavering commitment were a locked-in motivation to those around him.

Of course, the 1992 World Cup was a crowning glory - a day for the ages - and provided the platform for another remarkable achievement. "In the speech, after we won the Cup, my mind was entirely focused on the hospital and I forgot to thank the team members who had put so much effort in the game," he has said since. Imran opened the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital and Research Centre in Lahore in 1994. His mother, who was a cancer patient, had inspired it, and his speech that day at the Melbourne Cricket Ground will live with us always. He set up a second cancer hospital in Peshawar in 2015.

His route to becoming prime minister has at times been tortuous, needing both courage and persistence in the arguments for what he fundamentally believes is right. He is seen as populist: he pursues Islamic values, to which he rededicated himself in the early 1990s, and liberal economics in the creation of a welfare state. He favours clear and stringent anti-corruption laws and an anti-militant vision for a democratic Pakistan. In short, he is on another mission.

By the age of 30, Imran Khan was a cricketing god. At the age of 67, his real work appears only to have just begun. For those of us besotted by his deeds with bat and ball, we can for now reflect on a fantastic cricketer whose 362 Test wickets at 22.81 each and 3807 runs at 37.69 per innings put him alongside the greatest match-winners to have played the game. When choosing his favourite all-time team, Richie Benaud picked Imran at No. 7. For the record, here is that team - Hobbs, Gavaskar, Bradman, Tendulkar, Viv Richards, Sobers, Gilchrist, Imran Khan, Warne, Lillee, SF Barnes.

Enough said.

Mark Nicholas, the former Hampshire captain, is a TV and radio presenter and commentator

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