#my insurance agent says it’s fine

[sakanoshitaa]

banging my head against the fuckin g wall

[mischievousmoony]

𝚑𝚊𝚢𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢

⟢ james potter x fem!reader

⟢ summary: you have trouble sleeping when you unexpectedly have to share a bed with james on your holiday . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁3.5k

⟢ warnings/tags: one bed trope, bit of wolfstar, fluffy, nervous!reader

⟢ requested

⟢ masterlist

note: love me some out of touch with money sirius and james

"Oh! I see it now! Your booking is for this date!"

"Perfect." James lets out a sigh of relief.

"Next year." The desk agent adds after a rather cruel pause.

All eyes fall on James, the one you all left in charge of planning your getaway. A decision that feels idiotic now.

James looks like he is trying very hard to not meet at your piercing gazes, as if any of you might have summoned the power to turn him to stone.

"Is it?" James' voice is strained as he speaks, "Okay, my fault, my fault. Honest mistake. I'm sure this happens all the time, yeah?"

"Not really." The desk agent says, a hint of judgement in her tone.

James, with his lips pressed into a flat line and eyes squinted, is failing very hard at not looking peeved at her.

"We should've let Rem do the planning," Sirius says through a yawn, letting his head fall on Remus' shoulder. It was already very late when you arrived at the hotel, and all four of you just wanted to crash in a warm bed. Remus slung his arm around Sirius' shoulders, rubbing his arm as a comfort.

Meanwhile, you shift your footing as you move your heavy bag from one shoulder to the other, your impatience and fatigue clearly growing.

James paid Sirius’ comment no mind, his attention all on you as eyes flick your way when he notices your discomfort in his peripheral vision. Wordlessly, he takes your bag off your arm and slings it over his own.

"We can fix this, can't we?" James asks, "Can we move that booking to today?"

"We don't do that for bookings that didn't pay the insurance fee, and it says here that you didn't pay the insurance fee. That also means the trip is non-refundable as well."

"Okay!” James feels an eye twitch coming on, “Fine, what rooms aren't booked? We'll just book new rooms, no big deal," James' says, his own growing impatience evident in his tone. He pulls a credit card from his wallet and taps it restlessly on the stone counter.

You and Remus stand there wide eyed, about to protest, while Sirius begins to look for his own wallet. James waves Sirius off and reassures you and Remus with an "I've got it."

The desk agent ignores the slight commotion as she reads from her screen, "Well, you're in luck. We have two queen rooms left."

"Wait," you interject, "Queen rooms? Because one of them needs to be a double."

"Those are the last rooms available." She confirms.

"Well, is there a pull-out sofa in either of them? A regular sofa? Anything?" You ask, desperation growing as the agent shakes her head at all of your suggestions, "A cot we can roll into the room even?"

"We ran out," she says, tone laced with faux sympathy.

"Well, one bed is fine with us, obviously," Sirius smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. Yet again, he is ignored. Well, not by Remus, who squeezes his shoulder.

James faces you and puts a gentle hand on your arm, "Hey, it'll be fine. We'll figure it out when we get up there, yeah?"

You sigh, but digress with a simple nod.

As soon as James says "We'll take them" the agent is listing off the price for the rooms for the duration of your stay.

"Wait, wait, wait!" James tries to stop her.

You jaw goes slack, "What?"

"Sorry?" tumbles from Remus' lips at the same time.

Sirius is the only one who looks unbothered, his eyes flicking between you and Remus as he asks, "Is that supposed to be a lot?"

"That's wildly more expensive than what we paid originally,” you protest. "The old price is only worth one night of this new price!"

"Oh, I remember why we didn't let Moony do the booking," Sirius comments, and the reason for the price difference suddenly dawns on you.

James looks at you with a sheepish grin as the wheels turn in your head. James and Sirius clearly took the brunt of the expenses, letting you and Remus only pay your share for a single night, passing it off as the full price.

"James!" You ridicule.

"We wanted you guys to be able to stay somewhere nice for once!" He defends stridently.

"First of all, offensive. And second of all, there are nice hotels that don't cost over a thousand dollars a night!"

"It's endearing that you think that's a lot for two rooms."

"Once again, offensive!"

"So, will you be taking the rooms?" The agent interjects.

James doesn't break eye contact with you, his lips molding into a cheeky grin as he slides his credit card across the desk, "Yes, we will."

When you reach the room, the site of the single bed makes you huff indignantly, but you had to admit that the room was pretty nice. And just by looking at the bed you could tell it's comfortable.

"They could have totally fit a couch in here," you take notice of how spacious the room is. "Five hundred dollar rooms should come with couches. You're getting scammed, James."

James chuckles as he places both of your bags on the floor.

"We have a desk," he says as if it's helpful, "a TV, wardrobe..."

"None of which are particularly useful right now," you comment.

James shrugs, approaching the inviting bed. He starts picking up pillows and dropping them on the floor.

"What are you doing?" you ask, moving to stand next to him.

"Makin' a place to sleep," he answers.

"No! No way, you're not sleeping on the floor!" you protest.

"You made it pretty clear you wanted separate places to sleep," James says.

"Well yes, but you should have the bed. I feel bad enough as it is that you've paid for this whole thing twice, I couldn't live with myself if I let you sleep on the floor."

"And I'm too much of a gentleman to let a lady sleep on the floor," he says as he lowers himself to the ground, laying his head on the pillows, "I've always been partial to a firm bed anyway."

"James! No way!"

"Listen, the only way I'm sleeping in that bed is if we both are, otherwise-"

"Fine,” you say sharply.

"Wait, what?"

You put your hands on your hips, "I said fine! But keep those pillows on your side, you've tainted them with the floor."

James watches as you saunter off to the bathroom, retrieving your toothbrush and pajamas from your bag on your way. The whole time, he remained on the floor, too stunned to move.

Of course, when James heard there would only be one bed, he was secretly a little excited, which may or may not have to do with the little (not so little) crush he has on you. But when you expressed concern over the situation, he knew immediately that he'd be sleeping on the floor, and sharing a bed with you would have to remain a lovely little dream. When he suggested otherwise just now, it was just banter and a way to get you to agree to him sleeping on the floor. He didn't actually mean it. But then you said fine.

James' fingertips fiddle with the fibers of the carpet as he contemplates this, still lying on the floor. He replays the moment in his head, checking his memory for your tone. Did you sound annoyed? Uncomfortable? James really does not want to make you uncomfortable. Even the possibility that he has makes him want to punch himself.

You were suddenly standing over James again in a fresh set of pajamas, "Why are you still on the floor?"

"You meant it?" The words tumble from James' mouth as if they were one.

“Yes, James, I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor.”

“But are you okay with it?” James clarified.

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t gonna be uncomfortable for you? You were really concerned about the prospect of sharing a bed. If this is gonna make you uncomfortable, well, I’d rather beg Sirius and Remus to let me sleep on the foot of their bed like a dog.”

You chuckle at the image of James curled up by Remus and Sirius’ feet.

“Yes, James. I’m okay with it. What would make me feel uncomfortable is you sleeping on the floor whilst I’m alone in a bed big enough for two. Honest.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Now would you please get up from the floor?”

James sticks his hands up like a child, wiggling his fingers at you. You roll your eyes, but the way your lips curl up at the corners reveal you’re not truly annoyed with him.

You grab hold of James’ hands and heave him up, stumbling back a bit once you’ve got him upright. James helps steady you before he goes off to get ready for bed.

Meanwhile, you begin to tuck under the covers.

Lying in a bed has never felt so unnatural. You try fluffing the pillows, lying on either side and your stomach before returning to your back, taking the covers off of one leg then putting them back on—nothing feels right.

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t the bed that was the problem but rather your nerves. The reason you were originally so concerned about having to sleep in the same bed as James is your little (not so little) crush on the boy. Just thinking about it made your heart race and you were sure you wouldn’t survive the night. You couldn’t even believe it was really happening until James pads back into the room from the bathroom and begins to join you.

You watch as he picks the pillows up from the floor, brushes them off, and places them back on the bed. Your body stiffens when he climbs in after them.

James is getting under the covers when he freezes, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes, James. If I start to not be okay with it I promise I’ll kick you out.” You were lying but apparently it was convincing enough for James to resume settling into the bed.

Before completely settling in, James reaches towards the switch for the lamp. He pauses as he asks, ��Ready for lights out?”

“Mhm,” you hum, too afraid to speak in case your voice might be high pitched and riddled with nerves.

With your confirmation, James hits the switch and you’re engulfed in darkness.

Your eyes screw shut as you feel the bed creak and shift while James gets comfortable. When he stops, you feel the hairs stick up on the back of your neck.

