#we see documents all over Ed's desk

[xoxoemynn]

Really need people to examine why they're so insistent Ed can't read when we have evidence of him being able to do so SINCE SEASON ONE.

[ak319]

Yan G!P Princess x fem reader

(Warnings: Possessive, stalker, betrayal, )

Your name in the story is Deniz

Part I

(Your POV)

"But Clara what we can do is ---with the help of the Mayor perhaps negotiate with them. I think they would agree, I mean that family loves doing charity don't they?"

"Yup, they do, Leo. But not behind the scenes. When the camera is off, they are just another ordinary, rich, money-hungry family." My boss Clara sighed for the umpteenth time and took her glasses off. I sat quietly on the sofa listening to their banter for the past ten minutes.

Our organisation, Redwood High Social Work was now facing what seemed like a dead end regarding the 1 acre of land that was designated to be made into a proper field for sports, not only for Redwood but for Knights High which was affiliated to Redwood and was a school for Special Ed. They really deserve that ground. Every kid deserves a good sport and imagine the numerous events we can have in the field. But somehow everything isn't so easy. We received an email last night which was apparently from the palace! Like THE PALACE! We thought that it was a prank but in the morning the Mayor's secretary sent us one clarifying that yes, it was from the palace. And what it stated was that and I quote

''....the field itself isn't the issue but the forest behind it is the property of the Royal family. God forbid none of us would want anyone harmed if there happens to be any hunting activity taking place. Keeping this in mind, it is therefore requested that your honourable organization reconsider its plans and if any compensation is desired, contact the number XXXX...."

"Just read this posh ass shit. I cannot believe the Mayor ditched us like that." Clara snarled flailing her arms once more making Leo rub his temples. I noticed a few gray hairs on the back of his head. Poor guy really be getting old early due to Clara.

"He didn't ditch us Clara. He did what any person would do, listen to the higher-ups. DUH?!"

"Higher ups?! Seriously Leo? Where were these higher-ups when we officially signed ownership documents and paid for the fucking land levelling equipment?! Do you think they gonna refund me? NO! Even if they do it will be half of the amount. Those were the school's funds LEO! The principal will get chewed on by the parents and in both schools! God....I don't---I can't just wrap my fucking mind around this whole scenario. That forest is literally at the edge of the field. The fences have been already built around 2 years ago. There are no reports of any animal attacks. And it's not like we are not going to monitor our children. Do we look stupid to them?! And I swear Leo and Deniz...they don't own that forest. I checked it a million times. Nobody goes there but oh now they do? Kiss my ass! "

I took a deep breath and put down my laptop down on the table before walking over to her desk.

"Maybe, Leo is right. We can only sort this out via a meeting."

"Meeting with who Deniz? I see only one solution. That is to sue them. Imma sue them, Imma sue the mayor too. Like where is he now? Huh? Did he just use us as some campaign pawns? Did you see his fucking website? WE ARE THERE! BUT NOW LOOK WE DON'T HAVE THE FUCKING GROUND. Imma sue his ass." She ran her hand through her curly black locks in anger. I definitely can understand what she is going through. Frustration. Anger. Sadness. But we all need to think instead of rant.

"I did see it, Clara. But you need to calm down. We need to come up with something solid. And suing the royal family? Can we even do that?" I looked at Leo who shrugged.

"See? We are not making any sense right now. What is done is done. So, I was thinking like---we can use the power of media as well. Why don't I call in Alfie and get your words on the front page tomorrow? He is looking for some hot tips as well these days." Alfie was Clara's cousin and a pretty seasoned journalist too.

"Get my words on what exactly?. We need to-" She breathed in for once before continuing "We need to have a chat with both of these parties first, Deniz. Go and keep reaching the Mayor's office. We will get rid of him first. Leo, go inform Knights about this fuckery but feed them some words of hope as well like 'we are working on it and it will be sorted', gotcha? Also, ask them to keep it to themselves. I don't want any parent drama."

"I already sent e-mails to the Mayor's office. Also what about Ma'am Layla?" I referred to our school's principal.

"I'll explain this to her myself." With that, everybody got to work. Honestly never thought that a degree in Science in Policy could lead to such a problematic job. I thought everything was going to be cookies and rainbows. But meh. People ruin everything. And I mean some assholes and I know exactly who this might be. But I need to be calm and focused right now.

Anyway, why is the Mayor even siding with the Royals --- since when are they interfering in the government?. Just as I was thinking this I got a notification on my phone. YES! An email from Emilia, Mayor Alex's secretary.

It said that Carla is invited to a meeting tomorrow. Mhm. This is good news then. Better go tell her.

════∘◦❁◦∘════

Fast forward to tomorrow, we were heading to the Mayor's abode. Not his office. His home. Which was odd. It was only me, as I was the assistant to the project manager, and Carla herself, the project manager/organization head, and the driver.

"So don't worry about the talking I'll-"

"You will handle it. I know. Just don't use the word sue ten times in a row and we will be good."

"Deniz, come on. Everybody loses their marbles sometimes. Didn't you once break everything in your room just because your food order was cancelled due to rain or something like that?" She whispered to me about my meltdown. My eyes widened in embarrassment, making her laugh.

"I assume you the most humble Carla, never experienced the emotion "hanger". And guess what--I had my movie ready to be played and my pad changed. " I whispered the last part to her as well. "So yeah, my cosy time was ruined. I would wage a war for that."

"Pft. Imagine you being a Queen. You would wage war everyday then."

"Damn right." Although her words brought an uncomfortable feeling and bitter thoughts in my mind making me shiver but I remained composed.

We bantered and went through some points before finally reaching our destination. I said some prayers as I got out of the car wishing that everything goes smoothly and this gets sorted out today. Glancing over at Carla's blank look as she scanned the front door, I could tell she was hoping the same.

Soon the Mayor greeted us in his formal attire and led us to his veranda where someone else was present too. An old man but his poise screamed of experience and wisdom. His eyes seemed to smile when we entered but the rest of his face was stoic. He was introduced to us as Richard, the queen's butler of some sorts. Just great.

The discussion started and it was revealed by "MR. RICHARD" that,

"As a matter of fact that forest is a part of royal treasury but since this---trifle has started, the King has with open heart decided to hand it to your organization, but..."

All of three of us leaned and waited for the next words out of his mouth. God , he spoke so slow.

"only when Princess Kade returns back from Harvard." My heart dropped.

"And why is that?" Carla's blurted out, in favor of mine and Alex's curiosity.

"Because it is accorded in her name. Her property , her signatures." He spoke looking directly at Carla.

Alex sighed, "Well, this is still a good start. When will she be back?"

"In a month or so, sir. But don't worry, the field will be handed to you as soon as she arrives. She doesn't hesitate when it comes to her duties," Richard eyed me and I held his gaze as fiercely as I could.

That was the moment when my doubts were confirmed and hardened. I know exactly who is behind this and why. But for now, I think Carla's smile means a call for celebration.

════∘◦❁◦∘════

(Your POV)

I stepped into my apartment and took a long shower which I had been desiring all day. But at the back of my mind I had a feeling that my feelings of anger and frustration instead of subsiding were about to explode more and that is what happened when I sat down on my sofa with my phone. A call from an unknown number. I picked it up but didn't say anything waiting for the other side to speak.

"Hello? Deniz?"

"Fuck you, Kade! FUCK YOU AND YOUR FAMILY! YOU RICH SNOBBY BASTARD! YOU CREEP! WHY CAN'T YOU LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! You have dug your claws EVERYWHERE HAVEN'T YOU!? How low can you go? Huh?! PATHETIC!"

"Listen, please. I beg you to listen. If you are so keen to figure out that I did it, why don't you see WHY I did it?! Even these curses that you oh so charmingly bestowed upon me right now, you wouldn't do it Deniz if I hadn't done something, because you don't consider me even worthy of your hate Deniz. And here I am, begging for an ounce of affection-

"I didn't ask you to beg!" Her words don't ever miss a chance to rile me up. Why can't this delusional woman just leave me alone?

"You study at Harvard for God's sake yet you cannot--decipher the meaning of a simple word called NO. Why can't you accept-

"I WON'T ACCEPT IT! EVER!. BECAUSE IT'S BASELESS! Absolutely baseless! I refuse to accept it because I know deep down you don't mean-" She took a deep breath before continuing and I could also hear the sound of wind in the background. Almost as if something was hitting a hard surface and I instantly remembered. 'Yeah of course how did I forget she is using a fucking payphone ever since I blocked all her numbers.' How did I even manage to make her go to these lengths? Should I even blame myself? My therapist said no. Yeah. No Deniz, this isn't your fault. Don't you dare take it upon yourself for the crazy stunts of this bastard princess. Should I blame that whole match? That day, that event, that night?

It happened when I was in high school, part of the girl's cricket team in Southampton. After a match against another school and my striking performance as an outclass bowler, being responsible for taking out 3, star batswomen of the rival team, a girl from the audience approached me. Tall, reeking of elegance and mystery. My team captain, Reece whom I was standing beside at the time with some other teammates seemed to know the Princess as we would come to know later on. They both met through mutual acquaintances at a basketball match and were now very close friends. One thing to mention is that I had a thing for Reece due to her caring, charming and dominating presence on the field. I mean come on, she was quite a looker too with her sharp features and those green calculating eyes, her height, and golden brown hair which she kept mostly in a man bun. I always felt shy for no reason when we all would work out in the school gym and she would always come to scold my posture or cause my already pounding heart to nearly blast out of my chest helping me with her muscled arms and hands. LIKE WOMAN SORRY IF I AIN'T AS BUILT AS YOU! I wanted to scream "Hey! Stop treating me as a baby or if am weaker" But man come on, deep down I loved her care and touch. Can you blame my ass? Anyway, I digress. Back to that "After Match Moment".

Reece introduced her as a longtime childhood buddy and kept her background mostly vague and we were already exhausted after the match so didn't pay any heed anyway but mostly all of the team recognized her as the princess of the fucking land that we were standing on. Even though I was drenched in sweat and overwhelmed by the crowd — mostly parents and teachers and now a fucking princess standing in front, I still noticed Kade's lingering gaze on me. At the time, it was somewhat off-putting, but I decided to let it go. Little did I know how I would be drawn into such a heartless game, not only by Kade but also by Reece. I had trusted Reece as a mentor and a friend, and I even harboured a special affection for her that I never disclosed to anyone or dared to confess to her. Reece was the type of person who had many admirers, and my own insecurities made me feel like I could never compete. She could have anyone she wanted, so I focused on my studies and cricket instead.

After the meeting with Kade, Reece initiated plans for an outing which was very rare for her to do so. It was something Hana did, our wicketkeeper as she was the cheery one, the sunshine and the glue of the team. Others didn't seem to notice Reece's sudden change in demeanour, but I did as whenever we went to Reece's house or somewhere out, she seemed to avoid me in a way that is difficult to describe. Like she would be talking to me but not looking at me?. Also, Kade seemed to always show up and eventually became part of our friend group. Thank God she wouldn't stare at me as she did that night but still lingered around me. I always felt strange when we played cricket in front of her and even with her. She always was eager to ball herself when I used to bat and Reece let her do it first , every time. Kade once fixed my posture when I was batting. Like, excuse me?? I am a professional here. I know how to bat. Are you fucking kidding me?! I wanted to smash the bat on her head. Everyone except Reece thought that it was condescending for her to do that. And the fact that she touched me while doing it.

Bruh.

I too lost my shit at that time and did tell her politely that I know how to bat to which she apologised with a smile and backed off.

Reece straight up once "little sister zoned me" in front of everyone at her cabin during a BBQ and both she and Kade laughed as if it was the funniest shit they ever heard.

What shocked me most was Reece's behaviour few days after that. She really took the role of 'big sister' too seriously. She paid extra attention to me as if babying me and often I would find goodie bags in my locker or doorstep after practices and matches. I was...honestly just fed up. Like what fucking drugs are you on , Captain? First, you ignore me and then--this? Calling me and making me your sister? Giving me gifts? Like it took me so much to bury my feelings about her and she is "platonically love-bombing" me?

One day I had enough and texted her respectfully that I don't want all of this attention and I just wanted to be treated like a teammate as before. And asked her if she---likes me by any chance and she is doing all this to impress me. (Which is the one I hoped at that time of my youth and dumbassery that she would agree with and confess her feelings) Fate had other plans and hell broke loose when she rang me and informed me.

'Look, it's me giving you all that stuff but I ain't the one buying 'em', Dizzy. It's Kade, well she likes you and um--so ever since she told me about her crush on you, she sends me these to give em to you- and Dizzy---I can't say no to my friend ....who is also royalty. You should try to understand. She really really likes you. Trust me. She's a bit--aloof when it comes to expressing it. Especially since it's you." She chuckled lightly. "Honestly, you here made a princess scared of you, be proud of yourself...cuz Kade ain't easy to intimidate.."

That was when my whole world collapsed. So all of this ---bullshit--confusion--and- God...

After that, I confronted Kade face to face as Reece called her to school one day. She remained steadfast and pleaded to give her a chance but I was deep in anger and felt played. Not to forget the fact that dating a fucking royalty was not the thing I was even imagining at that point at 17 years old. Informing your parents you are dating a princess.....nah.

After that, I focused on my studies and game not talking to Reece other than when I had to about the match. I stopped hanging out with her. I hated her. She didn't care anyway as I would later find out from another teammate that Reece looked at me as not her sister but SISTER-IN-FUCKING-LAW! LIKE WOMAN?! During my absence and one of their "Chill Nights", Kade had made it clear to her in front of other teammates that Reece would be her best woman at OUR WEDDING!? Do you get the level of craziness?! THESE TWO WERE MANIACS! Thank God, I graduated somehow and Kade hadn't appeared in my life after the argument with her and neither did her gifts. I also broke off contact with Reece's ass and even rarely talked with other players but they were honestly more supportive and understood my side. However, Kade and Reece's sis-romance was off the charts. Just go marry each other, weirdos.

Fast forward to a few years and voila, Kade is back and more persistent than ever. Even Reece messaged me on instagram that I should get hitched with her as it's better for my future for which I retorted.

'Um, focus on your life, Reece. Heard you've got a league coming up' Yes, she is a national player now. FML. That was my dream too but I am grateful I ain't because she would be playing alongside me. Eugh!

'Also I can make decisions for myself and I don't appreciate people trying to coax me into anything I don't want to do, you know that very well. Match against the Kent Lionesses, 30 sept, 2013? Yes, didn't wanna do a spin, didn't do it and gave u a good 4 wickets. While Tanya was forcing me to do fast bowl. So please, get the fantasy of me being your BFF's wife out of your head.'

She indeed was unhappy but left me on seen after saying you are missing out on a great woman and a great life.

Right. Fuck you too.

Still fast forward to now and Kade is still looking for ways to connect with me and re-enter my life or trying to RUIN the one I have by creating such circumstances which all link back to her. I have blocked so many numbers of her that now she uses payphones.

I need a break.

Back to reality. Oh , she still is rambling.

"Kade?"

The line goes silent. Good, now is my time.

"Bye." And I cut the call and powered off my phone. I immediately sent a text via laptop to Carla that I needed a prolonged leave as I was leaving for my (homeland/town). The perks of having a nice boss is that she agreed and didn't even pry much and soon I booked a flight and got ready to pack.

My mind however kept swirling with other notions. For example, what will happen if I say yes to Kade? What If I just never come back and consult all of this bullshit from the start with my family and come up with a plan to start an undercover life.

My body is so exhausted by the memories and anxiety that i just collapse on the bed and make a mental note to think over this during the flight.

➺Part II

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Guys, I wanted to make it clear that I just don't like using (Y/N) in stories as I just hate typing it so I will be mostly naming you, the readers ♡. Yes you , my little family of 10 😭. I would like to know your opinion. Do hang around for further parts. Kade Emsworth's side coming up soon. )

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXIII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Ben and Quinn's relationship continues to flourish, but an unexpected encounter threatens to throw a spanner in the works.

Chapter Word Count: 6.3K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

The sun sat low behind the skyline, making the clouds blush, drenching everything in a gleaming golden hue. You sat with your legs crossed under the long table, laptop open in front of you as the conference room slowly filled with people, the murmur of conversation and scent of coffee drifting in with them. 

The chair beside you creaked and a hand quickly reached over to mash on your keyboard, forming a line of gibberish across the blank word document. You rolled your eyes, smacking the top of Nick’s hand before turning to him with an unamused glare. 

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Not like you to be the first one at a meeting.” 

“Mm, well I’ve been coming into the office to write. Been here all day,” you replied, sighing as you glanced back to the empty page on the screen. “Can’t focus at home. Too many distractions.”

“Tall, rich, handsome distractions…” 

“No,” you said bluntly, though there was a part of you that secretly agreed with him. “I just… If I try to write at home I just end up watching TV or falling asleep or… suddenly realising I haven’t seen my passport in a year and turning the place upside down to look for it.” 

“How’s it going?” 

“I found it, it was in an old makeup bag in my bathroom cabinet.” 

“Not the passport, dick head, the writing.” 

“Oh.” You sighed. “Well I had a few edits I needed to do for the gala article, then I wrote a listicle about moisturisers. Thrilling stuff.” 

He nodded. “You’re still fuming about your op ed, aren’t you.” 

“Yep.” 

Julia stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and making her way to the large windows. You watched as she lowered the blinds, shielding the room from the bright evening sun as she began to speak. 

“Hello everyone,” she began, her tone cheerful yet commanding. “Thank you all for coming in. Just a quick one today to delegate some coverage pieces.” 

You placed your fingers on the keys of your laptop, eyes fixed on her as she moved to the head of the table, Leo McGrath’s advice still ringing in your ears. 

“Let’s see,” she said, licking her thumb and flicking through a folder in front of her. “I need someone to cover an exhibition at the London Fashion and Textile museum this Friday-”

“I’ll do it,” you said. 

She arched her brow sceptically, before shaking it away and scrawling your name down with her pen. “Okay great. Then we also have a launch party for Roe - some influencer’s new makeup brand apparently-”

“I’ll do that too,” you said. 

A few of the other writers glanced at you in confusion, your willingness to volunteer so surprising that they couldn’t help but stare. 

“Okay…” said Julia suspiciously. “And Draft’s been invited to a Q&A for-”

“I’ll do it.” 

“Quinn, you haven’t even heard what it is yet,” she said, holding back the urge to snap at you. 

You heard Nick chuckling quietly to himself. You ignored it and gave a shrug. 

“Just… feel like taking on more work, that’s all,” you said. 

“Right, well the beauty launch and the Q&A are on the same night,” she replied. “One in Chelsea and one in Mayfair. So are you planning to teleport between them?” 

A murmur of reserved laughter rippled around the table. 

“Fine, well someone else can do the Q&A,” you said. “Or, y’know, I’ll figure out the teleportation thing.” 

Julia rolled her eyes, turning her attention to someone else. 

“You’re going to send her into early retirement,” Nick whispered to you. 

You breathed out a laugh. “I’m an editorial assistant’s worst nightmare.” 

You returned to your desk after the meeting, scrolling through pages of reviews to figure out which moisturiser would take the number one spot on your listicle. It was mind numbing, pointless, filling you with the temptation to find the worst rated cream and give it a glowing write up, just to mess with readers, see how many complaints you could rack up.

Your phone buzzed on the desk. You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the glare of the computer screen before looking down at it, your mood immediately shifting to something less weary. 

Are you still in work? It read.

I am, you replied, catching a smile before it spread across your face. 

Are you almost done? 

I can be done whenever I want. Why?  

I’m outside the building.

Your heartbeat quickened, and you grimaced to yourself in embarrassment. Yet still you packed up quickly, shoving everything into your bag and rushing to the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift.  

