#but at the same time when i did look for fucking jobs id qualify for that aren't customer facing

[dylawas-reblogs]

Genuine question @ me: why can't you get it together (rant in tags)

#I almost canceled this post because I saw a cat while sitting in my car waiting to go into my internship #And for a moment everything was okay #anyway actual rant #I got a week off last week for reasons I don't entirely understand (It was the entire department) #And it really kind of reminded me how much I just. Don't like work. period #but i need to get out of this fucking house #And I can't do that without an income #nevermind without health insurance. cant even dream of that #Happy birthday to me by the way #turned 26 five days ago #anyway #i think at this point my problem lies on me just as much as it does society #cuz i had all of last week off and DIDN'T use it to job hunt or do portfolio stuff #and i so immensely regret that #but at the same time when i did look for fucking jobs id qualify for that aren't customer facing #there was basically shit from fuck #i need to see if i can just be somebody's youtube editor #or SOMETHING #because even in the office I'm starting to not enjoy being around other people every day #my coworkers are NOT bad people #but they ARE mormon #and i got a ''nudge'' last week to #idk how to explain what they asked of me #they asked me to get more ''hands on'' with the company social medias? #first of all we are a nonprofit that works with kids. my options are EXTREMELY limited #second no one interacts with our posts even when we ask #i got a couple pointers but its not necessarily stuff thats gonna magically boost our engagements #wow i ''ran out of tags'' okay tumblr #dylawa rants #dylawa rambles

[theowritesstuff]

A Trip to the DMV

Adrian Chase x afab!gn!reader

Summary: This takes place after the events of Fooled Around and Fell in Love. Adrian takes you to the DMV to get an ID

A brief continuation of Fooled Around and Fell in Love

Life with Adrian was nice. He was easy to get along with, and was constantly doting on you. It was kind of odd at first being around someone else for a long period of time. You’d gotten so used to being alone, but being with Adrian was like a breath of fresh air.

You started out slowly, deciding, much to Adrian’s dismay, to sleep on the couch at first. This way the two of you could get used to someone else being around 24/7 without constantly taking up each other’s space.

That lasted about a week, before Adrian put his foot down and demanded that you share his bed with him.

You have to understand, Adrian may not be close to a lot of people, but when he finds one he likes, he becomes attached. So when you came home from the hospital, after taking down the butterflies and their cow, and told Adrian that you were sleeping on the couch, boy was unhappy.

He’d never want to make you uncomfortable, so of course he let you do what you wanted. It was harder for him to fall asleep knowing you were just one room over. He’d often find himself waking up in the middle of the night, and walking out to the living room, just to check if you were still there.

He wanted to be able to wake up with you next to him. So he suggested that you give it a try, spend the night sleeping in the same bed, and if one of you kicks the other to death in their sleep, they’d think of a new arrangement.

You woke up that next morning with an arm draped over you. You attempted to move away, but were pulled backwards. Your back was pressed against Adrian’s chest, his arm thrown over your waist. You rolled over to face him. The light caused a warm glow to appear on his face. His curls were sticking up in different directions. He looked so soft, and peaceful.

Needless to say, you never slept on the couch again.

You’d spend the day with him, if he wasn’t at Fennel Fields or at Chris’ house. You made sure to keep visiting Harcourt, and sometimes even went to her physical therapy appointments.

You’d rarely see Adebayo, seeing as she moved back to Gotham with her fiancé, but she occasionally popped by to say hi.

“Hey, do you think I should get a job?” You asked Adrian one day. You probably weren’t qualified for much, but you felt bad that he was the only one working. “What about at Fennel Fields?”

“Trust me, you don’t want a job at Fennel Fields, it sucks ass.” He told you. “Can you even get a job? Like, the government pretty much made sure you didn’t exist.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know…”

“I’ll take you to the DMV tomorrow so you can get an ID.”

You nodded. You were still thinking about what he said, about not existing. You really were just a government weapon.

“Hey,” he sat down next to you. “You good? You kinda started to stare off there.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You said.

“You know, you don’t belong to Waller anymore. You can be your own person now.” He held your hand, squeezing it.

The next day you woke up bright and early. Adrian claimed that you needed to get to the DMV early unless you wanted to stand in line all day. He dropped you off at the front, then drove to get the two of you some coffee. There was a short line, but nothing too bad. At the counter a woman told you that you’d need to fill out some paperwork to get your ID. You sat back down, the clipboard in your lap starring back at you. You hadn’t made it past the first section before panicking internally.

The first box to fill in read: First Name. Easy enough. The second read: Last Name. Fuck. You didn’t have a last name. Well, you did, but it was long forgotten. You subconsciously tapped the pen against the clipboard. Then you remembered what Adrian said.

He told you that you could take his last name, since you didn’t have one. Was he serious? Or was he just trying to be nice in the moment? Maybe you should wait for him to come back, so you could talk to him about it.

You looked up to see the woman at the desk starring at you. You must’ve been taking longer than anyone else had with your paperwork. You let out a nervous sigh, before scribbling down the last name on the page.

Once you’d finished with the paperwork, you brought the clipboard back to the desk. Next you needed to get your picture taken, then were sent back to the waiting area to wait for your ID to print.

At this point Adrian had returned with your coffee. He handed you your cup, and you took a sip. It was still very hot, not quite ready to drink yet.

Adrian told you about a woman at the coffee shop who had caused a scene, and demanded to speak to the manager, making the line just that much longer. He said that he thought she might deserve a visit from Vigilante, seeing as she was so rude to the poor kids behind the counter.

The woman at the desk waved you back over. She handed you the ID, asking you to make sure all the information was correct. You told her it was, and headed back over to Adrian.

The DMV was starting to get a little crowded, so the two of went back outside, and got back in the Sebring.

“So, how’s it look?” Adrian asked.

You handed him the plastic card. His eyes skimmed over it, then went back to the top. Printed in black, your name read: Y/n Chase.

“I hope that’s okay, it’s just you had said that I could take it, and I wanted to ask you again, but you weren’t there, and I kind of panicked.” The words flew out of your mouth.

Adrian couldn’t respond. It was like someone had flipped a switch in his head, shutting everything down. You really took his last name. He turned to look over at you. You looked nervous. Your hands were clasped tightly, waiting for his response.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure I can get it changed-”

“No!” You jumped at Adrian’s response. He let out an awkward chuckle. “No, you don’t need to change it.”

“Are you sure?” You asked him, an eyebrow raised. Adrian was usually pretty easy to read, but right now it was hard to tell what he was feeling.

“Yeah, no, it’s good…” He trailed off. When Adrian had offered you his last name, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing. He didn’t think you’d actually want it, much less take it. But there it was, printed on your government ID. You were now legally Y/n Chase. He usually wasn’t great at emotions in general, and seeing your name on your ID was stirring up a lot of feelings.

“You’re sure it’s okay?” You asked him one more time.

He nodded his head, then turned to look at you. It looked like he had tears welling up in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

You smiled, and cupped his face in your hands. You pulled him into a kiss, your elbows resting on the center console. Your hands traveled to the back of his head, tangling themselves in his dark hair.

He pulled away, breathless. “We should probably go home because I really wanna fuck you now.”

“Okay, let’s go home.” You smiled.

#adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #vigilante #peacemaker vigilante

[dameronology]

welcome to the jungle {frankie morales}

summary: after taking a job with the delta guys, you cross paths with frankie morales. even though you’re at each other’s throats at first, it proves to be the start of something beautiful.  (for @what-the--curtains​ - i hope you enjoy!!) - 7k words

warnings: swearing, mentions of ptsd

this is kinda ambiguous in terms of the timeline of the film but i sort of hint to the first half being before the events of t.f and the second half being after -- with that said, you can take it as you would like :D

- jazz

Your brother had dog sat for a few days.

In exchange, you were flying out to Colombia in the middle of your work week. 

You believed in favours, but these two did not feel like they were equal. 

Still, you were a person of your word - and getting to fly to South America was exciting. The job itself was exciting, if not a little...eyebrow raising. His friend, an ex-Delta soldier, needed somebody to ID a body. That part didn’t bother you - you were a forensic archaeologist after all and it was quite literally your job description. The suspicious bit was the circumstances under which you were doing it; Santiago Garcia hadn’t been entirely clear on the phone, but he’d said something about witnesses and getting the government off of our backs. You’d met Santiago a few times and you knew what kind of work he did - military stuff. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was probably an under-the-radar kind of affair. But, you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. 

So, here you were on a warm Colombian Tuesday afternoon, suitcase trailing behind you as you trekked towards a dusty old air base. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on your back in a way that had initially been comforting, but was now just plain annoying. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but packing three jackets now felt like a stupid idea. The one one you’d worn on the plane over had been long discarded and tied around your waist, which only added to the struggle of dragging your case up the steep, sandy hill. In the distance, you could see an ATC tower glinting under the sun - the streams of light bounced right back off of it, causing you to shield your eyes with your forearm. The taxi you’d gotten from the international airport - not like this sandy little place - had only taken you so far. At least, of all things, the boots you’d opted to wear were built for this kind of thing. 

A few hundred meters up the road, you finally saw another sign of human life. A 4x4 was parked outside the abandoned terminal entrance, three men leaning against the side of it. You spotted Santiago standing a few metres away on his phone, thumbs tapping away. He didn’t look any different to the last time you saw him; dark and curly hair, a semi-friendly smile and stubble littering his chin. You hadn’t seen him since your brother’s birthday party a few months ago. 

‘Hey!’ The former soldier offered you a grin when he saw you, holding his arms open. ‘Long time, no see!’

‘Hey, Santi!’ You replied, giving him a pat on the back as he pulled you into a hug. ‘And yeah, it’s been a while. Then again, when was the last time you were in the country for more than five minutes?’

‘I’m in high demand.’ He shot back. 

Pulling back from the embrace, Santi pointed to his colleagues. There was Will and Benny, two blonde boys, both in military gear. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were brothers; same smirk, same stance, same eyes. Even if Santi hadn’t pointed it out, you would have figured as much. You were naturally deductive - came with the job. After the brothers, there was Frankie. He had dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was covered by his hat. Unlike the other three, he was wearing more casual clothes, just with a tac vest over the top. You kind of got the vibe that he didn’t want to be there - that was...comforting. 

‘What’s all this?’ Frankie asked, gesturing to the heavy metal suitcase behind you. 

‘Just...stuff. Tools.’ You replied. ‘Things I need to do my job, I guess.’

‘How heavy is it?’ 

‘Light enough that I was able to get them onto a commercial flight?’ You offered. 

‘The plane is already at max weight.’ He replied, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

‘God, give ‘em a break, Fish!’ Santi slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Remember last time you said it would be fine-’

‘- hey.’ He cut him off with a harsh look. ‘We don’t talk about that.’

‘So I can bring them?’ You raised your eyebrows. ‘Because I can’t do whatever it is you need to do unless I have them.’

‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’ Santiago gave you a comforting smile. ‘Let’s head to the jet and we’ll talk about the job.’ 

Swinging your duffle bag back over your shoulder, you picked up your suitcase and began to follow the guys further up the hill. There wasn’t anybody else around -- just sand, sun and rusting old jets. There was one in particular that they seemed to be headed towards. It was only mildly less eroded than the damaged ones around you, but the engines were running and the cargo doors were open. Santiago took your bag from your hands as you approached it, tossing it in with the other luggage. 

‘Do not throw that one, Garcia!’ You demanded, flinching slightly as he took your suitcase. 

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shot back. 

‘Sure thing.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘You brought a medkit right?’

‘No. Why?’

‘There’s one in my duffle bag.’ You replied. ‘Side pocket. Can you grab it?’

‘We don’t need one, we’ll be fine-’

‘- Santiago Garcia, do you want me to report back to my brother that you took his baby sibling on a jungle-wide expedition without the correct medical supplies?’ You challenged. 

Santi swallowed, mind briefly flashing back to the time he’d almost been decked by said brother for letting you walk home alone. ‘Fine.’

Your triumphant smile only lasted a split second; as soon as your eyes fell on the plane, you realised you still had to get on it. Fuck. 

The engines seemed to be working fine, but it was just...old. And eroding. And making a funny sound. You were by no means an engineer, but even just binging a few episodes of Air Crash Investigations made you feel qualified enough to know that this was not where it was at in terms of air safety. You could have taken it up with Frankie, but he didn’t seem entirely approachable. 

You did trust Santi, however - though sometimes that seemed a little against your better judgement. Every crazy story that your brother had relayed back to you from their time in the military involved him making questionable decisions. Hopefully, opting to fly this hunk of metal wouldn’t be one of them. Here’s to hoping it was aerodynamic. 

‘Are you getting in or…’ Frankie peered down at you from the stairs, eyebrows raised. 

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘This thing is safe, right?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘What is it to me?’ You snorted. ‘Just, y’know, that I’m about to fly a few hundred thousand feet in the air and if it falls out of the sky I’ll die.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Frankie shut the door behind you as you climbed aboard, twisting the handle shut. ‘I’ve been flying for years.’

‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ You brushed past him, shoulders bumping as you did. ‘Captain fucking Sully couldn’t fly this thing.’

‘The guy from Monster’s Inc?’ 

‘No, the guy who landed the plane on the Hudson? They made a movie about it, with Tom Hanks-’

‘- you should sit down now.’ Frankie turned away from you. ‘We’re about to take off.’

Your mouth fell open in slight disbelief. What an asshole. 

Santi called your name, signalling for you to sit with him in the cockpit. The seats on the plane hardly looked comfortable, and your brain was mentally working out if it was safer to sit over the wing in a crash, or by the tail. You’d definitely seen it in a documentary once, but you couldn’t remember exactly what they said. Perhaps the best option was to just be less dramatic. 

Taking a seat between Frankie and Santi, you pulled your seatbelt on and shuffled awkwardly. This was fine. Absolutely fine. Frankie was a trained pilot (and a dickhead, but that didn’t take away from his flying skills) and you were going to be fine. Fiiiiine. Maybe if you said it once more, you’d believe yourself. You were going to be fine. Yeah, there we go. 

A few deep breaths and you were certain. Or, at least you’d convinced yourself to be certain. 

‘So.’ Your eyes momentarily flicked over to where Frankie was adjusting some controls. ‘What exactly am I doing here?’

‘A few months ago, the boys and I were involved in the shoot-out.’ Santi began. ‘Pretty standard for the type of operation we were on.’

‘Right. Standard office work.’ You muttered. ‘Do go on.’

‘We thought everyone who had witnessed it had been recorded.’ He continued. ‘And everyone who we spoke to verified that it was a justified shootout. No dirty work, no ulterior motive. All valid, from a legal perspective.’

You thinned your eyes. ‘I don’t think I like where this is going.’

‘We ID’d all the bodies at the time.’ He said. ‘Including a Ricky Martinez. Except now, a guy claiming to also be Ricky Martinez has come forward, claiming that his version of events is a little different. Like, different enough to incriminate us.’

‘He’s lying, right? You guys were the good ones?’ You urged. Santiago’s silence was anything but comforting. ‘Right?’

‘Morals are all a matter of perspective.’ He replied. ‘Our labs ID’d Martinez’ body twice but we need a third party opinion before we can completely dispel the guy pretending to be him.’

‘Guess that’s where I come in?’ You asked, leaning further back into the seat as the jet began to move. 

‘Exactamente.’ Santi nodded. 

That didn’t sound too bad. Between excavating the grave, running tests and returning the body, it would take a few days tops. You could manage that. 

The jet began to pick up speed, making its ascent towards the runway. Frankie did look like he knew what he was doing -- heck, the man looked bored, even.  He barely even had to look at the dash controls as it moved forward, hands moving freely and easily to manoeuvre the plane down the runway. 

‘What are you staring at?’ Frankie glanced over at you. 

‘N-nothing.’ You replied.  ‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road-’

‘- that’s a runway.’ He cut you off. 

‘Whatever.’

You were thrown backwards in your chair from the momentum of the take off. The plane angled upwards as it went up in the air, tilting sideways as it balanced out. You felt your stomach drop as the ground disappeared from beneath you, the push of the engines pulling you up higher into the sky. There was a clunk, signalling that the landing gear had retracted. 

Well, the plane had fulfilled its first purpose: taking off. That was a good sign. 

‘So,’ Benny peered over at you. ‘What’s your callsign gonna be?’

‘My name, presumably.’ You quirked a brow at him. 

‘We have Ironhead, Catfish and Pope.’ He continued. ‘But Will and I were talking, and we thought Barbie was gonna fit well.’ 

‘Oh, really?’ You sniffed. ‘And why might that be?’

‘Because you’re young, and pretty hot-’

‘- so your call sign is Benny, right?’ You cut him off. ‘Short for Benjamin? That’s really clever. Did you come up with it yourself?’

‘Maybe Eye Candy will be beter-’

Benny was cut off when you reached across, leaning over Santi to smack him in the chest with your balled up fist. All four of them jumped in surprise at your action - clearly, you weren’t somebody to be fucked with. You hadn’t worked your ass for years to get your degree to get discredited like that. 

‘Make a comment like that again and I’ll drop kick your ass out of this plane.’ You jabbed your finger towards him. 

Benny thinned his eyes at you. ‘Frankie wouldn’t let you do that. Right, Cat?’

‘You heard ‘em.’ Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from the clouds ahead. 

--

To give credit where credit was due, Frankie was good at landing planes. 

Specifically, he was good at landing planes in places where planes should not have been landed. Not that he’d had much of a choice when the engines gave in half way through the journey, a couple hundred miles over the thick Colombian jungle. 

In short, you’d been right the entire time. The damn thing wasn’t safe. Of course, you weren’t going to say I told you so right then, since it felt like a little bit of a sensitive subject. 

Now, the five of you were standing next to a pile of what-used-to-be-a-plane, defeat plastered over every one of your individual faces. You were lucky to all have made it out okay - just about. Santiago had taken a hit to the head, Benny had bitten his tongue pretty hard when you’d collided with the ground (fitting) and Frankie had split his head open. You and Will were the only ones who hadn’t sustained any injuries. He had proven to be much more tolerable than his brother. 

‘Okay, we just gotta…’ you looked around, eyes taking in the debris around you. ‘We just gotta stay calm-’

‘- stay calm?’ Frankie cut you off. ‘You’re the reason the fucking thing went down! If you hadn’t taken all that extra weight-’

‘- do you ever shut up, Morales?’ You snapped. ‘And I’m no genius but I don’t think the engines catching fire was anything to do with me bringing an extra bag onto the plane!’

‘I’m the pilot.’ He reminded you. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Maybe it was the weight of your ego that made it go down.’ You chided. 

‘Hey - Patrick, Spongebob!’ Will finally yelled. Both your heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide. ‘Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes so we can work out how to make it through the night?’

‘Right, sorry.’ You nodded. 

You glanced around the crash site, brain calculating for a minute as you took in what little was left. The plan had landed on its belly and skidded for a few hundred metres; consequently, most of the luggage had come out on the way. That left you with the one remaining bag, the medkit you’d scared Santi into bringing and the strewn camping kit that had been ditched in the back of the fuselage. 

Pulling your phone out your pocket, you sighed when you realised that you had no signal. What had you expected? Four bars in the middle of the jungle? Probably not realistic. You did, however, have a compass app. That was something. You thought for a moment, glancing between the app and the sun’s position in the sky. It was splintering through the trees, washing heat over you like a bucket of cold water. There was a small stream a few metres away, which was a source of water at least. 

‘It’s just gone four, maybe five in the afternoon.’ You announced. ‘So we have about three hours till the sun starts to set. The water in the stream runs that way so if we follow it, we’ll find the source. People are more likely to set up civilization around a source of water.’ 

All four of them looked at you like kids who had lost their parents in Walmart.  Were they really ex-military? 

‘So, what?’ Benny frowned. ‘We...set up a new civilisation?’

‘Oh my days.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘I am spoon-feeding this to you! It means that there will be a town with people.’ 

‘That’s smart.’ Santi nodded. 

‘But before we do that, we gotta sort this out. Will, d’you know how to check for concussion?’ You asked, to which he nodded. ‘Okay, you check Santi and I’ll clean up Frankie’s head. Then we gotta gather those camping supplies and head east. Best case scenario, we find a town before sundown. Worst case scenario, we camp out for the night.’

‘Who put you in charge?’ Frankie asked.

‘Me.’ You replied. 

Taking the medkit from Santi’s hands, you quietly thanked him and led Frankie over to some rocks. He didn’t seem all that pleased when you forced him to sit on one - and he was even less pleased when you pulled his hat off. It revealed a tangle of dark curls, some of which you had to push back to get to the mark on his head. Some may have debated the importance of mentioning such a detail, but you couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was. 

You knelt down in front of him, pulling the supplies out of the little medical kit. There weren't many, but there was enough to give him something temporary till you got to a proper hospital. If you got a proper hospital. 

‘It’s not too deep.’ You observed, running your thumb over the creases of his forehead. ‘Just a couple stitches at worst.���

‘Don’t you normally stitch up bodies?’ Frankie asked. His brown eyes were glued to the floor, following the outlines of the boot-prints that you’d left. 

‘Yeah, it’s the same kinda principle though.’ You laughed slightly. ‘Despite your attitude, I’m not gonna give you Y-incision stitches.’

‘Thanks.’

‘At least not in a place people can see them.’

Frankie snorted, but it translated to a hiss of pain as you dabbed an alcohol wipe at his forehead. Despite everything, you had a slight admiration for him. He’d managed to land the plane safely as the situation allowed and despite a few minor injuries, things could have been much worse. You didn’t quite feel like vocalising that to him when you were still stranded in the middle of the jungle, but if you ever got out? You might get Santi to pass the message on. 

‘D’ you think it’ll scar?’ Frankie quietly asked. 

‘Maybe.’ You admitted. ‘Just take a deep breath.’

‘Where did you even learn to do this stuff?’ He asked, letting out another small grunt of discomfort. ‘The stitches and the compass shit.’

You shrugged. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. You kinda learn to be prepared.’

‘Really? As a morgue worker?’

‘Not a morgue worker.’ You grumbled. ‘Then again, I am stabbing a needle through your skin so I suppose I’ll allow the discrepancy.’ 

‘What is it you do then?’

‘I’m a forensic archaeologist.’ You explained. ‘So it’s my job to retrospectively work out how people died, whether it be because their body was found a long time after they died or because they had to be exhumed from their original resting place.’

Gently pulling the needle back from Frankie’s forehead, you cut the thread and dabbed it again with an alcohol wipe. You brushed his hair back down and placed his hat back on his head, offering him a smile. For the first time since you’d met him, he returned the gesture. 

You dusted off your knees and took a place on the rock beside Frankie, examining your handy work. Considering you’d been in a plane crash not quite an hour ago, it wasn’t too bad. At least if it did scar, it was in a place his hair covered up. And in your defense, scarring wasn’t usually something you had to worry about with your other...patients. They usually went back in the ground not long after you dealt with them. 

‘You’ll wanna sit down for a minute.’ You replied. ‘D’you feel dizzy at all? Sick?’

‘I was just in a plane crash.’

‘Me too, funnily enough.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘I s’pose it’s the most interesting job I’ve worked in a while.’