You open your eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness before you strain them by attempting to look at James without moving your neck. You can just barely see the position he’s chosen.

“Are you-? Are you facing me?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you maybe not?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah sorry.”

You feel the bed creak again one final time as James settles down on his back.

Upon some reflection, James realizes it is probably weird to face the person you’re platonically sharing a bed with. He just couldn’t help it. In his fantasies, you’d both face each other and have hushed conversations that would keep you up late. You’d be laughing and giggling with each other through the night, scooting closer as you did, until you found yourselves drifting off in each other’s arms.

Instead, you both lay stiffly on your backs, as close to your respective edges of the bed as you could get. It’s not James’ ideal situation, but he’s giddy nonetheless, craning his neck to steal glances at you often until he falls asleep.

You assume James is a restless sleeper, not thinking anything else of the way his head keeps moving back and forth, making shuffling noises against his pillow.

When there hasn’t been any shuffling noises for a few minutes, you let out a breath you’d been holding back. You didn’t want to make any noise at all while James was still awake, as if that would make it seem like you weren’t there at all.

Now that James is asleep and can no longer perceive you, you let your stiff muscles relax into the mattress and take a deep breath. You try to close your eyes and drift off, but they frustratingly shoot open a few moments later. Sleep would not be possible so long as your heart keeps beating the way that it does.

You look at James through the corner of your eyes, noticing the way his chest rises and falls steadily. You try to match his breaths, convinced that if you breathe like a sleeping person you’ll be able to fall asleep to.

Unfortunately, it was useless. Nothing could soothe the knots in your stomach, nor dull the sensation of James’ presence burning like a steady flame at your side. You’ll have to just accept it—so long as the boy of your dreams is next to you, you won’t be getting much sleep.

By the third day of your trip, your exhaustion was painfully obvious.

On the first, you were yawning all day, but you were able to brush it off as no big deal.

The second day you fell asleep on the beach the moment your back hit the sandy towel. Sirius and Remus had to endure all of James' fussing over the fact that you could get sunburnt. When James was spraying aerosol sunscreen over you, both concerned that you hadn't reapplied yet and wanting to let you sleep, the wind blew the spray right into Sirius' face. He snatched the t-shirt you were using to cover your face from the sun at once, startling you awake with a shout that it was time to reapply.

Today, day three, is a pool day, and you were nearly drifting off again. This time, it was happening while you’re in the water, your head resting atop your folded arms that drape over the pool's edge.

James is watching you carefully from his spot on a pool chair, making sure you didn’t actually fall asleep in the water. His concern for your safety and need to rest clashing yet again.

Sirius and Remus join James in adjacent pool chairs with drinks from the hotel’s Tiki Bar, but James pays them no mind as they sit down.

“Alright, James?” Remus asks.

“Yeah,” James responds, not taking his eyes off you.

“You seem tense.” Remus points out, “You do know we’re on vacation, right?”

“I’m worried that if I look away she’ll fall asleep and drown.” James voices his concerns.

“Eh, but if you let her you'll get to give her mouth to mouth,” Sirius jokes, and he’s the only one who laughs at it. Though, Remus does give into an amused head shake.

“Why’s she been so tired anyway?” Remus asks.

“Dunno,” James replies, “I don’t think she sleeps much. Every morning I wake up she’s already up and out of the bed, ready for the day.”

“How is the single bed life treating you?” Sirius teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

James purses his lips, “It’s… not exactly how I pictured it.”

“Ooh and how’d you picture it?” Sirius asks suggestively, earning a slap on the arm from Remus.

��I may have been holding out hope for the morning we’d wake up wrapped up in each other’s arms. Or the night where we’d stay up talking and we’d scooch closer and closer until we couldn’t deny the tension between us anymore and we’d kiss and fireworks would go off outside our window.”

“Oh. Wow.” Remus’ comments when James concludes his wistful rambles, finding them to be... interesting.

“Quite the hopeless romantic, are you?” Sirius teases.

James sighs, frowning, “Wanna know what happens instead? We lay stiff as boards, as far apart as possible, staring at the ceiling in silence until I fall asleep. No late night chats and no surprise morning cuddles.”

What James doesn't know that you have woken up curled up against him, his arms comfortably at around your waist, holding you flush against his side. It happened after the first night, and you quickly but carefully peeled yourself out of the bed the minute you came to. The possibility of that happening again and James being the one to wake up first terrified you, making it that much harder for you to get sleep at night. When you did sleep, it was extremely lightly, and you often woke up constantly to make sure you hadn’t accidentally drifted over to his side of the bed.

Remus squints at James, finding his longing quite painful to watch. James should just talk to you, Remus thinks.

"She looks like she's really dozing off, now," Remus says to help him along.

James' spine straightens with alarm, "You think!?" he asks, standing at once to jog to your rescue.

When you hear James' feet pad against the ground, you look up, eliciting a sigh of relief from him.

"Hey," he said softly as he slows his approach, "you're scaring me, over here."

"Scaring you?"

James sits on the edge of the pool next to you, letting his legs dip into the water, "This just isn't the safest place for you to fall asleep."

"I'm not falling asleep," you protest, but a yawn betrays you.

James shakes his head, light chuckles falling from his lips. When he settles with a sigh, he says, "You're exhausted, love. Can I ask what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," you say, your eyebrows twitching together in confusion.

"Then why aren't you sleeping at night?" James' lips tug down in the corners.

"I am sleeping," you insist softly.

"Not enough, clearly. What is it? I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I? Because you can still kick me to the curb."

"No, I'm not uncomfortable, James," you look away from him bashfully. You really wish James wouldn't pry about this, you had no excuse, besides your feelings for him, which is one you definitely couldn't use. You chew your lip as you attempt to think of another.

James raises an eyebrow at your behavior, "You're certainly acting uncomfortable. Did I do something wrong?" His tone is dejected, like he's sad that you don't feel at ease around him.

You feel bad instantly, not wanting to be the cause of his low spirits. Your head snaps to look at him, "No! It's not that!"

"Then what?" James shakes his head. He studies you, trying to determine what could possibly be wrong. His eyes bore into yours and you feel yourself instinctively shrinking away from him. Your fingers start to fiddle with the string bracelet that you're wearing, arms still resting on the edge of the pool, though you have stood up straighter now.

His features smooth over in realization as he notices your behavior isn't exactly coming from a place of discomfort, although, he was close.

"Oh. You're nervous around me, aren't you?"

"What!? Of course not," you say quickly, yet your head dips down and you won't meet his gaze once again.

James decides to test the theory. He pushes himself up with the heels of his palms and lowers himself into the pool next to you. He stands in the water, close enough for his chest to lightly brush against your arm.

His voice is low when he speaks, "Look at me."

You barely move your head, just enough to see him comfortable if you look through the corner of your eyes. James' hand settles under your chin to guide your head the rest of the way. His gaze feels scrutinizing, and James catches the way you chew on the inside of your cheek.

"You're absolutely nervous," he decides, and there's a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "Why?"

"It's like you're trying to make me uncomfortable. Do you want to sleep on the floor or something?"

"No, I just want to sleep with you," he blurts without thinking.

You veer back from him and his hands immediately fly up in surrender.

James, suddenly the more flustered one of the two of you, speaks frantically, "Not like–! I didn't mean it like that!"

"And how exactly did you mean it?" you ask, taken completely aback.

"I want to hold you. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms," he rambles, "I- I want to be with you, god, I like you."

You're shocked into silence. James' eyes desperately dart across your features, looking for any kind of reaction or sign.

Once he starts looking a little hopeless the words are ripped from your throat, "I like you too. I want all of that too."

James puffs out a breath in disbelief. His lips begin to tug up into a mischievous grin, his hand finding solace on the bare skin of your lower back below the water.

"And if I said I want to kiss you?" he asks quietly.

You swallow your nerves, "I'd say I want that too."

James' free hand finds the back of your head in an instant, using the leverage to pull you into him as he laces his fingers through your hair.

Later that night, James is the one who doesn't get much sleep, too giddy over the fact that he finally gets to hold you.

[maculategiraffe]

can y'all believe I actually did turn out to have perfectly valid homeowners insurance. I was convinced that I would have like. accidentally forgotten to pay for it, or accidentally paid regular premiums but for the wrong house, or something. or picked an insurance company that quietly went bankrupt last month. or not read the fine print that said my policy would cover all damage except when it is caused by a tree from a clear blue sky. no all my documents are in order and the insurance agent says I can still declare the evil curtains non salvage if I feel like it and he won't narc on me

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by...

