#but most importantly. she was the first ADULT in my life that clocked me as queer and was OKAY with that. that was supportive even.

[batsinurbelfrey]

.

[squidsniaki]

Stuck like a tattoo.

synopsis: Nicholas D. Wolfwood considers his life as mundane as possible, and at this point doesn't expect any surprises. Naturally, all of that gets thrown out the window the moment he meets a small but feisty distressed damsel with a truck problem right in front of the coffee joint where he works.

WARNINGS: the series will be rated as Explicit later on, as the plot develops! NO WARNINGS for this chapter, first meetings and dork galore ahead!

Pairing: Meryl Stryfe x Nicholas D. Wolfwood

No. 1

The only other thing accompanying the unusually annoying sound of a traditional alarm clock are the groans of a clearly disinterested in waking up man and the rustles of the bed sheets. The mattress dips underneath the weight that is now firmly pressed to the edge of the bed. Nicholas hits the clock, yet it rings still. Don't test me, motherfucker. He hits it again, more forceful, and this time the alarm dies out. God, that is the shittiest way to wake up. He knows it. Just as much as he knows how badly it affects his mornings. But, it can't be helped. The first day he was supposed to get to work, Nicholas set an alarm on his phone. Thing is... considering the damn thing is touch sensitive, and considering this dumbass usually falls asleep with his phone in his hand after using it, I believe it is needless to say that Nick simply slid the turn off button as soon as the alarm began to blare while turning around in his bed.

So that option had to go, obviously.

While the traditional clock is a kick in the nuts, it definitely does its job. Nick reaches out for it, and squints while trying to make out if he even set the thing correctly. '5:02'. Alright. So he DID set it right. His free hand swipes across his tanned face, a rather exasperated exhale rolling off his tongue. C'mon Nico, nothing else to do but move your ass. And he does just that. The clock is nonchalantly tossed onto the sheets behind him, and the grumpy 'adult' slowly rises to his feet. Like a senior with scoliosis, if you can picture that. He stretches, his voice cutting off as his bones creak in every frequency a bone can make. The fact he even listened to Milly last night and thought 'yeah let's drink the clean 20%, what's the worst that can happen!?' makes him think there's something to it when Livio calls him a dumbass.

Because that DEFINITELY wasn't a smart decision, he'll admit that free of charge. Ugh, whatever. It's not like he can call in work and say 'sorry, can't make it today. I've got a bitch of a hangover because I can't say no to my bestie'. If that's not getting him thrown out right onto his ass, then he's gotta be Harry fucking Houdini.

That in mind, Nick simply fixes the crotch of his boxers and lazily waddles out of his bedroom.

The squishy corridor is blessedly dark and filled with happy snores coming from within the room opposite of Nick's. Still a whole while before the big guy has to get up, Nick simply tip toes past the room and into the living room/kitchen/entrance. Yup, the apartment definitely wasn't the biggest out there. But at least paying the rent didn't hurt as much as it usually would. And most importantly...

As soon as his foot presses to the fake wooden flooring of the kitchen, a warm press of a furry fat rubs against Nick's ankle. The adorable black feline looks up at her owner, pupils dilated at maximum, making her charm even more irresistible than ever. She meows, like she even needed to work extra to ensnare Nick in her cute spell. He knew exactly what she wanted, actually thankful she waited patiently for him to get up without the encouragement this time. The encouragement being Kuroneko laying her belly on his face until he starts suffocating, which does startle him awake. Shocker, I know.

Better to give this little criminal what she wants before she switches her tactics to arson.

The rest of his morning is extremely bland to be honest. Kuroneko gets fed, leaving towards Nick's bedroom afterwards. Planning on nesting in his unmade bed, if he had to guess. He eats his own breakfast: warm toast bread with jam and cheese, gets dressed, grabs his wallet and phone and with a heavy heart leaves. Almost 6 around the clock, and despite his shift starting at 7, well... the bus ride IS a long one. But at least he makes it to the stop on time today. If he missed the damn bus, again, his manager would definitely get his ass again and he'd spend the rest of the shift being coddled by Milly. AGAIN. Don't get him wrong, he absolutely adores that woman. But she really has to ease up with her motherly instincts. She worries, he gets it. But Nick's a big boy. And the last thing he wants is for someone as sweet and kind as his best friend to waste her mental health on him. She's been an angel for both him and Livio ever since they've met, and so far? He didn't do squat to repay that kindness. The fact she still sticks around is just another proof there's not an ounce of malice in that girl's heart. Too good for this world, one might say.

So dizzy from sleep, Nick almost misses his stop. This time of year, it was still fairly dark outside, even at this hour. Still a hefty walk away from the café, Nick checks his phone for time: 6:24. Alright, that's actually not bad. He should be there about 10 minutes early. Should give him enough room to prep the machines and slip into the apron. He's also gonna have to check the produce for-

"God damn it!"

If that doesn't cause his entire body to straight up jolt. Nick absolutely freezes in place, frantically looking around for the source of the noise. And surely, he finds it, as soon as there's a slam of a head against a truck that parked right in front of an empty loft. "I wanna die..." Yeah darling, you're not the first, you won't be the last. No reason to scream about it though, giving some poor pedestrian a near-death experience.

And just as he was about to pray to whatever god was going to listen to please, PLEASE let him pass unnoticed... "Oh! Hey, wait! You there! Th-The black dressed... person!" She was waving. Waving, for him. With so much vigor Nick was almost certain that another flap of that wrist will cause it to fly away for the winter season. He hated this. He just wanted to get to his shitty work, make shitty coffee, and then get back to his shitty apartment. Where, oddly, life was a bit less shitty. Yet when he turned towards the clearly distressed damsel, and saw those pathetically sad puppy eyes, which he SWORE were sparkling, well...

He sucked in a breath, scrunched up his nose, and walked over. Whoever she was, the lady was practically hanging off the truck's hood while her distress slowly changed to relief the closer he got. So not only was he expected to help, but it was already set in that girly's tiny mind that he was the solution to all her problems. Not that he minds turning out to be a disappointment. The guy had plenty of practice for that.

...might as well.

-

Half an hour, a piss poor excuse to his boss and one fixed tire later and finally there's some semblance of peace and quiet. Despite the café being open, 7:30 is usually the most unproductive time around these parts. And thank the Lord in Heaven for that, because if Nico was to deal with people somehow knowing how to do his job better than he does this early in the morning, then he wouldn't have even gone to jail. People with the kinda thoughts that sometimes go through his head are just stuffed in a straitjacket and tossed in a safe room.

"Oh, I needed that." Comes in the voice of the only other living being in the shop, currently occupying one of the green leather stools by the main counter. Between her hands is grasped a single white mug with a leaf print at the bottom, a faded brown for a color. Like an afterthought, his boss says. Like a shitty coffee stain, Nick corrects in his head. The drink currently residing within isn't the grandest of his creations, but it seems a lukewarm cappuccino on coconut milk with caramel syrup and cinnamon powder is good enough for the missy. "Well, glad ya like it." He honestly didn't have much else to say. When Meryl was done introducing herself and thanking for the help with a flat tire, somehow the conversation turned to her mentioning she didn't have her coffee yet, not an actual breakfast. Whatever the latter meant, Nick had no clue, but since the cafe was literally across, well... he offered. And that's how they got here. With Meryl attending to her long time coming drink, and to a white cheese and pastrami sandwich waiting on the side.

"Mm!" Nick's attention turns, from the glass he's been setting with the rest on display, back on the woman with a mouthful of that sandwich she looks desperate to swallow before saying anything. She sure looks like a strange one, at least strange for someone dressed like her to be so well-mannered. Don't get him wrong, her neatly cut hair and a pair of minimalistic golden earrings definitely sold the 'I'm a woman on top' kinda feel. It's everything else that didn't really add up, from the half-cut grey top more displaying than exposing the hibiscus-patterned tattoos down the length of her entire right arm, to the shorts that were so short they would be enough to cause a crime rate to rise on an instant. Well, if it weren't for the solid black stockings at least, but even those were torn in places, and these tears? Yeah, definitely self-made.

"...done?"

It's her voice that gets his head outta his ass, the man blinking twice before his tongue turns from lead to an actual functioning muscle once more. "What?" The way this single word comes out makes him sound like he just woke up from a daze, a mental cringe in his part for that one.

"I said: 'Are you done?' because you've been kinda ogling me for the past 2 minutes." And at that moment, Nick thought to himself 'yeah, that's fair'. Because as much as he wants to pretend like he's having none of that, well... he's pretty damn sure his sights were set directly on her god damn thighs by the time she caught him, which, by the way, have no shitting right to be so ample on somebody this, uh... small. "2 minutes?" He asks, head turning towards the clock on the wall behind him, though he shifts his attention back to Meryl way too quickly to make it look genuine. "Pretty sure it's been at least 4."

He doesn't miss how that makes her smile.

"Ha. Ha. Look at me, laughing so hard my side's cramping." This girl can go ahead and serve her monotonne, sarcastic answer left and right, Nick encourages it in fact. Hell, he'll contribute to the attitude, so long as he sees the dimples in the corners of her mouth to make their appearance every damn time. "Shit, that's a dangerous thing, doll. Let me know when you start losing balance on that stool." Taking another sip of her coffee, Meryl's brows crease and her eyes narrow: suspicion painted all over that expression. "Why? So you can come to the rescue and be a knight in shining armor?" Her lips trail her upper lip as she's done talking, cleaning up the mustache of sweet coconut milk foam that formed there.

Cute, he notes. Actually, scratch that, very cute. Ridiculously so, in fact.

He scoffs, a mock expression akin to both a sarcastic insult and something along the lines of 'are you dumb' message. "So I can get the phone on time and record it?" And call him a brat with an inflated ego, he does not give a shit. And would you want to know why? Because the way Meryl snorts into her mug, trying to conceal that ridiculous smile with it as she practically dives half her face inside, is absolutely worth it. He might even admit - and he knows just how crazy that makes him sound - that perhaps this morning isn't as miserable as he expected it to be.

-

"Wait." Meryl's fingers move across the screen of Nick's phone, pinching at the center and spreading out after. "Your cat's name is 'Kuroneko'?" The way she raises her perfectly picked out eyebrow at him with that sly smile tells him everything. He is, most definitely and without a doubt, about to get shit on. "I... Look, before you start, yeah: the name's Japanese. But I didn't pick it, my little brother did. He watches anime, said it suits her." If this thing actually costs him a chance with the cute tattooed girl he met like an hour ago, he's never letting Liv forget the betrayal he felt at that moment. Meryl actually chuckles, it's a small thing and short at that, but it does make her shoulders hiccup. "I mean... yeah! Yeah, the name DEFINITELY suits her!"

Okay. At this point, Nick's curiosity definitely overtakes the awkward shame. He has to know. And so, he pulls out his phone. Types into the translator, sets the translation from Japanese to English and... "You... are shitting me." The way Meryl tried ever so diligently to choke down her own laughter was all the answer he needed: this was real. This was real, and his brother was a stain on the society for this. "So, um..." She talked with the barely contained laughter just oozing out of her tone, smiling like a complete dork while leaning forth onto the counter propped by her folded forearms. "Did you realize-"

"Did I realize that my fucking black cat's name is 'black cat'!? YES I'D SAY I DID!" That was the last encouragement Meryl seemed to need in order to absolutely let loose. The wheeze that followed was nothing short of amazing. Like an old vacuum cleaner from the 90s. Once it's swallowed so much dust all it does is choke- you see the picture, right? She nearly falls off the stool, she does! So keen on enjoying the miserable shame that Nicholas has to endure because of Livio. Though, let's be real... if he really did mind, he wouldn't be laughing alongside her.

"Fucking Christ, calm down wheezy G." And well, it does seem to only break the woman further. "WHEEZY-!" She repeats, before bursting into an even more maniacal laughter. Nick will say this: first time he saw her? This is definitely NOT the kinda attitude he expected her to have. Meryl seems so... free with how she acts. If she's happy, then she's happy. No matter how ridiculous it makes her look, it feels right for her so she just does it. Ah, well... Nick at least would never consider a trait like that ridiculous.

If he'd have to use a word, it would be... admirable.

-

The rest of the day fades to the fog, really. Meryl has to leave to get some stuff for her studio, and afterwards Nick stops smiling as genuinely as he did with her. He just works through his shift, makes some overpriced brews, and after 4 p.m. his late night shift comes to dismiss him and he goes home. That's pretty much every day, Monday to Saturday for this guy. Wake up, work and go home. Except tonight, he does smack Livio across the back of his head, saying 'you know what you did' before leaving the dumbfounded bear of a man to his lonesome.

The ball of fur spitting nightmare makes herself comfortable the second Nick's ass lands on his bed. Her belly is already up and on display, and the man doesn't even hesitate to start rubbing at the hairs that definitely need a good grooming at this point. The day wasn't horrible. In fact, it wasn't even bad. Because seriously, how can he pretend it's been bad? When in his free hand he's already holding the stick up note with Meryl's number on it? Honestly, Nick was always less than optimistic when it came to meeting strangers. He knew how to leave things without the relations going sour, but if he were to choose then he'd rather the meeting never happened in the first place.

But not with Meryl. He'd say for he wished wouldn't realize he was walking by this morning, she definitely made it worthwhile.

He'll call her. He has to, right? He should, at least. Kuroneko purrs, enjoying how Nick's doubling his efforts while spoiling that one particular spot underneath her right arm. She gave him that number, so it wouldn't be weird to call her. He thinks. He... hopes?

