#Yes some of my earlier ideas were horrendous but also there's a part of me still there in each of them

[insane-weasel]

I think as writers we should hold funerals for our WIPs more often.

Dearly beloved, gather us here today where this fic of some middle-aged man getting rawdogged and this other fanfic about the importance of friendship are laid to rest, because the author got really distracted playing that new video game.

We celebrate what could have been, cut-and-recycle those really good lines or ideas, because I swear I'm going to use them, I swear! And drag this poor document not to the great recycling bin or trash, but to the "graveyard" folder because sometimes I like to commune with the dead.

[cafeacademia]

🔮 how an arranged marriage with draco would be like. (his reaction to finding out/the leading up to the wedding/the wedding/after lol)

Hello my darling Sierra! I’m so sorry it took me a while to answer this, I was so SO excited when this popped into my inbox, because I kinda have a little bit of a thing for this even though I’ve never written anything for an arranged marriage AU (even though I have something similar in the works at the moment ?). Also, I greatly apologise if this was a bit shitty, I’m suuuuper rubbish with angst and I’ve never written about this subject before! Anyway, life got in the way a little bit, but here it is! I hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for sending this in and for celebrating with me!! I love you!

Draco was angry when he caught wind of the plan to marry him to someone he didn’t know

But what made him even more angry was that he had learned it from someone other than his parents

Narcissa had been quite insistent on keeping it quiet until it was all sorted and her sister, Bellatrix accidentally let it slip to Draco one evening

“I don’t want you to choose for me, I’m perfectly capable of finding a girl to marry myself!” Draco argued, he was seething with anger.

Of course he played it off as feeling as if his mother felt he was unable to find a good match for himself through love

But really, he was hurt because of the lack of trust between him and his parents

That and how on earth was he supposed to marry someone he’d never met?

“Come now Draco, we’ll be holding a ball and all of the suitable candidates will be there and we can see who is the best.” Narcissa tried her best to calm his rage, but despite her efforts, Draco was relentless with his angry silence

“See, you do get a choice.” His father would add.

But Draco didn’t see it like that. He’d have to choose out of people his parents had picked for him and he couldn’t shake the hurt in his chest that he’d never be able to marry for love

That was something he began to slowly realise was what was hurting him deeply, he’d never even get to fall in love with someone and marry the love of his life

As the ball drew closer, Draco tried his best to keep his mind off things

And he decided that whoever he ended up with, he’d do his best to make their lives together as bearable and as civil as possible, he’d let whoever he ended up with date to their hearts content and they could use marriage as a guise to keep their families happy

But when the ball arrived, Draco had not taken into account that many of the people at the ball were people he knew from his days at Hogwarts

And he felt even more nervous about facing the situation he was given

The evening was grand, the Malfoy manor decorated for the occasion and he felt like Narcissa was better dressed than he was

Draco was miserable

Being pulled around his own house to meet snooty parents of possible brides

It was exhausting

And the overly falsely positive small talk was beyond boring and extremely awkward, even for someone as charismatic as Draco

No stupid amounts of champagne flutes could get him through the evening smoothly and quickly enough

So when it all got far too much, Draco slipped out of the main room for a breather, though he hadn’t expected to find someone hiding in the drawing room

“What are you doing?” He asked, mildly pissed off and sounding absolutely done with the whole event

His sour tone startled you, having thought you were alone and you jumped and looked over your shoulder to see none other than Draco Malfoy standing across the room from you

“Fuck- I’m sorry, it’s just-.”

“The ball is a drag, isn’t it?” Draco asked

“What are you doing here?” Draco questioned

“I needed some space, it’s really crowded and-.”

“I meant here, in the manor.” Draco interrupted, though he had softened his voice a lot more than his hostile tone he’d worn earlier

“Oh,” you turned to face him properly and fiddled with your hands “The same reason as everyone else.” You said awkwardly

Of course you were, why had he expected anything different?

Draco remembered you from Hogwarts, he remembered liking you, despite not knowing you well

But what he did know was that you were much more interesting and more eye catching than the other girls currently occupying the manor

“Sweetheart,” Draco sighed, crossing the drawing room floor and approaching you, your attention caught immediately at the name he used for you

“I know you want this as much as you’d want thestral dung, but you are the best out of everyone here. I’ll cut you a deal, we get married, we play house and make it look like we’re the perfect couple but the rest of the time you do and see whoever you want.” Draco proposed

He knew if he didn’t offer, that he might actually have to make it work with someone who wasn’t as agreeable and he also knew you might not run into another good opportunity

He really didn’t want to see you in a miserable relationship

And as he stood there, watching you think about it for a moment, Draco thought it was strange that he was actually scared that you might say no

“I’ll do it.” You nodded, meeting his eyes

You barely knew Draco, bar from the odd moments at school, but he had always been nice to you in your later years there together and he was certainly handsome

There were also many benefits to becoming a Malfoy and it also meant you could be away from your family who had put you up to an arranged marriage without your consent

“You will?” He almost couldn’t believe it and Draco grinned at you, if only for a moment because that was an awful lot of weight off his shoulders.

“Yes, as long as you promise to get me away from my family.” You nodded

“I will, I promise, they won’t get a chance to even come near you again if that’s what you want, love.” Draco assured you.

“Now come, might I invite you for a dance?” Draco asked. Part of him couldn’t wait to see everyone’s reaction

It had been a huge surprise to Narcissa and Lucius that Draco had picked you out of everyone there

Mainly because they’d barely seen you since you entered the manor, but of course they had no idea you’d been hiding out and avoiding another horrendous attempt at matching you with a suitor

Thankfully though, everyone bought the rouse you two put on

It was easy to say you had been sweethearts at school and everyone believed you

It was also easy to act giddy and happy, because even if your happiness was not about marriage, you were both pleased to be heading out of the boring and dreadful process of being matched with someone

It wasn’t long before the wedding was planned and only weeks later was your wedding to take place

Of course, the night Draco had asked you and struck the deal with you in the drawing room, he hadn’t expected anything from you at all

But as the weeks passed and you spent some time together, seeing you in some of your most relaxed and casual states and seeing just how sweet and lovely you were, Draco was starting to wonder if the rouse was not turning into something else now

His feelings only seemed to blossom into something intense when your wedding day came and he caught a glimpse of you in your dress

What on earth was happening? This was supposed to be the easy way out and now he was developing feelings? That was not supposed to happen

But what he didn’t realise was that the same thing was happening to you too

He had no idea you’d had a crush on him nearly all the way through Hogwarts

And he had no clue that your heart had fluttered and soared at the idea of being his wife, even though the deal he pitched to you involved no romance

But as time went on, you slowly began to fall for him too

And as you entered the hall to walk down the aisle in your beautiful wedding gown, beautiful flowing fabrics that fitted and accentuated your figure beautifully, Draco found himself in love

And so did you, setting your eyes on the ashen haired boy, dressed in his all black suit with small elements of green and silver as the accent colours

And it was perfect, because you seemed so perfectly in love with each other than it fooled absolutely everyone

The way you both looked at Draco as if he had hung the moon and stars just for you

It wasn’t until after your vows, when Draco was told he could kiss you that both of you realised you were in love

Draco held you gently, he kissed you sweetly, tentatively at first and slowly to try and make it comfortable for you, but when he felt you lean into him, your fingers trailing over the lapels of his suit jacket until they met at the back of his neck

And Draco barely made it through the party after the wedding without touching you in some way

His hand was on yours the whole time and you were nearly glued to his side too

You both wanted to just get out of there and spend some time alone and talk about your feelings and what this all meant

And you finally got a chance towards the end of the evening to slip out of the party together

“I think I’m in love with you.” You admitted quietly as he walked out into the garden with you, walking you over to a beautiful fountain

“Well that’s lucky,” He smirked. “Because I’m in love with you too.”

And it really was lucky

Because despite the situation that neither of you had wanted to be in and a chance meeting in the drawing room during the party, you and Draco were both grateful that it had happened the way it had, even though you wish it had been in better circumstances

And Draco wished whole heartedly that he’d had the time to really love you before marriage and take you on dates and really know you

So he took it upon himself after your wedding to do all of that

And he moved slowly with you, marriage serving only as a front for now as you explored your love for each other

And no one was none the wiser while you slowly fell more and more in love as time went on

And it was finally a few months into your relationship that things got really serious and Draco dedicated himself to you

“I promise darling, that I will always protect you, no matter what comes our way.” He said, kneeling in front of you as you sat on your bed

And he even gave you a ring, one that was really special, because he’d been able to pick it instead of the wedding ring that his mother had chosen

He called it a soul ring because it represented his bond to you that the wedding ring you had been given could not

Draco counted you both lucky, because there was one thing to be pushed into an arranged marriage, and there was another to go into it thinking he was striking a deal to keep both of you safe, when in reality, it was the thing that brought you both closer

And to allow something Draco had never expected, to fall in love.

[lightrises]

"Only in allowing her to pass..." — Hornet, The Radiance, and the means by which Hallownest turned its victims against each other

A quick note: I read Hollow Knight as an anti-colonialist text. As such I'll be touching on topics related to colonialism as it's depicted in the world of the game, and said analysis will reflect both a sympathetic take on The Radiance and a critique of The Pale King that won't pull its punches. If this sounds up your alley, hello and thank you for the read! Let us be sad about these bugs together.

———

So!! A while back I realized something about pre-canon that felt rather... "curious" is one way to put it, I think. To wit: for all the effort and scheming and determination The Pale King poured into trying to get rid of The Radiance, neither of his plans involved directly killing her.

Was that his long game? Well, sure, that seems clear enough. His tack changed from luring the moths away from their god and creator to a more literal form of incarceration once the infection became a factor, but at its core the end goal never really changed—The Pale King very sincerely wished to destroy Radiance via obsolescence. The Seer lends us foreshadowing to confirm as much:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Hollow Knight, showing the Seer and Ghost in the Seer's alcove at the Resting Grounds. Across both screenshots, the Seer tells Ghost the following: "None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters." End description.]

(Which, by the way and given the context, talk about an extremely unsubtle allusion to cultural genocide huh!!! Whew.)

In any case, we're left with a whole bunch of machinations which build up to... well, two very roundabout attempts at committing deicide. That's kind of weird, all things considered! Why not just do the deed in one fell swoop and get it over with?

This could be for any number of reasons. Maybe the king was devoid of the means to instantly kill another higher being. Maybe his personal sense of scruples stopped him short of signing off on MURDER murder (although, y'know, the aforementioned genocide + eternal imprisonment = still cool and copasectic apparently!). Maybe the long drawn-out cruelty was the point. Maybe the idea of playing fuckign 4D chess with the circumstances was too delicious for him to pass up—that man did love to tinker and stick his claws where they sure as hell didn't belong—or maybe it was a little bit of All The Things. Who knows!!

But interrogating The Pale King's methodology on this count isn't what I'm here for, at least not really. The main reason I raise this question at all is that in her own way, Hornet did too.

"I'd urge you to take that harder path... "

See, going by The Pale King's actions and what The White Lady explicitly says, they both foresaw two outcomes wrt the infection: it can be allowed to spread, or it can be contained. At Teacher's Archives, Quirrel acknowledges the fact that Ghost is expected to do... something about this, but he doesn't elaborate on what HE thinks that's supposed to be apart from the obvious "Gotta bust into Black Egg Temple first". Hornet is the one person who presents to us—to Ghost—what's framed as a third option: confront and destroy the infection at its source.

And she doesn't bring it up like it's just another tactic for Ghost to consider, prim and indifferent to what they would do. She nudges them towards it, actively, up to the point where she throws herself into the fray against Hollow at a juncture that's uniquely dangerous to her and her alone just to make that option feasible.

Even when she's couching it in disclaimers that this is still Ghost's decision to make (and let's be fair, she's extremely not wrong about that lol), no one can pretend Hornet is unbiased. It's obvious in that buttoned-down Hornet kind of way that she is way the hell done with the increasingly tenuous stalemate that's kept Hallownest's desiccated corpse from collapsing in on itself. Personally it's hard for me not to read some Toriel Undertale-esque "My father was too entrenched in his own foolishness to pursue any course of action that would have DEFINITIVELY ended this" shade into her stance here, regardless of whether that's strictly true in canon.

And that bit—Hornet's hopes for an end to Hallownest's stasis, moreover her grim calculation of what needs to be done to get there—that's the bit I find super interesting but likewise tragic and depressing as shit, on multiple levels. In no small part because a) canon itself gestures towards Hornet feeling conflicted about the very plan she's pushing, and moreover b) she has at least two (2) damn good reasons to feel that way.

So, what do I mean by that? Let's look here first:

[Image description: A screenshot from Hollow Knight, of Hornet and Ghost inside the Temple of the Black Egg, standing in front of the unsealed egg itself. Hornet has been struck by the Dream Nail and her dialogue is displayed as follows: "... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?" End description.]

As the curtain is about to drop on things one way or another, Hornet thinks,

... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?

Now, looking at that last bit it's easy to go "Oh no, Hornet's worried that Ghost won't survive killing The Radiance!" And I do think that's part of it: Hornet is, categorically, not her father. By endgame it's clear she's not content to view her Void-borne siblings as tools to be used then disposed of. She's also well aware that as a healthy autonomous Vessel amongst the countless dead, Ghost is the only person left alive who has a fighting chance against The Radiance. Knowing someone is the only qualified candidate for the job doesn't make encouraging them to embrace a probable death sentence any less of a bitter pill to swallow, though. And odds are on that this sentiment extends to Hollow too, who IS going to die no matter what happens here. To put it bluntly, it's more than reasonable to conclude that Hornet hates the absolute fuck out of this.

But I don't think that's all there is to it either. Remember what I said earlier about The Pale King's bids for genocide? Well, it's not like the man deigned to limit his efforts to just the moth tribe.

"We do not choose our mothers... "

On top of everything else—an infected Hallownest being all she's ever known, the fact that she only exists because of the infection, the list goes on—Hornet has spent her life wedged into a position that's been uncomfortable and terminally unglamorous at best: she is both a daughter of her father's kingdom and of Deepnest.

Deepnest, which like the moths and many others was here long before the wyrm and his lady wife swanned onto the scene and the God Become Bug laid claim to everything the Light touched plus a considerable amount of change. THAT Deepnest, which has fought claw and thread to retain its sovereignty against same-said settler king, and for which Herrah not only surrendered her life but also agreed to bed her worst enemy, all in hopes of securing a viable future for her people (put a pin in that last part by the way, I'll come back to it soon).

Two Worlds, One Family (Ft. An Indigenous Woman Trying Her Damndest To Work With What She's Got Versus An Imperialist Who Only Signed Up For This Because He Needed The Political Favor THAT Badly, So It's The Height Of Dysfunctional Actually). Fun times!!!!

The baggage this entails for Hornet is gnarly enough without implications made by The White Lady and the pre-canon timeline of events and even Team Cherry's dev notes that the king may well have looked at baby Hornet, gone "YOINK", then ensured she spent the lion's share of her childhood reared within the pearly auspices of his Pale Court*. That would be rather advantageous for Him Specifically after all, the potential to mold a born foe into a future ally and even have her trained in combat under the same tutelage as her doomed sibling. And far be it from him to stop a grown Hornet—his own flesh and blood too!—from making Deepnest her forever home if she so pleased. He totally wouldn't be reneging on his "fair bargain made" by doing this one simple thing until Hornet came of age, not t e c h nic c a l l y.

If that is indeed the case, there's a non-zero chance Hornet's formative years were a hot mess of cultural alienation and being a good deal more privy than most to just how much of a bastard her father could be. There's an equally non-zero chance that at some point she stood or sat within earshot as The Pale King finally, finally dropped all pretense and euphemism to name the Light for precisely what (for who) it was.

See, in conjunction with the question that started this whole dang train of thought I've been asking this one too: Does Hornet know? When she speaks of confronting "the heart of [the] infection" does she know she's talking about not just a literal person but someone very specific? The Radiance, who god though she may be shares skin in the game alongside Hornet as a native woman screwed over by the same settler king, likewise deprived of her kin and saddled with a life gone horrendously pear-shaped?

I'll assume for the sake of exploring the possibility and because I think it's a likely one anyway that yes, Hornet does know. She knows, and despite everything can't help empathizing. She might even look at Radiance and see bits and pieces both reflected and slightly inversed in her own mother: Radiance was forced to the sidelines while her people—her children, the brood she was meant to lead and care for—died out under The Pale King's rule, and it's no stretch to assume she's at least as upset about that as she has been about everything else; Herrah too took drastic measures for her people's sake, trying to head off annihilation by relegating herself to the sidelines in an act that was as much calculated risk as an attempt to find wiggle room and leverage in the face of a nasty proposition.

A calculated risk that, if things continue as they are, might well amount to nothing as the rest of Deepnest gets eaten alive by the infection. It survived The Pale King's advances for so so long, only to fall here. Herrah's sacrifice would be for naught; the other tribes—themselves the king's victims—would keep succumbing to the infection too.

And this is where things fall apart.

"... or the circumstance into which we are born."

Let's be clear: I think Hornet is wise enough to know what's what here, that all the carnage and suffering falls on her father's head for starting this slow-motion trainwreck in the first place. Hallownest wasn't always Hallownest. This domain was Radiance's home first, along with many others. It was the worm-turned-king who rolled up on the scene unsolicited and decided this was a ""'problem""" that had to be """solved""".

But the fact of the matter is that he's gone and The Radiance is here, raging, seemingly inconsolable. Above and beyond being Deepnest's rightful heir, Hornet isn't in a position to countenance more splash damage even if the grief and fury fueling it makes perfect sense. She can understand without ever bringing herself to love Radiance, and she can bend her knee to practicality even if she hates the everloving shit out of it because the fact that it "has" to end this way isn't fair.

This lends itself to one last awful conclusion: that Hornet has probably considered and (rightly or wrongly) discarded the possibility that Radiance can be saved, at least not without dragging more collateral along for the ride. If even her mother and every other enemy to the king seemed to dismiss talking Radiance down as an option way back when... well. Why should Hornet hope for any better after things have escalated so far?

Again, it's practical. A practical net good is what Hornet strives for. And again, it fucking sucks.

For extra tragedy points, this makes Hornet's extended crypticness around Ghost followed by her last minute casting about for a reason to tell them "Wait, don't; not just yet" that she never voices even more of a gut punch. She can't bring herself to burden Ghost with the context that haunts her so, least of all when it might weaken their resolve to go through with what (she thinks) needs doing.

It's the "same song, different verse" which led to the mantis tribe and Deepnest being pitted against each other: Hallownest rigged the game so that two women who could have been powerful allies—who have a mutual vested interest in driving out settler rule—wound up poised as enemies instead. And how awful is that? The king for all his being extremely fucking dead still gets the last laugh, because outside of a miracle the game never manifests Hornet can salvage what her mother started and look forward to a future where Deepnest pulls itself back from the brink if and only if The Radiance dies.

Resolution comes at the price of a completed genocide. Add two more dead siblings to the unconscionable pile thereof, while we're at it. That's what it boils down to whether or not Hornet can bear to articulate it as such, and there's no grace or even a properly bittersweet ending to wring from this clusterfuck. And that is rough.

———

* This has been better explained elsewhere, but a quick rundown: The White Lady tells Ghost that Hornet and Herrah "were permitted little time together." On its surface this can be taken to mean that Hornet was still very young when Herrah was shipped off to Eternal Dreamland—except this doesn't jive with the fact that we meet Hornet as an adult. If the stasis kicked in once the Dreamers went to their rest, which in turn halted the aging process for every living bug in Hallownest, AND before all this Hornet experienced little by the way of quality time with her birth mother... I think you can see where I'm going with this.

To top it off we've got Team Cherry weighing in ominously from their dev notes on Herrah: "As part of the agreement for her alliance and her role as a dreamer, King gave her a child (Hornet). Was she allowed to keep this child or was she taken away?" This isn't confirmation by itself of course, but given additional canon details (see above): Can I get a "yikes" in the chat fellas.

[mermaidsirennikita]

bridgerton--the good, the bad, the ugly

The short of it: Bridgerton excellently captures the tone of Regency romance novels and offers a lot of escapism and great sex scenes, but could definitely use some serious work in terms of how it depicts race and it should have made some further alterations to the dated and flawed source material.  Definitely loved a lot of it and am hotly anticipating the second season, but I want to see more work done and I HOPE that this encourages the adaptation of better (and less inherently flawed) romance novels.

Now for the longer take.

The Good

Bridgerton depicted sex and romance in a way that is totally different from anything I’ve seen in period dramas, for sure, but possibly different from anything I’ve seen on TV.  The romance of it all was woven into almost every aspect of the show. There is the handsome and seemingly severe but extravagantly wealthy and sexually adept duke sweeping into town.  The (multiple) rakes who just want to have fun while also being hot messes.  The awakening of female sexuality and the copious use of the female gaze.  (Note the pretty modest and minimal focus on female nudity, while we get plenty of lingering shots on Simon.).  People want love!  There is pretty minimal violence and perhaps the most physically violent scene involves Simon beating a man up because HE IMPEACHED DAPHNE’S HONOR~.

The sex scenes themselves focused on Daphne’s pleasure for the most part, and were probably among the best I’ve seen since Outlander in terms of chemistry, in terms of the visuals, in terms of focus on sex as an act of emotional connection and FUN. Yes, there was some Unlikely Vaginal Orgasming, but we also saw Simon tell Daphne about masturbation.  On the wedding night, he was pretty clearly touching her to help her enjoy it.  He ate her out... a good bit.  

And aside from that, we got all of the grand speeches, the stolen glances and touches, an excellent buildup of sexual tension that led to some pretty hilarious moments.  

I also really enjoyed many of the performances on this show.  Rege-Jean and Phoebe had great chemistry and excellent back and forth.  Jonathan was a GREAT Anthony.  I would argue that as lackluster as I found his relationship with Siena (more on that in a minute) it largely existed as a way to set him up for his romance with Kate.  He now has even more of a reason to be down with love, as opposed to solely relying on a kind of flimsy tragic backstory.  Additionally, his overprotectiveness of Daphne added tension to the story and made him a source of comedic relief for me?  I loved it.  Give me disaster Anthony all day; can’t wait until he falls to the enemies to lovers trope just like Simon fell to his FLAW-FREE fake dating plan.

A lot of the changes I found were really good.  Obviously, it was important that the show incorporated greater diversity (though they need way more).  Benedict was INFINITELY more fun and interesting than he was in the novels, and acted as another standout for me.  As much as I hate Portia Featherington, I think that the elevation of her to a proper villainess is probably necessary and Polly Walker excels at those types of roles, though they need to maybe have her be less like, actively racist.  I adored the addition of Queen Charlotte; she was excellent comic relief.  Lady Danbury’s expanded role and relationship to Simon was one of the best moves they made.  It touched my entire soul.

Buuuut....

The Bad

The show needs to work on casting more men that are frankly on Rege-Jean’s level.  It feels a bit awkward to see a guy that is by most people’s standards kind of stunning and then.... Colin looks twelve.  Lord Philip is like... a farm guy.  Get rid of the sideburns, we’re in romance novel territory.

In the same note, the girl who played Siena wasn’t a great actress and wasn’t super stunning, so even though I’m fine with her being a placeholder....  Eh.  Go for better casting.  The woman playing Madame Delacroix would’ve played that role so much better and I really enjoyed her dynamic with Benedict because she was just fun.

Frankly, I don’t know what the fuck they’re going to do to make me want to watch Penelope and Colin fall in love.  Their book was already a bit basic--fun, but far from revolutionary.  I don’t really get why they would receive attention similar to that of Kate and Anthony, basically.  The issue is that Colin, again, looks and sound rather young and twerpy.  It obviously wasn’t great for him to be tricked into raising another man’s child, but.... For fuck’s sake, how much would that have affected his life on a practical level.  He’d never know unless he was told, thanks to the lack of DNA tests.  He was marrying far out of his league in terms of attractiveness.  He’s a rich white guy in England with a supportive family.  

I really disliked the fact that Colin told Marina in his huffy little tantrum that he would have married her anyway--because would you have, buddy?  Really?  The thing is that Marina had no way of knowing that and her entire life (and the reputations of her cousins) was on the line.  She didn’t know if she could trust Colin to keep her secret.  They barely knew each other.  He basically came off as a whiny child and I’m fine with him staying in Greece if that’s the plan.

