#so yesterday I had 11 hours of nothing but work talk

[aefensteorrra]

Normally I go to the office like fortnightly, if that, but this week I have to be there 4 days in a row and don’t get me wrong I’m thankful this isn’t the norm but I really think working from home is where it’s at because I have had zero time to cook or clean this week (because we’re also having to work till 7pm… screaming crying throwing up) and also can’t sort out any of the admin stuff with my energy provider which is really stressing me out

[strawbabycowboy]

every day.. i deal w fuck shit at my job and it’s so annoying to deal with

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 11: suddenly severed communication

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You knew that sometimes Spencer could have cases that kept him busy all day and, understandably, he barely had time to check his phone. But that didn’t stop you from anxiously waiting for his response every day.

You never thought you’d be able to handle a long-distance relationship, as you’d always believed it was silly to love someone from so far away. However, when Spencer came into your life, things were different. He had such a brilliant mind, a charming charisma, a beauty that seemed perfect to you… how could you not fall in love?

So, you decided to give it a try, hoping that a couple of months would be enough to determine if he was worth it. After almost two years together, you hoped that was the case.

“Do you have service on your phone?” you asked your coworker, trying to find some excuse for your boyfriend’s silence. When she said yes, you felt a little disheartened.

Why isn’t he answering? you wondered suddenly, starting to worry that something might have happened to him. The night before, you had talked late into the evening, and everything had been perfect, right? And you wanted to believe he wouldn’t deliberately ignore you.

You figured he was in one of those areas where the reception was terrible and tried to calm yourself, telling yourself that the lack of response wasn’t a big deal. After distracting yourself with work for a few hours, you checked your phone again, hoping to find something, but once again, there was nothing. Not even an indication that he had received your messages.

You spent the entire day trying to ignore it and not overthink the situation, since there was no misunderstanding between the two of you that would make him decide not to talk to you. It was likely a technical issue, in any case. But if that was the case, you started asking yourself when night fell, then why hadn’t your boyfriend used a public phone? Maybe he could have even called you from someone else’s phone to let you know he’d be unreachable and spare you the worry.

It probably wasn’t his fault, of course, and you tried to sleep, finding comfort in that thought while your phone rested on the nightstand closest to your bed.

Just in case, of course. Just in case he called.

And when you woke up, there was still nothing.

You didn’t have any of his coworkers’ phone numbers, and you thought calling the FBI office would be too alarmist, so you just tried to wait. You mentally replayed whether you two had had any disagreements, but there hadn’t been any at all, and your boyfriend wasn’t the type to handle things that way anyway. On the contrary, he always tried to resolve issues.

Needless to say, your concentration was completely affected at work due to the lack of communication with your boyfriend, and you sent a couple more messages just to see if he was still not receiving them, and that was indeed the case.

By the afternoon, you came home feeling disheartened, trying to search for any news of an accident, hoping he wasn’t involved. Thankfully, there was nothing, but you still had that slight discomfort in your chest as you went about your evening chores.

During dinner, you heard your phone vibrate on the kitchen counter, and you nearly tripped over yourself running to it, eager to see who it was. However, the screen displayed an unknown number, and when you pressed the button, you did so cautiously. Spencer had always told you that in such cases, it was best to let the other person speak first, but it wasn’t necessary because you recognized the voice immediately.

“Angel? Are you there?”

“Spencer!” you cried out happily, feeling like your soul had returned to your body. “Oh my God, what happened to you? I haven’t heard from you since yesterday.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, really. We were working on a case on the coast, and my phone fell into the sea, so I was completely cut off. Also, the reception is awful in that area, and none of the others had signal either, and there were no public phones, can you believe it? I had to buy this phone as soon as we got back just to call you. I’m really, really sorry.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Yeah, in one piece. Just a little mishap.”

“Oh, I’m so glad. I thought something had happened to you, and I was really worried,” you murmured, your voice nearly breaking.

You hadn’t realized just how much the thought had affected you until that moment.

“No, no, I’m really sorry for making you worry,” he insisted, with that guilty tone you couldn’t stand. “But I’m completely fine, I promise.”

“I hope so.”

“Are you okay?”

“Now that I’ve heard from you, yes,” you whispered, pouting, even though he couldn’t see it. You heard him laugh on the other end of the line.

“Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Maybe you could teleport here so I could hug you,” you exclaimed, in a better mood than at the beginning. “And then I could shower you with kisses and you could fuck me as many times as you wanted.”

Your name came out of his mouth like a scolding, but with a playful tone. You were sure he was blushing.

“Do you really want that?” he asked.

You hummed a yes in response, smiling to yourself, and suddenly you heard a few beeps in your ear, as if he had hung up.

You were about to call him back when a knock at the door startled you. Through the glass, you could make out the silhouette of a man, and completely puzzled, you walked over.

“Who is it?”

When the stranger spoke, you recognized the voice instantly. Although you didn’t know how he was there, a second later you were already opening the door to throw yourself into your boyfriend’s arms. You nearly knocked him backward, but he managed to hold you firmly.

“Surprise,” he laughed, clearly satisfied with the reaction his presence had caused.

You pulled away only to look at him and touch his face, trying to figure out if he was real or just a hallucination. His hair had grown since the last time you had seen each other, and though he looked tired, he also radiated happiness.

“How are you here?”

“After this case, we got a few days off, and I thought I’d drop by to say hi.”

“First you keep me on edge with anxiety for two days, and then you just show up! What kind of boyfriend are you?”

“One who loves you very much,” he resolved sweetly. Then he leaned down to give you a soft kiss on the forehead, as had become his custom for some time now, and whispered, “I missed you so much.”

You were still standing on the porch, so you didn’t hesitate to take his hand and pull him inside enthusiastically, only to rise on your tiptoes and kiss him fervently. Spencer didn’t complain—on the contrary, he maneuvered to drop his luggage on the floor and then leaned you against the wall to keep kissing you.

At first, his hands rested on your waist, but they soon slid beneath your shirt, caressing your skin with clear passion and even a touch of desperation.

“When you asked me what you could do to make it up to me, I didn’t think you meant it seriously,” you whispered at some point, when you both paused to catch your breath. You felt a wide smile against your lips.

“And I’m pretty sure you mentioned something about making love to you…”

“In more vulgar words but yes, that's the idea” you said in a flirtatious tone, reaching out to bite his upper lip and he let out a sigh.

Without wasting any more time, your boyfriend lifted you off the floor, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, surprised by the initiative he was taking. Laughing, he managed to walk to your bedroom, and once there, he made sure you forgot all the worries you had been carrying.

[veethewriter]

Monty x reader! Requested by @ifyouwontlistenwhowill

Summary: reader starts working at pizza plex to earn money for college, works at montys gift shop, Monty slowly starts falling in love with the reader.

Day one: 11:31 A.M.

You stood outside the pizza plex nervous for your first day. I mean your job was easy, just selling stuff at the gift shop for Monty's Gators Golf, handing out any prizes if they had been won by people. People ugh that's the thing you were most worried about, was the large crowd. Taking a deep breath you walked in looking for the person that was supposed to show you around. Noticing someone waving for your attention, you quickly walked over, going through the crowd of people checking into the pizza plex.

The person in front of you quickly introduced themselves, quite cheerful for being at work. He grabbed your hand shaking it, "Hi! It's so nice to meet you! I'm Dave I'm the manager of the side of the building that the gift shop you will be working in is at!"

Smiling nervously shaking his hand back, introducing yourself also, "Hi it's nice to meet you too, I'm y/n."

Dave let go of your hand and smiled, "Well then let's get started with the tour then."

Day 1: 2:28

After having gone through the tour of the half of the building you would be on, you finally got to Monty's Gator Golf. He quickly showed you around the gift shop and how to work the cash register before looking back at you, "Okay one last thing before you can start, I need to introduce you to Monty since you are working in his attraction. You're gonna see each other often."

Before you could respond he gave you a serious look, probably the most serious one you've seen on him all day before saying "I will warn you though, Monty has anger issues. He usually doesn't show it until after hours but still be careful."

Now you were even more nervous than before, I mean you thought it would be easier to talk to the animatronics than other people but one with anger issues you had no idea what would happen. Dave started to walk away so you took that as a clue to follow after him. Finally finding Monty, who had just finished talking to a group of kids about the rules in Monty's Gator Golf. Dave had waited until the kids walked away before walking up with you to him.

He nervously smiled at Monty who had already started basically glaring at him, "Hey Monty I came to introduce you to the new person who will be running your gift shop."

Monty looked at you from over his sunglasses before making a scoffing-like sound and starting to walk away while talking, "I don't care what you do, just do your job."

Dave looked back at you and smiled, "Don't take it so rough, he's usually like that towards most people."

A little upset about how the first meeting went, you just nodded to Dave before he lets you go to open the gift shop.

Day 3: 8:03 A.M.

You sighed as you were opening the gift shop, your first day went okay, nothing really happened. You had your second day yesterday which also was uneventful besides Monty keeping a close eye on you. He didn't seem to want to interact with you though, just make sure you weren't up to anything bad. You were setting up all the stuffed animals using a ladder that had been in the back. Even with the ladder, it was hard to hook the small straps that kept the stuffed animals from falling.

Having to reach up higher, the ladder started to shake underneath you before giving up. With a quick scream and closing your eyes as you fell instead of feeling the ground, you felt metal. You opened your eyes and realized Monty was the one to catch you. He quickly sat you down and growled softly towards you "Be more careful about what you're doing."

Before you could respond Monty had started walking away and some other employees had swarmed around you to make sure you were okay. You thought maybe Monty was nicer than everyone said he was.

Day 11: 4:07 P.M.

You sighed looking at the time, noticing the shop was empty at the time you decided to go ahead and stock up on some small things that were out. Going over the shelves you noticed that the Monty pens were completely out and you knew from this morning you had stocked the last of them that were out in front this morning. Which means you would have to go in the back to grab a whole new box of them.

Now that you thought of it, your and Monty's relationship had gotten a little better, with small conversations here and there but it was mostly with you just talking. He would make small noises here and there to tell you he acknowledged what you said though. Shaking your head, you head to the back to look at the boxes. Only to your disappointment when you noticed the box you needed was at the very top.

You can't use the ladder, in fact you haven't seen that ladder since you almost fell off it that one time and since then all the plushies have been hooked up when you got to work. Climbing the shelf would only make it fall over on you. Standing on your tippy toes you could almost reach maybe a bit- suddenly you felt cold metal touch your back as a hand reached over you to grab the box you had been reaching for, feeling what felt like breathing on your neck for a second before it pulled back. You turned around seeing Monty as you tried to calm down the blushing on your cheek from how close he was a second ago.

As you were about to thank him, he handed the box over to you, "Next time ask for help, no need to get hurt over a box."

You nodded quickly and stuttered to him "Ri-ight thank you again for the help."

He just nodded and left heading back into his attraction. Wait what was he doing back here now that you thought of it, was he looking for you?

Day 26: 6:08 P.M.