He overthinks. But that's a sure sign this whole thing really is worth the anxiety he knows it'll bring about.

He will call her. That's the one promise he's not breaking.

Thank you all for reading! This is the first chapter to come for the MerylWood series that I'm working on currently! I wanted to do something based on the coffee shop/tattoo artist AU for the longest time! Hope y'all liked the first installment! Sharing and liking helps the algorithm, so I'd appreciate it ✨

[tommy-evan]

and for a completely unexpected turn of events, i’d like to continue to scream about how much i adore judd ryder, grace ryder and the ryder family in general this entire season, thanks to this post

s3 was the best ryderdie season yet. i love everything that happened with all of them in this one. i mean obvious things would be getting charlie and all of that, but how about the best, and most beautiful portrayal of what a healthy, adult relationship looks like?

because this season we found out that judd had a son from a previous relationship, wyatt and we witnessed the most nuanced way such complicated feelings needed to be addressed and it was just so beautiful to me. with grace and her initial anger and her recognition that her initial anger didn’t make sense, to her being her namesake and opening up her home to wyatt’s mom, and then to wyatt was just so beautiful.

and like we knew that judd ryder was the best, but he was just so amazing this whole season. when we first met judd, like FIRST met him, he was so angry and so hurt from all the things that had happened to him, and he had grown so much from that, and from who he was before he found grace. and so to have him be here, be presented with a son he didn’t know, and watch him work through that was just...man i want to be like judd ryder. because he never argued, he never doubted, he knew exactly when and where and while he hesitated at first, he knew in his heart what he had to do

but most importantly? he listened. to grace, to tommy, to wyatt. and when i say listened i mean he really listened. and when grace was talking to him about the hurt she knows doesn’t make sense, he just listened to her. and you knew that grace knew that’s what he was doing. and that’s such a perfect way to show how much he’s grown and how much he’s trying for everyone. not just grace, but for the rest of the family including wyatt. 

and we see that as they get closer and closer to him. like he goes on full on papa bear mode, but still continues to listen. he locks wyatt’s anger just by how he’s acting - and that’s what a parent is. someone who is present enough to know you, and that’s amazing! he just met wyatt that year and he’s a teenager and c’mon. for him to be able to see that, clock it, and empathize because he knows what it’s like to be that age and angry? it’s just remarkable.

and for grace to continue on and be by his side as he grows to be a father to not one but two kids? ugh, everyone should have a grace in their life. honestly. the two of them together it’s just a powerhouse of a couple because they understand each other so well, to the point that they can get to the nitty gritty of each other’s flaws and address it! i love that so much, seeing all of those little moments where things that should just be noticed “in passing” was put to the forefront. grace with her coworkers at dispatch, judd with his gaming. until this season we just knew judd was the gamer, but then grace starts dropping gaming terms to the point that we go “oooooh there’s more to that.”

that’s how in tuned and in love and in partnership they are with each other and for them to be growing together as parents with charlie, and the two of them opening up their hearts and home to wyatt, and then papa ryder coming into the mix and just always providing his lovely sage advices of sweetness is just...this family man. it’s such a good family and i was so happy throughout this whole season seeing them.

and c’mon!!! grace is written as MY HEART in judd ryder’s phone. as if they need anymore cherries on top of their wonderful beautiful relationship

yeah. yeah. they’re amazing. and it was so great witness in s3. i can’t wait to see what happens next.

[navalcriminalimagines]

"Can you shut up for once in your life?" and "Did you just rip my pants?" With Gibbs please

That wasn't an easy one, but it turned out okay, I think? Let me know! ❤️

Also, am I the only one that never understood the character of Allison Hart? She was--useless, wasn't she?

Tags: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

Shut up

Saying you're pissed is an understatement. You're annoyed, sad and hurt. For the past few weeks, everything is going downhill and you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It's started with this lawyer showing up on purpose to be in your boss's way. According to Rule 13: Never involve lawyers, Gibbs should have turned her down - especially since she's working for Colonel Bell, but somehow, your stupid boss seems interested in her. Now, there are chatters in the team, saying that they actually hooked up at some point.

Were you jealous? Yeah, maybe. Well, okay, you definitely are. But it's your fault, you've had this crush on Gibbs from the moment you met him, but you never acted on it. You respect his rules, no matter how much you hate some of them, mostly the number 12.

Then, you had an unexpected visit from your mother, over the weekend. You and her never had the best relationship, but it's gotten worst since you're an adult. She doesn't understand your life choices and doesn't chew her words with you. She spent the entire weekend telling you that you should quit your job to do something less dangerous, and more 'intellectual', and that you should go out and meet somebody cause "you're not getting any younger, sweetie. Women have a biological clock, remember."

Her flight back home never came soon enough.

Lastly, this shitty case came in. Not only, it's a fucking mess, but it involves FBI and most importantly, your stupid ex. Worst part is, he's being all nice and charming with you, as if he never cheated on you and broke your heart years ago.

"I can't believe you hired him, Fornell," you mutter to the Senior FBI Agent, as the two of you are in the elevator.

"I didn't. He was assigned to this case, and I think he asked for it," Tobias looks intensely at you to make sure you understand what he means.

"Great, exactly what I needed," you growl.

"You seem pretty off, Y/N. Is everything okay?"

"I don't know what I'm doing with my life, but other than that, yeah, everything is amazing," you sarcastically say to him. Thankfully, the doors open at the same moment and you rush to the bullpen.

As if the world is testing you and your patience, Kyle is here, along with that lawyer Allison Hart. You sit at your desk, avoiding everyone, until Gibbs orders you to follow him to Abby's lab.

"Can I come, too?" Kyle asks.

You look at Gibbs for support, hoping he'd turn him down, but that bastard just motions him to follow. He knows who Kyle is, he knows what he did to you, why in the world is he forcing you to spend time with him? Does he hate you that much?

In the elevator, you stand in the back, arms crossed over your chest. Kyle and Gibbs are standing in front of you. When the doors close, Gibbs takes a quick peak at you over his shoulder. You shot him a death glare and he smirks.

* * * * *

Finally, thanks to Abby and her magic, a breakthrough comes in. Quickly, you and Gibbs are gearing up to go to a suspect house, while Ziva and Tim are waited at the Pentagon. "What are you doing?" Gibbs says to Kyle who's getting ready too.

"Coming with you? It's a joined case,"

"Fornell, explain things to your Probie,"

You can't help but smile at that. That's your Gibbs.

At the house - which is withdraw from civilization, Gibbs takes you with him to one side, while Tim and Ziva goes to the other. As you're circling the house, you can hear gunshots in your direction. In a second, Gibbs grabs your arm and hides the both of you behind a reversed table.

"Oh, great! I can't catch a break, can I?" you exclaim. "First my mum messes up with my head, then my bastard ex shows up, and now I'm being shot at! Not to mention, you. You're being a pain in the ass, Gibbs. What the hell are you doing with that lawyer, anyway? Have you forgotten about your own damn rules? You spend so much time making sure we know and respect them, and you just-- you--"

“Can you shut up for once in your life?” he barks. That's all he has to say? "You're rambling,"

"Yeah, well, at least, one of us is talking," you shot back.

"Now is not the time, L/N,"

You take a deep breath. Maybe he's right, but talking is your response to being shot at. You can't help it, it prevents you from freaking out. "Maybe we can go now," you say, taking a look at the house. "Seems clear,"

"I can see him, second window on the left. Cover me,"

You do as told. You directly shoot at the window Gibbs mentioned, while your boss rushes inside the house. Quickly, you're no longer being shot back at, but you can hear someone running away from the house. You rush behind him, unfortunately you don't have any bullets left. The man manages to get in his car and drives away.

After cursing at loud, you get back inside the house, looking for Gibbs, that you find in the kitchen, sitting on the floor.

"What the hell happened?" you yell at him.

"Did no one tell you he's a trained SEAL? Is your head that much caught up in your ass?"

"Fuck you, Gibbs," you bark back at him. "I'm gonna look around," you start to walk out of the room.

"No! Wait," he calls out. You turn around, hoping he's going to say something nice - cause you know you can't hope for an apology. But all he does is cutting a piece of your pants with his knife.

“Did you just rip my pants?” you yell again, looking at the hole in your pants.

"That's all we need,"

On the ride back to the office, Gibbs explains you that while you were hiding behind the table, you must have sat on some weird flower thingy. Same thing that was find on your victim. If Abby can match what's on the piece of your pants to what she found on the victim, it's case closed.

At least, that's one thing settled. Or, actually two; since the case is closed, you won't have to see Kyle anymore. He obviously throws an offer to dinner at you, but you don't have time to say anything, "She has plans already," Gibbs answers for you. "Let's go, L/N?"

You nod at your boss and follow him to the elevator. "For what's worth, I'm not dating Allison," he confesses. "We just kissed once,"

"Oh, spare me the details, Gibbs, would you?" you roll your eyes so hard, you sure he heard it.

The doors open again, you start to walk out but Gibbs's strong hand grabs your wrist. You turn around and finds yourself face to face with the man you can't dreaming about. "Next time to talk to me like you did at the house, there will be consequences,"

"Right. You'll have to punish me," you smirk and leave.

[mrwinterr]

So Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: After a night with your favorite artist, you’re left wondering where you both really stand. 

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual, but unprotected sex, oral [male & female receiving], vaginal penetration and fingering, size kink and dirty talk). Language. Light mentions of substance abuse. Lying asses. Internet toxicity (I hate it here sometimes). Angst, I guess...TIME SKIP...and absolute horrendous fluff (that’s not my brand, alright).

Disclaimer: You can read part 1 here! It would make some sense. 

A/N: This follow-up is still based on some true events. Can’t hate the players, hate the game. For the most part it’s made up because some of us deserve the ending we think we deserve. I’m dedicating this to @shawnie--jo​ for all the love, enthusiasm and the patience because this took me a while. It’s a doozy! & with that note, enjoy!

“You owe me,” is the first thing you hear your friend say the moment you stepped foot back into the hotel you had booked for the night before. It was in a much different tone than of the one she had in line for the concert.

Frozen in place, you turn your attention to her sitting figure on one of the single couches of the lobby. She wasn’t happy that much you could tell judging by the expression on her face and the way she sat impatiently, one leg over the other and her arms crossed against her chest.

The bag next to hers on the ground adjacent to her feet were your belongings. The way it was misshapen suggested she had hastily shoved your things back in it for you. She must’ve been in a rush to leave before checking out or…

“You owe me $50 for the late check out fee,” she clarifies, ceasing all thoughts of why she was currently pissed at you.

Now begins the walk of shame. It wasn’t something you were used to. Could you even call this that? You had no reason to feel ashamed because you were completely aware of last night’s events. You defended your decision as so! Then why did you feel this way?

Perhaps it had to do with you just now returning to the hotel you were supposed to have been checked out of hours ago, but instead you’re greeted to your more than displeased best friend staring daggers at you for a different reason.

Sheepishly bringing a hand to rub the back of your neck, when you’re close enough to her, you open your mouth to begin apologizing, but she wasn’t done as she got up on her feet to level with you.

“You said you would be back before check out,” she said voice slowly rising in volume, no matter the distance between you two was close or not, you could tell this was just the start of a catalyst, “and it’s...oh,” she stops to look down at her phone, which shined bright revealing her lock screen and more importantly the time, “...only three hours past check out!” Yup, not happy with you at all.  

“I know you’re upset,” you start with the obvious, “and you have the right to be. I said I would be back in time, but I wasn’t,” maybe admitting you were wrong would allow her to see you were indeed aware of your mistakes, soften the blow to come a little bit.

“Upset? I’m disappointed!” she says, her arms falling to her sides and with a look of disbelief but is quickly washed over with indisposition. “Some sell-out rockstar invites you over to see him and you lose your sense of mind?”

“Look, I’ll pay you back. It’s no big deal.” At least on your end, you’re trying to remain calm even when her tone and choice of words get under your skin. You didn’t need this weekend to end on a bad note.

“This isn’t about the money!” She proclaimed.

“Then why are you bitching at me? I’m a grown adult! I know what I did-” Yeah, at least you were trying to stay composed, right?

“Do you?” She challenges. It’s one of those rhetorical questions, in which she didn’t need an answer to, but you were still going to give her one.

“Yes, ok. I slept with Bucky and I don’t regret it.”

The defense you put up so quickly around you weren’t something your friend was used to witnessing...maybe to your parents, yeah, but not at her. Sure, you’ve both had the occasional quarrels, but your relationship and sexual life was different because she really cared for your wellbeing and would be damned if someone hurt you.

“I’m just worried,” she admits for her initial brute front, “what you did was totally unlike you and I…”

“What?” You interrupt her, growing more tired of this conversation by the second.

“I don’t trust Bucky.” She blurts out.

You scoff at that reasoning, “you don’t know him-”

“And you do?” This time she interrupts and catches you off guard on that one. “You’re right. I don’t know him, but you said it yourself. Bucky meets tons of people every day. He’s on the road a lot. It’s easy for him to get lonely.”

There it was again. The self-conscious thoughts questioning everything about last night’s events. In a pathetic display of defense, you start counter-questioning her with some of the statements Bucky said to you. Why would he tell you all those sweet things and pretty promises if he knew he could have you so easily? Why would he think you weren’t like the other women out there who exposed their escapades for their 15 minutes of fame? What made him think anything of you? There were other girls in the crowd.