‘Same here.’ Frankie said. ‘I normally work for a flight school, so this is...something else.’

‘It’ll make me grateful when I get back to the office.’ You agreed. ‘Because it has four walls, air conditioner and co-workers who don’t give me ridiculous nicknames.’

‘Right.’ He snorted. ‘Benny can be...Benny. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.’ 

‘Benny wasn’t the asshole.’ You quipped, nudging him with your elbow.

At least Frankie had proven now that he could talk to you without being insufferable. You couldn’t work out if you’d warmed to him or if he’d warmed to you, but doing somebody’s stitches was unarguably one hell of an icebreaker. He was just a little closed off; quiet and reserved, you figured. You didn’t know what him and the Delta guys had been through, but Santi had mentioned a few things in passing that pointed to a heavy past. That was something you could relate to - your job was no walk in the park either 

‘It’s not...personal.’ Frankie glanced off into the distance. 

Will had managed to salvage the remaining bag from the jet, meaning that Santiago could use it as a seat. Benny was sitting with them, talking amongst themselves. You would have to move soon, in order to find a suitable place to camp before sundown, but taking a minute to recover from the last hour was also important. You’d barely stopped to sit down since the plane had gone down, and now you had, the shock had hit you. Your suspicions about safety had actually been correct. Not that it mattered now, but at least you had a plan to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible. 

‘So you being an ice cold bitch isn’t to do with me? That’s a relief.’ You joked. Frankie smiled in response; his first genuine one since you’d met. 

‘The witness that you were going to ID was from the last job we all worked together.’ He explained ‘It went bad. Really bad.’

‘From what Santi said, it sure did sound like it.’ You replied. 

‘I hadn’t seen anything as bad as we did then since I was stationed out in the war zones.’ He continued. ‘So being back here, and being with the guys, has just put me on edge. I’m sorry if I was an asshole.’

‘You don’t have to say sorry.’ You shook your head. ‘I mean...actually, yeah, you were an asshole but I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘Forensic archeology is no walk in the park either.’ You replied. ‘It’s my job to work out how people have died. Most of my work is on crime scenes or in war zones so I’ve seen some...dark stuff.’

‘It sticks with you.’ Frankie quietly murmured. 

‘Yeah, it does.’ You said. ‘I know you might not think it on the surface, because it’s the usual sort of job that leaves stuff weighing on your shoulders-’

‘- doesn’t matter.’ He cut you off. ‘Trauma is trauma. Regardless of how you got it or where it came from, it’s valid.’

You gave him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. 

---

Later that night -- and after a few hours of walking -- you and the guys had settled down into a makeshift campsite. It was just at the edge of a clearing, not too far from what looked to be a small town glinting in the distance. You did offer to keep going, but between the injuries the group had sustained, it was easier to stop for the night. You had enough of a combined skillset to find some fruit growing to snack on and to start a fire.

Santiago, Will and Benny had long passed out. It wasn’t until after they had done so that you realised there was absolutely no room left in the tent. It was only built for two people, let alone five. Where that left you in terms of sleeping arrangements, you didn’t know, but the chances of even getting to rest felt low. Your brain was on full overdrive, tired eyes darting constantly around the distance. How safe was this place? You’d managed to convince yourself that the plane was secure, and that had gone down like...well, like the fucking plane. 

You were sitting on a log, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. It was just something to keep your brain occupied as you fought off the tiredness. The jet-lag from your flight to Colombia had hit in full force and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed -- the bed that wasn’t there. 

‘So, are you keeping a look-out?’ 

You jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice, twisting around to face him. ‘Something like that.’

‘I can take over if you want.’ He offered. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve saved our asses like three times today.’

‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into that tent.’ You replied. ‘I can hear them snoring from here.’

‘Is it worse than the alternative of me keeping you company?’ He softly smiled, taking a seat beside you. ‘I’ll promise not to be an asshole anymore.’

‘We spoke about this.’ You reminded him. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’

‘I still feel bad.’ He sighed. ‘Especially after you stitched me up and led us through the jungle. We woulda eaten something poisonous and died if you hadn’t stopped Benny going near those mushrooms.’

You chuckled. ‘Don’t feel bad, okay? You’ve had bad experiences before and it’s natural to be anxious.’

‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you-’

‘- Frankie!’ You cut him off with a groan. ‘I’m about to be an asshole if you don’t stop saying sorry.’

‘So we’re good?’ 

‘We’re good.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’

‘Santiago, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that he would come for our kneecaps if we left you alone in the dark.’ Frankie admitted. ‘I think he likes you.’

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘I think you have the wrong idea. Santi is only so protective of me because he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and I guess by extension, that kind of makes him my brother too. They go right back to high school, and then they did the academy together.’

‘That’s a long time.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So you and Santi, that’s...nothing, right?’

‘Absolutely not.’ You snorted derivatively. ‘And if it was, my brother would probably end him.’

‘So,’ He took a stick from the floor, joining in with random doodles you were carving into the ground. ‘Be honest: if these stitches scar, d’you think I’ll look rugged and handsome?’

You peered over at him, eyes creasing as your smile grew wider. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Ouch.’ He dramatically grabbed his heart, shaking his head. ‘The correct answer was no Frankie, you already look rugged and handsome.’

‘Okay, it would make you look more rugged and handsome.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘Better?’

‘Better.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘When was the last time you stitched up a living, breathing human?’

‘College, I think.’ You replied. ‘My roommate got into a fight and didn’t have insurance, so I did some makeshift stitches with a cheap sewing kit we found at a 24/7 corner shop.’

‘We’ve all done it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m glad the stitches you gave me were actual, professional ones...right?’

‘Obviously!’ You exclaimed. ‘You’ll probably want to get them redone when we get back to...y’know, civilisation.’

‘Naturally.’ He nodded. ‘I appreciate you stitching me up. The others would not have been able to do that if it had been just us.’

You shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘What if - and feel free to blatantly reject me for my earlier actions - I took you out for a drink when we got back? Y’know, if we ever get back to civilisation.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ You smiled. 

Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have been that bold -- and you would have absolutely rejected someone who had made such a terrible first impression. But, said impression had changed. He’d been an asshole but you could see why; you could reason with it, even. God knew that you also had a tendency to become withdrawn and irritable when you were retracting back to the darker corners of your mind. Bad days on the job were hard to shake. They stuck with you for a long time. 

The conversation continued, though you couldn’t recall exactly what it was about. Nothing and everything. Growing up and going to college - or for Frankie, the military. You compared stories of Santiago; Frankie’s were better, but yours were pretty good. He told you about how he’d got his piloting license back, and you in return offered a tale of the time that your brother had gotten a DUI. 

Between the warmth of Frankie beside you and the crackling fire in front of you, it became harder and harder to fight off your exhaustion. You would have been tired enough if you were from this timezone, but your body clock was hours out of whack. With your eyelids getting heavier and the dark sky above you, it wasn’t long before you’d flopped into the pilot’s side with defeat. 

‘’M sorry.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.’ Frankie replied. He moved his arm around your shoulders to support your weight from falling off the log - also to give a sign that he was more than okay with it. 

You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. Now that his cold facade had slipped away, you could admire him a little bit more. Warm chocolate eyes, a strong jawline, and a face that just felt kind, even despite initial impressions. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his face with a soft hue, making the lighter tones of his eyes a little more visible. 

You were both still lingering from the adrenaline of the plane crash, hearts pounding in your chests and brains wrestling with the idea that you’d both made it out with minor injuries. Was that what had made you bold? The sudden reminder of your mortality? Because you never would have kissed him if it had been a normal night.

He met you halfway, lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. They were a little chapped from the humidity of the jungle air, but intoxicating and enchanting all the same. He tasted very, very faintly of tobacco and a little bit of mint -- had the bastard had chewing gum this whole time? Not that it was relevant. Not that anything else in the world was relevant. Not when Frankie Morales was kissing you.

Neither of you said anything after; he simply pulled you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours. Between the mental exhaustion and emotional ping-pong game that you were partaking in, you wanted to sleep. 

And sleep, you did; tangled together on the dirt of the jungle floor, not a worry in the world. 

---

Time passed. 

It passed quickly and slowly all at once. 

Once you’d found a little town and got on a coach to Medellin, you did what you came to do: identified the body, cleared their names and closed the case. Your duties at your actual job called you back home and less than a day later, you were on a plane home. 

After that, everything was a blur. You tried to keep in contact with everyone, but life was demanding as ever. Thanks to a promotion at work, you were being kept busy 24/7. Santiago finally retired from active duty and moved back to your hometown, near to his parents and to the guys. Even with the group chat he’d made - affectionately titled Plane Pals - it was hard to constantly keep up with everyone. 

You and Frankie had texted for a while, but it sort of faded out. Whenever you were able to make it back home to see him and everyone else, he was busy. You’d both tried to make plans a few times but they’d never come to fruition. You still texted each other happy birthday every year, but that was it. Like that night in the jungle, he quickly became a thing of the past. A distant memory that sometimes felt like a dream. 

It made a good dinner table story, especially for first dates. You told it on many actually, actually -- only one ever went well. So well, in fact, that you’d ended up in a four-year-relationship. A marine biologist called Simon; not boring, but not necessarily exciting either. He was nice...enough. Nice enough that you didn’t find a reason to leave. 

Looking back, you probably had a million reasons to leave. He was an asshole, for one. The last time he’d treated you right had been your first anniversary - and for some reason, you’d stuck around to celebrate your second and third and fourth. Everyone around you was settling down, and you felt that pressure too. 

Even Santiago fucking Garcia, the biggest flirt and bachelor you knew, was getting married. You’d RSVP’d a plus one - Simon, obviously - but the week before you were due to fly home for the wedding, things had finally reached a bitter end. You weren’t sad about him; more sad that you’d wasted four years of your life on the Walmart equivalent to Ned Flanders. 

On the brightside, your brother’s respective relationship had also gone through a shitty demise, meaning you could move your seats at the reception next to one another. Like Santiago, he had also retired from the military and was living his best life - even though it had taken six months for him to start speaking to his friend again. He hadn’t taken well to the idea of Santiago taking you on a job that left you in the middle of the jungle. 

‘People are gonna ask where Simon is, aren’t they?’ You muttered. 

‘Cheer up.’ Your brother nudged you. ‘I know what’ll help - let’s make a bet.’

‘What?’ You groaned. 

You were standing outside the church, waiting to be called inside. You’d waved at Benny and Will as they came in. The latter had kids of his own now, but Benny was focusing on his boxing career. He hadn’t called you Barbie again though, so that was something. 

‘I bet you twenty bucks that Santiago is divorced by the end of the year.’ Your brother grinned. 

‘No! That’s horrible.’ You slapped his arm. 

‘Whatever. That’s $20 you’re missing out on.’

‘I hate that we’re related.’

‘Me too.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You said it first!’

The two of you were cut off by someone clearing their throats.

You almost did a double take when you saw Frankie Morales stood in front of you. He didn’t look that different to his six-year-old Whatsapp profile picture; he wasn’t wearing his hat, instead wearing his hair pushed back, and rather than his old tac vest, he had a suit and tie on. You had a sort of vision of him in your head from that night, but it didn’t do him justice. He was even better in person. 

‘Catfish!’ Your brother jeered. ‘Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!’ 

‘Says you!’ Frankie gave him a slap on the back. His eyes then fell to you, and his demeanour changed a little. ‘Hey.’

‘Frankie fucking Morales.’ You murmured. ‘How’re you?’

‘Thriving.’ He replied. ‘You?’

‘Also thriving.’ You smiled. 

‘I was sorry to hear about the divorce, man.’ Your brother, as clueless as ever, didn’t sense the sudden onset of tension. 

‘Divorce?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘Is that really something you should bring up-’

‘- you brought up your break up at dinner last week-’

‘- only because you brought up yours first-’

‘- guys!’ Frankie cut you off. ‘It’s fine, really. I appreciate you looking out for me but it was a while ago now. Besides, I’ve got Leya. She takes up all my time.’

‘Leya?’ your eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that your girl-’

You were interrupted by a bell ringing, signalling that it was time for the guests to enter the church. Did the universe hate you? What kind of fucking dreadful timing was that? 

‘I’ll see you guys at the reception, right?’ Frankie asked. 

‘Sure thing, dude.’ Your brother waved him off.

The pilot turned on his heel, giving you a smile as he headed for the church. He was the best man after all, and his presence probably was needed. 

‘You asshole!’ You have his shoulder another whack. ‘I was talking to him!’

‘Jesus, calm down! And why do you hit so hard?’ He huffed. ‘What’s so important?’

‘Who’s Leya?’

‘I dunno! Do I look like Gossip Girl?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re mean.’ He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you towards the church entrance. ‘And mum made me promise to make sure you wouldn’t play Doodle Jump during the vows.’

‘That was one time!’ You snapped. 

Thankfully, the actual ceremony passed quicker than you thought. Santiago’s new wife was beautiful -- you hadn’t met Yovanna before, but both her and Santi had greeted you with a bright smile as you entered the reception. It was in a large hotel room, decorated with strings of fairy lights and a large dance floor. A lot of thought had clearly got into it. 

It made you a little sad to think about. How many weddings had you been to in the last five years? How many times had people looked at you and your former boyfriend and said you’ll be next. You weren’t even sad about him. If anything, you were mad that you’d let yourself think about marrying him. You could do better. You were going to do better.

‘Is that girl over there eying me up?’ Your brother’s voice pulled you back to reality. ‘I swear she’s been giving me heart eyes since they brought dessert out.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one in the cute dress! Brown hair, dark eyes-’

‘- that’s Santi’s cousin.’ You rolled your eyes. 

‘And?’

‘Santi’s cousin who is a lesbian?’ You tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Who has been with her wife for 11 years and has three children?’

He groaned. ‘Why must you find such joy in my pain?’

‘It’s what siblings are for.’ You grinned. ‘I’m gonna get a drink. D’you want anything?’

He only let out another groan in response - you took that as a no, simply giving him a pat on the head as you stood up. 

You’d tried to ask around with a few mutual friends if they knew who Leya was -- either they hadn’t seen Frankie in a while, or they pushed to know why you were asking. You couldn’t exactly play that one as suave. Nobody took a casual interest in the personal life of somebody they barely knew -- even though you did know Frankie. Quite well, actually. He’d practically recounted his entire life story to you that night. Told you things that not even Santi knew. 

‘What can I get for you?’ The bartender asked. 

‘Uhhh…’ you glanced up at the menu. ‘Is it an open bar?’

‘If I had enough money for every time someone asked me that tonight, I’d be able to pay for all the drinks.’  She shot back. ‘So, no.’

‘Jeez.’ You muttered. ‘How much for a double rum?’

‘Fifteen bucks.’

‘Fifteen?!’ You spluttered. ‘How much is tap water?’

‘Y’know, I still owe you a drink.’

Like earlier, Frankie had suddenly appeared unannounced. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw him leaning against the bar beside you, a goofy smile plastered across his face and his undone tie wrapped around his left hand. Your eyes flickered up to his forehead, examining it for a minute. 

‘So the stitches didn’t scar?’ You asked. 

He pulled back his hair, shaking his head. ‘Nope.’ 

‘You lucky duck.’ You quipped. ‘So. About that drink?’

‘This shit is insanely overpriced.’ Frankie said. ‘I can steal us a bottle of wine if you’re willing to hide and drink it?

You glanced over at your brother, who was now crying to one of Santiago’s great aunts, piling cake into his mouth. 

‘Yeah. I’m down for that.’ 

--

Five minutes later, you and Frankie were out in the gardens of the hotel. It had been raining all day, but there was an undercover patio not too far from the main reception; the walls were made out of white wood, with red roses trailing up the side. The fairly lights tangled beside them illuminated the place in a gentle glow, blue evening sky providing a beautiful contrast. Even though the showers had stopped, you could still smell the rain in the fresh evening air. 

‘Wine?’ Frankie led you to a seat by the edge of the patio. ‘I stole it from the head table so it's the expensive shit.’

He tore the cork off, handing you the bottle. Neither of you had brought glasses, but you didn’t mind drinking from the same bottle. You’d kissed already - what was the point in formalities? 

‘I hate it to break it to you.’ You paused to wipe your mouth, recovering from the bitter taste. ‘But that’s champagne.’

‘Still alcohol, right?’ He took it from your hands, taking a swig. ‘And it’s free!’

‘You’re right.’ You chuckled. ‘So...I believe we have four years worth of catching up to do.’

‘D’you wanna go first?’ Frankie offered. ‘I heard you got a promotion.’

‘I did, yeah.’ You grinned. ‘It’s a thousand times more work but I get more control over what jobs I take, so that’s good.’

‘Anyone special in your life?’ He asked. 

‘Cut the shit, Frankie.’ You groaned. ‘I know that Santi updates you on every second of my life as it happens.’

‘You got me there. He mentioned a...Steven?’

‘A Simon.’ You corrected. ‘But Dickhead or Asshole works just as well.’

‘Damn, I’m sorry.’ Frankie gave your leg a light squeeze. ‘What happened?’

‘He didn’t deserve me and I stayed with him too long.’ You shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had a reason to leave.’ 

‘Not having a reason to leave isn’t a reason to stay.’ He murmured. 

You didn’t know whether to bring up the D-Word. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. He hadn’t seemed that phase when your sibling had so eloquently and gently brought it up earlier, but you knew Frankie was good at putting on a front. It was why you’d clashed when you first met. 

‘Am I allowed to ask?’ You quietly said. 

‘It’s nothing bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean it is bad, terrible actually, but it was two years ago now. We only got married because she got pregnant and then left the minute our daughter was born.’

‘Leya.’ You didn’t mean to say the name out loud, but it made sense now. ‘Leya is your daughter.’

‘Yeah.’ Frankie warmly smiled. ‘I hate what happened but I’d do it all over again ten times if it meant having her in my life.’

He spent the next few minutes telling you about her. She was named Leya after a certain space princess, though Frankie had changed the spelling to make it less obvious (to which you had argued it was still quite obvious, but a cool name nonetheless). She was currently three years old, often got confused between Spanish and English words, and enjoyed Power Rangers. All in all, she sounded like a great kid. Above all, it was obvious how much she meant to Frankie. His whole face lit up when he spoke about her. Her mum was entirely out the picture, meaning he was doing the whole thing by himself. 

‘She sounds amazing.’ You beamed, peering down at the picture on his phone. ‘She looks so much like you.’

‘Thank God.’ Frankie murmured. ‘I dunno if it being a dad has made me more introspective, but I think about that night a lot.’

‘Me too.’ You replied. ‘Not the thing about being a dad. The other part.’

He laughed. ‘I got that.’

‘What do you think about?’

‘You, mostly.’ He admitted. ‘The fact I was an asshole. The fact you basically saved us all. The fact I never got to take you out for that drink.’

You took a swig of champagne, poking his arm. ‘We’re doing it now!’

‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘I just...I know it was only one night but we might not have been around to tell the story if you hadn't been there.’

‘You were the one who landed the plane safely.’

‘Which wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t do all the stuff after.’ He reminded you. ‘The thing I think about most, though, is that kiss.’

You froze slightly, head slowly turning to look at him. He was peering down at you now, brown eyes intently gazing at you, not unlike they had the first time you’d been in this position. Now, you weren’t both beyond exhausted, or stuck in the middle of the jungle. You were safe and sound, right here with one another. 

‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ You edged slightly closer towards him. 

‘A very good kiss.’

‘Maybe we should do it-’

Frankie cut you off, meeting your demand before you could even finish it. He was just as you remembered; chapped-but-soft lips with a hint of mint. No tobacco this time. He gently placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you further up towards him. It was like you were both reliving the memory of that night in a dream - something you’d done many times. Your memory of it had faded over time but this? This was vivid and giddy and entirely consuming all at once. 

‘You know,’ Frankie pulled back for a moment, keeping his hand on the back of your neck and forehead pressed to yours. ‘I asked Santi about you a few years ago, pretty much the minute I realised I was ready to move on from...her.’ 

‘You did?’ You murmured. 

‘That’s when he said you’d been seeing Simon for a few weeks.’ He admitted. ‘I was gutted. Kept wishing I’d got there first.’

‘I wish you had got to me first.’ You lightly chuckled. ‘It would have saved me a lot of pain.’

‘If I were to ask out now, what would you say?’

‘Fuck yes, obviously.’

‘Good.’ He pressed a brief peck to your lips. ‘I admire the enthusiasm.’

That night - well, actually it had probably been the night in Colombia, depending on who you asked - marked the start of a fresh start for you both. What had initially started out as an attempt to seek solace in one another during a difficult time had led you to something more: something whole, something fulfilling. 

If someone had told you the first time you’d met Frankie Morales that the unfriendly pilot was going to become the best thing that ever happened to you, you probably would have slapped them. Or laughed, or cried, or all three. That night you met, you thought the emotions you were feeling were from the plane crash -- adrenaline and warmth and panic. 

As it would turn out, it was simply the feeling of knowing -- knowing that Frankie Morales was it.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales angst #triple frontier imagines #pedro pascal character headcanons

[moonchildstyles]

chiaroscuro

chiaroscuro part one: y/n needed a job, but this place is strange and the owner is even stranger

wordcount: 10.5k+

—————

(Y/N) was broke. Like, really fucking broke.

Rationally, she knew that life as a fresh college graduate wasn't going to immediately fall into place, but she thought—maybe—the new credentials might actually help. But she's three months out, and no one has bothered to even give her a call back about any applications she's sent out and she's so broke. Just to add to the stress, her roommate—Charlotte—had broke the news to her the other day that she was planning on moving in with her boyfriend. (Y/N) could barely afford the apartment with the double income, but she knew she definitely couldn't afford it now. She does admit it was kind of dumb to have prematurely quit her job the weekend after graduation, but she was so excited to start her life, really start it. Now, with less than a hundred dollars in her bank account, a flat she was fully responsible for, and no job offers, she's panicking. She spent all her time on indeed and other sites trying to find any kind of listing she qualified for and applying to anything she might even have the slightest shot at.

It wasn't until her fifth day in a row looking nonstop, during the late night hours (early morning at this point) did she find a listing that she actually got excited for. It definitely wasn't her field, but the benefits were everything she was looking for. The listing called for a "Housekeeper/Sitter For Sprawling Manor". It seemed easy enough, with pretty good pay for the work, and it was a live-in position so she wouldn't have to worry about rent. The owner of the manor was rarely ever home, as the listing quoted, so it would be like being paid to live alone. It also helped that whoever wrote the listing seemed to have high energy, an affinity towards exclamation points, and pointed out more than once that no experience was needed just "enthusiasm and the willingness to learn!!"

Googling the manor—Styles Manor—brought up artistic shots of a truly sprawling mansion. The building separated into two wings, converging in the center with a rounded bulb making the roof. It was beautiful, and definitely not the kind of Gothic, decrepit castle she was expecting when reading through of the owner's "eccentric taste" in decor. With no hesitation, she filled out the automated application and attached her resume before pressing submit. She sent out all the good vibes and prayers and anything that could possibly manifest for her to get this job. Then, she proceeded to fall asleep in the blink of an eye.