Penelope was just... psychotic.  And that was really disappointing, because I love Nicola and would love to have loved to see the fat girl get her sexy love story.  But first off, lol, it wouldn’t have been sexy because Colin was miscast.  Second, she basically tried to destroy Marina’s life and that of her sisters?  And herself?  Because Colin?  Because Colin, a guy who hasn’t even shown any amount of attraction to her at this point?  Her tears, her whining, it was all too much.  Penelope was dealing with a crush and Marina was dealing with the real Grown Woman issues of a child out of wedlock and as it turned out a dead lover and they were not on equal footing.

I mean, Penelope could very well make a great villainess at this point, and if done well I’d embrace it.  But I do not know how the fuck they can make me interested in her love story.  And the idea of her basically being launched into villainy because she was this chubby white girl obsessively jealous of a beautiful black woman...... not a great look.

The show definitely needs to explore diversity in terms of sexuality too--I don’t think it’s correct to read Benedict as straight because he still seems to be open to exploring.  Once he has more screentime, I think he could totally end up being bisexual, and it’s possible that the writers were trying to feel the audience out in terms of their receptiveness to taking a straight character who has a big straight love story in the books and making him LGBT+.  Eloise could also easily be a lesbian, and I’d be thrilled to see that happen.  They need to do something to expand the world, and if there are 8 Bridgerton kids, all of them being straight as an arrow seems SO unlikely.

The Ugly

Obviously, the rape scene was bad and should have been written out.  Simon could have gotten caught up in the moment and blown up at Daphne after he accidentally didn’t pull out in time.  Men.... accidentally don’t pull out in time... a lot.  That’s how babies happen.  It would’ve been believable, and due to our sympathies being with Simon largely, I don’t think he would have become irredeemable if he was more at fault than Daphne.  

As it was, I will say that the scene was somewhat better than it played in the books because Simon was conscious and totally sober, and it was a bit?  Confusing?  That he didn’t just roll Daphne over and pull out?  Because she wasn’t really clearly trying as hard as she was in the book to wrap her legs around him and hold him tight.  But it remained a rape scene.  The show also did a better job, I think, of establishing how fucked up it was that Simon took advantage of Daphne’s lack of knowledge.  Whatever he said about thinking she knew what was up--he knew she didn’t even know about masturbation.  He had to know she wouldn’t understand what pulling out meant.  He did very clearly mislead her to think that he was sterile and therefore denied Daphne her ability to give informed consent.  Did that justify what Daphne did?  Nope.  Two wrongs don’t make a right.  But both of them did a fucked up thing and I think that we honestly could’ve stopped at Simon’s misleading.

The issue too is that this leads into a bigger problem the show had.  It wanted to include diversity (yay!) but did not consider the total implications of what was happening (not yay).  Daphne and Simon’s dynamic is inevitably influenced by the fact that she’s a white woman and he’s a black man, regardless of whatever handwaves happened.  This influences the sexual assault and makes it even more messy.

Speaking of mess, I’m not sure what exactly would have fixed the “we don’t want this to be a colorblind casting” issue... but the explanation they came up with wasn’t good.  Never mind that this makes everything SUPER confusing (racism is over like..... maybe 50 years MAX after Queen Charlotte’s marriage if we assume she was a teen when she married and is in her 60s now?) but Lady Danbury’s dialogue explaining this was HORRENDOUS.  “One of them fell in love with one of us”.  The implications are awful.  I don’t know if perhaps setting back the integration of society centuries earlier would have helped?  But this wasn’t it.

Additionally, the writers and casting directors didn’t seem to get that diversity is all well and good, but what about the fact that almost every black character has a light skin tone?  Why are there so few black female characters?  Why is Marina, the most prominent woc on the show, given the “pregnant and desperately trying to trick a man into marrying her until her jealous white cousin fucks her life up and she is humiliated into settling for a loveless match” plot?  I desperately hope we see her next season, falling in love with Sir Phillip or perhaps having experienced a plot twist that gives her someone else...  And she better not die. Eloise can find someone else if Marina really ends up with Sir Philip.

Ultimately, again, I really loved the show.  But it needs to work on some things.  I think that a lot of its issues can be addressed and fixed in a future season, and I HOPE they do that.

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter Fifteen

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3060

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Bucky has a nightmare and one thing blows up, that's it.

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Masterlist

We had been flying for a while now and the sun had finally gone down. I had cleaned up the bullet graze on my side earlier with the onboard first aid kit, it had now started to heal itself seamlessly back into my skin like it was never there to begin with.

Bucky had never once taken his eyes off the sky since we took off. I had asked him a few more questions right after we started flying steady, but he just pressed his lips into a firm line. He was like an impenetrable wall and it was throwing me off. What had they done to the Bucky I grew up with, where was the bright, smiling love of my life? I sat there staring at the parts of his face that peaked through the mop of messy brown hair he had.

“Stop staring at me.” The sudden sound of his voice startled me enough that my elbow slipped from the place where it was perched on my knee. I quickly turned away from him in my chair and started to look out of the window into the dark.

“Sorry, it’s just,” I stopped short to think of what to say next. “It’s just that I thought you were gone. Steve watched you fall from the train. I mourned you, I was still mourning you. Now you’ve shown up and I barely recognize the man in front of me.”

He took his hands off the yoke and pressed some buttons to presumably turn autopilot on. “I have no memory of any of that. Flashes, yes, but never anything substantial.”

“I know and that’s okay, it’s to be expected. I followed you for a reason and help you remember is part of that.” I told him softly. I had no clue what he had been thinking for the last seventy years, but I knew it wasn’t something that could be fixed in just a couple of hours. The fact that he was talking to me with less hostility than before gave me the hope that I needed to know that I could help him.

Turning his head away he lets out a gruff sigh. “We’ll be landing in a couple of hours, get some sleep.” He gave me a soft look through the curtain of hair before going back into that stone-cold guise.

I nodded in acceptance and slowly stood and made my way to the bench that lined the side of the cabin. I laid down on the cold metal and let the sounds of the jet lull me to sleep.

When I woke up the cabin lights had been turned off and it was almost completely pitch black, save for the few flashing buttons on the control panels. I sat up and noticed that the jet was quiet. The noise from flying was long gone but the sounds of the night could be heard throughout. I looked around the cabin groggily to see that the back ramp was lowered to the ground. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stood up. Squinting in the dark I could faintly see something standing a few feet out from the ramp in the grassy field.

I made my way down into the tall grass and stood next to Bucky's statue-like form. He was silently looking up at the sky. We stood there like that for a few minutes before he slowly bent down to reach into the duffel bag we had packed earlier. It was sitting on the ground with a few other bags from the jet. Standing back up he reached out his hand toward me and I brought my hand out to meet him, he gently placed one of the grenades into my palm.

“What’s this for?” I asked while examining the device.

“Were destroying the jet.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Uh, why?”

“Unless you want HYDRA to come to find us, I suggest you pull that pin and throw.” At that, he unpinned his and tossed it into the jet cabin. It took me a second to comprehend what was happening. I was still half asleep as he snatched the grenade away from me and tossed it in as well. Just seconds later I was thrown off balance from the large explosion.

“You’re lucky none of my things were on there,” I spoke up while watching the flames encompass the dismantled jet.

“Quit talking and grab a bag, we have a long walk ahead,” he said in a scolding tone. I turned to watch him grab the large duffel bag, leaving me to carry the smaller backpack. I grabbed the strap and hoisted it up onto my back and slid my other arm through the second strap then started after him.

“Where are we exactly? I questioned as we maneuvered around a giant hole in the field.

“Maybe a three-hour walkout of Bucharest.” He stated. I groaned after hearing that. I just woke up, walking for three hours to get to the Romanian capital in the middle of the night wasn’t entirely my idea of fun. But I put up with it, barely entertaining myself by picking flowers growing along our path and then plucking off their petals like I used to do as a child. That only lasted for so long before I started to get bored, the next thing I tried was to kick a rock I had found when we had made it to a paved road. I had to stop kicking it after I had accidentally hit Bucky in the back of the legs. His sharp glare stopped me in my tracks.

The sun was coming up now, as we topped a hill that looked out into the capital city. I slowed my walk to take in the awakening city, there were severely cars driving the roads, probably going off to work. I sped up my steps as soon as I realized that Bucky had just kept going and didn’t stop to take in the morning splendor with me.

I spoke as I came back up to his side, “So what do we do now?” He let out a frustrated puff of air and I could tell that he was getting annoyed at all of my questions. He never answered me, just kept walking down the street and into the heart of the city.

It must have been past lunchtime when we finally found a shabby almost decrepit-looking apartment building. I could feel and hear my stomach rumbling as we ascended the long spiraling set of stairs to one of the topmost apartments. We had no key to get in so Bucky kicked the door in and shuffled inside. I doubted that anyone would even realize that we were here, the whole thing looked almost completely vacant. I walked through the threshold and into the tiny living space. It was just one small room, just big enough for one or two people to live comfortably, and a singular closed-off bathroom right after you came through the front door.

Looking around some more, the more I realized this apartment building truly was abandoned. The sheetrock walls were chipping along with the paint. In the kitchen, the backsplash was cracked and missing in some spots, the fridge looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in thirty years, the same as everything else in the almost empty room. The only thing in the place that wasn't attached to anything was a small square dining table and two chairs with several years of dust caked onto them. The windows and the door to the back balcony had been covered up with various newspaper pages, adding to the dark and dingy aspect.

Bucky sat the duffel bag onto the table, I placed the backpack down as well. Walking over to the kitchen and flipped the light switch, amazingly the bright strip light above the sink on the far wall came buzzing to life. I gave a silent prayer in thanks for that. I was startled a bit when I heard a loud splintering noise beside me. Turning quickly I spotted Bucky ripping up the wooden floorboards in the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Hiding the weapons, what does it look like I’m doing,” He quipped back sharply as he reached for the bags on the table just a few inches away. He shoved them into the hole he had made and then placed the broken planks back where they had been. He stood up slowly after that and began walking for the front door. “Stay here,” he gave a stern look then stepped out into the stairwell, slamming the broken door shut.

I just stared wide-eyed at the door. ‘Did he really just leave me here?’ I asked myself. I went over to the door he had left from and opened it, his footsteps were long gone. I raced to the first window in what was presumably the living room and tore a piece of newspaper from it to look and see if I could spot him but the wall of the balcony was in my way. I gave a long and exasperated huff before turning around and giving the room another once over. ‘Well, it can't hurt to clean a bit. There had to be at least something in here that I can clean with.’ And I was right, I found a stack of four washcloths along with a couple of bath towels under the bathroom sink and a very old broom sitting just outside the back door.

It took almost two hours to scrub the grime from the floors after I had swept the thick layer of dirt and dust-up, and it took even longer to scrub down the kitchen appliances. It had been nearly five hours and Bucky still wasn’t back yet, I had cleaned everything I could until it was almost spotless. It had helped me keep my mind off of where he was and what he was doing, it also helped to keep me from remembering how hungry I was. But now that everything was almost sparkling clean I had nothing to stop my mind from wandering. ‘He wouldn’t just leave, would he? No, not after hiding all the guns. What the hell is he even doing out there? I swear to God he better bring back something to eat, five hours is ridiculous, it's already dark outside.’

I reached my hand up to fiddle with my locket and ring absentmindedly. Fear started to creep into my thoughts. I paced up and down from the front door to the back over and over again until the door suddenly flew open. Swiveling around from my spot just past the bathroom I watched as a mattress made its way through the door. I hurried over to help maneuver it into the tiny hallway, it smelled horrendous like it had been outside for a while. After struggling to pull it into the living room and throwing it to the ground I looked up at Bucky who had been the one to bring it in. He was standing awkwardly at the edge of the room with a few plastic bags around his wrists. Shaking his head a little he made his way to the dining table and placed the bags down. Whatever was inside made a soft clicking sound before falling out of the top to reveal a jar of chicken soup.

I practically ran to the table and snatched the can up. “I forgive you for being gone so long since you brought back food,” I said as I made my way into the kitchen to turn the stove on. We had no pots at the moment so I cracked open the can and placed it in the middle of the eye to heat it up. As I waited I went back over to the bags he laid out and rummaged through them, taking all the cans, bagged food, and the few pieces of silverware out and placing them on the table. The last bag, closest to the wall, had a couple of items of clothes that looked to be in both of our sizes and a few toiletries. “Where did you get all of this?” I asked as he sat in one of the chairs.

“Soup kitchens and shelters,” he said pointing to the food, clothes, and toiletries, then he pointed to the mattress, “and the side of the road.” My face scrunched up at that. There was no telling what was all over that filthy thing. From where I was standing I looked like it had been dropped in the dirt a couple of times. I was going to have to find something to get that smell out of it before I even considered sleeping anywhere near it.

“Do you want some of this soup?” I turned back to the stove to check on the can.

“No,” he responded gruffly before standing to his feet, grabbing his pair of fresh clothes and the soap from the table before heading into the bathroom. I watched after him until the door completely shut behind him, by then the soup was at a nice simmer. I took it off the eye, using one of the washcloths as a potholder before it began to boil over. Grabbing one of the spoons Bucky had brought back I settled down at one of the chairs and began to eat my nice warm dinner. Halfway through scarfing down the soup, I decided to put some on for him even though he said no.

After I finished eating Bucky emerged from the bathroom with sopping wet hair in a pair of loose grey sweatpants and a red long sleeve henley. I eyed him before getting up to throw my can away and set the used spoon in the sink. I grabbed the now warmed Chicken soup from the stovetop and walked to place it in front of him without saying a word. Then I moved to grab the extra pair of clothes he had brought back and headed for the shower.

Finally being able to take off the suit was a big relief. Yes, it was made to be comfortable, but it wasn’t made to spend two days in. Turning the water on and stepping into the warm stream felt even more wonderful, the sweat and grime of the fight the day before began to rinse from my hair and off my body. I stood there, unmoving for what felt like hours before grabbing the three in one body wash from the side of the tub. I shook my head, if we were going to be living here for a while, and I had a feeling we were, I was going to have to find some real shampoo and conditioner, but hey, beggars can't be choosers when you’re on the run and in hiding.

When I felt as though I was completely and thoroughly clean, I stopped the water, rung out my hair, and grabbed one of the bath towels I spotted under the sink earlier to dry off. Then I got myself dressed in the fresh pair of underwear, which I was surprised to see, a long sleeve black t-shirt and an identical pair of gray sweatpants to Buckys, only smaller. Making my way out of the steaming bathroom I noticed Bucky wasn’t at the table anymore. I glanced around, finally landing on him lying on his back beside the mattress, looking like he was sleeping, which he most likely wasn’t. I smiled fondly, he must have wanted me to take the mattress for myself. Although I didn’t want to be rude by not sleeping on it, I chose to find a spot on the floor until the thing could be as thoroughly cleaned as I could get it.

Laying down on my side facing Bucky, I watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath he took. It was hypnotic, that with the quiet faint sound of his heartbeat, I began to fall asleep.

I awoke a couple of hours later to the sounds of small shouts and heavy, labored breathing. I snapped up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Turning my head to Bucky I took in the sight of him thrashing in his sleep before slowly crawling over to him. I tenderly placed my hand on his shoulder in hopes that maybe it would help calm him.

“Bucky,” I whispered close to his ear, “Bucky woke up. It’s just a dream.” Gently moving my right hand up to remove the sweat-dampened hair out of his face. As my hand came to rest on his clenched jaw, his metal arm came up to seize my wrist. I gasped at the force but didn’t try to snatch my hand back. His eyes were still closed, he was still asleep. He was mumbling something incoherent, I leaned in closer to see if I could hear him better but it was still unintelligible. “It’s okay Buck, I’m here, I’ll always be here. Shh.” I tried to quiet him, and it worked for a few seconds before he started to thrash his head from side to side and his grip on my wrist became stiff and unyielding. All I could do was sit there and whisper into his ear as he gripped onto me for what seemed like dear life.

Several minutes of on and off thrashing about I heard him say something that made my heart stop. He called out my name. I hadn't told him my name at any point in the past two days. The sound of it coming off of his lips sent a spark through me, my heart fluttered and my stomach tightened. He remembered, even if it was subconsciously, he still remembered. I smiled at that before going back to trying to calm his sleeping figure.

At some point, he calmed down to the point where I no longer had to kneel next to him and calm him. He never let go of my wrist throughout the whole ordeal, even now he was still gripping it like a vice. I just left it there as I laid back down on my side and let sleep consume me once more.

The next morning, he was nowhere to be found.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila @andy-is-gay

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Telling Tales.”

This story came as a suggestion from someone on the discord server, so I hope you all enjoy a break from some of the heavier stuff I have been doing lately.

The room was large and filled with noise, mostly the clinking of glasses and the clattering of voices, but on occasion the comm systems echoed with a cool female voice broadcasting announcements across the entirety of the station. 

There were at least forty tables inside the room packed in close together, with a long bar at one end where men and women alike stood standing and chatting to each other as they took their drinks. Below that was the low rumble of music, and up on all four walls, large projection screens broadcasted earth sports in delayed time.

At the far end of the room a large viewing window looked out on a wide view of space and the rest of the station. The station itself was huge, stretching out for what could have been miles and miles of tightly packed corridors and branching rooms. The station itself was a mesh of Tesraki and human technology and had been built right here in orbit….. In orbit of the thing staring at them from out in the darkness.

A supermassive black hole ringed by a disk of bright light and a halo that cut across the middle.

Honestly as McCaster stepped into the room, he found the view very disconcerting, and had the sudden worry that…. Inexplicably they would start slowly drifting towards the black hole until they succumbed to a horrendous and terrifying death. Looking around though, it seemed that no one else seemed to think so, and he ushered himself inside and over to the bar hoping that a drink might calm him down.

He sidled up to the bar leading against the metal countertop and motion for the bartender with a hand.

She slid over to where he was. She was dressed casually, though the bearing of her chin told him that she was one of the soldiers working on the station and not just a civilian. He ordered something to drink, and he came back a moment later with a metal tankard. He took it surprised to find that he missed the bright amber liquid inside cool glass covered in a layer of condensation, but he supposed having breakable drinking vessels wasn’t going to do for a ship like this.

Still, the liquid inside his mug looked a sort of muddy brown rather than a pleasant amber.

He took another sip.

Still tasted fine though.

He turned to look around the bar watching as groups of people chatted to each other , drank and ate.

Not all of them worked here, some of them, like the crew of the Omen, had stopped by for supplies and to give their men and women some time to relax and have a little fun before they had to ship out again. McCaster felt this was really his only chance for a while, to meet people off the ship.

He sidled forward eyes scanning over the room and falling on a woman. She was pretty, young about his age with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Couldn’t hurt right?

Unfortunately, just as he was sidling up, some other gus seemed to have the same Idea, and he sat down at her table just as two others did pausing to stare at each other across the table.

McCaster looked at the young woman, “This seat isn’t taken, is it?”

She tilted her head at him in near amusement, “I can’t control where you sit.”

“Then I suppose you don’t mind if we join you.” The other man added receiving a glower from McCaster across the table.

“You work here.” The other man asked her 

“Yes.”

“Well me and the boys here are just off from The UNSC Pioneer, finest ship this side of the quadrant.”

McCaster snorted into his glass, not trying to be a dick this time, but he knew THAT was a lie.

The other man glared at him, “What, you disagree.”

“Frankly, yes. Our ship is Objectively the best and that’s not even me bragging.”

“Oh really, and what ship is this.”

McCaster smirked, “The UNSC Omen, but I bet you’ve heard of it.”

There was a chorus of disbelief up from the other men.

“Right, and I bet you are personal friends with Admiral Vir too, right.”

McCaster frowned, “Maybe not personal friends, but I did fly with him once.”

More disbelieving booing.

He crossed his arms, “Don’t believe me huh well what about this.” he reached into his pocket to snag his ID card and then pulled it out, holding it up for the entire table to see, “See Lt McCaster of the UNSC Omen. I fly a Thunderhawk, and sometimes the shuttles.” This time the men could hardly argue, his iD said as much, at least as much about which ship he worked on and what he did.

THere was a light murmuring around the table.

“That’s right, so like ninety precent of my friends are aliens.” He was exaggerating just a little bit, he didn’t really interact with the aliens on the ship all that much accept for the Celzex that fixed the weapons on his jet, and the Drev he liked to play"  pool with.

But the blond was looking at him with interest, so its not like he could squander this opportunity

He nodded glancing sidelong at the girl. 

“Yeah, like I said, its not like the Admiral and I take lunch together or anything, ‘but’ the ship is small enough that I do run into him on a daily basis, cool guy, a bit weird though. I actually flew with him during the burg war on the Gromm home planet.”

A chorus of disbelief.

Behind him someone chimed in, “Bullshit.”

He turned to see that another table behind them had overheard his claims. There was a pretty redhead sitting there, and so he wasn’t likely to let go of his momentum. He raised his ID badge for all to see, “Not lying.” He raised his mug to his lips and took a long satisfied sip, “Disbelieve me all you wan’t but it’s true.”

“Well don’t just sit there all smug, tell us about it then.” Someone urged, and he was more than happy to oblige.

“Well, we had just been informed of the eminent Burg attack on the Gromm capital city below. I had been being debriefed by the Commander, at the time, and went with him to the bridge as we were debriefed. The Nexus was down and Burg ships were descending in swarms. They were unprotected on the planet below, and it was clearly up to our crew to stop the attack.”

His little crowd was drawing even more eyes, and he found himself with a small crowd of skeptics sitting around him listening to his every word.

He found himself speaking faster with excitement and nerves.

“I was on the bridge and watched him survey the scene, when out of nowhere he hands the captain chair over to one of his lieutenants and orders me out with him. They had orbital defences, but he knew that they had no chance in atmosphere since they didn’ have any fighter jets to push back the invasion.” he puffed out his chest, “Admiral Vir handpicked me to accompany him as his copilot and gunner.”

Another chorus of disbelief.

He shook his head, “Disbelieve me all you want, but it’s true. He knew my talents, and he knew I could keep up with him. And I tell you I have never seen a man or woman that could fly like he does.”

He had them now leaning forward in their chairs.

The best part is all of this was true…. Mostly.

“Of course, I was ready, solid as a rock, I have been training for just such situations for the entirety of my career, and I had no hesitations about what I was going to do. The Admiral was relying on me to be his copilot and damn straight I wasn’t going to let him down.” He grinned in a self satisfactory way, “He gave me charge of all the important stuff while he was flying combat…. And he made it sure in no unclear terms that if he couldn’t handle the flying, I was going to take over for him.”

Ok that was sort of a lie, but only a little one.

“I knew as soon as we were coming in that Admiral vir had an idea brewing. We didn’t go for an angled entry but instead piloted our jet straight down. I thought that the re entry was going to rattle my teeth out of my head. But as I said before I had no doubts about the Admiral. I knew we were going in, and I had inklings of what the admiral was about to do. I never questioned him.”

Also kind of a lie, but it's not like it mattered.

“We were plunging from the sky, fire spitting off our wings, going so fast it makes your insides feel like they are on your outsides. Picture the sky fading to blue behind you, fire is benign thrown off your wings like water from a waterfall, the G force is so powerful that it compresses your chest and makes it hard to breathe,” he was standing now gesturing wildly, “We plummet from the sky, and fire our guns exploding a burg ship just before it takes out one of our other fighters. We pull up right before the ground, must have been nine ten maybe even fifteen Gs.” Okay he was exaggerating, “But I stayed conscious through the whole thing.” That was also kind of a lie.

“We broke into combat with the burg drones, and I shot down at least three of them as the Admiral piloted.  He said afterwards that he had never seen someone take the shots I did and make it.” Okay yes he had been passed out for half of this, but again its not like any of them were going to know.

What harm was a little exaggeration.

“I caught one burg as we were coming out of a sharp dive, my hand felt nine times heavier than it should have, but I nailed it in the engine compartment and it exploded into a ball of fire. I was still shooting them down when the Admiral orders me to take control of the ship. Of course I wanted to ask what was going on, but there was no time, I grab the stick and manuver us into a tight barrel roll. A ship explodes behind us. I have control of the jet now complete control and I pull us up into tight pursuit of another. I avoid two missiles and in a moment of genius, I drop all of our flares, which collide with at least four burg ships exploding on impact. What I hadn’t known is that the Admiral’s hand had cramped from all that earlier flying, and if I hadn’t been there he would have died. But at that moment I had no idea and proceeded to clear enemy skies over the capital city. I dived so close to the ground that we might have crashed if I hadn’t pulled us into an inverted upwards pull for the last few seconds”

He continued to speak and as he did the fight grew even more excessive and heroic. He detailed in exquisite and colorful imagery as he single handedly flew them to safety pulling off near impossible maneuvers, crack shots and many more outlandish happenings as he and Admiral Vir valiantly switched back and forth on the controls, equals in every way.