You stepped out onto the street, the air cold as it brushed across your skin, despite the glorious sky. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you glanced up and down the busy street, brow furrowed as you searched for him amongst the sea of pedestrians. 

A familiar black car sat idled further up the road, wheels bumped up on the kerb, tinted windows shrouding the driver in darkness. You made your way over to it, peering down as the passenger window lowered, just enough to reveal Ben smiling at you from the driver’s seat. 

“What’s this about?” you asked.

“I fly out tomorrow morning, wanted to see you before I go,” he replied. 

You felt your cheeks warm as you stepped closer to the car, glancing around at the bustling street. “This was risky of you.” 

“Only if you don’t hurry up and get in.”

You slipped into the car and closed the door quickly, throwing your bag into the backseat as he began to drive. 

“I didn’t think you were leaving until Wednesday,” you said. 

He shook his head. “I got my days mixed up, it’s tomorrow.” 

Your lips curled into a pout, like a disappointed child. He glanced over at you and gave a soft laugh, reaching over to place a hand on your thigh. 

“You know, there’s still time for you to change your mind and come with me,” he said. 

You exhaled a cynical laugh through your nose. “Yeah, I’ll just drop everything to follow you on your press tour.” 

He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. “It would be nice to have you with me. Think about it; fancy hotels, big beds, deep bathtubs, me, completely at your disposal…” 

“Hm, tempting. But I have to work. Not all of us can just jet off whenever we feel like it.” 

He let out an exaggerated puff of air. “Who needs work? You don’t need to work. I’ll take care of you.” 

“Shut up.” You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “You don’t mean that.”

He chuckled. “I know I don’t. But in all seriousness though, it would be nice to have you with me. You could write on the plane.” 

“Stop it,” you laughed. “I’m not coming.” 

He pulled into the carpark of a hotel you’d always admired but never been inside. It was breathtaking, a blend of grand architecture and modern details; glass and stone, steel and marble. It was a place celebrities went for drinks or a private brunch without having to worry about mere mortals and prying eyes, a threshold you’d never held the status to cross. 

It felt bizarre to walk with him so openly, to stroll through the foyer side by side without fear of being spotted; no flashing cameras, no screaming fans, no nosy reporters. An employee led you into a lift, and you couldn’t help but flash a suspicious glare at Ben as you passed each floor, wondering how long he’d had all of this planned. 

You stepped out on the top floor, following behind Ben as he made polite smalltalk with the employee on the way to your room. You found yourself fixing your hair and straightening your clothes as you went, as though the building itself was judging you; offended that you could walk its carpets in a pair of trainers, grace its corridors in some well-worn jeans and an old cardigan. 

When Ben opened the door to the suite, you felt your breath still for a moment. It was bigger than your entire flat; bedrooms, bathrooms, a kitchenette and large, open living area. Beyond a set of glass doors was a private terrace. You stepped out into the fresh, cool air, taking in the London skyline as it wrapped around the entire balcony. 

The terrace was framed with warm, glowing lights and draping greenery, the city like a glittering tapestry as the sun began to disappear below the horizon. A table stood in the centre, a bottle of champagne resting inside an ice bucket beside it. 

You turned to Ben. “This is… subtle.” 

He smirked, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. "You like it."

“Says who?” you teased, brushing past him to lean your elbows on the railing, taking in the view. 

He followed, his hands finding your waist and pulling you gently back against him. “Me.”

Your mouth twitched with a smile. “If this is all a ploy to make me say it back…”

“You think I brought you here to trick you into saying you love me?” he asked, his tone soft yet playful, lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t need to hear it, Quinn, I already know you do.” 

The words made your stomach flutter, but you refused to let it show. “Bullshit.” 

He chuckled, spinning you around to face him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You found yourself staring up at him in awe. He was so confident, so certain. It had been a week since he’d said those words, yet he didn’t seem to care that you still hadn’t said it back; his ego unbruised, like he knew you too well, understood you better than anyone ever had. 

Your protest died in your throat when his lips grazed your temple, lingering there as he pressed his body against yours, hands sliding down to your backside.

“This isn’t fair,” you murmured, your fingers dancing over the buttons of his shirt.

“What’s not fair?” he asked, lips trailing down to your cheek, your jaw, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. 

“You. Being so… smug.”

“I’m not smug,” he said, though the glint in his eye contradicted him. “Can’t a man treat his girlfriend to a nice evening without being accused of ulterior motives?” 

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “There you go again, saying we’re a couple.” 

“Because we are.” His grip on you tightened, his voice deepening. “If I asked you outright, you’d make me beg. And I’m not above begging, but I’d rather save that for… other things.”

You felt yourself growing hot as his lips found yours, forcing yourself to break away to mutter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” he countered softly, tilting your chin up with his finger and kissing you again. “If you weren’t mine, you wouldn’t keep coming back to me.”

He deepened the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other gripping the railing behind you. You slid your hands up to his face, feeling yourself melting into him, excitement and anticipation rippling in your core. 

For a man who’d been so strict in his abstinence, the past week had completely unravelled him. He was insatiable, his touch lingering even in the most innocent moments, his kisses turning deeper and hungrier with little provocation. He’d taken every opportunity to make up for the time you’d lost, and you’d welcomed it gladly, savouring the ache that would follow you in the aftermath. 

He broke away, pressing his forehead to yours. “Dinner will be here soon,” he whispered.

You exhaled a laugh. “You ordered for me?” 

“I know what you like.” 

You slipped away to one of several bathrooms, taking off your cardigan and zhuzhing your hair until it sat just right. It was easy sometimes to forget who he was; the money he had, the power he wielded, the status he held that didn’t just surpass yours, but eclipsed it altogether. Whenever it hit you, it would make you feel uneasy; the imbalance throwing you off kilter, making you wonder what he saw in you, why a man who had the world at his fingertips would let himself fall for a single grain of sand. 

When you returned to the terrace, you found him sitting at the table as a waiter lay out a spread of food in front of him; steaming plates and pretty side dishes, a basket of your favourite bread and the dessert you’d been craving for weeks. The smell drifted through the air towards you, making your stomach rumble, your mouth water with hunger. 

You hovered in the doorway as the waiter placed down the last few plates, tucking a tray under his arm when he was done and pushing a large trolley back towards the suite. You stepped aside to let him pass, allowing yourself a moment to take in his face, the name on his badge. Perhaps it was cynical of you to assume he’d go running to the papers, narcissistic even, to think he’d care to.

Ben stood up as you made your way over to him, pulling out your chair for you with a charming smile. 

“This looks amazing,” you said as you sat down, admiring the food in front of you.

He kissed the side of your head and returned to his seat. “Champagne?” 

“Sure.” 

“So,” he began, popping the cork in his fist. “Guess what happened today…” 

You narrowed your eyes, cocking your head slightly. 

“I am officially divorced,” he said, almost beaming at you as he filled your glass. “I got the final order this afternoon. Decree Absolute. It’s done.” 

“Oh wow, congratulations.” 

“Congratulations?” he replied, jokingly mocking your voice. “I’m free, Quinn. No more contractual obligations, no more interviews pretending my marriage was anything other than a glorified business transaction. I can finally move forward. With you.” 

You stifled a smile, instead tapping your finger against your lips with a contemplative hum. “I don’t know. Now that you’re a single man, the excitement’s sort of gone.“

“Oh is that so?” 

“Mhm. I mean, where’s the thrill in sneaking around if it’s not with a married man?” 

He smirked, his eyes flitting to your mouth as you took a sip of champagne. “You need the thrill, hm?” 

You nodded. 

“Well you know what would be thrilling?” 

“What?” 

“Coming to America with me tomorrow.” 

You threw your head back and let out an exaggerated groan, making him chuckle as he began to eat. 

“Was worth a try,” he mumbled.

You talked and ate until the sun went down, until the cold puckered the flesh of your bare arms and numbed the tip of your nose. You sat with your legs outstretched beneath the table, resting comfortably between Ben’s as you listened to him speak - not about work, or divorce, or the two of you - but about his family, his childhood, the things that made him happy and the last time he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. 

In the moments you were reminded of his fame, it was easy to feel starcrossed; like there was an entire ocean between you and no way to common ground. But then the moment would pass, giving way to a warm laugh or a tender touch, and suddenly in that ocean would be an island, where you both resided as equals; your own private paradise. 

His hand had found yours across the table, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles as he continued a sweet anecdote about his mother. You’d never been very tactile, finding the hand-holding and arms around shoulders completely embarrassing, the chaste kisses and legs brushing under tables far too soppy. But here you were, chin resting on your fist, the other hand in his, gazing at him as he spoke, without a speck of desire to pull away. 

You laughed softly as you watched him bring a glass to his lips, somehow missing his mouth and spilling champagne down his shirt.

“I’m not drunk, I swear,” he laughed, releasing your hand to pick up a napkin and dab at his chest. 

“What’s that, like a tenner’s worth of champagne you just spilled?” you teased. 

He laughed again, picking up the bottle and looking at it with a hum. “About… forty quid?” 

Your smile dropped. “Tell me you’re joking.” 

“What?” He shrugged. 

“You’re saying we’ve been drinking a £2000 bottle of champagne?” 

“I think it’s closer to three,” he said casually.

“Oh my god! Wh- I- Well then how fucking expensive was all of this!?” you gestured to the terrace, the food, the suite beyond the doors. “Jesus this is like the watch fiasco all over again.” 

“Which I notice you still haven’t worn…” 

You glared at him. 

“Quinn, it’s fine,” he said softly, taking your hand in his again. “I wouldn’t spend it if I didn’t want to.” 

“But why on earth-”

“Why do you feel like you’re not worth it? Like money spent on you is somehow a waste?” 

“Because…” You settled back slightly in your chair, eyes flitting around in thought. “Because it is.” 

His smile faded, his eyes creasing at the corners as he gazed across the table at you. “Do you really believe that?” 

You shrugged, a defensive edge sharpening your posture. “I do.” 

“Well you’re wrong,” he countered bluntly. 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued quickly. 

“I know this imbalance between us bothers you. I know you’re independent, and you don’t want to feel like I’m trying to buy you or show off or make you feel indebted to me. But that's not what this is." He gestured to your surroundings, the city lights twinkling in the distance. "If anything, this is me showing you that you’re not a waste - not of my money, or my time, or my affection - none of it’s wasted on you.” 

His sincerity was disarming, how quickly the evening had gone from joking and banter to complete seriousness. You tried to remain neutral, but your eyes betrayed you with a vulnerable glaze, making his face soften, his hand squeezing yours more firmly.

“You are so deeply rooted in my life now that I don’t see any of this as frivolous,” he said. “I just see it as… being with you. No different than sitting on the couch in front of the TV.”

You sighed. 

“What?” he asked quietly.

“I just… I don’t think I can get away with denying this is a relationship anymore, can I.”  

He laughed. “No. No, you can’t.”  

You laughed too, rolling your eyes when you saw a smile creeping across his face. 

“This- us-” he said. “It’s far beyond the secrets and the sneaking around and worrying what strangers might say about me in the fucking papers. I’m not saying I’m ready to go dragging you down red carpets with me, but I like to think that you see it… getting there, maybe, one day…” 

You drew in a deep, cleansing breath through your nose, trying to soothe the nerves creeping into your chest.

“I love you,” he said. “Whether you say it back or not, it doesn’t make it any less true. I love you, Quinn.”

You gazed across at him for a moment, at the warmth in his expression, the vulnerability in his voice. You swallowed past a lump in your throat. “That’s… unfortunate for you,” you said. 

He dropped his head with a deep, throaty chuckle. “I don’t know,” he replied, eyes meeting yours again. “I feel quite fortunate… Most of the time.” 

You scoffed, taking a sip of your - extremely expensive - champagne. 

He gestured with his head for you to come to him. You stood up and walked around the table, settling in his lap and draping an arm around his shoulders. He held you close with a hand on the small of your back, the other reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face as you leaned down to him, lips meeting in a deep, slow kiss. 

“You’re cold,” he whispered, running his hand up and down your bare arm. 

“I’m fine,” you replied.

He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

You stood in the living area, staring up at a painting on the wall, head cocked to one side as you wondered if anyone would notice if you stole it. You shook the thought away as the sound of voices and rattling dishes emerged from the terrace, glancing over your shoulder to see the waiter from earlier wheeling away the remnants of your dinner.

Ben thanked him as he left, shutting the door behind him and sliding the chain lock in place. He spun on his heels to look at you from across the vast suite, though his large strides carried him over to you in moments. 

You ran your fingers over the pale yellow stain on his shirt as he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you wondered if you’d ever tire of his embrace, if he would ever tire of embracing you. You hoped not. 

“I have the suite for the night,” he said. “But if you’d rather go home, I can take you. I know you don’t have anything with you so I understand if you wouldn’t want to stay.”

“Hm, my tiny, messy flat or this stunning hotel with you,” you replied, pretending to deliberate with yourself. “What a difficult decision.” 

He laughed, kissing you on the cheek before stepping past you.

“Where are you going?” you asked. 

“Bed,” he replied simply. “Are you coming?” 

“Bed? It’s only half nine…” 

He raised an eyebrow as he backed up slowly towards the master bedroom, waiting for the penny to drop. 

“Oh,” you finally said.

“Yeah,” he replied, reaching out his hand in a gesture for you to join him. 

The car idled quietly on the road outside your flat building, the blue morning sky clear and bright, promising a warm day. You knew you had to leave, to climb out and get ready for work, but every time your hand so much as brushed the door handle, Ben’s lips found yours again. 

Your laugh came breathlessly as you finally pulled back, lips blushed and swollen from his endless kisses. “You’re going to miss your flight.” 

His smile was lazy and unapologetic as he yielded, dropping his head slightly with a gentle sigh. “Can I call you when I get to my hotel?” 

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll allow it.” 

He leaned in, and you couldn’t help but kiss him again, feeling his smile against your lips.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he muttered, his hand sliding through your hair. 

You laughed softly. “I’m sure I’ll manage. I took on a ton of work to keep myself busy.” 

He chuckled, but you quickly swallowed the sound with another kiss, leaning into him with more fervour. 

His hand dropped to the side of your face, the other firmly gripping your thigh; his touch making your stomach coil, the orgasms he’d given you last night still echoing in your core. So many orgasms you were sure you’d still be reeling for the next few days. 

You forced yourself to break away again, shaking away the fluster warming your cheeks. “Okay, you really are going to miss your flight if you don’t go.” 

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. His touch lingered, stroking your temple before trailing down to your jaw.

“Last chance,” he said. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”

You hesitated as you looked at him. There had been no pressure in his voice, no coercion in his expression, only a gentle invitation, and you could see in his eyes that he already knew your answer.

“Not this time,” you said, the corner of your mouth curving into a small smile.

He gave a smile that matched yours, like the subtle shift in your answer hadn’t gone unnoticed. No longer a flat refusal or a guarded deflection, but something warmer, an unspoken ‘someday’. 

“Okay,” he said, leaning in for one last kiss. “I’m going to miss you.”

You smiled faintly, your usual sarcasm faltering as you replied. “I’m going to miss you too.”

“Two weeks,” he reassured, though you were uncertain which one of you needed it more. “Just two weeks and I’ll be back.” 

“Yeah, for three days,” you countered. “Before you have to go again.” 

“Well, we better be sure to make the most of those three days.”

You nodded, finally reaching for your bag and opening the door.  

You climbed out and closed it behind you, turning around to lean down and meet his gaze through the open window. 

There was a mournfulness to his expression as he looked at you, like it was physically paining him to let you go. And you understood, because you felt it too; already longing for his return before he’d even left. 

The back of your tongue felt heavy with the words you’d refused to utter, almost like they belonged there, ready to pour out of you like an impulse, as natural as a ‘goodbye’. But something made you swallow them, forcing them back down your throat with a sad smile. 

“Have a safe flight,” you said.  

His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving yours. “Bye, darling,” he said, his voice carrying the same forlorn weight as yours.

“Bye.”

You stood on the pavement as he pulled away, watching the car until it disappeared down the street. Only then did you suck in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow sigh. You remained there a moment longer, staring at the quiet, empty road before finally turning to go inside.

You stared up at the distinctive orange building of the London Fashion and Textiles museum, accents of bright blue, vivid yellow and hot pink decorating its exterior. You pulled out your phone to snap a picture of the large poster hanging near the entrance - Ornamented: The Art of Embellishment in Fashion - as a healthy crowd filtered inside.

You meandered leisurely through the opening of the exhibition, taking pictures and scrawling quick notes in your book, the extra weight on your wrist catching you off guard whenever you raised your pen to the paper. 

The watch face gleamed beneath the soft lights of the museum, the gold bracelet strap shimmering every time you moved. It had sat safely in its box, tucked away in your underwear drawer since Christmas. Every now and again you would take it out just to look at it, perhaps even put it on, but you would always stow it away soon after, like a child secretly trying on her mother’s expensive clothes.

But you were Ben’s girlfriend now. A fact that made your stomach turn with fear and excitement whenever you thought about it for too long. And as his girlfriend, it somehow felt right to wear a piece of him when he wasn’t with you. 

You walked up to a display encased inside a large glass cabinet; an array of intricately beaded flapper dresses from the 1920’s. Time had discoloured some of them, loosened some seams and lost their sparkle. But still, you found yourself almost pressing your nose to the glass, admiring the meticulous patterns and letting your mind wander to the women who might have worn them. 

You crouched down to the ground, resting on your haunches to steady your notebook on your knee as you scribbled your thoughts. You were making a note of the designer’s name from a nearby placard when footsteps approached you, heels clicking on the concrete floor and stopping at your side. 

“Quinn, isn’t it?” 

You glanced up to find Faye Dennehy glaring down at you, her tall stature even more imposing from your hunched position below her. You felt your lungs empty, your heart thumping in a hollow chest as you rose to your feet, blinking at her a few times before snapping out of your stupor. 

“Yes, it is. And you’re… Faye, right?” you replied. 

It was clear that you both very much knew the other’s name. But if she was going to pretend otherwise, then so were you.

“It’s nice to see you with your clothes on this time,” she said, her light, airy tone masking the sharpness of her words. 

She didn’t know you could be mean. Extremely mean. Brutally, mercilessly, remorselessly cruel. She also didn’t know that you were currently pressing your lips together as a courtesy to her, holding back the venom trying to force its way out. 

You gave a weak, obviously fake chuckle. “Yeah that was… quite the morning, for all of us.” 

She nodded with a wry smile before turning her attention to the dresses. You let your eyes trail the length of her; the long a-line skirt and perfectly tailored blouse, the pointed toe heels and long, bouncy blonde hair. You couldn’t deny how chic she looked. She always looked chic. 

Bitch.

You shook the thought away and looked down at your notebook. 

“So you’re here for your magazine?” she asked. 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead looking back up at her and clearing your throat. “Yep.”

“Mm. Well I’m sure you’ll give the exhibition a glowing review. You seem very good at painting things in a favourable light.” 

You smiled. “Ben already told me you didn’t like the feature I wrote about him.” 

“Oh he did?” She nodded, peering through the glass at one of the dresses as she spoke. “I wouldn’t say I didn’t like it. It just came across a bit… disingenuous.” 

“Disingenuous. Sort of like… PR relationships…” 

You noticed the muscles in her neck flex, but she remained calm, returning her gaze to you. “Sort of like that, yeah.” 

You closed your notebook and hugged it to your chest before moving towards the next exhibit. 

“Is that a Jaeger-LeCoultre?” Faye asked as you stepped around her. 

You spun on your heels to look at her, a blank expression on your face.

“The watch,” she said. 