She didn't even realize how long her "nap" was until she woke up at 3:30 in the afternoon from the buzzing of her phone. She didn't bother to look at the caller ID, tapping the green button and rolling over before pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she said groggily into the receiver. She fought to keep her eyes open as they kept sliding shut from exhaustion.

"Hi! Is this (Y/N)?" an excited Irish accent sounded through the phone, "My name is Niall from Styles Manor."

Shit.

She bolted upright, now fully awake. "Oh, hi! Yes it is! Uh—Thank you so much for getting back to me so soon!"

"Of course." She could hear his smile through the speaker, infecting her as giddy nerves passed through her body. "I saw your application this morning, and I was wondering if you could come in for an interview tomorrow?"

"Yes! I mean of course, what time were you thinking?" She basically bounced off the bed, pacing her room to let out the energy in her body.

They ironed out the rest of the details, (Y/N) agreeing to any of his suggestions. Once bidding their goodbyes, (Y/N) can't help but prance around her apartment. Finally—finally—someone got back to her, and it wasn't a degrading, minimum wage, retail job! Niall sounded so nice, she couldn't imagine any problems she could have working for him. She sent out the same good vibes and prayers as she had before (they seemed quite effective at this point), then proceeded to stress about what to wear tomorrow.

Not only did she need this job, she actually wanted it. She had a really good feeling about this one.

—————

It was 11:23–seven minutes early—when (Y/N) pulled into the long, gravel driveway of the manor. She had texted Charlotte all about the opportunity the day before, quickly snapping a photo of the building and sending it to her before collecting her things. She took three deep breaths, centering herself before she exited her car. She stepped up the bundle of steps leading to the door, feeling incredibly small as she stood in front of the mansion.

She knew it was large, but seeing it in person was a whole other beast. The house felt like it's own entity almost; no wonder the pay was so good, it'd take a week to clean the whole place only to have to start over again on Monday. Just as she raised her hand to knock on the elaborately carved double doors, they swung open. A man with bright blue eyes, dark brunette hair, and a bright smile greeted her in the threshold of the door.

"Hi, I'm Niall!" he introduced, sticking his hand out for her to shake, "You're (Y/N) I'm assuming?"

"Yes, I am," she continued, gently bouncing their hands between them. "It's nice to meet you."

Niall reciprocated the gesture before ushering her inside. "Let's go to the study. We'll do the interview there, yeah?"

She agreed with a nod of her head, following him inside as he closed the heavy door behind her. He started walking through the foyer, leading her to the study. (Y/N) followed behind, her eyes trained on the decor and overall intricacy of the furnishings. While the outside seemed more like a lavish, English mansion on the countryside, the inside spoke a story similar of that to the Palace Of Versailles. The color palette widely utilized whites and golds, detailed frescos stretched across the ceilings, and carved frames held just as elaborate paintings on the walls. It all screamed excess.

Niall slowed in front of her, stopping by a set of double doors similar to the carved ones that welcomes her in. He flashed her another bright smile as he turned to speak to her, "What do you think? It's pretty intense, huh?"

Once he had the door open, he stepped aside, gesturing for (Y/N) to go ahead first. The walls were piled high with shelves upon shelves of books, all the bindings seemed to be faded, having been cracked open hundreds of times and showing the wear and tear. The flooring matched that of the rest of the home, marble beneath her feet with dark oak cases holding the books.

"I wouldn't say intense," she started, "Definitely nothing I've ever seen in real life before, but it's like something out of a storybook. It doesn't belong in this century."

Niall let out a small laugh at her words, leading her to a large desk sitting in front of a sprawling warped glass window. "You could say that," he joked, a smile on his face like he knew something she didn't. He pulled out the seat in front of the desk, gesturing for (Y/N) to take a seat before moving around to the other side and claiming his own chair.

"So, tell me about yourself."

The rest of the interview proceeded as if she wasn't sitting in what she was sure was a multimillion dollar mansion. He asked the handful of basic questions she'd heard at other interviews previously, seeming to be pleased with each of her answers if his kind smile was anything to go by.

"How do you feel about living here alone? It's really an independent job, so we would trust that you would actually do the work and earn your keep," he asked, branching off into more specific questions.

"Yeah, of course! It'd be like taking care of your own home, I'd think. Obviously, if you had any preferences about how the manor is kept, I'd stick to those rules and anything else you'd like," she explained with a smile. Hopefully, that was the right way to answer; she just wanted Niall to like her.

"Oh no, I'm not the owner. This is actually my friend Harry's home. He's away at the moment, and trusted me to find his housekeeper."

"Oh," she exhaled, slightly embarrassed at her lack of awareness, "Sorry, I had no idea! If I were to get the job, would I meet Harry—er—Mr. Styles? I know the listing said he's not here often."

"It's okay, I should have let you know," Niall started, his smile never faltering. "You would at some point, but he's not due back for another month or so. When he is back in town, though, he usually prefers his housekeepers to be out, or find somewhere to stay for that time frame. He enjoys being alone."

Niall rolled his eyes at the end of his statement, clearly unapproving of his friend's preferences. (Y/N) couldn't help but be a little surprised at that. Especially with a home this extravagant, wouldn't the owner want to know who's looking after everything? Even with her small apartment, she wouldn't hand it over to just anyone a friend picked. It's just a little odd, she thinks.

"I'd give you a notice of when he's coming, so you'd have time to make arrangements if need be," Niall continued. (Y/N) nodded her head, ready to ask another question about this Harry, before Niall hurriedly checked the time on his watch before running a hand through his hair. "I actually have another meeting in a half hour, so I'll give you a call later today to tell you your start date and everything else you'll need to know. Is that okay?"

He was already collecting himself, stepping away from the desk and towards the doors they entered through not even a thirty minutes before. (Y/N) stumbled behind him, taken aback by the implication of his words.

"I got the job!?" She gasped, a large smile stretching across her features. Her hands worried the strap of her bag. She couldn't believe all it took was applying to this one job, for her search to be over in less than twenty-four hours.

"Yeah, I get the feeling you'd be good for this place." He gestured her ahead of him, opening the carved door for her. (Y/N) bounced through the threshold, giddy over his words.

"Thank you, so much! I won't let you down, I'm so excited to start. Please let Mr. Styles know that I really appreciate this opportunity, and it means a lot," she gushed, following him out to the foyer they started in.

"Of course, of course," he prattled, checking something on his phone. "Go on home and start packing, I'll call you soon."

He ushered her out with the same bright smile on his face. She called out one more declaration of her appreciation over her shoulder before she felt her bicep bump against something. It was firm and unmoving against the force, causing (Y/N) to stumble back a step. When she looked, she had bumped into the arm of a tall, lean man with shoulder length hair. His face was stoic not giving away any of his emotions. He was dressed immaculately, like he fit in with the rich surroundings of the mansion. But the thing that struck (Y/N) the most was the pale grey, almost white irises of his eyes. Next to him was a dark-haired woman with a much gentler expression, but the same dove grey eyes.

She tried her hardest to hide her shock at his appearance, keeping her face as neutral as possible. "Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going," she apologized, shooting him a quick, forced smile before hurrying towards her car. As she climbed in, she could hear Niall greet the pair, inviting them in. When she looked back, she didn't see Niall's previously bright blue eyes. His irises were replaced with the matching dull grey of his companions. His smile faltered when he saw her looking at him, the sea glass blue of his eyes returning in a blink as he waved her off.

Even after he closed the door behind him, (Y/N) couldn't help but sit in her parked car for a beat longer. She didn't like to judge anyone, but... that was fucking weird.

—————

Only hours after the interview was rushed to an end, Niall called (Y/N) asking her to start the following Monday. She felt a shot of excitement run through her after the call.

Finally—finally—she had something to look forward to. And it was an actually good job. On the phone, Niall had ran through all of the benefits again, her starting pay, and what to expect, and she just couldn't believe her luck. It was almost too good to be true; there had to be something wrong. Nothing's that perfect without a catch.

She and Charlotte spent their last day in the apartment together packing up all of their things. They had moved their shared furniture into storage, some going up for sale on different sites while others were to be kept until one of them had the space for it. The last portion of the day was spent saying a tearful goodbye to the apartment that got them through their university years, and to each other. They parted ways with a promise to see each other often, and to text each other at least once a day. (Y/N) really would miss Charlotte, but she couldn't wait to get started on this new chapter.

The next morning, the Monday she was set to start her new job, (Y/N) woke up early with a bounce in her step like a kid the morning of a fieldtrip. Once she arrived at the manor, Niall met her outside. His bright blue eyes (she had convinced herself that it had just been a trick of the light that made his irises look funny the week before) and familiar smile greeted her as she exited her car.

"Morning!" Niall called, bouncing down the steps at the base of the manor, "I wanted to help you move in if that's okay?"

(Y/N) eagerly nodded, popping her trunk where all her clothing and other keepsakes were bundled. She and Niall made small talk as they brought her few bags in, handled in one trip. He led her down the decadent hallways, and up a flight of curving stairs before stopping in front of a door. He twisted the gold doorknob, pushing the door open wide with a flourish as if presenting the space to her. She took a step inside, immediately in awe of the surroundings that now made up her home.

The room was topped with high, over-arching ceilings, decorated in a fresco of a heaven-like scene. The rest of the room was coordinated in a palette of whites and golds with accents of an earthy green. A large, four-poster canopy bed sat as the centerpiece of the room; white and gold bedding, green throw pillows adding color to the lavish bed. The posters of the bed boasted carvings of angels and vines winding up the dark wood, converging to a trellis like grid above the mattress where a breezy white curtain veiled the bed. An ornate, marble-topped vanity sat by a large window, the mirror framed in a gold plated ribbon as if it really were a portal to another dimension. A large wardrobe filled a space right next to the door to which she assumed the bathroom was. It was a room fit for a princess; something she remembers dreaming of when she small.

"Do you like it?" Niall interrupted her fawning of the room. He placed her bags next to the door before leaning against the frame with a smug smile on his face.

"Its—It's beautiful," she breathed. "I know I've said this before, but please, please tell Mr. Styles that it means so much that he's allowing me to stay here, and just, this opportunity means so much to me. Thank you too, for picking me for the position."

"Of course; I told you I think you'll be good for this place, so you don't need to thank me," he beamed. He checked something on his phone before typing out a quick reply and looking back to (Y/N). "I've got some things to do today, so I'll let you get settled in. You've not got to start working or anything today, just take today to get familiar with the house."

(Y/N) stepped forward, an appreciative smile on her face still. "Thank you anyway," she said, her fingers playing with one another, "It means a lot."

Niall shot her a smile before saying his goodbyes and leaving down the hall. She spun around, looking at all of the intricacies that surrounded her in her new home. She sighed and fell backwards atop her plush bed.

She could get used to this.

—————

It only took (Y/N) a few hours to put all of her things away. Her clothing hung up in the wardrobe, the rest folded in the chest of drawers at the foot of her bed. Her toiletries found a home in the equally as lavish bathroom, with her vanity table now decorated in her beauty products and skincare. She littered her keepsakes around the room; framed photos of herself with family and friends propped up on the side tables, sentimental ticket stubs bundled together on her vanity, and a soft, pink cat shaped pillow on the center of the bed. Aside from all of the foreign furnishings, the room was beginning to feel like home to her.

With her headphones in, listening to her favorite album of the moment, she decided to go about exploring the rest of the manor.

She tried to remember the very limited tour Niall had given her while he led her up to her room. Now without giddy, first-day nerves coursing through her, she was able to appreciate the artwork hanging along the walls and decorating the ceilings. In quick passing, the canvases depicted divine scenes, some showing angels, others showing tranquil landscapes. But now, with the time to examine the paint strokes closer, she noticed the pieces are kind of... off.

In the landscape scenes, trees held the faint features of distorted faces screaming in agony with their eyes wide in deep trepidation. Swirling pools of once peaceful ponds, now showcased inklings of blood dripping in at the edge from an unknown source. In the angelic paintings, (Y/N) noticed the subjects had no pupils or irises to their eyes. It was as if the sclera encompassed the entire eye, leaving an expressionless gaze on the small, blushing cherubs. The angels in some and humans in other's, all held the same white eyes, while some had sharp smiles. Some of the subjects even had eerily placed dots of blood on their clothing or in small spots surrounding them. A translucent shadow lurked in the background of many of the scenes; in some, the shadow stayed to the back, shading different areas of the painting. While in others, the shadow hovered around the foreground of the different scenes. They almost seemed vampiric with the placing of each of the elements. Demonic even.

It was... eerie.

But, art is art right? Some people like darker expressions, and who is she to judge?

She continued wandering through, trying not to focus too much on the artwork anymore. She found her way to the kitchen in her wing (there's four kitchens! Rich people, huh?). She began looking through the cupboards and fridge, looking for something to make a small lunch for herself.

The cabinets were clumsily stocked, full of odd selections of food (four jars of peanut butter sat on one shelf, and a random stalk of celery was placed on the top shelf all alone). The fridge was stocked full of different cuts of raw meat flanked by wedges of cheese she's never even heard of. Whoever had done the shopping must have been the middle of a bout of weird cravings, and put everything away in a chaotic rush. But, it's food, so she isn't going to complain.

She made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before retreating to her room. She pulled Netflix up on her laptop, finally settling down and relaxing. The past week she feels like she'd been going nonstop, riding a wave of giddy energy ever since she got the first call for an interview. It wasn't until she finished eating and got halfway through a Scooby-Doo movie did she realize just how tired she was.

Just as it started misting rain outside, (Y/N) fell asleep.

—————

(Y/N) lazily blinked her eyes open in the dark of her new room as she awoke from her nap. She blearily looked out the window, seeing the moon now high in the sky. Drops of sprinkling rain trickled down the panes of glass, creating small distorted rivers in her line of sight. A light fog draped across the grounds outside, making the night seem even darker.

Wait... night?

She didn't mean to sleep so long; usually she wakes from her naps after an hour or so, not five. She swung her legs over the side of her king sized bed, shocked at the chill of the marble floor beneath her toes. She padded out of the room, trailing down the hall and tracing the now familiar way to the kitchen. She poured herself some water, peeking out of the window above the sink to the backyard. A thicket of trees fenced the grounds, all bare of leaves from the cold seasons. The fog seemed thicker out back than it had in the front lawn that she could view from her room.

Just as (Y/N) took her first sip of her water, a shadow materialized in the fog. The shadow seemed human at first, the condensation fuzzying the edges of the form. The shadow began moving forward, and she then realized that whatever was out there, was definitely not human.

The shadow was large, tall like the spindling branches it had emerged from. The creature boasted large, gnarled shoulders whittling down to bone thin arms that stretched so long that the hands drug on the ground beside its feet. The outline of the torso looked almost lumped, like it's organs laid out atop the bones instead of caged in by its ribs. The legs were just as grotesquely thin as the arms, the knees crunching at an odd angle with each limping step it took.

What the fuck.

A shocked gasp stole all the breath from her lungs as she stumbled back from the window. She scrambled to get away from the pane—from the creature—as fast as she could, fearing it would see her and find its way inside. In her panic, she forgot about the cup of water in her hand that had clattered to the floor beside her when she lost her grip. The noise seemed to be amplified by the electricity in the air, causing another wave of panic to run through her system. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit streamed through her head, hoping that the creature hadn't heard her show.

She shakily took a step forward, daring to peek through the now tainted window.

It was gone.

The fog was gone, the rain even ceased. The moon shone over the grounds, lighting up each crevice and shadow the creature could hide. It was like it had never been there at all.

(Y/N) couldn't help but question herself; had she really seen anything at all out there? She'd never admit it out loud, but, sometimes, Scooby-Doo gave her childish nightmares from their mystery solving, and maybe she wasn't fully awake. Maybe, she was still stuck in her hazy dream phase having been so freshly awake. Or, what if she had focused too long on the trees lining the area, causing herself to make a creature out of the branches? There was no way she saw an actual zombie in the backyard of a multi-million dollar manor.

(Y/N) sucked in a deep breath, trying to settle her shaking hands and twisting stomach. "It's nothing, it's nothing," she whispered to herself, the mantra a way to comfort her scrambled thoughts. She proceeded to clean up the spilled water on the floor, giving her anything to focus on in favor of the nightmarish images tainting her thoughts.

Once the kitchen was cleaned, she padded back to her room, much quicker than when she left as she was unable to shake the feeling of being watched. She huddled under the plush duvet, veiled by the canopy draped across the frame as she pulled up another movie on Netflix to occupy her thoughts.

It's okay, it was nothing, it's okay, streamed through her mind as she slowly drifted back to sleep.

But was it?

—————

It had been a week since (Y/N) spotted the creature in the garden (or thought she had anyway), and she'd practically washed it from her mind. She was happy with the explanation that she hadn't really seen that zombie-like creature, and just imagined it after a dream heavy sleep. She didn't want to think about what it would mean if she accepted the fact she had actually seen something so obviously inhuman.

She was really settling into the work. It was easy, and she enjoyed working on her own, at a pace she could manage. It was a truly gorgeous place to work, too, and she took pride in taking care of it all. She couldn't wait for Mr. Styles to return home and see the attention she'd put into taking care of the manor.

The flowerbeds plotted around the perimeters of the mansion were her favorite to care after. The snowdrops, primroses, pansies, and rose bushes brightened her cold mornings when she went out to water them. There was even a landscaper—Adam—who she'd work with on a weekly basis to take care of the expansive grounds; he was nice to talk to and a needed break from her own isolated thoughts.

Maybe, this job really could be perfect, and all the things Niall had promised it would be.

—————

Days later, (Y/N) was in the middle of cleaning one of the en-suite bathrooms (there's ten) when Niall texted her. It was short and direct, leaving nothing up to interpretation.

Niall Horan

        Harry is coming back tonight, you need to find somewhere to stay until Friday. I'm sorry for the short notice, but he just let me know he was on a flight back.

She dropped the cloth she was using to clean the mirrors as she read over his message again. She had expected that Niall would give her more than an eight hour notice of when she would need to emergency evacuate her new home. She had already told Charlotte when she took the job that she would need to randomly have to leave sometimes, so she knew she had a place to stay for the next couple of days, but she felt bad springing it on her. But, what else was she supposed to do?

She sent back an okay, thanks! to Niall before quickly collecting her cleaning supplies. She piled them back into the closet she found them, before making her way to her room to pack an overnight bag. She rushed her packing, wanting to get out as soon as possible. As much as she wanted to meet her employer, if he was so adamant about no one being home while he was, she didn't want to test it.

She took her time after packing to make sure the house looked immaculate, like she hadn't been there at all aside from the evidence of her clothing and other possessions littered in her room. She wanted Mr. Styles to be pleased with her work performance, and hopefully warm up to the idea of possibly meeting her. When it finally met her standards (and hopefully his), she tugged her bag over her shoulder before locking the doors up behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at the front of the manor, checking the flowerbeds for weeds and the lawn for anything out of order. Everything looked perfect, just the way she wanted it to be for him.

As (Y/N) pulled out of the winding driveway, she passed a black, clearly expensive car. Through the windshield, she saw the driver; a man with dark curling hair, bright green eyes and his pink lips set in a scowl. Her eyes followed the car behind her with the help of her rear view mirror, watching as it pulled onto the same driveway leading up to the manor. That had to have been Mr. Styles, and he didn't seem too pleased to be seeing even just her car on his grounds.

She sped up as soon as he was out of view.

—————

After three days of sleeping on Charlotte's couch, (Y/N) finally received the okay text from Niall. She was ready to move back into the manor, having felt bad to already be crashing at their place before even a month had passed. She was quick to pack up, and say her thanks for their hospitality (Charlotte insisted it was what friends were for but (Y/N) still felt bad) and was on her way.

Once back at the manor, it was like no one had been there in her absence. Nothing at all seemed lived in, to have changed at all. It was as if new dust hadn't even settled on the various surfaces. She knew for a fact that her kitchen was the only one that had food, and when she rifled through the cabinets for lunch, nothing was missing or moved. Sure, Mr. Styles could have had take out each meal, or gone out every night, but not even a glass for water or anything had been used. Everything was exactly the way she left it.

The only thing that wasn't exactly how she remembered she left it was—oddly enough—her room. If she hadn't known any better, she wouldn't have even noticed the wardrobe door that was cracked open. But, she never liked leaving the doors open, especially after the night she dreamt up that awful monster in the backyard. It was a childish fear, a monster in the closet, but it was something she knows she wouldn't have forgotten to take care of in her leave. She peeked inside the wardrobe, wanting to see if anything else was out of place.

In her scan over, everything seemed to be in order until she noticed something was missing. A basic cream sweater with rainbow stitching down the arms, her favorite, was nowhere to be seen. She knows for a fact she hadn't packed it with her, remembering the flash of color out of the corner of her eye as she closed the wardrobe door.

Mr. Styles wouldn't have gone through her things, right? He had no need to be in her room—or even her wing for that matter. He had no purpose for a worn sweater when he so clearly had money to burn.

What if that... creature found its way inside her room and took the shirt from her? Took the shirt and her scent with it.

No, no she told herself. There was no way a monster from her dreams sprouted legs and walked it's way into her room just to steal a sweater. It's not even real for Christ's sake! She probably just misplaced it, and it would turn up in the next laundry cycle she's sure. She shook the intrusive thoughts from her mind, starting laundry on the clothes she had taken to Charlotte's. She just wanted to get back to work, start cleaning to take her mind off of the eerie feeling that's been hovering around her since she returned.

She absentmindedly sorted through the mail, surprised to see the overflowing pile that collected in her absence. Had Mr. Styles even been at the manor? All signs have pointed to the fact that he had nothing to do with the place while she was gone. While doing so, she sent a text to Adam, the landscaper, letting him know they could resume their work and Mr. Styles was off the property (if he was even on it to start with). She dusted through the living areas, playing loud music through her headphones to fill her thoughts.

She decided to tackle the farthest wing first, where Mr. Styles' room was. There, she was sure she would find evidence of him being in the manor. It was the darkest of all the rooms in the mansion; no sprawling windows decorated the wall the same way the others had. The color scheme shifted from the creams and golds accented by a comforting green in her wing, to a stark white with red and black detailing the furnishings. The art changed direction as well, becoming more obviously scary than that of the other pieces littered through the home. She didn't like spending time in the halls, feeling like the eyes of demons and their victims following her every move. Once inside Mr. Styles' bedroom, her hopes of evidence of his being there were let down.

The bed was perfectly pristine; bedding tight and unmoved from when she had made it earlier in the week. Everything lacked the warmth of a person having previously occupied the space. Just like all the other rooms before, it was like no one had been there at all.

She shook her head at the perfectness of the room, moving on the bathroom. She had assumed there would still be no sign of her boss's presence, but was surprised at what she found instead. In the basket that sat beside the sink, the hem of a towel peeked out from under the lid. (Y/N) had quickly pulled the towel out, shocked that he had spent the most time in the bathroom in comparison to everything else she found (or didn't find, really). Instead of the dampness from water she expected the find, the tail end of the towel was stained a bright crimson. She jumped back and dropped the cloth in surprise. A gasp left her mouth as the realization of what it was came to mind

Blood.