“He’s going to tell you things he wants you to hear to get what he wants.” She really believed that. She knew what some men were capable of. She had more experience than you and you often turned to her for things like this.

Her last sentence was something to let sink in. The way last night played out and the last few hours you spent with Bucky; you were blinded by a rose tint world.

Earlier that morning...

“You know,” Bucky starts with his gaze first set on your face, slowly starting to drift down your body trying to catch a glimpse of uncovered skin that the blanket was doing a horrible job in concealing. You watch with bubbling desire the way he bit his bottom lip and eyes growing darker, ”...if you ever need anything. I’m here to help. I can get you out of that town and you can stay with me in Brooklyn. We’ll find you a place to work in that’ll appreciate you more.”

He was a dream. He was so sweet, but you weren’t going to deny it. As much as you adored what little you knew about the real Bucky, a part of you that was always so careful was also skeptical. That voice in the back of your mind, whether it was your parents, teachers in the past, PSA spokespersons or your best friend, was still trying to tell you Bucky wasn’t an exception.

Then on the other hand, you were finally getting what you wanted. You weren’t a little girl anymore. You could take care of your own heart. Why couldn’t you have some fun? Indulge a little. Life is too short to sit around and wait. If he was serious about any of the things he said, then great! If not, oh well, you’ll live. What’s life without experience, right?

You just never imagined any of the harmless mentions or replies through social media were going to get you in bed with him and so smitten.

When Bucky pulls his lips away from you, he repositions himself on the bed to lie on his back and bask in the comfortable silence. You’re still on your side, but your eyes suddenly widen as you curiously take a peek over his frame and notice the red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn shut, so you had no trace of the actual time of day.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, but was no use. It was just you and Bucky in the room and he’d definitely wonder why you’d grown frantic.

“Whoa. What’s the rush?” He says slowly sitting up, still exhausted, and watching you throw the hotel comforter over your body to get out of bed. You didn’t even care that you were naked in front of him. He’d have a souvenir to remember you by.

The sex tape was the least of your worries though. You fucking missed check out! You can only imagine the look on your friend’s face when you reunite.

“I missed check out,” you respond while momentarily being thrown off course in search of your underwear, but then instantly remembering how Bucky tore it off of you, and you did your best to push aside last night’s activities.

“What?” He asks, rubbing his face trying to rid himself of sleep. He had to get going too. The band was off to play in the next city in some hours. Unfortunately, you didn’t have enough time to take off from work to follow him.

“The hotel I’m staying at. I missed check out and my friend is going to be so pissed at me,” you explained beaten. You can’t for the life of you see where your clothes were in the dark room.

Drawing the curtains open or switching the light on without warning wouldn’t be ideal to the both of you and not only that, the effects of the substances your body was coursed through, the physicality of you and Bucky’s actions last night, the consequence of it all topped with the lone fact that you’re now standing naked in front of Bucky starts to seep in.

You try not to stand there awkwardly and do the only thing you can do. Inhibition creeping back in, you cover your face with your hands and breath in and out, hoping the floor would swallow you whole so you could escape this embarrassment and your friend’s pending wrath.

“Look,” Bucky says now in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face, he’s naked too, washing away some traces of vulnerability away, “you’re already late. You can’t change that. We can only keep moving forward,” he says, his arms slipping around your body to pull you close to his.

The sudden jolt from the skin-to-skin contact quickly subsides with the warmth of his body transferring onto yours. You hold onto his biceps and nod in acceptance. Any attempt to rush back to your hotel wasn’t going to do you any favors now.

“So then, what do you say we get cleaned up and try to enjoy our time together?” The way his head tilted to the side, a not-so-subtle hint in the direction of the shower in the bathroom, his smooth voice and his eyes half-lidded, ready to get lost in you one more time.

You said it yourself, life was short, so if you already knew your friend was going to chew you out, why deny yourself of its pleasures right now, especially if it’s coming from Bucky. 

“Can we just get going? We’ll catch traffic on the way back to the city if we just stand here and keep putting each other down,” you ask, slightly shaking your head of the early morning activities and straightening yourself up, bending forward to pick up your bag and sling it over your shoulder.

This little spat would eventually pass. None of the arguments you two had were ever threatening to your friendship with each other. You’ve both fought over things much more critical that it’d be a shame to let it be over someone like Bucky.

Before you could turn back around to exit, your friend grabs a hold of your arm and stops you. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I could be wrong. Bucky could be the one, but I want you to be smart about doing whatever you end up doing with him. I just want you to ultimately be happy,” she says wholeheartedly.

You knew she was only coming from a good place. She only ever encouraged you to do your best and the right thing. She was the one you sought out advice from and she never led you astray. In the end, you knew you couldn’t ever truly be mad at her. You owed her more than $50 alone.

“Thanks. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know your intentions are in the right place and I really appreciate you for everything. You even agreed to come to this show with me! But I’m only human and I’m going to make mistakes along the way,” you say and notice the fallen look on her face, but you don’t give her long enough to feel sorry for you with your follow up statement, “...if I get hurt, it’s going to suck, but I’ll get back up, learn from it and move on. Plus, I’ll have you there by my side to tell you I told you so...again, and we both know how much you enjoy that!” You end it on a joking note.  

A look of hope creeps back in on your friend and she’s pleased to see your resilient attitude again. You give her your best steadfast smile and it seemingly proved to be successful enough for her to accept your answer as she pulls you in for a warm hug.

You wonder, what Bucky’s motive was? He was Bucky Barnes. He could have anyone. Why did he trust you enough to be intimate with? What was his game? You just had to keep telling yourself for your sanity and wellbeing, with or without Bucky, in the end you’d still be happy.

The months to follow after that tour, you and Bucky had continued to stay in touch. You genuinely felt happy. He was giving you attention! From daily texts and long phone conversations or video calls, some rather suggestive than most, you were able to really learn a lot about each other. While you minded his glamorous lifestyle, each interaction erased all notions of it and he was just another normal human being.

If you were being truthful, a part of you was hoping whatever the two of you had was exclusive. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were in a way reserving yourself for Bucky because you felt there was something between you two and maybe he was just like you and too shy to be the one to bring it up first.

At times you’d find yourself being the one to initiate conversation...especially when the communication started becoming less frequent. They then reduced to just Holiday texts and suddenly they’d become unresponsive and you’d even be left on read. He never flew you to Brooklyn. He never followed you back on social media. You’d accepted he was most likely busy and the excuse of not wanting to attract unwanted attention to you, but the reality of it was he had seemed to move on.  

It’d been close to a year and things were really quiet. The Avengers hadn’t released anything new nor did they have an upcoming tour to rehearse for. You’re trying to not let Bucky’s silence bug you and do what you’ve always told yourself - keep living your life. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were angry at first for letting him get to you like that and realize that boys will be boys. They would never grow a real pair and be straight with women. They always had to go and sugarcoat everything. You had to accept it. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. You were just a one-night stand and the worst part of it was that you consented to it, so you couldn’t hold anything against him.

Things picked back up in your life, work demanded more of your time and you were dating again, taking it very slow and casual. You knew nothing more would come out of it, but it was enough to distract you from Bucky. Life was slowly returning back to normal, even though it never truly could be, until you notice Bucky is posting regularly on his social media accounts again.

It’s not so much that but is one of the comments from another user that is a constant in each sporadic post. You recognize the user as an international model from another country. Curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to check out her profile, noting all the photos of them together and realizing that while you thought Bucky went M.I.A., he was spending his free time getting cozy with her in exotic places.

Her comments start out harmless in the beginning, but quickly become more and more persistent until one sets the record straight. It read, “that’s MY man” followed by a number of heart eye emojis.

You didn’t even know Bucky and the model knew of each other, but why wouldn’t they? He was exposed to extraordinary people, so finding someone in the business was a better bet than settling with you. They lived in a totally different world than yours.

There’s a plethora of thoughts that run through your mind. This is why he isn't responding to you. He had a girlfriend, who was in a much different league than of your own, and he didn’t really go public with it on his end. It made you sad, that much you could admit to yourself because you held back for him, but you weren’t going to admit this feeling to him or your friend or the world. You were going to prove to them you’d do the same thing - move on. 

It’s a rather slow day at work and you’ve resulted in mindlessly scrolling through your Facebook newsfeed, but growing tired of lame memes and life updates from people you haven’t spoken to since high school, you switch over to Twitter for a more different kind of news and also a bit of some entertainment.

You’re not expecting the particular topic to be trending - #BuckyBarnesIsCancelled. You’d manage to move on from whatever it was between you and Bucky and returned back to your daily routine. You tried to remain a fan of The Avengers, but it wasn’t the same. The fling, if you could call it, with Bucky wouldn’t let you. You’d always be grateful for how their music impacted your life, but you’d have to keep living your life despite what transpired.  

Sitting up from your slumped position in your office chair, you ponder for maybe two seconds before clicking on the hashtag. Things were still pretty quiet with The Avengers, with the exception of paparazzi photos here and there, but this seemingly came out of nowhere. What stupid thing did he get himself into?

“No way,” you mock at the headline. Claims of Bucky being mentally abusive, and an addict were being made left and right.

You scrolled through the timeline and threads of replies to find the source of it all and you were shocked that it came from none other than his own girlfriend...well now ex-girlfriend you assumed. The vindictive side of you only allowed a small part in finding some humor in this, but if Bucky was any bit of the Bucky you spent the night with and got to know for those few short months then this was sad for him.

There wasn’t much you could do though. What were you to do? Send him a message of condolences of some sort? He’d probably just leave you on read. Whatever you two had was long over.

Bucky’s agency did well to defend him and save his reputation. They released one statement to clear things up. There’d been images before of him partying and no doubt high on some substance, but that didn’t prove he was an addict. Then again, did you ever really know him? You’d been exposed to that stuff around and because of him. Some people just had more access to certain things than others did.

In some time, when things leveled out once more, he seemed to be back in the clear, but at a rate where people have already decided whose story they believed over the other, whose side they were on, the damage had been done. If there was a recurring theme here, Bucky had one thing to do after the scandal - move on with his life.

It felt a little strange being here again. If you take into consideration some of the things that had already happened, a lot has really changed since you were last in a line to see The Avengers live.

The band had taken a short hiatus to let the fire die out from Bucky’s scandal. It was probably a smart move - to let people cool their jets and forget. It was last reported Bucky had turned a new leaf...something about getting help. Steve took time off to focus on other projects...something about humanitarian work. Sam released some solo stuff...something with a different sound, but still as successful. The time off was probably the best for the guys.

There weren’t as many people it seemed, but enough for them to play in one of the city’s largest venues. You suppose that’s what a span of three years could do to an artist. When the tour was announced you weren’t sure if you should buy a ticket or not, but it’d been some time since you had a night where you could forget about the stresses of the world for a few hours. Never mind the short stint between you and Bucky, you were still a fan of their music and the joyous feeling you got from it was timeless.

This time you were alone. You didn’t even tell your friend they were touring again. Bucky was almost a nonexistent topic for a good while now. Plus, she had her own life to live and couldn’t always be there next to you. You were the bigger fan after all. On top of that, she would’ve most likely have advised against you attending.

Your attire was not to impress, electing on something casual and comfortable with a simple pair of jeans, a leather jacket over a nice top that did a better job at controlling your cleavage than the last one, and cute boots. Yeah, a lot had changed, but the scene didn’t as there were still a mix of fans, old and new, over and under dressed.

The guys still had it. They looked great! They definitely belonged on the stage for the world to see. They even played a 3-song encore. You could tell they loved doing what they did and anyone who was a fan could feel the passion and energy they poured out in the performance.

You’re currently sitting in the seat of your car, head resting against the headrest as you try to unwind a little from standing for a few hours and from the walk back to the parking garage when your phone vibrates and chimes loudly.  

You glance over at the device you placed next to the driving console and your eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the name that appeared. Bucky Barnes. You’d never deleted his number and his text message thread had remained at the very bottom of your messaging app all this time. A sense of apprehension flows through you as you wonder what he could possibly want. How do you just text someone after ghosting them for over a year? Not to mention to someone you did something so intimate with and made all those promises to in the past. How does one do that?

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer or slip into restless thoughts about Bucky again because it wasn’t a walk in the park to forget about him, you open the text. It asks if you were in attendance because he claimed to have seen you in the crowd. This time around you’re not overthinking about what to respond with, you simply say yes. He’d been quick with his next message asking if you were still in the area to meet up.

The wise thing would probably be to reject the invite, but you find yourself once again staring at a hotel door waiting for him to open it. Initially, you’d suggested he tell you what he wanted to say via text, but he said it was something that had to be told in person. So, having been through what you had as a result of meeting up with him in the past, you had some sense of mind this time, you’d just have to make another mental note to not jump into bed with him again. If you were being truthful to yourself, the sex tape left you feeling a little cheap. He didn’t even send it to you as some form of fucked up courtesy or assure you that it wasn’t ever going to get leaked and luckily it hasn’t. You hoped he’d deleted it.

It was almost like Deja vu. You might as well have been reliving the night the first time Bucky invited you over to his hotel room. In the beginning it was kind of awkward and quiet, and it was exactly that years later, just with added history of course.

You’d chosen to sit on the end of one of the beds while Bucky moved slowly around the room trying to gather his thoughts and where to start. He notices the change in you. You were more confident and as you should be. Bucky Barnes couldn’t intimidate you this time. He had more to be embarrassed about than you did now.

Even though you had nowhere to be in the morning, it was getting late and you really would just like to get this meeting over with and Bucky was stalling.