He was just describing their great and climactic fight scene where, he had to take command of the ship once again, when he finally noticed no one was really paying attention to him. He saw their eyes, looking past him.

His voice slowed, as he looked around eyebrows furrowed.

He turned where he stood and cut off mid sentence as his eyes fell on a familiar face in the crowd.

Admiral Vir sat behind him in a chair balancing on two legs, head tilted to the side. His eyepatch covered one of his eyes, but the expression on his face was one of great and abiding amusement.

He leaned forward in his seat, “Don’t let me interrupt you lieutenant. I believe you were just getting the the part where you pull an inverted double helix back loop and I pass out drooling in the front, you just manage to pull us out of that dive, and the two burg ships are so confused by the manuver that they crash into each other and explode  catching the attention of all the other stunned burg in the area and allowing the other pilots a final push in clearing the sky?”

McCaster’s mouth opened and then closed and then opened again .

Admiral Vir continued to smile as McCaster stammered and gurgled like an idiot.

“So…. what actually happened.” Someone asked 

McCaster plopped shamefacedly down in his seat. Admiral Vir paused tilting his head in the other direction as if thinking. A good portion of the room had gone quiet as they shuffled closer to hear the stroy. He stood after a moment and walked over to where McCaster was sitting placing his hands on the back of the chair.

“Well The first part of the story wasn’t wrong. I had been debriefing McCaster and the other recruits on a few aspects of my ship when we got the call in that the Gromm homeworld was being attacked. I DID give up command to the ship of one of my lieutenants, and I DID as McCaster to fly with me as copilot.” he smiled and easy smile that seemed to light up the room around him.

Everyone within a twenty foot radius shifted forward in an effort to be closer to the man and the magnetic nature of his personality and charming smile.

“McCaster was top of his class in flight school, and I wanted an extra pair of eyes, that is true. We did take a vertical dive into the atmosphere instead of an angled entry. Yes there was fire spitting off the wings, and yes we did pull out of a vertical dive after saving one of the other fighter jets. All of that is pretty accurate.”

HE smiled and McCaster wilted.

“He did embellish a few things.” he rested a hand on McCaster’s shoulders, “But what is a good story without a little bit of embellishment? I’ve certainly never told a story that didn’t sound about ten times better than it actually was.” There was a small laugh from the crowd, “Point being that I would certainly fly with McCaster again, he is a brave, talented, and honorable member of my crew even if he is a colorful storyteller.”

McCaster looked up at the Admiral, still leaning on the back of his chair, and watched as the man made subtle eye contact with the blond girl just a few feet away.

McCaster blushed As Admiral Vir pushed his chair forward across the ground to sit next to her.

She was smiling in some measure of amusement, and Admiral Vir winked at him as he backed away. Either that or he just blinked, it was hard to tell with the eyepatch.

He turned back to look at the woman who was looking at him in some measure of amusement.

He rubbed the back of his head.

“He seems to be one hell of a wing man, in and out of a jet.” She commented 

He stammered stupidly glancing over his shoulder to where Admiral Vir had retreated to the bar, ignoring the eyes on him, hungry expressions from both men and women as he ordered a drink and sat down.

Bless the Admiral, number one for being a good wingman for sure, and two…. For not totally calling him out on all his bullshit.

Granted everyone probably guessed, but at least he could keep some of his dignity with plausible deniability.

He was able to work himself back into a state of cool suave composure, enough to learn that the woman’s name was Emily, and that she worked as a data analyst for the big black hole thing. It had a lot to do with math and physics which he totally didn’t understand, but certainly tried to because he knew she liked it.

Across the room, Admiral vir attracted ebbing and flowing waves of people coming to listen to his own stories which were mostly modest and self deprecating depictions of what really happened. Being the first person to fall flat on his face on an alien planet, how he had scared the shit out of the bran the first time he met them, how he ended up in a Rundi prison because he was being a dumbass.

There were a few times where he too tended to embellish the stories, only to preface later by saying, but what actually happened was this.

As soon as the man stepped into the room he seemed to change the whole gravity of it like  a wandering star collecting satellites.

He supposed that’s what happened when you were famous.

Thanks to him though, it turned out he got along really well with Emily, and despite knowing he was a complete moron, she seemed to like him too, and he scored her number and a surreptitious invitation to accompany her on a walk to somewhere quieter.

As he was leaving, he turned back to look at the Admiral, making surprise eye contact with him as he did.

He raised his glass minutely to McCaster before turning around and continuing his story.

He grinned as Emily took his hand,.

“So….. tell me really, how many times did you pass out when flying with him.”

He snorted, “Please, I spent  more than half of it passed out, like I can’t remember shit. I don’t even remember where the sky or ground was relative to each other for most of the time. The man can fly…. Like all that stuff I was telling you, just replace my name with his and you might have yourself a believable story.”

She laughed at his expense and he laughed too 

Thank you Admiral Vir. 

[theseusernamesarehard]

Heavenly pastries and mediocre coffee - Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: On an adventure for some coffee one morning, Fred Weasley happens to wonder into a bakery where he meets a flour covered woman who will leave quite the impression on him.

Warnings: None except this might be a bit boring :/

Time: This takes place the summer before the war so in the beginning of the Half-Blooded prince

A/N: Hi! This is my second fic on here and I would love some feedback especially since it’s a tad different from my other one (meaning that this might be a tad more boring). I had this idea and wrote it out, but while reading it I realized that nothing happens in this. So I would love to know if you enjoy calmer fics like this since I still liked this one!

Word count: 2,8k

gif isn’t mine credit to whoever made it!

“Oi, Fred!” George yelled from downstairs while Fred was still struggling to get out of bed.

“Whaaaat?” he groaned.

“The coffee machine is broken and I cannot fix it for the life of me.”

“Have you tried reparo?” Fred said as he got out and walked to the kitchen where George was standing next to steaming coffee maker.

“Have I tri-Of course I’ve tried reparo! What do you think I am, a bloody idiot?”

“Fine, fine. What do you reckon we do? I’d much rather have a coffee this morning, but I don’t think there’s time to go to a café before we have to open the shop.”

“I can handle the shop if you go get coffee? I’m sure there’s a good place around here somewhere.”

“All right, I’ll go. Want anything special?”

“Just a normal coffee and a pastry of some sort.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can!” Fred promised as he rushed back to his room to get dressed.

“I’ll get everything set up!” George promised.

In twenty minutes, Fred was exiting the shop, now fully dressed and hair still a little damp from his shower. He was on a quest to find a good place for coffee, which there were surprisingly little of on Diagon Alley. Finally, after walking around for a bit, he saw a little bakery that he was quite certain hadn’t been there for long. He entered with a hope that they had at least some sort of machine that produced anything caffeinated and walked up to an empty counter where he rang the bell.

After a moment, a woman erupted through a door that presumably led to the back space of the bakery. She was calm and walked over peacefully despite the fact that her face was almost completely covered in flour.

“Good morning and welcome to Bailey’s bakery! What can I get started for you?” she said enthusiastically, but Fred was trying his hardest to hold in his laughter, so he couldn’t answer right away. “What? Do I have something on my face?” she asked innocently, but the corners of her mouth were twitching as well.

“Perhaps a bit of flour, but it’s barely noticeable. Bailey, I assume?” he asked after chuckling slightly.

“Oh no, I’m actually Y/N. Bailey, the owner, is in the back preparing all the baked goods and trust me, that’s how you want it. I’m truly horrendous at baking.”

“If you don’t bake how do you have all that flour on your face?”

“Well let’s just say Bailey has been a bit stressed with the opening of this place and was not having any of my antics today.”

“So she threw flour at you?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think bosses are supposed to treat their employees like that.”

“They are when the employees are their best friend since Hogwarts and truth be told the aforementioned employee kind of deserve it.”

“I don’t know if anyone deserves a face full of flour first thing in the morning.”

“Well that just comes to show that you haven’t met me before. Now, what can I get for you?”

“Right, I meant to ask, do you have any coffee here?”

“Oh yes we do! And it is in fact extremely mediocre.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say it’s excellent?”

“Well see now that’s the trick. If I say the coffee is excellent, you’ll know I’m saying it just because I am meant to sell it. But if I say the coffee is mediocre, your interest is peaked and you’ll have no choice, but to try it and see for yourself. Am I correct?”

“I suppose I am more intrigued by the coffee now.”

“Exactly. So technically, this is a better way of selling coffee.”

“You are right.”

“So a coffee it is. Here or to go?”

“Two coffees actually. And both to go.”

“Two? Seems as though I am a better saleswoman than I thought.”

“Perhaps you should open your own shop.”

“As much as I clearly have a knack for selling things, I think I fair better as a worker who offers anecdotes about coffee and then pours that coffee”, she laughed and presented her skill to dot he latter. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I was asked to bring some sort of baked good, but I have been given no other instructions. Any recommendations?”

“I’ll go and see what our ever-so-cheerful baker would say.”

With that, the young woman walked to the door and stood behind it to open it so that she was not in front of the door when it was opened. She clearly knew what she was doing as another handful of flour was thrown out the door onto the floor immediately.

“Ha! Missed me”, she smiled, now standing at the door. Unfortunately that was when she got another face full of flour, but she just shrugged at Fred and grinned widely. “I’ve also got a customer here, don’t know if that’s worth mentioning.”

“You do not!” a woman’s voice yelled in horror.

“Oh yes I do. A very lovely gentleman who needs some recommendations on baked goods. have any to offer him?” she smiled.

“Go get yourself cleaned up, I’ll take it from here”, a frantic looking woman with an apron and a bit of flour on her forehead appeared from the door and pushed her grinning friend inside. “I am so sorry sir. We are not usually this unprofessional it has just been quite the morning. It’s just me and her right now and she has a tendency to get a bit snarky, so hopefully she wasn’t too bad”, the woman, who Fred figured was Bailey, started to ramble.

“Oh not at all, she was an excellent saleswoman I’d say.”

“Well good. Now you apparently need to be recommended something to eat?”

Fred mostly zoned out on the conversation with Bailey although she seemed to be very passionate about baked goods, asking multiple questions which he tried to answer. Unfortunately his thoughts were quite focused on the worker who he had been talking with. 

After a lot longer than expected, he was finally returned to the shop, which was now full of customers and went to find George who seemed to be on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

“Thank god you’re here! Where did you go to get coffee? Ireland?” he asked as he took the cup of coffee and pastry bag with a simple pain au chocolate inside it.

“Found this new bakery with some interesting workers”, Fred chuckled.

“You can tell me about it later, ‘cause right now we have a shop full of customers and I cannot handle it by myself anymore!”

“Let’s get to work then!”

The next morning George entered their kitchen and figured he must still be dreaming. He had never seen Fred this cheerful on this time of day (Christmas as children didn’t count) without any coffee.

“What are you doing up already?”

“I figured since the coffee machine is still broken I’d go to that coffee shop again”, Fred explained. “This time a bit earlier so you don’t have to manage the shop all by yourself for as long.”

“So which one is it?”

“What?”

“Yesterday you told me there were two women working at that bakery so which one do you have a crush on?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I bet it’s the worker, not the owner. The one with flour all over her face.”

“I do not have a crush on either of them!”

“Oh please! You never wake up early and besides, if you didn’t have a crush you would’ve made me go get the coffee since you did it yesterday. So which one is it?”

“This is completely ridiculous. I’m going!” Fred declared and left to the shop.

“Get me another one of those pastries!” his brother yelled after him.

George smiled from the satisfaction of knowing he had hit the nail on the head. Fred on the other hand chose to ignore him. Sure he had thought that Y/N was funny, charming and she seemed to be a sight for sore eyes with and without the flour all over her face. 

He got further proof of this when he entered the shop and saw her ringing up a customer this time face clean. She had her hair in a slight updo away from her face and was smiling while she thanked the customer and handed them their pastry.

“Good morning again. Here for more coffee?” she asked.

“I am indeed. Two cups to go again, to be specific, please”, he replied and she got on with pouring the coffee. “And my brother found his pastry tasted like, and I quote, ‘it had cascaded down from heaven into his mouth’ so I have been asked to bring another one.”

“I’ll tell the baker her work was appreciated and get another one in a second. Would you like anything else?”

“I think I’m obligated to try this heavenly chocolate thing, since he didn’t give me any yesterday.”

“I’ll go get those for you”, she smiled and Fred couldn’t help, but notice how her smile seemed to light up her whole face.

Needless to say, the twins didn’t get a new coffee machine. George made fun of Fred for it quite a bit, but as long as he had his pain au chocolate there was no way he was going to actually complain. Fred kept on going there and talking with her while they waited for his pastries to get baked or while she was pouring him coffee was his favourite part of the day. He couldn’t help, but notice that even when she had other customers, although she joked around with them for a bit, she would always return to him and continue their conversation while she was done ringing them up or telling them to wait for their baked goods. This was all the encouragement he needed to ask her out and after a week of going there and talking with her every morning, he realized that there was no way he wasn’t going to do it So he walked to the bakery and smiled slightly when her face was once again full of flour.

“Morning Fred.”

“Bailey stressed again?” he smirked.

“Yep. There was some misunderstanding with the supplier and now we have 10 extra sacs of flour. I very politely asked if she would like me to get annoying again so she can throw it at me and looks like that was enough for her.”

“You seem like a very helpful worker.”

“Oh yes, I’m indeed excellent to have around. So the usual?”

“The usual.”

“Two mediocre coffees and two chocolate things coming right up.”

“You know, I meant to talk to you about that, because I have a complaint.”

“Really? Is it the flour throwing? Because unless we throw it at you I don’t think you have the right to complain.”

“No, I’m accusing you of false advertising.”

“Her name really is Bailey, if that’s what this is about. I’m sure I can find a way to get her to show you her birth certificate.”

“This is actually about the coffee. About how you keep advertising it as mediocre? I’ve come to the conclusion that your coffee is actually quite good and definitely deserves to be described as such instead of mediocre.”

“Seems as though you haven’t had really good coffee then. Ours is definitely good, but it’s still right in the middle of the scale. It’s very possible that you just haven’t had any coffee that’s on the better side.”

“Where does one even find that kind of coffee then?”

“The secret is little muggle coffee shops. They have the best coffee ever! I think it’s because they never use any magic to speed up the process or anything. Has a really authentic taste.”

Just as Fred was about to suggest that she could show him one of those places he heard a familiar voice behind them.

“Fred! I didn’t know you come here too!” Lee Jordan laughed.

“Hi Lee, actually just found this place a few days ago.”

“Hi Lee”, Y/N smiled form behind the counter. 

“Hi Y/N, can I get a cup of coffee and one of those strawberry pastries you have?” Lee ordered. “To go.”

“Of course, I’ll go get some. We might be out of the french chocolate things that I don’t know how to say the name of, but Bailey can whip them up pretty fast if you don’t mind waiting there”, she explained, addressing the last part to Fred.

“Don’t mind at all”, Fred said and she disappeared behind the door. 

He was just in the middle of catching up with Lee when she returned with Lee’s pastry and started pouring him coffee, which made him excuse himself to go talk to her.

Fred didn’t catch that much of their conversation, but he started listening more carefully when he realized Lee seemed to be explaining some sort of date. talking about dinner, a walk and stuff like that.

“So how does that sound?” he asked by the end of his explanation.

“Make it the nice little Italian place nearby and you’re good”, Y/N replied

Of course! Fred realized that the last time he was over, Lee had told the twins hew was kind of seeing someone, but wouldn’t tell them who. It must’ve been Y/N. Fred sighed at the lost opportunity to ask out the girl.

“Great!” he said and tried to hand her money, but she claimed it was on the house. 

A date and free coffee? Unfair. Fred thought again.

“And Lee?” she yelled after him as he was about to leave. “Three roses. Not one more and not one less.”

Fred nodded as she told him she’d go check in the back if his pastries were ready. And soon enough she came out with a bag and handed it to him along with the two coffees. He thanked her and walked away, still thinking about the missed opportunity.

Over the next few days he still kept going to the coffee shop, despite George reminding him they could always get a new one. He made sure he was being more careful, though, since he didn’t want to accidentally flirt with Lee’s girlfriend.

Y/N seemed to notice the change too. It wasn’t anything monumental and she only had a few previous encounters to compare it with, but the man was clearly being more reserved. He barely chatted with her while she was getting his coffee and she kept on wondering why. One afternoon, Y/N decided to take matters into her own hands. After she got off work, she ventured on to the streets of Diagon Alley and went to find the joke shop.

Y/N smiled as she saw the bright orange and purple store front and stepped in to find complete chaos inside. She found Fred standing around and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hi!” she grinned. The man looked at her, confused and it seemed like she didn’t recognize her. “Err...it’s Y/N? From the bakery? Just less flour in my face and no apron.”

“Ah I assume you’ve come to find my brother”

Brother? Y/N thought and then remembered. “Right! You’re twins! So you’re not Fred then?”

“It’s alright. I forget we’re identical sometimes too. Makes for scary mornings. Anyways I’m George. George Weasley, nice to meet you”, he extended his hand and she shook it. 

“Nice to meet you George, like I said I’m Y/N. Do you have any idea where Fred might be?”

“I’ll go get him. Wait here”, George grinned.

Y/N waited and looked around all the products. She grinned at how creative they were.

“You were looking for me?” Fred appeared behind her. 

“I was. I got off work and decided to stop by and see the shop for myself.”

“Well, does it match your expectations.”

“I don’t think anyone could expect this. In a good way. This is amazing!”

“Why thank you. Were you looking into buying anything here?”

“I actually came to ask you about something. I was thinking that maybe once you get off work I could take you to one of those muggle coffee shops and show you what actually good coffee tastes like?”

“Okay, hold on. Aren’t you dating Lee?”

“What? No, why would I be dating Lee?”

“The other day he was clearly asking you out. The Italian place? Three roses not one more not one less?”

“That? No, no you’ve got it all wrong. Lee’s dating my roommate and he was running his plan through me since he wanted to make the date special and I know her pretty well.”

“So he took your roommate to the Italian place and gave her the three roses?”

“Yep, I’ve never been a fan roses anyway”, Y/N smiled. “But I do like Italian food.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to take you to that place sometime.”

“I’ve already asked you out to coffee, you can’t ask me out during the same day”, she laughed.

“Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“You still haven’t answered me about the coffee, you know.”

“I figured asking you out on a date means that I wouldn’t mind going on a date with you.”

“So what time do you get off?”

“Right now”, George replied cheerfully. 

“Were you eavesdropping?” Fred asked.

“No, I just happened to be stacking shelves over there and couldn’t help, but to hear some flirting. You can go, I’ll take it from here.”

“Thanks, Geore. Why don’t you lead the way?” he said, addressing the last part to Y/N, who didn’t hesitate in taking his hand and leading him outside.

[zeppelin-and-unicorns]

Fanfic recommendations part two: Stories that take place during season 8 (canon divergence)

This is a smaller category than the previous one, but I promise that those stories are amazing. I’ve read and reread every single one of them, and I love them all with all of my heart. I hope this post is useful to you. Lots of love ❤️

(And yes, they are in alphabetical order. I wish I’ve done that with the post season 8 post too, but it’s up for a while now and it would be just too much work to edit the whole thing)

All These Things That I’ve Done by c00kiefic

Story based on the sexual tension between Jackie and Hyde during season 8.

This story is complete.

26k words, 9 chapters.

Rated M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

Don’t Stand so Close to Me by c00kiefic

A story when Eric came back way earlier than he planned to because his friends were being dumbasses and needed some direction. Gotta love Eric Forman.

This story is complete and it’s a super fun read, 10/10.

95k words, 24 chapters.

Rated M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna, Kelso/Brooke, background Red/Kitty

Fear and Loathing in Wisconsin by elphabacan

What if Jackie had decided enough was enough after the slumberparty with Donna and Sam and recruited Brooke to go to Vegas? And what if turnabout is fairplay when they run afoul a charming lounge singer named Jude?

Lots and lots of love for this story. It’s amazing and it’s complete.

42k words, 15 chapters.

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Brooke/Kelso

Get Away From The Edge by BlueZeppelin

Jackie has been down for a while and it leads her to the Water Tower, alone and depressed. She wants to jump but will Hyde let her?

This story is kind of sad, but it’s still good. I just wish it gave us more details. Don’t read it if you’re triggered by depressive thoughts. It’s complete.

5k words, 3 chapters.

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

I Think it’s a Real Waste by Jaded

In which Fez and Donna are decent friends to Jackie, and Hyde knows he fucked up. There’s a lot of J/H, but the story also focuses on all the gang. This is a really good story, please read this.

This story is complete.

120k words, 13 chapters.

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna, Brooke/Kelso, Fez/OC

Into the Woods by c00kiefic

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess with long raven hair and enchanting eyes, whose only desire was to be loved by the handsome, yet distant prince…

I absolutely adore this story, I really, really do. It reminds me of fairytales and it makes me want to cry at the same time. Also, both Hyde and Donna get an not so pleasant “wake up call”, that they rightfully deserved btw.

This story is complete.

41k words, 10 chapters.

Rated T

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde mainly, some background Eric/Donna angst

Pain Without Love by YouLivexYouDie

This story made me cry so hard. It has a happy ending though, so it was worth it.

Jackie Burkhart is about to experience something life changing. She will never be the same afterwards, nor will the people who love her.

This story is complete.

12k words, 3 chapters.

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

Confession by heavinly-vixen

After the torture Hyde had been inflicting upon Jackie since the arrival of his 'wife', Jackie just needs to talk to someone who's on her side.

This story is complete and it has a sequel! It’s called Reconciliation and it’s also complete.

12k words, 9 chapters.

Rated T. The sequel is rated M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

Made Bare by MistyMountainHop

A heartbroken Hyde considers his relationship with Jackie kaput. Too bad Jackie sees it differently. She intends to get a proper resolution with him, but breaking through his hostility — and getting past his wife — may well prove impossible.

This story is complete.

50k words, 8 chapters.

Rated M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, background Eric/Donna

Also available on AO3

Someone To Love by Bunny1

Hyde comes back from his 3 month bender to the unexpected.

This story is complete.

6k words, 7 chapters.

Rated M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

The Birds and The Bees by c00kiefic

Jackie’s pregnant and the father of her child is married to someone else. Amazing story, what I love the most about it is Jackie and Donna’s friendship.

This story is basically complete, the only thing missing is the epilogue.

22k words, 6 chapters.

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna

The Right Road Lost by zpplnchick

After a car accident, Hyde wakes up to a twisted version of reality he comes to find is actual hell and with no memory of how he got there, a hell that Jackie's been living in for the past few months. Set during Season 8, shortly after "Sweet Lady".

This story is complete.

43k words, 20 chapters.

Rated M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

The Road to Redemption by Hyde’s Bride

Jackie leaves the group because of Hyde and Donna's behavior. Eric comes back early to find how things have changed. When he forms a new bond with Jackie, will it force Hyde and Donna to fight for them? Or will they lose their loves forever?

This story is complete.

33k words, 12 chapters.

Rated M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Jackie/Eric, Eric/Donna

When The Leeve Breaks by zeppelinandunicorns

What would've happened if Jackie and Donna left Point Place when Eric moved to Africa and Hyde married a stripper?

Donna and Jackie moved to Chicago once they realized that they've sacrificed themselves enough for the sake of their relationships with Eric and Hyde. Will it be too late to fix things once the boys realize what they're missing?

This story is a WIP.

So far, 125k words, 23 chapters. This story will be 54 chapters long so... yeah.

Trigger warning: Depression, past eating disorders, child abuse

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna

Zen Vision by Ultrawoman

A series of one-shots turning each and every episode of the horrendous Season 8 into a happy Jackie and Hyde love affair!

This story is complete.

37k words, 22 chapters.

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

One-shots during season 8:

Being Here by UnfitWriter

Set in season 8, after Sam's departure. Jackie and Hyde can't stand each other, but when something horrible happens to Hyde, Jackie will try to console him in only way she knows how.

5k words.

Rated M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

Here Comes Goodbye by nannygirl

Sometimes you just have to say goodbye. Or not.

5k words.

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, background Red/Kitty

Reconnecting by SerenitySparrow

During the party at WB's house in season 8. Jackie and Hyde hook up in a coat closet during the party.

3k words.