She tentatively peeked inside the basket, finding four other cloths stained the same way with a lacy, white (or it should have been) blouse crumpled underneath it all. Each one was completely ruined with matching blood stains, the shirt having the deepest stains, almost black in the saturation.

Holy shit.

(Y/N) felt panic skitter up her spine and bile rise in her throat. That's a lot of blood. He had to have hurt someone badly with the amount of blood that saturated through each of the crumpled items, if not killed them. She practically sprinted out of the bathroom, and out of the wing entirely. She stumbled several times down the curving stairs, having to catch herself each time on the railing. She couldn't run fast enough.

Holy shit, holy shit, I work for a murderer. He only wanted me out of the house so he could kill people, and he's probably going to ki—

She stumbled back as she ran into a wall of a chest. In her panic, she didn't realize Niall was standing in the landing of the staircase. His brows furrowed in concern as he righted her with his hands on her biceps.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong (Y/N)? You look like you've seen a ghost," Niall's words dripped with concern as he gently guided her to one of the ornate couches she once admired.

"Niall, we have to leave—we can't be here—he's—," (Y/N) couldn't form a coherent thought as she tried to voice her panic. Niall tried to push her to sit on the couch cushions, but she fought back placing her hands on his chest to push him towards the front door. They couldn't be here, they needed to tell the police and take evidence and—

"C'mon, love, breathe. You're scaring me," Niall tried again, standing firm against her pushing.

"There was blood in the bathroom! I—I think he killed someone, or—or hurt someone really bad, we have to tell the police," she rushed again, just wanting Niall to listen.

For a second, something flashed over Niall's face. The concern he once held in his eyes disappeared as the sea glass blue hardened for a moment. Just as quickly as it was there, the expression vanished, resuming his worried expression.

"Will you show me what you found? I think I might know what it is."

She shakily led him back to the now tainted bathroom. She pointed at the bin that held the clothes, with the one she had picked up laying limply just outside of it. Niall confidently strode over to the sullied fabric, picking it up with no hesitation. (Y/N) watched on with horror in her eyes, scared to see Niall so comfortable with the possibility of his best friend being a murderer.

Niall shook his head as he examined the mid-sized towel, his back to (Y/N) before he turned around. He had an easy smile on his face, not a concern in his demeanor at what surrounded him.

"This isn't blood, silly. It's red paint."

What?

"Harry's a painter, and he's never been an organized one. He's spilled more paint mixes than I can count, and he's shit at cleaning it up," Niall joked, "You alright, then?"

"But—... it's red paint?" (Y/N) asked, skeptical of his explanation. Niall took a step towards her, one of crimson towels in his hand.

"Yeah, look. You can see where he mixed some orange in." He held out the material to her, fingers pointing to a streak where a lighter orange stained the fabric.

She guessed it could be paint. And that would explain why the dots on the shirt were so dark; as he got too into it he accidentally splotched himself. It was kind of him to have tried to clean up after himself...

"I'm so sorry, I probably look so crazy accusing your friend of something like that," (Y/N) apologized, cheeks flaming in embarrassment of her reaction.

"No, you're perfectly fine. It definitely isn't the most pleasant sight to find when cleaning a bathroom," he laughed, trying to ease the tension as best he could, "How about you go get yourself some water and relax for bit, yeah? I'll take care of this for you, love."

"Thank you, Niall," she breathed. She padded out of the room, quick to get to the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of water.

She braced herself against the counter for a moment, trying to find her head again. She's got to shake the eerie feeling that's been following her these past couple of days, since she saw who she assumed was Mr. Styles on her drive out. She's going to drive herself crazy if she doesn't relax. She took in three deep breaths before moving out to the living room where she heard Niall's voice.

"H, you're getting lazy. She found the shit in your bathroom and had a breakdown right in front of me." He paused for a moment, (Y/N) figuring he was on the phone from the lack of audible response from another voice. She rounded the corner into the living room, staying behind the couch with Niall's back facing her. "You have to be more careful now that you have someone else living here. You fucked up."

Niall turned on his heel, a deep furrow in his brow as he talked to the phone pressed to his ear. Once he caught sight of (Y/N) nervously shuffling around just feet away from him, he changed.

Suddenly his tone and expression take a turn, shifting back into the easy and comforting Niall she's known. "I'm glad you're having a good trip, H, just be careful with the paint next time. You almost gave our (Y/N) a heart attack."

He dropped an eyelid in a wink at her. He quickly ended the phone call after that, beckoning her over to him. She followed his direction, fingers prattling in front of her torso.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop," she apologized, a half smile on her face as she remembered his harsh demeanor before he noticed her.

"It's fine, love. I was just telling Harry that he needs to be more careful, and to let me know at least if he does make a mess so he doesn't send you to an early grave," he teased, coaxing (Y/N) away from her unraveling thoughts.

Niall's comforting smile and soothing tone reigned in her doubts. Of course it was just paint, she'd just been on edge lately and assumed the worst. Now she just felt silly for reacting the way she did, and the fact that Niall told Mr. Styles of her freak out made her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"It really is fine, (Y/N). Harry wasn't upset, and neither am I; it's okay," Niall pressed, a gentle smile rounding his cheeks. A buzz came from his phone, causing both his and (Y/N)'s attention to shift. Niall checked the notification that came across, raising his brows before meeting her gaze. "I have a meeting in a couple of minutes, so how about you go to the market yeah? Get yourself whatever you'd like and stock up the kitchen again. Here," he stretched his hand out, a black card in between his fingers, "Came by to give this to you, actually. H said you can use it for any expenses for the house."

(Y/N) reciprocated his smile and said her thanks as she took the card. There was a heavy slam of a door closing from the foyer, causing Niall to begin ushering her out much like the way he did the day of the job interview. With a hand on the middle of her back, he guided her alongside him to the front doors. Waiting at the bottom of the staircase she stumbled down not even twenty minutes before, was the odd couple she had seen in the weeks previous. Both were immaculately dressed like the last time, and their eyes just has hauntingly pale. The woman offered a kind smile while the man stayed stoic, watching on as Niall led her out.

"I should be finished before you get back, but I'll lock up behind myself and everything," he continued, acting as if the pair wasn't intently monitoring the interaction.

"Oh, okay," she stuttered, barely having time to grab her bag and keys while Niall pulled open the carved doors, "Thank you again, Niall, and sorry about earlier."

"It's fine, (Y/N), really," he said before gently coaxing her out the door with a soft hand on her arm. His being so adamant about her leaving every time he had a "meeting" with these people, caused a flare up in the nerves he had calmed not too long ago. The fact that they all happened in Mr. Styles' manor also gave her an odd feeling. Why couldn't Niall hold them at his own home?

She called her goodbyes to him as she exited down the bundle of steps leading to the front door. Niall barely reciprocated before he closed the door.

This morning has been... weird.

—————

A month later, (Y/N) really couldn't be happier. There hadn't been any incidents with last minute arrangements needing to be made on account of Mr. Styles returning to town, and Niall hadn't come by to kick her out for anymore so-called meetings. She felt like she was being paid to live alone; her duties mostly taking the form of signing for packages and sorting mail, paying bills, cleaning and any other mundane task Mr. Styles needed taking care of. She also hadn't had anymore lingering thoughts of that creature, having the ordeal almost scrubbed from her mind after casting out the childish fear of it stealing her sweater.

Until tonight anyway.

(Y/N) woke with a start in the middle of the night from a dead sleep. The limping creature plagued her dreams for the first time in so long, this time it's stringy arms reached out and caught her with spindly fingers wrapping around her throat. She physically felt her airflow become cut off, causing her to break herself from the nightmare. She awoke with the canopy veiling her bed billowing open from the sweeping of cool air coming from an open window. Her bedding was kicked to the foot of her bed in her sleep, leaving her exposed to the gusts of chilling wind filtering through the room. She shakily crawled off her bed and shut her window, now noticing the freezing rain that accompanied the wind. Suddenly a flash of light struck through the clouds, quickly followed by a crack of thunder. The sound made her jump, feeling like her whole bedroom was full of eyes watching each of her movements and reactions. She needed to get out of here.

She wandered out of her room, heading towards the kitchen in search of cold water to calm her anxiety. The hallways were dark as she tentatively walked through them, not having turned on the lights in her rush to get away from the feeling of being watched. The windows that lined the hall offered dim light from the new moon in the sky. Random flashes of lightning momentarily brightened the familiar path.

And the man standing at the end of the hallway.

The bolt of light illuminated his broad form for just a second before plunging (Y/N) back into darkness. She stopped dead in her tracks, icy fear wrapping around her throat and stunning her limbs. No one else was supposed to be here; no one had been here when she went to bed.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, streamed through her head, a kind of panic she'd never felt before shuddering up her spine and clouding her thoughts. Niall never said Mr. Styles was due back tonight, letting her mind wander into the possibilities of a break in. A break in that could go wrong. She left her phone in her room when she left in her haste, leaving her with no option to call the police. She tentatively backpedaled, hoping the man hadn't seen her and she could slip into her bedroom and place the call.

The plan went to shit when another strike of lightning showed that the man had most definitely seen her, as he was now right in front of her. The shock of the proximity and how he moved so silently and quickly made her stumble back. Her foot caught on a rug underneath her, causing her to fall backwards and land on her butt. Small flashes of light from outside lit up the side of the man's scowling face. His brows were deeply furrowed and his lips twisted in a snarl. She could feel the heated anger radiating off of him.

"What are you doing here!? You're not supposed to be here!" He raged, his voice deep and rumbling. The room reverberated at the volume of his tone, shaking (Y/N)'s already nerve shot body. Her voice died in her throat unable to come up with an adequate answer for the man. He menacingly stepped towards her, his demeanor growing deeper with fury. "What. Are. You. Doing here?! Answer me!"

"I—I—who are you?!" her voice wavering and breaking under the weight of her fear. The man's presence dominated the hall, crushing each bit of calmness she once had and any semblance of sanity. Who asks a murderer who they were?!

An exasperated sigh left the man, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I'm Harry Styles. Why are you in my house?! I know Niall told you of my rules."

This was Mr. Styles? This isn't quite how (Y/N) imagined meeting her boss for the first time.

His voice was now at a normal volume, but his words seeped a rage deeper than he had before. (Y/N) sat still on the ground looking up at him, mouth open like a stunned guppy. She broke from her stupid, scrambling trying to get to her feet. All the while, she could feel his fiery gaze bore into her clumsy form.

"M-Mr. Styles, I'm so sorry. I promise, I had n-no idea you would be here. Niall never told m—."

"Shut up," his deep voice cut her off, an annoyed expression taking the place of anger from moments before. "Just... stay in your wing and away from me."

(Y/N) opened her mouth to talk again, stopped short by the glare Mr. Styles shot her. He obviously had no interest in her apologies and explanations. He stood unmoving, towering over her form, waiting for (Y/N) to make her leave. As soon as she was steady on her feet, she scurried to her room. The dream that woke her up in the first place forgotten as a new fear took precedence in her mind.

She cowered under her thick duvet, pulling the opening of the canopy closed around her. The deep gravel of his tone echoed in her ears, she saw the fire in his eyes every time she closed her own.

And she could have swore, for just a moment, his eyes were a blank white. Just like the paintings.

—————

(Y/N) had been cooped up in her room since the night she met Mr. Styles. She barely left her bed, let alone passed over the threshold to the hallway. She knows he said to stay in her wing not just her room, but the fear of running into him again kept her from daring to venture any further. The only times she allowed herself to leave her self-designated prison was when she needed to eat; she always chose to eat a big breakfast early and hold off her hunger throughout the day until late at night when she assumed he was asleep. Her nights were the hardest, filled with restless half-sleeps.

Any fleeting moment of true, deep sleep was quashed by unsettling dreams she wasn't able to shake. In the middle of the night, she could swear she saw Mr. Styles standing at the end of her bed, peering through the gauzy canopy at her sleeping form. As soon as she would blink her eyes awake, he would be gone causing her to assume she'd just begun dreaming of the man who struck such a fear into her. It wouldn't be that far off anyway, what with her vivid nightmares of that monster and now her boss. The dreams went along with odd noises she would hear in the night, causing a haunting feeling to wrap around her anytime she wasn't occupying her mind.

Her alarm set off at six in the morning, alerting her of her chance to eat before she would confine herself to the same two movies on Netflix for the rest of the day. She scuttled out of her room, checking over her shoulder and around each corner for the man she had been avoiding. She entered the kitchen, feet padding over the immaculate floor tiles. Atop the granite island was a small folded piece of thick card stock. Her name was written elegantly in swirling cursive on the front, calling for her to open it. She tentatively picked up the paper, unfolding the crease to read the curling letters.

(Y/N),

I have gone. You may now roam the manor and resume your duties.

H.

Relief filled her like a breath of fresh air. The tension that had locked her muscles for the last three days finally released, the stiffness in her body going lax. While she knew this really isn't her home, she did live here and it wasn't a pleasant feeling walking on eggshells in the one place she should feel like herself. Exhaustion crashed through her, finally feeling her anxiety dip. She could sleep. Really sleep without feeling like she should have one eye open in case she made a mistake that brought Mr. Styles'—or H's—attention to her.

She didn't want to eat she just wanted to go to bed and wake up at a real hour, not six a.m. She went to toss the paper away, but just as it was to slip out of her fingers and into the bin, she caught herself. She couldn't figure out why, but she wanted to keep it. As a reminder to keep on her toes? To show her that this wasn't her place to be comfortable? She didn't know why, but she knew what she was doing when she instead placed it in the far drawer of her vanity. She didn't spare the note another thought as she jumped into bed, not bothering to pull the canopy closed before she was already snuggled beneath the covers.

Mr. Styles' ghost was absent from her dreams.

—————

Weeks later, (Y/N) woke to the sun lighting up her bedroom. The hazy film the canopy gave her allowed for a romantic filter to distort the scene before her. This is how she imagined princesses waking up in storybooks; a grand room, warming sunlight, and the promise of a happily ever after. She had long forgotten her interaction with her boss (more as a way of coping than that of it being forgettable). She hadn't had a single dream about him since he left, and had seamlessly fallen back into her work routine. She felt refreshed.

Today she was going to work in the gardens, tending to the rose bushes in the back as her first task of the day. While the sun was out, the weather still called for a jacket with the morning chill lingering in the air. She filled a bright red watering can in the kitchen before lugging it outside.

She knelt down in front of the flower beds, gently sprinkling water over the leaves and over the soil. She caressed the petals of a dying red rose, pouting as she saw another of its siblings wilting. Maybe the cold was affecting them more than she thought; she'd have to ask Adam.

"You're not watering  the roses enough."

(Y/N) jumped when she heard the all too familiar voice of the one person she wanted to forget. He now spoke in a level tone, soothing in the way the words were deep and slow. Well, until she processed the fact that he was there.

She popped up to her feet, the watering can left at her feet. She turned to see him standing behind her, arms crossed, a billowy white shirt almost fully unbuttoned with his chest on show. The shirt was tucked into a pair of flare pants, the material growing more and more sheer as it approached his feet. Wasn't he cold?

"Mr. Styles! I'm so sorry, Niall didn't tell me you were coming back today. I can go, I promise I had n—."

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. He held a hand out in front of him, palm open and facing her. She very quickly took the cue and ceased her talking.

"Don't bother," he drawled, "I've already seen y'more than I intended."

She felt a pang in her chest at his words. She knows he doesn't mean it in any other way than the fact he didn't want to see any of his help around the house, but it was just so mean. She opened her mouth to speak, but one glare from him had her closing her mouth and forgetting whatever it is she wanted to say.

He brushed past her, walking up the elaborate stairs to the patio. He stopped and talked to her over the railing, eyes squinting in the morning light (or maybe at her).

"Finish watering the roses; they'll need that whole can. Afterwards, you may go about the duties y'had already planned for the day. All I ask is that y'please be quiet, and that y'refrain from being in the same room as I." His voice was clear and commanding, showing that he wasn't really asking that of her, he was telling her.

"I—Okay... thank you, Mr. Styles." She wasn't really sure what she was thanking him for, but she'd say anything at this point to get into his good graces.

He didn't bother to respond, continuing up the stairs with his ring-clad hand running along the railing. At the top of the case, he stopped suddenly. His back faced her as he spoke to her over his shoulder.

"I am having company over tonight. Do not leave your wing, or bedroom at all if y'can help it."

And then he was gone.

—————

(Y/N) had heeded Mr. Styles' advice, keeping herself in her room since she finished her chores. Around ten o'clock was when she heard the heavy front doors open and close several times, indicating the arrival of guests. She could hear the low chatter of conversations happening in the floor below her. She tried to go to sleep multiple times, but the hum from downstairs and the knowledge that the star of her bad dreams was just below her stopped her every time she tried to drift off.

By the time it neared midnight, (Y/N) realized she hadn't left her room since lunch. Her tummy growled, mixing in with the chatter from the floor below. She didn't want to leave her room, Mr. Styles' words echoing in her head, but she couldn't take it at this point. She just wanted a grilled cheese, what's the worse that could happen?

She silently slipped out of her room, padding down the hallway with her pajama pants sweeping the floor. She was hyper aware of the voices that floated through the corridor, trying her best to gauge their distance. She quickly got to the kitchen, digging out the ingredients to make a grilled cheese.

Only ten minutes later was the sandwich plated with (Y/N) ready to scuttle back to her room. She stopped on the last floor tile before entering the corridor, realizing that she hadn't drank anything since lunchtime as well. Downstairs, she could hear a lull in the conversation. She figured she had time to get some juice at least, everyone seeming distracted enough to spare another few minutes out of the safety of her room. She was quick to fill a glass with some apple juice, her distracted mind causing her to overfill the cup. Just as she brought the full glass to her lips, a loud bang sounded from down the steps. It made her violently jump, her entire body on edge and ready to flee at a moment's notice. The combination of her jump and the slippery glass caused her to lose her grip, the cup shattering across the tiled floor at her feet.

"Fucking hell," she whispered, hoping whatever had been going on downstairs would cover up her own noise. She shakily bent down, beginning to pick up the shards surrounding her.

She tried her hardest to be careful, the warnings of cutting her fingers ringing through her ears in her mother's voice. Due to her shaking hands, she wouldn't be so lucky. One of the larger shards sliced across her finger, sending a stinging shock through her body. She hissed a swear, quickly discarding of the pieces before examining the cut.

Suddenly, a shift filled the air, the way it does when a person enters an otherwise empty room. (Y/N) looked behind herself, already expecting (and dreading) to see Mr. Styles. Instead she saw an eccentrically dressed blonde man, his eyes trailed over her body and focused in on the hand cradled to her chest. He had the same pale grey eyes as the ominous couple she'd seen before. His, however, held malice and a predatory hunger.

"Aw, did you hurt yourself?" He feigned a mocking pout, arms crossing over his chest as he took a cocky step towards her. (Y/N) spun herself around, fully facing the man. She took a cautionary step back as he drew closer. "Well, aren't you a pretty little thing; not like Harry's usual chew toys."

His voice sunk deeper and deeper as he kept talking, still striding towards her through the kitchen. (Y/N)'s back hit the marble counter of the island, leaving her stuck between the breakfast bar and the man that now looked at her like his next meal. He closed the space between them in one large step, trapping her between his hands on the counter. Her finger continued to bleed, her other hand that held it now slick with the red liquid.

"I can help you with that, you know," he dipped his head, nodding towards her hands, "I won't tell Harry, if you don't."

"No-No thanks. I'm just his housekeeper, I—I'm not even supposed to be out here." She tumbled over her words, stuttering and stumbling through any excuse to get away. "I need to go, but thank you."

She side stepped, hoping he would get the hint and let her leave. His forearm stayed firm like steel, truly caging her in. He let out a humorless chuckle, ducking his head down to be eye level with her.

"Nu-uh, darling, you're gonna stay right here."

The once grey irises that colored his eyes were completely wiped away. No pupil or iris were found on his now blank, white gaze. His skin tone rivaled that of his eyes, draining to a shocking off-white. The veins in his neck turned black, his lips doing the same just as the points of two of his teeth peeked out from under his top lip.

She's sure her terror was painted on her face as he smirked at her. The small amount of attention she was still giving her sliced finger now diminished, her hands falling from her chest and instead bracing herself against the counter behind her. She made one more feeble attempt at escape, trying to duck under his arms and slip away. He breathed a humorless laugh at her attempts, nonchalantly grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her up. He ducked his head down, his face by her neck. His chilling breath swept across her skin, a layer of goosebumps erupting on her skin. Just as (Y/N) let out the most pathetic whimper, her eyes falling closed as she knew she had no way out of whatever this man—this thing—was going to do to her, his body was suddenly pulled away. The trapped feeling that had been crushing her only seconds before disappeared, causing her eyes to snap open to see what had happened. Mr. Styles now stood between her and the blonde man, his back to her. He stood firm, his body seemingly broader and stronger than this morning.

"What do you think you're doing, Magnus?" Mr. Styles addressed the opposing man, his voice deceivingly calm as it dripped with malice. (Y/N) felt a shudder run down her spine at his dominating presence, fearing him although his rage wasn't directed at her (this time anyway).

"C'mon, H, you always let us have turns with your toys. She's bleeding already anyway, I didn't see the harm," the man, Magnus, drawled. His eyes had returned to the grey, and his complexion now a healthy color.

"You bit her?!" Harry's voice boomed, seeming to shake the room under the volume. He took a menacing step towards Magnus.

The blonde man held his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes at his friend's reaction. "Jesus, Harry, calm down. She cut her finger, I was just going to help." He peeked around Harry's shoulder, flashing (Y/N)'s cowering form a pointed smile. "Why do you care, anyway? She's just one of your toys, you've never minded before."

"She's not a toy, Magnus. Leave." He took another step towards him, hands clenched into tight fists beside him. Magnus went to speak again, eyes lingering on (Y/N)'s form. He was quickly caught off by Harry's threatening tone. "Leave!"

He heaved an annoyed sigh and left the room, shooting (Y/N) a look over his shoulder. Something akin to a growl erupted from Harry's chest, tearing through the room as he caught the look as well. Magnus left the room with a chuckle.

Now alone, Mr. Styles slowly spun around to face (Y/N). Both of her hands were decorated in her own blood, but the cut on her finger was long forgotten. His brows furrowed as he examined her shaking form, slowly and deliberately stepping towards her.

"You alright?"

(Y/N) really did try her hardest to focus on his words and come up with an answer. But she couldn't when her vision started to blur and her legs gave out from beneath her.

The last thing she saw before she fell unconscious was Harry's blank, white eyes.

—————

chiaroscuro is a technique that uses intense shades of dark and light to dramatize a painting

hi guys thank u sm for reading!! this one has been in the works since i started posting my last series and i hope its worth the wait!! i havent revealed what exactly it is thats “off” ab harry but im sure u all have ideas and theories and have probably figured it all out anyway ojnfkdjfkdj this whole piece checks in at 60k+ words so there will be a few more parts after this!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if u have any requests, theories, ideas about what’s next please send them here!! 

#writing #harry #harry styles #harry au #harry imagine #harry one shot #harry blurb #harry writing #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #fine line #golden #watermelon sugar #adore you #lights up #cherry #falling #to be so lonely #she #sunflower vol 6 #tpwk #sign of the times #eroda #harry fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry prompt #harry styles prompt #canyon moon

[implodingcacti]

Hi, I worked graveyard at a hotel for 2 years.