The gift shop was closed for the next hour for you to restock items and clean up since they were too lazy to hire extra staff to do that while it was open. As you were cleaning you found a discarded club for Gator Golf. Picking it up you had decided to go ahead and return it but you didn't know where they went so of course your best choice was to give it to Monty himself.

Now you two were able to have full conversations with each other with him actually talking, well at least a sentence or two here and there. You two would talk about small things though mostly about instruments and hobbies. Making sure the gift shop was locked up while you were out you had started searching for him. Looking around you finally saw him watching over everyone near a wall, probably having just gotten back from one of the bands night performances.

Walking over to him you spoke up "Hey Monty, I saw this club at the gift shop and thought I would bring it back to you."

Having heard your voice Monty looks over at you and sees the club that you reached out to hand him but seeing that, he also saw the slightly torn-up bandage that was on your hand, "What's that?"

Noticing that he was looking at your hand, you looked down and remembered what happened this morning, "Oh um I hurt my hand moving around some boxes this morning, just scrapped it a little It's nothing bad."

Rolling his eyes he takes the golf club in one hand before grabbing your uninjured hand with his empty hand. Putting away the golf club nearby and continuing to walk you stop to ask "Um where are we going?"

Growing softly at you in a non-threatening way of course, "To a medic station your bandage is ripped and with you working plus sweating so much you're gonna get it infected if it's not wrapped the right way."

You smiled to yourself as the both of you continued to walk. You knew they were wrong, Monty was just a big softy after all....

Well um, you can tell Monty is my favorite... 😃🤭 Anyways I didn't know what to do with the room thing so I didn't add it but I still hope you like it!

[talaok]

Hi🌻

Can you please write a pedro×reader where they are fighting really seriously and suddenly kisses the reader and things get spicy...

And if it's no bother can you please make it long

Pairing: Pedro pascal x reader

Warnings: angst and allusion to smut

11:32 pm

Another day, and another night alone.

Something was playing on the tv, but you had stopped paying attention a while ago.

The streetlamp across the street felt more interesting than anything a screen had to offer.

The road was deserted, and the house across from yours had all the lights off,

It's a Friday night, they're probably out. You can almost picture them at that cute bar in town, holding each other's hands while talking about their respective days. 

It must be nice, to be a perfect couple, to have someone to go home to every day, to not wake up and go to sleep in an empty bed.

But there you were.

Yes, you knew what you had gotten yourself into, you knew about the long hours, the need to move every six months, the hectic lifestyle, you knew about all of it... but still, nothing could have ever prepared you for the loneliness that came with it.

And what angered you was that maybe it wouldn't have been that bad, if he only talked to you once in a while, a real talk, a conversation starting with a simple "how are you doing?"

So that you could tell him how you were really doing.

But no, every time you were together now, you either had sex or both of you were too tired to finally have that conversation.

It had been a whole month now of that god-awful routine, and you were sick of it.

Tonight you were gonna talk, whether he wanted to or not

A click sounded to your left as the door opened.

"Hi," he said more like a question, a clear hint of his confusion.

You were never awake when he got home.

"Hi" 

"what are you doing up?"

You stood from the couch, as he took off his jacket and tossed it on the hanger.

"I was waiting for you"

"yeah?" he smirked, his eyes glinting with a suggestive tint.

"We need to talk"

"oh" he breathed, clearly disappointed "about what?"

You were now in front of him, taking in the scruffy beard that had just recently gotten some streaks of white matching his hair. 

The evidence of the years passed could be seen all across his face, except his eyes, of course, the same big hazel ones you fell in love with.

"Scarily expressive" you had told him the first time you met, and never a day had gone by that you hadn't stood by it.

You were sure that he could stop talking any day and his eyes would do the rest without any problems whatsoever.

And now, now what they conveyed was tiredness, mixed with confusion.

"You're never home Pedro" 

there, plain and simple.

He sighed now, getting where this was heading, he could have acted clueless all he wanted, but he too, knew this conversation was long overdue.

"Y/n I'm tired, can we do this another time?"

"When?" you scoffed "We never see each other! It's like I live alone Pedro, how do you think that makes me feel?"

"Listen it's not my decision, I have to work" he muttered, walking to the bedroom and leaving you behind like a useless piece of trash.

"I know it's not, but do you even try? How long has it been since you've taken a day off? Hell, even a morning off?" You trailed behind him.

Once again: You were gonna talk today.

"What would you rather I do? Stop working?" he asked, condescending as ever, turning to face you as he took his shoes off.

"No! I'm just saying you could try a little harder to be home more often"

"I was home yesterday!"

"Yeah at 5:30 pm and you invited Mike over"

"what's wrong with Mike being here?"

"Nothing just- we never have a moment to ourselves anymore"

"Well I'm sorry if I want to see my friends too"

"I'm not saying that you shouldn't, just- God, you never listen to me!" you snapped, throwing your hands to your sides

"When was the last time that we had breakfast together? Or that we went on a date, huh?"

This time he stayed silent

"exactly" you sighed "We're supposed to spend time together Pedro, for fuck's sake we're a couple!"

"Once again y/n, I have to work"

"Are you kidding me!?" you closed your fists by your side as you shut your eyes trying to calm down "Pedro have you listened to a fucking word I sai-"

What the fuck?

His lips were on yours.

"what are you doing?"

"Did you know you're really hot when you're mad?" he smirked, holding your waist

"shut up. I'm trying to have a serious conversation"

"nobody's stopping you" he murmured sultry, his mouth founding your neck.

God, you hated the whimper leaving your mouth

"A-All I'm trying to say is that you could try to be home more o-often"

"Mh-mh" he hummed against your neck, his beard scratching it ever so deliciously.

"Y-you're not-" you let out a sigh as he began sucking the skin beneath your ear "You're not listening to me"

"I am. go on" he urged, biting at your earlobe and causing a gasp to your throat.

"fuck-Pedro..." you warned 

"What sweetheart?" 

"I know what you're doing, t-this is not going to work"

And at that, the bastard chuckled, the vibrations of his voice going straight to your core.

"Funny you say that, baby," a wicked grin pulled at his lips as your eyes met his "'cause I think it already has"

"No it hasn't"

"no?" he whispered "Then how do you explain this?" he asked as his fingers reached the wet patch on your panties.

"God you're really..." you gritted, a mixture of anger and arousal coursing through you.

"What angel?" he ghosted your mouth "What am I?"

"you're an asshole"

A huffed laugh fled his mouth "And yet, you're gonna let me fuck you"

You bit your lip, trying to clear your mind

"We're still gonna talk later"

"Sure, sweetheart, whatever you want"

... 

(I just proof-read this and I realized I might have interpreted the request kind of wrong. You meant an enemies to lovers kinda thing didn't you? If you did I'm genuinely sorry)

[nochedie]

— get to know me! ☕️

hi! i am still relatively new to using tumblr regularly (i only found out yesterday you can choose where the read more cut goes?? leave me alone) and i haven’t really spoken about myself yet so here is a little icebreaker! i would love to make some more mutuals and my ask box is always open for a yap sesh 🫶🏼

— my name is actually eden but i do use edie more regularly as i do prefer it!

— i’m 25!

— i used to write when i was maybe 15/16 for teen wolf, the walking dead etc and a little bit of stranger things later on but i haven’t written fics since then!

— i am a travel agent! i LOVE working in travel and i’m always trying to find ways to incorporate it into one of my fics but i haven’t thought of the right way yet lmfao

— i have been watching supernatural since 2014 (i watched seasons 9/10/11 i THINK) but haven’t watched it all the way through and honestly lost any and all recollection so have been watching the entire series since about the start of september this year, i’m currently on season 8

— sometimes i struggle to call myself a dean or a sam girl because i don’t think i can choose but deep down i am just a dean girl and there’s nothing i can do about that

— i am from the uk! hate it 👍🏼

— other interests include photography, stuffed animals lmfao, iced coffee (i drank 8 in about two hours once and my friends still talk about it like it’s an urban myth)

— recently i had been playing fallout 4 pretty regularly but i played so long that it got easy and i’m not really here for that. give me a mirelurk queen type challenge

— then i played the entirety of powerwash simulator. and that really healed me

— i also love cozy games, eg animal crossing, wylde flowers. my favorite cozy game is unpacking it’s just SO calming.

— my album of the year for 2024 was big ideas by remi wolf PLEASEEEE tell me someone loves this album as much as me because i just. iloveremiwolfsomuch

— to be honest if a character does something bad i could still love them but uh. you know they still did that thing… unless their name is castiel. castiel can’t do wrong because he is castiel. that’s castiel. that’s my baby castiel. that’s my baby in a trenchcoat castiel.

that’s honestly all i can think of and i think half of this was me just yapping??? anyways :) come say hi plss! 🫶🏼

[agirlandherquill]

truths

goodness it's january 1st already, only feels like yesterday that i typed up the final post for writeblr - which was such a blast, and thanks again to all who participated - and even if you didn't, it's never too late to use the prompts for a little inspo! - anyways, for the past couple of days i've been working on a little story, something completely outside of my usual comfort zone,

for starters, it's not fantasy, in my mind it's a contemporary thriller, and it's written in first person (cue the nervous butterflies)

and incase the title wasn't a give-away, i've decided to give this story a very simple title - truths.

it's a story about a journalist in a small town trying to solve a series of murders terrorising the community, and she's teaming up with a private detective to do it - which is bound to have it's chaotic moments, just like the case and the story she's trying to write

and for once in my life, I've come up with a little blurb (queue sarcastic applause, because blurbs are the bane of my existence)

"Three murders and counting plague a small town, where no-one has a clue who's responsible, not even the police, and it's the greatest story to hit the local papers in years - only it's not been written yet, because journalist Bette never publishes an unfinished story. She is going to find the truth, find who's responsible, and finish the tragic story for her community, once and for all. Only she's not alone. Someone else is along for the truth-seeking ride. Private-Detective AJ appoints himself her partner in crime - or truth, if we're being specific - and he has no intention of letting the killer walk free. Let the search for truth begin - for all of them. Because the truth is twisted, it is tragic, it is different, from every angle. And for Bette and AJ, the truth could be just as deadly."

have i got your attention? read on if you'd like a sneak peek to the story, with the first chapter :) (and if you want to read more, i'll be sticking the chapters up on ao3, which you can find here)

He’s looking at me again.

For the fifth time in the last hour, I pretend to sip from my empty mug, using the opportunity to catch a glimpse of him. Only this time as I shift in my chair, someone walks past, crashing into my table. Coffee spills from their mug and onto my shirt. 

I stand up with a gasp at the shock of it, then try to swipe a few napkins from the rack on my table, dabbing frantically at the stain while the person whose coffee has now ruined my day leaves the shop without another word. 

“Some people hey? Are you all right?”

I look to my left. A man, early twenties, unruly brown hair and blue eyes stands there, offering me a few more napkins. Oddly nice of him. Nicer than anyone else in here. 

“Thanks. I’m all right.” I take them, and make a pitiful attempt of rubbing the stain out of the material. “I can’t say the same for this though.”

“At least it didn’t damage anything more important.” 

“What?” I look at him, confused. Is my shirt not important? Is it not important to not look like a coffee-stained slob at 11:33 in the morning? 