Rated M. Very M.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

Tipping Point by janus_74 (tanner)

How a different Perfect Man list could change the end of Season 8.

4k words.

Rated T.

Pairings: Jackie/Hyde

So far, this is all.

I’ll repeat this at the end of every single post: speaking as someone who writes, it would be really cool if you guys decide to leave a review (or a comment, if the story is on AO3) in the stories you read, especially the unfinished ones. It really motivates the authors, and receiving a compliment is always a mood lifter. I’ve seen some authors updating stories after years because of nice reviews, so… yeah, this is just an idea.

If you think I left out a good story, feel free to reply to this post!

Next category: Season 7 fix-its.

[microbiologynerdd]

Effective Revision Methods - Learn Smarter NOT Harder

Hi everyone!

I hope you are all well! Lets jump straight into it!

Revision. The daunting task for every student, with the hardest thing being where to start. So, today I’ve decided to share with you my process, things that have worked for me, things that haven’t, and where to start.

What type of learner are you?

This is such an important question because you need to cater YOUR revision to YOU. This being visual, auditory or kinesthetic/tactile learning. If you aren’t sure just google ‘what type of learner am I quiz’ you can find hundreds of quizzes to find out. Or usually, you can deduce it from your current revision methods or the methods you know you defiantly hate. But remember you can be a mix, e.g. I’m both a visual and kinesthetic learner. Auditory learning is not my jam – seriously I hate it… haha. 

Once you know this you can make your learning EFFECTIVE, use your EVERY ADVANTAGE to learn content. No point listening to your notes if you are visual learner right? Catering to your style means that content which took you 1 hour to learn before could actually be learnt in 30 mins. Who doesn’t want SHORTER REVISION TIME but with the SAME quantity of information absorbed?

Ineffective revision methods:

1. STOP READING THE TEXTBOOK. – I’ve said it, your teachers said it, EVERYONE has properly said it. So STOP! This passive revision method well sucks. If you do not attempt to recall information from your brain you are not making ‘connections’ between neurones (cells) within your brain – or at least not at the rate you could be. More ‘connections’ = More information learnt (more or less).

2. Copying your notes – Not as horrendous as the devils spawn above, but still not ideal. You are not retrieving this information from your brain, and as mentioned above this is a really important factor.

EFFECTIVE revision methods:

This section is split into 2 parts depending on the type of assessment.

For multiple choice questions/ short answer questions:

1. Flashcards - Flashcards are my favourite. 

Writing the cards allows you to consolidate your learning, find out what you don’t understand and what you do understand. I recommend Anki or Quizlet for my visual/kinesthetic learners and recording your cards on your phone for my auditory learners. You can’t write a card on something you don’t understand! Once you’ve consolidated into cards you can go straight to learning! Skipping the time consuming and ineffective ‘copying your notes’ stage. More Time spent Learning the cards, rather than copying notes = more knowledge obtained, and most likely better grades! 

I know a lot of people are guilty of writing their notes out, then writing flashcards - me included. But this is essentially the same step. I’m not saying you wont absorb any knowledge from doing this, but you will learn more from practicing the flashcards... hence why you write them in the first place ;)

2. Practice papers/ Questions

Would you go into a driving test without ever driving a car before? No? Then, why are you doing this for exams? Practice papers don’t only allow you to test your knowledge but also practice your time-management during the exam. And if you are lucky sometimes questions can be repeated between each different exam years. FREE MARKS – HELL YES!

3. Focused group revision

I use the word ‘focused’ for a reason. Going to the library with your friends to ‘revise’ aka chat about last nights football game or the latest group gossip isn’t really going to help your grades – but you already know that. However, coming together, each with a set of questions, and asking each other about them will help. You will consolidate further the information you do know, and you will learn new information from your friends and vice versa. This method is great for kinesthetic and auditory learners.

For essay-based assessments:

1. Essay plan mind maps

Mind-maps. Mind-maps are a great way to plan potential essays for an exam, but you don’t want to be writing out full essays word for word. Hence why I recommend mind-maps. This style forces you to stay concise so you do not run out of room on the page. Try and keep 1 essay plan per page.

2. Recalling essay plans

Writing them is great, but no point writing them if you can’t remember them. So practice writing them out from memory and then fill in the gaps. Great for information learning but also great for structure learning too! This also helps you link ideas together, practicing what the you’ll be required to do in the exam. This is often a problem I find with using flashcards for essays, you are ‘triggered’ by the MCQ (multiple choice question), whereas in an essay exam you must create your own triggers to unlock the information you have learnt, from the previous sentence you have written

3. Essay plan lists: 

For my friends who hate mind-maps. I use essay lists – picture below. Simply write those mind map branches in a chronological bullet-point list. I use different colours to separate the information. Try and keep all the information on one page!

4. Group Study: 

This is the same as the group study above but this time discuss topics as a group, as though you were writing the essay aloud. Or work together to plan an essay together, using as much detail as possible. You will learn new phrasing and information from your peers. Use mark schemes too if they are available, but often at university level, they are not – a bit annoying I know.

But what if I love note taking/ reading from the textbook?

Okay, let’s make your note-taking a bit more effective. 

Write out your notes, but ensure you are consolidating and not copying. Copying won’t help. At the end of each page or each topic, write yourself a list of questions about the information you have just written. And then when you come to learn the information e.g. by reading it out loud to yourself hundreds of times; make sure you test yourself with these questions at the end and see what you can recall. This way you are still actively recalling this information.

My experience:

What I am trying to ‘sell’ you is this concept of active recall. If you actively recall something you are more likely to remember the information than if you are passively writing or reading. Once you have done this you need to go over this information at different time intervals i.e. spaced repetition. Anki – the flashcard app I mentioned earlier really helps me do this. If you want more information on space repetition or how I do this then let me know in the comments.

All of the above information comes from my education experience, I have tried note copying, reading my notes throughout GCSE and A level. Yes, they got me where I am, but using my time with efficient methods could have given my grades an extra boost like it has done at university. Once I took some time to look into ‘effective’ revision methods AND implemented them, my revision game changed – and so can yours.

 The information I’ve provided above is based on studies, not just some fairy-tale I have made up – This source and others online can show you the real positive impact active recall methods have on your learning. My explanations above are purposely ‘not sciencey’ but understanding this concept matters not the exact science. Active recall sounds like a big word, but its literally just testing yourself from the earliest opportunity.

Conclusion

I think by now you get the point and I don’t need to keep babbling on. But if you are to take anything from this post about revision is to:

1. Revise by the type of learner you are

2. Test yourself from the earliest opportunity.

Switch up your learning, make it exciting, make it effective. Then, you have more time to learn different content or for your leisure activities. More knowledge in less time!

As always you’ve got this!

Speak soon,

Lucinda x

P.s If you have any methods that work for you, mention them in the comments below!

[kookiebunnii]

duty to the kingdom || choi youngjae

��� summary: one of the things you hated the most was being looked down upon. unfortunately, as a princess, there were plenty of times where one of the royals would treat you as if you hadn’t a thought in that pretty head of yours. you absolutely despised it. imagine your outrage then, when the king picks your betrothed for you one fateful day. even if you rarely defy the king’s orders, this felt like a personal challenge to your independence and free choice. as you fight against your arranged marriage to prince youngjae, you eventually begin to wonder if your hardheadedness and anger are misplaced.  

→ pairing: prince!youngjae x princess!reader

→ genre: arranged marriage au, lots of self-reflection and fluff

→ word count: 5.4k

→ warnings: n/a

→ a/n: proud to make my 100th post about youngjae. slightly late birthday fic, but i hope y’all will continue to give him the love he deserves!

✧✧✧✧✧

The royal court is nothing if not prone to gossip. Every day, you’re forced to be in attendance despite every fiber of your being aching to be in bed instead with a good book. Not only would it be far more interesting, but you also wouldn’t have to worry so much about sitting prim and proper in front of the kingdom’s gaggle of royals.

Appearances were everything here.

Sitting beside the king, you chance a glance at him as you give up on following the topic of the current conversation. It feels like it is only yesterday that your father had laughed and played with you in the castle’s rose garden, your mother smiling through the windows as she watched the two of you. But now, his hair is streaked with grey and his face aged with wrinkles. You couldn’t remember the last time you heard his booming laugh; a rarity ever since the queen passed.

“Y/N, there is an important matter I must speak to you about.”

Not expecting him to address you like this, you hurriedly bow your head in acceptance. A soft ‘yes father’ escapes your parted lips, hoping that it does not catch the attention of any court ladies in the vicinity. They were like a fish to water with rumors, so you learned your lesson at an early age not to ever trust them with important issues.

The remainder of the discussion ends on a rather promising note, as the king gathers a lot of promising intel on his supporters’ current situations and his neighboring kingdom’s allegiances. Enduring the mindless chatter of the royal court was most definitely a chore, but it is also essential in maintaining power. The one with the most knowledge will always be one step ahead.

You rise alongside your father, watching as the owners of estates across your kingdom bow in reverence. Even if they were doing this out of fear for your father, and not you, the action motivates you to wield the same authority someday. When you are this kingdom’s ruler, you will not tolerate anything less that what your father achieves.

Following the king out of the throne room, you dismiss a servant as she rushes to follow after you. As she leaves after giving you a deep bow, you begin to feel the tingle of anticipation against your spine. You rarely held private conversations with your father, given how busy he has been managing his duties. The crops did not grow as well as anticipated this year and there have been plenty of potential threats against the kingdom, so to say he had his plate full would be an understatement.

He leads you into his study, and you take some time to briefly examine the bookshelves surrounding the room. Each row is neatly organized based on subject matter, from battle tactics to formal letter writing. There used to be an entire bookcase dedicated to children’s stories when you were young, since you loved hearing your father read to you before bed. You wonder momentarily where those books are now.

Breaking out of your stupor, you notice the king standing with his back facing to you as he observes the palace grounds from the large windows behind his desk. Closing the door behind you with a soft locking sound, you walk forward to stand beside him. The soldiers are making their rounds, following neatly divided paths leading to various areas of the palace. Their march is methodical and focused, and the rhythm is hypnotizing.

“How have you been faring?” the king finally asks, regarding you with his usual gaze.

“Well enough. The tutor has been doing great. He says I am improving very fast,” you note, pulling your eyes away from the window to meet your father’s.

“That is good to hear,” he says before adding, “You will make a great queen.”

The king’s praise is hard to come by, especially as he has grown more demanding of you as time passes. With each year, he expects you to become more informed about your role as a member of the royal family and more mature about your decision-making for the kingdom’s future. You do your best to hide your satisfaction, but it is difficult.

“Thank you, father.”

He makes a noise of affirmation before looking out the window again. You cannot pinpoint exactly what he is observing, so perhaps he is simply seeing something in his mind’s eye. The sigh that follows worries you, wondering if the news he wanted to speak to you about was actually a bad one.

“With every great ruler, is a great partner,” he states simply, and from his melancholy tone you sensed his continued sadness regarding your mother’s early death.

Your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach, you fold your hands and nod.

“I’m sure you are aware of our talks with the closest kingdom to our North. Alongside our treaty agreements to share grain stores and defend each other in the case of invasion, we have also discussed formally uniting outside of a contract.”

The puzzle pieces were slowly snapping together in your head, and the dismay traps itself within your vocal cords. You are afraid to speak, afraid that if you voiced your concerns, it meant that your father had truly used you as a bargaining chip.

“Prince Youngjae will make a good king. I’m sure the two of you will bring about a second Golden Age for our people.”

When you finally say something, the deathly monotonous sound of your words sounds like that of a stranger’s. Amid your disappointment in your father, you have become a stranger to yourself.

“No. I object to this union,” you grit, nails biting into your palm as you struggle to maintain the little power you thought you had. Yelling and crying would just expose your weakness and lose what credibility you had.

“It is not a suggestion, Y/N,” if it were possible for the king to look even more weary than he did earlier, than it surely accurately describes his current state.

“Father you cannot seriously hand me over to a complete stranger. A man I do not know, do not love.”

His silence just angers you further, as you begin to feel increasingly alone. Not only will you never be able to confide in your mother again, but now you have lost your worth to your remaining parent. If he truly wanted what’s best for you, he would not have added you to a bargain like a prized cattle for sale.

“I have done nothing but obey you, your majesty. Do not confine me to a future of unhappiness,” you warn, hoping that your anger masks the fear and hurt you feel at this development.

Instead, the man you once affectionately called father simply barks, “It is a command. The marriage will be held a month from now. I suggest you correct your attitude before then.”

You allow yourself to let the first tear fall when he finally leaves the room, leaving nothing but a swish of his robes and the loud slam of large oak doors.

✧✧✧✧✧

“You’ll sooner see me die than marry that man.”

To your servant’s credit, she does not acknowledge your angry words. Instead, she continues to help you get dressed for the day. While you continue to criticize the king for doing this to you, yourself for being too weak to defend your autonomy, and eventually your betrothed for even daring to be involved, she finally speaks.

“Your highness, you do not know if Prince Youngjae deserves the way you speak of him.”

You hesitate, acknowledging that she did bring up a good point. Arranged marriages in and of themselves are horrendous affairs in your mind, the lack of free will causing you to complete turn your nose up on the idea. The prince could be a decent individual, but he could also be a gruff man with zero awareness of your feelings. If he is anything like the dukes your father entertains daily, you would sooner escape for a life of exile than stay as a sitting duck.

“Perhaps not. But Luce, I’m being commanded to marry a man I’ve never met. Is that not, in and of itself, an injustice?” you inquire, watching as she gets on her knees to smooth out the remaining wrinkles at the hem of your dress.

When she finally stands, dusting off her apron as she does so, she gives you a small curtsy before replying, “Pardon me for my honesty, but there are far worse things in life. Perhaps for a royal, the loss of the ability to choose and make decisions for oneself is a terrible punishment. However, I advise you give the boy a chance. It is in your best interest to make this work.”

“Luce, we’ve grown up together. You’ve been my personal servant since we were both 13. You know that I cannot allow decisions affecting my future to be made for me. I have spent hours studying, confined to books when others play outside on sunny days. Am I not allowed to think for myself for a change, instead of the kingdom?” you want your closest friend to agree with you, if only to reassure you that you had a right to be outraged.

“Born to two of the king’s servants, my purpose is to serve the royal family until I die. Born to Utopia’s king and queen, your purpose is to serve Utopia’s people until your last breath,” Luce finally gives you a small smile as she pins the last gold leaf into your hair, “You will do the right thing. I know it.”

Brushing the wetness appearing in your eyes, she chastises you softly for ruining the makeup she used to try and get rid of the puffiness from yesterday’s bout of crying. You swallow thickly, thanking her for preparing you for the morning before getting ready to meet the king’s entourage for breakfast. When the door to your room opens, Luce returns to her demure position a few feet away from you, looking everything like the perfectly submissive servant castle etiquette instructs her to be.

Breakfast is a sordid ordeal. Stirring your porridge with distaste, you nibble on the freshly baked bread from the kitchens and think about your meeting with Prince Youngjae in a few hours. You originally considered openly refusing to go or disappearing conveniently as soon as you spot his carriage entering the castle walls, but after Luce’s words this morning, you’re forced to reconsider.

Picking apart the remainder of your honey bun, you realize that, regardless of whether this man assigned to you turns out to be decent person or not, you harbored no romantic feelings for him. Marrying him would then become nothing but an obligation, and you would be nothing but a task he completes for the sake of his kingdom. You did not want to share your bed with a stranger for the rest of your years, nor bear his children for the sake of duty. When would your royal duty end and your free will begin? It all seemed terrible.

When breakfast is finally removed and you have no choice but to meet the royals of the neighboring kingdom your father discussed yesterday, you regret eating that pastry. Even though you’d only had a few bites, the anxiety was causing you to grow nauseous.

Maybe if you threw up on the prince’s shoes, he’d cancel the engagement.

Hiding your smile behind a gloved hand, you do your best to keep up with the strong amble of the king before you. Servants bow at the two of you as you pass through the corridor, only continuing their work when they are out of your sight. These people depended on you completely for shelter, safety, and purpose. Luce’s earlier warning rings through your ears, and the heaviness of the responsibility of your birthright feels more stifling today than any other day.

When you enter the throne room, you notice that it looks shinier than it had yesterday. Perhaps for the sake of good first impressions, it was subjected to a thorough cleaning the night before. Your father returns to his seat on the throne, and you allow yourself to imagine yourself on that seat in a few years’ time. Would the throne feel heady with limitless power or cold with loneliness?

The seat you typically had next to the throne has been removed today, so you simply stand next to your father with your hands crossed over your abdomen. As soon as you’ve adjusted your skirts, the guards open the doors and you do your best to maintain the neutral expression on your features—regardless of who steps in through the entrance.

As the trio approaches the throne, they incline their heads in greeting to the king. Acknowledging Elysia’s king and queen, you return their gaze with a deep bow of your own. Pausing for a few long seconds, you finally straighten to immediately regard their son who was standing only a few paces away.

The first thing you notice, albeit with some shame, is that he is very good-looking. His locks are slightly tousled in a stylish way, and are as dark as his eyes that are openly observing you as well. A small smile graces his lips, a lightly pink contrast to the fairness of his skin. Briefly wondering how a man could look so calmly attractive, you only break your unabashed stare when your king speaks.

“Welcome to Utopia. The princess and I hope the travel was without issue,” your father says, giving your future in-laws their due respect.

“Elysia and Utopia have always been close neighbors. Visiting is no trouble to us,” Elysia’s king replies, and even through your first impressions, he seemed to be a kind yet commanding individual.

“We are honored to finally meet Princess Y/N, she is as lovely as they say,” the queen adds, and the way she openly beams reminds you too much of your own mother.

Heart stinging, you whisper, “You are too kind, your highness.”

The remainder of the discussion revolves mainly around the adults in the room, as you begin to feel like a toddler waiting for your parents to stop talking to the other adults. Doing everything you could to avoid looking at Prince Youngjae again, you could feel him taking short peeks at you, and it makes you oddly nervous. You wonder what his first impression of you could be.

As if that mattered. Your ultimate goal was to prevent yourself from being saddled to him.

When the conversation finally ends, you only let the sigh of relief escape when the royal family exits to have a tour of the palace grounds. Your father chuckles at your response, standing to rest a hand on your shoulder before asking, “Was that really so frightening?”

“My duty is cementing our treaty with Elysia. I still do not consent to marriage,” you reply, looking your father in his eyes in direct challenge.

Instead of striking fear into the old man, he simply gives you an amused smile before exiting. You are left standing alone, left behind to consider your next step.

✧✧✧✧✧

Turns out, Prince Youngjae would be staying for the next month within the castle. You wondered whether Elysia was foolishly trusting or rightfully confident in simply leaving their heir in the hands of another kingdom’s rulers. As you head to your room to retire for the night, you hesitate in front of one of the best guestrooms you had to offer. The man you were to wed was inside, miles away from the home he grew up in. You wonder if he is afraid.

Settling in your favorite chair by the fire, the pages of your newest novel feeling crisp against your fingertips, you fail to notice how quickly the night moves. You reckon it is fairly late when you finally finish, setting the book on your table. You used to play chess with your mother on this table. It is well worn with age, but you couldn’t throw anything away that held essences of your time with her.

If she were here, she’d never let this happen.

Stretching out your limbs, you rub your weary eyes and wonder if the kitchen would have leftover slices of the pumpkin pie from dinner earlier. It was extremely well-made tonight, perhaps due to the need to impress, but you only confined yourself to a single slice.

Slipping on a warm shawl, you open your bedroom door slightly to examine the hallway. Empty except for the pale moonlight slipping in from the giant windows, you tiptoe against the marble floors. Even in the middle of the night, you need not see clearly to find your way. You grew up within these walls, each nook and cranny familiar in a way that you knew them like the back of your hand.

You are only a few steps from your heavenly dessert, the creaminess of this year’s pumpkin crop on the tip of your tongue, when someone’s voice stops you in your tracks. Ducking your head around the corner, you notice an unfamiliar figure sitting within a small alcove, looking up at the stars outside the vaulted glass windows.

Draped in shadows and moonlight, he sings a bittersweet song. Even though you didn’t recognize the words, you are transfixed on the intricate melodies that are holding you in place. The singer is talented for sure, given the ease of each delivered note and the sugar hanging on his clear tone. It is like nothing you have ever experienced.

When the tune ends, you’re left with a sense of unexplainable emptiness. You have half the mind to demand an encore when the figure turns his head to acknowledge you for the first time.

“Princess, what are you doing up so late?” Youngjae asks, surprise shining in his eyes as he scrambles to his feet and gives you a bow. His slightly clumsy movements are a bit endearing, as you press your shawl to your mouth to cover the smile underneath.

“Ah, you know…just having a walk,” you grimace, wondering if he’ll judge you if you were telling him you were trying to have a second helping of dessert.

“Interesting choice,” he grins.

You wave him off, hoping he understood that he didn’t need to be so formal with you. He seems to understand your insinuation immediately, because he returns to his spot in the alcove before waving you over. You hesitate, wondering if you wanted to be caught in such a compromising way.

Screw it, you needed to figure out where he learned to sing so damned well.

Tucking your skirts underneath you, you take a look at the beautifully round full moon hanging in the sky before regarding Elysia’s prince for the second time today. If it were possible for someone to look better up close, this man would be the prime candidate. His eyes are shining with stars and kindness, and in his casually neat shirt, he is the epitome of a princely figure.

“What were you singing earlier?” you ask, fiddling with a stray thread on your shawl.

He pauses for a moment, as if wondering whether he should tell you, before he answers, “An Elysian lullaby. My mother used to sing to me as a child. This one was my favorite.”

“It’s beautiful. I don’t speak Elysian but, you sing really well—better than any performer I’ve ever heard,” you admit, hoping you weren’t putting a dent in your plans by complimenting the prince.

His singing ability had to be acknowledged, so you’ll give yourself a pass for now.

He blushes, and the way he shyly laughs is adorable. Your next breath lodges in your lungs as you try your best to stop the sudden increase in heart rate you experience. Maybe you should’ve just gotten your pie and returned to your room.

“Thank you, princess. That’ll be a source of great encouragement for me,” he says, giving you another interesting look before he returns his gaze to the night outside. You wonder if he’s homesick, and you figure that he probably is. As much as you hated having to spend the next month surrounded by the reminder of your impending marriage to a stranger, he probably had his own share of trouble. He was trapped within a foreign land, with no allies to his name. Completely and utterly alone, perhaps the least you could do was make him comfortable. Even if you didn’t love him, that didn’t mean you couldn’t at least treat him respectfully.

“Have you ever performed?” you inquire suddenly, and the suggestion seems to catch him off guard.

“No, it’s unheard of for a royal to perform. That is usually reserved for the court jesters.”

You laugh, imaging the prince in a jester’s costume and telling jokes in front of the royal crowd. It was certainly a funny thought, but you were also slightly disappointed that Prince Youngjae’s singing might never be shared beyond his intimate family. It truly is a tragedy for the world, not to hear such talent.

“Do you want anything from the kitchen? In case you haven’t had enough at dinner, I’m sure there’s plenty of leftovers,” you hint, hoping that he agrees so you can have your planned pastry.

“I’m quite alright princess, thank you.”

You try not to let the disappointment appear on your face, and even though you’re typically very good at hiding your emotions, Youngjae seems to catch on immediately. When he hums in acknowledgement, you hide your face when he asks, “Did you want something princess?”

You shake your head adamantly, “I’m quite alright as well, prince.”

A grin quickly appears on his face, as he teases you further, “Are you sure? I do remember someone finishing their slice of pumpkin pie in less than 10 seconds. Perhaps we should call one of the scribes to commemorate such a prestigious record.”

“Maybe we should call the scribe to commemorate the nosiest royal to be alive this century!” you quip, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth when you realize how disrespectfully you’ve spoken to Prince Youngjae. As you wonder how quickly the man would squeal to his parents, and realizing you could’ve completely ruined Utopia-Elysia relations, the sound of loud hearty laughter saves you from your thoughts.

You had thought someone had caught the two of you, but you quickly realize that the laughter is coming from the prince himself. He holds his stomach in laughter, mouth wide open as his eyes momentarily disappear with each laugh. You watch, completely mesmerized, as pure amusement pours from the boy. He suddenly seemed so much younger, laughing like this.

Beginning to giggle yourself, you quickly pressed your hands to his mouth when you see candlelight flickering in the hallway. Pulling him upright, you dash off to the bedrooms as quickly as you could without making too much noise. You hated to find what rumors would develop if the two of you were found together this late in the evening. To his credit, the prince mirrors your speed and silence all the way to the guest bedroom.