- kingsofeverything -

[1]

“It wouldn’t annoy me. I like talking to you. Hearing from you. You know that.”

Louis does know, though he tries not to think about it. Every time Harry says something like that, something kind or sweet or sincere, Louis laughs it off or makes a joke or changes the subject. It’s bad enough that he has to live with Harry, sleep beside him every night, spend all of his time with him… He has to fight it because he can’t let on how easy it would be to fall back in love with him.

It’d end badly. There’s no way around it. Because when Louis leaves in nine months, he’ll be gone for the next five years of Harry’s life. Five years that Harry hasn’t lived yet—Harry’s future—and neither of them know what’s coming. Louis can’t fall for Harry again when he knows it’ll end in heartbreak.

Once was enough.

[2]

“So, um…” Louis taps his fingers against his knee, and Harry wants to lay his hand on top of Louis’ to stop him, but he refrains, unsure what casual touches mean between them anymore. “We’re having a baby?”

Harry turns to find Louis looking at him hopefully, eyes wide. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. “It’s not a fantasy, Louis. Jesus. This isn’t a game.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry says. He clenches his jaw and then forces himself to relax. Stress isn’t good for the baby.

“Harry, I’m not— I know this is different.”

“Do you?” Harry asks, because it doesn’t even seem real to him right now.

“Yes! I told you about all my siblings. My mom’s a midwife, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry cringes. “Sorry.”

[3]

“You think you’re going to fix the house by yourself? What if you fall off the roof?”

“I’m not going to fall off the roof.”

“Still. You can’t. I’m not okay with that.”

Harry rolls his eyes and closes his laptop. “Fine. Then after the insurance agent is done with their shit, we get someone else to do the work. I know people in town who can do it. I was just trying to save us money.”

“You misunderstand, Styles. I mean I’m not okay with you doing it by yourself.” Louis crosses his arms and smirks. “I’m going to help.”

Harry laughs so hard that when Louis shoves him he actually slips off of his stool and stumbles a bit. “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. You’re going to push me off the roof, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

[4]

Harry glances over, line between his eyebrows, lips pursed. “Okay. Let's start simple. I want you to be the Louis who sits at the desk across from me and sometimes brings me coffee and makes fun of my favorite salad. And I want you to also be the Louis on this trip who tickled me until I almost threw up and who held my hand in a hot air balloon and who cleaned the sand out of my eyes. And, even though you have, like, some other guy out there with like ‘circumstances’ or whatever keeping you apart, I want you to be my boyfriend. At least for a little while.”

“Harold,” Louis says, pressing his fist to his lips and closing his eyes as the feeling of relief settles over him.

“What?”

“The circumstances are that he, well, he had a boyfriend. And we work together,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows, and waiting for his words to sink in. 

“Oh…” Harry scrunches his nose and twists his lips, but can’t hide his smile. “It’s me.”

- answers below -

1- The Second Hand Unwinds 

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

2- Say Something

At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn't interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life.

Twenty-eight-year-old Alpha Louis Tomlinson aims to change that.

3- Don't Want Shelter

Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago…

When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

During the storm, and in the months after, they’re both forced to reevaluate their history and what they mean to each other.

4- Have Love, Will Travel 

Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series.

It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there’s something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

[frostedpuffs]

RECAP OF MY DAY:

got a flat tire on the way to work

i have a spare!

i do not know how to change a tire.

youtube it!

i do not have a car jack.

i just bought these damn tires 2 days ago

angry.

call boss and say i got a flat. boss asks "when can you come in"

i don't fucking know

boss angry.

cry

at least it happened close to a dunkin. i got iced coffee.

my tummy hurts.

call my insurance. apparently i do not have roadside assistance. i could also not add roadside assistance to my account today because it is a sunday and my agent's office is closed. will have to pay out of pocket for any help

how much is help? $95 to have someone come out to put my spare on

no thank you.

call family members. all busy

call friends. all busy

all of my coworkers are at work because it is a sunday, which is full staff day

finally call mom. mom is very angry about being woken up but begrudgingly comes to meet me anyway. she tries to get her insurance company to help

no help

mom decides to call the POLICE STATION???? HUH????????

for some reason they send a cop out. he cannot get the flat tire off since it is screwed on so tight.

begrudgingly i pay for the $95 tire assistance

RANDOM KIND STRANGER OFFERS TO GO HOME AND GET HIS CAR JACK AND POWER TOOLS!

cancel the roadside assistance! get my money back!

stranger puts the spare tire on!

the spare tire is almost flat.

i leave, turn my hazards on, and make it to the nearest gas station to put air in the spare

out of order.

cry

make it to the next gas station

get air in tire

the spare tire has a hole and doesn't hold air

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

call my insurance to see how much they charge to tow

$150

no thank you

the mechanic i got my tires from is a mile away. i have a warranty on the tires

I DRIVE WITH A FLAT TIRE TO THE MECHANIC BECAUSE I HAVE NO OTHER OPTIONS

get a different tire. everything is fine

get to work

everything at work goes wrong. it is so busy. a client yells at me a lot

find out a coworker I've been nothing but nice to has been talking mad shit about me and spreading rumors about things that are untrue

angry.

get out of work late

decide to order myself pizza and a salad to make up for the shit day

get home and realize they got my order wrong

[hoffstrap-yuri]

For Sickness and in Health (Insurance)

ao3 // masterlist

*SUMMARY: Agent Strahm was by the book when it came to solving cases. Being honest about his marital status was a different story entirely.

*RATING: +18 for Explicit Mature Content

*CONTENT/TAGS: M/M, Hoffstrahm, Coffinshipping, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Fake Marriage/Dating, Fake Relationship, Eventual Smut, Alternate Universe

*STATUS: Chapter 1/2

Author's Note: Second chapter of this fic can be found here! Woo my first MLM saw fic, it's only fitting it'd be coffinshipping. Huge thanks to @cubestrahm for helping me stay motivated on this project, and come up with an ending for it <3

There was an eerie silence in the air. Hoffman was in the middle of his daily crossword puzzle, scratching his head at what possibly could be the answer for 5 down. Strahm took a glance at the desk across from him before clearing his throat. When Hoffman didn’t look up the first time, he cleared it again with more phlegm coming up.

“Do you need something, special agent?” Hoffman finally looked up from his crossword. To say he was mildly annoyed by the other middle aged man would be an understatement. Unless he had the answer to 23 across, Hoffman didn’t want to hear a damn word come from his mouth.

Strahm took a deep breath before he said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Ask Perez.” Hoffman replied, turning his eyes back down to the paper in front of him

“Would if I could, believe me.” Strahm propped his head up against his fingers, “See… I need you to.”

“Yeah?” Hoffman raised an eyebrow, bringing his coffee cup up to his lips. He started to take a sip when Strahm said maybe the most outlandish thing that Mark had ever heard in his life,

“I need you to pretend to be my wife.”

Hoffman spit out his coffee, droplets making it onto Strahm’s crisp white shirt across the two desks.

“Agent Strahm, are you high?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell are you smoking,” Hoffman sputtered as he kept trying to string words together. Something to make a coherent sentence. “Are you insa… Actually, I’ve seen the footage of your interview with Jill Tuck. I know you’re insane. Why would I even entertain this idea, Special Agent?”

“You get better insurance?” Strahm shut his eyes, hoping that the offer of a better plan would be enough to entice the man before him. There was a pause in their banter. Peter couldn’t believe that Mark would actually even consider this.

“Does the plan include dental?”

“Wait you don’t get dental?”

“I do.” Hoffman scoffed, “But I have a ridiculous co-pay. What’s yours look like?”

“500.”

“… Fine. What do you need from me?”

“Just come with me to DC. We’ll talk to an HR person for an hour, get the paperwork sorted out, and we both get better insurance.”

“I can do that.”

“Alright.” Strahm said with a heavy sigh of relief. He was still quiet around Hoffman the next couple of minutes until Perez came back from lunch. Naturally, Strahm turned his back away from the other man to talk to his partner. Hoffman pulled a straw wrapper off the side of his desk he’d been meaning to throw out anyway, crumpled it up, and threw it at the back of Strahm’s head. When Strahm turned around to see whether something had actually hit him, Mark played coy. Almost too coy. Strahm raised an eyebrow at him, trying to goad him into a confession. Other, weaker, men would have folded under the gaze of the man with immaculate eyelashes, but Mark was stronger than that. Or so he thought at the very least. Mark leaned forward on his desk and rested his head on his fists, inviting some kind of challenge from the agent. As Strahm opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, he thought long and hard whether a fight right now was worth it. He zipped his own lips back up and turned back around to talk with Perez.