Tonight’s my last night. I want to share some stories with you, because this job has been fucking wild.

When I interviewed for the job, my future GM asked if I was a good person (I said yes), complained about the American healthcare system for 30 minutes, and then hired me on the spot. That was my entire interview. He said he trusted me fully because my friend recommended me for the job.

This is the same friend who tried to get me to buy her cigarettes with a school ID because she had left hers at home. Our school IDs were printed on cardstock and laminated by the secretary. I told her it would not work because it looked like a shitty fake ID.

It did not work.

This surprised her.

Also the same friend who had a tan minivan, drove us to Starbucks during an off period in high school, almost crashed because she was smoking, and hit two people’s cars in the parking lot.

Love her.

The first employee I met got into an argument in front of me with her boyfriend. They fought loudly. Afterwards, she asked if I wanted a lollipop.

She got fired like a month afterwards because she took the money from the drawer. This was not the first time she had been fired for this.

I worked with a guy who I’m going to call S. S was a bald white guy who looked like a attorney who couldn’t leave his job. Or a depressed bank manager who’s wife divorced him. He was a very nice man.

I told him this one day on shift change. He thought this was fucking hilarious.

S also used to be a drug dealer. He got busted for selling drugs at this hotel years ago, went to prison, all that shit. My manager hired him after he got out. He thought this story was very funny.

We had a permanent resident named Joe. He was the nicest fucking guy. I chatted with him in the mornings when I set up breakfast. I miss him so much.

He doesn’t live at the hotel any more. This is depressing.

A man threatened to beat me up for flirting with his wife, because he saw us laughing in the lobby. I tried to tell him that I was not interested in his wife, who was 30 years older than me and also not my type. He was still angry.

I texted my manager this. He told me that if the man tried anything, we have, and I quote, “a big ass wrench” next to the safe. He gave me permission to hit the guy with it.

The wrench is, in fact, really fucking big.

A sexline operator called me once, while I was working. This was uncomfortable for me, a very ace then-19 year old. We got into an argument because she claimed I had called her.

Actually just... lots of people liked treating me like phonesex operators. Apparently people’s kinks are listening to room rates. Please do not do this to the people working front desk.

While we’re here, I got invited to a threesome once. The people who invited me? They watched me clock in to do shift change. They asked literal minutes after I clocked in. There is only one person at front desk. They asked after the other guy left.

I declined. For obvious reasons.

The other guy was S, who laughed about it when I told him the next day.

That time that they fired someone and another person left and we were short staffed for a month, so there were two days a week I’d come in at midnight, leave at 6AM, and then come in at noon for another 6 hour shift.

I hated that. Never again.

There was a raid on a hotel across the street. I watched it happen with Joe. He told me shit was wild. I agreed.

My GM would just... text me. At random times of day. To ask how many we had in house.

It was never when I was working.

He was always disappointed that I couldn’t tell him because I wasn’t working.

The time I had to crawl partially under a bed in a smoking room to help a guy get his cat. She was a good cat.

A lady told me a man was outside with a chainsaw and she’d seen him murder someone. Understandably, I was concerned, because she was shaken up and my hearing is godawful. I called the cops, who took things very seriously until she said the chainsaw man had no head in her physical description.

apparently she was on a very bad drugs trip. I learned this the next time I had to call the non-emergency number, because one of the cops from that incident showed up and told me.

A guy died in a room. Normally, you’d think this would be relayed with more urgency. I found about it when I was doing shift change with S. He told me this, and then proceeded to complain about an unrelated room and called them assholes.

The guy’s car was here for 8 months. The company he worked for wanted us to ship the car out to them. We told them they’d have to cover the shipping charge. They refused, and then S got the title to the car.

A guy once threatened to call the cops on me because I told him he couldn’t check into his room 10 hours early without paying an early check in fee. He wanted to call the cops because Expedia said it was 24 hour check in, and it was false advertisement.

He made the mistake of doing this right before I had to head out for a camp. I laughed at him, told him I’d willingly call the cops for him, and that I would love to have them come down.

A scam call once got angry with me because I wouldn’t authorize a purchase.

They pretended to call my manager. I laughed when they did it, because I could hear the phonecall.

My manager had a very particular way of speaking. He was very slow when talking. They did not take this into account.

I told him about this the next shift, of course, and he did not believe me. It was during shift change, luckily, so I did a faux phone call with another coworker, who had worked there for years. Both of them thought it was funny that I had his timing and general tone down.

The scam artists told me I was fired because my manager was, quote, “extremely disappointed in me”. I told them I was glad, because it meant I could go home early.

(My manager told me I wasn’t fired when I told him he had apparently fired me. I asked if he was still disappointed. He laughed.)

When we changed the clock-in system and I had to text our hotel manager whenever I clocked in and out.

A guy tried to tell me that I wasn’t qualified to check him into a room because women are all stupid. I asked him if he wanted to talk to the manager. He said yes, and the manager called him an idiot.

The other time someone told me I wasn’t qualified to check them in because I took too long, and I offered to let her come in and check herself in. Our servers were updating. She declined, because she didn’t work here. I told her she was just going to have to be patient.

Kicked someone out of the hotel once. He came back 30 minutes later to try and re-rent his room. I told him no. He thought I was just joking about him being kicked out.

My GM tried for like 8 months to get me to date another coworker. He made jokes about giving him a raise so he could take me out to dinner.

I do not think my GM knew I was very gay.

The coworker did not take me out to dinner.

The one drunk college student from Germany who I made friends with in the breakfast room, and his significantly less drunk friend.

they both said trans rights, i’m still crying

Drunk men are assholes. Drunk women are godsends.

One night, a lady told me my eyes were pretty, and when I had to help her to the door, she called me gorgeous and said I smelled nice.

her friends were so embarrassed

i forgot how to speak

That same night, a drunk guy said he hated his wife and that he hated me too after calling me an asshole. His wife came in after he said this. I felt bad for her.

Occasionally people would stop at the front desk on their way back from the gas station, and would come bearing gifts of usually drinks. It was always nice.

one time a guy offered me weed brownies

i declined because i was worried about

The guy who stopped at the front desk to ask where the nearest Starbucks was, because his girlfriend wanted a frappuccino, and he was gonna get her one so she could have it in bed.

He came back as I was clocking out.

His girlfriend had dumped him on his way back.

I felt really bad, because this man had peak “dumb of ass but chugs respecting women juice” energy.

Incidentally, I got a free Starbucks frap.

Someone was convinced I was colorblind because I told him that I thought his blue cup was neat.

It was a purple cup.

i did not know how to tell him i was not colorblind, i am just an idiot

Our GM moved to Texas and we didn’t see him for like a year. He was the GM of 2 other hotels. Apparently, he said he was living at all three.

Some dude came into the hotel once night. I tried talking to him. He started signing. I do not know sign, and apologized, and then grabbed a paper to write back and forth with him.

The man made me learn fingerspelling and we instead did this back and forth.

I thought nothing of this, and he came by a few times to chat with me, albeit incredibly slowly.

During shift change, he came in again. I explained to my relief that he only signed. He nodded, and then told me that he had been “healed by a grace act of God, and could now hear and talk.”

He then tried to tell me to come to church to celebrate this miracle.

He told me he was actually fine. He was just choosing to learn ASL and wanted me to participate for the “immersion of it all”, so that I might “find the lord and accept him once more into my heart”.

yes, this was in fact, some white person bullshit

Also in line with white people bullshit, the guy who said he could tell I had a strained relationship with my half-sister but a good relationship with my youngest sister, that my father would recover from the divorce, and that my engagement would be fine. He said it was because I was a Leo cusp, and then said that Kimberly was a good name for me and that I chose well.

i am not a leo. i was born in december

i have no sisters

i have never been engaged

my parents are (somehow) still married

i was wearing a nametag. angeles does not sound or look anything like kimberly

They sold the hotel last year to new owners. Nobody knew until an email got sent out that said we “probably would still have our jobs”.

I argued with my new manager about a raise. He didn’t want to give it to me. I told him he had to, because I was working minimum wage, and the minimum wage had gone up.

the AAA guy who was a real big dick when I asked him to repeat himself and joked about women being bad at jobs.

He asked me if there were any discounts. I refused to give him any, because we had none for him.

He asked if I knew if there was any discount that would make him stop asking me stupid questions. I sighed and said “No, but god I fucking wish there was.”

Tonight, a lady asked me what our beta fish’s name is. I don’t know. She decided to name him Benny, and then asked me to come up with a name. I panicked and said Soap. This was apparently the right answer, because she nodded sagely and said I chose wisely.

#angeles blogs

[fanfic-scribbles]

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Fifteen

Masterlist

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 15: Avoidance

Chapter Summary: The thing about avoiding your problems is that you always have to face them sooner than you think.

Chapter Word Count: 2611

A/N: Slight warnings for a little bit of angsting, and it’s a little light on Steve content (though he eventually appears from afar). Anywho. I wish I could say something cool like ‘enjoy the pining!’ but I have no idea how long I can actually keep them apart considering I have been mushing two dolls together in my head and going ‘now kiss!’ since I started posting. There will be a little pining though. Like, maybe a car air freshener, at least. Enjoy!

    I avoided Steve for the rest of the long weekend. It was easier than it might have been had he not been called in for something. Though we still had texting, he was busy and I didn’t instigate. Even when we did communicate, my responses were short and didn’t leave much for follow up. He probably assumed I needed time to de-socialize, because that was the kind of guy he was, sweet and caring and all good things. Meanwhile, I knew exactly why I was trying not to talk to him, and it stressed me the hell out.

I didn’t want to think about any of it and found my perfect excuse on Monday morning, when a work project made me skip lunch and go into overtime. I immediately texted Steve telling him I’d be busy for a few days and threw myself into work. Unfortunately the project was too time-sensitive and it was done before I even clocked out Tuesday afternoon.

“Okay, this definitely isn’t about money anymore,” my boss said that evening, just when he was packing up. “Do you have a spouse you’re having a fight with?”

“I’m just…looking for stuff to do. To keep me busy.” I didn’t back down when he stared at me. “Just for this week?”

He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “Okay. Lunches and up to one hour after if you spend it working on organizing the junk drive. Make real progress on cleaning that out and I’ll approve the overtime.”

That was two hours of mindless-but-incredibly-draining work that would put me at a worse commute time and make me crawl into bed at the end of the day, and hopefully completely wipe me out on the weekend.

Perfect.

“Thank you!” I said and started to bound out to get started on the one job everybody in my department passed around like it was a beach ball on fire.

“Seriously,” he said and I stopped. He stood there with his bag over his shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”

I almost smiled, but remembered that would be out of character. “I’m fine,” I said and shrugged one shoulder. “Holidays, you know?”

It worked. For the most part. I at least had a plausible excuse to keep Steve off my back, and my boss didn’t press any further, and I made progress on the most mind-numbing task ever embarked upon by an actual human with an actual brain.

The only problem was that it wasn’t numbing enough. As much as I tried to avoid thinking about Steve at all, he was still in my phone, as was Sam, and even Clint and Natasha now too. Pepper wasn’t a very social texter, thankfully, but I kept getting pulled back to Steve in other ways. In the course of three days I: saw a tuft of blonde hair that made me do a double-take, heard his recorded laugh as I passed by someone who didn’t understand the concept of using headphones, and had to listen to a few older ladies gossip about ‘what a man’ he was in unfiltered detail. I even had a dream about some of the things they said because the universe hated me, apparently.

And then there was Steve himself, not texting that much, but always taking the time to send me a little photo every day that was obviously meant to make me laugh. He even sent me the ‘Hang in there’ kitten poster (which made me snort way too loudly in public) along with ‘I dare you to use this for your lockscreen for a month.’

I texted back, ‘What do I get for it?’ before I realized I was breaking my own goddamn rules and smashed my face into my desk.

Steve: Something good ;)

Oh god. Did he know what he was doing? If he did I wished he would have just put me out of my fucking misery already.

Steve: How’s work?

Fuck.

Me: Busy. Me: How’s work? Steve: Almost done Steve: I hope your job lets up this weekend Steve: Sam is coming back with me and we’re hoping you can come out with us

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Me: We’ll see

Work did let up. Unfortunately. I made good progress on organizing the long-forgotten junk drive and my boss repaid me and betrayed me in the same breath.

“I’ll approve the overtime,” he said. “But that’s it for now. You look exhausted and I need you to take the weekend to rest up, okay?”

It was the one and only time I had ever wished to have a bastard boss again. But I was tired, and I didn’t have any excuses. “Okay,” I said and left his office feeling miserable. I got home pretty quick for a Friday night, which just left me more time to think about things I really didn’t want to think about. And there was only one cure for that.

The club was busier than I was used to, busier than it had any right to be with the night just really beginning, but as soon as I got in I made a beeline for the bar and snaked in the first opening I could find. It was loud, and too crowded, and I really wasn’t up for this, but I didn’t know what else to do. So I started drinking.

That was a bad idea. Aside from the ‘using alcohol to try and drown your emotions’ being a baseline fucking awful idea, it also didn’t fucking work.

Couples. They were everywhere. Leaning next to each others’ ears, making out along the wall, dancing together like it was foreplay; they were so all over the place that even the fake ID crowd seemed less obnoxious by comparison.

Except for when a gaggle of party girls yelled right next to me for no real reason and reminded me they really weren't. The music thumped and I winced and turned away from watching the floor to sip my drink at the bar like the true lonely miser I was.

And wasn’t that just the thing.

Loneliness, as a thing in my life, had stopped bothering me after a while– or maybe I had just stopped noticing it– either way, it wasn’t generally a thing I dwelled on. I took for granted that I wasn’t the type anyone would settle in with; I was too…whatever. So for the longest time I had just assumed I’d be on my own and I was okay with it. I knew I could handle it, and figured I and everyone else was better off for it. People came and went, and no one ever stuck around before– not that I ever gave them a real reason to. And if I couldn’t make friendships work, I had no business getting into a relationship. It truly didn’t bother me. Most of the time.

So it figured I would fall for the first person I’d had qualify as ‘friend’ in a while. That thought was slightly concerning, but as long as I didn’t make these feelings Steve’s problem, I could sleep easy at night. For the most part. The question was how to deal with it. Did I continue as normal and bottle this up for the rest of time, hoping it would fade out? Did I continue as normal but let him know, and let him decide if he wanted to stick around?

Or did I just…let go. Did I stop putting in the time to keep this friendship going. Did I stop responding, start avoiding him, and just fade out of his life even easier than I had faded in. That seemed like a real option. I was so naturally good at it, had done it so much by accident, he wouldn’t even miss me. After a while I doubt he would remember I existed.

My mouth tasted sour and bitter and I tossed back my drink. It didn’t help.

~

An hour later I was home, sitting at my kitchen counter and hanging my face over a cup of tea that got colder by the minute. My head still pulsed in time with the beat that had driven me out of the club, but it had become less and less over time.

My phone buzzed. “Shh,” I said softly, but it ignored me and I looked over only to hurt my neck when I did a double-take. Steve had sent three texts. Shit. I sat up and opened my phone directly to my messages. If Steve had gotten injured again I was really going to hurt him.

Fortunately the first message was a simple ‘Hey’ sent soon after I had set out on my ill-advised adventure. The next was ‘Are you busy?’ and then simply my name.

I hesitated. I had the terrible thought that here was where I could start ghosting on out of his life. Fade away like the nonentity I was.

I swallowed and sent back, ‘Sry. Went out’

Steve: Oh Steve: Good :) Steve: How are you? Me: Okay Me: You? Steve: I’m okay

The conversation stalled and I realized why I had even considered ghosting– it was easy to not respond when you didn’t know what to say.

Me: Good Steve: Can I ask you Steve: Are you really okay?

His texts came too fast after mine to be responding to the silence. Fuck.

Me: Yes Me: Why?

I shouldn’t have asked, but I had a bad feeling about this. I tapped my fingers on the table while I waited for a response.

Steve: You haven’t been talking to me much lately Steve: I’m just Steve: worried Steve: Was it Thanksgiving? Steve: Was I inappropriate?

Shit, shit, shit. I hit my forehead on the table which, fucking ow, but I deserved it. I had never intended for him to feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault, nor was it ever supposed to be his problem. It wasn’t right for him to be upset because of my bullshit. So I decided to be honest.

Me: No Me: It’s not you Me: It’s very definitely me Me: I’m mis Me: miserable Me: And awful Steve: You’re not Me: Am too Me: It’s not you tho Me: I’m having a hard time Me: That’s all

Honest to a point, at least.

Steve: I’m sorry Steve: Can I help? Me: No Me: Gotta Me: Push through Steve: Okay Steve: I’m your friend though Steve: You can always come to me Steve: And hey Steve: Sam and I are going out tomorrow for dinner Steve: I’ll text you the details just in case you’re up to it Steve: But I won’t expect anything Steve: Is that okay?

Why did he have to be so fucking thoughtful all the time. Why did he have to be someone so out of my league in every single way.

Me: Fine Me: Can’t promise Steve: That’s okay <3

I was going to straight up murder whoever taught him fucking heart symbols. Preferably by taking their heart.

Steve: Have you eaten yet? Me: Don’t wanna Steve: How about dessert?

‘Only if you’re here to share it,’ I thought. The worst part was that it wasn’t even sexual– I just wanted him here. With me. All of the time. Okay, maybe not all of the time, but most of the time. And that was new. That was different. That scared the hell out of me.

Then there was a knock at my door and I froze up. Nobody had buzzed for me and while my building wasn’t exactly Fort Knox, I also didn’t expect company I didn’t explicitly invite over. I gave it a few seconds but kept my connection to Steve in hand (just in case) and went to the peephole.

Me: Someone knocked. If I don’t respond maybe send help Steve: It’s safe :)

I squinted at the message and then peered out again. I didn’t see him at all and it wasn’t like him to hide. I cautiously opened the door and looked around but there was no one– but there was something.

A bakery box sat in front of my door, with a note scrawled on receipt paper that had my name followed with very flowery bubble letters telling me to “Feel Better!” from a hand-scrawled smiling sunflower.

I stared at it, picked up the box, brought it in, set it on the counter, and stared at it some more.

Steve: Okay now you’ve put that thought into my head I’m a little worried Steve: Are you okay? Me: brb Me: crying into cake Steve: Don’t cry Steve: Or cry if you need to I guess Steve: But eat something too Steve: I’ll say good night here Steve: And text you again with dinner info Steve: Again, only if you want to. Sam and I will NOT be slighted Steve: I promise Me: Good night Steve Steve: Good night <3

“Just fucking end me,” I muttered and stared at the screen while I dug into the cake with a fork. (It was small; I felt no shame.) It was also so unbelievably good that I actually stopped and checked out the box.

Me: Wait, how did you get a cake this late??? Steve: Asking the real questions

I laughed. That surprised me, but I couldn’t help it.

Me: It’s really good Me: Thank you Steve: Anytime

I forced myself to think about this whole…situation…while I ate. Phasing out of his life was, apparently, not much of an option if he was just randomly thinking of me like this. And I knew now very firmly that even accidentally hurting him was not an option. Love was an easy word for complicated emotion, but it was the best way I knew how to classify how deeply I cared for him. And I cared, to the point where if anybody was going to get hurt, I’d rather it be me.

The more I thought about it though, the more I had real hope that maybe nobody would get hurt at all. Steve was a really good guy. So even if he accidentally found out (I knocked on wood at the thought) it wouldn’t be the end of everything. He wouldn’t let it be the end of everything; he would be flattered, reject me politely, and we could move on. I hoped.

And for once, the best-case scenario didn’t seem the least likely. I trusted Steve that much. That was something I didn’t want to look into too much, but to be fair, he also trusted…me. He would know I wasn’t infatuated with some aspect of him and we might even work past this together. If not, he would give me the chance to work past it on my own, and I wasn’t about to let him down.

The box topped off my trash so I pulled the bag together and got ready to make the trek to take it out. Coming out the door I almost ran right into my neighbor, Robert, who was apparently doing the same thing.

“Hey,” he said. I was polite like a real human being and asked after his wife and kids. We made some more small talk on the way, and he even waited to hold the chute open for me. When I lifted the bag, his eyes zeroed in on the box stuffed half in the top. “Oh, that place is nice. You celebrating something?”

“No,” I said and shoved it in. “I…wasn’t feeling so great. So a friend sent it to me.”

“That must be a pretty good friend,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, thinking about Steve and finally feeling hopeful. “A really good friend.”

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert #lunch buddy

[maesterkenobi]

how I run my blog

Tagged by: as usual I’ve stolen it from @mynameisanakin  Tagging: no one, i am too lazy and i follow like 14 people so. just do it if you want to.

SPEED: is not my forte. I try my best, but there are several factors that work against me in this aspect: 1) I’m a chronic procrastinator 2) I’m scatterbrained 3) I have more than one blog 4) I almost never write replies that are less than two paragraphs and I want it to make sense and be good and be enjoyable for my partner, so it takes time. I almost never reply the same day (MAYBE on discord, because there my replies are way shorter and it’s mostly to my best friend), and you’re lucky if I reply within a week. I really try to be faster on this blog because I made a promise to myself (and I was doing okay until the whole virus thing happened and I ran into a bunch of personal problems) AND I am keeping a low profile on this blog so it doesn’t get overwhelming. Long story short, if you are looking for a super active daily replies partner, I am not it for you. If you’re okay with waiting for a while but getting more developed stories and longer replies in turn, then we should talk :)

REPLIES: Are on the longer side on this blog. I don’t really have the patience for one liners because they tend to go nowhere and then feel like bread crumbs of randomness all over my blog. They’re okay sometimes, but more often than not they feel like crack. Writing replies is really exhausting for me sometimes, but I try to force myself because I WANT to do it, I’m just having issues concentrating on one thing at a time so it takes me forever.

STARTERS: I don’t write welcoming starters because 8 out of 10 times they get ignored or are so random that they lead nowhere. If someone writes me a welcoming starter, it depends on the content but usually I’ll try to make it work for me and reply. I don’t often like starter calls because most people write absolutely pointless starters. For example they’ll write a paragraph of explaining what their muse did all day (unrelated to my muse), then walk into some random place they’ve never been to (e.g. a shady bar) and suddenly get surprised by my muse being there, and/or, my personal favorite, say something like “what the hell do you want from me”? Which I struggle with for several reasons. One, if you create a setting but don’t bother explaining why we’re there, you put the entire weight of explaining that (aka creating the actual setting) on ME, but you add an additional complication by making it something that I didn’t come up with, so now I have to introduce a world YOU invented with 0 idea of why you chose that particular location in the first place. Second, you put my muse in a situation that makes no sense for them and again force me to explain that, without even giving me a good reason to. And third, I play very different muses, but most of them are going to lose interest in the conversation immediately if the first thing you say to them is rude af. So, yeah, I actually really struggle with most random starters. Please just plot with me and then I will love you forever for writing me a plotted starter that I know will not create 400 questions in my head that I then have to bother you with, which makes me feel like a nuisance. (Or at least keep the setting neutral? Or try to come up with something that seems reasonable for my muse? I always try to do that and when I am unsure, I message the person who liked my starter calls.) Speaking of which, I rarely post starter calls, because.. well, like I just kind of explained, it’s comes with responsibility and work. And I’m lazy.