Checking to ensure you weren’t followed, you whip your head back towards him. He’s still hiding his grin behind his hand, and doing a poor job at it, when you glare at him.

“Did you really need to laugh that loudly?” you hiss, but the boy simply looks like he’s about to start laughing again.

You sigh, unable to hide how funny the situation is to you, so you just giggle and dart off with a wave. Pumpkin pie forgotten, when you finally return to the safety of your room, you stay up to stare at your ceiling. Turning over in your sheets, you wonder-- when was the last time you felt that much excitement?

✧✧✧✧✧

The next time you see him, Prince Youngjae is taking a stroll through the palace gardens. Even though the blooms aren’t as spectacular as they are in spring, your mother had chosen equally beautiful flowers that blossomed during the winter. You catch him admiring the cheerful winter jasmines lining each row, framed by snowdrop flowers. Considering whether approaching him would be the right move, you once again throw caution to the wind when Youngjae catches you staring and gives you a small wave.

“Do you have a favorite?” you ask once you’ve walked close enough for him to hear you.

“Not really,” he replies, letting go of the fallen petal in his hand, “It’s enough for me to admire the beauty each one offers.”

“Well said,” you say with a grin.

“We didn’t get your dessert that night. My apologies, princess,” he jokes, and it strikes you then that the prince is a cute but mischievous sort. He appeared to love riling you up, but only as far as you would allow him.

“Not a great first impression,” you admit, letting yourself fully appreciate his laughter now that the two of you were in a more proper environment.

Finding a place to sit and talk further, you allow yourself to acknowledge the truth that you really did enjoy this man’s presence. Even though you were holding onto the notion that you needed to prove that you weren’t just an airheaded princess waiting to be married off, perhaps under different circumstances, Youngjae could’ve been your friend. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you met a royal who wasn’t stuck-up or entitled. It seemed that this prince genuinely appreciates everything life has to offer, and he isn’t afraid of having fun with what he finds.

“Call me Y/N. I think after the trouble we went through, it seems fitting enough,” you say, once the conversation takes a short lull.

“You’ll have to call me Youngjae then,” he adds, and you show your agreement by repeating the new title he offers you. He seems to like the way it sounds on your tongue, because his eyes are aglow with delight.

“Do you miss home?” you ask afterwards, curious to see how your new friend is faring.

“Definitely. No matter how many times I’ve left Elysia, I always miss it with the same fervor,” he admits, and you appreciate the way he opens up to you. It was almost as if he were unafraid of appearances in front of you, and his abrupt honesty was completely foreign to you.

“You leave often then?”

“A few instances. I’ve had to be involved in some skirmishes at our borders recently,” he sighs, and it appears that Youngjae is also not a big fan of warfare. You note that as well, realizing how much you were growing to admire each of the characteristics of this new prince.

“I suppose that’s why all of this is happening…making alliances to appear strong,” you briefly relent, acknowledging that as much as this union would hurt your pride, it had its use. It was not a frivolous decision for either part, which only made your choice that much more difficult to execute.

“If it’s to protect my people, it’s a sacrifice to make,” he agrees, “I apologize that you will not be marrying for love, Y/N, but I promise I’ll do my best to not make it torturous.”

He tacks on a joke at the end to ease the tension, but it doesn’t hide the fact that his words make your heart waver. Youngjae recognizes what you were giving up and he sympathizes with you. Unlike you, however, he was accepting his fate. Even though he doesn’t mention it, you know that he is giving up his free will as well by agreeing to marry you. He would also be closing the door of “what if?” because he cared for the citizens under his protection.

You think back to the servants who never fail to curtsy in your presence, the cooks who always let you have a taste of whatever’s cooking because they didn’t stand a chance to your puppy-dog eyes, and your closest friend Luce who always takes care of you without a complaint. You remember how her worn hands glide across your skin with the finest skincare in the land, just to ensure that your skin stays youthful at the expense of hers. Your heart pounds with pain.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, as you struggle not to cry in front of Youngjae.

He grasps your wrist in confusion, worried eyes seeking yours when he says, “Did I say something wrong?”

You pat the back of his hand and try to smile amidst your guilt. Nodding slowly, you say, “I thought that I deserved to fight against this marriage because without my autonomy, I’d be nothing. But your words, you made me realize that perhaps there are greater things.”

He looks at you with the utmost care and sympathy when he replies, “Agreeing to this doesn’t make you weak, Y/N. You will be the strongest queen Utopia has known because you sacrifice for your people.”

When he hugs you in a much-needed, warm embrace, you don’t stop him.

✧✧✧✧✧

The month passes by in the blink of an eye, and before long, you’ve let Youngjae into your life more than you’d like to admit. The boy made you much more playful, as you began skipping some of your studying to join him in playing outside. He seemed like an energetic individual, always wearing a smile and excited to see you. You did your best to keep your distance, but ever since he opened up to you it almost felt natural to do the same.

The day of the wedding rolls around, and even as Luce and a few other servants help you get dressed for the special occasion; you can’t help but doubt whether you were making the right decision. Of course, there would be worse men to be in an arranged marriage with, but ultimately this was a choice that would stick by your side for the rest of your reign. You shouldn’t tread lightly.

“Luce…” you mumble as soon as the other girls leave to let her braid your hair in an elegant bun in peace.

“Today is a special day in your life your highness…your life and Prince Youngjae’s,” Luce begins, giving you her reassuring smile as she braids silver flowers into your braid.

“I know that, I know this is important for our kingdoms, and yet I feel afraid.”

“Fear is understandable. It’s important to fear because it will push you to act. You are not just making a decision for yourself, but for thousands of people,” she finishes with your locks before finally giving your shaking hands a squeeze, “You have never let us down.”

You give Luce a grateful hug, thankful for her comforting words. When you stand, admiring the long train behind you, the reality of everything begins hitting you all at once. You were marrying Youngjae, the man that recently makes your stomach burst with butterflies and your palms sweaty just from looking at him. You were crazy enough to think that you could eventually love him, and you hoped to the heavens that he considered you in the same way.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I wouldn’t worry,” Luce muses before opening the door as your entourage stands at the ready outside. You would fire back at her to say that you weren’t worried at all, but the sight of the dozen knights standing in full armor to escort you to the grand ballroom is enough to dry your mouth completely.

You knew that the ballroom would be transformed for the wedding, but you didn’t expect the beauty dazzling from the high ceilings. Each corner had a fresh bouquet, the beautiful pastel roses making your eyes widen with wonder. The guests consisted of the royals whom previously paid you no heed, but now are openly observing you with interest. You knew that they now respect your new position, and you would soon have to play palace politics. The dread paled in comparison to the surprise that catches in your throat when you see the groom standing at the altar.

Youngjae is dressed in a standard princely attire, but the sparkling crown atop his head and the big grin on his face make all the difference. Seeing him standing ahead of you, waiting for you to be by his side, force you to reconcile with your feelings once again. You were falling for him, from the moment he sang you his favorite song and laughed without a care in the world, you were smitten. He not only acknowledged your fears but reassured you through them, and for that, he was more than deserving to rule alongside you.

“Ready?” he whispers after receiving your hand from your father.

With one look at his deep brown eyes swirling with affection, you announce proudly, “I’m ready.”

✧

[makarov-my-beloved]

Watch Dogs: Legion x AmRev

@burgoyned Chapter 4 out! Feedback if you wish ^^

Chapter 4: One Of Us, Many Of You!

Burgoyne browsed through the mask shop in the Safehouse, per requested by Bagley. “Welcome to DedSec, Johnny! Now, how about you make yourself a team player and purchase a mask?” There is so much to choose from. Browsing through various choices of masks gave the playwriter a migraine. I don’t know which is good. He finally settled on a mask that is a modern “knight” helmet with a holographic golden “Lōng” teeth glowing. The entire front was a black visor encased by gold lining. “Knight of Avalon” the description read. Fancy, fancy! Burgoyne scanned 200 ETO and the mask was instantly dropped from the machine. He picked it up and placed it over his head. The visor obscured 90% of his vision, but he can still make out the room. This is pretty neat! Hearing the front door opened, Burgoyne removed his helmet and saw both André and Clinton arrive, dropping their gear on the table.

Bagley spoke up. “Welcome back Operators! Are you ready for your next mission?” “NOW HOLD ON!” Burgoyne quickly rushed downstairs to greet his friends. He spun Clinton around and began shaking his hand. “It is an honor to meet you, sir. What brings you here on this fine day?” Clinton gave him a fake glare. “Do you know how to address your superiors?” “I don’t need to. You are NOT my superior and I don’t HAVE to address you as anything,” smirked Burgoyne. A smirk also crept across Clinton’s face. “Pleasure seeing you here, Burgoyne.” “Indeed. Such a friendly reunion that I forgot to add you don’t have permission to be accessing DedSec technology until you are fully recruited,” the playwriter taunted, showing off his new mask. “I don’t believe in holding an initiation ceremony unless you want a repeat of what happened before,” chided Bagley sarcastically. “Hey, hey, that was once a lifetime thing,” Burgoyne retorted.

“Regardless, André has already informed me that Clinton was able to access all of Clan Kelley’s information regarding the human organ harvesting as well as an auction. Some of them are victims of the bombings. This one piece of information is vital, however, there is more,” Bagley said, pulling up the data. The three men read through Kelley’s documents, each growing more disgusted with the paper detailing everything. “That bitch. Always kissing up to some higher up,” growled André. “Those poor victims. How are we going to find them? We need to rescue them from those bloody bastards!” Clinton added. “Perhaps. I can’t quite pinpoint where Clan Kelley is operating right now, but I do know we need to find more information about those victims starting from one of the bomb sites.”

“How would that give us any information?” André asked curiously. “Perhaps the bombs were set off internally. It’s best if you try recovering a clue first then we can proceed with the next step,” Bagley said, opening up a map of London and marked one of the bomb sites. It was located in the City of London. “You’ll need to sneak in with caution. Albion secured the location to make sure no one gets in.” André pouts his face. “This will be rough.” “Quite certainly. Although there is a way of tackling this,” Bagley said. The Operators looked at him with a confused expression. He continued. “I propose one of you stay behind and monitor the site through the cameras. The rest of you travel to the site and recover the evidence.” “I’ll stay. I know the ins and outs of every part of the location,” André said, sitting down in front of the computer.

Clinton and Burgoyne looked at each other. “I guess that’ll be us. Alrighty, let’s head out,” Clinton said as he headed for the entrance upstairs. “Now hang on a second, have you picked out a mask yet? You can’t be going out somewhere with your face exposed,” Bagley stated matter of factly. The Operator raised his gasmask. “Already have one,” he chirped. “Oh well, fantastic then. Looks better than the others ones I’ve seen.” “HEY!” André and Burgoyne protested together. “Alright, alright. Now time is running short. Do hurry.” Burgoyne and Clinton climbed up the staircase and left the Safehouse. André began accessing connections to the bomb site. “I’ve never imagined it to be this horrendous,” he said, scanning the whole site through different camera angles. “You can’t imagine being this horrendous? I wonder if it is any worse than the plays you write.” “Those ideas are scraped, my dear Bagley,” retorted André. The AI chuckled, remaining silent for the remainder of the mission.

Clinton’s eye widened when the men approached their destination. Half of the stadium was blown to smithereens. A construction fence was set up all around where the incident took place, some heavily constructed by Albion to prevent outsiders from looking in. A memorial to those who lost their lives was placed at the front entrance, covered with flowers and candles. Burgoyne let out a sob. “This is heartbreaking. I feel for the victims of this tragedy.” “You weep for the civilians while Clan Kelley and the others laugh at our misfortune,” Clinton softly replied. As they approached the heavily barricaded walls, a small ctOS drone can be heard buzzing above them. Burgoyne quickly put his helmet on as Clinton strapped his gas mask on. Both men quickly slipped behind a small barricade and watched the small drone look around before entering the site.

“That’s odd. That drone would usually chase outsiders out. I wonder who is controlling that?” Burgoyne wondered. He felt a tug from Clinton who motioned towards a small opening. Nodding, the two men crawled through the hole and found themselves standing in front of a large crater where the explosion took place. Debris covered every part of the broken stadium; chunks of metal, concrete, as well as aluminum, splayed across the ground. The interior of the stadium was exposed, so the men can see Albion guards patrolling the inside of the building. ctOS drones flew everywhere amid large cargo drones occasionally flying in and out to drop off necessary materials. Burgoyne stared in disbelief at the amount of damaged caused. Adjusting his mask, Clinton began quietly prodding his way towards the epicenter. A few guards walked by, but one of them spotted the men. “HEY, YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE!” he yelled, raising his gun. “OH SHIT! RUN” Burgoyne pushed Clinton and the two began the run.

The site became alerted and all Albion guards began pursuing the intruders. Spotting a small opening, Clinton grabbed Burgoyne by the arm and they slipped into the crater. They hid behind a massive concrete building, away from their pursuers. The ctOS drone that they saw earlier slipped into the crack and hovered next to Burgoyne. He tapped the little drone. “You could’ve helped us drive those bastards away, you know.” “I don’t think that’s André. He doesn’t know how to operate a drone yet,” Clinton whispered. “Wait, if this isn’t André then…” Sweat began to break out as Burgoyne nervously checks the drone. Whizzing past the men, the ctOS drone began scanning the nearby area. It shone its light on a small object lying on the floor. A small sigh escaped Burgoyne but with his helmet is made it sound suffocating. Clinton emerged from his spot and approached the object. From the drone’s flight, he can tell it was part of a Spiderbot.

Bagley pinged the earpiece. “That’s it. You’ve recovered the first clue. It looks like a Spiderbot. I’m sending out an AR replicant so we can have a detailed visual of what exactly happened here.” “Great. But just a question, is André piloting this drone? There is a drone that has been following us around and I wonder if it’s André.” André spoke up. “No sir, it’s not me!” Clinton froze. Bagley took over again. “You’ll need to proceed with caution. I’ll track the user of this drone for the time being. For now, take a look at this AR video and tell me what you think.”

As Bagley pinged off, a holographic display began to play. It showed three people walking down the tunnel as one of them carried a suitcase. Hiding within the small vent above Clinton was a Spiderbot. Both Clinton and Burgoyne observed the holographic Spiderbot proceed down the vent, entered a room adjacent to the main tunnel and the AR stopped. Bagley pinged again. “So it appears that one of the people has access to the explosion that attached itself to the Spiderbot. You’ll need to bring the bot back to have more data processed.”

“And this drone?” “I’ve traced it back to a user not far from the site.” “Great. We’ll head out there now. Much appreciated.” Tapping his earpiece, Clinton turned to Burgoyne who was still hiding behind the concrete. “We got what we came for let’s head out.” Picking up the bot, Clinton put it inside his bag then dragged the somewhat frightened playwriter out of hiding. The ctOS drone followed them, buzzing softly in the sky. Making their way back to the entrance, Clinton and Burgoyne ran until they’re out of range of suspecting Albion guards. Removing his gas mask, the hacker looked around. Burgoyne, upon removing his helmet, began combing his brown hair which was sticking up from the static of the helmet. “Damn, that was a close one. I guess we now know what happened?” “Yes. This Spiderbot might still hold some key data on how the bomb was processed. We’ll need to head back now.” The ctOS drone buzzed towards a man approaching them. He was wearing a hacker-esque jacket with black leather pants covered with binary code and grey low-cut boots. The man took off his hood, revealing a surprising face that both Clinton and Burgoyne stopped then burst out laughing.

“Ara-ara, if it isn’t SIR William Howe,” snickered Burgoyne as punched his friend on the arm. “What are you doing here on this fine evening hmm?” questioned Clinton in a mocking manner. Howe rolled his eyes. “Same as you. Trying to find information about what has happened here.” “Ah, I see. Did André recruit you to help or you’re just on your own?” Burgoyne inquired. “André? I’m on my own. The two of you are with DedSec I presume?” Howe said, pointing towards the DedSec fox logo on the men’s jacket. “Yes we are,” Clinton said. Their friend narrowed his eyes a tad bit and Clinton could tell this wasn’t going to be good. “Siding with a terrorist organization? I’d rather leave this country than to join a terrorist organi-“ Clinton cut him off. “How about you follow us and we’ll show you what DedSec is.”

Howe bit his lip before shrugging his shoulders. “Alright.” And followed the men back to the Safehouse.

After arriving at the Earl’s Fortune, Clinton dragged Burgoyne and Howe into the Safehouse where they saw André sitting on the couch looking at the London Tube system while discussing transportation with Bagley. Bagley closed the map and said, “Oh hello there Operators. I see we have a recruit. Is he a playwriter? How sexual is his mind?” “No and my brain is NOT sexual”, Sir William retorted at the AI. Burgoyne and Clinton looked at each other before bursting out laughing. “Oh haha, very funny. VERY funny,” the drone flyer rolled his eyes. André hid his face behind his hands to hide his snicker but was nevertheless happy to have another close friend recruited into DedSec. Recruitment Complete.

[survey--s]

13.

What are you excited for? Christmas break, and getting a day off tomorrow, even though the circumstances aren’t great. I’ve not had a day off for weeks though so it’s much-needed.

What is your name? Nina. Who was the last person to talk to you? Mike saying he was going fishing tomorrow afternoon. Are you part Irish? I am not. What was your last facebook status? Describing the series of brain farts I had this morning, lol. I have no idea what was up with me but my brain was all over the place, ha.

Do you find musicians or athletes more attractive? It depends on the individual, not their talents. What is your favourite colour? Purple. Do you email often? No, just for work and even then most people contact me via messenger or text. How was your night last night? I slept most of it, lol. I felt horrendous yesterday for some reason, just absolutely  exhausted. I went to bed at 8pm and slept for ten straight hours, ha. If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? I haven’t really thought about it. Do you own any action figures? I do not. Do you like reading? It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just that I don’t seem to have the concentration span for it these days. What’s your favourite thing about your hometown? The location - I love being so close to the sea and near the woods and mountains too. It’s gorgeous here. What did you do over Christmas? Christmas is in three weeks. I take off work for two weeks but otherwise I don’t have any major plans yet. Probably seeing family, shopping, catching up on sleep and such. I also have a Christmas beach ride booked in. When I was younger I wanted to be a: Journalist. Do you have a lucky number? Nope. How many vowels has your whole name got in it? Nine. The last thing you downloaded onto your computer? The image at the top of this survey. Do you like cats? I love cats! I have one curled up next to me right now, in fact :) Do you have an iPod? No. I just use my phone for music these days. Are you wearing jeans? No, I’m wearing leggings at the moment. Do you prefer nighttime or daytime? Daytime, as a rule, but it really depends on my plans too. Have you got any piercings? I have nine piercings but only wear jewellery in eight of them. Is the window in your room open? I don’t think so, I closed it earlier to warm the house up a bit. Do you own a gun? No, guns are illegal over here. Do you chew on ice cubes? I do, yeah. Do you hold grudges easily? No. Do you play any instruments? Yes. Have you ever thrown a surprise birthday party? Nope. If you celebrate Christmas, do you get a real tree or an artificial tree? We have an artificial tree. I have animals who would eat the pine needles of real ones and I worry about them getting sick. What’s the last thing you watched? Judy Justice. What websites do you go on more than others? Tumblr, Facebook, Mumsnet, Reddit. What is the hardest decision that you have ever had to make? Leaving Chris and moving up here to start my entire life over again. How long ago did you take your last survey? A few hours ago. I got distracted talking to Susie. Have you ever been told you were a good writer? Yeah. What do you want to be when you’re older? Happy. What colour car do your parents drive? They share a white Audi. Are you shy? No, I just don’t like making small talk with people so I stay quiet, lol. Do you change depending on who you’re with? It’s not that I change who I am, but of course I behave differently around, say, prospective clients compared to close family. Have you ever liked someone and they were taken? Sure. Do you own a camera? If so, do you use it often? No, I just use my phone. What’s your biggest wish right now? Uh, that Guy recovers and gets better soon. Do you believe in fate? No. Does it take a lot to make you cry? It depends on my overall mood. Do you have a Twitter? I do, but I never actually post anything. I only have an account because you can’t browse that site properly without one. Do you often find yourself eating just because you’re bored? Yeah, definitely. It’s one of my worst habits, for sure. What are your worst habits? Eating too much junk food and giving in to laziness on my days off. Would you rather be alone or in the company of other people? Generally I would rather be alone. When was the last time you flew on a plane? Uh, May of 2018. Do you watch music videos? Sometimes I go through phases of wanting to do that, yeah. Do you ever wish you were someone else? Sometimes. I mean, not a specific person, just...not me, lol. Do you know much about your family tree? No, not really. What is your favorite home-cooked meal? My mum’s butternut squash and sage risotto. Do you own an account on club penguin? I did, yeah. Do you like lemonade? I have to be in the right mood for it. Is there someone who means a lot to you but they don’t know that? No. Who are you currently talking to? Nobody at the moment. Is money important to you? I mean, of course, having a house and food is always a bonus, lol. What are you afraid of? Losing the people I love. First person to come to your mind: Mike. Who was the last person to call you? Helen - a client of mine saying one of her cats’ was unwell last week and was I still okay to watch them this weekend.  Is there someone you trust more than others? Of course.

[imherongraystairstrash]

The Broken Hearts Part 5!!

I feel like I publish a new chapter once a millennia, so I don’t think many people are going to read it, but if you’re still here, I thank you from the bottom of my heart ❤️ BUT, because I never publish, I made sure that this chapter was extra long! Happy New Year!!

“ELLIE!” 

Ella felt her entire body jolt awake. 

“Lucie? What are you doing here?”

“I came as soon as I heard! How could I stay in Idris when there is trouble here?”

“What about your children,” Ella said, blinking away sleep. “Did you bring them?”

“I wanted to, but Jesse said it was ‘unsafe’ for them to be here. So we left them with Gideon and Sophie.”

Ella sat up and tried to blink away her sleepiness. 

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon, you lazy bum. You must get up.”

“We stayed up late.”

“Everyone else is awake.” 

Ella grunted. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

...

Ella walked into the breakfast parlor and slumped down next to James, who was reading over some papers. His daughter, Caspara, was on his lap, gurgling and talking to James, even though she hasn’t said her first words yet. Caspara always seemed to be talking either to herself or others, though what she was trying to say, no one will ever know. 

“Hulloooo!” Ella said, crossing her eyes at Caspara. “How’s my favorite Herondale niece?”

Caspara giggled and stretched her hands out to her. Ella gave her one of her fingers and Caspara was quiet, leaning back against James’ chest and holding Ella’s finger in her hand. 

“There she is! Our Sleeping Beauty!” Lucie said, fake swooning as she strolled into the parlor.

“Honestly Lu, couldn’t you wake me normally?” Ella said referring to her morning scare. 

“Normal? I refuse to be associated with that vulgar word.”

“Lucie, stop terrorizing your poor sister.” Jesse said, coming from behind Lucie.

“Thank you, Jesse.” Ella said, grabbing a piece of toast.

Lucie slumped into the nearest chair. “You are no fun.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “You should have thought of that before you brought me back from the dead.”

“Please do not discuss your resurrection this early in the morning.” James said, his face in his hands.

Ella looked at him and then at Lucie. She shrugged and gave her a face that suggested she thought James was being dramatic. Ella giggled.

“Are you two staying here long?” She asked Lucie and Jesse, who no doubt portaled in from Idris this morning.

“We don’t think so.” Lucie said. “Eva and Adeline should not be left in Gideon and Sophie’s home for extended periods of time for they might get too comfortable with them and begin acting out.”

“They take after their mother.” Jesse said.

Lucie glared at him. “As they should. Imagine having children like Jesse. What an absolute bore.”

Had Lucie and Jesse’s relationship not thrived on their bickering, Ella would have called a decorum. Instead she enjoyed the show for a while longer before turning to her brother. 

“What are you reading, Jamie?” Ella asked, looking over his shoulder. 

“He won’t tell us.” Lucie said.

Ella frowned. “Why not?”

“Because Sherlock Holmes likes to work alone.” Lucie said, conveying her annoyance with her tone of voice. 

James glared at Lucie. “I’ll tell you, Ella.” Lucie gasped and up a hand to her chest. James continued speaking as though she’d done nothing. “I’m reading over the institute records. Maybe we are all overreacting and last night was just a power outage.”