“Oh.” You glanced down at your wrist, then back to her. “Yeah, it is.” 

She allowed a slight smile, letting out a short, contemptuous hum. “Expensive.” 

You feigned a clueless expression, doe-eyed and innocent as you shrugged at her. “Is it? I wouldn’t know, it was a gift.” 

“How thoughtful of him,” she replied bluntly, emotionlessly. 

“I never said who it was from…”

“Well,” she laughed. “I doubt anyone else you know could afford something like that.” 

You found yourself holding back again, biting the inside of your bottom lip until it tasted of iron. “Enjoy the exhibition,” you said, feigning kindness as you gestured around you. “I’m sure this theme’s right up your street. We both know how much you love embellishments.” 

You walked away without waiting for a response, blowing out a puff of hot breath and fanning yourself with your book until you reached the next display. On a small platform stood a row of mannequins, each one draped in a stunning jewelled sari. You squinted to read the placard beside them; the history, the significance, the craftsmanship that went into them. 

But you were soon disturbed again, letting out a huff before turning to Faye again. 

“Are you following me?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eye.

“I don’t know what you think you know about my marriage,” she began, speaking quietly, her tone curt. “But when he inevitably gets bored of messing around with you, I hope you have enough integrity to keep it to yourself.” 

“I have no intention of ever exposing you, Faye.” You shook your head. “But I’ll be sure to let Ben know you think our relationship is doomed to fail.” 

“Relationship,” she giggled.

You narrowed your eyes at her. 

“Is that what you’re calling it? A relationship?” she scoffed. 

“What else would it be?”

“You’re the fun, Quinn. The wild oats he sews before he decides he’s ready to settle down.” She gestured to your watch. “You’re the one he spoils, keeps sweet, flies out to whatever country he’s in because he feels like a quick fuck.” 

Her voice was so quiet, so soft, but the words were bitter and torturous. It made the back of your neck tingle, your ears burn, stomach twist.

“And I don’t blame you,” she shrugged. “He’s a celebrity. Who’s going to turn down the opportunity to have a fling with a handsome, charming actor? But what happens when that novelty wears off? When you realise how… wrong for him you are?” 

People were passing back and forth around the exhibition, buzzing with conversation, brushing shoulders, gathering at displays and moving on to the next. But the place might as well have been silent, bare, just the two of you in an empty room. 

You gave a clipped laugh, though no smile accompanied it. “How on earth would you know if I’m right or wrong for him? You don’t know me.“

“No but I know him,” she countered assuredly. “I know that he wants children, and he wants them soon. That’s one of the main reasons our marriage ended. Are you willing to give him that?” 

“Well actually, I’m three months pregnant right now, we’re very excited,” you replied dryly.

She narrowed her eyes. “No you’re not.” 

“Of course I’m fucking not,” you said quietly, rolling your eyes.

“And when he wants you to be, what then? When he comes to you a year from now and says ‘Quinn, I really want to be a father, and I’m not getting any younger’. Is that going to fill you with excitement, or dread?” 

You kept your face expressionless, but your heart was beginning to race, her words travelling right to the place where they stung the most. 

“He wants to live equally between here and America, did he tell you that?” she continued. “Are you willing to pack up your whole life and follow him back and forth? Give up your career? Live in houses you have no equity in? Drive around in a nice car you didn’t pay for?” 

She straightened her posture, chin raised with indignation. “Quinn the kept woman,” she taunted. “The trophy wife that the media never actually cares to learn the name of because she’s unimportant, insignificant when compared to him.”

You swallowed past a lump in your throat, though you couldn’t tell if it was made of sadness or pure rage. But still, you found a way to compose yourself, checking over your shoulders before stepping closer to her. 

“I know it must hurt,” you eventually said. “To be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. To be married to him, to convince yourself that ‘maybe with time he’ll see we’re meant to be’.” You lowered your voice, leaning in to speak slowly. “Yet still, after two years, the only time he’d willingly touch you was when there was a camera there to catch it.” 

Her face hardened, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“And I don’t blame you either, Faye. If I were you, I’d want to hurt the woman he actually loves too.” 

She forced a smile, blinking away what seemed to be tears forming in her waterline. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m warning you.” 

She turned away, beginning to walk off before stopping and looking back at you. 

“I may not have liked what you wrote in that feature,” she said. “But the way you wrote it wasn’t half bad. I just think it’d be a shame, for someone with so much potential to end up known only as the one that came after me.” 

You held her gaze until she finally turned around, disappearing into the crowd with a flick of her hair. 

You stood there for a moment, frozen, staring down at the spot where Faye had stood. The buzz of the exhibition faded back in, a cacophony of excited voices, camera shutters and footsteps. But it was still muffled, like there was a bubble around you, separating you from the rest of the world. Faye’s words echoed in your mind, breaking through the armour you’d built around yourself and burrowing down to the quietest corners of your soul, the places you didn’t like to visit. 

Quinn the kept woman. The one that came after me.

You wondered if she was right, if you could ever be satisfied living a life that always had to bend to the shape of Ben’s. He had never denied the pitfalls of his fame, never sugar coated the demand of his work or hidden his desire for a family, for children. Were you really holding him back from finding someone to share all of that with?

You took a shaky breath, closing your eyes to soothe the itch behind your lids, and with trembling hands, you opened your notebook and forced yourself to carry on to the next display. A collection of gowns embroidered with floral motifs, their petals moulded from delicate beads and sequins that seemed to bloom beneath the soft light. You traced the edges of one with your eyes, jotting down notes with uneven, messy handwriting.

Your watch caught the light again, the gold surface glinting like a mocking wink. You almost wanted to take it off, but instead you fiddled with it for a moment, recentering the face in the middle of your wrist.

By the time you finished your tour of the exhibition, your notebook was full, but you could barely remember anything you’d written in it. You slipped it into your bag, hoisting it over your shoulder as you walked toward the exit and out into the late evening air. 

The sun was still shining, but there was a bite to the breeze that made you shudder. You pulled a cardigan from your bag and shrugged it on before taking off down the street towards your car. You pulled your phone from your trouser pocket, looking up Ben’s name, thumb hovering over the call button as you walked. But you never pressed it, unsure what you would even say, where you would start.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen @alessandra-cumberbatch @indiefilmfatale

[malamira]

IN AN EFFORT OF ENGAGEMENT, pt. i

synopsis: mustang sighed, his voice giving way to exhaustion in the echo of the room. Ed's eyes climbed to his former senior officer's face, watching the twitch of the General's, conveying thinly veiled annoyance. "you, fullmetal," mustang grumbled, "have terrible timing."

a/n: i just read parts 1 and 2 of the counteroffer series on ao3 and found inspiration in the concept.

— 💍 —

The door opened before he could even knock.

"Oh!" a woman exclaimed, and Ed had to jump back to make sure the box in his hand wasn't knocked over.

"Lieu—Captain!" he corrected himself, jumping back when the doors to the Colonel's—no, now-General's—office opened. Hawkeye took up the entirety of the entryway, her hand on the door.

"Edward!" she greeted in surprise. "I—I didn't expect you." She looks behind him. "Is Al not with you?"

"No," Ed said, blinking at her. "He's, um. He's in Xing, doing more research." He cleared his throat awkwardly. While he didn't expect to not see her here, he didn't expect to be greeted at the door so soon. He raised the box in his hands. "Um, I found some files back in Resembool when we were fixing up the house; I thought to return it..."

"Oh, thank you," Hawkeye said gently, looking at the box, "I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"It—N—No, of course not," he stammered, letting the Captain take the package from him.

She paused in the slightest before offering him another smile. "Your arm is looking healthy."

He feels his cheeks warm in the slightest. "Th-Thank you."

Hawkeye gives him a smile—not something he was unused to, but it felt a little strained. Maybe he was imagining it.

"I'll take these to the file room so we can sort it out there," she declared. Before he could say that maybe the General should take a look at the documents, too, she'd already turned a corner.

"Fullmetal."

He flinched out of habit and scowled at the General. "You don't have to call me that anymore."

"Force of habit." From the door, he could see Mustang's silhouette shrug as he stood. "Come in. And close the door, will you?"

Ed obeyed, the door clicking shut behind him. "Hey. Um, Hawkeye took my files—"

"I heard." Mustang's tone was flat. "She's gone?"

The man's office was large, and Ed had to squint as he looked into the direction of Mustang's desk. The General had a penchant for placing desks right in front of windows. Ed always thought that it was in a play of power: he could see who comes into his office but not offer them the same courtesy, almost giving Mustang the opportunity to calculate how he should greet the guest. Or the intruder.

Bradley was the same way, but Ed had a feeling mentioning it wouldn't do him any favors.

"Yeah," he said, walking closer. He'd gotten so used to Hawkeye being at Mustang's side that any space she occupied without him felt unnatural.

Mustang sighed, taking a seat. "Thanks. Now I won't be able to find her for at least six hours."

"What are you talking about?" Ed asked, brow raised. "She's not coming back?"

"Hawkeye has this amazingly irritating talent of disappearing when she doesn't want to be found." Mustang leaned forward and threaded his fingers over his mouth. "She knows me so well she knows exactly where I'll look. It's humbling."

"You mean it's humiliating."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

Ed started, "Why would she—" He paused when a glint from the middle of Mustang's desk caught his eye. Ed's brow furrowed and he stalked closer.

It's a ring. A simple silver ring, with a small yet very beautiful stone set against it.

It's pretty. In fact, he remembered seeing at something similar when he had been looking for a wedding ri—

He blanches when the dots seemingly connect in his head.

"That is," is all he's able to say, voice cracking a little. Shit, is this serious? is all he can think.

Mustang sighed, his voice giving way to exhaustion in the echo of the room. Ed's eyes climbed to his former senior officer's face, watching the twitch of the General's, conveying thinly veiled annoyance.

"You, Fullmetal," Mustang grumbled, "have terrible timing."

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks @melpomene-grey here, @drchenquill here, and @awritingcaitlin here!

My words: water, tower, broken, history, light, need, pressure, time, crack, creak, crunch, crave, click

Your words: air, space, line, write

Tagging @diabolical-blue @space-writes @sarahlizziewrites @sarandipitywrites @tabswrites

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites

SOTL intro

SOTL tag list (ask to be +/-): @illarian-rambling @katwritesshit @wyked-ao3

Keep reading for:

The wonderful smell of car exhaust

Ash arrives in Alium

Robbie wakes up

Infodump on chronokinesis

Parker just asked Wade to punch him (he did)

Robbie just had a random thought

Ash is trapped in fantastical plants

Lexi isn't here and Maddie is worried

Liam and Sam do an arm wrestling match

Akash is a tad depressed

Lexi looks for Ash

Jack is tired

Robbie punches Jason

Water - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

“What can I say? I’m observant,” I said as the exhaust from the buses caused my eyes to water. “Ugh, I’ve never been picked up over here before. Why can’t your stepmom pick us up in the parent pick-up?”

Tower(ing) - from The Secret Portal Part One (Ash POV)

I groaned and blinked until my eyes focused. The blur of colors became a bunch of colorful trees towering above me. I pushed myself up to a seated position, groaning, and looked around—I’d never seen trees this color before and wondered if I should be taking notes.

Broken - from The Secret Portal Part One (Akash POV)

A small groan came from behind Gwen as Robbie regained consciousness. His glasses were askew, but not broken. He held his head. “Wh— what the hell was that?”

History - from The Secret Portal Part One

Although chronokinetics were rare, they were the most powerful Alii. Sure there were dimensiokinesis and energy conversion, but there was not enough documented information on a chrono's powers. Not only because they were rare, but too dangerous to test. The best theorists speculated traveling to the future was impossible, as it would take the chrono out of the past, disrupting history’s natural flow. On the other hand, if a chrono could travel back into the past, they could theoretically cause a paradox that unraveled their plane of reality.

Light - from The Secret Portal Part One (Gwen POV)

“Finally,” he said as Wade leapt over the barricade and went to Parker’s side. “Yo, it’s been years and you finally give it your all.” “That wasn't my all,” Wade said, holding his palm over Parker’s face. A white light glowed around his hand. “I’ve tackled people much bigger than your string-bean self to the ground.” “Yeah, but they were wearing football gear.” “Stop talking,” Wade instructed. “You’re gonna mess up the healing.

Need - from The Secret Portal Part One (Robbie POV)

I tapped Akash’s desk and whispered, “We need to watch all the Winnie the Pooh movies.” “I’d love to know how your brain got to that topic. Though I agree.”

Pressure - from The Secret Portal Part One (Ash POV)

Panic built in my chest, almost tighter than the vines. I felt my eyes and sinuses heat up under the pressure—physical and otherwise.

Time - from The Secret Portal Part One (Maddie POV)

“Ash said her stepmom would be here,” said Rose, peeking around the corner to the tennis court, “but I don’t see her car.” “Well, maybe they had to stay after class,” Noelle said. “Or Mary’s stuck in traffic. This is nothing to worry about, Maddie. My mom’s late all the time.”

Crack - from The Secret Portal Part One (Gwen POV)

“Hold on, Robbie!” said a large girl, who strained until the diamond guy’s arm slammed into the table. I winced as I heard it crack under the force. “Haha! I win!” The diamond disappeared, and I realized he was an ordinary guy—about my age but a little taller than Robbie. Both stood and walked over to us.

Creak(ed) - from The Secret Portal Part Two (Robbie POV)

“Akash?” I said, tapping on the door quietly. No response came, so I creaked it open. Akash lay on the bed, but awake, staring up at the ceiling. I let myself in, closing the door behind me. I leaned against it, waiting in the silence until I could think of something to say that wasn't a generic apology or query as to whether or not he was “okay.” Neither of those seemed appropriate at the moment.

Crunch(ed)- from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

I looked down to see if there were any imprints where she may have stepped. Most of the ground appeared untouched, but my eyes rested on a patch of flattened red ferns a few yards away. I ran toward them, then kept looking at the forest floor. The colorful leaves covering the ground appeared crunched, like someone had staggered through them shortly before I arrived. I followed the path they appeared to make.

Crave(ing) - from School of the Legends Year One

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Jill suggested. “I’m fine?” “Jack, you look exhausted. And cold.” “Well, I was playing with ice all day.” “Well, you look scarlet. Your cheeks and nose are all rosy.” Jack lifted his hand to his nose--she was right; it was cold. “Y’know, I’m not tired, although I am cold.” He stood. “I’m just craving my bed--this has nothing to do with you.”

Click(ing) - from The Secret Portal Part One (Robbie POV)

I stopped in my tracks and turned to my right. Jason Sturges stood down the hall, clicking his stupid sticks against the lockers. A rush of fury overtook me as I remembered this morning. I didn’t know what I was doing until I was right beside Jason, punching him in the face.

[oflietoprotect]

Continued

@singswhendrunk

Let your guard down; for one night Jay wanted to escape the long cases he’s been working. The workload was heavy. He’d been in day and night attached to his desk working on each lead, working on signing off on each document we needed to more ahead. But tonight I was told to go home; to rest. And instead of being safely in my bed; I was here at the bar across town. Not because I needed a drink or perhaps two to get the edge off. But because I wanted to see Gia. I wanted to see her smile; hear her sense of humor. We helped each other, but it did develop into more. 

I had feelings and I made my shot; all jokes aside, I had found the balls to make my move; even going as far to stand up on a stage and sing with her. I was terrified but not as terrified when I heard those familiar shots; bullets flying. I wasn’t wearing a vest, I wasn’t wearing protective gear because why should I? I was off the clock, I assumed our case was closed. But Gia she got stuck in the crossfire because of me. Jay felt the guilt rolling off him; he knew she was hurt; the rapid way her breathing was coming, the lost of blood now pooling on the stage floor. 

I was scared for her. I felt at fault; if only I had gone home perhaps the suspect wouldn’t of tracked me down to the bar. Gia was fighting for her life because of me. I didn’t have time to think over the what ifs, or the guilt that was reeling off of me. My main concern was her; I had my hand pressed to her wound. Until the second Brett and Violet had arrived, the gurney in play; as they helped me lift her onto the gurney. Shaking palms bloody; not mine. I barely felt like I was able to walk on my own. Her calling my name before she went unconscious; that’s why I forced myself to be okay. In shock wobbly legs walked from the stage to the entrance doors.. Once a happy place full of music and now I felt like the laughs were wasted. I just wanted to make sure Gia fought this fight and woke up. But given her lack of blood; I had the gut wrecking feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

Upon reaching the ambulance; I knew Voight would have questions; ones I was prepared to answer at a later time. Hands shaking as I lowered myself down onto the spot besides the gurney where Brett had put an oxygen mask over her face to help with the shallowed breathing, she also was attempting to stop the bleeding, she had injected her to palm the brunette down a bit. Swallowing the lump that formed in my throat; the male had leaned closer, pressing a hand to her pale hand; thumb tugged under to fingers.  “ I’ll be here when you wake up okay.” A promise to myself and her. I just hoped Violet picked it up. 

Sirens rang through the streets; no one could blame Violet was rushing; eyes were glued to the stats on the machine; it wasn’t great, but her pulse was still running strong. A sign of relief as I heard Violet call back. “ Prepare to be ready, doctors are outside ready for us.” Ready for us; prepared; I hoped Will was on board; as the doors opened I had noticed Maggie, and the other members of the ED as they started to roll her inside. I stepped outside feeling the brush of the breeze hit my back; I stood there; releasing my hand from hers; she was rushed inside. 

What if I had spoken sooner? Or was it just the wrong place at the wrong time..

[constant-mason24]

Video Killed the Radio Star- Chapter Eleven

Riddler x f!Reader

Prev chapt | first chapt | Next chapt

Edward Nygma stood over the desk in his office, looking down at several papers scattered across the surface. There were some documents recovered from the hall of records, though not the ones he had wanted, and photographs of the graffiti left behind in various places throughout the city. With a scowl, Nygma picked up one of the photographs showcasing a crude scrawling of a teacup left on the side of a building in east side Gotham. 

Every time Nygma attempted to gain some foothold on this situation, he was met with nothing but failure and a red painting left behind; an effigy in red ink. This certainly wasn’t the Court of Owls covering their own tracks to prevent him from getting to them. No, this didn’t line up with the Court’s MO, but rather someone else’s. This was a certain fellow rogue following the same trail as him, just one step ahead. 

As Edward moved to pick up another photograph, he heard a commotion coming from outside his office door. One of the men he had hired was shouting out, and a loud thud followed closely after. Both curious and suspicious, Ed opened the door leading out to the warehouse. If this was another poker game gone wrong, these men were going to regret wasting his time.

“Jesus, lady! Take it easy!” The three of his hired goons designated to stay with him that evening were on their feet, attention focused away from Ed. One of the men still stood by the table they all had sat at, but the other two were closer to the window, one man holding his head as if it were in pain. Just behind them, barely visible between the two hulking bodies was none other than (Y/n) (L/n), feet firmly planted with a crowbar held tightly in her hands. 

“I am going to see the Riddler, so help me God!” She yelled out, swinging the metal rod at the other man, who threw his arm up in an attempt to block it. The man previously holding his head had now recovered enough to act again, moving behind (Y/n) and restraining her arms as he tried to muscle her down to the floor. She dropped the crowbar with a loud clang, spewing out obscenities at the men trying to subdue her. 

“That’s enough, gentlemen. You can let her go.” Ed spoke up, raising a brow beneath his purple domino mask. The woman stood steady on her feet again, glaring heavily at the men who each took two or three good steps back. “Forgive them, dear. We weren’t expecting any visitors-”

“You should have expected me!” Her glare was now directed toward him, just as angry if not more so. “After that stunt you pulled with me. Do you have any idea how much trouble I’m in?”