He gestures to my laptop, sitting next to my empty mug. The criminally empty mug, which he spots, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Oh,” I sigh, reaching and double checking nothing had spilt on it. It was fine. “Yeah, I guess so.”

That’s when I notice it. The table where the staring man had been, was empty. I look away, then to him. “I guess this was just the perfect excuse you needed to come over and talk to me, wasn’t it?”

He props a hip on my table. As though he has the right to do so. I fold the useless napkins into a ball and stuff them in my empty cup before I look at him again. “Get bored of staring for an hour?”

“I didn’t need an excuse to talk to you.”

“No?”

“I just needed to know the right thing to say.”

I tense. “I’m sorry?”

He blinks, then holds his hands up. “I swear, I’m not one of those guys that tries to pick girls up in coffee shops - I’ve never- I don’t-”

Why is it on me to stop him digging his own grave? I sigh. “It’s fine. Look, I’ve got a busy morning ahead of me, and I’d rather not stand here in a stained shirt and become a spectacle, so if you want to say something… Go for it.” 

He clears his throat. “I’ve been here for the past couple of days, wondering when you’d come in.”

“Right,” I stare at him. “Because that’s not creepy.”

“No, no, I-” He rubs his neck, clearly flustered. “I was told, that if I wanted to talk to you, that this was the best place.”

I should be more alarmed by this, shouldn’t I? But there was that usual nagging at the back of my head, curiosity doing its usual tactic of becoming irresistible. It’s going to become a problem for me one day, I know that, but for the past 23 years of my life it’s not steered me too wrong so far. I sit back down in my chair, scoot my laptop out of the way, and nod for him to sit. He looks surprised that I’ve not told him to scarper. He sits down and I take a minute to take him in. His shirt is white, new, I think, judging by the lack of creases. All of the buttons are done up, save for the one nearest his throat. He likes to be presentable, but not so uptight that he’d rather not breathe. Brownie points in my favour. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who act as though they were born with sticks shoved up an unspeakable orifice. He wears a blazer - if I had to name the shade, I’d go for slate - Not too obtrusive on the eyes, but nice all the same. And it fits him well. Tailored? No. I think that’s muscle under there, not fabric. 

That’s when I realise I’ve been staring for a fraction too long. He’s smiling at me, an awkward one, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Then again, if he’s been watching me for the past hour, I’m allowed to return the favour, right? 

I prop my chin on my hand. “So, first off, who told you I’d be here?”

“Alfie.” Down at the Piper. Course he did, mouthy bastard. I’m not allowed to have my own private schedule down there.

“You want a job down at the Piper then?” I’m surprised. He doesn’t strike me as a journalist. In fact, he looks too nice for that.

He shakes his head, and I have to admit, curiosity digs its claws into my mind a little bit more. “What then?”

“I-I think it’ll make more sense first if I explain to you who I am.”

Policeman. Christ. He’s come to tell me I can’t use my sources on this story and without them, I’m-

“I’m a sleuth.”

I have to hear him say it again in order to believe my hearing’s not just left me and gone to hell. “What?”

“A… Sleuth. A private detective, whatever name you want to call it.”

Private detective, not an actual one. Phew, I’m in the clear. I tilt my head. “Go on then, Detective, tell me about yourself.”

He shifts in his seat, as though the mention of the title makes him squirm. “Well…” He looks nervous. I pity him. He’s not the sort of person I like to see squirm. For starters, his suit hasn’t come from the posher shops way down the high-street. I raise a hand to the passing waitress and order us two more coffees. He looks at me, blinking, before he seems to relax a little and goes on. “My name is AJ, I’m investigating the…” He stops as the waitress brings us our coffees, I slip her the cash and take a sip of mine, while he waits for her to be out of earshot before he continues.

“I’m investigating the Chapel Murders.”

I very nearly spit my coffee in his face. It scorches my throat as I force it down and reach for my laptop, discreetly shutting the screen. The screen of the story I’m writing for the Piper’s front page, about the very same thing. If he’s seen anything- No, he can’t have. But how does he know I’m the one that’s writing- Oh. Alfie. I’m going to drown him with the water fountain one of these days, then he’ll keep his mouth shut.

I take a napkin and dab at my lips, gesturing for him to go on.

“I’ve been asked by one of the families to find who’s responsible, and since the police aren’t about to do me any favours, I thought I’d come to you.”

“And you think I know anything?”

“I think that you’re the best chance I’ve got in this town, and you’ve been typing for 30 minutes straight, you’ve got something.”

“Listen, there’s such a thing as credibility and I can’t have you putting mine into question,” I sigh, packing my laptop into my bag. I pick up my coffee and stand. “It’s been nice talking to you AJ, I wish you the best of luck but I’m afraid I can’t help you.” No matter what Alfie’s said.

His face falls. I didn’t expect to see him so disappointed, but then I remind myself. He’s a P.I. He’s got to be used to doing things on his own. I raise my coffee cup to him. “Have a nice day.”

I leave The Brew, my favoured coffee spot in town, at precisely 11:48, when I check my phone and round the corner. I get to the zebra crossing when someone touches my arm. I jolt. My phone flies out of my hand and clatters to the floor. Someone reaches it before I do. I turn and see AJ, holding it out. “Look, I’m sorry, I just really need your help.”

“So you try to give me a heart attack?”

One of the cars at the crossing beeps at me. I shoot them a glare. Drive past then, it’ll be my funeral if I step out. But I’m busy right now. They beep again and I wave them through, turning back to AJ, who is still touching my arm. “I told you, I can’t help.”

There’s something in his eyes that stops me from bolting immediately. He looks… Sad? 

He takes a deep breath, then pulls his hand away from my arm. “Matt Colton. The second victim. He’s my brother.”

I pause. His face did feel familiar. But when I’ve spent the last two nights staring at the photo we’ve put out for Matt’s eulogy, it would be one I wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Guilt kicks me in the ribs. I can’t just tell him to get lost now, can I? He deserves to know. He deserves to find the truth about who took his brother’s life. Isn’t that why I took this job? For the truth? For people’s stories?

I thrust my coffee cup into his hand. “Hold this for me.”

He stares at me, but takes it. “Why?”

“Because, I can’t write with my hands full.” I fumble with my bag for my pen, then take out my notebook, flicking to the back page. I scribble the address for the Piper on it, then my email address, then I tear the page out and hand it over to him. “Meet me there, 7:45am tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

I take my coffee from him, a small part of my stomach fluttering at seeing the hopeful smile dawning on his face.

“Thank you. I mean it. T-Thank you.”

I salute him with my coffee and head across the road, only to be stopped by someone shouting. 

“Hey! Hey!”

I pivot on the curb, confused.

“I called about you at the Piper, but Alfie never gave me your name.” He gave you everything else though - Christ, I’m having words about privacy when I get back to the office.

“It’s Bette.”

He smiles at me, and waves. “I’ll see you tomorrow Bette.”

And then he walks away on the other side of the street, and strangely enough, I find myself looking forward to it.

~ ~ ~

now for the tag list!

(p.s if you'd like to be included/notified too, interact with this post :) p.p.s im finally getting around to updating it, so bear with me :))

@humbly-a-doppelganger @imawholeassmood @frostedlemonwriter @yrndrgn @abditorywriting

@riveriafalll @lead-to-code @casualsuitturtle @floweryprosegarden @joeys-piano

@catwingsathena @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings @anaisbebe

@drchenquill @leahnardo-da-veggie @tiredpapergirl @pastelpinkhobbies @a-mimsy-borogove @the-letterbox-archives @corinneglass @darkluminosity @kuebiko-writing (so sorry for the super late addition!)

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 4/?

PART 1 , PART 2, PART 3, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

Thanks to your support, I am so committed to this. When I finish this, I plan to make it into a long, proper, one-shot- better format and everything!

I've been doing these chapters in the middle of work lmao, so if you see a typo or some edits, it's me rereading it after work.

I'm trying to include more Alastor but he's pretty hard to write.

I used Velvette so much here cos I love her as that bitch you love to hate. She is obviously the spokesperson of the Vees

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

The hotel lobby is filled with unbearable silence as hell's overlords and high members of the Ars Goetia arrive one by one.

Just a few hours ago, Alastor heard from Carmila Carmine that the king had called a meeting for the top ruling people of hell. Charlie doesn't know why her dad called for it in the hotel.

The Ars Goetia (minus Stolas) were whispering among themselves and shooting the sinner overlords dirty looks every now and again. The overlords were good at pretending they couldn't hear anything. Apparently, they at least have the sense to know that that would be a fight they cannot win.

The hotel's residents collectively claimed it as their spot. Husk is talking with Angel quietly, keeping him distracted and out of view of Valentino, Vaggie is holding her spear as she keeps a close eye on the strangers in their home, Nifty is obsessively cleaning a corner of the bar (Husk keeps telling her that it is still dirty just so she won't venture elsewhere), and Cherri is playing with an unlit bomb in her hand.

Rosie and Stolas decided to approach Charlie and Alastor at the bar at the same time, both slightly bowed to her.

Charlie: Prince Stolas. Rosie.

Stolas: Hello, princess.

Charlie: How's Octavia?

Stolas: Via misses your outings together. But she is fine. She's with her mother today.

Rosie: Not that I'm not happy to see ya, Alastor. But why exactly are we here? Our Carmila has not stated a reason why.

Alastor: You know as much as me, my dear.

Stolas: It must be dire. His majesty rarely calls for the Goetia's presence. He is not here yet?

Charlie: No. He went down in Sloth earlier. I'm worried. After what happened yesterday, I..

Rosie: Yesterday? Did something happen, sweetie?

Charlie realizes the slip up and backtracks.

Charlie: Nothing, Rosie!

Rosie gives her a look that tells her they're going to be talking about it later. She gives the overlord a weak thumbs up.

Meanwhile, Velvette decides enough is enough and they have wasted too much time waiting.

Velvette: Ugh! Vois, let's go. This is a fuckin' joke.

Carmila: Velvette, calm yourself.

Valentino: Why should she? I had very important shit to shoot today and me being here is making me lose money.

Alastor: Then perhaps you should step down. Having to attend the bare minimum duty of their title must be so difficult for someone so... undeserving.

The Radio Demon has a giant patronizing grin plastered on his face. Alastor's comment prompted Vox to speak up.

Vox: Oh, you timely piece of shit! Fight us right now, Alastor!

Alastor: How unbecoming. Throwing tantrums in front of royalty!

Velvette: I for one, don't want to sit here waiting for a no-show fossil

Charlie's demon side flares as the demon insults her dad.

Charlie: How fucking dare you?!

Random Goetia: You shall know better than to disrespect your king, insolent pest.

Velvette: Ha! You think we're scared of a bunch of birds?

Alastor: Should have known you three cannot behave for a simple meeting haha!

Soon everyone was yelling obscenities at each other, filling the hotel with chaos. Before a proper fight could break out, the door opens with a bang, silencing every demon.

Lucifer has arrived, following him were the other Sins. They were arguing amongst themselves from behind him. Charlie can only catch glimpses of what is being said as voices overlap each other.