INBOX: is open for memes at all times, and questions of any kind. I often don’t get notified, so I sometimes see certain messages months later - when that happens, I usually don’t reply anymore if they’re anon because I’ll assume that person forgot or isn’t even around anymore. Sorry about that! It’s an issue I’ve had on several blogs and I don’t know how to fix it. Anon hate is deleted without comment, unless I feel there’s a point in replying to it publicly, or if it’s entertaining. I don’t roleplay via inbox and therefore any “ic” questions or interactions posted in there will be treated as a one-time meme, if I can reply to them at all. Asks of sexual nature from complete strangers will usually be ignored because Obi-Wan isn’t the muse for that at all. As I’ve stated in my rules I only roleplay with mutuals and therefore won’t roleplay with someone I don’t follow, even if they ignore that rule and start rping with me via inbox. I don’t mean to be dismissive, but I have these rules for a reason and I ask that people read and respect them.

SELECTIVITY: I am selective with whom I follow because I have limited time and energy for this blog (and all my blogs) and therefore find it irresponsible and pointless to accept 600 followers and threads when I know I can’t possibly reply to even 10% of them. Before I follow someone (back) I look at their blogs; in particular at their writing (to see if I like their style and their portrayal), their rules (to see what they like/dislike and if our general understanding of the RPC, roleplay, and in a way social interactions in general go well together), and sometimes their OOC posts to get a feeling of how the other person is. (Obviously I also sometimes don’t follow back when I don’t know the muse or fandom at all.) Blog rules and ooc posts can say A LOT about a person, and there are plenty of people in the RPC (in any fandom) that quickly rose to tumblr fame with shiny graphics and fancy formatting and dozens of well-developed verses and headcanons, but they straight up suck as people outside of writing. My rules state very clearly that I discourage hateful comments, mob mentality and callout culture, and unfortunately many “popular” blogs use exactly these tools to execute their power (which comes from being admired for all the wrong reasons). So, I know many people think being selective means you only pick partners with fancy graphics and poetic writing, but for me it actually means I want decent human beings as partners. I don’t give a shit if you format your posts (as long as you cut them) or if you have a blog with a fancy theme, or just a rules google doc, or if you use icons or not. If I like your writing and you seem like a nice and reasonable person, I’m good to go. If you talk to me about dogs I’m even better to go.

WISHLIST: I always try to have one because I find it very helpful when looking for plot ideas with new partners. I will look at yours if you like a plotting call or something too, but I know not everyone has a wishlist~

HONEST NOTE: I’m not a teenager anymore and I’ve been rping for over 14 years. I work with lots of strangers, I study for a job with lots of strangers. I think about philosophical concepts a lot, about morality and human behavior and I’ve come to the conclusion that kindness, empathy and compassion are some of the core values every single person should focus on to make the world a better place. I have no patience and no interest in engaging in the absolute toxic and harmful hate movement that’s taken over this website (and other social media platforms) in whatsoever way. Occasionally I’ll make a salty comment about it, but only because I’ve had it up to here. I am here to enjoy fandom the way I used to, and the way it used to be meant to be enjoyed - not to completely ignore real issues like world politics, economical and environmental crises, in order to entertain witch hunts on people who happen to enjoy a fictional ship that isn’t 300% approved by puritan statutes of the 1600s. I am responsible for the content I seek out online, and so are you. Does it suck when I see something I dislike? Sure. Is it the fault of the person who posted it? No. Especially not when I read their rules first, like I’m supposed to, and they clearly state that the thing I dislike will appear on their blog. And even if they didn’t, it was my choice to go on their blog and look at their content. If you can’t handle taking responsibility for the content you seek out online, then you are probably not old enough to use the internet unsupervised. I am free to write, read, and post on my personal blog whatever I want, as long as I am not breaking the law. Liking a fictional ship that involves an age gap? Not illegal. Liking a fictional ship that involves siblings? Not illegal. Liking a fictional ship in which one party was abusive to the other at some point? Not illegal. Liking a fictional character who killed your fave? Not illegal. It’s fictional. Get over it. And if you really think that seeing fictional characters or ships online that YOU consider “problematic” is hurting people in real life, then you should join those politicians who burn books that are “corrupting the people’s morals and minds”, who ban video games because they “make gamers violent”, and censor songs from the radio because they “present biased views on people of public importance”. Please reflect on your behavior. Destroying someone’s life because they liked something you don’t, telling them to commit suic/ide, ruining their chance of making friends who maybe share their love for a ship or character.. that’s bullying. Some of the cases I’ve seen on here were so severe, they qualify as serious cyberbullying and should be reported to the police. I don’t give a fuck if you hate Rey/lo or Damon Salva/tore, or the Joker. You don’t go and send someone messages telling them to kill themselves because they RP it. Because that is the real crime. And finally, if you feel the need to “educate” someone you consider “problematic” for whatever reason and you actually approach them - make sure you’re actually there to educate and discuss, not to throw an opinion at them and get aggressive when they don’t immediately magically agree. Because chances are they won’t. If you choose to open a dialogue, make sure it IS a fucking dialogue and not a condescending monologue. Learn how to shape an argument, find evidence to back up your claims - because not only will you become better at talking to people in any kind of situation, you’ll also maybe realize that your opinion wasn’t as well-founded as you thought.

#.tag game #.munday #.ooc

[nerdy-teddy]

TMI: Welcome to my mind: part whatever

So no one probably wants to read this, and I’m not sure if it will make any sense, but I’m still probably going to word vomit onto this post just to get some things out of my head and hopefully by identifying issues will help me some how. So if you are curious i will have it below a break. If you are not, thanks for stopping by.

Okay so starting is always the hardest so I will just pick an issue I guess. Lets start with a physical issue cause why not. For the last few weeks my right side lover/mid back it painful as hell when I wake up, I mean to the point I can barely stand. Like I have had some issues in the past I always associated it with my weight and just putting too much strain on it. I though maybe it was the my sleeping position so i switched it up last night and it was just as bad if not worse. Now this pain does not stay once I get going in my day, i mean the 800mg of IBuprofen and sitting for 15-30 minutes and I good to go. Now this wouldn't bother me if I was my old weight but I’m not and its pissing me off that it is now worse than when I was my heaviest.

To make the back pain thing worse Is I’m currently only 2 - 6 hours of sleep a night, which is fine I am functioning fine and am not tiered during the day. It’s more that I’m waking up between 2:30 and 3:30 am. Normally I would just roll over and go to bed, or maybe if i felt the need take a leak. That’s where the back pain fucks me for making that choice. Even if i just stay in bed I cant get to sleep, i just end up staring at the back of my eye lids for 2 - 3 hours before I give up and start my day. I could blame the new medication I have been put on for the whole depression/anxiety issue (we will get to that pit soon enough) but they gave me some pills to deal with the possibility of insomnia that the drugs could cause. However even if i take the recommended dosage the same patter is there, go to bed 10-11 and awake by 3 or earlier.

So then there is the whole jobless issue that I brought upon myself in hopes fate would be nice to me and give me a break for once. I was very wrong 5 months unemployed and I am starting to lose hope. Every time I think back on why I left my place I know I did the right thing, I was utterly miserable and not getting paid enough or at all for the work I was doing. However I still feel like I fucked up and have no one to blame but myself for not hanging a 100% solid lead upon quitting. I have a couple “Oh you’re a great fit” and “you seem to have all the experience we are looking for” that just turned to “Thank you for you interest we are going with another candidate”. Like fuck off folks, just tell me during the interview if I have no chance, Ill move on and not live in an anxiety strained situation for 2-3 weeks while I wait to hear. It’s getting to the point that I don’t think I’m hireable any more. I apply for openings, make a custom cover letter for each, talk to recruiters who tell me I’m a great candidate for X position, and never hear back. Like how badly did I fuck up? It’s not like I’m too picky on where I end up, If i have to pay my own relocation costs I am a little more particular about the position and where it is. But I’ve applied for jobs I am more than qualified for in CA, OR, WA, ID, AZ, TX, and OK. Every day this is on my mind, every day I work though openings and applications, every day the process breaks me a little more.

So I guess that opens up well to the big issues that are eating away at me. The thing that I have been ignoring for years and years that I finally decided to confront and acknowledge this year, my depression and anxiety. Now the depression front started to form when I was in my last year of University, and I know why it started, I was worried I would not be able to find a job in the field i spent the last 6.5 years getting. It turns out it was not unfounded, it took me about a year and a half to get a job offer, it was not great, it used nearly non of my schooling but I was desperate at that point. (a bit like I am now) and for the next 6 years I was constantly employed so I kinda ignored the shadow that was forming in my head. Then there is the anxiety, or more specifically my massive social anxiety that has successful prevented me from making any new friends in real life, and have lost contact with all but one of the friends I did have and I’m pretty sure I’m barely holding on to him at this point with how many times I have bailed on events. And this fucking social anxiety is making me scared to apply to jobs that would actually require me to have responsibilities so instead I apply to entry level spots that would allow me to simply work on my own with minimal people interaction. It stops me from doing so many things, and because I am not pursuing those dreams and aspiration I feel guilty and broken. This isn’t to say I am not trying to get help, I have told me GP about this, tried a few medications with little success, I have had an initial meeting with a psychiatrist who has me on new medication that I will give the whole month in hope it does something. I’m waiting to hear back from my insurance about cost/approval for one on one therapy sessions, which I really would like just to talk things out and be told WTF is actually wrong with me.

Now I am grateful I am not suicidal, I can’t imagine how much worse it is for those who have had those thoughts, the pain they must be in scares me for knowing where I am at. That is not to say I am good by any means, waking with dread about what bad news I will receive today, what plans will go wrong, what things I will screw up today, what little thing will drive me to tears is very tiring and draining, yet I put on the “I’m fine” and “everything is okay” face so no one worries. The last thing I ever want to do is push my issues onto another. My burdens are mine to bear, and yet I go out of my way to make others lives easier and make sure I help them anyway I can.

I don’t know where I was going with this and I don’t know if this makes sense or if anyone will ever get this far but if you do, thanks and I’m sorry. I should say that I don’t have many followers and even fewer who i think notice my posts. TO those who do thank you, to those who have reached out to me in these past 6 months thank you from the bottom of my heart, you have, knowing or not, helped me out of some dark holes. I’m sorry if I’m difficult to deal with at times and can’t seem to accept your kindness or accept that I’m worthy of anyone's time. Thank you for giving a damn about my pathetic ass, I can never repay you all properly.

#TMI #why do i do these? #I'm broken #As I write it get harder to not break down #WTF am i doing? #sorry #only cried a little while writing this #my fucked up head #sadness #life #depression #starting to give up #i got off track somewhere

[murcidea]

aight under the cut is my notes i took, I wrote down all of sugimuras lines in the game Sans the shadow sugimura as that was a cognition of okumuras and added commentary about how i take them. so. here. under the cut. if you dont know what these events are then sorry man. its in order, the first meething with him, the confidant where u meet him, and then in that one cutscene where every1 thinks akira is dead.

you made me look everywhere for you... 

(genuinely annoyed. where the fuck was she? he has obligations to spend time with her and would rather not waste it searching for a person he already dislikes.)

What were you doing somewhere without reception? Out late with guys--Thats it. Isn't it? 

(he doesnt think she was at all. He knows her too well. In his eyes shes a prudish little girl, theres no way she was doing  that. hes being a bitch to make her upset. he wants her to hate him. maybe this will be what finally pushes her over the edge and makes her ask her dad call it off. he has no clue that kunikazu is so awful that he would allow her to be literally abused. he thinks hes better than his own father at teh very least becuase shes so gentle. he must be kind to her unlike his dad.)

C'mon, let me have some fun too, will ya? 

(in the off chance he would never have agreed to go through with it. he doesnt want to fuck her. hes not that depraved, hes more into actual adults than highschool girls. sure shes legal but good lord no thanks. he would probably just call her a slut and laugh at her for thinking he wanted her.)

Can't you do that for me?

(same as above, hes just trying to scare her.)

//gasp// What the-- Goddamn cat! Will you shut up you stupid cat?

(under normal circumstances he would not have kicked a cat at all but he was genuinely scared. Hes a jumpy person by nature and morgana scared the fuck out of him. when he told the cat to shut up it was more him paniced. He was thinking more along the lines of "please be quiet while i think about what to do oh dear god i hope its not hurt but im so fucking mad." hes got irrational anger issues. he would go home later and regret it so badly he adopts a cat to make up for all hes done to the one (morgana) he kicked earlier.)

Sorry about the disturbance. It's just a... lovers quarrel with my fiance. 

(saving face. His father is cruel and making him look bad would get him great punishment from his father. He doesnt want to have to fist fight or anything. god that would suck.)

How dare you make a fool of me. i'll be telling your father about this too. I won't forget your faces. 

(he realizes theres no point in saving face now. theyre cunty little teenagers. he hates them as his nights already been bad enough. theyre on the shit list and he hopes they go fuck themselves. even then he doesnt hate them 100% id say its about 55%, hes not truthfully a hateful person, mostly apathetic.)

----

Haru? I was just heading home from a business engagement when i saw you from my car window.

(he wanted to see her as he saw the opproutunity to harass her about hanging out with akira. no other reason.)

Hm? Do I know you from somewhere? .....!

Youre one of those brats from before... 

( He knew this from the get go, hes just a very good actor.)

...Hold on, Haru. You think you can go on a date with another man and leave your fiance in the dust?  

(he couldnt care less, hes got an obligation to be sure she doesnt make them look bad however. as much as he hates to interfere hes gotta be sure she doesnt ruin either his or her reputation. this is all to upset her but also an obligation to be sure shes not fucking up.)

Oh yeah? And what about the contract I made with your father? Are you sure about that? Think about the reparations clause. If you back out of the deal now, you will lose everything you own. Okumura Foods, your estate... And what about your employees? Are you really willing to put their jobs on the line for the sake of your selfishness?

(it was his fathers idea to say these things if it ever came up, hes going along with it out of obligation. a bit afraid to go against his intentions as he can easily cut yutaka out of the family and their money.)

Besides this marriage is exactly what Okumura Foods needs right now. My father would have no trouble managing your shares or sweeping away your company's tarnished image.

(ah this line. exactly what made me think that perhaps sugimura is not as evil as he seems. theres someone behind him pulling the strings. he doesnt say he will fix it, no, its his father. hes just a playing peice in his fathers plan, not unlike haru.)

That reminds me, did Takakura-san tell you about the wedding hall? He got us the Phoenix wing at the Wilton. He made a provisional reservation for ten days this coming spring. After all, The sooner the better. We'll have to look into our guests' schedules as well. There'll be over three hundred of them, you know.

(yeah he wants it the fuck over with. he doesnt want to marry her at all no. but he thinks making the deadline closer will make her more likely to panic and drop out of this arrangement all together. he knows she must hate him. he hopes she pulls out.)

Takakura-san can handle Okumura Foods in the meantime. Why don't You go stop by the gym or something, Haru? I mean, if you have time to mess around with this punk, you damn well have time to get a little thinner.  

(straight up hes being a rude ass he loves thicc bitches.)

I'm out of here.

-----

I believe your father can rest in peace now. That phantom thief could never have changed anything. Only a handful of people are qualified to alter the world.

(he says this very pompously but its actually the result of him watching powerful people stand by while he's suffered his whole life. He doubts that the phantom thieves are even really doing anything worthwhile. not like they can help everyone. he hates the false home he thinks they're giving people.)

So you've been coming home late. Thats what I've heard. I make a good playmate, you know.

(obligatory creepiness as she STILL hasn't called off their arrangement god DAMN IT PLEASE HARU. he does talk like this for real with people hes into tho. ngl.)

#about #long post #god i hope this doesnt show up in any tags anywhere dear lord

[gemurucorn-blog]

It's very possible

It's very possible, but if they do no one has ever said it to my face. I used to be in porn production for big companies, and that was probably the only time I experienced negativity. I told a guy about what I do and he was like I don't agree with porn. These women are being forced to do something they don't want to do. It's degrading. He did bring up some good points but I argued that it was the same as any office job. Your boss is going to fuck you over or you don't get paid, right? It's the same. At least with webcamming, I work for myself and I can choose how much I earned, and if nobody wanted to pay me that [amount], they wouldn't come to me.Basically you get to be your sex-positive self to your full potential.Sometimes self-­regulation regarding finances is the best option for some people: Ive been treated better and more fairly as a Cam Girl and nude model than I was in my last retail job where I, no word of a lie, got fired for looking sad. Yet despite how much control one can have over their career as a Cam Girl there are certainly discrepancies within the industry, including safety issues and issues of future employability, as well as what is considered a fair payment and no guarantee on a basic minimum wage for hours put in. It leaves a lot up to chance.The first time I went private with a guy I freaked the fuck out. All he wrote was get naked. And so far all Id done in a chat room was flash my boobs for an influx of tokens. I froze up in stage ­fright and closed the room. In my group chat I wrote: Sorry, cam froze. And I logged off for the night.

Her conditions at the next studio were bare at best, and at times the most personal privacy she had, while performing for strangers on live camera, were a few hanging sheets separating her from the others walking in and out of some rundown flat. Although she was the frequent victim of what would certainly qualify as flagrant, physical sexual harassment in any other business, Anna stuck through it, priding herself on her ability to talk a path out of a "bad situation" with male employers.As with most sex work, webcamming doesn’t have the best reputation. It’s often seen as exploitation or a last-resort hustle to pay off debt, but Reed Amber, 26, explains how webcam models are just your average self-employed freelancers with the same amount of agency and independence as anyone else.She started in the German porn game at 17, and moved on to cam modelling years later in Bangkok. Two years ago she was the number one rated model on MyFreeCams — meaning her link was at the very top of the site's barren layout — bringing in around $US37,000 per month. These days, girls in those top slots can earn up to an insane $US75,000 per month. The competition is cutthroat. The MFC ratings battle is ruthless, as tips beget more tips: if you're being paid well, you move up the totem pole, ensuring a snowball effect of even more attention and money.One thing that I admittedly dont have control over, proven by the phone conversation that spurred me to write this piece, is the judgment that others will cast on my when they know that I do for money. Even those who know that as well as dancing, I am a student and hold a day job in retail. Its a shame that women are continuously told not to express themselves for fear of judgment and labeling. Why are we told that there are good girls and there are whores? In my life, I want to embrace every aspect that comes with being a woman. I want to be sexy and intelligent. I want to be passionate and headstrong but I want others to know that I feel too.

On her end, the website looks like this. This is where she sits and waits. (Click to expand)Domino has it pretty good — an American with ample property and a cushy career based on sex she enjoys. Not everyone is Domino.But if you don't have this luxury — like a lot of girls across the world — you'll likely work for a "studio". That's basically a euphemism for another person's computer (probably a man), in front of which you'll perform on a tight schedule. You're still working through, say, MyFreeCams, but instead of only giving MFC a cut of your take, the studio owner takes a piece as well. Often a large one. If you don't stick to your mandatory hours, you'll be fired. You'll also be potentially living with strangers in conditions beneath the grimiest motel.Unlike many who work in the sex industry, Sandy Bell does not worry about her own security. CONTINUED BELOW...

[sawthefaeriequeen]

Top Ten Books Read In 2018

1) The Last Summer of the Death Warriors by Francisco X. Stork

I picked this up at a book fair, read the summary, and figured I'd surprise myself with this author I'd never heard of before. It's about the friendship between DQ, a guy with terminal cancer dealing with his complicated feelings for his estranged-but-conciliatory family, and Pancho, a guy who's biding his time until he can get revenge on the person who's killed one of his family members. I like that both boys are raw and real and people—Pancho obviously has messed up emotions, but DQ can be plenty bitter and angry too: he's not an Inspirational Cancer Patient stereotype.

2) The Sherwood Ring by Elizabeth Marie Pope

Girl moves into her uncle's old ancestral house sometime during the 18th century and gets immersed into the past lives and loves of the ghosts that thrived there during the days of the Revolutionary War, their paths often crossing each other's. I swear I have never seen more delightful ghost characters in my entire life.

3) The Unbound by V.E. Schwab

So by the time I'd picked this up, I was having mixed feelings about V.E. Schwab – on one hand, she'd always written worlds that engage me almost instantly with their creativity. On the other hand, I'd just recently been horribly disappointed by the ending to what's been her most popular series so far: I thought her final Shades of Magic book did a most spectacular job on dropping the balls on everything good about it. Up to reading it, I'd thought the author's hype was deserved. But after, well…

So when I picked this up, it was with much trepidation. I'd loved the previous book, The Archived: the big old house setting, the grim closed-off girl/sweet sunny boy dynamic the lonesome warrior setup, all were like catnip to my id. I didn't want it ruined by a bad sequel. Fortunately, this book took everything I loved about the book and turned it up to eleven. It upped the stakes, it intensified the relationships, and it also added a mental illness angle that I personally found very meaningful.

The author is still kiiinda on notice so I'm not sure I want a third book. If there is one, dear God, please be good. *crosses fingers*

4) Turtles All The Way Down by John Green

I remember thinking, as I was reading this: this is really, really working for me but will it work for someone neurotypical? 2018 was hell and I was just so desperate for the people in my life to get it, and so I kept hopping on trains of thought like this.

Anyway, this book was spot on in what goes on in the wirings of my anxious brain. Green's usual turns of phrase took an incredibly frenetic turn at times, which, I know, is exactly what it's like to have a mental illness. This is not a book about "this is what to do" it's about how it IS or how it can GET.

I'm still really grateful for that quote about the spiral – how it tightens, but also how it eternally widens. When I first saw the cover, I thought it was kind of blah; now I look at that spiral and see something different. I see the hope of creating a new 'normal'.

5) The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

This was so readable it surprised me. I thought I'd go slow on it because: war story where it's a foregone conclusion that it ends tragically for the leads? Yeah, I'm not in a rush to reach the end of that. But I blazed right through this book. There's something really addictive about Madeline Miller's storytelling and how she brings her characters together and follows their blossomings and downfalls through the years. And then, the course of the Iliad and the inevitable sadness for Achilles, Patroclus, and Briseis was more like the slow turning of the tide rather than getting hit with a tidal wave. Anyway, not only was it readable but I'm finding myself eager to re-read it.

6 ) The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley

Part of my Read Everything Robin McKinley Writes mission that began last year. I'd liked the sheer escapism and the desert setting in The Blue Sword, but that whole white savior thing kinda put me off from enjoying Harry and the book more fully than I would've liked.

It was not so for this book, thankfully! Who knew that reading about the nitty-gritty of slaying big scaly beasts could be so satisfying? That's classic Robin McKinley, as I'm learning – you love what the protag loves. And then I really dug how the dead dragon's ghost haunting Aerin acts as a metaphor for mental illness.

(As I continue to wrestle with my diagnosis, I continually appreciate all the depression/anxiety metaphors I encounter in media. Maybe one day I'll make a post about it) AND ALSO: a love triangle that's actually well done and that serves our heroine's identity and character rather than taking away from it? Yes. Yes, thank you.