‘Did she know?’ Mark wondered to himself, ‘About Strahm’s stupid little plan?’

Strahm massaged the wedding band on his finger, as if a sign to Hoffman that he heard his thoughts. That Lindsay was in on the whole scam too. She had to know… He shook his head and tried to clear the thought from his head. Maybe Hoffman was the one really getting scammed.

---

“Nice ride.” Hoffman slung his bag over his shoulder, looking at the car behind Strahm parked in Hoffman’s driveway.

“Shut up.”

“First road trip…”

“Don’t.” Strahm pointed at his partner in crime, “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Aw, afraid you’re gonna like hearing the words ‘newlyweds’ come from my mouth?” Hoffman got up in Strahm’s face. Strahm’s lips were mere inches from brushing up against Hoffman. He felt the tickle of a sharp inhale from the detective’s nose and the heavy sigh when the air came back up along his upper lip. Peter turned his head away so he didn’t have to look into Mark’s eyes. He turned on the back of his heels and opened up the trunk for Mark to put his bag inside of. Mark plopped his bag down next to what he assumed was Strahm’s overnight bag before attempting to open the back passenger side door.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Strahm asked, sticking his head out of his window

“Sitting in the back, idiot. What does it look like I’m doing?” Mark wriggled the handle some more

“Why the hell would you sit back there?”

“So I can get some sleep.”

“And make me feel like a damn taxi driver; I don’t fucking think so. Sit up here.”

“Fine.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and got into the seat across from Strahm. He crams himself in before feeling up the seat to find the height adjuster. He pushed it as far back as it would go and crossed his legs before pressing his weight up against the car door.

“Here, grab the directions from the glove compartment.” Strahm said. He wrapped an arm around the headrest of Hoffman’s seat as he backed up from the driveway. Hoffman handed him the three sheets of paper folded into threes. Before handing it off however, he took a peek under the fold to see where the MapQuest directions lead to. Some two-star hotel on the DC-Maryland border. Not that Hoffman had any right to complain about the lodging, but he wondered if the accommodations were coming from the FBI or Strahm’s wallet.

“Take a left here. It’ll be faster and it’s easier to get on the turnpike.” Hoffman pointed up a couple of blocks ahead of them. Strahm gave him an apprehensive look before following the instructions the other man gave him. “Nice smooth merge instead of fighting.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Take it you don’t go home much? Or am I not good enough to bring home to mom?” Hoffman asked as he handed the papers off finally.

“What are you on about now?”

“Why aren’t you taking me to your place?”

“My place?” Strahm looked at him, more confused than ever

“In DC.”

With a sharp inhale Strahm asked, “Do you think every FBI agent is based out of Washington DC? Are you really that stupid, Detective?”

“Maybe I am.” Hoffman shrugged nonchalantly. Was Hoffman trying to scam him, even now? A blood vessel was popping on the edge of Strahm’s forehead and he could feel it. That seemed to make Hoffman’s lips curl at the ends ever so deviously. So it was all a fucking joke. “What’s the plan?”

“What?” Strahm’s attention returned in that moment.

“When we get to DC, smart ass.”

“Go to sleep. Get up in the morning, go to the office, and get this done. We’ll be home by tomorrow night.”

“How punctual.” Hoffman purred. “Did you bring something for me to wear?”

“No, why the hell would I do that?” Strahm asked.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you, this was your plan. I thought you asked me because you had something already.” Hoffman sat up in his seat, giving the other man a dumbfounded look

“I asked because you’re the only one not in the registry like Perez is. I mean why the hell wouldn’t you go out and buy a cheap dress or something after I told you about this?”

Hoffman just sighed before realizing the implication of this. “So guess that means you have to take me shopping.”

“What you want to go to the National Mall for that, dumb ass?”

“And if I do?” Hoffman smirked. He was clearly enjoying himself far too much. On the other hand, it took every bone in Strahm’s body to keep the two of them from careening off the highway and into the Atlantic ocean. Most of the car ride was in silence after that. Mark would occasionally peer out the window when they crossed a river, making it damn near impossible for him to get his planned nap in during the drive. Like that, they were pulling up into the parking lot of their hotel. Strahm left the car on while he checked in, and made a motion out to Hoffman when they were all set. Strahm walked back out to the car and sat in the driver’s seat before looking behind him.

“Where are we going?”

“To go shopping.” Strahm said with a sigh.

---

“Where to first?” Hoffman asked, stepping out of the car. Strahm hadn’t allowed for any stops on their way down south, so getting out to stretch was completely out of the question. Now that he was free, Hoffman lifted his arms over his head and let out a yawn. Strahm shot him a look before saying,

“It was only three hours, you don’t need to be so dramatic.”

“It was four.” Hoffman corrected him. Strahm just rolled his eyes and locked his car, walking away from the verbal conflict.

“Let’s go find you a dress first.” Strahm said in a hushed voice. Not that there was anyone else in the garage, but if there was he was worried someone would hear the two male voices.

“Does it have to be a dress? Or do you just want to emasculate me?” Hoffman growled slightly.

“There’s no way you’d fit in a woman’s suit.” Strahm stated, as if it was common knowledge. “And this is the FBI, you have to look halfway decent.”

“Your wish is my command, hubby.” Hoffman slapped on the most offensively fake smile as they walked into the mall. While neither of the men knew the layout of the mall, Strahm seemed to fall in behind Hoffman. This was unlike his usual behavior back in New York but Hoffman didn’t think it was worth getting into. They walk up to a directory and find a shop to pick a dress out from, first trying the anchor stores and getting nowhere with that. They tried a specialty store next, with more results. The only issue is the staff seemed to glare as the two men rummaged through the racks to find something that would fit a man like Hoffman. Hoffman noticed that Peter kept stealing looks as he would step out from the dressing room to look at the dress in the full length mirror. “Here, this should fit, but I need to to zip the back up.”

“Fine.” Strahm approached Hoffman and pulled the zipper up. It seemed to fall back as it was just about to close so Strahm told him, “Suck your gut in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and sucked his stomach in. The zipper went up fine and Strahm secured it with the tiny hooks on the back. His hands slowly lingered onto Hoffman’s hips as they looked at the outfit in the mirror. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, you just look like a nice broad now.” Strahm replied quickly, before realizing where his hands were resting. He took a step back and Hoffman did a half spin to see what his back looked like in the dress, “I think it’ll work.”

“Yeah.” Strahm’s eyes wandered up at the ceiling. Hoffman reveled in this power and slid his hands down his hips with a whistle. Strahm turned his head back to look at the other man before darting his eyes away again. Like fucking putty in Mark’s hands. He walked back to his dressing room, came back out, and quickly threw the garment into Peter’s arms. Strahm shuffled to catch it before Hoffman walked past him and back into the store. Strahm veered towards the cashier before Hoffman pulled him by the back of his shirt and asked,

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To check out.”

“Not before I get some accessories.” He turned Strahm around and took a look at the gaudy earrings the store had on display

“You don’t even have piercings.” Strahm huffed quietly, “You’re not about to get them pierced for this.”

“And if I wanted to?”

“I’d tell you ‘you’re insane’ and pull you out of Claire’s. Dumbass.”

“Well at the very least, you can treat your wife to a nice necklace.”

“Fine.” Strahm sighed, feeling the grip Hoffman had on him growing tighter. “We can go to a jewelry store for that.”

“God you really know how to spoil a woman, it’s a wonder you’re not actually married.” Hoffman teased him, taking the dress from his hands and bringing it up to the counter himself. The cashier at the time didn’t seem to care that two men approached her with a feminine dress. She finished the transaction as quickly as she could, and went back to sulking while the two men headed back into the mall. Hoffman dragged Strahm back to a directory to plan their next course of action. It would be shoes, makeup, and jewelry in that order. There were more than a few instances where Hoffman didn’t need to be so close to the FBI agent, but would still press his body up against the other man. Like when a family tried to walk around the two of them. It would turn Strahm’s face an embarrassing red to have the fabric of Hoffman’s shirt slide across the leather of his jacket. In a low voice that he was certain only Strahm would hear he’d say, “My bad.”

“Just shut up and keep walking” or some variation were the only words Strahm was able to eek out. They managed to find some heels that weren’t ridiculously chunky, and Hoffman could balance on before going to a makeup store in the mall. They found a disgustingly light powder pink that the saleswoman said ‘any girl would love’, while Strahm stood out in the mall proper pretending that he was just shopping with a friend after work. She also threw in some samples that Hoffman didn’t really seem to understand, but was thankful he wasn’t buying any more makeup than was necessary. Not that it was on his dime, but he’d have no use for it after this elaborate fraud. Next, the two walked around a jewelry kiosk. Mark pointed at a diamond necklace and Strahm nearly cussed him out there in front of the sales clerk but just handed the Amex over before there was any questions. They walked back to the car before Strahm excused himself and headed to the bathroom.