Beelzebub: Bel-

Mammon: Are you fuckin-

Satan: Wrath is-

Leviathan: We cannot-

Asmodeus: Evacuation-

Belphegor: Grown another mile-

Lucifer says nothing the entire time and just takes a seat in the middle of the semi-circle table he conjured up. With the way the table was placed in front of everyone else, Charlie gets the feeling of deja vu of her hearing in heaven. But now her dad will be the one passing judgment.

Most of the sinners in the room back up as the Sins continue to argue with their full form.

Lucifer sits back and raises a hand and the yelling stops.

Back then, she never really understood why demons were afraid of her dad. He was always a silly and happy guy when spending time with her. But one time, she sneaks into his rare meetings with the Sins and sees why he was called the devil.

The anger she saw then could have given her Uncle Satan a run for Uncle Mammon's money.

Lucifer: Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I will cut to the chase. I have called you all here because something is brewing at the very depths of hell. Something that may affect us all.

Stolas: The Ars Goetia is at your disposal, sire. But may I ask what is this about?

Belphegor: I can answer that. A few months ago, an anomaly appeared at the edge of Sloth. It was not a problem until-

She pressed her touchpad and a hologram screen appeared showing the infected ground.

Not a single demon didn't widen their eyes.

Angel: What the fuck is that?

Belphegor: We wouldn't have called you all here if it was not this severe.

She taps and shows a mutilated demon pig.

Belphegor: This is Patient Zero. An animal on a nearby farm made contact with the anomaly. It instantly infected the whole body, controlling the creature whilst killing it slowly. If it can affect an animal like this, we fear what it may do to-

Velvette: And what do you expect us to do about it exactly? Why the fuck would we care about some old place we can't even go to.

Belphegor is briefly stunned by the interruption but ignores the sinner's disrespect.

Belphegor: Because you would have to be naive to think that it will stop in Sloth. We cannot be too careful.

Velvette: So you think we would risk our lives? Yeah. No thanks. How do we even know that it will affect us? It's just a pig. The worst we can get is horrible floor decor.

Lucifer stands up and moves silently towards the middle for everyone to see.

Lucifer: Free will does not mean you are free from consequences.

The king starts to remove his shirt to everyone's panic, except Belphegor.

Mammon: Woah woah, mate. The fuck ya doin?

Lucifer shrugs off the last piece of clothing to reveal the glowing, infected marks. It has not been a day since he touched it but the veins are already covering the entire right half of his torso.

Charlie: Dad!

The princess attempts to go to her father's side but Vaggie holds her back.

Lucifer: Shall we proceed without any more interruptions?

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

What to look forward to in Part 5:

the rest of the meeting

more dialogue from the other Sins. Cannot decide what personality to give to Leviathan.

My HC for Satan is he's like one of those old butler types but has a jacked body (I know he has that workout app, but I'm leaning more of the liver king type of a gentle strongman with anger issues. I don't want him to be a fuckboy gymbro)

more badass lucifer

the Vees getting scolded like the children they are

[percyweasleyapologist]

Rant

i'm actually sobbing right now.

I just woke up so late and i haven't had breakfast and i have to go downstairs and eat lunch with my nana in 10 minutes and i don't have the patience for that today. Like, i love her but we do it every single sunday and im always the only one actually fucking talking to her, and she has Alzheimer's so it just makes it a lot more difficult.

And, i got nothing fucking done yesterday and i'm so stressed because i have a boat load of work- at least 11 hours straight today. So since i woke up late i just have to go straight into that and i just hate doing that.

It's my own fault because i went to bed late last night but i set an alarm for 9 and it just didn't go off?? So now it's 12:30 and im sobbing on the floor of my bathroom while trying to get ready😋

wait i did just remember i got up at 9 for about 15 minutes and i think i accidentally fell asleep-

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 11 - loneliness

Warnings: red room nightmares, light stabbing, taunting

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint and Natasha get sent on their first mission together. As usual, nothing goes right.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Natasha lays with her wrist cuffed to the bed.

As far as things had gone, the day was a good one.

If approved, she could be going to Romania to see an old friend. It had been years.

The promise of leaving the compound gave her something to look forward to. Amongst the stagnant landscape and muted feelings, she recognised a good thing when she saw it.

Eyes closed, Natasha breathes deeply, focusing on sucking in, then expelling breaths.

Lately, she has felt so heavy, every action costing immeasurable effort. Even climbing into bed felt like a chore.

So much has happened this week.

Olivia.

Debrief.

And now a potential mission.

Three months at Shield, and she was only now seeing it for what it was.

Even then, it was just the tip of the iceberg, of that she was sure.

Breathing evenly, she recounts the day. She hopes it won't give rise to new nightmates and for once she’ll get a good night sleep.

Eyes closed, she gives thought to the upcoming mission and all the week had held, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

.

Gagged in a chair, she feels hot breath on her ear.

She suppresses a shudder, but barely.

Her face impassive, the rope that loops around her neck tightens as she moves her arms.

“Fun, isn’t it?”

The man smiles, coming round to face her.

“Get out of that.”

Natasha can’t move her arms without choking herself.

Her whole body hurts.

Fingers wiggle, but that’s about all the movement she has.

It feels hopeless.

She feels so sore, so sorry for herself. All she wants to do it give up.

.

Natasha wakes with a gasp.

First touching her throat, then her lips, she takes a breath.

Another night.

Another nightmare.

So many old memories and old wounds brought to the surface.

At least she didn’t throw up.

Closing her eyes, she knows only an hour has passed.

She unlocks the handcuff and pulls it off her wrist.

She has so many hours to go.

She knows she needs sleep.

It just feels so unappealing.

She tries to erase the bomb maker and all his tests from her mind, and counts her breaths in hopes it works.

.

Clint yawns.

His computer on, he glances quickly at Natasha’s cameras and watches her sit in the middle of the room in a yoga pose, soles of her feet together.

His coffee isn’t strong enough.

Her despondency is taxing.

He takes a sip.

He didn’t sleep.

Not after the imagery of yesterday's debrief; Natasha being choked, spat on and forced to break her own hand to accomplish a mission for the KGB.

“It’s fine,” she had said, “I was used to it, and I was the best.”

The hint of pride at accomplishing her mission had made him feel like hitting something.

She’d asked why they were questioning her about Oleg, the arms dealer. Clint had considered how to respond. They always seemed to walk a fine line between telling her things and putting truths in omissions.

Sitting across from each other, he'd handed her a file.

The man had been in prison and now he was not; and whilst times had changed, he continued to make and sell bombs without impunity.

Olivia had presented the mission.

With Natasha, they could approach him under the ruse of the Red Room. Have her talk to him, about his current projects.

Olivia has argued that it would put Natasha in a situation where she would need to play both sides and prove loyalty.

Natasha rebutted this, arguing that she had already done that by killing Dreykov.

She'd conceded though, after reading through the mission debrief, especially when it dawned on her that a mission would mean she'd be allowed to leave.

Clint swallows, remembering how their last mission together went, as they took the life of Dreykov’s daughter.

He needs a break.

Constant worry of her survival was wearing on him.

He promised safety and a new life and all he’d given her was this.

Cages and reliving trauma.

He thinks of it often.

The shooting range could only do so much, and his energy was limited these days.

He sips his coffee.

Opening his emails, both Fury and Olivia have emailed and he sighs heavily.

Mission approved, it reads.

He stands to tell Natasha the news.

He wonders when his life will go back to normal.

.

Clint runs his hands through his hair as he passes Sharon on his way to Natasha.

He inquires about how things are going.

There are still murmurs of derision when it comes to Natasha. But, she states, it seems to have calmed for now.

Gossip had decreased and there were other things for SHIELD to talk on.

Clint is glad. He doesn’t think he could cope with yet another thing.

The starkness of the cell always saddens Clint.

Not that she would be allowed much, and not that they had given her much, but it was so spartan and cold.

She’s been here for just over 3 months and the lack of personal effects in a space, that is supposed to be her own, makes him sad.

She still has his watch.

He’d let it go, made it a point that he had another one.

He likes to think it helps her.

The handcuffs too, he’d let her keep.

Natasha stands looking at him.

He thinks she’s lost weight.

She has his watch on her wrist and the cuffs in her hand, and Clint looks around to find no other traces of her within the room. It’s stark and minimalist and agrees with Olivia that something needs to change.

“It’s been approved,” he tells her.

Natasha’s face is grim.

“When do we leave?”

.

Oleg looks old, Natasha thinks, watching him eat.

His face aged and scarred, the hair loss marked since she saw him last.

There’s a hatred that’s in her body, long dormant and curled for revenge.

She’s going to kill him, even if that’s not in the mission parameters.

If they’re going to test her, she’s going to test them too. Let them see what the real black widow is; not this traumatised quim, of what she’s become.

If there’s any time for it, this is it.

Killing Dreykov allowed her entry.

Maybe killing Oleg will support her in moving forward.

She wants to be alone. It’s been so long since she was truly alone without someone watching, and the loneliness it invokes is starting to get to her.

The boat just off the coast of Sulina was more like a passenger ferry. It was big enough that he could be thrown easily from the stern and just maybe have the rotary blades dispose of him further.

Get out of that, she thinks.

She’d left a message with the wait staff to give him a note, signed by her, and she watches as it gets delivered.

He puts on glasses and his face morphs to a smile.

Maybe she had laid it on too thick.

Natasha adjusts her dress, knives in her hair ready, as the dress really left nothing to the imagination.

“He’ll be here in five minutes or less,” she tells the ear piece.

Clint’s voice returns.

“We have you. We want to know about Ukraine and Paris. And see if you can ask about—"

“I know,” she growls. “I know.”

Clint is quiet.

The comms switch and Oleg approaches, holding up his hand for her to take.

“Natalia!” he croons, using Dreykov’s pet name for her.

“What a wonderful surprise!”

He pauses as she smiles, the evening air filtering his aftershave that evokes memories of the rope around her throat.

“Under new management? First the FSB, then the Red Room, what do the KGB have to say for themselves? Have they been good masters?”

Natasha kisses his ring, the customary greeting and continues to regard him with a smile.

She’s glad she has knives.

“Not as good as the old days, Oleg.”

The answer seems to please him, and she motions for them to sit on the bench to her right.

“You’re right Natalia, those were the days, when you were younger and I was at my prime.”

She thinks she hears Clint growl.

Ignoring the words, she hands him a diamond.

“They need some help,” she starts, wondering how to compose her words.

He nods and takes it.

“But first they need some information.”

She hands over another diamond, and he takes that enthusiastically as well.

Natasha holds up a third, but waits.

He eyes it, looking down at his other two.

“Of course,” he starts, “what do they want to know?”

He puts a hand on her leg, and Natasha turns her body into him.

Her skin feels hot under his hand and she hates her body for reacting to it; that in her loneliness unwanted touch is touch all the same.

She asks first about Ukraine, and he confirms information that Shield seems to already know, Clint only prompting to clarifying a few details.

She hands him another diamond.

“Tell me, Natalia, how has the transition to another master been?”

Natasha’s face flushes, she hopes he’s alluding to the KGB, but she fears he’s not.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little voice tells her to run.