“Bucky, why did you invite me here?” You say, the one to break the ice. He finally stops fidgeting around and focuses on you.

“I...I wanted to apologize,” he starts off, and you’re unmoving silence allows him to continue, “I realize how much of a complete dick I was to you…”

“What do you mean?” You ask. It’s not like he spread any dirty rumors about you or anything. He didn’t need to apologize for anything that you’re aware of. Maybe for leading you on, but you came to terms some time ago that maybe he didn’t owe you an explanation or perhaps you’d never get one. Yet here you both are.

“I used you,” he explains, now you’re confused, and he can see you’re not getting it entirely, which pains him. You didn’t think anything he did with you was wrong because you consented to it. It took two to tango, right?

Except it wasn’t like that at all and he wanted you to know how he strung you along all just for a quick fuck in the beginning and to cover his tracks he acted like he cared in getting to know you afterwards not realizing something purely good could come out of it for him. The confession wasn’t meant to hurt you again, but for you to realize your worth. He messed up with someone so special.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I remembered you from years before when you tripped in front of me,” there’s a small trace of happiness in the fond memory, “...and when I saw you in the crowd that night, fuck you looked so good and you still do…” he ended up a flustered mess after that small admission.

“Where is this going?” You ask hoping he’d get back on track and reveal the rest, trying to keep the fact he admitted an attraction to you in the back of your mind.

“Right...I’ll admit my ego got the best of me. The band was doing so well, everyone noticed us! I was getting attention from all kinds of people! I got hooked to different things,” suppose those articles were true then about him getting clean, you thought to yourself, “...it does get lonely on the road and I was so desperate for anyone,” oh you hoped and prayed he wouldn’t say what he was going to say next, but he does, “...and I knew there wouldn’t be that much effort on my part to get you to sleep with me.”

Great. Your friend was right then, and he was just like any other house name artist.

“Um...okay, that’s not something I was wanting to hear about myself,” you said after letting that sink in. Did you still appear to look easy?

“No, I’m sure it’s not, but when we were alone together everything was just easy-”

“Yeah, I got that. I’m easy!” You interrupt, and now you’re angry. As he’s trying to explain his actions, you started thinking about how mad and hurt you were when he started ghosting you. You couldn’t be upset about him getting a girlfriend, but the fact that he didn’t think he could continue even being your friend and instead just chose to ignore you was the better option was hella annoying.

“That’s not what I meant!” He says trying to justify his choice of words.

“Then how did you mean it?” You demand, and Bucky is a bit stunned with your new attitude. He foresaw that he would have a difficult time in explaining himself, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard dealing with how much his actions affected you.

“Everything was easy with you because you made it easy to feel,”

“I don’t know if I understand,” you say and attempt to get up, “...maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No, please. Let me finish,” Bucky is quick to get in front of you as he pleads for you to stay. You give him a slight nod and sit back down.

“Things with you were easy in a sense that being around you I was able to just be myself. I’ve never said those things to girls before you! I didn’t have to impress you with anything flashy. I even forgot I was some rockstar! You’re an incredible person, really-”

“I’m sorry, Bucky, but I just can’t,” you say, hating to interrupt him again, but you’re not ready to hear any of this, “...none of this still doesn’t sound right. It was just one night and then how do you explain just ghosting me the moment you get a supermodel girlfriend?” that last part came out unintentionally feisty but might as well let him know how you’d felt, “You couldn’t even be my friend when you were with her! I guess it was easy to just forget me too…”

Bucky lowers his head ashamed of how he handled that and just nods in acknowledgement of his actions, “you’re right. It doesn’t make sense, but what I feel is even harder to explain...”

“None of this accounts for her,” you demand. A part of you just wanted to know where she came from. How did it happen? Who asked who out? It wasn’t important information to know about, but the urge of human curiosity was large.

“She wasn’t even my idea,” he muttered, not really wanting to talk about her.

“What?” You ask.

“Getting with her was the label’s idea,” he admits, hating he was coerced into the idea of an on-screen relationship.

You scoff at the stupidity of fake relationships in the Entertainment industry. Why did people get their rocks off over it? Were OTPs really that a big deal? Are people so bored with their own lives that they have to push corporate into bringing two people who don't have feelings for each other together? However, Bucky thinks you don’t believe him and given how little you developed in trusting him with things, he’s not entirely wrong.

“I know it was a dumb thing to agree to and it’s one of the horrors working in this business, but I know now I should’ve just been forward with you,” Bucky says, voice still riddled begging for forgiveness.

“Why couldn’t you then?” You interrogate and notice the creases of distress on his face soften. “If I made it so easy to feel, then why wasn’t it just that to tell me the truth?”

“I-I don’t know,” he replies.

“Yes, you do,” you retort, and pretend you’re going to leave, but by doing so you know it’ll only get him to spill the beans quicker.

“I was scared!” He admits, stepping in front of you and keeping you still in your place on the end of the bed.

“Scared? Of what? Me?” You ask incredulously looking up at him.

“Yes!” He says and kneels down in front of you. “You’re so perfect! You’re real! You don’t treat me like I’m some celebrity. You didn’t even participate when people started cancelling me or whatever! You could’ve and you had every right to expose me, but you didn’t!” Your act did the trick, because the words just kept coming out of Bucky.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you, for not telling you I was with her, but the more I got to know you, a part of me got really scared that I couldn’t keep being the kind of man you deserved because of my problems,” by this point, Bucky has placed both his hands on either side of you, his arms trapping you, “...trust me, I had a lot of time to think about everything I did wrong and what harm my reckless lifestyle has on others…I just feared it was already too late, but the one thing that I always thought about that helped me get through it was the lone night I had with you. I was so happy! I wanted that again...I had to get back to that, so I invited you back to try,” you didn’t even realize how close his face was to yours. He looked so torn and you hated seeing him like that, but there was nothing you could say that could fix things right now.

Bucky now felt vulnerable and almost pathetic. Just because he wanted another shot of happiness, and with you of all people, what made it okay for him to think you wanted to try again? You weren’t so certain of what you wanted with him anymore.

“Wow,” is all you give. You’re not sure what more you could add. After all that, he actually liked you? Were you still sure you weren’t living in some fanfic world? You needed some time to think about that and much to Bucky’s expectations, you weren’t going to come to a conclusion before you left this room tonight.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” You offer him the floor, and he gets it. You’re not going to say anything particular to his confession, at least not now. He’s not upset at all. It was a lot to take in. He had time to think, and he had to respect the time you’d need now.

He nods and backs away, realizing the close proximity, “just one question,” you nod this time and let him ask, “do you regret it?”

You know what he’s referring to, sleeping with him, the sex tape, the countless conversations, meeting with him right now - everything.

“No,” you answer honestly.

He lets out a weak smile, looking down sheepishly and adds, “I’ve never done anything like this with anyone before, I promise.”

He could promise and swear up and down all he’d like, but how could you be really sure? The only response you could give him is a small, neutral hum in acknowledgement.

Bucky knew this conversation wasn’t going to go as he had hoped. He really didn’t have a plan, he just really wanted to see you again. He goes silent and you know at this point, everything was all laid out. Time would tell the rest if this was worth saving.

“I can forgive you. I know I can because in a way part of moving on allows one to do so but completing a session or doing time in rehab doesn’t really prove anything,” you said brutally honest with him, he looks up at you almost defeated and just waiting for the final blow.

“You said a lot of promising things back then and you said a lot more tonight,” you add on, and gently begin to remove his hands from the spots either side of you to let you free, and get up to head out, however not with one more thing he could reflect on, also giving him hope, “...you need to show you’ve really changed,” then the conversation was over.

In some ways, these events needed to happen. He had to hit rock bottom to learn from his mistakes and kick out the bad habit. He knew now that he had to work hard to give you a reason to trust him and maybe even in the long run be with him.

On the other hand, you had to go through this whole thing in order to not base your happiness on someone else. You could be happy on your own and open enough to be with someone that wasn’t Bucky. 

For the next few months, to your surprise, Bucky had actually made an effort to keep in touch with you. It wasn’t overbearing and he minded your space as well as he could from a distance, given that he was still busy with the band and other duties that came with his status.

While at times he could be flirty, you learned it was part of his charm. Your friend wasn’t entirely thrilled when you’d admitted to her that you visited Bucky that night. You might’ve not shown it, but she knew how much his past actions affected you. Granted it did its job in teaching you a lesson and in return allowed you to be more confident and to not take anyone’s bullshit, she’d be damned if Bucky tried to pull another act like that around you again.

By now, you were comfortable enough with him to even tell him about random dates you’d gone on; none proving to be long-term, but it was nice to confide in someone else other than your best friend and get an opinion from a male perspective.

You weren’t going to lie, there was a part of you that still liked Bucky more than a friend, but you weren’t sure when it was okay to willingly go all in again with him. Sure, you’d given him another chance, but just how low could people really go to get what they wanted? Some people could just be really manipulative, and you weren’t wanting to ruin what you’ve both rebuilt for yourselves. Either way, you’d be happy with him in your life even as a friend, which is how it could’ve gone if he’d been honest from the get-go.

The year was coming to a close and you’re at your job’s annual Christmas party. You’d managed to convince your friend to be your plus one, but she claimed she didn’t need bribery because your company always ordered outstanding catering and who in their right mind would turn down free food anyways?

Aside from pretending you were having a great time talking to your co-workers, most of which whom you barely spoke to at the office and as faux-friendly as they were tonight, you felt stupid for glancing at your phone every now and then hoping to get a message from Bucky. He’d been keeping you entertained the first half of the party until he just stopped responding.

Your friend had ditched you to take advantage of the open bar several minutes ago, so you were sitting at a table alone trying not to look pathetic. You started thinking of when an appropriate time would be to leave when the Market Manager of your job took the mic. Too late, you thought to yourself and decided to get comfortable in your seat and listened to what cheesy Holiday speech they had to give, but what you hadn’t expected was a surprise guest.  

“What the hell?” You said to yourself as you watched Bucky, Steve and Sam shake hands with one of your bosses before settling into what would appear as an acoustic performance.

How’d they manage to get in contact with your job? Who gave them the in? Bucky knew what you did for a living, but you never stayed on that subject long enough to think much about it. Then your friend slides into the empty seat next to you, a drink in one hand and a knowingly smirk on her lips, one that suggests she was definitely in on this act. You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at her with a stupid look of disbelief all over your face until your name is echoed throughout the speakers.

It snaps you out of your trance and you focus your attention to Bucky on stage, a huge smile on his face. All formalities set aside, he highlights you and your friendship before jumping into their new single, which was widely popular right now. Normally, you weren’t one to take compliments easily, not used to so much attention, but the whole world disappeared with Bucky.

Once their little set was over, the majority of your colleagues enjoyed the performance and asked for photos, to which the guys were more than happy to appease to. Your friend had managed to escape your clutches once more, this time abandoning you for the dessert table. You’re not alone for long as Bucky occupies the seat left open next to you. You look around your surroundings, hoping there aren’t any more surprises in store, and practically attack him with a big hug.

Bucky’s chuckle is muffled, his face buried in your hair, as he wraps his arms around you to return the gesture. When you pull away, you’re almost left speechless, but you’re dying to know how he managed to get here. He was technically still on tour and this was not one of the passing by cities.

“How?” You ask.

“Hi to you too,” he said with a cheeky grin, to which you playfully slap his arm, and he responds with your friend’s name. He explained how he’d wanted to see you and how much he had to grovel for your friend to trust him. She’d helped him arrange a meeting with your boss, who turned out to be a huge fan of The Avengers, and even sneak them inside the building all under your nose. She wasn’t easy to persuade, but if she was convinced enough to work with Bucky on anything then you knew this meant something more.  

The initial notion of wanting to leave the party immediately vanished and you wanted nothing more than to just sit there in Bucky’s company all night. Steve and Sam greeted you and you never realized that this was actually the first time meeting them formally and not outside of a venue. They weren’t rockstars to you any more than you were just a fan to them. They were Bucky’s friends, of course he’d confined to them on his end as much as you did with yours.

At some point they had excused themselves to catch the last flight headed back to Brooklyn, but Bucky had decided to stay longer. When it was time to leave, you found out Bucky hadn’t planned long enough to where he would stay the night in your city. The original plan was to fly back home with the guys and pick up on the remainder of the tour. They had a few days off, but it was just a few days shy of ending, and he couldn’t wait that long to see you.

It’s funny how life works because this time you’re the one inviting him to your place. You weren’t going to blame it on the open bar or how late it was or the underlying tension that was surrounding you two, but one thing was certain, it was mutual, and you both weren’t going to deny the attraction any longer.

You’d missed the weight of Bucky’s body on yours more than you’d realized as your hands held his face, keeping his lips attached to yours. You could taste the remnants of the unfinished drink he’d abandoned at the coffee table on his tongue. Bucky’s hands hiked your leg over his waist to get you to lie flat on your couch.

You’re the first to attempt to remove clothing by popping open the buttons of his button-up shirt before completely ridding of the item leaving him in his thin undershirt. You feel his hands slide up from your hips along your back as they dig into the minimal space the arch of your back had created for him to slowly unzip the back of your dress. With your lips both still attached, you manage to sit up, your dress falling down and bunching at the waist in the process, exposing your breasts. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect time to see you in an outfit that would not work with a bra.

Bucky curses breathlessly when he pulls his lips away from yours for a quick breather, but in the process, he takes a peek at your half naked body. You can tell he’s just itching to touch you and you take the commanding lead and place his hands on you. The atmosphere grows thicker, him kneading your breasts, you smash your lips on his in a sloppy lock.