Ella nodded and looked at her cereal. She didn’t want to remind James of the cruel voice that haunted her dreams last night, the one that spoke before the power went out. James and Cordelia were clearly worried enough. 

So instead, she had breakfast with her siblings and niece. She’d figure it out later.

…

“Hullo Ben!” Jesper Carstairs said cheerfully, “We’re going to the institute and were told to pick you up.”

Ben looked at him through squinted eyes. “That sounds oddly vague. You are not going to abduct me, are you?” 

“Of course not.”

Had the idea of Jesper Carstairs abducting Benjamin Penhallow—who was a good five centimeters taller than the former— not been so absurd, Ben probably would not have taken Jesper’s word.

But it was, so Ben obliged.

“Who’s ‘we’re’” Ben asked, referring to Jesper’s earlier statement. 

“Oh, right. The Fairchilds are meeting us coming with us.” Jesper smiled. “Look, they’re right there about to cross that street. TILDY!” He called.

Matilda whirled around. “Stop calling me that!” 

Jesper smiled. “She loves that pet name.”

…

“What does it mean?!” Ella exclaimed, slamming her head against her open book on the table. Said book was on demon attacks in the past.

Alex was sprawled upside-down from the edge of the sofa, bouncing a rubber ball on the wall and catching it with fluid expertise. 

“Will you stop bouncing that bloody ball?” Ella said, after what felt like the fiftieth time he’d chucked it against the wall.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I am trying to think, Alex. Something you have no experience with.”

Ella caught his ball before Alex could and sat on it. Alex stuck his tongue out at her.

“You are both children.” Said Jesper from where he sat on the floor entertaining baby Caspara, who Ella had taken with her to the library after breakfast. 

“Oh, the irony.” Jocelyn said, not looking up from her book.

“Should we be concerned about this? The blackout, I mean.” Alex asked, sliding down to the floor. Caspara laughed and stretched out her hands for Alex to pick her up.

“I don’t know. It seems like a pathetic threat to me. But maybe that’s because we grew up around danger.”

“I think I agree with Ella, but I also don’t think we should ignore it. However unthreatening the message may have been, we shouldn’t just ignore it before we have a few answers.” Ben said.

The others nodded in agreement before they all fell silent again, reading or thinking.

“Wait a minute, look at this.” Matilda said from where she was seated. “There’s a demon that can supposedly ‘create’ darkness.”

Ella felt her eyes widen. She pushed past Alex and sat down next to Matilda. Soon, the six (well, seven if you counted Caspara, who was giggling in Alex’s arms) shadowhunters were all crowded around her, peering at the book. 

“In Islam, they use this expression: Iblīs al-Qadīm. It translates to ‘The Ancient Iblis.”

“Iblis. Like, the common Iblis demon? Yes, they do leave darkness where they go, but enough to immerse the entire institute?”

“Perhaps this is a different type of Iblis. From a different realm; a distant cousin of the standard Iblis demon we would find on patrol.”

“We should ask an inside source.” Ella said.

Suddenly, all of the shadowhunters were staring at Alex Lightwood. 

Alex furrowed his eyebrows before he realized why they were staring.

“Hell no.”

“Alex, come on.”

“How do we know they have the same tastes in men?”

“You have a dark charm.”

“No.” Alex said, scooting away. “My brother, Christopher, has a dark charm.”

“Alex, Iblis demons love you.”

“They begged for you to be the one to kill them last year, when we cornered them.” Jesper said.

“Those Iblis demons love them some Lightwood-Herondale boys.”

Alex looked exasperated. “Let me get this straight, you want me to seduce these ‘new’ Iblis demons to get information on what happened?”

“Precisely.” Ella said. 

Alex sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to win the argument. “Even if I did agree to this, which I do not, how would we even go about attracting their attention?”

“You might want to leave that to be.” Jocelyn said with a devil’s smirk.

…

“I hate this.” Alex said. 

“You’re doing great, darling.” Ella called from above.

“I hate this.” He repeated.

“Alex.” Alex looked up at where Jesper was calling him from. “Do it for the ladies.”

“Shut your face, Carstairs.”

“They’re coming! Everybody hide.”

Alex turned to a pillar in the empty warehouse. 

“Not you, Alex!” Ella hissed. “Get back on your mark.”

Alex frowned and stood on the “X” Ella had drawn on the floor of the abandoned building. 

At that moment, Matilda came in sprinting and jumping along the walls, tailed by an Iblis demon.

“You’re dead, little girl. You have no idea what kind of enemy you get ma— Oh, what have we here?”

Alex cleared his throat. He tried to lean against a pillar casually. “Hello there.” He said, trying and failing to sound seductive. 

“How is this boy Anna Lightwood’s brother?” Jocelyn whispered, her face in her hands.

The Iblis demon, however, looked closer at Alex before swooning. “A Lightwood.”

“It said Lightwood with pure…I-bliss.” Jesper said, laughing silently at his joke.

“Idiot,” Ella said with a smirk.

“Lightwood boy, what brings you to these parts?” The Iblis demon inquired.

“I’ve come in hopes for a favor.”

The Iblis demon looked delighted. “What will you give me in return? A kiss?!”

Alex cringed, “No, not a kiss. That’s how my grandfather Benedict killed my grandmother and got turned into a worm.”

“Oh, of course, I’ve seemed to have forgotten about that bloody demon pox.” The lblis demon said. 

“Consider yourself lucky.” Ella mumbled under her breath. Her father never let her forget it. She shuddered at the lecture he had given her, Alex and Jesper when they were thirteen. Ella had seen brighter days than those. 

Alex cleared his throat. “In return, I grace you with my presence.”

The Iblis demon licked it’s lips, “Sounds good to me.”

Alex shifted uncomfortably. 

“I was wondering… Erm, do I call you Iblis?”

“Call me ‘darling’.”

“I think I’ll call you Iris.”

The demon gushed. “My very own pet name! My sisters will be dead with jealousy!”

Alex looked at Ella, confused. Ella gestured at him to keep talking. 

“Erm, alright then. I was wondering if you knew of any other Iblises?”

“Ibli”

“Right. Ibli coming into this dimension?”

“Hm, I can’t say I do.”

“Oh.” Alex said, making a show of looking disappointed.

“Wait!” The Iblis called. “I think I may know something about a distant relative of us Ibli coming a couple of days back.”

Alex smiled uneasily. “Fascinating!” By the Angel, he’s a horrendous actor. Ella thought.

“And, do you by any chance, know if they’re powerful?”

The Iblis hissed, “that they are. But my species of Iblis is much better. We are more civilized. Why, these Ibli are so easily manipulated and would do just about anything to please their master.”

Master?

“Is it always the same master?” Alex asked.

“No, it can be anyone.”

“Interesting. And do you think these Ibli, theoretically, could make all of the lights of the institute, let’s say, go out?”

“Of course.”

“Even if demons aren’t allowed to enter hallowed grounds?”

“These Ibli can do it from a distance.”

That was all the information Ella needed. She got up from her crouched position along the ceiling beams and unsheathed her seraph blade. She stepped forward, only to get pulled backwards.

“What the heck, Carstairs?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kill the Iblis.”

“You can’t kill Iris.”

“Who?”

“The Iblis.”

“Well, I’m not going to let her kill my parabatai.”

“Hey,” Ben said. “Don’t assume Iris's gender.” 

“I’m not going to let Iris kill my parabatai.” Ella mended and jumped off the ceiling beam.

“Say, where’s that purple-eyed brother of yours?” The Iblis demon asked Alex, seconds before Ella’s blade plunged into it’s heart.

…

“That was a bit ruthless.”

“Would you rather it kidnap you and make you it’s husband?”

“We could have reached a level of compromise.”

“Alright then,” Ella said, wiping her blade on the grass. “Next time, you handle the situation as you deem fit.”

“I will.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The other’s heads whipped back and forth as the parabatai brawled. 

Ella stared at them, “don’t you have something better to do?”

“No, we really don’t.” Said Jesper.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get out of here and figure out what we’re going to do next. I don’t like the feeling of this place.”

Jesper made a joke about what Alex had just said while Ella fell into the back of the line with Ben and Matty.

“What do you make of this?”

Ella shrugged, “I’m not one for solving riddles.”

Ben furrowed his eyebrows. “Iris said that it shouldn’t have been a spontaneous attack; though you may not like it, Ella, I can’t help but think that Owen disappearing was more than a mere coincidence.”

“I’ll have to agree with Ben.” Matty said, “It’s not like Owen to run off like that.”

Ella didn’t want to think about what had taken her nephew, not one bit.

“Who would do such a thing?” Ella asked.

“Somebody with a grudge against your family.”

Jesper, Alex and Jocelyn stopped joking around and laughing and turned to the others.

“A grudge against the Herondales?” Jocelyn asked.

Ben shook his head. “A grudge against the Grays.”

“Belial.” Ella whispered.

“Why would they attack Ella’s family and not Belial himself? No offense to your family, El, but why bother attacking the Herondales when Belial has made it clear he doesn’t care about them?” Jesper said.

“Because they are important to him. Don’t you remember?  He could have possessed James, and walked earth again, had he let him.” Matty said.

Ben nodded. “The Herondales have the ability to grant him freedom.”

“Well, this is just wonderful.” Jesper’s tone dripped sarcasm. “How many enemies must Belial have? A thousand? A million? How will we ever find who's behind this?”

They were all silent for a moment.

“Oh,” Alex said, more to himself than anyone else. “It might not be that hard.”

“What do you mean?” Matilda asked. 

“Lesser demons don’t have the mental capacity to orchestrate something like this. What happened yesterday night, that wasn't an attack; it was a threat. Why else would someone go to the lengths of kidnapping the direct descendant of Belial, just to leave him somewhere in the institute unharmed and easily found? Moreover, why not attack all of the Nephilim? All lesser demons think about is feeding; they’re not evolved enough to feel things such as revenge. This is the work of a greater demon.”

Alex’s realization was left in the air. Nobody wanted to voice the possibility that this could be the work of a Prince of Hell. Ella exhaled. That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t talk about it.

“Does anybody know of the Princes of Hell? Which ones could potentially have contact with our earth?”

Jocelyn nodded. “It can’t be Sammael, Lucifer or Lilith. They’ve been banished and will continue to be banished for many years to come.”

“We’ve collectively decided it can’t be Belial.” Jesper said.

“Mammon hasn’t come in contact with Belial for years. Azazel doesn’t really care; he’s not one to start drama. Astaroth— ” Jocelyn said. 

“What about Belphegor?” Ella interrupted quietly. 

Jocelyn furrowed her eyebrows, “There haven’t been sightings of him in over a century.”

“But is it possible for him to come back now?”

“Yes, I would think so. Why do you ask, Ella?”

Ella swallowed. “Belial met James in a realm he stole for Belphegor. Belial is the reason he hasn’t been seen in so long; he’s the one that wounded him greatly enough that he hasn’t come back yet.”

They all looked at her gravely.

“Well,” Ben said at last. “I think we have our suspect.”

Tagging: @celias @lightlady599

[cheetoflavoredcake]

Hate is Such a Strong Word - ReddNook - Chapter 1

It’s finally here! This one is over 1600 words and I’m quite pleased with how it came out. Anyways, enjoy

Tom sighed as he finished filling out another paper, already regretting pulling an all nighter previously. The island representative had been doing a lot more trading as of late, as well as visiting friends and joining in events, causing him to be overloaded with paperwork to fill out. He knew that they had started giving the island a new theme, something to do with magic and horror, and had been pulling all nighters themselves - although he knew that they never looked like it. He enjoyed watching their progress from the window when he drank his morning coffee, it was always a wonder to him how they managed to think of these things. He also noticed that, even with the new changes being made, the huge flower field that had been made not too long ago, wasn’t going to ever move - the island representative cherished that place with her life.

Speaking of the island, it had become quite the feat. To think that all this place had been was a weed filled rock in the middle of the ocean was amazing. When he had first had this idea, he knew it was crazy but he still acted on impulse and bought the island without a second choice. While he was packing up his bags, he thought of all the possibilities and memories he could make with the boys. When he did get on the island and only saw three people who had actually purchased the getaway, he got a bit discouraged but he reminded him this was only the beginning and it would get better, and better it did.

Cheetovillie, the name the island representative had happily suggested, had only gotten better by the day. Of course it had to be expected that at first things were slow, but once the island rep. had gotten enough bells to pay to upgrade all the houses and had gotten access to nook mile tickets, the island grew faster than ever. There was never a moment in that time where they weren’t seen working on the image of the island. It had only been a matter of time before he had called Isabelle and upgraded his lousy tent to a whole residents service building.

Not too long ago, they had managed to get the famous K.K Slider himself to play for the island and its residents, not only that, but he had even offered to play every Saturday! It had taken all his self control to not fanboy right then and there. 

He smiled, looking at the clock to his left. 4:57 a.m, he must’ve gotten lost in his reminiscing, but it was worth it in his mind. Isabelle and the boys would be getting up in a couple hours, meaning he had to finish up these last few papers to make sure he had enough time to cook breakfast - seeing as he wasn’t all that good at making food without burning it beyond no return. Isabelle had made sure to record today's announcement earlier before she went to bed and all Tom had to do was post it so everyone could see it once they awoke. 

Quickly finishing one last paper, he hurriedly posted the recording just as the clock struck five ante meridiem. Sighing as he put the last signed page with the others, he slowly got up and stretched with a groan. Man, he really was getting old. Although many didn’t count forty being truly old, it was still up there in his mind. He had definitely gained some weight - maybe it was that ‘dad bod’ like the island representative had mumbled about a few times. 

He pushed his chair in quietly before opening the door up to the small apartments implemented into the building. It had a nice, dark green and brown scheme,  giving it an old timey feel to it. To the left was the door that led to Isabelle’s apartment, and to the right was his and the boys apartment - which was slightly bigger than Isabelle’s due to them having more people.

Tom quietly opened the door, making sure not to disturb the teens in the other room. They had turned thirteen this year, and he almost couldn’t believe it. It seemed just like yesterday that he was holding their tiny forms in his arms after his sister's death. He was devastated about her passing but he knew he had to take the boys, it was all he had left of her. The worst part is they were only a month or two old, and it had been about two years after Redd had abruptly left and taken all of his belongings. It had been hard for him to rebuild his business all the while raising his two nephews, but he chugged on through.

The brunette grabbed the pancake batter left over from yesterday from the fridge, and proceeded to then grab a pan and set it on the stove, pouring the batter in simultaneously as it heated up. As he waited, he leaned on the islander behind him and thought more on the previous topic. It had been fifteen years since he had last spoken to that scammer, and he’s never felt better. Leaving that swindling fox behind was one of his best decisions - his other was getting the boys and buying this island. He used to dwell on him and wonder if he was coming back but now that he's older, he realizes how foolish that thought was. 

Sniffing the air, he came back down to Earth and looked in front of himself. Sure enough, the pancakes were burnt horrendously. Man, it was going to be a long day.

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

The boys had left to go to the Cranny an hour and a half ago before the island rep came barging in. She was wearing her witch costume that she looked oh-so-dearly, except she had changed out the black pointed shoes for some simple black flats. She adjusted the goggles on her face before giving a wave to Tom and Isabelle and turning to the ABD. With fast hands she typed in her search and bought what she needed, K.K. Love Song. Although she looked like someone who would be into darker songs - which she was, - she was a collector of all the K.K. albums and even traded some for others.

Pulling down her black face mask, she turned around to face her landlord.

“ ‘Ey, Mr. Nook?”

She started as she walked over to the older male’s desk. He turned his head away from the computer he was glued to and walked over to the counter where she was sat. He made a noise of acknowledgement before she continued.

“ I, uh, saw this orange-y guy, he looked like a, um,  sales person? So, aaah, I was wondering if you hired another guy to come here and I just forgot about it?”

The white haired girl said curiously. Everyone knew how she fumbled with her wording all the time, and how she could be extremely forgetful, so a question like this was ordinary. One time she even went around the whole island looking for the Museum for a half an hour before solemnly walking into Residents Services to ask where the Museum was again. 

But Tom knew that he hadn’t gotten another vendor to come here. Although sometimes the rep would claim they saw something but it usually ended up being her imagination, but this, this was different. Maybe there was a camper that went outside of the tent and he had just forgot? But what did she mean by orangey?

“....I don’t remember getting another vendor. Would you mind explaining more?”

The brunette drawled quizzically. The girl in front of him pursed her lips, seemingly thinking of whatever pieces of this mysterious man she could muster.

“He seemed really...uh...ah”

She started slowly, puffing up her cheeks and blubbering like a fish before she jolted upwards and smacked her hands on the desk

“Sketchy! Yeah, that's the word, really sketchy. I think he also mentioned a boat? Said he was ‘jolly’. Can’t remember much, but he did send me this thingy in the mail. I think I bought it from him? Don’t trust my word on that.”

The witchy girl rambled, trying to say as much as she could before she forgot it all again. This only made Tom worry. What was this ‘thing’ she bought? And what did she mean by ‘jolly’? There were many questions he had but he knew he couldn’t get all the answers at the moment.

“Alright, thank you Cheeto, we’ll look into it.”

He said and smiled, which earned a quirky smirk from the girl, before he turned to his companion who - of course - had been listening to the whole conversation. The woman flinched before listening intently as the man spoke.

“Isabelle, would you please write all of that down for me? And make a note to announce of a sketchy individual tomorrow.”

The blonde nodded forcefully with a quiet ‘Yes sir!’ before quickly scribbling down the important details. Tom turned back to the girl who was sitting patiently on the stool whilst kicking her legs childishly. 

“Thank you again Cheeto, you're free to go now.”

At the mention of her name, she looked up at him. She jumped off her stool and headed towards the door whilst fiddling with her mask. She opened the door ever so slightly before pivoting on her foot to give a wave and a smile, then proceeding back outside where she belonged. 

Tom let out a sigh before sitting back down to get back to work. Hopefully this would all blow over and things would go back to normal, worry free.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Can you feel it still? (Sriracha, Part 17.)

Description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: You were never as terrified of your mom as when you and Hopper rolled in to have dinner with your family.

A/N: Heavily inspired by a song by Portugal. The Man and then Just My Type by Saint Motel. I also think that Hopper's EXTREMELY goofy and weird when he gets under pressure. He's had his typical serious face put on, but as soon as he would meet your mother, he would be terrified for his dear life and balls. Also, I decided to name the reader’s name Molly, don't ask me why I just like that name and I didn't like to see Y/M/N in the text.

A/N 2: Also, we’re only a week away from the WIll Byers disappearance incident.

Word count: 3.4 K

Tagging: @nemodoren @creedslove

Master list: H E R E

GIF IS MINE

You actually called your mom as soon as you finished your kinky fucking on the countertop. Hopper, as he usually did, hadn't disappointed and made you scream his name. You called her as soon as he went to have a shower.

"Hey, hey, it's me." - You tried to calm her down while leaning your ass into the table, dressed only in your panties, having another cigarette. - "I'm fine and well."

"Dear God, baby girl. I'm so sorry for what I've said to you... Just... Just come home, will you, baby? I miss you and I'm worried about you." - She started crying immediately. You told Aiden your plan earlier that morning and he told you that it's for the best probably. You told him that you'll tell Jim and call her later that day. And there you were, calling your mom. It felt really good to hear her voice. So good that you almost started crying as well.

You knew that you're missing her really bad, but at the same time, you knew that she needs her time. And that she'll need some more after you tell her that you're actually dating Hopper.

"Mom, mom... Calm down. I'm fine, I'm in good hands, he keeps an eye on me every minute of every day, okay?" - You assured her about your well-being, watching Hopper coming out of the shower with a towel around his waist, a second one drying his hair. He always looked damn funny when he was drying his hair.

"Small steps at a time would be the best now, okay? I was thinking of dinner at your place on Wednesday." - You offered her and of course, she immediately accepted. You told her that you'll be there by eight o'clock so Jim would have some time to have a shower and get ready.

Days flew by extremely fast since you both were really nervous about the dinner. You haven't even told your mom that you're bringing your boyfriend with you and that the boyfriend is actually Hopper. And you had no idea how on Earth are you going to execute that stunt.

You both even sat down on the terrace for a whole and smoked while talking about the whole situation - it was a test you need to pass, it was truly making you move forward to the stage of serious dating, which was something. You were indeed in love, but you haven't told Hopper yet. You didn't want to ruin it.

And you knew that it will be even rougher after that. Once the whole Hawkins will know, there won't be anything that would save you. You were willing to look like a lunatic just in the name of love. And without Hopper realizing, he fell in love with you as well. Hard. All it took was three months.

He could barely imagine his days without seeing your face when he walks home. Yes, that trail actually became a home to him once you moved in. He could barely imagine searching for anyone else and Jim surely knew that any other woman would make him fold his clothes like you did. At that point, only a look at his briefs laying on the ground was everything it took for Hopper to start cleaning up.

So if meeting your parents in your house and holding your hand while walking around Hawkins meant to be the proof of him really meaning it with you, then it should be the proof and he was willing to do everything you would tell him.

Wednesday evening was really something. You both were so nervous that neither of you has spoken out a word throughout the whole time. You dressed in a tight, red dress that really complimented you and took black high heels, really looking like a lady.

Jim has rarely seen you with make-up and made hair, but you really looked like an angel at that moment. Especially when you were making sure that he had put the tie on in the right way.

He almost ducked out of the whole thing three times throughout the night, turning the car back to the trail. Five minutes from Hawkins sign, you finally got pissed, took off your high heels and sat behind the steering wheel while making Jim holding them.

"So, tell me the plan again." - You mumbled to him and drove to your street. Jim thought it would be wiser to take your car so you wouldn't catch much attention. And it was working way better than the police Blazer.

"You'll go in first and talk to your mom. Then you let me in when you tell her what's up." - Hopper mumbled quietly, clearly being nervous like a highschooler picking his prom date up.

"And?" - You asked curiously. You wanted to hear the plan as a whole because it was fucking hilarious in your opinion.

"And I can't duck out, because you wouldn't sleep in bed with me and if I tried to touch you, you would tear my arms off." - Hopper said monotonously, having no expression at all. He still remembered your house really, really well and once he saw it at the end of the street, he knew that in about ten minutes, he's going to encounter the moment he was worried about.

"Great." - You said, stopped the engine and put your shoes on. - "Jim, listen. We'll do it and you'll do great. They'll love you, I swear. My mom had to bring my dad home as well one day, hm?" - You held his hand tightly, smiling at him.

"But your dad wasn't twenty years older and he sure as hell wasn't the Chief of police." - Hopper reminded you ironically, getting out of the car as well. You checked his tie for the very last time before patting his shoulder and giving him one last peck on the lips.

"Don't forget the flower you bought. It will make her happy." - You whispered and tried to contain yourself enough to look like nothing was going on. As always, mom was opening the door before you even walked on the terrace. As she hugged, you shut it again, giving Jim time to walk there.

"Sunshine, we couldn't wait for you to come back. Aiden, your sister's here!" - She yelled with happiness and your brother immediately stormed down from the stairs, giving you a tight hug. You don't live in the household made your relationship a lot better, since, at the time, he was the only one who sure knew who you're with the whole time. And you had to trust him with everything you had at that moment.

"I told you she's just fine!" - Aiden smiled and his gaze asked you if you came with Hopper or not. When you nodded he sure was surprised and hyped. This dinner was about to get really interesting.

"I just want to say that I'm sorry. I don't know what was I thinking, but I panicked and... I honestly didn't want to leave the town. I realized when I drove past Bloomington. I wouldn't be happy in Indianapolis that I won't be happy without you and... Without him." - You took her palms in yours and exhaled slowly. This was the moment to spill everything down before it takes another turn.

"I still don't know about that, but I'm not angry with you anymore. I'm just glad you're back home." - She whispered with a smile before looking at you once again and you took a sharp breath in. - "You're living with someone now? Who's that guy? Is he handsome? Smart? Do I know him?" - She started asking and at that moment, you stiffened a bit. She's going to kill him, you had no doubt. You shouldn't take him with you. It was dumb of you to take him. Oh, God.

She had no clue about the mysterious man and maybe, it was for the best. Sure, Hopper will shock her, but at least, there won't be anything worse than that - except if she gets into a motherly mode, protecting you and your honor.

"Actually, he's here with me." - You said with a shy smile. - "I wanted to show you that you had really nothing to worry about the whole time." - You mumbled nervously and opened up the door, giving him a short, nervous look before you stepped away. Hopper was really starting there like your prom date in his best, yet old, tux and a tie, holding a ridiculously big flower. He was handsome - but that wasn't what your mom saw standing at her doorstep.