“Not as easy as I’d hoped,” she manages, “tell me about Paris?”

He smiles in a somewhat kind way, moving his hand away.

“Ah Paris. Do you know the outskirts of Goussainville? The cemetery?”

She laughs.

“You didn’t?”

He smiles.

“I did.”

A small joke that she knows will be lost on Clint.

“They can find it there, but if they take it, the cost will be more than this.”

He holds up the diamonds and offers his pudgy hand for more.

They’re cut off by his phone ringing, and she allows him to move away. His new position close to the edge of the boat is more tenuous and she likes the angle.

Edging to the side of the seat, Oleg frowns and gives her a quick glance.

It could mean nothing.

She decides against it.

It never means nothing.

Natasha stands as Oleg finishes his phone call.

“Did you also want to know about Budapest? What else have you told the Americans Natalia? Did you know in the organisation, they’re all working for us? You have the same masters, just under a new name.”

Natasha’s stomach drops.

There’s a mole in SHIELD.

It’s all Natasha needs to know she’s been compromised. A knife comes out of her hair as quick as the gun he pulls from his jacket.

She’s just faster.

The knife slices into his side, and then in quick succession, her hand becomes bloody, a look of shock and anger crosses his face, and he spits blood onto her.

She takes a certain amount of pleasure pushing him overboard.

In his last breaths, he grabs at the knife, forcing it back against her, slicing the top of her hand.

Pushing him back, he makes a loud splash, and the cacophony in her ears becomes startling.

.

<3

[concreteburialplot]

VIRALITY // 11

11 - Peak Fashion

pairing: noah sebastian x fem!oc [vallie] 👀

masterlist: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 5k

warnings: angsty? but cute?, jealous nicholas, sassy but goofy noah, something revealed, very short time skips, 18+ MDNI

summary: vallie abruptly wakes to a million texts to meet for a last minute music video. upon arriving she discovers that the band is not at all prepared which sets her and noah on a mission.

Reminder: This contains the very mild crossover with Christian 'Kras' Anthony from Chase Atlantic ...... and introduces another extremely mild crossover 🫣 they are both merely for side character/reference purposes. Nothing huge, don’t worry lol just for fun

Disclaimer - This story is semi-AU since it does not follow actual timelines or events. The band is still fairly small & does things entirely on their own with no other support.

don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

VALLIE

Sunlight warms my eyelids and gently lulls me awake. My eyes shoot open at the realization that I have once again fallen asleep somewhere that isn’t my home – well my pseudo-home anyway. It seems that anywhere else feels homier than my showroom-esque Airbnb.

This time I don’t wake up in a panic, the smell of Christian’s woodsy cologne reassures me that I’m somewhere safe. The last time stamp I saw on my phone last night was 4:30 am. We had spent the whole night catching up, watching our favorite comfort shows, and binging all his favorite American snacks that he can’t get in Australia.

I reach over to the nightstand to grab my phone. A groan escapes me when I see that the time reads 8:47 am. My brows curve up at the ridiculous amount of notifications that fill my screen. While my job doesn’t really have “days off”, I had no specific plans or meetings booked for the day. So, it’s unexpected.

Most of them were from Bryan, the Omens’ photographer that I met at the warehouse with Noah. The messages flood my screen with missed calls and texts.

Bryan: Warehouse. 8 am.

Bryan: Hello? Are you awake?

Bryan: Music video. Today.

Bryan: I think you should be there.

Bryan: Hey!!! Music video !! Today !! 8 am !!

Bryan: Dude

Bryan: We’re starting. Show up whenever, if you want.

Fuck.

Kras continues to snooze next to me and I know that not even a plane crash could wake him up. So, I press a quick peck on his cheek before I roll out of bed and quickly begin gathering my belongings.

I’m rushing because well… Bryan seems like the only Omen who wants to cooperate or include me in any actual band activities. So, I have to be here. And I’m already an hour late.

I leave a small note on Christian’s dining table, saying how nice it was to see him, thanking him for the pep talk, and that I’ll see him and the rest of his band in a zoom meeting next Monday morning.

I’m still not sure if saying yes to his job offer was the right choice. I’m already stretched thin enough between my main client and now Omens, adding Chase might be more than I can handle. While my main client’s fanbase is much more… intensive, Chase Atlantic is still larger than both of them. And that swirls a terrifying pit of anxiety in my stomach because I’m not quite sure I’m equipped with enough experience to handle it all.

Gravel cracks beneath my tires as I pull up to the warehouse. I gather my bed head hair into the closest thing to a bun I can get it and try to rub off the slept in mascara smudged under my eyes.

My engine isn’t fully off for half a second before I’m out and locking my door.

I smooth out the exact same outfit I wore to Christian’s yesterday since I didn’t have time to stop home. Usually, I would never show up to a work event in sweatpants, a cropped cami, sneakers, and a flannel, but here we are. It’s not like the band is particularly formal anyway.

I see Folio and Jolly first, who both give me strange looks, like they’re surprised I’m here. Then, Noah and Nicholas once I get to the entrance. They seem equally as shocked too.

“What are you doing here?” Noah asks, lined with his usual snarky tone, seeming almost offended by my presence.

“I invited her.” Bryan speaks up from the background, adjusting the camera around his neck. “And you’re about an hour late by the way.”

Regardless of his criticism, he gives me a smile and a side hug – which surprises me.

Aside from Nicholas – for…obvious reasons – Bryan is the one who meets me with the most warmth out of the five of them.

I offer a closed lipped smile and a small awkward wave to the band. I wasn’t prepared to accidentally crash a music video shoot.

“Nice outfit, you just get out of bed?” Noah quips.

I roll my sleep-deprived eyes, “Nice to see you too, Noah.”

The rest of the band disperses into whatever they were doing before I arrived.

Nick walks up to me and I can tell he’s trying his best to act casual.

“Hey.” He says simply but quietly between us.

“Hey.” I match his somewhat awkward tone.

My gaze reluctantly meets his and I immediately regret it. His hair is pulled up into a fluffy ponytail with his hair flat against his head and he looks so good.

This was going to be more difficult than I thought.

“Val?” He asks trying to get my attention.

“Huh?” I shake my head from the fuzz sitting in my brain.

“Oh, I just said it’s nice to see you.” He says demurely. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I take note of the dullness of his normally bright eyes, and the dark bags beneath them. It makes me wonder if he got as little sleep as I did.

The energy of this whole ordeal is so… odd. It makes me feel as though I’m once again missing parts of a puzzle that I’m not aware of.

His gives me a once over and lingers a bit on my flannel.

“Oh! Right!” I set my bag down on a nearby table before slipping the flannel off my arms, giving it a lazy fold, and offering it over to him. “Here have it back.”

He instinctively takes the folded garment, looking at it like I just handed him the wrong Chipotle order. His brows furrow, initially in confusion then into something much different.

Before he responds it hits me.

I fucked up.

Fuck

Fuck

Fuck

“This isn’t mine.” He states in a slighted tone.

“Oh- Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night–“ I immediately realize that probably wasn’t the best thing to follow that up with. “I just need a coffee.”

“Right.” He lands the flannel back in my hands. He goes to pass me and stops as he’s grazing my shoulder. “And who’s ever it is, has shitty taste in cologne.”

My eyes widen.

Did I just put Kras’ proposed scheme into action by accident?

It’s fine.

It’s perfectly fine.

I’m fine.

I discreetly shake out the tips of my fingers and glance up to finally take in my surroundings fully. The floor is covered in a massive tarp, covered in… dirt?

I steal the phone from my tote pocket and carefully walk over to where Bryan is messing with some equipment. I shuffle right up next to him and whisper, “What…exactly is happening here?”

“I don’t know. Noah just woke us all up at the ass crack of dawn and said we needed to do this today.” Bryan shrugs, not stopping his actions for me, and continues walking carrying a large umbrella light.

“…and you all just went along with it?”

“Listen. I just work here man.” He sets down the heavy light and sighs dramatically.

I can’t help but chuckle at his verbiage.

“Okay… and why did you have to drag me into this?”

“Well, you have a job to do, don’t you?” He questions as if he doesn’t know the answer.

“I mean y-“ I begin but he cuts me off.

“Exactly.” He walks back over to a pile of equipment on a plastic table, and I follow him around like a puppy while he talks. “And you want them to like you, yes?”

“Well, I mean,” My eyes glance over at Nicholas who’s sat on a stool tuning a teal bass. The memories of our bodies entwined graze over my tongue and his working fingers sends a tingle between my legs.

Well, one of them likes me.

Is my first reflex to say.

But I’m not even sure if that’s true, especially not now. I should know better than to trust band boys anyway. I manage them, I’ve been around them since the start of my career. I’ve been best friends with Kras for nearly a decade. I’ve seen what band men do. How they treat the women they use to get off, even the ones they love.

“Look. They need you.” He says, his tone more serious than before and leans against the wall beside him with crossed arms. “Whether they believe it or not, they need you. You and I both know that. If Noah wants to be an arrogant, stubborn asshole, then let him. But don’t give up on them. They just need time.” His eyes drift to the four of them messing around with their instruments. “You’re stuck with them one way or another. And they’re not a bad bunch to be stuck with. Trust me.” He gives me a half smile before nudging my arm. “Loosen up a little, you might find that you like ‘em.”

Bryan pushes himself off the wall going to find some other task and I’m left with this peptalk I wasn’t expecting, especially from him.

I take the time to watch them, really watch them. Noah is well … Noah, so there’s some grumpy tension that follows him – but the rest of them, even while grumpy and irritated, flow together effortlessly.

Noah ripped everyone from their sleep and yet, they’re still all here. Sure, you could write that off as good work ethic, but I think it’s more than that. As unpredictable as he is, they let Noah lead them. At least for the most part.

They all showed up for him today and the whole time I’ve known them.

‘This band is all he has.’ Nicholas’ words echo in my ears from that rainy night in his car.

Maybe they all know that, and maybe they all honor it.

They all love him enough to show up and keep showing up.

Christian is right. I can’t let my feelings cloud this. If not for me, then for them.

As I clear from my dissociation, I realize I must’ve hyper fixated on their bustling about because the only thing I see now is their attire… or the lack thereof.

“Wait, wait, wait.” I cautiously step around the piles of dirt on a brown tarp to reach Noah. “Is this the whole outfit? This is what you’re wearing for the video?”

Noah sighs in exasperation and drops the corner of tarp he’s holding to face me. “Yes? Do you have a problem with it?”

“Problem with it? It is the problem.” I give him a once over, just black jeans and plain grey shirt with a faded CocaCola logo on it. I reach to his sides and give the seems a small tug to pull the logo taught against his thin chest. “You see that? What does that look like to you?”

Noah raises a snarky brow at me, “A Coke logo?”

“Wrong. That-” I drop the edges of his shirt and stab his sternum with my finger. “That is unpaid brand advertising.”

I can tell he immediately wants to roll his eyes but doesn’t when he realizes I’m right.

The rest of the boys wear similar outfits, jeans, t-shirts, hoodies.

“Okay, well this is all we brought last minute, and the house is like an hour away, I’m not driving back there.”