You push Bucky down on his end of the couch and manage to kick your loose dress all the way down your legs and off your body. Bucky’s hands travel down to the curve of your ass before he grabs a handful of flesh, causing you to moan into the kiss. Your hands rake through his styled hair, the product he used unstiffening and his hair falls limp in your grasps.

Bucky’s hands started to aid your hips in moving roughly against his clothed member, desperate to relieve some friction, and you internally blushed remembering how thick he was, how full it felt to have his cock stuffed inside of you. You didn’t remain celibate during the hiatus of your relationship, you both had urges, but Bucky had really ruined others that came after him.

Your lips drifted down Bucky’s body, kissing at the skin of his chest in the pattern following the swoop-line seam of the undershirt that he was still wearing. You skipped the expanse of his toned stomach, until you’re met with the small amount of skin that peeked between his bottoms and hem of his undershirt. You slightly lift the material up and place small pecks at his lower abdomen, which causes a low groan to rumble in Bucky’s throat.

Your fingers deftly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, with the zipper pulled apart, you’re marveling at the imprint of his hard cock, already twitching and staining his boxers. You manage to break your gaze and look up at Bucky, who is desperately pleading with you to proceed. Your eyes never leave his as you lower your head closer to his member, tongue darting out to the dark spot of his boxers, tasting the precum.

The contact causes him to squirm and lips form in a tight line. You pull down his pants and agonizingly peel off his boxers slowly, dragging it down to his thighs, just enough to expose him enough for you to work with before you wrap a hand around his length. Bucky’s upper body is supported by his bent elbows so he could watch you.

You kiss the tip of his leaking cock, a small string of his precum sticking to your lips when you pull back, to which you run your tongue over. Bucky’s head falls back just in time when your lips enclose the head, tongue twirling around the ridge and teasingly at the slit and loving the sound of his breath getting caught in his throat. You inch your mouth down his length and your vacant hand gets quick to work on what you’re not able to intake while the other runs up his exposed abdomen, your fingers curling in and lightly scratching down as it runs down to massage one of his thighs. You can feel the muscle in his thigh flex at your touch the more your head bobs up and down on him.  

A plethora of curses spew from his mouth, but the rush of sucking his cock, the gurgling of your spit mixed with his precum and occasional choking noise when your throat contracts around him, is all you can hear from your perspective. When you part from his member, you’re breathing intensifies, desperate for more air to enter your system, eyes slightly watering, lips swollen, your hand lazily slathering the wetness all over him.

“You’re so good at that,” Bucky comments and he finally manages to pick his head back up to look at you. He reaches forward to swipe at the mess on the corner of your chin, but you’re hungry for more, and you move your head to the side to suck on his thumb, eyes closed as you hum at the taste of his skin and essence.

Your soft tongue running against the pad of his somewhat calloused thumb, it pops lightly when you release the digit, a small, devious smile on your lips as you scoot away to lie on the other end of the couch. He’s almost at aghast by this, but even back then you were just always full of surprises around him and he wasn’t going to deny the appeal of your sexual allure.

Bucky is quick to get to your side, completely riding himself off the rest of his clothes - the undershirt, pants and boxers - he had dressed to impress but right now nothing more than but overdressed. He gently parts your legs, kissing up your calves and thighs, until settles between them, you can feel his warm breath fanning against your scantily covered core.

Unlike last time, you’re not afraid to watch him and he sends you a knowingly wink, quickly ascending up to give you a sweet kiss, while his fingers slip inside your panties and between your lips. Your hips eagerly thrust upwards hoping his fingers slip in.

“Baby, we got all night,” he says cradling your face in his other hand. You let out a small whine, but regardless attempt to be patient. Bucky studies your face, mesmerized by every structure and unique feature, then what felt like an eternity, but in reality, was only a few seconds, he sinks a finger inside your wet pussy.

As soon as the gasp leaves your lips, his lips swoop in and tongue instantly dipping in search of yours. The heated kiss only heightens the sensation in the pit of your stomach, your hips losing control and every buck up into his hand, your clit rubs up against his palm, invigorating it. The curl of his finger, lightly probs at the right spot inside you, you uncontrollably squeal against his lips, with a hand against his chest you gently push his body away from yours.

“Oh my God! Fuck, Bucky…” you say with your head tilting back to the curve of the couch’s arm. You feel Bucky’s lips kiss and suck at your exposed neck as his fingers continue their handy work, the lewd noises causing your eyes to roll back.

His lips find their way next to your ear, gently nipping at it, and you could just drown at the sound of his husky breathing and filthy words. “Can I taste you?” He asks. You’re not sure why he was asking, you’d want nothing less. You nod almost instantaneously before allowing him to remove your panties.  

Bucky’s hungry eyes remain fixated on your glistening core, “oh, I missed this pussy,” he comments before his tongue fondles the lips. He has a hand lying flat against one of your legs, pressed on the couch to keep them spread apart, the other blocked by his body. His routine contrasts his old with how his tongue moves in slow and calculated laps. His mouth was very talented, given whatever style he chose to play.

You’re tethering on an orgasm and Bucky wanted nothing more than to watch you come undone for him. Bucky’s fingers and tongue work in tandem and fast to help you reach a climax.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Bucky manages to ask in between, eyes peering up at you. You don’t actually answer because you can’t concentrate from the pleasure he’s bestowing and the impending release. “Good. I want you to cum. I want all this pussy has to give,” his voice hitting a different low, even his fucking voice was so sexy. Your hands clutch on fistfuls of the couch cushions when you feel the first wave of pleasure wash over your body, your hips stilled in place as Bucky laps up at your arousal.

“The sweetest thing ever,” Bucky mutters mostly to himself, but hearing that comment only feeds your ego, which never is a bad thing in an intimate setting. Your chest heaves up and down from the impact. Just as Bucky is about to crawl back up to parallel, you stop him with a foot at his chest. He grabs your small foot in his hand and blinks at your resistance.

“Sit back,” you command. He drops your foot and watches as your body maneuvers around to climb over his. He didn’t even realize his body had complied to your demand, absolutely hypnotized by you.

You lean in for a deep kiss, one that leaves his brain a mush, yours too almost that you have to steady yourself with one hand on the couch armrest. You reach a hand down between your bodies and grab a hold of his hard cock. Your fingers tracing along the vein before you start rubbing his head through your sensitive, wet folds. Bucky’s hands lay lightly on your hips, trying with all his might to not force you to take him all the way in. A large part of him liked this dominant side of you. There was so much about you he was dying to unearth.

“Baby, please…” he begins pleading as you barely press the tip of his cock just at your entrance before you slowly lower your body down to engulf his entire length. You sit still once you’re sure you’ve bottomed out, not noticing Bucky’s fingers digging into your hips, sure enough to leave crescent marks and tiny bruises.

Bucky’s face is buried in your neck, your cheek pressed against the top of his head, lost in the mop of dark hair. You feel his cock twitch inside of you causing your hips to ground on his. He was in so deep, you weren’t sure how long you were going to last in this position, but you’d be damned if you denied it.

You start with slow swivels before sliding back and forth on his cock. Bucky’s hands released their death grip from your hips, one travelled to the front to grope at your breasts while the other supported your body settling itself on the small of your back. Your hands set themselves on the back of the couch on either side of his head, using it as leverage to ground down harder on him.

“Mm, I missed fucking this big cock,” you lean down to whisper right in his ear, “you’re so deep, Bucky.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he spits out curse after curse at your dirty words. “You gonna cum on this big cock, hmm?” He asks. The question comes as a challenge and you weren’t ready to give up the ropes to him.

“Yeah, is this big cock gonna cum inside this tight pussy?” You counter the question, speeding up your gyrations until you start to feel the burn in your thighs and stomach begin to twist. He lets out a low, long growl, his eyes lulling shut and head falling back against the couch, ready to succumb to euphoria.

“No,” you say, suddenly ceasing all movements to pull at his hair. The sharp pain in his scalp causes his eyes to snap open and look up at you. “Keep your eyes on me,” you command much like how he did with you the first time. You watch him swallow the knot in his throat and give him a wicked smile before picking back up where you left off.

Your hands are sprawled on his sweaty chest as you bounce up and down his length. Bucky’s senses are on overdrive, the way your pussy naturally hugs his cock, walls squeezing occasionally, your breasts swaying right in front of him, your skin shining from the layer of sweat coating your body, and the look of immense pleasure written all over your face because of him.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he says over and over as some form of warning, hoping you’re not far behind.

The way his face contorted in ecstasy, lips parted, sweat building up on his forehead, the tip of his cock stabbing at your sweet spot, you were about to cum too. His words become a muffled mess when you attempt to silence him with a bruising kiss just as you reach your high, pussy clenching tight around his cock milking him of everything he’s got. Each spurt of his hot cum that shoots inside you causes your hips to stutter in response. Bucky attempts to keep them at bay with a hand pressed against your back, keeping your body close to him and in the process also instilling his seed is rooted deep inside of you.

“God...damn,” Bucky says short of breath when your body lies limp against his. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, you haven’t attempted to move just yet as you both sat there with his cock still buried in. When you manage to sit up, you stare back at Bucky with tired eyes, but there’s a smile on both your faces. It only slightly falters at his next words.

“I love you,” he says earnestly. Thankfully your silence doesn’t bother him, “...you don’t have to say it back,” he adds, “I just wanted you to know. You’re so special,” he proclaims and your heart leaps at the very admission. You only nod for now but give him another reassuring smile because in time you knew you could allow yourself to love Bucky and be loved by him in return. It wasn’t a conventional meeting, but this was your life, not everyone else's.

When you finally manage to pull yourself off his cock, it slips out fluidly with a trail of his cum following in suit. You knew you’d curse yourself later on, but you’re both too tired to clean the mess right now. The pair of you settle into a lying position, facing one another, encased in each other’s arms. It’s a moment of bliss as you both just lie there, his eyes closed and a smile seemingly permanently etched on his face, only around you.  

“Hey Bucky,” you pipe up breaking the silence. He hums in response, “I want to know something...” you start out with.

“Anything,” he says, eyes still closed, his hand running up and down your arm, an indicator that he’s present and listening.

“What happened between you two?” Curiosity getting the best of you once more, you’re hoping this doesn’t ruin the moment, but you had to know. What went wrong? Besides, if this was going to work, he was going to have to be honest.

“Uh, she saw something on my phone…” he said cautiously, “...that involved you.” Your eyes widen at that. It couldn’t have been the sex tape you hoped.

“Bucky, no!” You gasp, sitting up and just hoping he doesn’t confirm it.

“Relax!” He says pulling you back down with him, “She was psycho. She went through my texts and saw some of the photos we used to send to each other. She must’ve thought they were recent.” He explains like it was no big deal.

Your heart stops racing slightly, you’re a bit relieved that she didn’t go as far as posting any of the photos on the Internet. You knew you were risking it by sexting with Bucky, but what was that saying? Hell hath no fury…and in a blind rage, she lashed out only on Bucky, but if she was a psycho, who knows what else she might’ve found on Bucky’s phone.

“Bucky?” you figure you might as well know now.

“Yeah…”

“What did you do with that sex tape?” You’d been dying to know if it was safely stored away or if maybe he even still watched it or just deleted it.

A big toothy grin spreads across his lips, his pearly whites on full display as he laughs at the question before he reaches over to the table next to the couch, where his cell phone rested on.

“Want to make a sequel?” He asks suggestively with a smirk on his lips and waving his phone at you, to which you playfully attempt to snatch from his grasp. He’s too quick, but nonetheless he replaces the phone in its original spot before focusing his attention on you alone.

“You don’t think this is all weird?” He questions almost hesitantly while tracing the outline of your jaw delicately. You’re not thinking that at all. You’d both been through a lot during the last few years that the only thing that was normal now was what you both had.

You shake your head in response, too tired for words, and drowning in the blissful moment. Bucky nods before declaring, “good because you make so happy,” then ending the night with sweet kisses. 

“Hey, it’s me. I know you’re busy at the studio today...” you start, cell phone pressed against your ear. You’re attempting to leave a voicemail to your boyfriend, who was expecting your arrival later that day, “...but I just wanted to assure you that this isn’t weird, and I can’t wait to see you...I love you, Bucky,” you finish up the message and stuff the device into your bag just in time to hear the voice of the airline staff making the pre-boarding announcements booming loudly from the speakers.  

Now boarding Group B for flight #107 to JFK Airport...final destination Brooklyn, New York.

A/N: We’ve been in quarantine for so long, I don’t remember how airport announcements are like anymore and I was only in Brooklyn last Spring…RIP to the good times.

A happy ending was weird to write in the end and I actually don’t like this particular Bucky so it could’ve gone really bad, but I said to myself, no, not this time, I can do what the title says and let them be just that - happy. I too can be happy if you give this a like, reblog or comment! Thanks for reading!  

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: infinitely varied Ship: obikin Summary: Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he's in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak.Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. AN: Happy birthday @ghostwriterofthemachine

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.

Noam Chomsky

I.