Ed opened his mouth to answer her, but she didn’t allow him the chance. 

“I had this wedged oh so graciously into my front door this morning.” She threw something down on the ground, making another, much softer metallic clang. Looking down at his feet, Ed frowned at what was clearly a Batarang on the floor, but with a peculiarly owl-shaped silhouette drawn on it. What was it with graffiti calling cards these days?

“You asked me a favor. I agreed to help you for god knows what fucking reason!” She picked up the crowbar again, swinging it in an angry emphasis that made his men take another two steps back. “But you couldn’t have made that riddle a little more fucking subtle? It was obvious, sloppy! I guess that was the point though, wasn’t it? To prove myself worthy of the great Riddler’s time, I had to put myself in danger. Well, it worked! My boss wants to meet with me before my shift tomorrow, and I’m willing to bet I won’t be working said shift; or any other for that matter!”

As she ranted on, (Y/n) stepped closer and closer to Ed, whose men didn’t even try to stop her. Great, his hired muscle is terrified of a woman half their size. Ed didn’t flinch or try to move away, knowing that (Y/n)’s emboldened attitude would fade once she let it all out. In fact, he was predicting how soon she would revert to being frightened of him. 

“Now all of Gotham knows I did that for you! I’m surprised the Court threatened me before the Batman did!” She glowered at him, letting the crowbar rest at her side. 

“You have passed the point of no return.” Ed smiled, trying to make it seem more comforting than smug. She was still holding a weapon after all. “I’m sorry to see you’re having regrets, but I assure you, there was no real pressure to fulfill my request from my end.”

“No pressure?” (Y/n) scoffed. “You left threats against my roommate and my family pinned to my door every night for almost two weeks!”

“Those threats were to coerce you to play my tape on the radio. I never did anything to coerce you to speak to Gloria Guthrie for me. That was just a simple ask.” Ed turned back toward his office, picking up on (Y/n) dumbfounded expression.

“You’re telling me I ruined my life for no goddamn reason?”

“I wouldn’t say you ruined it. Just diverted it is all.” Ed chuckles, motioning for the woman to follow him into his office. “And since you have passed the point of no return, I suspect you’re in it for the long haul?”

(Y/n) just stared at him, almost pouting. Ahh, yes. He had her hooked on this little mystery now. It was clear to him from the moment he found her spying on him in the hall of records, (Y/n)’s curiosity was what urged her onwards, and as they say, curiosity killed the cat. He sometimes asked himself why he bothered roping some random Gothamite in on his plans, but Edward was nothing if not entertained by using people as playthings. Who was he to deny the opportunity to add another pawn to his chessboard? The thought seemed foolish.

It was (Y/n)’s curiosity that drove him to invite her into his planning once more, and it was also her curiosity that convinced her to follow him into the small room.

The three hired men just shared a look, one shrugging to the others as they sat back down.

Nygma watched as she glanced over the papers and photos laying on the desk, taking notice of how she seemed to quickly study each one before moving on to the next. He waited patiently as she took in the desk, almost giving no attention to the rest of the room around her. He didn’t say anything until she looked back at him, signaling her attention was all his. 

“I’m trying to uncover the base of operations for the Court. Unfortunately, every time I think I’ve found a clue, it would seem someone else has swooped in and taken the glory for himself.”

“Do you know who it is?” She asked, too invested in the riddle to keep being angry at the moment. 

“I wouldn’t say I know for certain,” he leaned against the wall. “But I have my suspicions. I am more than open to ideas, as well.”

He gestured over his collection of evidence, leaving (Y/n) with lips pursed in thought. She looked over the photos, pointing at one of a rabbit.

“It has to be the Mad Hatter. Each of the drawings left behind is an element of the story ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ which is obviously the Hatter’s whole theme.” She squinted up at him.”But you already know that.”

Ed nods. “Yes, I figured it was probably him. Any other conclusions?” She seemed to mull it over in her head for a minute before speaking. 

“You’re hunting down a secret organization here in Gotham that’s been threatening you, and every clue you attempt to find is missing, with Hatter’s calling cards left behind. A lot like you and your Riddles, actually.”

“How so?”

“Well, you wanted to lead the Court to your little excursion to the Hall of Records to make your job of finding them easier. You told me that the last time we talked.” Ed nods. She continues. “What if the Mad Hatter is trying to do the same thing? He’s looking for the same clues as you, and he’s drawing attention to his progress by leaving behind these little drawings.”

“So your theory is that he’s also being targeted by the Court?” Ed asked, and (Y/n) nods. “Aren’t you quite the little detective?”

“I mean, you said you were open to ideas.” (Y/n) moved to rub the back of her head, suddenly feeling smaller at the thought of looking foolish in front of a genius criminal.

“And I am,” He stood from the wall, coming to the desk. “I think you’re correct in your assumptions. I intend to find out for myself very soon.”

“Are you going to confront him?” She asks, watching as he moved to examine and organize his evidence. 

“I am, soon.” Ed looked back at her. “Are you interested in tagging along?”

“You think I’m going to continue to play along with these little games?”

“I believe I did ask if you were in for the long haul.” He smirks. (Y/n) sighs and rolls her eyes.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” She muttered to herself, causing Edward to shake his head. 

“You really should watch your language, Miss (L/n). it’s unbecoming of a lady.”

“Eat it, Nygma.” She flipped him off. 

“I’m glad to see you’ve finally warmed up to me properly.” He took a scrap of paper and a pen, scribbling something on it. “Now that you’ve put yourself in the Court of Owl’s crosshairs, I shouldn’t be leaving any more notes on your door. It might draw the wrong kind of attention.”

Ed held the paper out to (Y/n), but pulled it out of her reach as she tried to take it. 

“I want you to understand that, again, I am not pressuring you into this. You can completely ignore me and I won’t be bothering you again.” She nods and he hands the paper over to her.

“Your phone number?” (Y/n) raises a brow, looking unamused. 

“Yes. if you’re interested in investigating this matter with me further, feel free to text me and I’ll send you any information you need to know. If you do want to step away, like I said you can ignore me and I will ignore you.”

“This sounds stupid.” She frowned. “I know where you’re working every night. I could send the cops after you if I wanted to, and you’re just letting me walk away again?”

“You could, but you don’t want to. You haven’t done it yet, so why would you do it now?” Riddler smirks again, turning back to his table. “I trust you can get home safely?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Goodnight, Mr. Nygma.”

[illusinia]

(Beginning of the FMA modern retelling attempt- sorry the dialogue is all exactly the same, but i do like the original dialogue and it fits well. A few notes: I'm assuming Armestris is an older, established country. I'm also treating it like a European country in terms of buildings and building trends- one that wasn't ravaged and half destroyed by war. I'm also assuming, like most countries in Europe, the train services are still active and were upgraded over time. Last, I'm assuming they had automail originally- otherwise Ed would be stuck with a shitty prosthetic. This is more or less the beginning of the first draft (the actual document is 6 pages and barely begun, but I've also never written for this fandom before so I'm trying to feel my way around.))

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

“The Freezing Alchemist, really? He’s here?” questioned Roy, his eyes locked on the leader of their country, Fuhrer Bradley. 

The one-eyed man gave him a nod and picked up a remote and flicked on the TV mounted to the wall parallel to his desk. The screen flickered to life with a frozen CCTV video already loaded. “We have evidence that he managed to slip into Central a few days ago.”

With the press of another button, the video began to roll looking down a mostly empty street from an intersection. A few people were milling around outside of various bars- the only establishments open. The video timestamp showed that the footage was from around midnight the previous night. A soldier was walking down the street- more like stumbling, honestly- when something appeared to catch his eye in an alley located halfway down the street. He made a motion, said something, and moved to draw his weapon. A hand shot out of the alley before he could, grabbing his face and causing the man to freeze- literally. The soldier in question fell over and a man ducked out of the alley to grab the soldier and pull him into the shadows. A few seconds later, the man appeared again, dressed in a dark hoodie and pants. He looked down the street opposite the camera, then looked back again. Catching sight of the camera, he grabbed for his hood, moving to pull it up.

Fuhrer Bradley paused the video footage there, the image of a dark-haired man with a grim expression frozen in place. Tall, long face, black hair, ponytail. The CCTV footage was grainy, but clear enough to identify the man all the same. A man who had just turned a soldier into a decorative ice sculpture on screen.

Roy Mustang internally cringed. This was some Kimblee level crap. If the psycho weren't sitting behind bars in Central Prison, Roy might have thought that his deranged former-colleague had learned a new trick. "I see."

"That’s why I’ve summoned you here, Colonel," continued Bradley as he started up the footage again. Namely, the part where Issac threw a chunk of ice at the CCTV camera. "I need you and your men to smoke him out and bring him in.”

Roy nodded once with a grim expression. “Consider it done so.”

:read more:

“I’m glad you’re with us in Central here for a while, Mustang. It’s good to know I have people I can count on.” Fuhrer Bradley gave him a nod in return and hit play once more, watching the camera go black as the ice struck it.

“Sir.”

Flicking off the TV, Bradley turned back to Roy again. “Ah, one last thing. Our rising young star is here as well. I’m placing him at your disposal.”

Surprise shot through Roy, though he never let it show on his face. Bradley couldn’t mean- “Forgive me, Fuhrer Bradley, but just to be clear, are you referring to-”

As if reading Roy’s mind, the other mad nodded with a smile. “I am: the Fullmetal Alchemist. Edward Elric.”

Keeping his face carefully neutral, Roy nodded once more. “Yes, sir.”

“I look forward to your success, Colonel,” stated Bradley as he took a seat behind his desk, effectively dismissing Roy with that single gesture.

With one last nod, Roy turned and exited the room, cursing under his breath as soon as he was in the hallway. He didn’t particularly want Fullmetal involved in this fight- fighting other Alchemists was tricky and he wasn’t sure the young man was quite ready for that despite his amazing skills as an alchemist. However, it was clear that the Fuhrer was demanding that Fullmetal assist in hunting down the Freezing Alchemist all the same.

Pulling out his cellphone, he dialed Ed’s number as he headed to round up his own men. Fullmetal was not going to be happy about this delay, he just hoped the kid actually listened to him for a change. A huff of laughter escaped him at the very thought- yeah, right. And maybe Hawkeye would wear a mini-skirt to the office.

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

“Damnit, the colonel’s never gonna let us out of here, is he?” asked Ed with a scowl as he shoved his phone back in his pocket and looked down towards the city streets below.

Beside him, his brother let out a distressed sound. He turned to look at Ed with large eyes- surprisingly realistic looking given his brother’s body was a transmuted suit of armor with skin stretched over it. The younger brother nearly loomed, Ed being unable to do anything about the size difference of the suit versus Al’s original body. “And we already bought our tickets to Liore. Does this mean we’re not going?”

“I don’t know Al,” replied Ed with a sigh as he stood up on the roof they were currently perched on. The boys had climbed onto the roof of one of Central Command’s buildings so they could get a little air- Central was suffocating compared to their home in the country and they needed to see the sky sometimes. It was hard with the light pollution, but at least on the roof it was a little better than the park-like grounds of the government building. Too bad their break had been ruined by Mustang’s call. Damn bastard said he was sending over an email, too. Something about a briefing. It didn’t matter- they would catch this guy so they could get their train and get to Liore- with luck. “Come on, let’s get this over with for now.

Al stood as well, taking one more look out at the sky to the full moon just rising over the horizon. “Lead the way, Brother.”

[xgryffinwhore]

Hey! Can I request a jaeden martell x reader where basically their charters are dating on a tv show and they are really really good best friends in real life and they they both go on the Jimmy fallon show and he keeps on asking if they’re dating because everyone thinks they are and when they say no he obvi doesn’t let it go lol and it ends up slipping up that jaeden did/ does have a crush on reader and they maybe end up sharing a kiss in front is Jimmy & audience & stuff😶just an idea i had 😂:)

i love this idea wow, thinking i’m going to put my own little twist on it but i think you’ll still be pleased ;)

just friends

warnings!: suggestive topics, fluff

word count: 2.1k

five

your face was being touched up with powder, the cotton pad dabbing at your nose as the white powder absorbed into any oil your face may have had.

four

you look over at jimmy, this wasn’t your first talk show, but it had been the biggest one with the most following. it was intimidating, you bounced your foot up and down and played with your hands.

three

behavior jaeden had grown to recognize. he knew you better then you knew yourself, your anxiety was worse then you put it out to be. “you ok?” he questioned, “fine, i’m fine” you painted a small smile on your face. but he wasn’t easily fooled.

two

he grabbed one of your hands and rubbed circles into your palm, this sent vibrations of relaxation down your spine.

one

his eyes locked with yours, you swore they were a different color each time you saw them. sometimes more blue, sometimes more green, sometimes dark with mystery, sometimes light and playful.

‘aaand where on air’

you wiped the hand that was interlocked with his off on your dress, it was clammy. the curtain came up fast, and your vision was soon flooded with bright lights and silhouettes of bodies.

making out the faces in the sea of people was impossible, but you knew your friends were out there. they had flown out to see you, a) they could go see new york and b) you were on national television, and they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

jimmy was talking, you knew that much, but your nerves took over and honestly you weren’t registering a damn thing he was saying. the crowd cheered, you snapped out of your daze.

“and here tonight, we have jaeden martell and y/n l/n from the new HBO tv series: turning tables”

he turned to both of us, and gave everyone time to clap. he tired to speak over the loud hands, moving on with his show, but the crowd made that difficult. eventually the clapping died out and he could continue.

“now, i’ve watched all of the episodes but, for the people who haven’t seen: can you explain what the show is about?” he looked a jaeden, you let go of a breathe you had held in.

“s-sure” jaeden turned to face the audience more, he was soft spoken and shy, so it was important he projected as much as he could.

“turning tables is a teen drama. it’s about families of poverty in the seattle washington area and how they struggle to go to school and work. my character, jennings cooper, is the main protagonist. the show is mainly from his point of view, and how he struggle to support his family.”

jimmy nods and smiles, he looks pleased with his explanation. i’m truth the show wasn’t that simple, he knew that. but, it would take so long to explain.

“and y/n, who do you play?” he knew the answer to this obviously, but you were becoming a crowd favorite. everyone loved your personality, and you were an up-and-coming a list celebrity.

“i play parker marlow, jennings girlfriend” you blushed at this statement, the crowd giggled and ‘ouuu’ed. jimmy rubbed his hands together, getting excited at the upcoming topic of discussion.

“so, your romance on season one was steamy” you thought back to the scenes you did together. all of the kissing, which felt normal at this point. he wasn’t a bad kisser, in fact- you didn’t mind it at all. your romance through the season built up to a sex scene, your mind flashed through the memories of filming it.

filming those scenes isnt half as steamy as you think it is. it’s awkward, you laugh a lot. you had never felt that exposed in your life! however watching it was different, it looked so real, so perfect.

you blurred out your thoughts, mr. fallon still speaking on the subject. “can we expect more -“ jimmy searched for your ship name, it was on the tip of his tongue. the combination of your first names on the show didn’t make an attractive combo. it was either jarker or pennings. your last names matched a little better.

“-carlow” jaeden finished for him. jimmy nodded and smiled “yes- carlow- can we expect more carlow next season?” you both looked at each other and smiled. the writers for the show already had the next four seasons laid out. you knew that carlow was a continuing relationship on the show.

“yes, you should expect more of that sort of content from us” you stated. the people in the crowd had a positive responce to this, the applause lapping until it died out once again.

“right, your characters have so much chemistry in the show. two struggling teens just trying to break even.” jaeden agreed “yes, our characters balance each other out, and being from the same background helps them associate. jennings is kind of a bad boy-as the ladies say- he’s a felon, he steels cars and sells them to counterfeit manufacturers and dealers for money. parker, y/n’s character, has a job at a diner. she shows him the light at the end of the tunnel if he chooses to go down a good path.”

“yes, parker gets jennings a job at the diner with her, and he falls for her sweet disposition even after everything she’s been through” you add.

jimmy licks his lips and pops another question: “so id imagine the chemistry in the show heightens the real life thing?” he cocked an eye brow, the group gasping at the intrusiveness.

“jaeden and i are just friends” you blurt out, your nerves working up again. it was hard, you liked jaeden ever since you had your first kiss with him.

“y-yeah” he stutters, he obviously wasn’t expecting this either “friends” jimmy shakes his head and puts his finger on his lip “recently, you both have been showing a lot of pictures of you two together on social media.”

the audience ‘awwwed’ at the photos that displayed behind you. on the screen, there were pictures of you and him that were on both of your instagrams. you two at gardens, getting food, even watching movies at each other’s houses.

“for just friends, these photos looks intimate , wouldn’t you say” a bunch of ‘yes’’s and ‘mhm’’s came from the crowd as both of your faces became red.

“we’re just best friends, honestly” jaeden laughed nervously, he fixed his hair with his hand has he always does.

“right right- can you tell me when this photo is from?” jimmy asked, the last picture flashing on the screen. it was of you both, you had just filmed your first scene together.

the first scene you filmed together was episode two, he saved you after you fell into ice cold water. it was how the characters met, and it was filmed at a cove on a windy august day.

the picture was a little blurry, but it added character. he had his arm around you, both of your hair soaked, and you share a huge towel. you remember how cold you were, your teeth chattered so rapidly. his hair was stuck to his forehead and more small pieces went up. and your lips were almost purple, half from the makeup, half because you swore that was the coldest water you had ever went in.

“that’s from when we first started filming, it was the first time we met in the show” you recited, re living the memory in your head. you remember jaeden pulling your head into his chest when the wind began blowing. you remember his thumb trying to create friction on your back to make you just a little warm.

“yes yes- you two look so adorable!” jimmy squealed, he was the most teenage-girl-grown-man you had ever met. his hand opened one of the drawers in the faux desk he sat behind, pulling out a small blue camcorder.

the camcorder.

you know how on tv shows, there is special footage? sometimes it’s just behind the scene specials but sometimes- sometimes - it’s footage the actors document when they were just having fun? yeah it was one of those camcorders.

the camcorder was brought in by the two other co hosts wyatt oleff and finn wolfhard (i know this cast is sooo original not really) they played jaedens two best friends on the show. while they weren’t filming, they’d dick around and talk about stupid stuff. you’d never seen what they filmed, but you had been featured quite a few times; their by them pranking you, or invading your personal space.

you looked over at jaeden, you watched his adam’s apple bob and a thin layer of sweat flush over his face. he bounced his leg slightly, a habit he had picked up from you.

“let’s just review our material here” jimmy teased, his tongue darting out between his teeth. the video began to play, the sound was loud; assumingely for jaeden quiet voice in the tape.

the video started with wyatts unsteady hand, him and finn were running around set, they stopped at jaeden, he was playing on his phone in his trailer.

“jaeden wesley we have come for you” finn yelled. you could see jaeden shoot up from his chair. “hey guys” he waved. they talked for around a minute, jokes and all. then finn started to giggle, wyatt zoomed in on jaedens face.

“so jaeden, how’s y/n?” he chuckled, jaeden blushed “she’s ok i guess dunno.” wyatt stopped zooming in when the only thing in frame was jaedens head. “the kiss was good hm?” wyatt asked. jaeden continued to play on his phone, he nodded. “yeah, she’s pretty cute too.”

the video cut to another segment, this was filmed after the sex scene. you knew because jaeden laid on the bed you, in the same underwear that he wore during the scene. the boys were jumping on the bed, and jaeden took the camera and talked to it.