“You really can’t wait for 20 minutes to get to the hotel?” Hoffman asked him, rolling his eyes

“It’s four o’clock, there’s no way in hell the ride is only going to be 20 minutes.” Strahm retorted before going in. Hoffman waited impatiently, stamping his foot down and glancing at the clock. How long did it take this idiot to piss? Out of the corner of his eye, Hoffman saw another store that he ducked into. If he was going to be Strahm’s wife, he was going to make the agent really regret it. He hurried back to the spot where Strahm was just zipping up his jacket. “Where were you?”

“Looking at Auntie Anne’s, the fuck does it matter to you?”

With a huff Strahm replied, “Whatever” before beginning the walk back to the car. This time Hoffman was sure to follow behind the agent. He seemed more… on edge than he had been this morning on Hoffman’s doorstep. Were the nerves setting in? Was his bravado really that fragile that shopping for women’s clothing was going to trip up Special Agent Peter Strahm?

“You seem tense.” Hoffman remarked

“I’m fine.” Strahm dodged the accusation, but not very well. There was almost an edge of bitterness in his words. He seemed to realize how rude he’d sounded by the way his eyes softened and said again, “I’m fine” in a much gentler tone.

“Nervous?”

“About?”

“Lying to your employer, the federal government?”

“No. No that’s the easy bit.”

“Easy, huh? Don’t tell me you’ve deceived the government before.”

“Yeah. Then when they caught me in my lie about 5 years later just told them it was a clerical error.”

“How rebellious of you. Never in my wildest dreams could I see you, Agent Strahm, bending the rules. Much less for your amusement.”

“And you’ve always filed your taxes on time.” Strahm laughed

“I’d never mess with my taxes.” Hoffman replied with a slight frown

“Sure thing, altar boy."

[livelovesimallways]

"Baby Johnson's Arrival"...Pt. 5

(previous)

20 Minutes Later......

"Deanna?..." *closes the door*

*sees who it is* "Oh hell no! I don't know why you're up here, but you can get out! Tell that mothafucker to give me my son and my phone, we're leaving! I'm getting a restraining order and filling for full custody. He'll be lucky if a judge allows supervised visitation."

"I know you're upset right now but just take a moment to think rationally."

"Rationally!??? Look at my face!!" *voice cracking* "This is more than one punch!...I'm done."

"Listen, he had no right to put his hands on you. Nothing in this world justifies that. But with that being said, it didn't come out of nowhere. You named his son after Sean, something he has to live with for the rest of his life. That was fucked up too."

"Well he should've handled that like a man, instead of using his fists! Of course I was wrong, but that doesn't mean I deserved this."

"I'm not saying you did, I just want you to see that there's cause and effect. Going to the courts over this one incident doesn't make sense. It wouldn't be a regular case. He's Michael fuckin Johnson!...The world famous, six time NBA champion, multi-billionaire! Do you realize the rippling damage that would cause? Think about Silas. Labeling his father as an abuser would mess up his future."

"Oh please, only Mike is going to suffer, and rightfully so."

"How can you be so sure? If this gets out, he'll be flooded with lawsuits from people looking for a payday. They'll say he's a monster and use your situation as ammunition. No one will care if they have any real claim, it'll be believable. His reputation will be finished, he'll have to resign from his companies, and he'll forever be blackballed. Silas is his son. No one will want to work with him or put him on a team because of the negative attention his father's name will bring. Sure he'll be rich, but will he be happy? All the comments, ridicule, comparisons...It will take a toll."

"Well, what do you suggest I do then!? I can't be here and I'm not leaving my baby. He's not going to give me custody without a fight. I won't win without telling my truth."

"I know. He's stubborn and not capable of seeing the bigger picture, but you are. You're Silas' mother and have been protecting him since you found out you were pregnant. Continue to do that by letting this go. Everything was fine before today. He knows he messed up and I promise you he won't do that again. Just take a breather, rest, and reset."

*shakes her head* "This is crazy..."

"I agree. It's alot, but you're doing the right thing. I'll go get you an ice pack and some Tylenol."

"...And Silas?"

"Hmm. Maybe I should bring him up after you get some rest. Babies can sense stress. You'll feel better afterwards and that will make all the difference."

A Little While Later.......

"Took you long enough, I was beginning to get worried. Ryan handled his part and got through to Sean's agent. Once he heard the words blackballed he had him make a post addressing the rumors." *rubs Silas' back* "So what happened with Deanna?"

"She's hurting but I think I got through to her. Right now she's resting."

"Good. Did you give her the pain medicine?

"Yes. I told her it was Tylenol like you asked." *with a slight attitude*

"I know you didn't want to do it but it had to be done. I can't trust that she won't change her mind, so it's just a little insurance. Technically Percs have Tylenol in them so you really didn't lie."

"So how exactly will that work in your favor?"

"It's simple. If she goes to the courts, I will have the judge order a hair sample drug test. They leave your system but stay in your hair for up to 90 days. My lawyers will paint a very different picture that you and Ryan will corroborate. I told her ass, I don't play about my kids. She's either gonna fall in line or lose him for good."

[gaintsnowflake]

𝐀𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐄: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

PAIRING : Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

ONESHOT : in which lockwood finally wants to talk about what he discovered

TRIGGERS : abuse/abusive parents, dunk mother

A/N : I hope you enjoy this, I may write a part three mainly because this brings me a lot of comfort but it really depends. Please ignore any spelling and grammar errors!

TAGS :  @archiveoftara,  @cassiopeiia24

WORD COUNT : 1.1k

masterlist | part one

ANTHONY ignored me all night at the ball. He stayed next to me, yes, as well giving anyone who dared to question the scar or even look at it the wrong way a death glare. But he still refused to talk to me, ignoring my attempts at conversation.

Now, we have just gotten home, it was just after one; Most of the people invited to the ball had agents bring them home to insure their "safety".  George and Lucy were quick to dismiss themselves when we arrived outside of 35 Portland Row, no doubt they did not want to hear the fight that was bound to occur in a few moments.

A few nights ago, I was planning on staying over their house, as an escape, even though I lived a door away. I was planning on just chalking it up to me wanting a sleepover. Now I am not sure where I would rather be. The look on Anthony's face only made me want to return home, even though I knew what would happen when I arrived to see my mother drunken on the couch or my father making his way to comment about my body, telling me how much better I could look, or perhaps I could find comfort in their yelling and attempts to punch each other only for me to break it up. Even if I did want to return to my house for the night, I am not sure Anthony would let me, he doesn't seem to want me to leave his sight. Still, it seems worth making an attempt, because I know if I step through his door I will only become my parent's product, yelling and screaming as they do, and that is something I fear.

"I'm going to my house, Anthony," I mumbled as I got out of the taxi, turning towards my house. "I will see you soon."

"No, you're not."

"Anthony..." I threatened him with my voice as he followed behind me as I began walking down the sidewalk.

"You are coming home, with me... and Lucy and George," his voice sounded soft, as if he was afraid to scare me away. "We can talk about this."

Without turning around I could feel his eyes on me as I came to a stop. I could hear his grin as he began to think that I would listen to his reason and go home with him. Oh and how wrong he is.

"What is there to talk about Anthony?" I ask turning to face him as I raise my voice slightly. "You know what happens behind closed doors. You can hear it."

"I didn't know you were involved, otherwise I would have done something."

"You didn't know for a damn reason Anthony."

"Just, come inside, I don't want to argue with you about this out here."

"Fine, and I am only saying this because it is cold out here."

Anthony didn't dare to smile at me, knowing well that if he tried I most likely would turn around. He just walked inside with me following close behind. Within seconds of us being inside, with me locking the door, he was making his way to the library mumbling about me.

"If you are going to talk about me at least do it to my face..." I mumbled following behind.

After we entered the library, I closed the door behind us. Anthony started pacing back and forth quickly.

"Anthony, stop that," I said, referring to his pacing which would cause markings on the floor if he continued.

"I can't believe you never told me... I could have helped you! I could have gotten you out of there!" His voice raised lightly as he was still in his train of thought. I just stood, watching him. "Now look at you. You are hurt."

"I'm fine Anthony," I said, knowing that he wouldn't listen.

Anthony was rambling continuously, about how I was hurt and how it was his fault. The comments are inaudible as if he was talking to himself, scolding himself.