Life was a query of expectations, margins on doorframes, bucket lists, first loves, broken hearts, and happy middles because only fools would settle for a happy ending when they had so many decades left to live. The thought never failed to bring a smile to Anakin’s face, no matter how frustrated, remembering the simple way Obi-Wan had proposed. There had been no fancy dinner, particularly stunning outing, or anything resembling outlandish romantic gestures. Anakin would have appreciated them because every act would have been colored by Obi-Wan’s love, but now, older and wiser than the rash youth who’s fallen in love at first heated debate, he preferred the way their proposal had actually gone down. A quiet Sunday morning, eating breakfast together on the sofa while the news droned in the background from Anakin’s old radio, a hesitant “I don’t need forever, but I want the present”.

And, well, for all his genius, Anakin could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but not when it came to this.

Married life was interesting.

Somehow nothing changed, except also everything. They had bought a real house, moved out of their old apartment and made more compromises than Anakin had ever thought himself capable of, for they hadn’t been like fighting an uphill battle but dancing together. It had made him happy to paint the entrance hall in the shade of green Obi-Wan preferred if he got to paint the kitchen in the light blue he wanted.

Obi-Wan got the attic for his office where his antique book collection looked right at home, and Anakin got the basement where the hum of his servers and the generator powering them annoyed nobody else.

It was as close to white-picket-fence as it could be with two queer men, no kids, a bratty cat, and an anxious dog under one roof. His childhood self would be appalled to see how much Anakin, always the whirlwind, had settled. To a nine-year-old, Anakin probably looked very adult.

Anakin, however, did not feel very grown-up, banging his head against his desk in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had gone to sleep hours ago, and so had Anakin until inspiration had struck and he’d snuck out of bed to return to his favorite project.

A.H.S.O.K.A may not be a child, but Anakin certainly could relate to exhausted parents when they complained about their children in endless repetitions. To this day, Anakin didn’t know why his mother figured it would be great parenting to encourage her WarGames obsessed kid to dig into the world of artificial intelligence when WOPR nearly started a nuclear war, but he’d forever remain thankful.

Or, he’d resume being thankful when he could finally get A.H.S.O.K.A to learn. He’d rewritten her code a thousand times. It was his ever-constant companion, from his first awful-looking early 2000s website to its current incarnation. A.H.S.O.K.A could solve simple logic puzzles, given that he fed her enough data. Her solutions to tasks could be downright hilarious, but they were not enough. He wanted her to be smarter, better, capable of gaining true understanding.

Perhaps, it was a dream for the future and not a Thursday night.

Anakin didn’t have any work tomorrow morning as he worked as a freelancer, so he could afford to pull an all-nighter. But his dear husband had planned a nice afternoon for them, so Anakin should call it a night or a morning as a glance at the clock told him.

Staring at the many lines of code again, Anakin sighed and leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his by-now cold tea. Obi-Wan would definitely complain that Anakin had snatched his favorite mug once he got up and couldn’t find it in the kitchen. Anakin had bought it at the last linguistic convention Obi-Wan had taken him to.

Language is a process of free invention, it read in delicate cursive before the rest of the quote disassembled in pure chaos.

Huh.

Now there was a thought. Anakin got out of his chair and left the basement, haunted by fixed principles and infinite combinations. Up in the attic, carrying Obi-Wan’s computer downstairs again, Anakin thought on interpretations and free creations. He was as giddy and nervous as he’d been on the morning of his wedding day, which had started similarly early. Connecting Obi-Wan’s computer, and more importantly, the priced result of his thesis, to Anakin’s server felt a little like unwrapping birthday presents.

language_acquisition_prediction.exe

Enter.

II.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he woke to an empty bed. Anakin had a habit of suddenly pulling all-nighters or getting up early before the sun even thought of rising. Given that he couldn’t smell breakfast yet, Obi-Wan deduced that Anakin had pulled an all-nighter again. He slowly crawled out of bed to avoid disturbing Artoo and Threepio sleeping to his feet. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he shared his bed more often with his pets than he did with his husband.

He walked down the stairs to the ground level and went by the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. To his displeasure, Obi-Wan couldn’t find his favorite mug and so had to settle for another. After another thought, he decided to make a second one for Anakin, lavender this time so Anakin would hopefully crash after breakfast. He put both mugs on a small tray together with a couple tomatoes. Obi-Wan usually wasn’t one for eating a full breakfast on workdays – that was the influence of Anakin and his mother’s kitchen – but he was the expert in smalltime snacks. With both in hand, he walked down the second flight of stairs, down to the basement. As expected, he found Anakin at his desk, clinging to what was bound to be a cold cup, staring intensely at his screens, which were running one program or another.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan greeted him and kissed Anakin’s cheek.

“Mo-orning,” Anakin replied, a yawn interrupting him halfway. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Obi-Wan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Uuuh.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to see Anakin’s face to know the answer. “Did you even go to sleep?”

“I did sleep for a while!” Anakin argued. “But then I had an idea, I mean, look at this!”

Obi-Wan gave the screens a closer look. Despite common misconceptions, he was not technically illiterate. Privately, he blamed the fact that Anakin was quite well known for his tech know-how and Obi-Wan tended to talk more about literature given that he was filling in as a lecturer in the British Lit. department. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan had gotten his professorship with a program he’d written, and the code currently displayed on the screens looked very similar to a section that had given him stress nightmares. “Is that my thesis?” he asked.

“Yes, sorta, partially?” Anakin replied. “I kind of took it apart a lot and maybe corrupted it a bit, but that’s not the important part! Look what she’s doing with it.”

She could only refer to one person, intelligence. There were a few constants in their life, their new house the most recent one, and Ahsoka was probably the longest. Obi-Wan didn’t know why Anakin hadn’t set her aside already, he was happy enough to leave other started-never-finished projects lying around, but the last time he’d even just suggested such, Anakin had looked heartbroken.

Obi-Wan looked at the screen Anakin was pointing at and began to read.

script input: inhibition auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˌɪn.ɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˌɪn.hɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: outstanding

script input: better auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˈbet̬.ɚ/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˈbet.ər/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: rhoticism? query: define

The text continued for a while, though apparently Ahsoka only picked out the mismatched parts in her analysis.

“Is that ‘Must have done something right’?” Obi-Wan asked, the connection between the words suddenly starting to make sense.

“Yes!” Anakin grinned. “I wasn’t quite sure how to teach her sounds properly because I hadn’t equipped her with a sound analysis program before and I figured that if babies just learn by listening to their parents, Ahsoka could learn by listening to us.”

“So you fed her audio of us singing?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, confused, or just plain tired but decided to settle on confusion for now and let the course of the conversation determine where they’d end up.

“That too, but I actually just started by playing old voice messages. I figured getting her used to just one phonetic inventory would be enough for now. Honestly, for the first hour, I wasn’t even sure whether that would be of any use because she had no symbols to connect the sounds to, and I thought using the IPA might bias her.”

Because, of course, Anakin never deleted any of Obi-Wan’s voice messages and just kept them on his phone. The fact that he just glossed over it as if it weren’t anything special either made Obi-Wan smile.

“It’s cute that you think we have the same inventory,” Obi-Wan commented. “But continue. You just let her listen to sounds and then? Don’t tell me you gave her written texts.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and confirmed another one of Ahsoka’s queries before answering. “No, I gave her the IPA then and let her listen to the full inventory and then analyze which ones we use.”

That made enough sense. Obi-Wan was reasonably sure it was a great deal more complicated than Anakin was lying it out right now, but it was still within the realm of possible and not downright sci-fi. There were enough programs that could analyze speech and filter out patterns, recognize even emotions and tone. Feeding data to a computer wasn’t too different from the way babies learned, though, as far as Obi-Wan knew from talking to people with children, they didn’t like their progeny being compared to lines of code.

“And you accomplished this by feeding my thesis program, which is meant to predict the language acquisition of children, to Ahsoka?”

“Yes, that, uh, happened more or less,” Anakin said, his nose scrunched up just so that Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t certain. “I’m pretty sure I like, wrote some of it down. Not all of it because I knocked out at like 4 a.m., which resulted in pretty interesting inquiries on the great vowel shift.”

Obi-Wan froze. “She’s asking about the great vowel shift?”

There was a difference in the size of the Atlantic between analyzing sounds and recognizing a six-hundred-year-old change in pronunciation.

“Not really,” Anakin said. “She just noticed the patterns? And had inquiries? We’ve been following up on it since, mostly by also giving her written text, but I think that might have backfired and confused her a bit. I’m thinking of synching up the input with a visible feed so she’d learn to associate an actual object with the sound, but I’m not sure whether that wouldn’t just lead to her matching data instead of actually learning its relevance. Can teach an AI what an apple looks like, sounds like, tastes like, but that doesn’t mean you can teach it what an apple is and all that.”

Anakin smiled impishly, and unfortunately, despite his generally messy appearance, Obi-Wan still thought he was handsome. “Please don’t cite my book back at me like that.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and pinching his nose, Obi-Wan tried to focus. This was not how he expected to start his free day. He needed to wake up and possibly grab his notes to sort out this mess. This almost made him wish the car was still wrecked and Anakin would spend all his free time fixing that. “Did you have to start her on English of all languages?”

Anakin was fluent in two other romance languages; it would have been much easier to deal with a French AI than an English one. Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka’s latest question and promptly frowned.

script input: bear auditory input: /beər/ match found: bare analysis: mismatch diagnosis: failed word formation query: bear = bare? query: deletion >bare<?

“How long has she been doing that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Doing what— oh, that’s new.”

So Ahsoka had jumped from matching sounds to text to comparing sound to words and then referencing those words against one another. That was a logical step, but also a step Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure she should be doing without prompting.

“She thinks bear and bare are related because they have the same sound. Didn’t really expect that turn of events. Should I show her those are two different words?”

“Does she even know what a word is yet?” Obi-Wan asked in turn.

“No.”

“Then teach her what a word is first— after breakfast. I want your pancakes.”

“You never want pancakes on a Friday.”

“My husband also never decided to rope me into teaching an artificial intelligence morphology before.”

Obi-Wan needed a proper meal for this. He could talk to his students on an empty stomach, but he could not deal with the latest brand of Skywalker insanity without something sweet first.

“I haven’t—”

Ever the negotiator, Obi-Wan decided to shut Anakin up with a kiss. “After breakfast.”

Ahsoka’s many questions could wait for an hour.

[lifeofkaze]

One Year Older, None the Wiser

Wishing the happiest Birthday to my one and only, my favourite (shhh, that's a secret), my og girl Lizzie Jameson!

You're my personal comfort movie and there's not one day you're not on my mind 💛💛💛

OCs featured belong to @kc-and-co (Katriona Cassiopeia), @that-scouse-wizard (David Willows) and my favourite @the-al-chemist (Artemis Hexley)

Dawn hadn’t even fully broken on this grey November morning when Lizzie Jameson was rudely awakened by a loud, sharp noise echoing through the silence of her dormitory.

Mouse, who had been sleeping nestled against her stomach, miaowed in protest as Lizzie abruptly sat upright and pulled the blanket from underneath her cat. Confused, Lizzie looked around herself, trying to make out what had ripped her from her dreams.

Her head was stuffy and her neck and shoulders hurt from tossing and turning all night; she felt as if she had only slept two hours maximum which, as she saw glancing at the clock on her nightstand, wasn’t too far off.

Lizzie and her friends had tried staying up until midnight to celebrate her seventeenth birthday, but it had been a long week, and one after the other had drifted off to sleep. By half past eleven everyone except Lizzie herself had been sound asleep. Which was just as well; Lizzie had had no mind for sharing cake, a furtive drink and birthday stories.

Today wasn’t only her birthday, more importantly, it was matchday; the first match of the year was upon them, and they would be playing against Ravenclaw. They still had a score to settle from last year’s crushing defeat, and Lizzie’s stomach had been a twisted knot of nerves for the whole night.

Before she could form another thought on today’s match, however, she was almost knocked back into her pillows by a set of arms flung around her neck and she had to move her head sideways to not get Penny Haywood’s long blonde curls into her face.

“Happy Birthday, Lizzie!” Penny squealed and hugged her even tighter. “How does it feel to be all grown up?”

“You would know,” Lizzie muttered and gently freed herself of Penny’s crushing embrace. “You’ve been the adult in this dorm a few months longer than me.”

“Not like a second one would hurt,” Penny chuckled. She sat back onto Lizzie’s bed and crossed her feet beneath her.

“Two adults and a prefect,” Tonks rolled her eyes grinning. “I’ll have to work extra hard to keep us entertained.”

As if to prove her point, she hopped onto Lizzie’s bed as well and jumped up and down, her bubblegum pink hair brushing the yellow canopy above their heads. Penny and Lizzie were thoroughly shaken, and Mouse fled over onto Skye’s bed, giving Tonks a withering glare.

Rowan pulled Tonks off the bed with a stern look, but her mouth was twitching into a smile all the same.

“Godric forbid, I’ve got enough work with you and Tulip as it is,” she said and hugged Lizzie, too. A smile spread on Lizzie’s face; Rowan and she had been fighting for the better part of the last year, and once again Lizzie was reminded how good it was that things had gone back to normal between them.

Lizzie looked past Rowan to where Skye Parkin was standing, and her face darkened considerably. Skye was holding a pair of conjured cymbals, clearly the source of the racket that had woken Lizzie up, and the most smug grin Lizzie had ever seen was plastered onto her freckled face.

She hit the cymbals against each other a second time, and Lizzie winced, covering her ears before giving Skye a dirty look.

“Why the face, Jameson?” Skye laughed. “Scowl like that and you’ll be wrinkled in no time. More than you’re already, that is.”

“Thanks to you. Having you around all the time has cost me years of my life,” Lizzie shot back. “At this rate, I’ll be grey by the time we graduate.”