“this is for memory and memory ONLY! h-hey y/nnn” he was talking to the camera like it was you “you’re amazing and cool” you could hear finn explode into laughter as he stole the camera back and started running “yeah! and he wants your babies and loves you so much-“ “SHUT UP FINN!!!” and jaeden chased him around.

the video was taken off the screen. your face had become close to ghostly white. it was weird, it was almost like he was dumb enough to think finn wouldn’t give jimmy this blackmail goldmine. you looked at jaeden, he hit his bottom lip until it was red, he itches his neck and laughed it off.

“yeah ok-ok jimmy, maybe i liked her back in the day” jaeden tried so hard to be casual, but jimmy hit him with a heart stopper: “but mr martell, the last clip was filmed less then a month ago!”

your mind flickered with memories and ideas of him.

your first time meeting, how good his hand felt in yours. when you wiped icecream off his chin, and him dotting icecream on to the top of your nose. the way his hair always fell perfectly above his eye brow. and SHIT how he always smelt so fucking good. how he let you fall asleep in his arms and how he never complained when you put on some stupid romcom and-

“y/n?” jimmy questioned. “huh?” you spaced, come on y/n you gotta stop doing that. “i asked how you felt about all of this.” “well, there isn’t a right word i can use.”

jaeden took this has a bad reaction, he did a small wave to the crowd and stood up to get off the stage.

you stood up, grabbed his hand, and laid one right on him. kissing him felt normal, but now that there was emotion behind it, it just felt so right.

you both stopped for air, the crowd went wild. jimmy was clapping too, you could barley hear them, your heart was pumping throughout your whole body. you swore jaeden could hear it.

after the show, you sat in your dressing room for a bit, contemplating the events of tonight, and how they were all broadcasted for your embarrassment. but it was only the beginning. only the beginning of what was to come for mr. and mrs. jaeden martell.

[jlalafics]

"Photograph"-a Royal!Everlark story

This was inspired by this prompt from @writing-prompt-s:

When you were seven, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park. You never saw your childhood “spouse” again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country… where your wedding to the heir to the throne twenty years ago is seen as valid.

This is totally unedited. Thank you to @sparklingdust4612 for bringing this prompt to my attention. Looking forward to everyone else's interpretations along with this one and the story by @jhsgf82!

I actually have more of this but I thought I'd show y'all a little bit of my interpretation of the above prompt.

****

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen, still…

-Ed Sheeran

Photograph

Katniss Everdeen loved building castles.

In the massive sandbox, she packed another bunch of sand into her bucket before placing it upside down to set. While waiting, Katniss imagined how she would decorate the inside of her palace, a delighted smile growing on her face as she thought of the possibilities.

First, the walls would all be yellow. Not the ugly yellow that looked like snot—but yellow like Prim’s, her baby sister, golden locks.

Yellow meant hope: that’s what Daddy always said.

Knocking on the sides of the bucket to loosen the sand like Mommy showed her, Katniss slowly lifted it revealing a perfect tower for her castle.

“Yes!” she hollered, jumping up in excitement.

Her eyes went to Mommy who was sitting on the bench across the way. She was talking to a pretty, yellow-haired woman with a big tummy. Prim was asleep in her stroller, her binky hanging from her mouth.

“Mommy!” Katniss rushed over, stopping just a scant from toppling over on the concrete. “Look! I’ve made the perfect tower!”

Her mother smiled proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Katniss.” She turned to the woman next to her. “My Katniss is always building and dreaming on how to make her perfect home. Her teachers tell me that she has such a creative mind for a seven-year-old.”

“How absolutely charming,” the woman responded kindly, a smile on her pink lips.

Katniss tilted her head at the sound of her voice. There was something different about the way the lady talked—the dips of it sounded strange—but still nice.

“Why do you sound like that?” she asked bluntly.

Her Mommy frowned. “Katniss Everdeen! Please apologize!” She looked to the woman once more. “I’m so sorry—”

“That’s perfectly alright,” the lady assured her. The pretty woman turned to Katniss. “I have a little bit of an accent because of where I’m from, that’s why my voice sounds different.”

Katniss nodded. “Okay, but it does sound nice…like a song!” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

The woman glowed like an angel. “My name is Marguerite.”

“Hello Miss Marguerite.” Katniss looked to where her sandcastle waited. “I better go before someone takes my stuff! Bye!”

Throwing a wave at the woman, she plopped back down onto her space in the sandbox ready to add some detailing to her newest tower—

The foot crushing her tower landed straight in the middle of it creating a space between each side.

Katniss fumed and her eyes went up to the blond-haired boy with the snooty face.

She stood, her hand slamming into his chest. “Hey! You destroyed my castle!”

The boy stared at her in shock. “No one ever touches me!”

“Until now—”

Katniss was suddenly blocked by another boy, tall and dark-skinned.

“No one touches his royal highness,” he declared, and the blond boy stuck his tongue at her.

Another boy, this one dark-haired and sharp-eyed, approached.

“Prince Peeta has decided that you will be his bride,” he stated with a scowl.

Katniss made a face, crossing her arms to show them how disgusting that sounded. “Gross.”

The so-called Prince Peeta walked over to her.

“As my bride, you can make as many sandcastles as you want,” he explained. “I’ll build a bigger sandbox than this for you!”

Something inside zinged at the thought. “Really?”

The boy shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Katniss eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you want to marry me anyway?”

Peeta shifted in his stance, the confidence in his blue eyes suddenly wavering. “I like your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

A rise of pink colored his cheeks. “They’re soft…and pretty.”

That had been it for her.

On that warm afternoon, by the swings of District 12’s only playground, Katniss Everdeen married the so-called Prince Peeta.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Gale, the dark-haired boy, said. He looked at Peeta, a teasing smile on his face. “Go on—kiss her!”

“Close your eyes,” Peeta told her.

Katniss, wearing her paper towel veil courtesy of the park’s public bathroom, did what he said and closed her eyes.

SPLAT!

She barely registered being shoved down into the muddy puddle.

Katniss looked up at the sneering boy, feeling the rise of anger in her body.

“That’s what you get for pushing me.”

++++++

Twenty years later…

“Katniss.” She looked up from laptop to find Prim at her open doorway. Her sister held out a Fed-Ex envelope. “This just came for you.”

Without even glancing at it, Katniss tossed the envelope on her bed, going back to the open page on her screen.

“Don’t you want to open it?” Prim stepped into the room and plopped onto the bed, picking the post up to examine it. “It looks important.”

“Probably one of those things saying that I’m eligible for another credit card.” Katniss frowned, sitting back, and staring at the blinking cursor. “I’m so stuck on this blog post!”

“Is this the one about kitchen flowers?” her sister asked, and she nodded. “You got some great pictures from Madge’s shop.”

“I know but my writing inspiration is zilch,” Katniss explained. “I need to get this done if I want to post by Mother’s Day.”

“Speaking of Mother’s Day, mom is wondering if you’re bringing anyone to Sunday dinner,” Prim informed her.

“I love our mother but lately every conversation we’ve had is either about my lack of a dating life or my withering eggs,” Katniss said. “Right now, I need to focus on getting more attention on the blog. It’s just gaining momentum!” She rested back and turned to her sister. “This is important to me.”

“I know,” Prim replied. “And you are good at it. I mean, look at what you’ve done to our apartment! To this room!”

Her sister’s bright blue eyes looked around the buttercream room, beautifully decorated with white-washed furniture. The console that her television sat atop was bought at a nearby thrift shop and refurbished by her. Katniss had sanded it down before putting a whitewash over it and adding lacquer to give it a more modern look.

In fact, most of the furniture in her and Prim’s apartment was completely refurbished by her. She had always had an eye for decorating and instead of going to a four-year college, Katniss had opted to go to design school.

Creating something new from what people considered junk gave her a special kind of thrill—almost akin to being in love.

At least that’s what she thought it might feel like.

“Whoa!”

Katniss whipped over to her sister—who was holding an unfolded paper in her hands.

She stood from her seat and went to Prim. “What?”

Wordlessly, Prim handed the piece to her—it was a letter.

The letter was on marbled paper, an elegant insignia atop it, and she could see that the elegant calligraphy was done by hand:

Dear Miss Everdeen,

You are hereby summoned to the kingdom of Panem to present yourself to His Royal Highness, King Peeta.

Photo documentation has validified that you are the Queen Consort to His Royal Highness.

Attached is my business card, please contact me to arrange your travel to Panem.

Respectfully,

The Rt. Hon. Effie Trinket

Private Secretary to His Royal Highness

“This is a joke!” Katniss tossed the letter onto her desk and laughed. “Photo documentation? There is no such thing—”

The laugh fell from her lips as Prim turned the FedEx envelope upside down and a single photo fell onto her bedspread.

“There’s a business card in here, too,” Prim told her carefully.

Walking over, Katniss could see that the photo was facedown.

Trembling, she picked the print up and read the elegant cursive atop it:

‘Peeta and his new bride, Katniss Everdeen!’

Next to the caption was a happy face; it was obvious that this statement was made in jest.

Turning the photograph, a wave of nausea hit seeing the image of her seven-year-old self, a paper towel veil atop her head, joining hands with a blond boy—

Prince Peeta.

Or to be more precise, His Royal Highness King Peeta of Panem.

[lastwagontrainhopper]

Behind every man

Royai week day 4 - Communiqué (I know it’s like Wednesday but due to time zone difference my head is still in Royai Week)

Summary:  

"Al looked up from the newspaper. His voice had sounded excited, but he now had a shocked look on his face. "Roy Mustang is getting married."

Ed's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He slowly walked into the living room, digesting the information. "Well, I guess it was about time. I wonder how he convinced Riza, though."

"He's not..." Al shook his head, his eyes back on the pages. "He's not marrying Riza."

"What?" "

---

Behind every great man is a great woman. In Roy's case, there needs to be two: one for the heart and one for the politics.

Words: 4653

Tags: Angst, truly unnecessary angst, Fake Marriage, Roy and Riza can't catch an emotional break, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics

read on aot

"Ed! You're not gonna believe this! ”

Edward was busy with breakfast when he heard his brother call out to him. It was a typical Sunday morning in Resembool, and a joyful racket reigned around the house: the eggs and potatoes were sizzling, the kids were chasing each other between rooms, and metallic clanks coming from outside told them that Winry was already busy in her workshop.

"What?", Ed shouted back over his shoulder. No answer came; he put the pan down, wiped his hand on a towel, and went to peek his head in the living room, where Al sat every morning to read the newspaper. Ever the diplomat, he kept up with Amestrian affairs even during his vacations - unlike his brother who couldn’t care less. "What?" Ed repeated.

Al looked up from the paper. His voice had sounded excited, but he now had a shocked look on his face. "Roy Mustang is getting married."

Ed's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He slowly walked into the living room, digesting the information.  "Well, I guess it was about time. I wonder how he convinced Riza, though."

"He's not..." Al shook his head, his eyes fixed on the newspaper. "He's not marrying Riza."

"What?"

Al laid the newspaper flat on the table. "Look: "It is with great pleasure that the Fuhrer-President Roy Alexander Mustang, son of Francis and Lian Mustang, announces his betrothal to Ms. Margaret Evans, daughter of Sir Timothy Evans and Carla Esposito. The ceremony will be held on the 27th of July at the National Opera House in Central. ", etc.  “

Ed reread the sentence several times, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had never heard that woman's name before. "Margaret Evans...Is that one of Riza's cover name? Or her legal name maybe?"

“I don't find so," Al answered, frowning. "Isn't her full name Elizabeth? That's what they use when they go undercover, anyway."

"This makes no sense." Ed tossed the towel over his shoulder. "I'm gonna give him a call," he said resolutely, walking up to the only phone in the house.

It was Sunday, so he called Roy's apartment. When that got no answer, he called his office on his personal number, where he got a busy signal.

"I'm betting everyone in Central is trying to call him right now," Al said, watching him grow impatient. "It is quite the bombshell to drop in a Sunday newspaper."

Right. Sometime Ed forgot that Roy was the leader of one of the most powerful nation around. "This better not be another of his twisted political scheme," he muttered with his ear on the receiver.

Al crossed his arms, leaning back on his chair. "On the contrary, I hope it is. Because otherwise, it would mean that this is a genuine announcement. "He paused and looked up at his brother. "You don't think that it could really be..."

"No," Ed shook his head with confidence. "Of course not."

He had seen Roy and Riza only a few months prior. A couple of times a year, the two of them would find an excuse to come to Resembool for a weekend without any of their personnel. They came to visit Ed and his family, of course, but it was also an opportunity for them to spend time away from the public eye and the hectic bustle of Central.

And, of course, a rare opportunity to openly exists as a couple, if only for a few days.

Ed thought back on the way the two of them were behaving on their last visit, and he could not imagine that Roy would truly want to marry anyone other than Riza.

"Roy Mustang speaking."

The voice in the receiver jolted Ed out of his thoughts. "Mustang!" he called out, louder than he intended. "What the hell is this?"

He heard a sight. "Good morning to you too, Edward." Roy’s office seemed busy than usual - Ed had trouble hearing his voice over the noise from the background.

"Let’s cut through the pleasantries, alright? We saw the announcement on the paper."

There was a short pause. "Ah. Well, if this is about my wedding, I accept your congratulations, however unconventional."

Ed's foot tapped on the floor impatiently, but he kept his voice calm. "I'm not calling to congratulate you, Roy, and you know it. I'm calling to ask for an explanation. Since when do you..."

"Edward. " Mustang's voice interrupted him firmly. "It's not very pleasant to have this kind of conversation on the phone. Why don't you come by Central? We could discuss this in person - and I know the Captain would be glad to see you."

Ed paused and bit down a scathing reply. He let out a defeated sight instead. "Sure. We'll....we'll see you there."

The line went dead before he could hang up. He still slammed the phone on the receiver with force, for good measure.

"I knew it," he said to Al cynically. "It is another one of his schemes: he didn't want to talk about it on the phone. And it seems like Hawkeye’s on it."

Al nodded slowly. "Of course. Roy would never do something like this without her approval.” He looked down on the newspaper with a pensive expression. "I'm guessing he wants to use the wedding to boost his image. But still...I didn't imagine he would go to such length. ”

"I don't know why he's doing this, but he better have a damn good reason. Come on, Al, we're catching the first train to Central."

---

Ed and Al had never seen Central Command in such a state of frenzy. The chaos that reigned on the floor of the presidential office was of a very different kind than the cozy, domestic one they had left : phones were constantly ringing, officers were running around with their arms full of documents; and everyone was shouting to communicate over the tumult. Two soldiers watched the door to Mustang's office. Without a State Alchemist pocket watch or an uniform, Ed and Al were initially denied access; Al had to rummage through his bag for an attestation of his status of diplomat to get them through.

Inside the presidential office, it was even worse. Dodging an officer that came to ask their business, Ed made his way through the crowd like a bulldozer until he reached Roy's desk. The president was on the phone; he nodded to them as he noticed their presence, then returned to his conversation.

A few minutes later, Roy hung up and turned in their direction.

"You got here quickly," he greeted them. "Edward. Alfonse, nice to see you."

"It's been a while," Al replied warmly; Ed nodded. Roy’s attitude was nonchalant, as usual, but he couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes or the tension in his shoulders.

Roy smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the mess. As you can imagine, things have been a little hectic since the announcement came out. But," he glanced at his clock and stood up, "it's past noon, so I think I deserve a lunch break. How about we grab something and go eat in my study? I could use a little peace and quiet.”

His study, the only place in Central Command that Roy trusted not to be bugged. Right.

"Riza - I mean Captain Hawkeye isn't here with you?" Al asked, looking as they were leaving his office.

"If you think my office was busy, you should see hers,” Roy answered with a slight smile. “She insisted to be named head of security for the wedding, so she has started coordinating the whole thing. I doubt we'll be able to catch her for dinner - it'll be lucky if I can convince her to get some rest for the night. "His tone was joking, but somehow lacked conviction.

Walking down the hallways, Roy called out to an employee and asked him to bring three lunches to his study. The officer saluted, then ran off to the cafeteria. Perks of being the president, Ed guessed.

As they entered the president’s study, a small but gorgeous room filled with ancient bookshelves, Ed noticed with surprise that Roy had brought a stack of documents with him. He put them down on the varnished wooden desk and began to glance at the one on top, as the employee entered the room to drop off sandwiches. That was unprecedented. Ed and Al had never seen Roy as overworked - but then, in the years they had worked for him, they had rarely seen him work at all.

When the officer had left the room and the door was safely closed behind him, Roy opened one of the drawers at the bottom of his cabinet and rummaged through it for a few seconds, pulling out a messy pile of paper.

"Take a look at this."

He tossed a couple of newspapers on the desk in front of them. They seemed to be from various of the biggest gossip magazine of Central, and even a couple newspapers. The headlines were all short, bold, to the point. "The Fuhrer's string of affairs continues," "The Hawk's Eye: the new presidential scandal?", "Is Mustang sleeping with his staff? Exclusive testimony from ex-military", "Turmoil in Central Command over speculation on Fuhrer-President's relationships". They covered a period of several months, the earliest going back half a year.

Ed frowned and let the papers fall back on the desk. "So? This isn't an explanation."

Roy looked up from the document he was reading. "I heard you were pretty smart, Edward. I'm sure you can figure out the rest." Now that they were in private, his tone had become noticeably less polite and more snappy - even more during their usual exchange, it seemed.

"What, you're upset that some journalists are writing about you and Riza, so you're marrying someone else to throw them off? Are you insane?" Ed shook his head with frustration. "Since when do you care about what the media says about you anyway?"

Roy didn’t raise his eyes. "I’ve cared about it ever since it started threatening my position, Edward.”

"Your position is not democratically elected yet, as far as I know," Ed replied stubbornly.

He growled. “It’s not that simple, Ed.” Roy put down his document for good, resting his forearms on the desk. The sandwiches laid next to him, already forgotten. "Listen. Since I've entered the military, I've purposely built a reputation as a womanizer and a slacker, so that the higher up wouldn't feel threatened by me." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "It worked a bit too well, I guess. Now, the nationalists are trying to portray me as a depraved, scandalous man with no respect for traditions, so that they can discredit my democratic reforms in the same way.” He frowned, and his expression darkened. “They've already exposed my relationship with Chris all over the newspapers, smearing her bar and her reputation. Now, they’re using Chris’ informants to paint me as a skirt-chaser who constantly sleep around – and not to mention with his subordinates.”

"But there have always been rumors, right? " Al asked cautiously. "Even in Xin, I've heard about it several times.”

"Yes, but never of that magnitude. And never targeting Riza so precisely." He looked away, embarrassed. "We got careless. Journalists caught me leaving her apartment one morning, and the rumors have been crazy ever since." Ed winced. They had always been worried that something like that would happen. "You know, this is not just for my career. When the rumors were at their peak, reporters were scrutinizing our routines from morning till night. It was unbearable; we couldn't even see each other without risking getting caught." Roy took a long look at the both of them, one after the other. “This is only a temporary arrangement to make our lives easier. I know this may seem wrong, but it is the best option we have."

Al nodded slowly. He didn't seem that surprised by this whole affair; but after all, he must have witness similar - or worse - situations in the Xinese Court.

Ed wished he could take it as well as Al, but he couldn’t help feeling shocked. Roy's explanation was perfectly rational; he understood why they were doing this. But just imagining being in the same situation – and putting Winry through it – was making him feel sick.

"I can't believe you’ve convinced yourself that this your best solution." Roy gave him what seemed to be an exasperated look, which angered Ed even more. He raised his voice. "Isn't it bad enough that you and Riza can't live together? You really have to push the charade even further, marrying someone else? To, to spend years pretending to lead a normal family life of which Riza is not part off,  while she still has to work by your side?” Ed was on the edge of his seat, almost yelling now. "I mean, how can you do something like that to her? ”

"Edward!" Roy slammed his hand on the table, cutting him off. He had properly shouted, but his voice was low with anger. "It was her idea to begin with. She insisted on going through with this."