She saw a guy over forty, the Chief of local police, the rumored alcoholic and junkie and that guy who was rumored to fuck every woman in the city. And all she thought about was that the guy was living, dating and fucking with her daughter. She was horrified, to say the least.

But Aiden took all of you by a surprise - he ran down the stairs, dressed in a t-shirt and old jeans, offering Hopper a handshake before dragging him into the house where you hugged his waist in your arm, looking at your mom.

"Chief, it's nice to meet you as a part of the family! Come in, don't be shy, she spoke about you like if you were the best guy she has ever met." - Aiden dragged Hopper in, assuring the guy that he's indeed welcomed in your household. - "I was excited about meeting you since she told me you're coming!" - Aiden patted his shoulders and you could see that he's really trying to let Hopper feel like a normal guy who dates a normal girl and comes for a dinner for the first time ever.

"Are... Are you dating my daughter?" - Your mother came out of a short lethargy, looking at Aiden acting as if he was a best friend with Hopper. - "And you knew about all of this?" - She asked Aiden and visibly, she was terrified and confused. But your brother proudly nodded, fully supporting your choice.

What would people think? What would they say? Her baby girl who could date Steve Harrington just came into her house with a guy twice as old and with a horrendous reputation. If it was all a dream, it was a nightmare. She was supposed to look for you when you got lost. And instead of any of that, that motherfucker...

"This is for you, ma'am. And about your daughter... I think that she's just my type." - Hopper answered honestly, yet it did sound really bad. You and your brother watched as Hopper gave your mom the flower and as she accepted it with a completely stiffened smile.

To say the least, the dinner was horrendous. Aiden was the only one treating Hopper as a normal guy. Your mother was just chewing on her meal, trying to get a hold on the situation and your father was getting ready for her starting to asking you questions and in that case, he would do his best to divert these questions on himself.

It wasn't that he was happy about your choice of partner or that he found Hopper to be a perfect choice, your father just acknowledged that you're an adult and that you should be capable of making your own decisions. You surprised him and he needed to think about your capability of being an adult once again.

But overall, the time at your parents' house was the most uncomfortable Hopper had to ever endure. When he was dating Diane in New York, it was fine - she was as old as he was at the time and her parents had no problem with him at all. But to be fair, it was more than ten years ago.

As soon as your mother started cleaning up the dishes, you knew it's your time to talk to her in the kitchen. You gently held Hopper's hand, leaving him only with Aiden and your father in the dining room. You heard first bits of the conversation of the evening coming from the three men. You knew your father will take Hopper as a normal man and not like an old creep.

"Are you okay?" - You asked your mom, helping her with the dishes. She shot an angry look at you, not answering at first.

"So you bring the Chief home, I need to adjust at the fact that you're together, you've disappeared with him for a whole month and you're asking me if I'm okay?" - She hissed back so Hopper wouldn't hear her. You looked her in the eyes, biting your lip. You could hear Hopper laughing and your father opening his old Whiskey. Why couldn't she be as cool as he was with the whole situation?

"Mom... I know it's inconvenient, but that's the way it is. This relationship isn't convenient at all, but I think I love that guy." - You whispered back and started the water. She, again, took a second to think of an answer. - “It just happened like in the movies and books you always read.”

"Darling, I expect someone like Steve appearing on my doorstep, do you even know what type of guy Chief is? He has a horrendous reputation in Hawkins." - She answered back from preparing the dessert onto five small plates. 

“But the reputation he has doesn't make him a bad person at all. He's a guy with the heart of gold. He makes me laugh, he cares, he asks me questions that might seem boring, but he's really curious about the answers. Jim’s playing the tough man card, but really, nothing is further from the truth.” - You defended your boyfriend and your mom didn't answer, again, she just unbelievably shook her head. 

“So he's Jim to you now?” - She mumbled, serving some chocolate syrup and strawberries cut to pieces with the Tiramisu cake.

“We've been living together for a month, do you really want me to call him Chief?” - You looked at her with sarcasm, taking two small plates for you and Jim, ready to come back for the lemonade and the last plate for Aiden. 

“Are you sure about this? Isn't this a joke?” - She stopped you before walking into the dining room. - “I mean... Chief doesn't have a reputation of relationship kind of guy, he screwed many women, he had one night stand with Marissa from the library and hasn't even called her back. Aren't you worried that maybe he's playing with your head and heart as well?” - She whispered and this time, she didn't even want to be mean. She was seriously worried about you and your relationship with that guy. 

But when you looked at Hopper who was just talking to your father about the latest tournament of American football, you knew that this guy is everything, but a liar. 

“He was sweating like a small girl when we drove here. Jim wants to make a good impression, he even voluntarily dressed up in his tuxedo. Mom... Just... I know you don't like what I have decided to do with my life, but... Make it easier for Jim. You can yell at me as you wish once he won't be here.” - Your face softened, telling her everything you didn't say out loud. - “Jim even bought you the flower without me telling him he should. He just came home with that big ass flower in his hands, asking only one thing: ’Does she like these or should I drive back and buy her another one?’” - You whispered and dear Lord, you could feel your heart warming up in your chest. Your mom nodded as you finally came to the dining room. 

Your dad gave your mom a short look and relaxed once he saw that her mood had lightened up. Not much, but she seemed way more relaxed than before. And yet, the most embarrassing part of the dinner was just coming your way.

You put all the things on the table, pouring yourself some lemonade since you had seen Hopper drinking the Whiskey your dad served him - you're the one driving back. Your pa was opening the bottle on really special occasions, it was probably the most expansive thing in your house. 

Before you started eating, Hopper’s hand gently squeezed your thigh under the table, making you look at him - he gave one reassuring smile. He figured out that he's cool with your brother and more or less fine with your brother - that last member he needed to find his way to was your mom. 

“So, Mr. Hopper.” - She started off and poured herself a glass of red wine. You nodded at Jim and started to cut your Tiramisu into smaller pieces. - “Excuse my previous behaviour, I was just... Shocked. You're kind of a surprise, huh?” - She joked carefully, watching Jim's face so she would know if she had offended him in any way.

“I get that, Mrs. Y/L/N. No offense taken at all.” - Jim nodded with a small smile, tasting your mom’s Tiramisu. She got that recipe from her friend who visited Italy last year and really, it was something delicious. You both were good cooks; Jim finally understood why you can cook such a variety of dishes without looking for a recipe. 

“Please, call me Molly.” - She smiled at him and everyone in the room really got a good vibe from them. Jim watched your mom for a while to figure out if she's serious or not, but she was completely serious with him. - “I also want to ask about your intentions with my daughter. Hawkins is a small town, you know? I heard many things about you.” - And with that, Hopper stiffened and got nervous. It was just a question, but he got that passive-aggressive feeling from it. Jim was almost panicking until he felt your palm on his knees and realized you looking at him. He needed to calm down immediately.

“My intentions with your daughter?” - He looked at you and at the moment, everyone could not even feel, but see the spark of electricity in that stare. - “Taking it slow, for now, and hopin’ she won't leave me for someone younger since she's one of the most perfect human beings I came across.” - He said sincerely, looking you in the eyes the whole time, making you smile. 

“How did... How did it even happen? How did you two become a thing?” - Your mom asked with serious curiousness because that was a big unknown in the room at the time. Also, it was rather uncomfortable to look at two people who were almost blindly in love with each other.

“On the night I had my Vietnam PTSD attack. I think it was there since the day she started workin’ in the office, but she made the first move that night.” - Hopper answered innocently and your mom rose her eyebrows, nodding. So you hadn't spent a single evening with Julia that summer.

Slowly, the weird questions fade away into a more pleasant conversation, your mom taking a part in it this time. Aiden was sure both of you did great in the eyes of your parents - Jim and your dad were even calling each other by name at the end of the night. You stayed there longer than you anticipated - you chatted with your mom and Aiden, Jim and your dad were going through your dad's sports articles. 

Jim got a bit drunk from that old Whiskey your dad poured him all night long, but he was still acting really polite and nice, so you knew its alright. You even decided to go on a short vacation with your family to North Dakota to see the father’s parents for two weeks. Your mom wasn't okay with Hopper, and you knew she won't be okay for a long time, but he decided to respect him because he clearly meant a lot to you.

And at the end of the night, as you drove home and Jim had a contained smile on his lips, you knew that the man next to you is just your type.

[welllpthisishappening]

To Be Totally Locked Up By You

It’s not a big deal.

So, Clarke and Bellamy are sharing a Spotify account. They share plenty of things already. An apartment. A school. Buying rounds at the bar four blocks away. This is basically the same thing.

Until. Octavia tells them about the playlist. Joint music and both of their listening habits on full display, some ridiculous algorithm that leaves Clarke, quite suddenly, feeling more exposed than ever, sharing emotions and feelings, all set to a soundtrack.

—-

Rating: Teen Word Count: Nearly 8K AN: It’s happening! Admittedly sooner than I expected (I’m still only in season five, but the feelings. I’ve got them) and this is almost too autobiographical to be entirely fair, but I wrote this in like…four hours. So, here it is. Long-time Bellarke fic-reader, first-time Bellarke fic-writer. With lots of thoughts on Bellamy Blake’s curls. Joining a new fandom is exciting and terrifying.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—-

“Why are you and my brother sharing a Spotify account?”

Clarke nearly breaks the pencil in her hand. She lifts her head slowly, not entirely surprised to find Octavia staring expectantly at her, arms crossed tightly enough that it’s very likely doing permanent damage to her ribs. 

Possibly her lungs. 

It’s been a very long time since Clarke took those anatomy classes. 

“Well,” Octavia prompts, one eyebrow arching perfectly. “Yes or no question.” “How did you get in here?” “Did you not hear me come in?”

Clarke makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat, tugging her legs closer to her chest so she can rest her chin on her knees. She’s genuinely impressed with the state of Octavia’s right eyebrow. It appears to be defying gravity. 

She doesn’t really know enough about gravity either. 

Maybe she should make a list of the things she doesn’t know. 

That seems inevitably depressing. 

And Octavia is very clearly not going to move until she gets a response she wants, that stupid eyebrow and a pile of papers resting against her hip. Her phone is just barely hanging on in her back pocket, the soft vibration barely audible over the music coming from Clarke’s laptop speakers and the creaky pipes in their bathroom. 

Bellamy is in the shower. 

Clarke is at least sixty-seven percent positive Octavia planned her ambush that way.

“How do you even know about Bellamy’s Spotify account?” Clarke asks, burrowing further into the corner of the couch. “And seriously, did you pick our lock?” That eyebrow should be studied. 

“I have a key,” Octavia drawls. “Obviously. So, your lock is fine and you can stop trying to deflect the important part of—” “—Why are you here?” Octavia gnashes her teeth, but there’s not really any threat there and Clarke only huffs slightly when she tosses her sketchbook on the coffee table. Because she knows that expression. The phone stops ringing. Only to start again. 

“How many places are you going today?” Clarke asks knowingly, pointing at the open spot next to her. 

There’s another round of huffing and flailing legs, Octavia’s left foot nearly colliding with both of Clarke’s knees, but that’s also impossibly familiar and nearly comfortable and—

“He thinks I should have a wedding cake,” Octavia mumbles. “Like an actual cake. Apparently it’s very historic—” “—Oh my God what an idiot.” “—There’s ancient nonsense involved and something about how that proved you were rich or something—” “—In Rome?” Octavia hums, eyes falling closed like she’s resigning herself to the horrendous ordeal of her older brother buying her a wedding cake. And, really, it’s almost nice. That’s a lie. It’s better than nice and just as expected as Octavia’s flailing limbs. 

Because for as long as Clarke Griffin has known Bellamy Blake, since she met Octavia in an intro to stats class they both hated, she’s known several things about him. 

One, he loves his little sister. More than anything. Two, he likes taking care of people. Octavia, especially, but at some point that also started to include Clarke, which is another nice thing and another vaguely overwhelming thing and—she doesn’t think about that. It is fine. Three, that same protective streak makes him certain he has to do things and provide things and that means driving Octavia crazy with possible wedding ideas. 

And that leads to thing four: he’s an idiot and a nerd in an endearing sort of way that makes Clarke sure he didn’t have to look up that fact about Roman wedding cakes. 

It also makes Clarke smile. 

She ignores whatever happens to Octavia’s face. 

“In Rome,” Octavia echoes. “Anyway that’s what we’re doing. Traipsing around the city and taste-testing cakes and—” “—That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly.” “Stop interrupting me, it will not distract me from my ultimate goal.” “Which is?” Octavia props herself up on her elbows, ignoring Clarke’s groan when she moves. “Do you know how expensive real wedding cakes are?” “That feels like a trick question. In Rome or—” Octavia sticks her whole tongue out when she responds, a noise that Clarke is sure will get stuck in her head for the rest of the day, The shower shuts off. 

And Clarke’s mouth doesn’t go dry, per se, but she’s only momentarily worried that everyone in the apartment can hear the way her heart speeds up, falling into rhythm with her perfectly curated Spotify playlist and it hadn’t been much more than a suggestion, a monetary decision that made sense because—

“Jesus fuck Bell, put clothes on!”

Bellamy grins, another shift of eyebrows that Clarke is genuinely starting to resent, rivulets of water falling down either side of his face and dripping towards the towel wrapped around his waist. “Did you break in here, O?” “Used her key apparently,” Clarke mumbles, hoping the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks isn’t obvious. 

Because thing number five Clarke has always know about Bellamy Blake is that she’s kind of..into Bellamy Blake. In a passing sort of way. That’s just happened to linger for years.

It’s his hair. 

It’s far too curly. 

It’s not—it’s more than that, it’s things one through four and a whole slew of other numbers she hasn’t come up with yet and how easy it’s been to live in the same space, both of them looking for roommates at the same time, mixing lives and remembering to buy creamer and always keeping an extra box of strawberry Special K in the back of the cupboard for breakfast-type emergencies, but Clarke likes to lie to herself and—

“Right, right, right,” Bellamy chuckles. “Well, she’s also ridiculously early.” Octavia scowls. “And standing here. Having a conversation you’re not actually a part of. Or invited to.” “Wow. Scathing.” “Do you wander around your apartment naked all the time?” “That’s not what’s happening. Obviously. Also, I live here. Why are you here so early?” “Just super psyched about cake.” “You’ll want to practice that some more before we leave. You might insult the baker in Brooklyn.” “You’re going to Brooklyn?” Clarke balks before she can stop herself, another noise out of Octavia that cannot possibly be good for her throat. 

“The bakery got really good reviews.” “Oh my God you looked up bakery reviews.” Bellamy tilts his head, more drops of water that are equal parts horrible and far too distracting to be fair. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“No, no, I am not even remotely surprised that’s exactly what you did.” Endeared, maybe. Perpetually. But not surprised. 

Clarke doesn’t say that. 

Octavia is far too busy swinging her feet back on the floor, a slightly different look than earlier and Clarke glances down to make sure her stomach hasn’t actually dropped. She’s still retained enough anatomical knowledge to know that it is supposed to stay in her body. 

No drop. 

And yet. 

She can’t stop the butterflies or the nerves that rise up the back of her throat, another expression she’s far too familiar with. 

“Fine,” Octavia snaps. “We will go to Brooklyn. We will taste test all the cakes—there better be hummingbird cake—” “—Who do you think I am, O?” Bellamy mumbles. It gets him a well-deserved eye roll. 

Clarke’s going to bite her lip in half. 

“You and Clarke are sharing a Spotify account!” Bellamy blinks. Once, twice, runs his fingers through his hair and maybe it’s just a Blake thing, this seeming ability to twist their bodies in wholly unnatural ways. “Do you know what that looks like?” “Like I wanted to save a couple bucks a month? So it would be easier to do cake-type things?” “Phrase that differently,” Clarke suggests, but Bellamy just smirks and the towel thing is really starting to become a problem. The whole liking him is becoming a problem. But she’s just as unsurprised that this is what Octavia wanted to talk about as she was that he looked up bakery reviews, so. 

“Also,” Bellamy adds, “Clarke already had Spotify premium. It made sense.” Octavia shakes her head. “You’ve got to live together to be on the same account.”

“I thought we already covered that you have a key to this apartment. The one where Clarke and I live. Together.” “It looks romantic. It looks—” Octavia waves a pair of clearly frustrated hands through the air. “—Domestic. Partnered and, like joint playlists and—” “—You know he gets unlimited skips now, right?” Clarke interrupts, a desperate attempt to end this conversation and, maybe, get Bellamy to put a shirt on. 

“Don’t forget the no ads,” Bellamy grins. “That’s been a godsend.” “What an old sentence. Also, you’re a podcast dweeb.”

“Informed, princess. There’s a difference.” “Yuh huh. Whatever.” “As always, your arguments are well-structured and articulate.” She flips him off. He grins. Octavia makes a noise previously unheard by human ears. 

“You two do know,” she hisses, “that everyone is talking now and—” “—You all need to find a hobby,” Bellamy groans. “And I did not tell you this to make you lose your mind.” Clarke perks up, something in the back of her brain startling at that particular string of words. “You told her?”

“Yeah. I mean—well, I know it’s not a ton of money saved, but it’s something and…” He trails off, dots of color on his face and eyes that are suddenly very preoccupied with the floor. “It was nice of you to offer. So, I looked up Brooklyn.”

The music gets louder. 

Clarke is sure. She’s not sure how, but it seems to swell, the beat settling under her skin and in between her ribs, wrapping around a stomach that refuses to stay where it’s supposed to, flipping and flopping and feeling and, for a moment, she forgets Octavia is there. 

For a moment she smiles at Bellamy and he smiles at her and there’s no smirk, nothing except the way his eyes crinkle slightly, half a head tilt and damp curls falling and it’s good and great and then—

Octavia coughs. Pointedly. 

“Alright,” she sighs. “Well, I think it’s dumb and you guys should opt out of the joint playlist. It’s the absolute worst and definitely embarrassing.” “What?” Clarke asks. 

“Do you not know?” “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Does Bell know about your secret Jonas love?” “What?!” Octavia throws her whole head back when she laughs, a sudden shift of emotion and the water falling off Bellamy’s elbow is starting to leave a small puddle on their floor. “Lincoln and I had it at first,” Octavia explains, “when we got it.” “You don’t think it’s a little hypocritical to be judging our Spotify purchases when you’ve got your own family plan?” Bellamy mutters. Octavia ignores him. “It’s some algorithm or something. I don’t know how it works, only that it takes all the songs you listen to all the time and turns it into a playlist that the entire family can listen to. In this case, that’s you guys. It’s very telling. About you know—you personally.” “I know Clarke personally,” Bellamy reasons. 

“Do you, though?” “I really don’t know how many times we can talk about this apartment.”

“You don’t have to. Because you didn’t know about the Jonas Brothers, did you?” “I really don’t—” “—Exactly,” Octavia says. “Music is...emotional. Certain songs for certain feelings, things that were playing in specific memories. It’s—it’s a whole new avenue to getting a person. Listen to this. Clarke, tell me the truth, how long did you spend making this playlist?” Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. Not long, but it’s all kind of the same theme...Fleetwood Mac, Clapton, Jefferson Airplane. Good music to draw to.” “What’s the name of it?” “Of the playlist?” Octavia nods. Clarke scrunches her nose. “Music to sketch and avoid stress to,” she grumbles. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Bellamy’s staring at her. Gaping. Like he’s never seen her and it would be overwhelming even with a shirt on. As it is, Clarke swallows back the emotion taking up residence in the back of her throat, ignoring just how exposed she feels and— “You’re stressed?” he asks softly. 

“Not really. Just end of the quarter and you know parents at the school—always think their kid deserves a better grade and I’ve got meetings all next week. So. It’s—” God, she’s going to kill Octavia. And write a strongly worded letter to Spotify. “I knew you guys were going out today. The music is a lot of my dad’s favorite stuff. Calms me down.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything else, a blessing and the single worst thing in the world, but the ends of his mouth curl up slightly and Clarke should stop looking at his mouth. Octavia grins like she won something. 

“You should put clothes on Bell,” she says. “Don’t want to miss the baker in Brooklyn.” He salutes, all sarcasm and snark, eyes flitting back towards Clarke’s before he and Octavia leave and she lets the playlist repeat three times. He brings her back a slice of cake. 

Octavia texts them both the next day. 

Bellamy grumbles, cursing under his breath about the sanctity of Sundays and Clarke resists the urge to make jokes about the New York Times crossword puzzle or his obsession with finishing it every weekend. 

She reads the text instead. 

Octavia Blake, 11:42 a.m.: I think you guys should stage a bet. A music bet. About the joint playlist. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:43 a.m.: Stop calling it that.

“Now, you’ve done it,” Bellamy murmurs, not lifting his eyes from the newspaper. There’s a pen stuck behind each one of his ears. 

Octavia Blake, 11:45 a.m.: No. I won’t. It’s weird and you guys are weird and if you're going to commit to Spotify, then I think you should bet to see who can control the playlist. 

“Don’t answer,” Bellamy suggests. 

Clarke grunts. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:46 a.m.: What kind of bet?

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: You guys can set terms. But basically see who can annoy who first with their musical tastes and seize control of the playlist. 

“Why is your sister so violent at all times?” Clarke asks, but Bellamy just fills in another clue and it’s an admittedly interesting idea. She’s nothing if not perpetually competitive. 

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: One musical genius to rule them all.

She kind of forgets about the bet. 

Or, whatever. 

Clarke’s too preoccupied with those meetings and the Wallace family continues to be the worst family at Mt. Weather, old money and far too many expectations, even for art elective classes that she promises won’t affect your child’s changes at the Ivy League, I swear, and her spine does not appreciate the way she’s sitting in her desk chair. 

She’s got a free period, is seriously considering slumping forward and taking a nap when she hears footsteps moving through her doorway. And Clarke’s got every intention of telling whoever it is to fuck off, but she also knows those footsteps and she can hear a soft beat playing in the background, so her curiosity is piqued. 

“Have you listened to it?” Bellamy asks, brandishing his phone and his tie is a little crooked. 

“What are you doing here?” “Isn’t this the same conversation you had with Octavia?” Clarke rolls her eyes at the same time he drops onto the corner of her desk. She lets out a noise — a warning about paint and half-finished projects she’s got to move to the back of the room, but Bellamy just gives her a steady look and the beat is coming from his phone. “Plus,” he continues, “we just got back from the Museum—” “—Did you geek? “I was a responsible adult figure, princess.” She hums, doing her best to infused as much disbelief into the sound as she can. It’s an old nickname—older than the joint lease and breakfast emergencies, a past Clarke doesn’t always like to think about because they hadn’t always gotten along, but at some point the word had lost its sneer and gained its own look she’s started to covet just a bit. 

She really needs to move those eleventh-grade acrylics. 

“So, like on a scale of one to three-thousand, how much did you geek, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “I’d never been to the Morgan. 3,000 B.C.! They had stuff from 3,000 B.C.! Scrolls and artifacts, actual jewelry. That is—” “—Old?” “Ancient,” he corrects. “Proper ancient.” “I’d give this geek out a two-thousand, six-hundred and forty-seven. Out of the previously discussed three thousand.” “Yeah, that seems about right.”

“And you had a soundtrack to go with it?” Clarke asks, nodding towards the still-musical phone. 

“Kind of. Spotify caught up.” “To?” “Us.” It takes a moment for Clarke to figure out what he means, but then she’s taking a deep breath and trying to remember what she listened to in the last five days. A ridiculous amount of My Chemical Romance. 

It’s been a week. 

“I didn’t peg you for pop punk,” Bellamy laughs. “Or is MCR a different genre? I was never really sure how that worked.” Clarke groans, sliding further down her chair until his smile threatens to stretch the muscles in his face. She can’t flip him off in school. 