The two girls shared a giggle before Penny got up and pulled Lizzie off her bed.

“Come on, let’s open your presents before breakfast starts!”

Lizzie now saw the pile of gifts set on the table in the middle of the room. The first one she opened was soft as she felt it, and turned out to be a heavy knit, dark yellow jumper from Penny. The air in the dormitory was icy despite the small stove burning in the corner of the room, so Lizzie immediately shrugged into it. It was warm and soft against her skin and smelt like her favourite perfume.

Tonks’ present Lizzie opened very carefully, which turned out to be a good idea. The box containing a brand new, extra-toothy fanged frisbee rattled angrily and Mouse made a beeline for the door when she saw it.

From Rowan Lizzie received a book; how could it be any different? She smiled when she saw the familiar green cover and the etched golden letters of Quidditch Throughout the Ages. Lizzie had read this book more times than she could remember, but she had still put it to the top of her wish list as soon as a new special edition had been announced.

Skye had gotten her the most practical gift of all of them; Lizzie’s Quidditch gloves were slowly but surely falling to pieces and there wasn’t one practise where Lizzie didn’t complain about them. Having heard enough of it, Skye had gotten her a new set of top notch professional gloves. Just in time for their match today as well; the thought made Lizzie’s heart beat faster in her chest and she felt a slight wave of nausea hitting her.

The sinking feeling in her stomach remained and Lizzie was still nervous when she and her friends entered the Great Hall for breakfast. Lizzie was fidgety, a restless energy coursing through her body that made her bounce her leg constantly.

All she could think of was how slowly time seemed to drag by until they would have to leave for the pitch, and not even the congratulations and gifts from her friends could take her mind off her nerves.

And they were nice gifts, too; Artemis Hexley, their new Seeker on the team, had gotten Lizzie a set of haphazardly wrapped, colourful scrunchies. David Willows, who was playing Beater for Hufflepuff since the beginning of the year, had managed to source two tickets for a Liverpool FC match for the summer. Lizzie loved all of these gifts to pieces, but not even the gigantic chocolate Quaffle Charlie carried over from the Gryffindor table was enough to ease her nerves.

Lizzie stirred her tea absentmindedly, listening to the conversations of her team members surrounding her. Her attention wandered over to the table next to the Hufflepuff one, where the Ravenclaw team had gathered. Her eyes met with the strikingly blue ones of the Ravenclaw Beater Katriona Cassiopeia, and the two friends shared a quick nod of recognition. This was no time for friendship; right now they were rivals, everything else would have to wait for after the match.

What did considerably lift her mood, however, was when Orion joined them a short while later. As usual on a matchday, or any day really, Orion had gotten up at the crack of dawn and headed towards the Quidditch pitch to set his mind and balance for the upcoming match. Given the thick grey fog that spread from the Black Lake and engulfed the castle, he probably hadn’t been able to watch the sunrise, but at least he would have an idea about what was awaiting them later.

His usually warm hands were cold to the touch as he pulled Lizzie into his arms to wish her a happy birthday. From the pocket of his coat he carefully pulled a small twig laden with fragrant, white flowers. Lizzie recognised it immediately; it was a twig of jasmine, her favourite flower.

“Happy Birthday, Chaser,” Orion smiled as she took the twig from him. “Give this flower the nourishment and light it needs, and it will take root to grow into something beautiful.”

She ran her fingers over the soft petals and brought the flowers to her nose, deeply inhaling the floral scent; it reminded her of summer and mellow nights spent down by the lake in the light of the moon.

“You do remember I’m not the best with plants,” Lizzie chuckled and tilted her head to the side. “At least not without proper tutoring.”

Orion had to laugh at that. “You can get all the tutoring you need. But to make sure this sapling gets to unfold its beauty I’ve enchanted it to never wilt or falter. Some things are meant to be forever.”

Lizzie carefully laid the twig down next to her plate and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, when the sound of frantically beating wings made her turn her head.

Three owls were flying into the Great Hall, one of them being Hoot, the European eagle-owl belonging to Lizzie’s parents. They were carrying a very long, thin parcel between their claws which almost hit Jason Everett - a Hufflepuff boy from the year above Lizzie and ex-Beater of their team - on the head when they swooped over their table.

They halted just above Lizzie and dropped the parcel into her and Skye’s hands. Hoot landed in front of her and nipped her finger affectionately before following the other owls into the owlery to get some rest.

Sharing a look between them, Lizzie and Skye placed the parcel on the table. Lizzie had an idea of what it might contain, and her heart was beating wildly as she opened the card that had come with it.

Fly high and swift, little star. Mum & Dad.

Trying not to squeal, Lizzie’s hands trembled ever so slightly as she carefully opened her gift with the rest of her team and friends looking on. When the wrapping paper fell away, Lizzie’s eyes went wide and she ran her hand over the smooth, polished handle of her brand new broomstick.

“Colour me red and call me a Quaffle,” Skye muttered next to her and whistled through her teeth. “They went and got you a bloody Silver Swift 22.”

“They did,” Lizzie whispered, tracing the serial number edged into the shimmering handle made from silver birch. “I couldn’t stop talking about it when they announced there was going to be a new Silver Swift, but it was more of a joke. I’d never thought they’d actually go out and buy me one.”

Skye took the broom from Lizzie and inspected it closely, from the stylised swift logo over the gleaming footrests to the perfectly aerodynamic bristles with their signature reddish touch. “You going to try it right away? At today’s match?”

The thought about flying onto the pitch with the latest and fastest broom on the market filled Lizzie with excitement of the best kind, but she shook her head.

“I’ve never flown a Silver Swift before,” she said with a wistful look, “and even if I had, I know my Comet better than any broom out there. I don’t think ditching it right before the match would be a good idea.”

“I agree,” Orion said and laid a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. “I couldn’t imagine a broom more fit for you than a Silver Swift, but the thrill of the new is fleeting compared to the steadiness of a trusted companion. Your Comet served you well, and it will continue to do so today.”

The arrival of her new broomstick had put Lizzie in very good spirits for the time being, but the closer the moment the team would leave for the Quidditch pitch got, the more quiet Lizzie became. The fluttering feeling spread from her stomach into the rest of her body, making her jumpy and irritable, but her friends knew her well enough to just leave her alone.

After their warm up was over and the stands were filled with countless students clad in yellow and blue, the Hufflepuff team was sitting inside the changing tent, listening to Orion’s traditional moment of vivification right before the match.

Lizzie found it hard to concentrate, however; instead of trying to keep up with Orion’s complicated speech about fireflies, her eyes darted over the blackboard in his back, but all of a sudden the moves sketched onto it didn’t make sense anymore. Lizzie flexed her right wrist and felt the reassuring touch of her necklace, which she wore wrapped around it, right over her racing pulse.

She joined into her team’s battlecry when Orion was done with his speech, but didn’t really share their enthusiasm as she walked over to her locker. When Orion stood next to her with an arched eyebrow, Lizzie sighed; she felt guilty for not listening to him, and told him so.

“You’re trapped inside your head again, Chaser,” he said with a gentle smile. “Your fears keep you from being in the moment. If you keep them close to your heart they will weigh you down. If you let them go they will raise you up and let you fly.”

“It’s not like I’m not trying to let go,” Lizzie huffed, running her thumb over the battered looking lettering on the handle of her broomstick.

“You aren’t, not really,” Orion said. “Breathe deeply and look to the inside. Only if you tear the walls around your mind down you can find peace within yourself. Focus on your balance and forget your fears.”

“You make that sound so easy, Captain,” Lizzie sighed and rested her head against his chest. “I’m too distracted to focus.”

“Distraction can prove a disastrous companion,” Orion hummed and raised her chin with his gloved hand. “Maybe it’s time to fight fire with fire.”

He bowed his head and kissed her, one lingering, sweet kiss that made Lizzie’s head spin and heart race, but this time not from nervousness.

“Better?” Orion asked softly.

Still smiling, Lizzie gripped her Comet tighter and squared her shoulders. “Much better.”

While Orion’s kiss had calmed Lizzie down considerably, it was stepping foot onto the pitch and rising into the air that made her forget her nerves completely.

The fog had lifted at last and the pale light of the November sun was washing over the green lawn below her. It was cold, a lot colder than Lizzie liked, but even the sting on her face faded into the background as she zoomed over the Quidditch pitch, accelerating, diving, drifting, up and down and sideways on her trusty Comet that felt like an extension of herself.

Last night’s lack of sleep was nothing more than a bad memory and Lizzie felt in the form of her life. It wasn’t long before Hufflepuff carved out a lead for themselves, and not even two hours had passed when Artemis sprung into action, made a steep dive and rose into the air with the glittering Golden Snitch in her hand.

The celebration of their victory took them from the pitch to the changing tent, and from there to the Hufflepuff common room. As usual, the cheering Hufflepuffs were joined by the Ravenclaw team and some other students who had friends in Hufflepuff House.

Celebrating today’s victory as well as her birthday with her dearest friends, Lizzie finally allowed herself to relax. Wearing her new customised Caerphilly Catapults jersey KC and Murphy had gotten for her, she mingled with her housemates, hopping from conversation to conversation, laughing and having the best time.

Maybe they were all having a little bit too much of a good time, because once the sun had set, Lizzie and a few of her teammates somehow found themselves sneaking away from the party and wandering back down towards the Quidditch pitch. Everyone except Lizzie, who had brought her new Silver Swift, retrieved their brooms from the changing tent and carried them out onto the lawn, which now lay in darkness.

Lizzie and Skye mounted their brooms and got in line with Artemis, David and KC; Orion and Murphy left them to their business and climbed up into the commentary box instead.

“Don’t care if you got the best broom on the market,” Skye said with a confident smirk. “Best broom in the world can’t beat a superior flyer. Get ready to eat dust.”

“Say that again when I’ll wait for you at the finish line,” Lizzie promptly replied, gripping the unfamiliarly slender handle of her broom tighter.

When Murphy gave them the signal, the five of them all lay low over their broomsticks, accelerating as quickly as they could. They were doing leaps around the perimeter of the pitch, weaving through the goalposts for added difficulty.

After the first two rounds, KC and David were slowly starting to fall behind; both of them playing Beaters, they were formidable flyers but not used to longer stretches of racing. Artemis was keeping up and tough competition, but when she missed one of the hoops she had to turn around and do the weave again, which let Lizzie and Skye gain a comfortable lead on her.

The two Chasers were giving each other a tough race; they were almost head to head, constantly changing who was actually in front. Lizzie’s new Silver Swift was faster than Skye’s Comet, but it was the first time she was flying it and she didn’t have as much control as she would have liked. Skye, on the other hand, had been flying her Comet for years now, even longer than Lizzie had, and her skill made up for her disadvantage in speed.

When they shot past the commentary box, which they had declared the finish line, they were so close to each other that Lizzie had no idea who had come in first. They gradually slowed down, and flew back towards Murphy and Orion, who were whispering among each other.

“What now?” Skye called out impatiently. “Who won?”

“The homestretch was breathtakingly close, a sight to behold, a true display of speed and skill,” Murphy began and looked between Lizzie and Skye. “After careful consideration, we have decided that the winner of this race by a hair’s breadth, the beat of an eye, the -”

“McNully!” Lizzie and Skye said in unison.

“The winner is Lizzie!”

With a triumphant cry, Lizzie raised her hands into the air.

“That’s unfair!” Skye complained. “Only because it’s her sodding birthday!”

“No, because I’m the - how did you put it - superior flyer,” Lizzie couldn’t help but clarify with a smug grin. “It’s called talent. Not that you would know about that.”

“Shut your trap, Jameson! I’ve been flying since I’ve been in nappies.”

“Didn’t help you win the race, did it?”

Murphy watched his two friends bickering and shook his head. “One year older, but none the wiser, I’d say.”

Orion laughed quietly and leaned back in his seat.

“Some things never change,” he said with a smile playing around his lips, “and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

[gubes-sweaters]

Mind, Body, and Soul 3

Authors Note: This is a Spencer Reid AU inspired by @subspencer​ . This is their original idea and thanks again to them for letting me use this AU. Also, side note I was thinking what type of hair cut Spencer would have in this AU and I’m thinking season 10/11 hair is the most fitting. Just to remind everyone that Lindsey Vaughn, Cat Adams, Spencer Reid, and Penelope Garcia aren’t canon to Criminal Minds, but any other character I mention is.

Content Warning: Drug use (weed), swearing, that’s all I can think of but if there's anything else don’t be afraid to let me know.

Word Count: 3K

You can find part two here

Chapter 3: Snooping Roommates

I wake up to loud banging on my door, a screaming roommate trying to wake me up, and the dead weight of Spencer’s arm that practically has me in a death grip.

“(y/n) wake up I need my straightener that you borrowed. I need to straighten my hair before class and I don't want to be late!” She’s shouting while banging on my door. I turn over and look at my alarm clock and see that it’s only ten am. Great, I’m only going to get four hours of sleep when I feel like I could sleep for a week. This loud banging isn’t doing any favors for my headache either. Then it suddenly hits me that I need to wake up Spencer and get him to hide in my room somewhere because no doubt my friend Stella will barge in. I mean normally it isn’t a problem we’ve been best friends since kindergarten, but when I’m trying to hide a plug that just spent the night, even though he is practically a stranger to me in my room it’s not an ideal time for her to snoop.