Ed paused, taken aback. "Really?"

Roy looked him straight in the eye. His tone was sharp as a knife. "Do you really think I would suggest a plan like this?"

No, of course not, Ed realized. He felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. It seemed obvious now: Roy would never make Riza go through something like this of his own volition. Despite his impassive persona, even Ed knew how soft-hearted he was when it came to those close to him. She had always been the one taking the harsh decisions in that regard.

"You're right,” he mumbled, sitting back. “Sorry."

Roy sighed, his anger replaced by weariness. "Don't worry about it. Everyone we told reacted that way."

After a moment, Al broke the silence. "You think people are gonna buy this? The wedding?"

"They are, if we do it right,” answered Roy without a doubt. “This operation has been long in the making. Margot and I started to go on dates a few months ago, making ourselves seen; we made sure those newspapers were writing about her well before we announced the engagement."

"And who's this poor girl who thinks she'll be marrying the President?" Ed asked with a scowl.

Roy gave him a long look. "Again, you have a very poor opinion of me if you think that this is what I would do, Edward." Ed felt a blush creep up his face, but he held Roy’s gaze. "No, Margot is a contact from Chris – thankfully, no one knows their connection.” He searched another of his drawers for a moment and placed what appeared to be a pamphlet for a theater play on the desk. “She's a lifesaver, to be honest: this plan would have fallen through if we hadn't found someone like her that perfectly fitted our needs."

"An actress, huh? Isn't that a bit obvious?" Ed picked up the pamphlet. On the front page was a picture of a woman in her thirties, long brown hair framing a round friendly face.

"She's an opera singer," Roy rectified. "But she has done acting, so she'll be able to play the part. She's sympathetic to our situation, and also her own interest in this matter: the marriage will give her some publicity to launch her career. And, most importantly, Chris trust her, which means we can." He put his hands together, elbows on the table, the posture he took when he gave orders to his subordinates. "I don't need to tell you how devastating it would be if her, or anyone, leaked out to the press the truth behind this wedding. All our careers would be over in an instant. Which is why I need you two to be extremely careful."

Ed winced as he thought back on what he had almost shouted over the phone this morning, or in Roy’s office. That would take some adjusting on his part.

He also guessed that Roy and Riza would have to stop their visits to Resembool for a while.

He cleared his throat. "And how long do you plan on keeping this up?"

"Not a moment longer than we need to, I can assure you. When my democratic reforms are implanted and solid, I will step down as President - that was already the plan." Roy stood and went to look out the study’s window, hands in his pockets. A smirk appeared on his lips. "If it was up to me, I’d file for divorce the instant I walk down the stairs of Central Command, but Riza think it would be too obvious - not to mention a bit improper, considering I plan to propose to her afterwards." He chuckled, then his face fell. "She thinks we shouldn't get married at all. That it would prove the rumors about us and tarnish my legacy - with those of my reforms. " He sighed and turned toward them. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. ”

He walked back to his desk and laid his hands flat on it.

"In the meanwhile, while you don’t have to, we would appreciate it if you came to the wedding." Ed shot him a confused look. "You're still pretty popular with the people,", Roy explained, "and everyone knows you've worked with me in the past. The more of our actual entourage come to the ceremony, the more believable it will be."

Al glanced sideways at Ed. "Of course. We can be there; I imagine Ling will want to hear details about the wedding anyway. And, um," he addressed his brother more than Roy, "hopefully we can keep Riza company for a bit.”

Roy gave him a smile, the first genuine one since the start of the conversation. "Thank you."

----

Riza spent the week before the wedding having to repeat the same things over and over again like a broken record. She was fine; it didn’t bother her ; that was her idea to begin with. She told that to her old team, to the Elric brothers, to Rebecca; and most of all she told that to Roy.  She felt constantly on edge; she couldn’t stand the way people looked at her, as if they expected her to break down crying at any moment. "If you give me that sorry look one more time," she snapped at Roy one evening, "I'll lock you in your office until the wedding.”

It was driving her crazy. She didn't have time to waste with these conversations: she was the head of security for a national wedding, and she had so many tasks to deal with that she didn't know where to give her attention. Every moment of those days she spent on her feet, going from meetings to meetings, keeping tabs on the dozens of teams that were handling the various parts of the organization, making sure no detail was overlooked. Her days were so full that she didn't have time to stop and think; and in the evening she would collapse into her single bed, exhausted, and fall asleep almost immediately.

On top of all the logistics, she had to accompany the President and the would-be First Lady through the media whirlwind that preceded the wedding. Margaret was unknown to the public, and all of Central was desperate to catch a glimpse of the woman who had finally managed to tame Roy Mustang, the famous womanizer, and make him settle down. Both played their roles to perfection: Margot was charming, distinguished but not haughty, teasing Roy fondly; he played the helpless romantic, laughing with a bit of mischievous embarrassment when his scandalous past was brought up. They were funny, complicit, shy when they needed to be - as if they had a real private life they wanted to keep for themselves - and most of all, they were oh so in love.

Riza received a few interview requests herself, but only from the most shameless magazines, the same ones that had cheerfully dragged her name through the mud a couple of months earlier. She hadn’t bothered to decline.

---

The Central Times: There were… rumors, a bit unflattering if I may add, going around about the President turbulent love life. Has that ever been a concern to you, Ms. Evans?

ME: I had certainly heard about it, like everyone else. In fact, I almost refused his first invitation to dinner precisely because of that. (laughs) But it became clear to me very quickly that Roy...did not act the way I expected him to. And I think that realization convinced me to put my cards on the table. I told him, on our second date, that the type of behavior talked about in the papers was not acceptable to me. And that I would rather cut things off immediately if he was not willing to leave that lifestyle behind.

TCT : On your second date! You certainly know what you want.

(Both laugh)

RM: That is one way to put it! I think that was one of the moments I realized what kind of woman Margot was. And - I'm gonna be honest with you for a moment - as a Fuhrer, who spend his days ordering people around, I certainly appreciate a woman that can hold her own.

---

The big day finally arrived. Roy had insisted she didn't have to be there, that she could fake an illness or an emergency. Riza knew that wasn’t the case. The most persistent rumors were those that linked Roy to his bodyguard; her absence at this wedding would have been nothing short of glaring. In any case, Riza was so busy overseeing the course of the day’s event that she didn't even get to visit the soon-to-be-wed couple before they appeared during the ceremony.

They were gorgeous, of course: two attractive people in the elegance of their middle age, dressed by the best designers in Central, resplendent in their happiness. Roy wore the kind of suit he preferred, all black, very chic; Margot had a white satin dress with a long front and back neckline, the kind of dress Riza could never wear on similar occasions.

The kiss, the one everyone was waiting for, was as spectacular as the rest. They went all in, Roy tilting Margot backward until it looked like they were both about to fall down. It didn't bother Riza as much as she would have thought. Roy had never kissed her this way; this was an embrace for the show, for the cameras, while the ones they shared were always strictly for each other. The whole world had seen how the extravagant Flame Alchemist and Hero of Ishval kissed someone, and it had matched their expectations, but only Riza knew the way Roy Mustang kissed someone like he meant it.

She was grateful Roy went that way. She wasn't sure if she could have borne watching him kiss Margot with the same mannerism he kissed her.

And after that came the reception, the dinner, the dance. Dozens of people lined up to give their congratulations to the newlywed couple – mostly members of the aristocracy or the military who had never talked to either of them before - and Roy and Margot accepted their wishes with courtesy, pretending to be touched or delighted by their conversations.

Not for the first time, Riza thought to herself how she would dislike being in Margot's shoes right now. Having to maintain a facade of politeness throughout her wedding day, spending it with opportunistic strangers instead of her loved ones...she couldn’t have done it.

Truly, she was more comfortable behind the scenes as head of security than under the spotlight as the bride.

She watched them eat next to each other, chatting pleasantly with the other guests. She watched them open the dance, arms in arms, and even she felt touched by how beautiful of a sight they were, two stunning dancers gracefully moving across the ballroom like they were floating about the ground, weightless.

Some of her friends and comrades came to subtly check on her, asking again how she was doing. Many insisted to keep her company; but she was on duty, and too many tasks required her attention for her to be able to simply enjoy the night, she told them. At no moment during the evening did she let her guard down, checking in regularly with the security personnel, running patrols even as the evening calmed down and guests slowly started to trickle away, the married couple leaving to their private quarters and the staff starting to take the decorations down.

All night long, she remained the very image of professionalism.

---

Rebecca was the one who found her. She had taken refuge in a place where no one would dare come looking for her, in the bathroom of her hotel room, both doors locked. Obviously, this was not enough to keep her closest friend away.

Rebecca opened the bathroom door to find her curled up on the tile floor, her back against the wall, one hand pressed against her mouth. Even here, hidden from the world, Riza was still trying to control herself; but her body was shaking with shuddering sobs, silent tears running down her face and rolling over her fingers.

Even Rebecca had rarely seen her in such a state, at least not since her return from Ishval.

Her heart broke at the sight, as well as her voice. "Oh, Riza."

She fell down on the floor beside her. Riza raised her head and tried to wipe her cheeks with the back of her hands.

"I'm fine," she began immediately. She could hear how silly it sounded, for her to say that with her strangled voice and her hiccups. "I'm okay, it's just.....It's stupid." She shook her head, embarrassed. "I'm the one who suggested this. I don't get why I'm reacting like that, when I know that it doesn't mean anything..."

"Riza." Rebecca interrupted her with a voice thick with emotion but firm. "I'm gonna need you to shut up right now."

She complied and Rebecca put her arms around her, drawing her closer. Riza buried her head against her shoulders. For a few minutes, only the muffled sound of her cries broke the silence.  

"When are you seeing him?" Rebecca asked her softly after she had calmed down, stroking her back.

Suddenly, Riza felt an urge to talk to Roy. She had avoided him as much as she could for the past few days, unable to bear the way he looked at her, the guilt that transpired in his every move, his need to tell her those sappy things they never had to say before - how much he loved her, and only her, and how that would never change. But right now, for the first time, she needed to hear those silly, stupid words all over again.

She shook her head. "Not tonight. Too risky. We'll see how closely the journalists watch his house after the wedding, and decide when it's safe for me to visit him again."

Rebecca said nothing, still rubbing her back. Riza was already getting back to her normal, composed self, forcing her breaths to be long and steady.

"And…please don't tell him you saw me like this."

There was a silence, then Rebecca sighed. She shook her head.

"You know, sometimes I wonder why you two seem so determined to remain unhappy for the rest of your lives.”

Riza knew how to answer this. There were things that had to be done; work that had to be finished before Roy and her could be allowed to live for themselves. Damages they had to repair, sins to atone for.

But for once, these words seemed too heavy to say, and she was so, so tired. So, she said nothing.

[chaosangel767]

Overwhelmed - Edgar x Roselina

Prompt - "You're overworking yourself, please take a break" - @toloveawarlord little Edgar’s Birthday countdown - Day 4

Type of One-shot: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff 

Pairing : Edgar Bright x Roselina Kingsley 

Warnings: Just a very overwhelmed Rose

WC: 1175

Summary: Edgar takes care of a very overworked Roselina. Having to temporarily take over as King of Hearts she hasn’t been taking care of herself. Now Edgar will do anything to make her take a break. Even tie her to a chair?

AN: Another OC that I haven’t released the story to (so many characters so little time) XD Enjoy

The lights of the office are turned low, only the lamp on the desk and glow of the fireplace cast light to the figure behind the desk. As the night grows late only the sound of pen on paper fills. the office, occasionally joined by the shuffling of papers.

A firm knock on the door can only belong to one officer, after a second knock a sigh and quick ‘come in’ is heard. The door opens, flooding the room in a dim light as the Jack of Hearts enters carrying a tray. 

"Rose, my love, you're overworking yourself, Please take a break" Jack's voice is soothing as it washes over the woman behind the desk.

 "Ed, I'm busy, please see yourself out." Rose tries to sound firm and gruff, but exhaustion creeps into her voice, Edgar ignores her command and places the tray on the edge of her desk, and leans on he desk next to her.

“Jelly bean, I'm worried about you, no one has seen you since lunch and its past midnight" Edgar persists, his use of her childhood nickname has her pause briefly, but she doesn't look up. Her pen quickly recovers and she gets back to writing.

 Maybe if she looked up she would have seen the mischievous smirk playing on his face, or she would have heard the next words out of his mouth. But Rose misses both warnings, instead tunes herself out to read the report and sign the report. She feels Ed stroke the hand resting on her armrest and she still ignores him. Once the report is read she goes to flip the page only to feel tug on her arm.

"Ed, what did you do? "She looks up to see Ed's mischievous eyes and looks down to see cuffs on her wrist rendering her left arm useless.

 "Edgar Bright!" Roselina hisses angrily, glaring up at him, his eyes are laughing at her.

"I warned you love, I said 'If you don't stop working I'll tie you to the chair.' Now take a break and I'll untie you." Edgar uses her confusion to steal her pen and cuff her other hand, tying her to the chair completely and sits between her and the desk. He runs his white gloves along her face and down to her wrist waiting for her answer, she just glares steadily at him. Oh if looks could kill he would die right then. 

"Edgar, I have work to release me." Rose commands and Edgar hums stroking her cheek. "No Roselina, the paper work can wait until you eat and rest.” Edgar reassures his stubborn fiancé and keeps his hand on her cheek. She looks up into his eyes, the beautiful jade sends warmth through her being. Without the mental distraction of her work happening, the repressed emotions and fears start to come to the surface.

"Ed, I can't" her voice cracks and notes of vulnerability slip through. Now that she isn't working her mind wanders. 

Where is Lance? When will I see him again? He's been gone for four days and  I can't lose him too. Not after the tower. Tears start to fill her eyes, but they don't spill over as her fears take over.

"Jelly bean" Ed whispers, trying to bring her attention back to him. His demeanor softens when he meets Rose's eyes, her icy blue eyes resemble broken glass.

 "I'll take a break, just hold me." Rose pleas and Edgar nods quickly, releasing her from the chair. 

"Come on Jelly bean. I'll bring you to the sofa." Edgars voice is soothing and gentle as he guides her to the sofa worried. He knew she was overworking herself so she wouldn't have to think, but he didn't realize how much she was hiding. 

Pulling her into a hug on the sofa, he let her compose herself, her head resting on his chest and fingers playing with the medals of his uniform. Roselina felt Edgars warmth and heartbeat as she calmed down. 

"Ed, what if he never comes back?" Rose whispers her voice is heavy with emotion "What if something happened to him?" Edgar presses his hand to her head and strokes her hair. 

"We are doing everything we can right now. Take it one day at a time and continue to look for him. It'll be alright my Love." Edgar soothes her, pressing his lips to her forehead and Roselina starts to nuzzle into him. 

"How did Lance do this?" She whispers softly, looking at the desk in the middle of the room. "He was so strong," she manages to hold back the tears, biting the sour feeling in her stomach. 

"He was made for the King of Hearts position Rose, it was all he knew." Edgar reminded her, carefully choosing his words. "You are just as strong as he is, my Love. You just need to learn which papers need to be prioritized and which documents  Jonah or I can handle so you aren't overwhelmed. " Edgar calms Roselina down some more, gently guiding her. She had only been the acting King of Hearts for a few days and she was doing really well minus not taking care of herself and trying to drown herself in paperwork. 

The office is silent for a few moments while Rose gathers her thoughts and calms down, exhaustion and hunger are more prominent now and she snuggles closer to Edgar, feeling a weight lift off her shoulder. Edgar keeps his fingers stroking her hair, watching her relax under his touch. 

"Jelly bean, eat something before you fall asleep, you need food." Edgar pokes her cheek and her eyes open up again, a sky blue with silver flecks. She sits up a little, releasing Edgar so he can grab the tray off her desk. He sets the tray down and lifts the cover to reveal a bowl of potato and leek soul and Rose's eyes light up at the Apple turnover for dessert. The tray had been enchanted to keep the food warm until the cover was lifted off. Beaming up at him Rose takes the soup bowl and starts eating, the warmth of the soup making her hum in delight. 

"I'm going to organize your paperwork, okay Love?" Edgar asks and Rose nods happily, eating the soup and eyeing the turnover for dessert. The office falls into a warm silence, only the clinking of the spoon and shuffling of papers is heard. When Edgar looks up, he sees Roselina asleep on the sofa, the tray once again covered. Edgar chuckles and has one of the guards return the tray to the kitchen before scooping Rose up and bringing her to her room, locking the office door behind him. 

Gently changing her into a nightgown, Edgar lays her in bed and changes into one of the pajamas he keeps in her room, joining her and holding her close, listening to her content hum when she snuggles into him. 

"Good night Jelly bean, have sweet dreams" Edgar mumbles as sleep soon takes over both of them. 

[kimhargreeves]

Criminal-Edward Nashton x Reader

Summary:You are starting a new job as a secretary in the gcpd but then you meet Ed who isn't quite fond of you.

A/N:In all honesty I imagined this oneshot as the riddler from the upcoming movie and from the show Gotham. So you can choose with which version to read as, sorta got inspired from Ed's relationship with Kristine kringle.