7) A Certain Slant of Light by Laura Whitcomb

Yeah so, this book killed me. It's about two twenty-something ghosts with unfinished business who find themselves in the bodies of two teenagers whose souls appear to have completely vacated theirs. They find themselves falling for each other and trying to find out what happened to their 'hosts' and what went on in their past lives. They also find themselves battling to survive the hostile home lives that their 'hosts' left behind. It's all very beautiful and kind of twisted and also a love letter to words and probably my most unexpected book of the year. And I have NO idea to rec it to people. "Read this, it's kind of fucked up but gorgeous but also can get triggery so step warily?" Uh.

8) Deerskin by Robin McKinley

See warnings above. Oh God. But really, I totally respect Robin McKinley for going full-out faithful to how utterly fucked up fairy tales can be while still creating a survival story. I'm not just talking about Lissar surviving spoilers incestual rape and miscarriage (indeed, I'm not qualified to talk about it) but how hers is a story of healing: by surviving the elements, by nursing living things back into life, by building herself up into a legend without even knowing it.

9) Muse of Nightmares by Laini Taylor

Just an incredibly satisfying ending to a duology that at the same time echoes that quote from Michael Ende's The Neverending Story: "but that is another story and shall be told another time." I love when something ends with that sense of: "there are even more stories and adventures for our beloved characters out there than you can possibly fathom, and you are now free to make up them yourself."

10) Autoboyography by Christina Lauren

I was intrigued by the premise: a half-Jewish guy and a Mormon guy fall for each other over the course of a writing class. And upon starting it, I could tell straight (heh, straight) away that it was going to be a favorite. It's an unabashedly kilig romance about falling for the wonderfulness in each other,and both mains are fucking adorable, and made me want to give them both a ton of hugs. Oh, and this book further reinforced my belief that the key to first-person writing is having a good voice.

Another thing is, I basically never see YA books that deal with growing up in a religion and actually-loving it and having it be an inextricable part of your identity… and then having to deal with the darker, prejudiced sides that you really wish would be excised from it altogether especially if they are opposed to who you are. To deal with it sensitively and touchingly, not only in a YA book but in an m/m romance? Well done.

honorable mention!

-The Secret History by Donna Tartt

I was reading this on the bus on the way home to the province for Christmas and I could not stop laughing and I had no idea to explain to my very curious sister that it was because half the protagonists were high as a kite at the funeral of the friend that they all killed and one of them had just very noisily killed a bee in the church vestibule and it made the loudest sound on the planet and they're all gonna have to ~aesthetically grieve and pallbear now even though THEY killed their friend and w o w it's like Nuwanda from Dead Poets Society was cloned five times.

Sometimes "pretentious people murder someone and somehow it is hilarious" is just exactly my cup of tea.

and a couple of series binges!

Almost 10 years ago (god, what the hell), I had a "YA Paranormal Romances I Might Actually Like" list, and the two trilogies below were on it. There's something gratifying about finally crossing off books on your TBR that have been there for ages:

-The Shade Trilogy by Jeri Smith-Ready (Shade, Shift, Shine) This series came out on the tail of the Great YA Paranormal Romance boom and I really wish I'd picked it up then (I also really wish some of the covers it got weren't so damn off-putting. It's like Animorphs all over again) because it's such cut above so many of the books that were being churned out in those days.

The premise is: what if there was a global paranormal event that left the portion of the population born after a certain year with the ability to see ghosts? I really like that the author thought this out thoroughly – it's not just a oooh spooky ghosties gimmick. Everything is affected: the educational system, the police force, politics, technology, travel, you name it.

The heroine was smart and truth-seeking and had nuancedrelationships with lots of female characters (bff, mentor, aunt who raised her, mom who died… ), the Betty love interest was a total sweetheart who also didn't seem too good to be true and who was capable of making major teenage fuck-ups, and the Veronica love interest was a rock-and-roll ghost who had the post-life character arc that I sadly wish Maggie Stiefvater had given Noah Czerny. I kind of loved them all a lot and one of the reasons I wish I'd read these books as they came out was so I could've been un-jaded just a little bit about Those Pesky Love Triangles.

(Someday I…really ought to make an analysis about why I dislike love triangles in general and what exactly was up with the ones that DID work for me.)

-Wolves of Mercy Falls trilogy by Maggie Stiefvater

I read the whole series toward the year's end. It was precisely the cold-weather binge I was craving. I may have my quarrels with some of her writing decision, but really few people can do atmospheric, poetic writing the way Maggie Stiefvater does. The romances were a bit too YA for me in this one, but I ended up really sympathizing with every single POV character anyway. And I mean, cold and poetry and family and books and wolves-as-family*.

(*One day, I'll have the emotional armor to watch Wolf's Rain again. )

#personal #text post #cross posted #the written word

[thebritishblabbermouth]

Jungkook Fanfiction- BTS Mafia AU

Heyya :))

@atricksterwithwings requested a beautiful BTS mafia au, and I loved writing this for her. I’ve split it into three parts. Scroll down for the first and for the link to the latter. 

A/N: I’ve mentioned Zhang Yixing in this fanfiction aside from the other BTS members. Its totally okay if you dont know who he is...although you probably do, he’s like such a popular sheep ;) Find information about him here . 

Tell me your thoughts on this fanfic, Id love to receive any sort of feedback on my work and I totally think that likes and reblogs are recognition too :) Have fun reading, I know I really enjoyed writing this :) Its like 12 pages long on a word doc...idek anymore xP Jungkook is gorgeous. :) 

Also...there is cursing in this, mention of the mafia from different nationalities and part two and three are rated M (its smutty xP) Reader discretion is advised if any of these things bother you. 

Lots of love :) <3 - Enjoy :)  

PART 2

PART 3 (final)

1.

Jeon Jungkook stood at the 77th floor of Euphoria, the headquarters to the largest crime syndicate east of the Pacific Ocean. The height was dizzying for most, but not for him.

Jungkook had no fears; or so was assumed.

The man himself, was built at an impressive 6 feet and constituted of raw muscle, protein and a rather cynical approach towards life. Outwardly, the leader of the most legal crime syndicate was cold, intimidating and the type to burn you to ashes with a glare from his heated eyes.

Inwardly, he was exactly the same.

He was well aware of the effect he had on his employees, men and women who knew exactly of his affiliation with the Japanese Yazuka and the Italian Camorra yet pined to work under Jeon, the sheer power of his company bringing everyone to their knees with respect.

Euphoria was a giant.

It had dealings with government run telemarketing firms, banks, real estate agencies, alongside finance and technology markets. An easy way to convert money earned through extortion, gambling and trafficking to its pure and pristine form. The corrupt politicians whose elections he had funded didn’t complain. No one cared where the money came from and no one dared to ask otherwise. The cause of the founder’s formidable aura wasn’t a secret. Everyone knew how he had been tortured by his father, abandoned on the streets by a mother who seemed to love Heroin more than her own son. The story had been plastered all over the internet, and Jungkook would never deny reading through its many exaggerated versions. They were entertaining and did well to remind himself about how important money and power were, without those weapons, he too would be sitting in a room, writing about a life that belonged to someone else.

Materialism was reality and wealth- it’s currency.

~~~~~~~~~~~

‘’Sir, your coffee…’’ you said, walking through the office doors, a skip in your stride. There was no knock. No hint of awkwardness, no aspect of fear in the way she spoke. If anything there was the undertone of coercion, almost coaxing the man to leave his billion dollar thoughts in the gutter and focus solely on the warm drink.

Your playful extortion had worked, he was focused. Just not on the coffee.

Three months ago, Euphoria had issued an internal opportunity- PA to Jeon Jungkook. The post received 3 applications from his 20,000 employees. Min Yoongi, his chief of finance and operations took to appointing the least qualified of the bunch, a woman- aged a mere 22 years. The pitch to his ever frightening boss had been simple. ‘’You’ve let down 30 men in the last 6 months. I am done handling my job as well your shit. Those Harvard lunatics are too busy tending to their stupid resumes and I don’t have time for the garbage they throw at me when you fire their sorry arses. You’re settling with the woman, she’s got sick parents to feed- she won’t give a damn for ego as long as you pay her on time.’’

Jungkook could only snarl at the curses, the audacity of the man to speak in the way he did. Anyone else and they’d be lying in a pool of their own blood within seconds of the first word spoken against him. But Min Yoongi couldn’t be touched and this was a fact.

Jeon Jungkook was putty in the hands of his elder brother.

Today, he sent thanks to his sibling, for his aggressive outburst and daunting approach. You were priceless and the best decision ever- professionally of course.

He gave no reply to your request, not even a glance spared in your direction as your placed the drink onto his desk. There were just a series of footsteps, the man walking over to his maple work table, ready to do as he was told.

You had no idea of the prerogatives you held, and at that point, neither did him. The slight tease in your voice had mellowed down completely- replaced with the air of innocence and obeisance. Jungkook groaned at the sight. 

‘’So I was thinking…it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow…and well…’’ you said... Shuffling your buckled black heels.

‘’You aren’t leaving early.’’

His abrupt command had no thought behind it. Other than the fact he couldn’t let you out of his sight for more than a few hours, often paging you unnecessarily just to make you think of him.

He doubted you ever would if he didn’t.

‘’I am not…my parents are flying in tomorrow…it’s a small get together at my place with a few colleagues. I figured since you didn’t have anything planned…you could join us?’’  

Your apprehensive feet clicked across the hardwood with anticipation, the weightlessness behind your request holding the air in a trance.

‘’You’re my personal assistant, not event manager. You do not handle my private affairs so don’t think for a second that I care about your stupid Christmas dinner or the family I saved from crumbling.’’

It wasn’t what he had intended to say. Rather, his mind had flourished a thought he needed to keep locked away. He wanted to tell you that he’d love to join your family, share potato salad and amusing anecdotes across the table... All the while pressing his hand into your thigh- a subtle promise of sinful satisfaction later that night. But he wouldn’t dare to voice his feelings. You didn’t need to get involved with his shit, the scars that graced his back or the life full of gluttony and gambles he had chosen to lead. It was compulsion, to remind you every second of every day that the apartment which he bestowed upon you just 3 floors below his office- was a gracious boon, a gift given to improve your petty life. You had to be reminded of your father and how had been released from Jail after almost overdosing on the crack he had envisioned to peddle. Jeon Jungkook had to remind you of how ugly your tear stained face looked as you begged on your knees- begged for him to save your family.

There was simply no other way.

If you weren’t reminded, you’d crawl your way into his heart and sit there- encasing it completely.

He was just a damned moth to your flame.

‘’I know…and I am trying…I am trying to repay you. Please. Come over. I won’t waste your time.’’ You said. The words articulated with a purpose, were laced with meaningful sorrow but you couldn’t help the small smile that graced your lips.

He hadn’t declined.

Jungkook noticed how your full lips turned upwards, noticed how you had bent your head downwards, trying to hide your amusement. He knew he hadn’t said no, he knew inside the pits of his soul that was going to attend. Your reaction publicised his private notions completely.

It wasn’t hard to hate you.

Rather, it was the easiest thing in the world. His life had been built upon layers of lies, fear, judgement and mistrust. You tore everything apart with one look. He despised the hold you had over him, envied your purity and tried his best to tarnish it with his own two hands. Even if it meant burning your entire persona to ashes. He was well aware of the impact his audacious remarks on your large heart, knew just how much you wished to throw your small fists at his chest in rebuttal- he could see it in your eyes. But he knew you’d never break.

‘’Get out. I don’t have time for you.’’

Fuck.

Why couldn’t he just say no?

Probably because the thought of abjuration had never once crossed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

11 pm saw him standing at your door, a bouquet of Lilly’s in his hand. The flowers had almost wilted away. What the hell was he doing? Why was he even here? There was no noise from behind the oakwood and why would there be?

Your offer had been for dinner, not a midnight snack.

He wasn’t going to come, prove you wrong and act smug about the ordeal. However he had shown up, at 7 pm, flowers fresh and suit prim. Ready to tap onto the door and shimmy himself into you…your apartment. But his confidence dropped as he heard your laughter, it was beautiful, natural and something he had never experienced before.

Jeon Jungkook had never made you laugh, but had every thought of hearing you scream.

It wouldn’t have mattered to him if you were any other woman, but the lack of knowledge frightened him, made him think there would be another man who would have the pleasure of witnessing both sounds.

Every. Single. Day.

His heart beat erratically, edging him into a state of worry and insanity. What the fuck was wrong with him? It would be a complete lie if he said he hadn’t just stood in front of your door for 3 hours, praying he didn’t hear sounds of men. The silence at 11 pm provided comfort and he walked away, only after dropping the Lilly’s inside the vase at your desk.

You had been pleasantly surprised the next day, and you knew exactly who they were from. The flowers- drained from their pretty colour -were beautiful nonetheless and you couldn’t help but run your hands over their soft petals.

They were perfect- just like him.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

2.

‘’See that guy over there…he’s checking you out hon.’’ Lisa, the American-Chinese intern, stirred her tea at an exceedingly sluggish pace. Her eyes were glued onto the 27 year old accountant who stood in the corner of the room, photocopying his work and humming to himself. She’d been a temporary employee at Euphoria Inc. for a bare 3 weeks but had done well to pair 4 couples with her self-praised matchmaking skills.

3 of said relationships had broken up within 24 hours. And thus, It was only natural that her impeccable track record attracted many an employee to her small cubicle, ready for her to set them up with dates and one night stands.

It seemed that you were her next target.

You sighed and turned to look at Jamie. He was tall, considerably well-built and had this collegiate boyish charm to his appeal, his long-slightly raven locks sat faultlessly over his glasses.

The image was so immaculate it made you uncomfortable.

I

However in your opinion, the man on the 77th floor was nothing short of perfection. His ruffled hair didn’t need to be waxed and placed as it were; it fell naturally and it made you want to run your hands through it. His rugged and damaged personality sheltered his otherwise kind heart and you saw right through the vile facade. You didn’t hope for him to change. Didn’t hope for him to suddenly become a goofy cheeky soul; the kind who would sit and chat with his workers.

You loved the man as he was. A little broken but a hell of a lot confident.

‘’Lisa…I don’t really want to date him…’’ You mumbled, eagerly emptying coffee beans into the machine.

She laughed at your reply and peeled her eyes away from the man. ‘’Who said anything about dating love? I just said he was checking you out.’’

It was hard not to grimace at her words but as crude as they were you had to smile politely. Offices were run on brutal honesty and cut throat depositions. There was no room for pleasantries or hospitality and any that appeared were a courteous formality. You hurried in your steps and brewed the concoction with ease. It was 8 am and he required his morning fix, even though he never actually asked you to prepare it. You had just finished placing his black on the tray and had turned around to deliver it when a firm body crashed into yours, spilling the brew all over your clothes and the floor. The heat burned through your blouse and scorched your skin, it had been hard to not curse at the pain but you dealt through it, eyes shut tight in response.

‘’Oh my gosh! I am so sorry!’’ said the voice. It was a man, sharply handsome, his cheekbones were protruding and you were sure his skin glowed. It didn’t take long to recognise him.

Kim Taehyung.

He had been a prospective fiancé, from a year ago.

From a time when you had no viable job, no future and the money the Kim Family offered in exchange for your hand in matrimony, had been a welcome surprise to your household. They were staunchly against same sex marriages and Park Jimin had been banned from their home with immediate effect. The marijuana had inflected your otherwise gentle father and he had agreed in seconds to the proposal, not once considering your opinion. You had declined Taehyung in private, and he had hugged you in thanks. The man was humble and docile in more ways than one, and his heart had been taken years ago- by none other, than his childhood piano teacher. There was no way Taehyung would’ve agreed.  

‘’Tae!’’ You screamed, surprised yet elated at the discovery.

‘’Hey there fiancé. Glad to know you remember me…but really, why do we always meet in the worst of situations.’’ He walked over to the counter as he spoke, grabbing up as many napkins as he could find. His gentle hands took to patting at your chest, handing you the tissues while doing so and it didn’t take long for to dry up your blouse.

‘’I thought you’d be more respectful than that. Letting your fiancé walk into my building and displaying yourself open for the man. Tch Tch…I guess a lowlife is always a low life no matter what her circumstance.’’ Jeon Jungkook stood against the door, leaning onto it with a posture that screamed indifference. But in all reality, Jungkook was seething.

The small Glock tucked into his suit was ready to fire and destroy Kim Taehyung and maybe even leave a flesh wound inside Jamie the accountant.

However in that minute, his primal desire had been to destroy you. How dare you hide the news of your engagement? How dare you wear that damned pastel pink blouse to work, and let another man touch you so unabashedly? How dare you smile when you saw your betrothed? He hated you for everything.

And he hated himself for falling for you.

‘’And who the hell is this Joker?’’ Taehyung turned around to look at Jeon, the tissues in his hand soiled from the spillage. He had been invited to the corporation by Min Yoongi, a dear friend who had promised him help with TaeMin Designs, an upcoming entrepreneurial, founded by his beautiful husband. It didn’t occur to him that he’d meet you, but he was pleased that he had.

You were wonderful.

If it hadn’t been for your confidence, he would have never proposed to Jimin, never left his awful family and never been as happy as he was now. He owed you his life and his prosperity.

‘’Tae…he’s my boss. I’ll talk to you later. Please. I’ll call you hmm?’’ you tried your best to nip the fight in the bud. Taehyung was cool headed but an agitated version of the man could lead to the emergence of fists and blood. You were lucky he understood your pleas, and he grunted towards Jungkook while exiting the room, the daggers leaving his eyes were filled with venom and anger.

‘’I’d like you to pay attention to your job. Not to every single man out there. Why don’t you just do as you’re told? I don’t care what you do and who you do it with when you’re out of here.’’ Jungkook straightened himself against the wall and pocketed his hands. He told himself he enjoyed watching your eyes brim, told himself that his anger was justified. But god knows how much he wanted to cradle you and whisper apologies until you were forced to believe them.

‘’Let’s keep your sluttish acts away from the office hmm?’’

It was a harsh blow, enough to cause the first tear to slip from their confines. Why did he have to behave like that?

Why did you have to love him regardless of the way he did? 

~~~~~~~

3.  

‘’How long is it going to take you leave? It’s pretty simple. Take the bag to KM Constructions, drop it there and leave. What’s so hard? '' Jungkook’s anger had sky rocketed ever since the incidence in the cafeteria and he didn’t even understand why he was asking you to be a bag drop. Never once in a career spanning 6 years had he ever made a woman a part of a deal. But it seemed that you were an exception with everything.

‘’I am just leaving Sir.’’ You said, buttoning up the grey pea coat.

He noticed how inappropriately dressed you were, how feminine and vulnerable. He knew how lecherous men could be, knew it wasn’t safe. But annoyance clouded his senses and he threw the thoughts away. It was simple enough, no interactions. You’d be fine.

If only he knew.

Part 2

Part 3 

#bts #jungkook #bts fanfic #bts fanfic rec #bts fanfiction #bts romance #bts mafia au #bts reaction #bts imagine #jeon jungkook #bts jk #bts jungkook #love #romance #smut #mafia #mafia boss #yoongi #bts suga #bts v #bts jimin #taehyungxjimin #park jimin #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #zhang yixing #lay #yixing #fluff #jungkook smut

[jaimistoryteller]

Anon Answer

[ID: two anon questions: hi, saw you were looking to purchase a building through crowdfunding, and I was wondering why you didn’t just try to get a small business loan instead? it’s pretty selfish to use others’ money to fund your business without giving anything back. . . and no, a place where they can continue to throw money at you is not giving back to the community]

So, Anon, rather then post both of them, I just took a screen shot. Now I am going to gather that you are one of two types of people. 

Type 1. a flaming asshole troll who likes to cause shit, at which point you can go to hell in a handbasket. 

or

Type 2: someone who is too lazy to through my history. 

I’d like to say you were Type 3: someone who missed my general update, didn’t actually read the GFM page (because OMG one of the questions I answered in it is: who does it benefit besides me?), and was asking out of curiosity, but alas the fact both came from the same IP address according to when I blocked you it said I already had with the second, and the tone in the second, I’m going to politely tell you to Fuck Off. 

Now for others who might be wondering why, I will recap the last decade of my life plus my last update.

I was in a car accident, I now have permanent nerve damage, some days I can walk fine, other days not so much. But what about a wheel chair for those days you can’t walk? That’d be great, if I A. could use it with my house (I have steps between my room and the rest of my house, not counting the door to outside with even more steps) and B. if my hall was wide enough. So not a thing. Then there is the fact on those days all I can do is curl in bed and try not to cry from the pain, it’s something I wouldn’t wish on 99% of the world (I’m leaving space open for those people who really deserve pain, like mass murderers and what not). 

I tried working for three years following the accident, that just made things worse. I mean a lot worse. I stopped eating most the time, had a tricky time bathing, was in and out of the hospital for falling related injuries. It wasn’t good. 

So I decided, I tried the adult thing, I tried to work through the pain, even though all that did is make my pain worse and caused more physical damage, it didn’t do it. Let’s try applying for disability. 5 years worth of paperwork and court, just to have a panel of perfectly healthy judges tell me “You have a disability, we don’t think you are disabled enough to qualify for disability however.” 

Yep, they said that. I even took it to my therapist (yeah, I see one twice a month for depression, to go with the physical disability, I have annoying brain chemistry), and asked him to read it to make sure I wasn’t misreading. I wasn’t. 

Right. Well, I do commissions and ghost writing, but there are a lot of people who do both. Some months it pays the bills, others not so much. Then there are the months where things go wrong. I mean massively wrong. Like when I had to ask for help catching up the bills because I had spent 4 months sick and fell way behind, or when Sota got ill. 

I also sell my book Tales of Identity: Memories & Reflections.

Okay then. So, I haven’t been able to find a job in the area I can physically do, I can’t afford to move, I can’t travel to bigger cities because how would I get there and back since the pain would make it impossible to work or I would work and the pain would make it impossible to drive, but this living on commissions, ghost writing, and book sales in between working on my books isn’t providing enough money to survive healthily. 

So I did what I do, I went into figure-this-shit-out mode. The answer? Open a business of my own. Sweet! Except, I haven’t worked in 7 years, my credit is in the shit, and I have no one I can turn to as a cosigner. Well fuck. Now what? 

Oh! I know! GoFundMe and KickStarter! 

As I had used GFM before, it was the easier one to set up, so I set it up and began the sharing process. Do I expect to actually raise all the money on there? No, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. I am working on the KickStarter, but it’s a lot more detailed and takes more time to set up. Particularly when other things keep going wrong. 

If anon didn’t want to donate to GFM, they could have waited for the KS since that comes with various rewards based on money amount.

Now then, back to the anon’s question of who else benefits.

Well because of my disabilities, I included in the amount of money I am trying to raise, the money for a person to work there to do the lifting, stocking, and moving of stuff. That gives at least one person a full time job. If it works out the way I think it will, there will actually be three other people besides me working there, so that’s three people with full time jobs. Who will be able to pay bills and spend money in the community.