"Lockwood," He turned away, I could practically feel his heartbreak when I didn't call him Anthony. "I said I am fine."

"No! You're not fucking fine. You got hurt right under my nose! God how can I be so blind..."

"It's not your fucking fault! Stop acting like it is. I never told you for a reason, Anthony, because you would be overdramatic," I grabbed his arm to make him face me. "Clearly, I was right."

"You don't understand, y/n! I am supposed to protect you. I let you get hurt, badly hurt, by your own mother! I didn't even notice..."

"I didn't give you a chance to notice."

"But it was so obvious, I could hear their yelling every night... I just... I can't believe I let you get hurt." His eyes were tearing as he looked at me.

"You don't need to protect me, Anthony, I am not your responsibility..." My words were much softer.

"But that's the thing. You are my responsibility."

"What?" My voice broke. I was unaware I was crying until now.

"I love you, y/n," His voice was quiet as a single tear escaped, he was quick to whip it. "I always have."

"Anthony," I dragged out his name.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to hurt you," My honest answer made the room go silent.

We just stared at each other as more tears streamed down each other's faces. We are too young for this. Too young to be arguing about why I didn't speak up about abuse.

"There was nothing you could do to save me, I knew if I told you, you would try and fail and hurt yourself more, I couldn't hurt you." My words were quiet as I spoke to him, scared if I said a single word, it would only upset him more.

"I would try, and I will try, except if I fail, I am going to try again. You don't deserve that, you don't deserve any of it. You deserve the world and so much more."

At that I fell into his arms, crying into a long and tight hug. We rocked back in forth as we cried. My tears were staining the shoulder of his white shirt, they were felt on the top of my head.

"I will fix this, darling, don't you worry," He whispered to me, his hand running through my hair. "It'll be okay, soon enough you will be safe."

I can't tell if he trying to convince me or himself. But either way, it was comforting.

Anthony held me in his arms for a while before moving us to the couch where he forced me on top of him, holding me tightly, scared that if he let go, I'd be gone forever. He was scared for me.

People say that ABUSE only affects the victim and the abuser. But in reality, everyone who knows them will be affected, not to the same degree, but it still is harmful.

---

IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW IS BEING ABUSED, DO NOT BE AFRAID TO SPEAK UP.

CALL 800-799-7233 OR TEXT 88788 FOR THE NATIONAL DOMESTIC ABUSE HOTLINE.

IF YOU NEED TO TALK ABOUT ABUSE, I AM AN ABUSE SURVIVOR, I AM MORE THAN HAPPY TO TALK.

[lauralot89]

All right friends let me tell you about my day because either I vent or I go to jail for murder

I don't even know who I'd murder but I would

Day starts out normal enough. I've been having an issue where my pharmacy did not autorefill the medication I need for my autoimmune disorder, without which I am in constant pain and will suffer deformity and mobility loss but you know, other than that

Until about noon I'm making some nice progress on a story I'm writing. Then I get stuck. It happens.

I check the pharmacy website and it says there was an error with my prescription and to call the pharmacy, so I do. They say they'll fill and I get a robot call about half an hour later saying the prescription is ready and my out of pocket cost is 120 USD

wait what

this medication has always cost me 20 USD

what the fuck

whatever, I tell myself. I'll get it sorted out after work when I go to pick it up.

At this point I check my email. Message from my auto insurance saying they never received my payment, and my coverage will expire in two days.

I call them. I explain I mailed the payment on July 9. They say they received a notification from USPS on the 11th that the payment was on its way, but then they never got it. And they consider payments lost in the mail if they aren't received within 15 days of being mailed. And today was exactly 15 days since I mailed the payment.

So I pay again, online this time, with the promise that if they receive the check, they'll refund the cost. Now bear in mind I pay the full amount at once rather than the monthly so there is a 900+ dollar check floating around in the backrooms somewhere right now, which does not make me feel great

Work ends. I go to the pharmacy. I'm like why is this 20 dollar medication suddenly 120 dollars? The pharmacist is like "Yeah that's weird. We ran it through your insurance like we always do. You should call them."

So I call them. After some time on hold, I get an agent. I explain what's going on. He's like "Yeah that's weird. Let me call the pharmacy."

I spend the next half hour listening to hold music as I pace around the pharmacy and when I get taken off hold, I'm now speaking to a pharmacy person instead of my insurance guy.

Apparently my insurance decided, unbeknownst to me because there were certainly no emails or letters, that for medications I take every day, they now want me to get ninety days at a time. Which, okay fine, whatever. But if I don't get this either by mail or through Specific Pharmacy My Insurance Works With, then it's an out of pocket cost.

Again, some random pharmacy worker had to tell me this. Not my insurance.

But wait there's more. Currently all my prescriptions are for a thirty day supply, so even if I immediately transfer them to Specific Pharmacy, I still won't get my prescriptions refilled without a bunch of rigamarole because they're supposed to be for ninety days now

(What does this do to birth control, you may ask? Fuck if I know.)

so what I need to do is to call my doctor's offices to have them transfer the prescriptions and change it from 30 to 90 days. which, great, but I have been without the necessary medication for a week now and I can't wait any longer, so I suck it up and prepare to pay 120 USD

Now by the grace of God, the pharmacy tech heard my plight and was like "that's some bullshit" and by reducing it back down to 30 days and also getting coupons involved, he was able to get the cost down to 28 dollars

so you'd think "Well at least there was a happy ending"

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE

So at this point my car is nearly out of gas. So I drive across the street from the pharmacy to the gas station. Get out of the car. Put in my card. Yada yada. And instead of asking me to lift the nozzle and select the fuel type, it says "Thank you! Take your receipt!"

The fuck?

I go ask the cashier.

"Yeah, it does that sometimes. Try it again."

I try it five more times. Every time "Thank you! Take your receipt!"

I drive to another pump. It happens AGAIN.

I go back to the cashier.

"Oh, it must be something wrong with your card."

Now maybe I'm weird but in my experience when your card declines, the message you get is "Card declined" or "Chip malfunction" or "Card error." Messages that I have gotten at this very gas station. But apparently that made too much sense, so they switched over to "Thank you! Take your receipt!"

The lady tells me I can pay at the desk. I wait five minutes before I can pay at the desk because the pump has not cleared out the last "Thank you! Take your receipt!" transaction. She tells me she would send me over to the pump to press cancel, but it would take too long. Then she has me do it anyway.

In conclusion, my heart is full of rage.

[literaticat]

After much research, I've decided that I don't want to be a full time author. But of course I want to write books!  During the Call, if I mention that to an agent-- does that make me sound like I'm not committed to the craft or be a turnoff in some way?

Most authors do have day jobs, and most authors don't quit until they want to do so and can afford to do so, which might be many books in, or never.

In fact... most authors don't have a choice -- they HAVE to keep their day job, for a while at least, or they don't eat. Jobs can mean security, stability, and the difference between being insured or not, all of which is kinda important for most people! Soooo I kinda think MORE worrying on the call would be somebody who said they MUST be a full-time author, effective immediately.

But this is all very much putting the cart before the horse. You just don't know what the future will hold, nor does your prospective agent. A better way to spin this, if it even comes up, is toward the positive. Rather than saying "I don't want to be a full-time author" -- say, "I love my day job, and I'm not looking to leave it anytime soon." That's cool! As long as you can meet your deadlines and whatnot, it's not a problem at all. You are in control of your own schedule -- you know how much you can write and how long it takes you -- so you don't have to accept contracts with quick turnarounds, and if you want to slow down, or whatever, you can do that. I have repped doctors and lawyers and teachers and news producers etc with very busy full-time jobs they love, and they have managed to make it work, so if that's you, great.

Then if, down the line, a publisher offers you some ginormous contract, or you just get busy and realize, hey, I am actually making pretty good money at this writing gig, and I wouldn't mind seeing if I can do less at the day job, or leave it -- that's fine, too. Circumstances change in this life. You don't need to decide your years-in-the-future job status today. :-) Good luck!

[mayalaen]

con 'verse au au

Because I can't get THIS POST out of my head. Dean/Cas AU of CON 'verse

“dude what the hell you just fucking rear ended me”

“I apologize. It was completely my fault. Give me a moment, and I'll call my insurance agent to see if I'm covered for this.”

“yeah, you better because im not fucking paying for this”

*cas gets on the phone* “I rear-ended someone, and I'm just going to kill him because I really don't want to pay him for it."

“what the fuck did you just say?”

“Do you mind? I'm having a private conversation with my insurance agent.”

*back on phone* “I killed my insurance agent because I did some digging and found out he killed his sister, so I don't have insurance. I need you to come pick up the body after I kill this guy. I'm on the side of the road.”