The building seems a bit bigger up close..I stared at the bold letters and the almost dirty walls next to the building painted in graffiti, many words were painted on it, especially insults towards the people who's supposed to protect the city. "We'll see each other real soon." A guard told me when I stepped out of the gates before I arrived here. That's what they want. I won't let them have their fun and bet on me that I'll be returning. I took a deep breathe and slowly made my way into the building. It was no longer cold in here, but my presence caught the attention of some police men and women. Another guard walked over to me and asked me what I was doing here, "I heard that there's a position here for a secretary." I answered the man. The man nodded his head and told me to follow him into an office. A man was sitting on the chair and he gave me a gentle smile when he noticed me walk in, "Good afternoon miss." "Afternoon sir. I heard that there's in need of a secretary here in the gcpd since the last one got fired I assume?" I asked as I tilted my head and the man snapped out of his thoughts and nodded his head, "Yes! Not to get into people's lives but the last one got drunk and threatened to gun the place down when he got hold of a weapon." I just nodded my head and listened to him talk, I handed him my resume and all my paperwork and background. "I believe you need better security here." The man chuckled thinking it was a joke of mine. "Well, Mrs. (L/N), I do hope this doesn't bring any trouble in the future." The man chuckled once more when he held a document. "I can assure you sir, nothing will happen. I studied in one of the best colleges in Gotham and was the best in my class. I took on a lot of classes back then." The man hummed and asked me more questions, everything seems to go smooth and I know I'll do great in this job. "Well it's your lucky day Mrs (L/N). Welcome to the gcpd." I smiled and shook his hand back eagerly. "I won't let you down sir. Thank you for letting me work here." Together we began walking and when we reached down the stairs a man as tall as the boss kept staring at us. He was nicely dressed with a lab coat on him too and a pair of glasses on him. "Mr. Nashton, this is Mrs. (L/N). Our new secretary. He'll finish showing you around." The younger man didn't seem happy. The boss went back to his office, it was just us now. "Follow me." He muttered and I quickly followed. "If we're going to be co-workers then you can call me (Y/N)." I offered him a smile. He didn't return it. "Ed." was what he told me, he didn't tell me anything else just left me at my desk and left. ******* It's been a month since I started working here and everything was going great. I've been getting along with some people here and would occasionally see James Gordon working and catching criminals. The man seemed to never get sleep. As for Ed well I have seen him thing is I believe he's been avoiding me. Every morning since we're to be earlier than the rest since I am a secretary and he does autopsies, I bring in breakfast or coffee. I always hand one to Ed he only mutters a thanks and quickly leaves before I could talk. I was bored and finishing up some paperwork, everyone had already left, well most officers. The whole city was going insane tonight and the headlines were going to be all over the place tomorrow morning. I was working when I noticed many running out the door. "The mayor has been killed!" Someone shouted. The whole forensics team left to lift up the body and inspect the place. It had been more than three hours, most officers including Gordon stayed behind inspecting the place up to try and determine who killed the mayor. I looked around the gcpd and noticed some officers sleeping and other typing in their computers, behind me I saw some light which was the room where the bodies are, where the mayor is. Thankfully I finished the papers so maybe taking a peek won't hurt. As quietly as I could I stood up and state heading into the room. I pushed the doors open and the light was brighter inside than in any room, there was some plastic scattered across the room with some tools and metal bowls along with knives. This whole room was creeping me out a bit especially the only body that was lying in the middle of the room. The mayor had a sheet over him. I looked around me to make sure no one could scare me, slowly I started to uncover the sheet when a hand grabbed my wrist stopping me. I jumped up a bit and looked up to see Ed with cold eyes. "What are you doing here?" "I finished work so I thought i could check in if you were here." I also told him which was entirely a lie. "Why are you always nice to me?" He quickly asked bit angered up. I flinched when he gripped me tighter, he noticed this and took a step back and let go of me. "You think I don't know you? Just a month ago you were released from Arkham. You killed three people in cold blood and police arrested you on the spot, those men you killed were responsible for your parents death." He began talking quick. How does he knows all of this?! Ed huffed out annoyed and ignored me and started putting on some gloves. "Want to see the body?" I stepped away hoping he'd understand me, he didnt, Ed slowly uncovered the body and the mayor had lots of blood and duct tape all over his head. "The only one you should fear are the living." He whispered to himself but I heard him. "Who could do such a thing?" "Are you impressed or scared?" Ed asked looking back at me and pushing his glasses up to his face when he examined the body. "I guess you could say both." I started walking back closer to him. "I've changed you know? I was locked up Arkham for a reason. I would never harm someone." Ed nodded his head. "I've never been to Arkham..is it as crazy a people say it is?" "I would say some areas. The mentally ill are on the other side from where I was but it was hard to sleep at night with screams, crying..laughing..It was haunting, the ill patients need to be supervised not critized, I've seen the way guards threat them." Ed listened closely to what I said and smiled just a bit. "Interesting. So tell me (Y/N), what do you think of this?" It is the first time I've heard him say my first name, what is up with him? "I don't know." I truthfully answered. I jumped a bit when Ed placed both hands on my shoulders. "It is getting a bit late. Why don't you go home and rest up." "What about y-you?" I felt my face boiling up at how close he was getting to me. "I'll be staying up all night, watching the news, finishing up the autopsy." I furrowed my eyebrows but said nothing else. "Okay..goodnight Ed." Without turning to look back I headed to my desk to grab my belongings and quickly started to walk out of the gcpd, it was raining a bit and my body felt cold especially since I had the feeling someone was watching me. I hurried to my apartment building and when I opened the door to enter some arms were wrapped around me and a cloth was placed on my nose. I tried fighting the attacker but all I could do was shut my eyes and lean back against the man who got me. I opened my eyes once more and the last thing I saw was a dark green coat and glasses.

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 14

Previous: Justifying Jimin

Pairing: Kim Taehyung X OFC

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG17

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Non-Consensual Sex, Mentions of Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recover, Rape Culture

Summary: Codename V and Codename Cupid begin their courtship, which ends rather quickly when Cupid crosses a line. 

TRIGGER WARNING: There is conversation regarding rape in this chapter. It does not glamorize, but does give modest details. 

PLEASE SKIP IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ 

Codename: Love Reimagined

Fall, One Year Post Grad

           Lee Euna met Kim Taehyung on a Wednesday. Both were attending a gallery opening, Taehyung as a friend of the artist, Euna as an investor. He knew the minute she walked into the gallery, the way her pearls glistened in the carefully planned lighting, her midnight locks curled to delicate tendrils cascading down her back. There were many adjectives to describe Lee Euna, and as a woman nearing the top of the largest company in the world, the one that was most often negated was beautiful. Lee Euna, a stunner, a total package, brilliant, kind, gorgeous. Taehyung could understand the draw to her, her demeanor was congenial, but her eyes were daring. They spoke when her lips didn’t, they saw what others tried to hide, they observed and recorded so that she could strike. To an untrained eye, in combination with the way tabloids depicted her, Euna wasn’t a threat.

           But Taehyung knew different.

           Armed with the knowledge of her last two relationships, Taehyung approached confidently.

           “The use of yellow is a fascinating commentary, don’t you think?” Taehyung asked.

           “Mm, I’m more intrigued by the abject use of black as negative space, particularly as it moves throughout the series, blurring ever so slightly with each piece,” Euna told him, eyes trained on the image in front of them.

           “Until you get to the end, completely white,” Taehyung finished.

           “You know the artist?” She asked him.

           “I do, and you?” He smiled brightly at her.

           “Let’s just say I have a piece in mind,” She smirked gently.

           “I’m Taehyung,”

           “Euna,”

           “It’s nice to meet you. May I walk with you to the next piece?” Taehyung asked, a gently smile dancing across his lips, the anticipation of understanding Cupid further, of getting to see the sides of her Codename Suga and Mr. Handsome, got to see. It was always exciting, he thought, getting to know a new mark, exploring the dynamics, flirting with the soon to be blurred lines. Ever the extrovert, he thrived when he was taken off surveillance and placed in the field, even when he ran missions on the ground, following marks, urging them in certain directions or to locations, the threat of being caught was high, and he loved it. Standing next to Cupid, waiting patiently for her response, he felt that first inkling of danger, of mystique, of upholding the narrative Namjoon had constructed for him.