“I think, technically, they’re more power punk,” Clarke says. “Or maybe emo—depending on what album the algorithm picked up on.” “What have you been listening to more of?” “Mostly Welcome to the Black Parade on loop.” “Is it Wallace? All your stress and—am I missing out on jam sessions?” “God, not if you call them that,” Clarke exclaims. He blushes again. She may make a list of all the times she can get Bellamy to blush. “But kind of. You’ve had those Model UN meetings after school, so I’ve been blasting music when I get home. I think Pike’s going to rat me out to the super eventually.” “Yeah, well, he’s a dick neighbor. So.” “And my options are limited. No scream-singing in the car when I take the Subway every day.” “You could start singing on the Subway.” Clarke chuckles, sitting up a little straighter. Her spine appreciates it. “Showtime on the downtown six.” “You might be able to make some money. Learn how to flip on the polls.” “I’d donate it to your cake fund. Also, did you call them MCR?” “Is that not right? O went through a very serious Hot Topic phase when she was in high school and I remember some of the lingo, so—” “—You are seriously the oldest man alive.” “Who’s your favorite Jonas Brother?” Clarke scoffs, the song changing and she doesn’t think it’s one of hers. “Frank Ocean?” “A genius.” “You know we don’t have to do this. The sharing playlist thing. It’s—well, O was being crazy, especially with that bet idea, and there’s got to be a way to opt out of it.” “Do you want to opt out of it?” The question seems to hang in the air around them. 

And Clarke isn’t sure why it sounds impossibly important, like some line they’re crossing and can’t come back from, but she can’t shake the feeling or the admittedly lyrical genius of Frank Ocean. She turns the music up. 

“It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” Bellamy asks. “Seeing what changes it picks up on and how the playlist evolves with what we’re into.” “Please stop talking about the playlist like it’s a sentient being.” “Fair, fair. But, uh—what do you say?” “To?” His fingers find the back of his hair, pushing curls away from his eyes and he’d left earlier than her that morning. That explains the glasses. He only wears his glasses when he’s tired. 

Clarke knows that. 

She knows...a lot about Bellamy. And not. Nothing about Frank Ocean, at least. 

She’d like to. 

She likes Frank Ocean. 

She loves—

“If we only listen to the playlist, we’re not going to change it,” Clarke points out. 

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan.” “At the risk of giving O any credit, it’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? That we keep listening to our own music during the day or night or whatever, but when we’re coming home from school we listen to the joint playlist. See what happens with it.”

“And are we trying to influence the playlist?” “That’s up to you, I guess.”

“Yeah, ok. Try to influence the playlist, see what we can force the other person to listen to and—” He tilts his head, a forced casualness that makes Clarke widen her eyes. “—Whoever eventually seizes control of the playlist with the majority of their songs by...O and Lincoln’s wedding wins.” “Wins? Wins what?” “I don’t know. Something at home. Or one of us can just pay for the other’s Spotify account.”

Clarke twists her lips, considering it. Bellamy’s eyebrows fly up expectantly. “Yeah, ok. We judge the playlist based on what we hear when we’re leaving school.” “Makes sense. And what happens if we leave school together? You going to share headphones with me?”

“Only if you’ll join my showtime brigade.” “Good name.” “Is that a yes?” He grins — another one of hers, which is vaguely possessive and a little insane, but Clarke’s heart is doing its best to beat its way out of her chest as well, so she figures the whole thing is kind of a wash at this point. “I will definitely join your showtime brigade,” Bellamy promises. “If only because I’m pretty confident in my ability to flip from the top bars.” “No you’re not.” “I’ve got upper-body strength you couldn’t even imagine.”

“Sure, sure. When do we start with our musical experiment?” “Today.” “Today?” “Today,” Bellamy repeats, as students start to file into the hallway and Clarke’s not all that upset with how her free period turned out. “I will pick you at exactly 3:15, Ms. Griffin. Be prepared for an introduction in modern classics. And 90s hip hop.” “I’m going to listen exclusively to pop punk for the rest of the week.” “May the algorithms ever be in your favor.”

“Idiot,” she calls, but he’s already walking away and none of her students look remotely surprised.

Raven slides the glass across the bar without a word. She doesn’t have to use words. Her face is judgmental enough. 

Clarke sighs. “What?” “Did I say anything?” “Did you have to?”

Raven waggles a finger, more opinions and very obvious thoughts and Clarke knew it was only a matter of time. She blames intro to stats. It’s how she met Octavia, after all. Which is how she met Bellamy, which is how their friends group grew and evolved and there’s been good and bad and this bar and she’s fairly certain Raven has a very detailed bet with both Monty and Murphy about her and Bellamy. 

They all know about the Spotify playlist. 

“I guess not,” Raven admits. “Has anyone ever told you that your psychic tendencies are both terrifying and impressive?” “Not in so many words, no.” “What about your weird flirting rituals?” Clarke downs the drink — not sure if it’s actually meant for her and not worried either way. It burns the back of her throat, settling in the pit of her stomach with an almost audible thump, right next to her ever-expanding knowledge of Bellamy’s musical taste and his determination to shift the playlist. He’s been listening to nothing except It’s Tricky radio for the past three days. 

She’s got to figure out how to fix this. 

On several levels. 

“It’s not flirting,” Clarke argues. “Or a ritual. That’s weird.” “You’re telling me.” “Buy me another drink.” “No,” Raven says. “Tell me about the ritual.” “Stop calling it that!” Clarke’s voice rises of its own accord, drawing more than a few curious glances and Bellamy looks up from where he’s talking to Lincoln and Octavia. She smiles. She doesn’t mean to. 

Raven cackles. 

“Oh God,” she mumbles, the words barely that, “so, how screwed are you? Like ballpark.” “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Have you figured out that he secretly loves the Goo Goo Dolls?” “How do you know that?” “You don’t?” “Oh my God,” Clarke groans. 

Raven reaches a hand out, a move that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but feels far too heavy when it lands on Clarke’s forearm. “Slow down on the liquor, Griffin. You’re a lightweight. And I know that because the one night I was there—don’t make that face.” Clarke definitely makes a face. She’s a little buzzed. Cage Wallace is setting up a meeting with the school board. About her art classes. “Anyway,” Raven adds, “I was kind of...looking to get out of there quick, but he had music playing and—” “—He played music while you guys were hooking up?” “Nah, he let me shower. He was reading.” “Oh my God.” “Anyway. I don’t think he knew that I could hear the music and it was definitely an entire Goo Goo Dolls album. Straight through. Not even a mix.” “Huh.” “You act like you’re not fascinated by that.” “Should I be?” Clarke questions, but it’s another badly formed lie and the energy under her skin is starting to make her restless. 

Raven nods. “Yes. Eventually that’s going to show up on the playlist too. I know. Or you could ambush him with the Goo Goo Dolls.” “What a sentence.” “Matchbox Twenty?” “Those are two different bands.” “Similar genres,” Raven reasons, Clarke waving down Miller for another round of something, anything. “And I’m trying to help you, here. Rule the playlist, rule the world, right?” “Or at least part of our roommate budget.” “Say roommates again like you don’t want to make out with his face.” “Jeez.” “Not an objection,” Raven points out at the same time Miller decides to show up. Clarke does her best to melt. It does not work. 

“It is not,” Miller adds. “And—just in case you were looking for some more information. He’s been asking about your musical tastes too.” Maybe Clarke is drunk. 

She wishes.

“Why?” “Search me,” Miller admits. “But a lot of it seemed to revolve around your favorite Jonas.” Clarke refuses to look at Raven for the rest of the night. 

It goes. Days, weeks, the rest of April. 

The music keeps on playing. Or, whatever. 

She listens to more My Chemical Romance. Bellamy goes through a pretty serious ten-day spiral over Weezer that leads them both down some 90s-alt rabbit hole, both of them bobbing in rhythm while they do the dishes on a Thursday night. 

At one point Octavia threatens to ruin it all, grabbing Clarke’s phone while they’re at the bar and announcing, “I am getting married, so I pick the music.” It ends with Carly Rae Jepsen on loop and a playlist that refuses to recover for the next two days. 

Clarke comes home to Bellamy humming Run Away With Me while he folds laundry in the living. She spends no less than five seconds processing that before she starts matching socks. 

They play the song fourteen times in a row. 

He counts. 

And she learns things. Raven had been right about the Goo Goo Dolls and Clarke girts her teeth when Bellamy asks “why are there so many Frozen songs on here now,” but that leads them to debating the merits of twisting traditional mythologies in Disney movies until Monty tells them to “shut up and drink.”

So, they do. 

And then, May happens. 

It’s not that Clarke often finds herself stressed enough to burst into tears as soon as she closes the apartment door behind her, but her stomach is churning and between self-important parents at school and her own parents—parent, singular—she’s an emotional, exhausted mess and—

“Oh, shit,” she sighs, sliding onto the floor. She hasn’t listened to the playlist all week. And she knows Bellamy won’t really care, but Clarke has started to depend on the structure and the ever-increasing knowledge and while she might not admit it, Arcade Fire probably would have done a pretty good job of psyching herself up for an afternoon with her mom. 

As it is, Clarke spent the better part of the last six hours listening to backwards compliments and questions about that school of yours and not-so-humble brags about the cardiac center at Lenox Hill and the “opportunities you passed up, sweetheart.”

That sentence played on loop in Clarke’s head the entire train ride home. 

She sniffles, a quick lip of suddenly dry lips because she’s started breathing out of her mouth too and—

“Clarke?” Her head bumps the door when she snaps it up, Bellamy standing there with curls that desperately need to be cut and glasses and he’s wearing socks. It makes Clarke’s pulse speed up and slow down at the same time. 

She’s very glad she’s not a doctor. 

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, rushing into her space and there are already tears on her cheeks. She hates that. Bellamy drops in front of her, knees cracking and a hand on her shoulder, staring at her like she’s going to fall apart or break in half and neither is true. Clarke is just mad. 

Pissed off, really. 

She’s angry at her mom and the cardiac center with its looming benefit, Clarke’s lack of a date some black mark on the whole thing, apparently, far too many veiled suggestions that her own choices are less structured and real, because Clarke has made her own choices since she was eighteen and hated stats and she’s got a schedule and she can’t believe she forgot about the playlist. She’s harping on that. “And how was the esteemed Dr. Griffin today?” Bellamy asks knowingly. Clarke isn’t sure what sound she makes at that, but it might just be the audible version of gratitude, and he grins. 

Exactly like she wants him to. 

“Chock-full of opinions as always.” “Mmhm, I figured. You want to talk about it?” “Not really. She just—” Clarke grits her teeth, fighting against another wave of disappointment and could have been and every one of her muscles tightens when Bellamy’s lips ghost over her forehead. 

That’s absurd. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. Or her. Quick displays of affection when things went well or things went bad and she can remember every single one. Which, honestly, is pretty telling, but she spent most of the day lying to her mom. 

This shouldn’t be any different. 

This is the complete opposite. 

“Go ahead,’ Bellamy mutters. 

“She’s just—God, Bell, she’s the worst and she’s so positive she’s right and I’m wrong, but she doesn’t even have the decency to really tell me I’m wrong and—” Clarke runs out of air. Bellamy brushes away the tears on her cheeks. “They’ve got this gala coming up and she wants me to come. She’s getting an award.” “Prestigious.” “Self-absorbed,” Clarke corrects. “The hospital she works at is awarding her for her work at the same hospital. I know it shouldn’t get to me. I do, but she kept talking, like she was going down a list of make Clarke feel like garbage and—” “—You don’t deserve to feel like garbage, princess.”

“Tell me mom that.”

“Here, give me your phone.” Clarke’s skull can’t cope with much more of this, but there’s an earnest edge to his voice that she’s never heard before and her phone suddenly feels impossibly heavy in her pocket. She pulls it out, willing her fingers not to tremble. 

It takes him exactly twelve seconds to start playing music.

There’s no Arcade Fire. No Goo Goo Dolls or 90s hip hop. 

“Fleetwood Mac?” Clarke whispers, Bellamy’s soft hum of agreement in her ear and she’s sure, eventually, they’ll get up. She’s not in a rush. “If you play Landslide,” Clark warns, “I will cry even more.”

“I can cope with that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds like another thing in a way that things shouldn’t be things. Not with roommates and weird bets and—“You know I do have some rhythm. I could...if you don’t want to show up to this thing by yourself.” Clarke doesn’t pull her head off his shoulder. She’s not sure when her head landed on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.” “It wouldn’t suck so bad.” “That's not true at all.” “I’m serious. We could make fun of people. Come up with ridiculous backstories. Wow them with our Fred and Ginger ways.” “You sound very confident in your dancing talent.” He kisses the top of her hair. 

“That’d be nice,” Clarke says, voice a little scratchy and she’s not sure if that’s because of the day or the week or how goddamn comfortable his shoulder his. “And you’re going to ruin the playlist algorithm with this.” “I’ll live.” “Good.”

Dr. Abby Griffin’s eyes get very wide when Clarke and Bellamy show up at Gotham Hall. 

They dance. They drink undoubtedly expensive champagne. They dance some more. 

She smiles. 

A lot. 

And Bellamy doesn’t ask before handing Clarke one side of his headphones as soon as they slide into the Uber back home, her eyes fluttering shut while the music drowns out the sounds of the city on their way home. 

She gets really annoyed with him one week and plays the original Broadway cast recording of Cats every night while she’s asleep. 

He hates that she can’t ever remember to turn the AC off when she leaves the apartment. So, he plays Bizet from Carmen every time she walks in for a four-day stretch. 

It takes another two days for the playlist to realize neither one of them is mad anymore.

At some point around Memorial Day they both realize they love Ben Folds. 

Bellamy plays a ridiculous fake piano. 

Clarke sings the Regina Spektor parts on all their duets. 

They blast Killer Queen on a Saturday afternoon in June after Cage Wallace’s kid graduates. 

Clarke stands on the couch, hands thrown in the air and something akin to joy leaping up her spine, Bellamy shouting lyrics from the kitchen while he blends...something. 

It presumably has alcohol in it. 

Or, more alcohol. 

It’s a celebration. 

And it doesn’t take long for Pike to start banging on their shared well, but neither of them move to to turn own the music, just sing louder. Bellamy grins when Clarke throws a pillow at the wall, shouting “take that dick,” like Pike can hear them over Freddie Mercury. 

She almost falls over. 

It is...patently stupid and inherently romantic and Bellamy is impossibly solid behind her, cotton t-shirt not doing much to distract from the planes of his chest and—

“What was that about upper body strength?” she breathes.

Bellamy laughs into her shoulder blade, nosing at the top of her shirt, and there must be hair in his face, but he doesn’t seem all that upset by it, which is only messing with her head a little bit. His fingers splay across her hip, tugging Clarke back to the floor. 

His glasses are falling down the bridge of her nose. 

Clarke presses up on her toes, suddenly aware of how much bigger he is than her and how clear his eyes are when he looks at her — more earnest energy and a flick of his tongue between his lips, like he’s waiting for whatever she does next and only a little impatient. 

“A solid save.” Bellamy barks out a laugh, head falling close to Clarke’s, and it takes everything in her not to card her fingers through his hair. That lasts about four seconds. 

If even. 

Her calves are still aching, but she doesn’t back down and she doesn’t think and for one of those four seconds she’s absolutely positive Bellamy is going to kiss her. He doesn’t blink, just stays impossibly still, except for the flutter of his fingers and the way they push under the hem of her shirt and—

“Turn your fucking music down!”

They both jump back, like they’ve been shocked, Clarke wincing when her legs slam into the front of the couch. 

“Are you ok?” Bellamy asks, but she’s already nodding and any sense of joy has rather quickly morphed into something much worse. Regret. That’s the word for it. 

She’s neither a doctor nor an English teacher. 

“Fine, fine,” Clarke stammers. “I, uh—I’m going to turn the music down, ok?”

“Nah, Clarke—fuck that guy, c’mon, it’s…” “It’s really loud, Bell.” He’s setting a record for not blinking, she’s sure. He stares at her—a little appraising and just a hint wary, the moment drifting away as the song fades out. Clarke swallows. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy agrees. It still doesn’t sound like the words he’s saying. “What do you think about celebratory David Bowie?” “Good call. You going to keep mixing?” “10-4, princess.”

“Idiot.” He grins, a quick twist of eyebrows and squeeze of his hand, but Clarke can’t help to think that the end of the school year may also be the end of something else. 

Octavia’s getting married in two weeks. 

Her dress is blue. 

And it makes her boobs look great, which Clarke isn’t focused on, but Raven’s mentioned it enough that eventually she agrees and she’s happy. 

Octavia is getting married. 

It’s sunny. It’s warm. There’s already music playing, soft and melodic outside the door where they’re waiting, Raven’s far-too-knowing stare boring into the back of Clarke’s head. 

“Don’t do that,” she warns, and she doesn’t have to turn to know Raven rolls her eyes. 

“I’m still not saying anything.” “Again, you didn’t have to.” “The experiment ends today, right?” “You say that like you don’t know. “And what did we learn?” Clarke turns around. It’s a mistake, she knows, but part of her has also been dreading today, which is pretty fucked up. All things considered. Octavia looks gorgeous. 

She’s got a five-dollar bet with Murphy that Bellamy will cry. 

Bellamy’s definitely going to cry. 

“You’re supposed to learn something in an experiment,” Raven says. “Even one as weird as this one. With all its flirting. You seriously haven’t made out with him yet?” “No.” Raven crows, Clarke grimacing at the admission that isn’t really that because everyone knows and she’s always known and—she bets he looks very good in his tuxedo. “Oh, god you’re an idiot,” Raven exhales. “But seriously, did you learn things? That he—”

“Yes to the Goo Goo Dolls. Slide is a very predictable favorite, but it’s been on the playlist since the get. He knows way more lyrics than he should. O had a pop punk phase too and he’s way too confident in his own rhythm, but sometimes he’s good at dancing. His mom used to listen to a lot of ballads and Karen Carpenter makes him feel emotions, but mostly at Christmas, so that hasn’t really affected the playlist and—what? You’re doing that thing with your face.” “Am I just?” “Nothing’s going to change, Rae,” Clarke cuts in. “We’re going to keep our musical preferences and our separate playlists and one of us will pay for no ads.” “Seriously, tell him how much you want to kiss him.”

“Shut up.”

And the photographer sounds like he’s on his way back. With Octavia. Who certainly does not want to hear about Clarke’s unrequited feelings for her brother. On her wedding day. 

Priorities, Clarke’s got them. 

“We had some fun and—well, O was kind of right. It was like getting a chance to…” “See into his music-loving soul?” “I really like Arcade Fire now.” Raven hums noncommittally and Clarke can practically hear the gears in her mind turning, but she’d been right about the photographer and maybe they’ll all just cry over Octavia. 

She’s beaming. 

And there will be hummingbird cake at this reception. 

“You guys ready?” Octavia asks. 

Clarke nods, ignoring Raven’s expression. “Definitely.”

He cries. 

Clarke gets five dollars. 

She doesn’t have any pockets in her dress. 

That feels like a sign. 

Strictly speaking, Clarke hasn’t been to too many weddings. A family friend when she was a kid. Her mom’s. This one. 

And yet. 

She’s positive that this is the most beautiful wedding she’s ever been to or could ever go to and part of that is because of the music and part is because of how often she’s noticed Bellamy smiling and most of it is because he keeps glancing her way. 

It’s a very blue dress. 

She’s still holding a five-dollar bill. 

And there is a whole schedule — toasts and more tears, posing for photos and ignoring the way her stomach flutters when she spends an inordinate amount of time glancing Bellamy’s direction. Octavia laughs. She and Lincoln flit from table to table, a hint of tradition in a wedding that is still them and this family and—

“You want to dance?” She’s sitting at the head table, a glass of half-finished champagne in front of her and they haven’t cut the cake yet, but Clarke figures that's soon. Bellamy doesn’t blink. Again. One side of his mouth tugs up, fluttering his fingers in her space until she feels her own smile stretch and maybe her stomach should just be studied. 

There’s color on Bellamy’s cheeks. 

Clarke never got around to making that list. 

“Don’t leave hanging, princess,” Bellamy says. “They’re playing good music.”

He’s not wrong. 

It is good music. It’s...oddly familiar music. And Clarke had been too happy to really notice it before, but now that she’s listening, she hasn’t heard anything that’s not hers and—

“Oh my God, you idiot.” He laughs. Loud. And honest. And one-hundred percent hers. The sound sinking into the very center of her, where everything else she’s ever loved has taken root, a foundation for the rest of it, for all of it, for a family. 

A Spotify premium family plan. 

“You keep complimenting me like that and—” “—Did you do this?” “Did I do what?”

Her hand finds his, warm fingers and slightly callused skin. Clarke can’t stop shaking her head. It’s absurd. It’s vaguely romantic. 

“Is this…” she starts, but Bellamy smirks and she’s a lost cause. 

In a far more romantic sort of way. 

She jumps up, closing the already minimal amount of space between them and, to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. He might still be smirking. Clarke can feel the curve of his lips as soon as hers land on them, a little cautious at first, but that lasts about one verse of whatever Jonas Brothers song is playing and then it’s all mingled breaths and an arm slung around his shoulders, fingers in his hair and the sudden swipe of his tongue. 

Clarke arches her back, desperate to feel as much of him as she can, like that will ground her or remind her that it’s really happening. 

He tilts his head, changes angles and cups her face. It’s soft and bruising and a perfect contradiction that leaves her pushing up further in her heels, pulling on Bellamy’s curls until he groans against her and she’s going to think about that on loop for the rest of the night. 

The room spins. 

Clarke’s only seventy-two percent certain she’s not the one spinning. 

It doesn’t seem to end. They don’t seem to end. She can’t tell where his hands stop, moving across the expanse of her back and tracing across skin, as if he’s memorizing every shift, every way she rocks against him, trying to fill the space with him and them and— “Oh my God, finally,” Octavia cries. 

Clarke snickers, Bellamy’s head dropping to the curve of her jaw, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Still smirking. “Huh,” he muses. “Look at that.” “Don’t be smug,” Clarke chides. “I’m wooing you, was that not obvious?” She leans back, expecting a wholly confident expression, only to be met with something slightly hopeful and a little young and yearning and, really, the only thing to do is kiss him. Again. So, she does. Again. 

And it’s good and great and exactly what she thought it would be when she thought about this, far more often than she ever would admit to. 

But it’s also...something else. It’s the perfect chord and a well-constructed bridge and the song she wants to play on repeat forever, a favorite she knows she won’t get sick of, until the melody finds its way into her memory and her. 

Full stop. 

“Yeah, it was,” she whispers. “Is this—” “You know when you first offered to go half on this premium thing, I really was in it for the money.” “It’s like an extra ten bucks a month,” Miller yells. Both Octavia and Raven swat at his side.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy admits, “But I wanted to help O and I was sure this would help and then the playlist thing came up and I just—” He shrugs, another brush of his fingers over Clarke’s arm. “—Well, it was...you know you hum under your breath? Constantly. Every song. Even the ones you said you didn’t like. And you’ve got drawing playlists and I can’t believe how strongly you feel about All Time Low.” “They’re good,” Clarke shouts. More than a few members of the peanut gallery let out exasperated sighs. 

Bellamy kisses her hair. “I know. I know. And that’s been—the first time O talked about you, I figured you were some uptight—” “—Am I still being wooed? I am a fun person!” “Let me finish. You were old money and plans and structure and I thought I had to hate you on principle. But then. Clarke, you’re—ok, yeah, you like some structure and plans, but there’s so much more and it’s...every single time you start dancing to David Bowie I think I love you a little more.”

She’s not sure what sound she makes. 

An exhale and a sigh and a give — into the feelings and the want and he’s not done. 

“So, uh, it hasn’t been easy. It took a lot of repeat plays. But yeah, to answer your question. This is the playlist and it’s our playlist, with...mostly your music because—” He scrunches his nose. It makes the freckles more obvious. “You’ve gotten under my skin, princess. So has your music. And the Frozen soundtrack isn’t that bad.” “Get that in writing,” Octavia demands. 

“Shut up, O,” Bellamy grumbles. She flips him off. The photographer takes a picture. “Anything to add?” he asks, an undercurrent of misplaced nerves that she doesn’t understand at first. She hasn’t said anything back. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s—” she starts, shaking her head and she kisses him before she answers. Third time’s the charm, or something. "I love you too.”

There are cheers. And louder music. A ridiculous bass line and shutter snaps and—

“We going to dance?” “Did I not ask first?” Clarke hums, already tugging him towards the floor and she’s got high hopes of his hand never leaving hers. For the rest of the night. If not longer. “Semantics,” she says. “C’mon, this is definitely a good song.”

Her favorite Jonas Brother is Joe. 

She tells him while they’re tugging clothes off, stumbling down the hallway of their apartment. 

“Don’t mention that again.” “10-4,” Clarke laughs, but the words get caught between them and she very quickly forgets about anything other than the noise Bellamy makes when she moves her hands into his hair. 

They never opt out of the family playlist. 

And it takes a few weeks for the algorithm to catch up, but eventually it’s a pretty even split, his and hers and theirs, all perfectly curated in replayable format.