"are you fuckin' with me right now? bc this isn't funny"

*rolls his eyes* "Yes he's cute. No. NO! *sigh* Okay, yes I can ask him out instead, but I don't know why you always talk me out of things like this. No, I am NOT mixing up my feelings of attraction with my desire to murder!! I don't get crushes! You KNOW this!"

"seriously dude this isn't going to work. you owe me. you don't scare me at all"

*REALLY heavy sigh* "Fuck. You're right. I'm hard already, and all he's doing is bluffing because he's scared of me. Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. I may or may not bring him to meet you. Depends on how well this goes."

*gets off the phone* "Here's my number. Give me yours."

*stares for a moment* "you mean my insurance info?"

"Fine. Whatever. Yes. Your insurance info and your phone number."

*Dean hands Cas his business card and insurance card*

*Cas shifts awkwardly for a moment* "I'm not good at this part. Will you just come to breakfast with me? I don't like being around a lot of people, so I'll pick up some sandwiches from the place around the corner and we can eat in the park."

*clearly interested* "sandwiches for breakfast?"

*pulling a face* "Oh, I forgot most people like certain foods at certain times of the day for some reason."

"no it's okay i could go for a sandwich."

*hopeful* "Really? Even after what you just heard?"

*nodding* "yeah. it's the most fucked up but interesting pick-up line i've ever heard and i gotta be honest, i'm fucking sick of the tired smooth pick-up lines"

"Oh, well then I'll add that I can't wait to tie you up on my table and lick every inch of your body."

*considering for a split second* "okay let's go forget the fuckin sandwiches"

[chickalupe]

Feeling very down right now, just want to vent...

(Treating this like my old Livejournal since I don't really have anywhere else I can complain LMAO)

I've been out of work since August after completely running out of FMLA.

Between getting severe COVID in February and being out recovering for 6 weeks -- and then with Long COVID making the chronic fatigue and migraines I already had even worse -- I ended up missing so much work that I used all the time FMLA allowed before the year was even half over.

I'm living with my parents now and don't really have income except my savings; honestly most days I don't have the physical or mental spoons to even contemplate applying for even a part-time remote position yet. Thankfully I also have a retirement fund I am slowly cashing in, even if that also isn't really sustainable long-term. (But me losing my insurance will definitely be an issue soon when I run out of refills for my prescription meds...)

I'm aware that I've been pretty isolated since August; I've gotten maybe like two texts from former co-workers. I'm mostly asleep during the daytime and don't drive, so going out is hard. The person I consider my BFF is out of state and is busy with their own life. The only people I talk to most days are my Mom and Dad. (Admittedly, I am also pretty terrible about calling or texting people!) Tumblr has thus been the majority of my social interaction, for good or ill.

On top of all that, my birthday is this Friday and I always find myself depressed anyway this time of year. Like, it's probably half Seasonal Affective Disorder, and half a reminder that I'm a year older and having mixed feelings about where I am in life, IDK... But the current situation of *gestures vaguely at everything* isn't helping. So I am very blergh in general.

My parents and I had made vague plans a couple weeks ago that we could all go out for dinner on my actual birthday; nothing fancy, maybe the nearest sit-down Mexican restaurant. I was kinda looking forward to it. Mom just informed me that she is now unavailable after 5pm on my b-day itself since she offered to babysit kids for someone in their church that evening and night. We can't do it tomorrow night either, because Mom & Dad will be at a craft show from 4pm to 10pm.

And... it's fine, I guess. I'm disappointed but I'm an adult. I'm not gonna throw a tantrum or yell and cry or try to guilt her about it. She brought me flowers from the grocery store as a sort of peace offering and says we can still have cake or whatever. We'll probably do something on Saturday instead.

But EVERY YEAR, it's something. Last year, it was the cheesecake I asked for as a birthday cake getting dropped on the way into the house from the car; over half of it was smushed and then Dad stole the best remaining slice for himself. The two years before that, it was during the worst of the pandemic so I just had mediocre delivery food. I literally cannot remember the last birthday I really enjoyed in over a decade and half.

Another big source of anxiety right now -- we found out have 60 days to move since the leasing company is selling this house. So we have to find a new place, be packed and then move by January. Meanwhile home inspectors, realty agents and potential buyers are walking through while we're still living here, and it's super stressful. Words can't express how much I hate strangers being here any and all days of the week.

I guess I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. I'm not trying to be whiny or woe-is-me, but my mental health right now is uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Not Great (tm) 😅. I do try hard to be positive but it just takes so much energy and I'm stressed and a little numb.

Not really sure how to end this. I just really needed to put it all in writing as a journal-type situation so that I don't end up crying in real life LOL.

Current Mood: burnt-out 😑

Current Music: HGTV playing in the background

[grelleswife]

Ooh so you're watching 98 Trigun. What do you think?

I’m really liking it so far! Though I should probably hold off on extensive comparisons with TriStamp until I’ve finished 98, I think these anime adaptations are a prime example of the “two cakes” philosophy: Distinctive versions that each bring something good and unique to the table. It might a bit hypocritical of me to call 98 Trigun’s style “nostalgic” since I didn’t enter weebdom until around 2017, but the animation has this feel of belonging to a bygone era that gels nicely with the western elements. The cast for the English dub give an entertaining performance, especially the voice actors for Vash and Milly.

And, speaking of Milly…Milly Thompson, woman that you are! 😍 A himbo lesbian with keen powers of perception, big guns (of both the metallic and muscular variety), and a heart of gold. If she snapped me in half, I’d thank her, but she’s likely the type to give out warm bear hugs instead. 🥰 I definitely understand why fans of the original were so irate over her absence in Trigun Stampede (barring the offscreen mention in the last episode), because she’s a treasure! 💕 Milly also makes a great foil to her girlfriend Meryl. While I’m fond of TriStamp Meryl, I love how the 98 version gives us assertive, spitfire (complimentary) Derringer Meryl right off the bat. She’s serving fashion and putting outlaws in their place with her coat of many guns, and her complete lack of patience with Vash’s tomfoolery (to the point where she stubbornly denies the possibility of this chucklehead being the Humanoid Typhoon for several episodes) cracks me up every time. 😂 I also like the running gag of Milly and her being insurance agents. Although TriStamp’s decision to make Meryl a journalist worked fine—giving her a plausible motive for chronicling Vash’s misadventures—her original position as an insurance worker places a greater emphasis on the violence and destruction which plague the story (as she and Milly scramble to document the havoc wreaked in Vash’s wake), albeit with a comical twist.

Vash remains my darling babygirl, whether caught up in madcap hijinks or betraying the deep sadness hidden behind that smile. Johnny Bosch does a wonderful job bringing him to life (I mostly watched the sub when TriStamp was airing, so getting to hear his interpretation of the character is a treat!). However, I’m not a huge fan of the stereotypical “sleazy womanizer” bit inexplicably tacked on to Trigun 98—my plant boi drinks his respecting ladies juice, thank you very much! 😤 But perhaps it’s just part of his silly goofy guy act, albeit a distasteful one, so I’m hoping it’ll be phased out as the show progresses.

(Haven’t reached Wolfwood’s intro yet, but I’m looking forward!)

The 98 anime’s more relaxed pace is another point in its favor. As much as I enjoyed TriStamp, that 12-episode limit plaguing so many contemporary anime often left the plot with little room to breathe, which I think might be one reason why the melancholy undertones came through with such unremitting force from the very beginning. In contrast, 98 Trigun can afford to be stealthier, keeping things light in the early episodes, but with occasional somber moments betraying the brutal angst to come. Both approaches have merit, though! Like I mentioned earlier, the two Triguns are a pair of cakes: Different frosting and flavors, but both delicious.

The OP is, as the younglings say, a banger. I’m normally not a huge fan of instrumental OPs, but I inevitably find myself rocking out to this one! 🎶 Meanwhile, the languorous ED evokes lazy Sunday afternoons dozing in the shade; it makes me want to take a nap in a hammock like Vash is in one of the stills.

TL; DR: The ride’s a blast, and I am fully prepared to get hurt again. 😎

[screechthemighty]

Update, I'm still awake, so here's TriMax vol. 1 notes! Again please note these are off the cuff first read reactions and while I tried to get as many major CWs as possible, I may have missed some. In general, assume TriMax is going to have upsetting content at least once per chapter.

TriMax Notes: Volume One

TriMax #1.1: Hero Reborn

Content warnings: mention of a minor being sexually harassed (possibly groped, can’t remember?)