           “That would be lovely,” Cupid smiled before turning to walk towards the next piece.

~~~~~

           Taehyung courted Cupid for the next few weeks, before she took him to dinner and into her bed. From there, it was a blur of museum openings, concerts, gala’s and drinks with friends. From the jump, Cupid was 100% in. She was immediately falling for Taehyung, making plans for their future, and bulldozing boundaries like traffic cones in drivers ed. Tired of being hurt, jaded from heartbreak, Cupid was already swimming in the deep end while he tiptoed in. Getting him to her side, though, proved difficult and frustrating. Taehyung tried to resist, to persistently put up new and more transparent boundaries, but they always seemed like a suggestion to Cupid. He allowed it to go on for a few months, until it became alarmingly clear that this was not acceptable, and she was going to move forward without asking him if it was okay.

           Taehyung scheduled a meeting with Namjoon, in the privacy of his fully walled office, and sulked in. The nerves at an all-time high, the panic he felt, the sickness in his stomach, the low taste of bile in his throat, loomed large over him.

           “Something’s not right,” Taehyung said to Namjoon. He sat opposite his brother on the couch Namjoon kept in his office for late night missions, or nights when he didn’t want to drive home.

           “Meaning?” Namjoon asked, confusion laced in his bespectacled eyes.

           “I think it’s getting out of hand,” Taehyung sat with his hands in his lap, eyes downcast as the tears began to fall. He’d shown minimal distress throughout their team meetings but was spending less and less free time in the office. A sign, that both Yoongi and Seokjin took to mean he was with Cupid, though transcripts weren’t showing up.

           Gently placing a hand on his forearm, Namjoon asked, “Tae, what’s wrong?”

           “I can’t do this, with Cupid,” He whispered.

           “What’s happened?” Namjoon asked, unsure where this was going.

           “She, she’s trying to get pregnant, Yoongi was right, she’s obsessed with it,” Taehyung inhaled slowly, rickety breaths leaving his quivering lips.

           “By you?” Namjoon was confused, it hadn’t been long enough for her to start making these claims, they’d only been seeing each other for a handful of months. Was she deviating from the pattern?

           “Yes,” Taehyung let out the sob he’d been trying and failing to hold. Namjoon had seen the man cry, in their years together, he’d seen everyone cry. They’d lost a mark, years ago, and Taehyung had just been a trainee. The man, in touch with his emotions and often lost in thought, took his job seriously, and worked diligently to do his best at all times. This, whatever was happening between Cupid and him, was abnormal.

           “Taehyung, what is she doing?” Namjoon’s voice was measured, gentle in tone and volume, deep resonance embracing Taehyung in support, in love, in familiarity, in understanding.

           “She’s scraping out condoms, not letting me pull out, and I’ve torn condoms before because there’s holes in them. Holes, Joon, I’ve found them in the wrapper!” Taehyung was shaking, tears still streaming from his emotive eyes.

           “Does she think you don’t know?”

           “I don’t know. She doesn’t care or she thinks I don’t care, or -

           “Is this nonconsensual?” Namjoon asked.

           A simple question, a measurement of balance of power, of two adults mutually agreeing on a set activity, of a designated maneuver, of an act, together, one not moving forward without the other, in tandem. Do you consent to this, or do you not?

           “Absolutely not. She has never asked, nor have I given any form of consent. I have actively tried to stop her, I have actively tried to not engage with her, I have said no and stop. She doesn’t.” The sobs return, shaking his entire body.

           Namjoon wrapped an arm around Taehyung and pulled him into his side. Taehyung didn’t need to look at Namjoon to know how incensed he was, how furious he was, how heartbroken and disgusted and devastated, he was. He felt it in the bear like hold he had over him, he heard it in his voice as he spoke again.

           “Your mission with Cupid is terminated immediately, get your phone, you will end your relationship right here and now.”

           “Will that ruin the plan?” Taehyung whispered.

           “What’s the number one rule?” Namjoon countered.

           “Our safety, and our emotional and physical health are more important than a mark or mission,” Taehyung didn’t need to think, it was written on his heart, he’d just hoped he’d never have to evoke it.

           “Exactly. Do you want to use your time off? I suggest you do, take a few days. Do you need to go back to your therapist, Dr. Aarons?” Namjoon rattled off the necessary measures Taehyung could take, knowing he would force him to rest and ease back into work.

           Nodding solemnly, Taehyung’s voice was a whisper. “Yeah, that might be a good place to start. I’m sorry,”

           “Sorry for what?” Namjoon shook his head, confusion in his tone.

           “For, I don’t know, disappointing the team.” Taehyung glanced up at Joon for the first time.

           “Taehyung, when have you ever disappointed the team?” Namjoon’s question was rhetorical. “You are risking yourself for a mission and it’s not worth it. She’s engaging in dangerous, illegal, immoral behavior. You have to look out for your personhood. I am so sorry that she has done this, and that you feel like you need to apologize to me at all. You are not at fault. I am only disappointed that when I noticed you pulling away, I didn’t seek you out to ensure you were okay. I am sorry for not doing my part as your leader.”

           Taehyung held Namjoon as they let the words float between them, Taehyung breathing them in as Namjoon’s softened gaze continued to hold him.

           “Thank you,” Taehyung whispered.

           “Do you want me to accompany you and Golden Maknae when you break up with her?” Namjoon stood up, stretching before sitting down at his desk.

           “Can’t I just ghost her?” Taehyung was surprised by the suggestion of doing this in person.

           Namjoon looked at him, realizing the suggestion he’d made. “Aren’t you past that point in your relationship?”

           “I don’t know, it’s only been four months?” Taehyung stood.

           “Four months and she already wants to procreate?” Namjoon was stunned again, nothing about Cupid predicted this. It wasn’t a pattern of behavior, but a hint at one, nothing had come to fruition and he wasn’t going to put another man on Cupid detail ever again.

           “You’ve seen my jaw,” Taehyung smirks.

           “Text her, don’t call, we know how that went for Yoongi,”

           “Can I do it in here?” He asks.

           “Conference room? I need to brief the team,”

           “Okay,”

           “You don’t have to stay. Once you break up with her, you can go home, Tae. You don’t need to stay for this at all, you aren’t required to,” Namjoon stood from his desk and guided Taehyung out of his office to the conference room.

           “I’ll stay,” Tae nodded, using the sleeve of his cardigan to blot his tears.

           “You do not to explain to them what happened,” Namjoon informed him.

           “I know,” Tae nodded again.

           “What’s up?” Hoseok asked sitting down at the conference table. He’d yet to finish his project, recreating a few false documents for Jimin.

           “Yeah, we’re having a full meeting at 3PM? Isn’t it almost quitting time?” Yoongi wondered as he twirled in his chair.

           “One step closer to Friday,” Seokjin reminded him.

           “We have an update on Codename, Hoseok, what did you name V’s mission?” Namjoon said, stuffing his hands in his suit pants.

           “Love Reimagined,” Answered Hoseok.

           “One of your shorter titles,” Yoongi quipped.

           “What was Yoongi’s?” Jimin asked.

           “Codename: Another Shot at Love,” Hoseok was proud of himself, beyond proud. He took great care to name each mission or task, ensuring it was fitting and catchy. He was waiting for their final mission on this case, a chance to reference one of his favorite Netflix Originals.

           “And Jimin’s?” Yoongi added.

           “The ongoing, Codename: The Mochi of it All,” Hoseok beamed.

           "What was mine?" Seokjin wondered.

           "Codename: The First Heartbreak," Hoseok couldn't stop smiling.

           “Why must you take the time to give such long names?” Seokjin laughed.

           “It’s part of my flair,” Hoseok giggled.

           “Alright, Codename: Love Reimagined is hereby closed, finished, completed.” Namjoon said redirecting the men. They all turned to face him, confusion and shock on their faces. This wasn’t the plan.

           “Really?” Hoseok asked.

           “Why?” Yoongi followed.

           “How come?” Seokjin rounded out the men.

           “It’s cancelled,” Namjoon’s voice was firm, a means to end the conversation.

           “Taehyung, are you okay?” Jimin asked. The two men shared an apartment, and Jimin had noticed on more than one occasion Taehyung retreating into himself. He felt it too, the absence of his best friend, his partner in work and in friendship, no longer wanting to spend time together like they always did. He hadn’t checked in as much as he wanted, his own mission filling his time as the relationship progressed consistently. Jimin spent time twirling his engagement ring on his finger, embarrassed by how much he liked the medal on his skin, the small encrusted diamonds twinkling in the light.  

           “No, I’m not okay,” Taehyung could always meet Jimin’s gaze, his hurt brown irises inked with tears told Jimin it was far worse than he realized.

           “You don’t have to tell us,” Yoongi said. “But if you do, I guarantee we’ll fuck them up.”            “Codename Cupid took advantage of me, more than once, in a sexual manner,” Taehyung pushed the words out of his mouth, the burden leaving his shoulders as he leaned into the comfort of his friends.

           “Are you fucking serious?” Yoongi yelled.

           “No, no,” Jimin shook his head, the tears already forming.

           “Tae,” Jin whispered.

           “You, are you, oh my god,” Hoseok couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of Taehyung’s mouth.

           “I’m done, cancel my mission,” Jimin declared.

           “We can’t cancel your mission,” Namjoon said.

           “Why not?” Jimin demanded, eyes on fire.

           “What good does that serve us?” Countered Namjoon.

           “I, you expect me to date this guy, be engaged to him, when his sister raped one of us? Are you fucking with me?” Jimin yelled again, standing to slam his hands against the table. Taehyung winced, not only at the volume, but because he hadn’t used the word yet, hadn’t thought it applied to what had happened to him… but maybe, it did.

           “I expect you to complete your mission as directed unless Codename Arrow is endangering your life,” Namjoon repeated.

           “I won’t,” Jimin said.

           “You will, you have what, three weeks left?” Namjoon asked.

           “The engagement party is December 21,” Jimin said.

           “Alright, it’s almost Thanksgiving. You just gotta make it until then,” Yoongi offered, a shrug of his shoulders. In Jimin’s place, he would absolutely end things with Arrow, but they needed the last set of Christmas bonus checks and the final 2020 financial reports, both of which wouldn’t populate on Arrow or Cupid’s computers until mid-December.

           “She abused him,” Jimin whispered, the tears falling down his cheeks.

           “Jiminie has a point,” Hoseok muttered.

           “We cannot let this slide,” Seokjin said. “I never thought, I never thought she’d do this.”

           “We will have justice when we bring them down,” Namjoon reminded them, his words hollow in the moment of their pain.

           “Do we have evidence of the, of the, fuck, I can’t say it,” Yoongi shook his head, the words stuck on his tongue.

           “You don’t have to say it,” Taehyung’s voice was raw, emotions bare. “I’ve documented what I can, bagged things, written a detailed report… I used one of Hobi’s forged Police Reports to document what I knew they’d ask and took pictures to accompany it. The evidence is sealed in my office.”

           Lifting his head to look at him, Yoongi asked, “Taehyung, how long have you been sitting on this?”

           “Not too long, a couple of weeks,” Taehyung shrugged. It had only happened three times, which is three times too many, and three times it shouldn’t have. He had been shocked the first time, unsure what had truly happened to him. The second time, she used a different tactic, and he knew what it was. The third time caught him off guard, unawares. He was embarrassed that he let it happened, mortified that he put himself in this situation, and angry that he was so mad at himself instead of being outraged, furious, loathing, towards her.

           “Tae,” Jimin said again.

           “We need to write an official report so we can put this into our official filing,” Namjoon’s voice had simmered, its resolute calm returning.

           “Not tonight,” Seokjin said, a reminder that Taehyung was still reeling from the trauma.

           “Have you broken up with her?” Yoongi asked Taehyung.

           “I texted when we sat down,” Taehyung fished his phone out of his pocket. “She responded.”

           “Do you want to read it out loud?” Namjoon questioned.

           “Hobi’s just going to send us a memo of it anyway,” Yoongi shrugged, his heart weighing down his entire body. “After this, can we call it a day?”

           “Absolutely,” Namjoon agreed. “Taehyung, you want to read it?”

           “It says,” He scanned the message, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline, jaw slacking as he reread the message. “She says, she says she’s pregnant.”

Next: How Cricket Got Her Name

[tswiftdaily]

In the 2010s, she went from country superstar to pop titan and broke records with chart-topping albums and blockbuster tours. Now Swift is using her industry clout to fight for artists’ rights and foster the musical community she wished she had coming up.

One evening in late-October, before she performed at a benefit concert at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, Taylor Swift’s dressing room became -- as it often does -- an impromptu summit of music’s biggest names. Swift was there to take part in the American Cancer Society’s annual We Can Survive concert alongside Billie Eilish, Lizzo, Camila Cabello and others, and a few of the artists on the lineup came by to visit.

Eilish, along with her mother and her brother/collaborator, Finneas O’Connell, popped in to say hello -- the first time she and Swift had met. Later, Swift joined the exclusive club of people who have seen Marshmello without his signature helmet when the EDM star and his manager stopped by.

“Two dudes walked in -- I didn’t know which one was him,” recalls Swift a few weeks later, sitting on a lounge chair in the backyard of a private Beverly Hills residence following a photo shoot. Her momentary confusion turned into a pang of envy. “It’s really smart! Because he’s got a life, and he can get a house that doesn’t have to have a paparazzi-proof entrance.” She stops to adjust her gray sweatshirt dress and lets out a clipped laugh.

Swift, who will celebrate her 30th birthday on Dec. 13, has been impossibly famous for nearly half of her lifetime. She was 16 when she released her self-titled debut album in 2006, and 20 when her second album, Fearless, won the Grammy Award for album of the year in 2010, making her the youngest artist to ever receive the honor. As the decade comes to a close, Swift is one of the most accomplished musical acts of all time: 37.3 million albums sold, according to Nielsen Music; 95 entries on the Billboard Hot 100 (including five No. 1s); 23 Billboard Music Awards; 12 Country Music Association Awards; 10 Grammys; and five world tours.

She also finishes the decade in a totally different realm of the music world from where she started. Swift’s crossover from country to pop -- hinted at on 2012’s Red and fully embraced on 2014’s 1989 -- reflected a mainstream era in which genres were blended with little abandon, where artists with roots in country, folk and trap music could join forces without anyone raising eyebrows. (See: Swift’s top 20 hit “End Game,” from 2017’s reputation, which featured Ed Sheeran and Future.)

Swift’s new album, Lover, released in August, is both a warm break from the darkness of reputation -- which was created during a wave of negative press generated by Swift’s public clash with Kanye West and Kim Kardashian-West -- as well as an amalgam of all her stylistic explorations through the years, from dreamy synth-pop to hushed country. “The skies were opening up in my life,” says Swift of the album, which garnered three Grammy nominations, including song of the year for the title track.

She recorded Lover after the Reputation Stadium Tour broke the record for the highest-grossing U.S. tour late last year. In 2020, Swift will embark on Lover Fest, a run of stadium dates that will feature a hand-picked lineup of artists (as yet unannounced) and allow Swift more time off from the road. “This is a year where I have to be there for my family -- there’s a lot of question marks throughout the next year, so I wanted to make sure that I could go home,” says Swift, likely referencing her mother’s cancer diagnosis, which inspired the Lover heart-wrencher “Soon You’ll Get Better.”

Now, however, Swift finds herself in a different highly publicized dispute. This time it’s with Scott Borchetta, the head of her former label, Big Machine Records, and Scooter Braun, the manager-mogul whose Ithaca Holdings acquired Big Machine Label Group and its master recordings, which include Swift’s six pre-Lover albums, in June. Upon news of the sale, Swift wrote in a Tumblr post that it was her “worst case scenario,” accusing Braun of “bullying” her throughout her career due to his connections with West. She maintains today that she was never given the opportunity to buy her masters outright. (On Tumblr, she wrote that she was offered the chance to “earn” back the masters to one of her albums for each new album she turned in if she re-signed with Big Machine; Borchetta disputed this characterization, saying she had the opportunity to acquire her masters in exchange for re-signing with the label for a “length of time” -- 10 more years, according to screenshots of legal documents posted on the Big Machine website.)

Swift has said that she intends to rerecord her first six albums next year -- starting next November, when she says she’s contractually able to -- in order to regain control of her recordings. But the back-and-forth appears to be nowhere near over: Last month, Swift alleged that Borchetta and Braun were blocking her from performing her past hits at the American Music Awards or using them in an upcoming Netflix documentary -- claims Big Machine characterized as “false information” in a response that did not get into specifics. (Swift ultimately performed the medley she had planned.) In the weeks following this interview, Braun said he was open to “all possibilities” in finding a “resolution,” and Billboard sources say that includes negotiating a sale. Swift remains interested in buying her masters, though the price could be a sticking point, given her rerecording plans, the control she has over the licensing of her music for film and TV, and the market growth since Braun’s acquisition.

However it plays out, the battle over her masters is the latest in a series of moves that has turned Swift into something of an advocate for artists’ rights -- and made her a cause that everyone from Halsey to Elizabeth Warren has rallied behind. From 2014 to 2017, Swift withheld her catalog from Spotify to protest the streaming company’s compensation rates, saying in a 2014 interview, “There should be an inherent value placed on art. I didn’t see that happening, perception-wise, when I put my music on Spotify.” In 2015, ahead of the launch of Apple Music, Swift wrote an open letter criticizing Apple for its plan to not pay royalties during the three-month free trial it was set to offer listeners; the company announced a new policy within 24 hours. Most recently, when she signed a new global deal with Universal Music Group in 2018, Swift (who is now on Republic Records) said one of the conditions of her contract was that UMG share proceeds from any sale of its Spotify equity with its roster of artists -- and make them nonrecoupable against those artists’ earnings.

During a wide-ranging conversation, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade expresses hope that she can help make the lives of creators a little easier in the years to come -- and a belief that her behind-the-scenes strides will be as integral to her legacy as her biggest singles. “New artists and producers and writers need work, and they need to be likable and get booked in sessions, and they can’t make noise -- but if I can, then I’m going to,” promises Swift. This is where being impossibly famous can be a very good thing. “I know that it seems like I’m very loud about this,” she says, “but it’s because someone has to be.”

While watching some of your performances this year -- like Saturday Night Live and NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert -- I was struck by how focused you seemed, like there were no distractions getting in the way of what you were trying to say.

That’s a really wonderful way of looking at this phase of my life and my music. I’ve spent a lot of time recalibrating my life to make it feel manageable. Because there were some years there where I felt like I didn’t quite know what exactly to give people and what to hold back, what to share and what to protect. I think a lot of people go through that, especially in the last decade. I broke through pre-social media, and then there was this phase where social media felt fun and casual and quirky and safe. And then it got to the point where everyone has to evaluate their relationship with social media. So I decided that the best thing I have to offer people is my music. I’m not really here to influence their fashion or their social lives. That has bled through into the live part of what I do.

Meanwhile, you’ve found a way to interact with your fans in this very pure way -- on your Tumblr page.

Tumblr is the last place on the internet where I feel like I can still make a joke because it feels small, like a neighborhood rather than an entire continent. We can kid around -- they literally drag me. It’s fun. That’s a real comfort zone for me. And just like anything else, I need breaks from it sometimes. But when I do participate in that space, it’s always in a very inside-joke, friend vibe. Sometimes, when I open Twitter, I get so overwhelmed that I just immediately close it. I haven’t had Twitter on my phone in a while because I don’t like to have too much news. Like, I follow politics, and that’s it. But I don’t like to follow who has broken up with who, or who wore an interesting pair of shoes. There’s only so much bandwidth my brain can really have.

You’ve spoken in recent interviews about the general expectations you’ve faced, using phrases like “They’ve wanted to see this” and “They hated me for this.” Who is “they”? Is it social media or disparaging think pieces or --

It’s sort of an amalgamation of all of it. People who aren’t active fans of your music, who like one song but love to hear who has been canceled on Twitter. I’ve had several upheavals of somehow not being what I should be. And this happens to women in music way more than men. That’s why I get so many phone calls from new artists out of the blue -- like, “Hey, I’m getting my first wave of bad press, I’m freaking out, can I talk to you?” And the answer is always yes! I’m talking about more than 20 people who have randomly reached out to me. I take it as a compliment because it means that they see what has happened over the course of my career, over and over again.

Did you have someone like that to reach out to?

Not really, because my career has existed in lots of different neighborhoods of music. I had so many mentors in country music. Faith Hill was wonderful. She would reach out to me and invite me over and take me on tour, and I knew that I could talk to her. Crossing over to pop is a completely different world. Country music is a real community, and in pop I didn’t see that community as much. Now there is a bit of one between the girls in pop -- we all have each other’s numbers and text each other -- but when I first started out in pop it was very much you versus you versus you. We didn’t have a network, which is weird because we can help each other through these moments when you just feel completely isolated.

Do you feel like those barriers are actively being broken down now?

God, I hope so. I also hope people can call it out, [like] if you see a Grammy prediction article, and it’s just two women’s faces next to each other and feels a bit gratuitous. No one’s going to start out being perfectly educated on the intricacies of gender politics. The key is that people are trying to learn, and that’s great. No one’s going to get it perfect, but, God, please try.

At this point, who is your sounding board, creatively and professionally?

From a creative standpoint, I’ve been writing alone a lot more. I’m good with being alone, with thinking alone. When I come up with a marketing idea for the Lover tour, the album launch, the merch, I’ll go right to my management company that I’ve put together. I think a team is the best way to be managed. Just from my experience, I don’t think that this overarching, one-person-handles-my-career thing was ever going to work for me. Because that person ends up kind of being me who comes up with most of the ideas, and then I have an amazing team that facilitates those ideas.

The behind-the-scenes work is different for every phase of my career that I’m in. Putting together the festival shows that we’re doing for Lover is completely different than putting together the Reputation Stadium Tour. Putting together the reputation launch was so different than putting together the 1989 launch. So we really do attack things case by case, where the creative first informs everything else.

You’ve spoken before about how meaningful the reputation tour’s success was. What did it represent?

That tour was something that I wanted to immortalize in the Netflix special that we did because the album was a story, but it almost was like a story that wasn’t fully realized until you saw it live. It was so cool to hear people leaving the show being like, “I understand it now. I fully get it now.” There are a lot of red herrings and bait-and-switches in the choices that I’ll make with albums, because I want people to go and explore the body of work. You can never express how you feel over the course of an album in a single, so why try?

That seems especially true of your last three albums or so.

“Shake It Off” is nothing like the rest of 1989. It’s almost like I feel so much pressure with a first single that I don’t want the first single to be something that makes you feel like you’ve figured out what I’ve made on the rest of the project. I still truly believe in albums, whatever form you consume them in -- if you want to stream them or buy them or listen to them on vinyl. And I don’t think that makes me a staunch purist. I think that that is a strong feeling throughout the music industry. We’re running really fast toward a singles industry, but you got to believe in something. I still believe that albums are important.

The music industry has become increasingly global during the past decade. Is reaching new markets something you think about?

Yeah, and I’m always trying to learn. I’m learning from everyone. I’m learning when I go see Bruce Springsteen or Madonna do a theater show. And I’m learning from new artists who are coming out right now, just seeing what they’re doing and thinking, “That’s really cool.” You need to keep your influences broad and wide-ranging, and my favorite people who make music have always done that. I got to work with Andrew Lloyd Webber on the Cats movie, and Andrew will walk through the door and be like, “I’ve just seen this amazing thing on TikTok!” And I’m like, “You are it! You are it!” Because you cannot look at what quote-unquote “the kids are doing” and roll your eyes. You have to learn.

Have you explored TikTok at all?

I only see them when they’re posted to Tumblr, but I love them! I think that they’re hilarious and amazing. Andrew says that they’ve made musicals cool again, because there’s a huge musical facet to TikTok. [He’s] like, “Any way we can do that is good.”

How do you see your involvement in the business side of your career progressing in the next decade? You seem like someone who could eventually start a label or be more hands-on with signing artists.

I do think about it every once in a while, but if I was going to do it, I would need to do it with all of my energy. I know how important that is, when you’ve got someone else’s career in your hands, and I know how it feels when someone isn’t generous.

You’ve served as an ambassador of sorts for artists, especially recently -- staring down streaming services over payouts, increasing public awareness about the terms of record deals.

We have a long way to go. I think that we’re working off of an antiquated contractual system. We’re galloping toward a new industry but not thinking about recalibrating financial structures and compensation rates, taking care of producers and writers.

We need to think about how we handle master recordings, because this isn’t it. When I stood up and talked about this, I saw a lot of fans saying, “Wait, the creators of this work do not own their work, ever?” I spent 10 years of my life trying rigorously to purchase my masters outright and was then denied that opportunity, and I just don’t want that to happen to another artist if I can help it. I want to at least raise my hand and say, “This is something that an artist should be able to earn back over the course of their deal -- not as a renegotiation ploy -- and something that artists should maybe have the first right of refusal to buy.” God, I would have paid so much for them! Anything to own my work that was an actual sale option, but it wasn’t given to me.

Thankfully, there’s power in writing your music. Every week, we get a dozen synch requests to use “Shake It Off” in some advertisement or “Blank Space” in some movie trailer, and we say no to every single one of them. And the reason I’m rerecording my music next year is because I do want my music to live on. I do want it to be in movies, I do want it to be in commercials. But I only want that if I own it.

Do you know how long that rerecording process will take?

I don’t know! But it’s going to be fun, because it’ll feel like regaining a freedom and taking back what’s mine. When I created [these songs], I didn’t know what they would grow up to be. Going back in and knowing that it meant something to people is actually a really beautiful way to celebrate what the fans have done for my music.

Ten years ago, on the brink of the 2010s, you were about to turn 20. What advice would you give yourself if you could go back in time?

Oh, God -- I wouldn’t give myself any advice. I would have done everything exactly the same way. Because even the really tough things I’ve gone through taught me things that I never would have learned any other way. I really appreciate my experience, the ups and downs. And maybe that seems ridiculously Zen, but … I’ve got my friends, who like me for the right reasons. I’ve got my family. I’ve got my boyfriend. I’ve got my fans. I’ve got my cats.

[chilling-seavey]

Anything But Mine - The Name Changes

A/N  With their engagement behind them, Daniel and Florence start to look into the legal next steps that come with becoming a family. The first one? Officially make their daughters ‘Seaveys’.

W/C: 1.4k

Monday, January 17, 2022

“I can’t believe we have to do this.” Daniel mumbled, his leg bouncing restlessly from his spot in the coffee shop chair.

“I know.” Florence sighed from his side, holding his hand under the table.

The paperwork was laid out on the table in front of them, official unsigned government documents waiting the pen. Florence and Daniel stared down at them and she shuffled closer to rest her head against his shoulder, linking her arm in his. Daniel kissed her head.

The bell above the door rang and they both looked up as he walked inside from the snow outside, bringing in a wisp of winter air. Daniel’s hand habitually tightened around Florence’s arm as the snow pelted young man approached them.

“Hey.” Matt spoke with a sigh, brushing the snow off his coat before he sat down across the table from them.

“Hi.” Daniel and Florence spoke at the same time.

“So…let’s get this over with then.” Matt glanced over the papers laid out in front of them.

Florence picked up the pen and x-ed the boxes that Matt was to fill out before holding them out to him with a forced and terribly awkward smile.

He eyed the small diamond ring on her finger as he took the papers, “Congratulations, lovebirds.”

“Thank you.” Daniel smiled, pressing a kiss to Florence’s cheek as if to prove whose she was.

“And thank you for doing this.” Florence added.

“Yeah. No problem. Only makes sense.” Matt shrugged, signing off on a few lines and dating a couple more. “So what does this mean then? There’s like fifty papers here.”

“Yet you’re signing without reading.” Daniel said under his breath, quiet enough to not be heard but loud enough for Florence to smack his leg.

She leaned over the table, breaking the forms into two piles, “This one is to permit Clementine’s surname change. We need you to sign it because you’re legally on the birth certificate. Then this set is to veto that…take your name off the birth certificate and to pass over your parental rights to Daniel.”

Matt glanced up at Florence and then over to Daniel, the pen resting against his lips. Daniel held his breath and slipped his hand into Florence’s anxiously as Matt’s hesitation made him nervous as all hell.

“You sure you’re going to go through with this wedding?”

“Yes.” Daniel replied strongly.

Matt only chuckled, “I’m just joking. You know I said I’ll sign these.”

Daniel let out a heavy breath that made Matt laugh. Daniel only glared at him as he looked back down to finish signing the papers. He tossed them over to Daniel.

“Your turn, chief.”

Daniel grabbed the pen from him too and signed his own few boxes before sliding them to Florence. She signed the last boxes that were left for her and slipped them into the file folder.

“Is that everything?” Matt asked.

“We should discuss next steps.” Florence suggested gently. “If or how you want a relationship with Clementine.”

“I don’t want to get in your guys’ way. You clearly have a little family going on that I shouldn’t fuck up and get between.”

“We’re not going to forbid you from seeing her if that’s what you want.”

“No.” Matt shook his head. “I don’t deserve that. I’m moving to Hamilton soon anyway so there’s no point.”

“So after this you’ll be gone?” Daniel clarified.

“Yeah. Tell her she’s yours if you want. She already thinks that anyway.” Matt said to him.

Daniel and Florence exchanged silent glances.

“Okay.” Florence mumbled, looking back at Matt across the table. “So that’s it then? This is all over?”

Matt nodded stiffly as he stood up from the table and pulled a package of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He slipped one just past his lips as he got ready to leave and zipped up his coat.

“You make the decisions, Flora.” Matt said. “Both of you. You’re her parents and when she’s older if you wanna reach out, you have my number. But I’ll stay away unless you give me word otherwise.”

“Thank you.” Daniel stood up as well and held out his hand to him.

Matt dropped his gaze to Daniel’s hand before looking back to his face and pulling a crooked smile, taking his handshake, “Take care.”

“Thank you, Matt. Honestly.” Florence stood up as well and they shared a quick hug, her one hand still held tightly by Daniel.

The couple watched him leave, saw him pause outside the glass doors of the coffee shop to light his cigarette, before looking both ways and crossing the snow dusted street without a look back. He was finally free.

Florence turned to Daniel as they sat back down and he smiled at her, leaning in to kiss her lips.

“We did it.” he whispered.

“I love you.” Florence breathed, taking his face in her hands to kiss him again.

“I love you too.” Daniel grinned. He turned back to the tabletop as she curled up against him and rested her head on his shoulder and he draped his arm around her. He opened the file folder to glance at the papers.

I hereby revoke any and all of my legal paternal rights over the child in question – Clementine Ophelia DiCaprio – and bestow complete paternal adoption rights upon Daniel James Seavey this 17th day of January in the year 2022.

Signed messily by Matt himself right on the dotted line. Daniel couldn’t bite back his smile, pressing a kiss to Florence’s head as he skimmed the signatures and flipped to the next file folder.

Child’s Current Name: Clementine Ophelia DiCaprio

Child’s Name You Wish to Change to: Clementine Ophelia Seavey

Signed on the dotted lines by Florence and Daniel and all of their information filled out. Daniel felt like he might explode with excitement.

“We have to submit the adoption form before the name change forms just so it’s accurate since we filled you out here as Clementine’s parent. Don’t want the government to suddenly revoke it.” Florence said quietly, dancing her fingertips over his thigh lazily.

“Can we submit Penelope’s now though?” Daniel frowned with impatience.

“We still have to fill out her name change form and then get you on the birth certificate.” Florence said.

“Why didn’t we do that last year?” Daniel sighed tiredly, resting his cheek against her head.

“Dunno.” Florence shrugged, bringing his hand to her lips to press a kiss to his warm skin before she was sitting up straighter again. “Let’s get all this nasty paperwork done so we can get our girls in order and go celebrate.”

That afternoon, they brought the paperwork to city hall all together as a family of four. They dressed up a little; Daniel in his dress pants and a button up and the girls in dresses, all bundled in their winter coats over top. Florence’s heels clicked over the marble flooring, Penelope tucked up shyly in her arms.

“What are we doing?” Clementine asked loudly, her voice echoing through the large foyer of the city hall building.

“We’re asking the mayor to please change your last name to mine.” Daniel explained softly, holding her hand as they walked together towards the front desk, the files held securely in his other hand. “Does that sound okay?”

Clementine grinned up and him and nodded.

When they were next in line, Daniel and Florence worked with the lady through their forms to make sure it was all filled out properly as the little girls sat at their feet and played quietly together. It took longer than they had anticipated, making sure everything was in order, and with a few more confirmation signatures, proof of ID, and copies of the girls’ birth certificates scanned, it was all done.

The lady printed out confirmation certificates and handed them to the young couple with a smile, “Congratulations, you two.”

“Thank you so much.” Florence smiled, tucking the papers into her purse and they moved aside with the girls to let the next customer meet at the desk.

Florence turned to Daniel who was smiling so wide you think his face was stuck like that and he pulled her into a tight hug.

“All I ever wanted.” he whispered. “You’ve given me all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I love you so much.” Florence breathed, holding him tightly.

“I love you.” Daniel whimpered, unable to hold back his tears.

“Daddy sad.” Penelope reached up for him.

“Don’t cry, Daddy!” Clementine hugged his legs.

“Just happy tears, my girls.” Daniel bent down to them and pulled them both into a hug of their own, their tiny hands held against his back and their sweet little faces tucked his neck. He glanced up at Florence and they shared quiet tearful smiles, “Very happy tears.”