There’s no way I’m letting them shoot an entire video in dirt with such casual outfits. I tug at my lip and tap my fingertips on my arm in thought.

As if a lightbulb appears above my head, a possible solution crosses my mind.

“I think I saw a thrift shop in that strip where the bar is.” I shrug, “I can try to find something there. But I can’t just let you play around in dirt like this.”

Noah raises his brows and crosses his tattooed arms across his chest, “Well I’m sure as fuck not letting you pick out outfits for us.”

I walk over to my bag, picking up easily and walking towards the warehouse opening. “Then you better hurry up and get in my car.”

Noah and I had been looking through racks of dusty clothes for about 10 minutes without speaking to each other. I knew a thrift shop was somewhat of a risky choice, but after not seeing anything worth shit for a bit had me nervous.

I’m not sure why I’m nervous – but I shouldn’t be making risky bold decisions with them.

Across the racks I catch Noah picking up a thick peacoat. At first glance, I find it absolutely repulsive, but for a music video? It could be exactly what we need. At least it’d be better than a Coca-Cola shirt. For the vibe I think he’s going for, it might be perfect.

He lifts up the hanger and flips it around, his brows knitting intently at it. He likes it.

I haven’t known him that long, but he’s pretty transparent, no matter how mysterious he thinks he is.

I quickly divert my eyes back down when he goes to return the coat to its place on the rack. I know that if I say I like it, he’ll immediately be against it, so I keep my mouth shut.

“So, what kinda vibe are you going for?” I ask casually.

He glares over at me, “What do you care? Changing our clothes was your idea remember?”

��Whoa.” I put my hands up in defense. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, I’m sure you wanna put us in the same preppy clothes you put your other big mysterious client in. Which I’m still convinced is Harry Styles by the way.”

I roll my eyes knowing which “client” he’s referring to since I haven’t mentioned that I took on a third one yet. He means the first one, the one that landed me here in the first place, my ‘big success’. At least that’s what they kept telling me when sitting in meeting after meeting getting pitched different ‘next big artists’. And somehow, I got stuck with Noah & friends™️.  

“No, it’s not Harry and I don’t put them in preppy clothes.” I reply absentmindedly sifting through hangers.

“Them?” He picks up on my slip immediately and my eyes widen slightly. “It’s a band?”

I clear my throat and shake my head. “No – no that’s not what I–“

“It is, isn’t it?” His brows lower at me. “It better not be a conflict of interest, that would be a breach of contract and I-“

“Relax. I’m not stupid, I wouldn’t have signed contract if it was a conflict of interest.” I glare over at him with annoyed, tired eyes.

I sigh then allow my tense shoulders to roll back. “Yes. It’s a band. But they aren’t a heavy band they’re ehm…. more classic rock, hippie-ish?” I shake my head. “And trust me, I would NOT put you or the rest of you in any of their clothes.”

I press my lips together trying to stifle a giggle that threatens to escape at the thought of Noah in a glitzy jumpsuit.

“What’s so funny?” He furrows his brows at me in offense. “You don’t think I could pull off some hippie clothes?” He asks seriously, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it either, he’s just trying to be difficult.

Then it occurs to me that this reverse-psychology defiant behavior may work to my advantage.

“No, actually. I don’t think you could.” I shrug, sliding some clothes over. “Just like I don’t think you could pull off that hideous peacoat.”

His brows rise higher than I’ve ever seen them. “Oh really? Maybe that’ll be the one I choose then.”

Checkmate.

I ignore it to not put too much emphasis on it. “You never told me what’s the vibe you want.”

“Hm.” He pauses, maybe he doesn’t even know. “I’m not sure. Cult-y? Business-y? Underground elite secret society-y?”

“Wow.” I say with wide, surprised eyes and exaggerating my mouth around the word. “That’s… specific. And you planned to achieve that with graphic tees?”

“Shut up.”

“Right.”

“Would I know your other band?” He inquires, the curiosity obviously eating at him.

“Shut up.”

“Right.”

We continue to mind our own business in our individual searches while early 2000’s pop plays through the small, dingy shop.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Noah lifting up an obviously homemade PitBull t-shirt.

I can’t help but let out a loud laugh.

He snaps his head over at me with a goofy grin, “What you don’t think Mr. Worldwide is peak fashion?”

I shake my head laughing, “No, I definitely wouldn’t say he is.”

“I think this might be the most badass piece of clothing I’ve ever seen.” He seems half serious and half trying to hold back a cackle.

“It’s a… choice. But you know what? It might be perfect for you.”

He feigns offense, “Why because you think I’m so badass?”

A laugh erupts from me. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Well, I’m getting it. I might wear it in the video.” He throws the white shirt into his cart.

“Great.” I reply sarcastically.

The search seemed to be going a bit better the further we dig. I found a couple pieces that might work for the rest of the band to fit into Noah’s vaguely hyper-specific theme. He’s done the same, just not as successfully.

Across the aisle I notice his hands grasping the sides of a hideous white puffy jacket with patches of sherpa all over it and an oversized hood. The nylon material rasps as he rubs it between his inked fingertips. My brows curve at how he looks at it like it’s some lost treasure.

He pauses before turning to me, lifting it up to showcase its entirety.

“What do you think about this?” He asks genuinely, which throws me off. It sounds so authentic, so real, and not hidden behind any sort of sassy, crude walls, or ulterior motives. I don’t know if he’s ever truly talked to me like that before, especially not sober.

I’m still cautious since he’s fooled me before, so I stay neutral by lifting my shoulders to a shrug. “I don’t know. Why don’t you try it on?”

He eagerly scoots past his cart that takes up the entire aisle and walks to the mirror. The thick zipper hisses at how quickly he undoes it, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

I watch him in some form of awe, maybe it’s more curiosity of his behavior. The more I get to know him, the stranger he seems.

He slips his skinny arms through the sleeves, and it fits him loosely but just right, like it’s made for him – though that doesn’t detract from how it still looks a little ridiculous, just less so now that it’s on him.

He turns back to me and spreads out his arms like a child showing off a Halloween costume.

“Well?” He questions.

“I mean the jacket is still pretty silly.” I chuckle. “But it looks nice on you.” I compliment honestly.

A toothy grin spreads across his mouth and turns back to the mirror, “Yeah, I think so too.”

Quiet falls between us again and we move on to different sections. I get so focused on rifling through the clothes that I realize I’ve lost track of Noah. I scan the small store and can’t spot him.

“Noah?” I call and as if right on cue, I feel something dropped around my head followed by a scurrying Noah.

“What the hell?” I reach up and catch the edges of the large hat pulling it off and finding that he’s dropped a massive sombrero on my head. “Hey!”

He chuckles and pulls his shoulders to a shrug, “Might be perfect for you.” He mocks my words from before about the Pitbull shirt.

“Ha-ha very funny.” I roll my eyes playfully. “I’ll get you back.”

“Bring it on.”

What follows is a series of us trying to find the most ridiculous shit to throw on or at each other.

First, I got an ugly, dusty, grandma shawl that I threw on Noah’s shoulders as best as I could before quickly walking in the other direction.

Then, when I wasn’t paying attention and with great stealth, he was able to drop a yellowing Disney rain poncho over my body.

Now, he’s stood in front of a full-length mirror holding up various different pieces of black clothing. In my stroll through the hat section, I found a leopard print fedora perfect for his big head. I sneak up behind him, making sure not to get in frame of the mirror. I reach up on my tip toes to somewhat reach his head, tossing the hat up to bridge the rest, hoping that it would land.

It does land, crooked atop his head.

I cover my mouth to hide a chuckle before backing away slowly. Before I can make my escape, he snaps his head over in my direction, jostling the hat to fly off his head. In a swift move, he catches it with fumbling hands.

“Hey that’s not fair! You’re tiny and fast!” He plops the leopard fedora back on his head and anchors a fist at each hip playfully.

The goofy sight of it all makes me double over nearly cackling. “It’s not my fault you’re big and clunky!”

He pulls the flimsy hat off his head, squishing it thin between his fingers pointing at me. “You better watch your back, Thornhill.”

“Ooh, you’re so scary, Sebastian.” I tease with raised hands feigning fear.

“You think you’re so funny huh?” He speaks directly at me probably trying to distract me, but I catch him snatching another random hat off the rack while he slowly makes his way towards me.

My eyes glance at down at his actions and I make a run for it. I don’t know what I expected but, he chases me around the thrift shop like we’re little kids in a toy store. I stealthily weave through metal racks full of musty clothes trying to lose him, giggles pouring from both our mouths.

I ignore the judging looks from the employees and the few patrons shopping around us. It’s a blessing that I can’t hear the murmuring around us. My ears are full of only my own heartbeat and the sound of his playful and competitive laughter.

It’s then that I realize I hadn’t fully heard him laugh before, not sober anyway, and it’s so… endearing. It’s one of those laughs that’s contagious and only makes you laugh harder. Which isn’t something I expected from him. None of this is really what I expected.

He finally corners me in the scarf section. I spin around in the tiny space between us and within that split second he’s snatched a bizarrely colored thin scarf and throws it around my neck like a towel, keeping hold of each end.

Just as fast, I grasp a similar scarf and match his actions, throwing the scarf up around his neck. With the speed and rush of the motion, I accidentally tugged him closer and lower to me.

My eyes flutter up and the edges of his laughing grin shorten when his eyes meet mine. Unexpectedly, my breath hitches in my throat. I never noticed just how chocolate-y brown his eyes were until now. Normally his eyes are so serious or angry or… drunk, but right now, they’re wide and warm and just as confused as mine. His eyes shift side to side seemingly searching mine for something I’m not quite sure of.

Being this close to him really emphasizes just how tall he is, the top of my head barely meets his shoulders and for some reason, that realization makes my heart thump harder against my ribcage.  

I’m frozen where I stand, I should pull away, but I can’t. I shouldn’t enjoy the butterflies that run rampant in my tummy. It’s just Noah after all. The asshole that somehow always ends up drunk on the floor. The one that tells me how to do my job and how not to manage him. The one that told Nick that I’m a ‘stuck-up corporate bitch’.

But, that’s the same Noah that’s chasing me around this store like we’re playing tag on a playground.

My tummy twists and my breath sharply lodges itself in my throat when I catch his eyes dart to my lips – once.

Twice.

He moves closer, just marginally, and then again – eyes, lips.

I mimic his actions, my eyes flicker from his brown eyes to light pink lips.

Then he’s even closer – so close I can feel his exhaled breath brush past my nose.

Again.

Eyes, lips.

I feel his knuckles just graze my shirt where he’s still holding the scarf at either end and it sends electricity down to my fingertips.

Then, a strand of his long brown hair falls from behind his ear, and it seems to snap him from our daze. He lets out an awkward chuckle, steps back and slides the scarf off my neck by one end.

“We should probably wrap up here… I’m sure the guys are sick of waiting for us.” He scratches the back of his neck and diverts his eyes from me.

It seems like the right thing to do, but for some reason it leaves me a little disappointed.

Disappointed in what exactly?

What the fuck just happened?