Wolfwood: I’m a minister Barkeep: Oh, good, we need someone for the funerals

…oh, no, Lina RULES

Girl is twelve and deadass cooler than I’ll ever be

“It’s Eriks again” WHAT DO YOU MEAN AGAIN???

To summarize: Lina fought back when harrassed, they took it personal, Vash/Eriks humiliated himself to try and protect her and they shot him anyway and took Lina. Cool!

“This guy’s got the devil’s own luck” that feels like a callback [Note: It was, Trigun 1.7]

So in this timeline he for sure remembers and retired to protect everyone…oof

“Well, that’s who it is. Someone’s gotta show their fangs or someone else is gonna cry.” (WW) Ah yes, the ideological conflict

So they LITERALLY just demolished that place so fast LMAO, Eff around, find out

Backtrack note: Vash responding to the gun with “how cruel” …oof

Vash: drops the gun, catches it, drops the faker in 6 non-lethal shots without hurting Lina Me: HAHA YES!!!

TriMax #1.2: Lina

Wolfwood’s been back like five seconds and they’re already engaging in Sibling Behavior fighting over food

“When the time is right, you’ll know [why I know so much]...for now, let’s just say there’s a debt to settle��� UH HUH…

“Your eyes have seen a lot, haven’t they?” (Lina to Vash) Puts in pocket

Gang member: starts monologuing Vash: Absolutely Not *starts approaching with malicious intent*

NOOOO THEY WERE FAMILY…

“In my weakest moment, it was you that protected me.” HELP???

TriMax #1.3: Girls, Bravo!

Okay so Keele is a dick and Vash + WW are going to eat him alive if he actually gets to them

Okay yeah Bernadelli decided to keep rates low by murdering the problem, cool.

“The guy’s an insurance agent! Be careful!” / “Don’t be stupid, he’s obviously a hitman” LMAO

MERYL!! QUEEN!!

MILLY!!!

And then they just go back on vacation after saving his ass AGAIN, I love them

Wolfwood with the hot sauce on OPEN WOUNDS…BRO

Trimax #1.4: Hero Returns

Knives still not having a visible face in flashbacks

“Don’t ever compare us to those faceless vermin” when Knives remains faceless so often himself…hmm

Okay there, one-handed vertical pushup showoff!! Damn!!

BRAD?????

And then they find Vash getting beat up by kids LMAO

Also “Knives knows things about my body that I don’t” is a BIG oof

NOT WW CRAWLING THROUGH THE CROWD FOR FRONT ROW CRIME SEATS

TriMax #1.5: Dancing Revolver

The geranium scene! Interesting how Knives isn’t here this time

Vash using the grenade flash to vanish…his songwriting needs work but his sense of drama is impeccable

So the coat IS bulletproof, explains a LOT

“That’s a real shame. Negotiations have officially broken down!” Oh, Vash

SHOOTING THE LUGGAGE RACKS TO GET THEM!! MY MAN!!!

TriMax #1.6: Sin

Content Warnings: aftermath of a rape/murder seen (lower legs poking out of a sheet, blood, crime-drama level of graphic, basically), references to rape, generally just an upsetting read

“He’s fine” Well. Emotionally, Vash is about to be Very Not Fine.

Vash thinking of both Rem AND Knives and just freezes…oof

“He just couldn’t kill a man in cold blood. His daughter’s murder goes unpunished. Call him weak, but it saved both of us.” OHHHH THERE’S A LOT THERE…

“Vash the Stampede’s idea of ‘kin’ stretches way beyond the norm” AAAAAAAAAAA [Note: obviously this transcription does not capture how shitty my handwriting to when writing that scream]

[docholligay]

I love this for several reasons:

1) What reason, really, does Mrs. Appleyard have to uphold England? I don’t mean to be like, “Oh I love foggy smoggy skies and red apples for sale and the sounds of the horsecart on the cobbles and the shouting of the men in the markets and standing in line tutting and loud pubs with fish pies only half-baked” I think that is extremely valid. I think loving your country in that way is one thing. But that’s not what she’s doing here, I wouldn’t even call what she’s doing here LOVE. It’s SUPREMACY. England isn’t just a neat place with neat people, it is MASTER.

And like, the fuck does Hester have to thank the government of England for? She was abandoned and orphaned and then sold and the Fine Nation of England did not care a whit.

But that’s the thing, right, is she’s not HESTER anymore, she’s Mrs. Appleyard and Mrs. Appleyard has plenty to thank England for. Mrs. Appleyard is the sort of person who would hold up the social order because now she’s figured out how to make it work for her, how to make it pay, as long as she plays perfectly into this idea of who she should be, as long as she presses her clothes and her voice and her manners to fit. And you know I should be angrier about it I guess but the world is an easier place if you do that, and so, I don’t find it to be god’s most courageous move but there’s a reason my mother, as an insurance agent to specifically high end clientele, doesn’t sound like how she grew up. She’s learned to say the right things and say them the right way.

So in a sense, what HESTER might have thought is academic at best, because this is what MRS. APPLEYARD thinks.

which sort of leads me to

2) The idea that The Fitzhuberts are England. Now this is the sort of thing I, a rural very working class American with deep opinions about what makes a place, bristle at. They are a ruling class of undeserving accidents of birth. Now, I don’t get me wrong, I suppose in what I was saying above, they ARE England as presented there. But for me, I would be arguing with her right now that every good thing I have ever thought about England has had between fuck and all to do with people like the Fitzhuberts. England is much more than a bunch of rich bitches who like to keep a list of who has the good blood.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Corrupted: TMA x Malevolent Snippet

Tim, my boy, you are in SO MUCH denial.

And that guy... isn't one you can charm into being safe.

--------

Tim chews on the thought through the drive, ponders its pros and cons, debates what to do.

Hastur is thousands of years old. 

It’s ridiculous to push something like this.

And yet.

Tim can’t escape the feeling that Hastur has been dually isolated by power and fear for so long that he doesn’t know how to handle someone actually paying attention to his… well. Emotional condition.

This is stupid, Tim tells himself. You’re being naive, he tells himself.

And the moment he closes his apartment door behind him, he says, “You sure you want to go by Hastur?”

He can feel the surprise.

The complete bafflement.

That is my name, Hastur says.

“But it’s not the one you chose, is it? It’s not like it mattered to me what you said when we first met. You didn’t want Hastur. You wanted John.”

Silence.

“I’m just saying if you want John, it’s fine. I’ll call you whatever you want.”

I told you my name.

“But you didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

Hastur-John goes quiet.

Tim digs into boxes in the desperate hope that there’s food of some kind he’s forgotten about.

Success! There is ramen. It’s cheap, and not nutritious, but it is tasty, and will keep him functional until tomorrow.

According to his phone, his real estate agent has called twelve times.

Tim sighs. Hastur still seems to be spinning, so Tim calls his agent back.

#

He'll have to file a police report.

The house had been sold, technically, but the final signatures weren’t filed because they happened on a Friday, so it was still his when “the break-in” happened.

No, he says, he has no idea what happened.

Yes, he certainly left late that night (and is deeply grateful that Hastur had him walking normally away, because that is what the few CCTV cameras in the area caught - Tim, casual, clearly not distressed, going home). 

So who broke in?

They have no idea.

Is he responsible for damages?

Confusing! The purchase was sort of in-between, but there’s no question somebody’s insurance would cover it.

This was going to be a pain.

Tim ignores the tiny, quiet urge to go to his parents’ house and just burn it down, rather than deal with all of this. That's just tired. That isn’t Desolation.

It isn't.

Hastur stays quiet as Tim gets out his laptop, makes notes. Includes a list of whom he’s going to have to call tomorrow (ugh). Eats his ramen.

Showers.

Inspects himself in the bathroom mirror. He is black and blue all over, thanks to the cleat hooks and Kayne's attentions.  “I look like I’ve been mugged by gnomes.”

Gnomes?

“Yeah. Little guys wearing brass knuckles about the size of my thumb.”

Hastur makes a choked noise.

“So - you still want John? Or Hastur?”

And he can feel the being waver. Maybe.

Which isn’t an answer. “I can call you John. You know that.”

No. I… no.

“Then what?”

Call me Yellow.

“Yellow?” Tim didn’t see that one coming.

Silence.

“Okay,” he says. “Yellow, it is. Uh. Why?”

I will… tell you eventually. I have much to think about, Tim.

“Well, so do I, so. Okay.”

Which is okay. It is okay.

He’s not. There's nothing to be mad at. Just his whole life in ashes, and being hunted by enormous predators, and one eye taken over and possibly the rest of him, too, before long, and -

Tim takes a deep breath and tries to focus.

It's going to be okay, he tells himself, and finally goes to bed.