Then there is the fact I said an Indie Bookstore. Wait, why is Indie bold? Because my in pain self would like to point out that indie authors only get paid when their books are bought. Now with a traditional book store the book store goes to the publisher and says “I would like these books” and in a lot of cases they are fronted, aka the author gets nothing till they leave the shelf. In the case of an Indie Bookstore, at least with the ones I was talking to owners of, the owner buys the book, so the author gets the money then, and then it’s on the owner whether they sell or not. If the book does well, more of that book is bought. So, that gives any Indie Authors I know about (and yeah, I will be doing a call for indie authors to stock up on y’all’s books because lets support each other) at least a little bit of money. 

Then there is number three, if I am no longer having to ask for money because I have a stable or reliable source of income I can give back to the community by helping others. What a concept, if not needing help, can actually help other people. 

Which leads to number four, I also said market. Right now the farm market peeps are in whatever space comes open that week, which means their sales are not persistent because who knows where they will be. It will give them a place to sell their stuff from. But wait! There’s more, rather then having only one day a week they can sell stuff, they will have the option of ‘renting’ an area to sell stuff every day. So, it’s like they almost have a way to make a little extra money. Geez, what a concept. 

I apologize for the overwhelming snark and I appreciate each and every one of you people who have helped me in any way. You all are awesome, I hope you have a good day. 

GoFundMe for Cosmos Market - Indie Boostore, Arts & Crafts Market

#reply #snarking #long post #jaimi in pain should possibly not answer #but alas here i am

[moonchildstyles]

moonchildstyles patreon launch!!!

hi guys!!! This is something I’ve been thinking about doing for a couple of months now and I think I’ve found the right time and right pieces to share!! Details about the launch will be put under the cut including pricing, whats included, and what the first piece to start off is!!

So I’ve decided to keep my patreon really simple, with only one tier priced at $5! I might expand in the future but as for right now, I’m keeping things simple for everyone including myself owkkssk

My patreon is going to include first access to new pieces including my new series, blurbs for existing pieces, and extended sneak peeks of pieces in progress. Those pieces will later be posted to tumblr, either a couple weeks to a month after being posted to patreon depending on the piece. There will also be exclusive blurbs that can be requested by patrons that will not be posted to tumblr. 

As we all have noticed, I take a good bit of time in between pieces to outline them and write out everything, so there will be months that are paused and no new content will be posted, but no one will be charged for those months.

This is not at all obligatory as I know not everyone can afford to pay for fic owmskskd and I don’t want people who aren’t able to afford it to feel left out so unless it’s a patreon exclusive, all pieces posted to the patreon will be posted to tumblr following a stretch of a couple of weeks to a month.

My official start date will be March 1st, so everyone only gets charged once to start off. The first piece posted will actually be part one to my new series, which I want to keep as a surprise for everyone!! The new series will later be posted to tumblr a few weeks after patreon. once the patreon is up on march 1st, i will make another post with the link to the page!

Below I’ll leave a sneak peek to the piece to see if you guys like it!!

—————

(Y/N)'s broke. Like, really fucking broke.

Rationally, she knew that life as a fresh college graduate wasn't going to immediately fall into place, but she thought—maybe—the new credentials might actually help. But she's three months out, and no one has bothered to even give her a call back about any applications she's sent out and she's so broke. Just to add to the stress, her roommate—Charlotte—had broke the news to her the other day that she was planning on moving in with her boyfriend. (Y/N) could barely afford the apartment with the double income, but she knew she definitely couldn't afford it now. She does admit it was kind of dumb to have prematurely quit her job the weekend after graduation, but she was so excited to start her life, really start it. Now, with less than a hundred dollars in her bank account, a flat she was fully responsible for, and no job offers, she's panicking. She spent all her time on indeed and other sites trying to find any kind of listing she qualified for and applying to anything she might even have the slightest shot at.

It wasn't until her fifth day in a row looking nonstop, during the late night hours (early morning at this point) did she find a listing that she actually got excited for. It definitely wasn't her field, but the benefits were everything she was looking for. The listing called for a "Housekeeper/Sitter For Sprawling Manor". It seemed easy enough, with pretty good pay for the work, and it was a live-in position so she wouldn't have to worry about rent. The owner of the manor was rarely ever home, as the listing quoted, so it would be like being paid to live alone. It also helped that whoever wrote the listing seemed to have high energy, an affinity towards exclamation points, and pointed out more than once that no experience was needed just "enthusiasm and the willingness to learn!!"

Googling the manor—Styles Manor—brought up artistic shots of a truly sprawling mansion. The building separated into two wings, converging in the center with a rounded bulb making the roof. It was beautiful, and definitely not the kind of Gothic, decrepit castle she was expecting when reading through of the owner's "eccentric taste" in decor. With no hesitation, she filled out the automated application and attached her resume before pressing submit. She sent out all the good vibes and prayers and anything that could possibly manifest for her to get this job. Then, she proceeded to fall asleep in the blink of an eye.

She didn't even realize how long her "nap" was until she woke up at 3:30 in the afternoon from the buzzing of her phone. She didn't bother to look at the caller ID, tapping the green button and rolling over before pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she said groggily into the receiver. She fought to keep her eyes open as they kept sliding shut from exhaustion.

"Hi! Is this (Y/N)?" an excited Irish accent sounded through the phone, "My name is Niall from Styles Manor."

Shit.

She bolted upright, now fully awake. "Oh, hi! Yes it is! Uh—Thank you so much for getting back to me so soon!"

"Of course." She could hear his smile through the speaker, infecting her as giddy nerves passed through her body. "I saw your application this morning, and I was wondering if you could come in for an interview tomorrow?"

"Yes! I mean of course, what time were you thinking?" She basically bounced off the bed, pacing her room to let out the energy in her body.

They ironed out the rest of the details, (Y/N) agreeing to any of his suggestions. Once bidding their goodbyes, (Y/N) can't help but prance around her apartment. Finally—finally—someone got back to her, and it wasn't an degrading, minimum wage, retail job! Niall sounded so nice, she couldn't imagine any problems she could have working for him. She sent out the same good vibes and prayers as she had before (they seemed quite effective at this point), then proceeded to stress about what to wear tomorrow.

Not only did she need this job, she actually wanted it. She had a really good feeling about this one.

—————

if u have any questions u can send them here!!

#mine #other #harry styles imagine #harry imagine #harry styles one shot #harry one shot #patreon #also if this doesn't go anywhere u all have to promise to pretend u never saw this #and ill delete all evidence

[bwbeedubs]

Clouded

She didn’t want to be here.

Fingers reached up to massage her temple, her head pounding like war drums as Nightwing carried on with their weekly briefings. Sum up of their week, current operations in house and in others, various criminals to look out for and possible events to shadow in case something should happen. Cyborg mentioning new tech or new upgrades in their equipment. Changeling sharing an inappropriate and/or ill timed joke. Starfire listening intently with a shocked gasp or two, maybe a hearty Tamaranean “huzzah” of some kind in celebration of good news.

Same song and dance as it was the week before and the week before that and the week before that and for all the weeks to come.

She closed her eyes, willing the literal mind-numbing pain away. A vacation was starting to sound good right about now…

“Last order of business,” Nightwing announced, and those words sounded damn near close to a chorus of angels. She opened her eyes to the screen ahead of her revealing some man’s portrait photo. “John Donoway.”

He looked ordinary enough: plain, Caucasian male, brown hair, blue eyes, straight, white teeth. No distinctive markings or tattoos or piercings. Not even a spark of something malicious in his eyes. Just a smiling, friendly-looking standard white American male that you would expect to find in a Whole Foods grocery line or a country club golf course. Upper middle class ordinary.

If he was on their radar, Raven already knew that he must be the worst of the worst.

“We have reason to believe that this man is part of a very large sex trafficking ring in Jump City.” Called it. “More specifically, one involving children.”

Her eyes narrowed and her hands balled in a fist. Oh, he was that sort of evil.

“The police and the Feds have been after him for years and they haven’t been able to pin him yet. They have now turned to us to, not only get this guy, but to figure out how deep this chain goes and shut it down.”

“So what’s the plan?” Cyborg asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Undercover,” Nightwing said, simply. “Deep undercover. We need two operatives to portray a loving, newlywed couple. Move into the neighborhood where he lives, live civilian lives, gather intel, and report back to me. Possible extremely covert side missions but mostly undercover intel.”

“Very well. I shall go!” Starfire volunteered with her usual blast of enthusiasm.

He shook his head. “Sorry, Star. We need people that the public won’t notice. That can blend in people easily. If you were to go undercover, the public will miss you and ask a lot of questions. We don’t need that.”

There’s was a certain type of tone to his voice that was pointed, and Raven did not like which way that tone was pointing. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples even more.

“Alright, so I’ll go,” Changeling chimed with a shrug. “I’m the entire animal kingdom. I can blend in easily.”

Raven sighed. “You’re green and very outspoken. The public will miss you, and we need someone that can easily be explained away. Someone no one would bat an eyelash at and dare look for.”

He paused. “So… who would that be?”

“Why don’t you ask our fearless leader?” Raven said, turning her attention to the man standing at the front of the room. Her eyebrow perked as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, an irritated expression gracing her features. “Seems like you know exactly who you want on this mission already.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded solemnly. “I don’t mean it that way but in terms of media popularity-.”

“Understood,” Raven pointedly said. Between her blistering headache and this new assignment, she just needed this meeting to be done and over with.

Some “vacation”…

“And I assume I’m going to be her spouse?” Cyborg chimed.

“No.” The word gave her pause.

A sense of unease emitted from Nightwing. He was hiding something. Something… deep. Something… not good…

Clearing his throat, he turned to the screen as it changed from the photo of the humdrum man to….

What the fuck.

There, on the screen was a picture of a man skull face mask with a red X. No, this has to be a mistake. A glitch in the presentation or something, right?… Right?

“Red-X has been enlisted as the other person for this mission.”

Fuck.

Closing her eyes again, Raven willed her increasing painful headache away as her teammates shouted incredulous remarks to the announcement in protest. She just had to think of the word vacation, didn’t she?

“Dude, why the hell would you put Red-X on this mission? He’s one of the bad guys!”

“His skills to go undercover and investigative technique makes him qualified for the job. No one knows his face, making coming up with a fake ID easy. He knows the business of Wayne Enterprises. And we have the ability to control him,” Nightwing answered. A vague sort of feeling continued to dance around their leader.

There was something else…

“How?” Cyborg asked, “I mean, Raven is tough and all that to keep him in line but I don’t think she’s enough to control him all night and day for who knows how long.”

Nightwing sighed. “I made him an offer. A clean record, if he helps us.”

“WHAT!” her three teammates chimed before blasting off into fits of anger, arguing with their leader’s decision.

Taking a deep breath, Raven opened her eyes to look at him. The way he stood… tall but yet burdened. The vague feeling continued to plague around him as if there was something more. Something deeper. Something that made him hesitate. Something he was trying to hide… What is he hiding? Raven searched and searched until she found her answer.

“You know who he is.” Her words cut through the room, silencing all of her other teammates loud voices with the soft calm of hers. Pressing his lips together, Nightwing looked down at his feet, the weight of his secret finally getting to him. She wasn’t going to let him off so easy though.

“Dick…” she addressed him by his civilian name to capture his attention from off the ground. “Who is he?”

A second slipped by. Two. Three. Four.

“Dick, who-.”

“Jason,” he admitted, lifting his head and steeling himself into the fearless leader persona he normally donned. He cleared his throat. “Jason Todd is Red-X.”

The picture on the screen turned to one of a young once fallen hero in the ever classic Robin costume. The room acted as a vacuum, sucking all the air out and leaving them stripped down and bare. Frozen in time. Frozen in their thoughts. While they barely knew the young boy, his loss was a chord that struck all of them, especially Nightwing.

Raven knew of the countless nights he had spent awake blaming himself. If he could’ve prevented it. Even travelled back to Gotham to fight by his reluctant and grieving former mentor for some time after the incident - something he was never fully keen on doing.

She, on the other hand, had met the boy only a handful of times. For what she could tell of him, he was smart and clever. Knew his way in and out of a situation. He was brave… foolishly so it seemed. Talented, by way of crime fighting. Better than Nightwing at that age back when he was Robin. So good that they were vetting him for candidacy in the Titans program before his untimely death. He was… sensitive… like he was never sure of where he stood or permanent. Like the ground was going to give way beneath him and he was just waiting for it to crack. And angry. He was so, so very angry…

Nightwing’s voice called them out of their thoughts. “I made a deal with him, and we all know he takes deals very seriously.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cyborg responded, breathing back life into the room. “You’re going to give Red-X…”

“I know how this looks.”

“A clean record all because…”

“He is the best person for the job…”

“You found out he’s Jason.”

“He has the skill set that we need…”

“He’s a criminal!”

“If there was another Titan who could do this, I would-.”

“Your judgment is clouded.”

“My judgment is sound. If you would just let me-.”

“No, Night!” Cyborg’s voice raised, slamming his fist down on the table in frustration. “You are talking about giving a known criminal, a notorious high profile thief, who we have fought a multitude of times. Who has worked with some of our worst enemies! He worked with Slade!”

“I know what he’s done, Cyborg! I know him better than anyone in this room!” Nightwing shouted back, “I know who he has worked for since he’s taken on the mantle of Red-X. I know his way of thinking, his way of moving, his skill set, I know him. And more importantly, I know that he’s is the best person for this mission, besides me.”

“Surely that is not the case. Perhaps you have overlooked someone,” Starfire offered. “Perhaps one of the Titan Nomads?”

“Yeah, dude. I mean, I get that he’s kinda your little brother come back to life but that doesn’t, like, erase the years he spent as a criminal,” Changeling added, albeit a bit timid.

Nightwing sighed. “I know it doesn’t erase the years he’s spent as a criminal. I know it doesn’t wash the bad blood between us and him. But trust me, as your leader I did not come to this decision lightly. I looked at everyone we know in the Titans program. Even looked at a few in the Justice League that might be willing to do us a favor. There is no one better suited for the job than him.”

“And what if he decides to go rogue and turn on us?” Cyborg questioned, his guard not giving any slack against the young leader.

“He won’t.”

“But what if?”

“If there’s one thing I know about Red-X, he looks out for number one, always. And if I know one thing about Jason is that he’s still that street kid trying to find his way out of the gutter. He’s not going to pass it up,” Nightwing answered, his voice hard and final. I understand if you don’t like the plan but it’s the only one we’ve got.”

Cyborgs jaw clicked and his eyes narrowed at the man before turning to look at Raven. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

A second passed before she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see a point in fighting this. Nightwing is right. We need someone with his ability and with his mind - his detective skills. He can’t go himself because, as we discussed earlier, the press would notice. Speedy is a close candidate but he also has a bit of an affair with the press as well. All of the nomads may be covert but they don’t play well with others for long periods of time which this mission promises to be. Red-X is the perfect person for the job, and we have the proper amount leverage against him to prevent him from turning on us. It’s a logical choice.”

Cyborg stared at her for a long time, studying her as if she were a book he was trying to decipher through. But she did not budge - did not give one single inch that she thought the plan was flawed and clouded with Nightwing’s guilt and his need to redeem and restore his long lost brother-in-arms back to the right side. No, she couldn’t let them know. His mind was made up, and she had a headache.

“… Very well,” Cyborg resigned with a reluctant nod. “As long as she’s okay with it, I’ll go along. I’ll look at houses nearby. See if I can make the proper adjustments for our needs.”

“Keep me posted. and in that case, meeting adjourned,” said Nightwing, and no words have ever sounded so sweet. “Can I speak with you a moment, Raven?”

Fuck!

“Sure,” she uttered, begrudgingly, setting her files back down on the table as her other teammates cast her looks of sympathy. She rested her elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of her nose again, hoping whatever he had to say wasn’t going to take long. Her bed was calling, after all.

Once everybody left, Raven heard Nightwing sit in the seat beside her, sighing heavily like a deflating balloon. “That went over well.”

“How did you think it was going to go?” She replied.

“Worse,” he chuckled. Raven let a small smile grace her lips before falling under the weight of her headache. “Did you really mean that stuff earlier?”

“About Jason AKA Red-X being the best person suited for the job?” Opening her eyes, Raven rested her face in her hand and gave Nightwing a look that told him just how stupid he actually was.

“I figured…” He laughed again, his voice trailing to some far off place. “You know, I wouldn’t put you on if I thought you couldn’t handle him.”

Raven sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh, nodding her head. “That doesn’t mean I don’t think your judgement isn’t clouded. It’s Jason. I know exactly how torn up you were about his death.”

“I know, I know…” he sighed, his head bowing as his hand came up to rub at his forehead. “Maybe my judgement is clouded… but I need someone who thinks as I do on this mission. And he… as much as I hate to admit it- he’s better than me. And we need that in order to get the truth and get justice for those kids.”

“You fully believe that?”

Letting out another reluctant sigh, he nodded his head. “I fully believe he’s the best person for the job.”

“So be it,” Raven renounced. “But if he pisses me off, I’ll put him right back in the ground.”

Nightwing barked a laugh. “I wouldn’t blame you. He was a pain in the ass then, and he’s a pain in the ass now.”

#raex #xrae #redrae #teen titans #I'm back friends #sorta #not really #just take this #i don't know what this is #enjoy this dumpster fire of a chapter #fake marriage au #team hellfire

[themeed]

well i managed to crawl out for a month but uh. last night was a big trigger fest.

went to my friends with another friend. they complimented me on my weight loss and said it was obvious i had lost a shitton. (which. like 20 pounds, yeah, i... guess thats a lot but its not Enough).

other friend struggled w ed in middle school. their mom made some Comments recently and now they're uncomfy and they asked about weight loss. friend we were visiting said they could stand to lose maybe 15 or 20 pounds if they wanted, but they certainly dont qualify as fat.

which. is the same amount as they congratulated me on.

we all compared body types and fat content. comments on our thighs and stomachs and backs and chests.

and i am now. wearing my comfort hoodie. watching youtbe. dissociating. ive had 630 calories today because i know i cant restrict super hard so fast. i smiled this morning after skipping dinner and waking up hungry, that lovely hunger that aches but doesn't hurt. you know you could eat but you're not Hungry hungry even if you can feel your empty stomach. its... a good feeling.

im gonna have a sandwich and some ice cream for my second and final meal for the day and itll probably be some... 430 cal, ending around 1060 for the day.

gods. i want to go to sleep. i want to lie down and waste away.

on the way home a song from my mental loop playlist came on. then one from a self harm perspective. my friend and i listened to an anxiety vent playlist. scream sang the whole way. it didnt help. made it worse?

maybe.

im not doing so hot. im worried about my job status too. and rent and my dads birthday.

i think im gonna go pass out. this totally counts as my journal for the new List Of Organization.

i pasted it on my freezer fridge door.

ive made progress recently, in terms of philosophy and uncovering and understanding my issues. responsibility and suicidal thoughts and attachment issues and how much im hurting and have been hurt and dissociation as a coping mechanism for mental and emotional abuse and then as an anxiety mechanism too. and to cope with school and the boredom and not being able to do what i want and the lack of freedom.

i dont know if ill ever get to the point where i uncover why i hate not being free in my own definition. like thats such a core part of who i am and i am terrified of that being rooted in abuse. if i dont value freedom who am i? but also... i think ive always valued freedom. i think how i approach it has changed. when i was small i didnt care about the opinions of others and their actions or anything. but here i am now caring a Lot. and part of that is... in later elementary, from then on, peoples opinions and words started precluding actions that infringed on my routines and worldview. and then it scaled into full on abuse by my mother. words started mattering a whole FUCKING lot, and actions as well. words had to be careful, actions could be covered up with the right motive and words. a tool for power and put downs. and i hated it and feared it.

and when i started fearing others, noticed how i wasnt free to Be anymore... i started panicking and dissociating and i couldnt handle NOT being me so i stopped.

i stopped being me because i couldnt stand to see me destroyed or warped or killed by the spirits of envy and hatred all around me.

that makes it sound so poetic, but i was scared and it was terrible and awful and scary. and i cant say i regret it because im still not me.

ill never be the same me again. im not even fully me of now.

freedom is. so important to me. it sucks that that was put in jeopardy. that a singular sun in my world was destroyed on someone else's whims, for someone else's COMFORT. as if the mind of child is something okay to smother when they disagree with you.

fuck that. i hate her. i hate this. i hate that this happened. i hate that im not me. i cant hate myself. i cant even be myself and i hate that fact its frustrating.

im making progress but i dont know if i can even hit a point where i comfy enough to be me. if i can reach an understanding with the others and stope fearing. if theyll ever stop being frustrated with me long enough for us to effectively communicate. if we can. if its fair for me to expect or ask explanations for emotions and rules. if its okay. if ill ever be okay again.

im crying now.

im gonna get some water and curl up.

just asked that we all have access to this journal here in the system. i.

im scattered. hey, more progress ig.

insight, at least.

i need a therapist but i dont know if im willing to trust someone with all of these innermost thoughts and ideas and the backstory. i dont know if i can trust a strangers judgement.

what if they call me a liar and call it a day?

yea we can just move on and find a new therapist. it will hurt though. leave us with more issues. devastating to be invalidated by someone with a license. like yea the system has issues and all and you cant guarentee people dont have bias or are otherwise a good fit or even fit for the job every time. it still sucks that i have to go into this with that uncertainty. it makes it harder and easier, i think, to know that. therapists are imperfect, theyre people just like you and me. i just. thats more comforting than i thought it would be. i thought realizing they were professionals meant like. their word has to be taken as holy or some shit. no it doesnt theyre people. theyre trained, but quality control is questionable and bias is extensive and training is sometimes pretty niche. i need to look for someone specifically trained in like. 4 or 5 things. like. anxiety, depression, borderline, osdd/did, autism, add/adhd, possibly ocd, and DEFINITELY cptsd. i dont know what exactly i have but i know i have more than one and i kinda need to work through a shitton and find out whats UP. seriously. i might need medication. id like to try cbt/dbt first and work on integration/personal identity first. but holy SHIT.

im not mentioning ed beyond In The Past if i can help it ahfjfsgkf. like ed i have in hand. i know its a way to feel in control because im afraid of the world and also to approach the body i want, fulfill society standards in a way i wish i didnt care at all about but i do care at least a little despite my denial, and to combat dysphoria/prepare for top surgery.

gods above. im kinda fucked up huh. like more at once than i think is possible and i might be giving myself more issues if i dont handle my new job in a healthy way.

fuck.

anyway. yeah. im back. im not better than ever but im making progress. todays a bad mental health day so far. i want to lose another 10 pounds before i see a therapist just in case. if they say i should try losing weight i am going to glare flatly and absolutely spill how much ive lost but not the timeline or ed habits. but yknow. 165 or so before starting? puts me solidly in the Chubby At First Glance But Not Super Overweight category.

me and my friends also tried to weigh my tits the other day. kitchen scale and leaning down put them at 4.5 lbs each, theyre big enough to try, but thats probably an understimation by like, 40% just by sheer volume. thats like. 10, 15 pounds minimum of boob weight. i want it gone. gone. away please. off my body. no tits or an A cup. and an A cup is highly unlikely so full top it is.

gods. okay ive gone on long enough im going to get water and lay down now. im still dissociating pretty heavily.