I pull the scarf off of him in the same manner and hang it back up on its hook. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Checking out is hushed and awkward as we stand next to each other in front of the workers that had to watch us nearly destroy the store.

We walk out silently until I notice that he’s walking out with the leopard print fedora proudly plopped on his head.

“You really bought that stupid hat?” I chuckle calling after him carrying 2 heavy, giant bags full of clothes.

“Yeah duh-“ He begins looking back but trips over his feet across the exit door frame.

I bring a plastic bag-occupied hand up to cover my mouth to hide a giggle.

“Shut up.” He directs me with a pointed hand even though I hadn’t said anything.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kinda goofy?” I laugh, shaking my head and clicking my key fob to unlock the car.

“Goofy?” He gasps as if he’s offended. “Valerie this is peak fashion.”

I chuckle and roll my eyes, “Get in the fucking car, will you?”

He laughs and matches my actions of throwing the heavy bags in the backseat. He slides in the passenger of my blue Mercedes rental and the clunky weight of his lanky body shakes the small car. He stuffs his legs into the tiny, allotted space for them. I would make a comment about how large he is, but I’m not in the business of boosting men’s egos.

I press the push-to-start and begin navigating my way out of the parking lot. It takes a bit for my phone to connect and begin playing music, but when it does it fills the car with a familiar tune.

Noah reaches over and spins the dial to turn up the music. It doesn’t fully register in my mind what song it is until Noah speaks up.

“Is this the hippie rock band you’re representing?” He asks, a bit of sharpness to his voice.

“I-I well, no, I just-“ I’m caught off guard and stutter. I’m new to handling more than one client and having them not know about each other seemed like the best course of action. But I particularly didn’t want Noah to know since I knew he’d compare what I do with others with what I do with them.

“It is, isn’t it?” He snaps. “You manage Greta Van Fleet?”

“I… well,” I pause then sigh out of pure exhaustion. “Yes. I manage them.” I say flatly, somewhat annoyed. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business though.”

He’s silent for a moment, seemingly just taking in the song – Lover, Leaver.

“You’re right. They’re nothing like us.” He announces simply. “The voice on that singer is insane though.”

I can’t stop my brows from furrowing, and from one abruptly propping up.

He’s not upset.

He’s not upset?

“Yeah… I know.” I reply cautiously, glancing over at him to decipher the unbothered look on his face.

“Well, don’t look so surprised, they’re good. I can appreciate good music, can’t I?” He lets a few moments pass. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. They sound so familiar…” He trails off in thought.

“I know, you were expecting Harry Styles.” I joke. “But it’s not, so you can chill.” I tap my fingertips across the leather steering wheel.

“I knew it wasn’t Harry.” He shifts in his seat, crossing his arms across his skinny waist with his hands draping over his sides. He rests his head on the door looking out the window. “If it was, you wouldn’t have taken us.”

“I bet you wish it was Harry Styles then huh?” I say as a somewhat half joke and glance over at him while mindlessly tapping my fingertips on the steering wheel. He stays silent, just watching the trees go by. I can’t tell if the silence is intentional or if he’s just zoned out.

Some time passes before he returns to the conversation.

“Well, I don’t care if you represent them. Just know that I’m not dressing up like some wizard man like your other singer.” He warns firmly with a playful pointed finger.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sebastian.”

Next Chapter -> 12 - Liar, Liar*

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @kingdomof-omens @persuasivus @strawberryruffilo @thebadchic @the-hell-i-overcame @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @cncohshit @dominuslunae [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N: Thank you if you've made all the way to chp 11! lol thank you for reading anything i write. thank you so much for every like, reblog, ask, or comment. It means the world to me truly. Thank you.

i love hearing your thoughts so feel free to share! (i'm really bad at responding to comments/asks but i still love them 🥺)

[waterfire1848]

AU where Hama tries a different strategy where instead of torturing the worst targets and wasting time she tries to go big for Azulon himself, but can't just run at him for obvious reasons so she tries infiltrating and posing as a concubine to get and ideally kill him when in a good position by trying to get him to trust her first to not make it obvious.

Hello, @deadlyangelofpurity !!!

Once Hama escapes from prison, she realizes that she has a power no one in the four nations knows exists and she's in the very nation that is continuing this war. What does she do? Sneaks into the Fire Lord's place to kill him of course. If she can kill him, she can end the war and go back home and, with bloodbending, it really shouldn't be that difficult. She makes her way to the palace, posing first as a peasant then guard then servant until she gets inside the palace. However, upon getting entry she quickly realizes that Azulon is both heavily guarded and is a master firebender, so just walking up to him and killing him isn't exactly an option. That's when she overhears some of the concubine's talking. (Concubine #1: I spent at least 5 hours with him. Concubine #2: No, you didn't. I was there yesterday. Concubine #1: Not all day. Concubine #2: You're an idiot. Concubine #1: An idiot who is going to keep her job and gets quality time with the Fire Lord.) That's when Hama gets an idea.

She takes one of the girl's clothing while she's in the shower, dresses herself and then gets in the same group as all the others. Being a concubine is very much a competitive thing because everyone is competing for Azulon's favor and those who aren't really liked by Azulon will end up out on the streets. So when Hama joins she's quickly viewed as competition by the other girls and mocked and ridiculed as the newcomer, especially for her lack of knowledge on Fire Nation customs. Hama bites her lip, willing herself not to also invent bloodbending during the day, and focuses on her mission. Although it is made far harder by the other women making life a living hell for her. (Hama may or may not waterbend at them a tad during lunch and dinner to ruin their makeup and outfits).

When she does meet Azulon, she knows that she can't outright kill him because everyone would instantly know it was her and she'd be killed. Plus someone else would just take Azulon's place and all her work would have been for nothing, so killing him on the first night is not an option. Rather, she keeps quiet and tries to learn as much about Azulon as she can so that she can eventually get on his good side and kill him with no one suspecting her. Bloodbending would allow her to get the job done quickly and effortlessly, but the problem is that the full moon isn't for another two weeks so she must wait. Hama hates her role but she bites her tongue and continues on, careful not to say anything that would either give her away as Water Tribe or that would give away her plan. In this time, Hama meets Azulon's young son: Iroh, who's about 11 at the time, and meets his infant son, Ozai. (Hama: He's adorable. Iroh: Dad says he's not that strong, but I think he's going to grow up to be a great Fire Prince! Hama: You do? Iroh: Mmhmm! You'll see! He'll grow up into one of the best Fire Prince's in the nation! Hama, leaning over the cradle: We shall see I suppose). Hama has no problem with Iroh or Ozai but if Iroh gets in her way then she can handle him and Ozai will grow up nicely in the South Pole. (She knows Kanna had been wanting a son before she left).

Quickly, the night of the full moon arrives and Hama is ready to exact her revenge. Like clockwork, she remains in Azulon's room, ready for him to arrive and to kill him. Only, he never arrives. Hama leaves him room to see what is going on and finds that he had a war meeting that kept him all night. Hama is beyond pissed not only that she lost her chance to kill Azulon but that she can't even try again for another month, meaning she's stuck here for another month. Still, there isn't much she can do so she decides to wait. In that time, she starts to get to know Azulon, Iroh and Ozai. She sees how much he pushes Iroh, despite his young age, and his dislike for Ozai, despite the infant desperately wanting any kind of parental love. (Hama: You should lighten up on Iroh and give Ozai some attention. Azulon: Since when are you their mother? Hama: I'm just saying that those boys are supposed to succeed you and become Firelord and crown prince one day- Azulon: Ozai will never be crown prince or Fire Lord. Hama: You never know. All I'm saying is that maybe it's smarter to create a family where people don't want to betray each other every day. Azulon: Hmmp. I'll think it over. Hama: That's all I ask.)

Over the next month, Hama and Azulon continue to talk and get together more and more to do things that aren’t related to being a concubine. They talk about plays, food, Iroh and Ozai, homes, etc. Despite their growing closer and closer, Hama is still dead set on killing Azulon. When the night of the full moon comes again, Hama is ready and she acts. Azulon isn’t ready to defend against a bloodbending attack but he’s also not completely weak either. Hama hasn’t had the years to master her skill so her hold isn’t as strong and Azulon is able to break free. They got back and forth for a while with Hama holding him and then Azulon breaking free and trying to attack but then being captured again. Eventually, Azulon grabs Hama’s throat and Hama gets an ice dagger to his throat. It’s a stand off between the two. (Azulon: You’re a waterbender. Hama: The last one from the South Pole. Azulon: I should have guessed only Water Tribesmen have eyes that blue. Hama: And I should have killed you before. Azulon: And you didn’t. Hama: And now you can’t kill me without dying yourself. And do you really think Iroh is ready to lead the nation or do you think people will be more likely to take advantage of the new Fire Lord not even being 14 yet? Personally, I think it’s the latter. Azulon: What do you want?) With her plan failed, Hama demands to be allowed to leave and not be followed. Azulon allows this. Hama flees into the countryside and watches from a distance as Azulon’s reign continues, but she continues to use her bloodbending against the people of the Fire Nation just not the Royal Family. At least, not yet.

[electronicclowncollector]

Chapter 11:

This chapter was written by @lilacharbour

(A/N : Whilst I don’t know if @ElectronicClownCollector has any particular age in mind for everyone in this fic. I think it’s funnier to picture them all as their canon age. Grown adults acting like this in a vague high school setting. Except Bickslow, he’s canonly in his 30s for this)

Today was a big day, Rogue and Lucy were going to hold hands. In public… At lunch that is, because Lucy is busy cheerleading for the first match of the new Dragon Ball season. Meaning Sting was gone too.

Rogue sighed, he hasn’t talked to Sting since he caught him and Lucy hugging. Which was only yesterday, but that didn’t mean Rogue didn’t miss him. He also still needed to explain that he and Lucy weren’t in a relationship and were only fake dating for their dying relatives. The only good thing coming from Sting’s absence was keeping Fresh away from Doug’s influence for a little while.

Walking into class made Rogue’s already bad day worse, as they had to get into groups of two. Rogue has gotten used to Sting being his teammate, but he wasn’t here, so he had to settle for someone else. Glancing over his classmates, Rogue began to walk towards Minerva.

“Milady, Can we- “

“No. Piss off Cheney,” she hissed. Taking in Rogue’s pathetic face before adding. “I’ve got a banging hangover, can’t cope with you or your dragons for the next 36 hours. Especially after dealing with Sting’s sorry ass all night.”

“Is something wrong with-” Minerva cut him off again, holding her hand out.

“Talk to the hand Cheney. This conversation is done.”

Message received, Rogue backed away, ready to continue his search for a teammate.

“Wait.” Minerva called out, “cat stays here.” She tapped her desk. “That cat is my teammate, can’t deal with anyone else today.”

Why didn’t Rogue think of that? What sort of best friend was he to not even consider Fresh being his teammate? Rogue took Fresh out of his bag by the tail. Setting them on Minerva’s desk. Before melancholy continuing the search for a teammate. Faintly hearing Fresh ribbit their goodbye.

Sting would have no issues finding another teammate. He was so cool, and everyone loved him. Quite literally. Rogue would soon need two hands to count his love rivals.

Everyone else seemed to have a teammate already, Laki glared as he passed her and Kinana. Mirajane, whilst without a teammate, just sombrely tilted her fedora down. Rogue has run out of people to team with that the author is allowed to put here.

Embarrassed Rogue blushed, feeling like he’s about to cry, no one wants him to be their teammate. He should’ve seen this coming. People only tolerate him because he hangs out with Sting now. Without Sting he’s nothing. Not even Fresh is by his side. Maybe he should just fake being sick, go home and drown his sorrows in dragon books. No. Not with his mission.

“Rogue, do you want to be my teammate?”

Whipping his head around, Rogue saw Yukino walk in, holding one of those massive teddy bears you can win at fun fares.

“Isn’t she darling? My boyfriend won her for me!” She squealed. Holding the bear close and smelling it. Rogue found the obvious sniffing a bit off putting, but he’d be a hypocrite to judge. He’s smelled the cat ears Sting gave him a concerning number of times.

“Well? Do you want to be my teammate?” Yukino asked.

Rogue feverishly nodded. Now people will stop looking at him and thinking about how much of a loser he is.

The rest of the morning period was uneventful. Rogue and Yukino worked on the simple research task they were given. Completing it just before the bell rang.

“My horoscope was right again today!” Yukino giggled. “It said our star signs are very compatible in friendship, and this task proved it.” She explained packing up her things. Rogue doesn’t even know what star sign he has, but Yukino probably knows what she’s talking about. Although he spent most of the class thinking about Sting, so he’s not sure much happened on the friendship front between him and Yukino.

As he left class with Fresh in his messy bun, (who now smelt suspiciously like alcohol) Bickslow tripped him up, laughing maniacally. Missing the interaction, Yukino smiled and waved her hello to Bickslow. Now realising Rogue wasn’t alone Bickslow decided to skedaddle.

“He must be in a rush.” Yukino mused. “I didn’t even get to introduce him to Lola.” She flattened the teddy bear’s ears for emotional emphasis. Rogue could’ve sworn that thing didn’t have a name two hours ago.

“Thank you for being my teammate, but I have somewhere to be.” Rogue said blushing. What were people going to think of him? Holding hands in public and so soon. But Rogue needed the practice and soon, so his grandmother won’t die sad.

“Oh! Are you going to see Sting? I’m going the same way to meet up with Sorano.” Rogue was actually going to meet Lucy. However, the thought of meeting up with Sting much more enticing. Lucy would understand if he was a little bit late. Right?

“Yes?”

“Let’s walk together then.” Yukino pointed the way with one of Lola’s paws.

“R-right.” The sooner he sees Sting, the sooner he can clear up the misconception about him and Lucy dating.

The bus carrying the sports teams was pulling way when they got there. With no Sting or Sorano in sight. Which was fine. Maybe they went to get food or something. Rogue could understand, he was hungry and so was Fresh if the way they were trying to eat his hair was any indication.

Rogue was about to turn around to go find Lucy, when a sparkle caught his eye. He knew that sparkle from anywhere, Sting’s shiny teeth!

Yukino caught on as well. “They’re over there.” She said pointing in their direction.

“Hey Sora-“ Yukino’s words got caught in her throat. As Rogue’s eyes widened in horror.

Life suddenly moved in slow motion. Sting was leaning in for the kiss. Sorano leaned in too. It was like they were the only two people in the world.

As their lips touched.

Rogue’s world went dark. Metaphorically and physically, he fainted again.

(A/N : Fun word of lesser God. Rogue is a Sagittarius, Yukino is an Aries and Sting is a Cancer. This has no intentional meaning)

[re--laaaaaxer]

11:50

Yesterday was a struggle—a day that felt like a failure before it even began. I had mapped out my Monday with the best of intentions, envisioning a marathon of words pouring onto the page. My plan? To write and write and then write some more. But reality, as it often does, had other plans.

Instead of diving into my work, I barely dipped a toe in. I spent a measly 10 minutes at the keyboard, producing a pitiful four lines. After that, the hours seemed to melt away into a blur of meaningless tasks and distractions. Eight hours slipped through my fingers like sand, and not a single substantial word was added to my work.

It was as though a thick fog had settled over my mind, clouding every thought and stifling any sense of clarity. I couldn’t think straight, let alone write. By the end of the day, my mind was utterly spent—so exhausted that I could barely keep my eyes open when my sister tried to talk to me that evening. I fell asleep mid-conversation, worn out by a day that had yielded nothing but frustration.

Today, though, I’m choosing to be kinder to myself. I’ve realised that this journey, this academic pursuit, is bound to have its ups and downs. There will be days when the words flow effortlessly, and days when they don’t come at all. The days when I can’t write, can’t think, can’t find a solution, or even muster a glimmer of hope—they’re all part of the process.

So, I’m giving myself permission to breathe, to accept the ebb and flow, and to embrace both the good days and the not-so-good ones. After all, this is the path I’ve chosen, and every step, every stumble, is a step forward.

As much as this post sounds slightly melodramatic, it did feel like my day was severely unproductive. Hihi! I thought I'd add a bit of drama to the ever-so-mediocre day and the happenings surrounding it.

Btw, has anyone else ever felt this way? I’d love to hear your stories, too.

Have a good one, everybody!

[unknownb0yg1rl]

Didn’t post this yesterday bc I was absolutely exhausted so I apologize, anyways here’s the update of my entire fucking weekend bc it was a tc filled wreck. So as some of yall know my tc has never taught me and never worked in my school however he has helped me with my work before. This starts Friday when I get back from doing something really late. I don’t get home till one and I have work in literally three hours, so being the codependent hoe I am I text him complaining about it. The next day (Saturday) guess who spends the ENTIRE DAY at my work. I am about 99% sure I almost tackled him to the ground when I saw him. So like while we hug he keeps walking us backwards so he can talk to my mom who is behind me (yes I work with my mommy but it is no longer healthy so I’m looking for a new job) he just hold on to me the entire time he’s talking and when I tell yall he smells so fucking good. Anyways I work for a few more hours and my dad picks me up (no I don’t have my license or a car but I’m working on it) when I get home I am in so much pain that literally nothing helps with. I text him crying (again) and he tells me “if I could take away all your pain I would” and I literally fall asleep thinking about that. Sunday nothing major happens but I am supposed to meet him on Monday and I’m so looking forward to that. Monday comes and we open late so I didn’t have to come in till like 11. The first thing I do is walk around and clean things up and guess who tf I see. He ends up spending literally all day at my work again. I get off at 2:30 and go find him and he helps me with a paper I’m writing, there is an entire paragraph about him in there. And when we get to the paragraph about him he goes “aww you’re so sweet honey” well we finish my paper and I ask him if he could drive me home, AND HE SAYS YES. The minute we get out instead of pulling out his cigarettes like he usually does he pulls out a fucking vape (was not happy abt this bc I think vapes look dumb but whatever im still a fiend) I have my cigs in my bag and I wanted to smoke before we got to his car bc he doesn’t smoke in his car but I don’t say anything and js keep walking bc I can js smoke when I get home. Anyways we get to his car and he starts playing music and THE LYRICS RELATING TO ME AND HIS SITUATIONS?!? Anyways we pass his vape back and forth the entire way to my house. I had so much fun w him but I never wanted to leave his car bc it smelled like him and it smelled so fucking good. He drove me home and refused to let me give him gas money. I actually fall more and more in love with him everyday.

Reminders I am an adult who can consent and has the ability to do whatever she pleases and make her own decisions

[sometimes-men-need-help-too]

Men share harrowing stories of abuse at hands of partners at historic conference in Belfast

Psychological and emotional forms of abuse tend to cause a more negative impact and greater feelings of fear than physical aggression.

That has been the finding of many studies, and it was a key theme at Northern Ireland’s first conference focusing on male victims of domestic abuse.

Dr Elizabeth Bates, a psychology lecturer at the University of Cumbria, told guests that female perpetrators used coercive control and gaslighting more often than outright violence, though it should be noted that many men have also been physically and sexually abused by female and male partners.

While most of the guests at the summit were women — possibly because they make up three-quarters of Northern Ireland’s community and voluntary workforce — male victims were also in attendance.

One man who did not wish to be named described how his former partner, who he was with for a decade, took control of his finances, sleep, food and, essentially, his entire life.

“I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I was on the edge of going over the edge,” he told this newspaper.

“I didn’t know there was this support for men suffering domestic abuse.

“To be honest, I didn’t even know if I was in an abusive situation because a lot of people think it’s [just] about physical abuse.

“Call me naive, but I had accepted a lot of things as being normal, and they weren’t.”

He began working 10 to 12-hour shifts, sometimes seven days a week, because he feared going home.

“My job became my safe place. I was getting to the point where I was just going and sleeping in the car because she would come and wake me up, start arguments and tell me I would be getting no sleep that night,” he said.

“That drained me. It was hard. The person I had loved and wanted to spend the rest of my life with was treating me this way, and I just didn’t understand it.”

When the man eventually sought help in 2018, he found support was not as readily available as he had expected.

He went to his GP but found they were not a lot of help.

After that, he contacted Women’s Aid, which referred him to the Men’s Advisory Project NI (MAP), the agency that organised yesterday’s conference.

Through MAP, he was referred for free counselling sessions that he attended for 11 months.

“It was like a weight off my shoulders, just being able to talk to somebody who listened and wasn’t judgemental,” he said.

Coercive control is when a person behaves in a way which makes you feel dependent, isolated or scared.

‘Gaslighting’ is a term used to describe when someone manipulates another person, using psychological methods to make them question their sanity or powers of reasoning.

Dr Bates said many male victims of domestic abuse she interviewed had experiences with these kinds of techniques, particularly around their relationship with their children.

“She was unable to control me physically so instead controlled me using our son and my access to him,” one man said.

Legal systems and social norms can also be manipulated to this end.

One father said: “She [his former partner] regularly disobeys court orders over contact and her and her partner make regular threats to my safety in front of the children.

“The police do nothing and the court orders are not enforced by social services.”

The PSNI received 118 reports of coercive or controlling behaviour In 2021/22.

It became illegal following the passing of the Domestic Abuse Act (NI), which came into force in February 2022.

That same year, 1,297 men reported to police that they had been victims of harassment.

In many cases, a victim’s personal characteristics, such as their age, sexuality or mental capacity, will be targeted by abusive partners.

One elderly man said: “She [his former partner] convinced me I had Alzheimer’s and tried to force me to sign a legal paper to declare me incompetent.”

‘Outing’ — where a perpetrator threatens to reveal a victim’s sexuality to others, or suggests they will disclose their HIV status —is a common form of abuse in same-sex relationships.

MAP reported that 49% of gay and bisexual men have experienced at least one incident of domestic abuse since the age of 16.

Some 70% of the men the charity supports are heterosexual and have faced abuse from an intimate partner.

You can contact the Domestic and Sexual Abuse helpline (0808 802 1414), the PSNI or the Housing Executive for 24-hour support

https://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/life/health/men-share-harrowing-stories-of-abuse-at-hands-of-partners-at-historic-conference-in-belfast/15469094.html