“Sorry, I’m awake just give me a second!” I holler back at her, so she’ll stop banging on the door so loudly. I know I’m not going to make her super late because she doesn’t have class until twelve, but she takes forever to get ready nonetheless. I manage to wiggle out of Spencer's grasp, so I can sit up and wake him up. “How is he still asleep or maybe he’s dead that would get rid of one problem at least.” I think to myself while I’m trying to shake him awake and even though I’m joking for a sliver of a second I think he might actually be dead. It wasn’t until he snored ever so slightly and turned away from me I knew he was actually breathing.

“Spencer, Spencer you need to wake up and get in the closet.” I say to him while shaking him even more aggressively.

“Wow, I haven’t thought about being in the closet in a long time.” He mumbles back to me.

“Spencer this isn’t the time for jokes now get in my closet.” I say as I continue to shake him to make sure he doesn’t go back to sleep.

“Wait, I have to do what now.” He finally sits up and ponders my words for a second.

“You have to get in the closet my friend needs something out of my room, and she’ll never let it go if she sees you in here.” I repeat to him for the third time while pointing at my closet.

“Okay, okay fine.” He says putting his hands up surrendering to my ridiculous request after collecting his stuff off the nightstand and pushing his shoes under my bed.

“Hey is everything okay in there or did you go back to sleep?” Stella asks while pounding on the door once more.

“No, I’m just trying to get dressed. Give me a second to grab the straightener and you probably should stop pounding on the door before we get a noise complaint my dad would murder all three of us.” I say before making sure that Spencer is in the closet with the door closed. I hurry and grab the straightener and do a quick once over of my room to make sure that nothing is out of place. I open my door to one peeved friend with her dark brown curly hair going in every single direction. I hand the straightener to her hoping she’ll take it and leave.

“Thanks, also do you have that book you said I could borrow? I’m going to have two hours to kill between classes and I can’t be bothered to drive back home” She asks right before I was about to close the door.

“Oh yeah, it’s in the drawer of my left nightstand.” I say before making a gesture pointing towards it with my head.

“Okay?” She says probably because of my odd demeanor. I quickly shuffle over to my closet basically guarding it with my life. At the same time, she makes her way over to the nightstand and when she looks at it, she lets out a weird chuckle and picks something up. She turns to me as I’m standing in front of the closet. When she turns around she’s holding up a condom. “Goddammit, Spencer!” I think to myself while I think about excuses for why that would be in my room.

“Did somebody get a boyfriend and not tell their friend. Even more importantly, did somebody lose their virginity and NOT TELL ME!” She says in a more excited manner than upset that I wouldn’t tell her something like that. I mean we’re adults not in grade school anymore so it’s not a huge deal.

“No, I didn’t it must be Raven’s. It’s certainly not mine and even if I did you wouldn’t need to announce it to the world, so can you keep your voice down.” I say while partially whispering in hopes that Spencer didn’t hear any of that because I’m not in the mood to be teased, and I’m especially not in the mood for the million questions I get when people find out.

“Raven come here! We need a family meeting!” She shouts oblivious to the company we have with us. Of course, she’s going to run with this and think it’s hilarious because we’re friends it’s what we do. I know she would never do this if she knew that Spencer or anyone else was here because she wouldn’t want me to be embarrassed. Raven walks into the room with her black hair swinging back and forth in her ponytail in unison with her skirt.

“Yeah what’s up?” She asks quickly peaking her head in the doorway because she has a class at eleven.

“Would this happen to belong to you? We know it’s not mine because I have no need for a condom and I think my GIRLfriend would find it odd that I have any. If it’s not yours there’s only one other person in this house that it could belong to.” She manages to say between her giggles putting an emphasis on the girl part, so I can’t use the excuse that it might be Stella’s for whatever reason.

“Guys fine it’s mine but let it go because no I don’t have a boyfriend and no I didn’t lose…you know...it” I trail off trying to be as quiet as possible.

“There’s no need to be ashamed of being a virgin at twenty, but excuse us if we pick on you because you’re the only one out of us who hasn’t lost their virginity. Don’t even try to use the catholic school excuse anymore. It might’ve worked when we were in high school, but it doesn't anymore.” Raven chimes in clearly also having fun in this awkward situation.

“Okay, thanks mom now get out of my room. I didn’t wake up to play twenty-one questions.” I say trying to get them out of my room as fast a possible because I hear chuckles slowly becoming louder and louder from inside my closet.

“We’re only teasing you because we love you but I still kind of want to know why you have only one sitting on your nightstand.” Stella says while sitting it back down and finally picking up the book before making her way out of the room. She stops at the doorway turning to look at me clearly wanting an explanation. Raven being the snoop she is as well raises her eyebrows wanting an explanation too.

“Okay fine I may or may not have thought I was going home with somebody last night and Penelope practically threw one at me trying to get me to go home with him but last minute I chickened out. Are you guys happy now?” I pull the most bullshit excuse out of my ass, but they seem to believe it because they both give a silent nod while walking out and closing the door behind them. I run to lock the door while Spencer opens the closet with his hand over his mouth trying not to laugh.

“That sounds like the most cliché porn plot possible. A sweet little virgin catholic school girl what do you need me to dress up as a priest?” He says in between deep breaths trying not to bust out laughing.

“Don’t even start I won’t hesitate to kill you. No one knew who you came home with I bet I could get away with it, I’ve watched enough crime shows and I listened to my dad talk about it growing up.” I look at him giving him the stink eye trying to be a little intimidating even though I’m obviously joking, but it just makes him laugh more.

“Okay, we’ll see about that squirt.” He says while trying to control his laughter and lays back on my bed. I roll my eyes at the sudden usage of the nickname.

“I’m going to get ready don’t move and if my friends knock on the door don’t answer it. I can drive you back to your apartment after they leave.” I tell him trying to move on while making my way to my bathroom after grabbing clothes from my closet.

“Yes ma’am.” He says mocking me because I’m talking to him in the same way a mom would scold her toddler. In some ways, Spencer acts like a toddler, so I’m justified in the way I talk to him.

As I finish up taking a shower and running a brush through my hair to not look like I was hit by a truck, I get changed and walk back into my room. I walk out and see that Spencer is once again passed out in my bed. I sigh trying to figure out what to do and for the first time in the past fourteen hours, my prayers have been answered because both of my friends shout their goodbyes as they leave the apartment. As soon as I hear the lock click signaling that they left I open my door checking to see if the coast is clear. Once I make sure I’m safe I walk out to the kitchen and make breakfast. I sit and relax on the island for a second taking in everything that’s happened since last night. I close my eyes and bask in the warm sunlight coming through the window and take in the smell of coffee brewing. I go back to breakfast and I make sure to make enough food for me and Spencer. After I’m done I go to ask him if he wants any food and as I make my way to my room I smell something odd. I can’t place the smell at first over the smell of coffee and pancakes, but as soon as I open my door I immediately recognize the smell. Then I see him laying on my bed smoking a joint.

“Oh hey, you want a hit.” He offers after he seemed surprised to see me as if he wasn’t laying in my bed in my apartment.

“No I don’t smoke sorry, but I made breakfast if you want some.” I say before turning around and making my way back to the kitchen.

“So you don’t smoke, you don't have sex, and you don't really drink or party so what do you do for fun?” He asks while catching up with me. As I plate our food I wonder if I have anything actually interesting to tell him. It’s boring to say “Oh I go to class, then to work, then I study, and sometimes I get more bored than usual, so I knit.” When I figure I don’t have anything remotely fun to talk about I just shrug and give him a plate with pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

“How do you take your coffee?” I ask while pulling two mugs out of the cupboard before grabbing creamer and sugar.

“Like three teaspoons of sugar, but don’t try and change the subject. If you don’t know how to have fun that’s how I’ll make it up to you for helping me out last night. We’ll spend a day, it doesn’t have to be today, but we’ll spend a day where we have a day full of fun.” He says with a proud look on his face, and I can’t help but giggle at the look on his face it’s like he just had the idea of the century. You can tell he’s someone whose smart but is only very book smart because at the same time he has no sense of self-preservation and no common sense whatsoever.

“Okay, well I have to work tonight, but tomorrow I don’t have anything going on. What do you have in mind?” I ask while passing him coffee before joining him at the island with my food and coffee.

“That my dear is a mystery. It’s much more fun when it’s a surprise.” He says while booping my nose before reading what’s on the mug I gave him.

“The BAU? Who do you know that works for the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit or is this just some cute little souvenir?” He asks while looking at me with an eyebrow raised.

“My dad used to work for the BAU but it’s been a while. Right now he’s on a book tour.” I say trying to be brief as possible when talking about my dad.

“So are you super close with your dad is that why he pays for your apartment and gets you gifts like this?” He asks before taking a bite out of the bacon.

“It’s not really an extraordinary gift it’s just a mug first off. Second off how did you know that he pays for my apartment? Were you snooping through my room while I was making breakfast?” I ask genuinely curious how he drew that conclusion. I mean he’s not wrong but still.

“I heard you say and I quote “stop pounding on the door before we get a noise complaint my dad would murder all three of us.” I doubt that you would care what your dad thinks unless he pays for the apartment or this is his apartment, but I’m not sure why your mom and dad would let two other loud ass girls live in this apartment with them.” He says with a smug look on his face as if he cracked a seemingly unsolvable mystery.

“Good detective work Sherlock. I mean yeah you’re right my dad pays the rent for this place, but he and my mom aren’t together anymore, my mom happened to be unlucky wife number four, and to answer your question from earlier no I’m not extremely close with my dad. He was always at work, traveling, or working on his new book I’m pretty sure this apartment is how he chooses to make up for it.” I say very matter-of-factly like it’s nothing I think I’m just numb to it at this point.

“Well, welcome to the absentee fathers club. It’s full of daddy issues and forgotten birthdays.” He says before turning back to his food. Not having a dad around clearly doesn’t bother him, or he’s putting up a pretty good front like it doesn’t bother him.

“Anyway moving away from the subject of childhood trauma let’s move on to our day of fun. I’ll pick you up here at ten am sharp. I will tote you around all day until you learn how to have fun.” He says while doing a horrible impression of Steve Irwin as if we're going on some sort of adventure through the jungle. I just giggle in response as I go to clean up both of our plates.

“I’ll be ready at ten now are you ready for me to take you back home because I have to go to work soon.” I ask turning to face him while I rest my elbows behind me on the counter.

“Yeah let me go get my shoes and I’ll be ready.” He says before hopping off the stool at the kitchen island and makes his way back to my room. I laugh to myself because we just met, yet I get along with him like we’ve known each other for years. I quickly make my way to the laundry room, so I can grab my work shirt out of the dryer and change into it before we leave. I slip off my shirt and slip into my work shirt and tuck it into my jeans, before making my way back out to the living room. As I grab my keys and slip on my vans Spencer makes his way back out to the living room.

“Ready?” I ask him before opening the door. He just nods before slipping a piece of paper into my hand. I didn’t open it at the time. I didn’t even open it until I got off work that night but it was his number.

Me: hey, I just got off work and realized you gave me your number. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Good Night :)

Spencer: i’ll see you then. sweet dreams <3

As I’m sitting in my bed that night I just chuckle to myself before I turn my phone off and turn over trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. As I get comfortable and I’m about to shut my eyes I spot that damn condom on the corner of my nightstand once again. Soon enough I finally shut my eyes and I’m able to get some sleep.

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @rexorangecouny @haylaansmi

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Nine

Summary: Cassian and Nesta finally meet. Officially, this time. Let the romance commence. Notes: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: very brief/non-explicit mention of sexual assault Bittersweet Masterlist

“Earth to Nesta?”

Nesta snapped from her trance to see Emerie waving a hand in front of her face.

“You’ve been cleaning the same spot for a good ten minutes,” Emerie gestured to where Nesta was scrubbing the counter with a towel. It was squeaky clean.

Nesta let go of the towel and cleared her throat. “My bad.”

Emerie pulled out the chair on the other side of the counter and sat down. It was eleven in the evening on a Monday, and they had just closed. The only other person in Rita’s was Lucien, and he was doing dishes in the back.

“You’ve been acting weird for the past two weeks,” Emerie stated blatantly. Her stare was unwavering. “And you’ve lost at least ten pounds.”

The incidence with Tomas happened two weeks ago. Nesta was doing a pretty good job of moving on with her life all things considered. She felt like shit, but she hadn’t missed a single shift at work. That had to count for something.

But she should’ve known Emerie would notice. She was like a fucking hawk, that girl. She saw everything.

When Nesta didn’t say anything, Emerie shrugged and got up from the stool. “At least try a little harder,” she said, referring to the coworkers’ challenge to get the most tips. She shot Nesta a sad look. “Thesan is beating you. Thesan.”

Nesta mustered a laugh. Thesan wasn’t great with customers, that was common knowledge. Neither Emerie nor Nesta were people persons, but they knew how to turn it on for customers. Thesan, on the other hand, didn’t make much of an effort. It wasn’t that he was intentionally rude, the guy was just quiet in nature. In fact, he was quite a sweetheart.

Which was why it was quite entertaining to watch Thesan and Helion interact. Where Thesan was an introvert, Helion was loud as hell. Not to mention it was clear that Thesan was crushing on him. But unfortunately, Helion flirted with every living, breathing thing and was thus completely oblivious. During Nesta’s first week at Rita’s, Emerie had spilled all the tea about their coworkers. Thesan was head over heels in love with Helion, Helion had never been in a monogamous relationship, and Viviane… well, Viviane had her own little love story. A complicated one at that.

His name was Kallias. They grew up together, from scheming little kids to rebellious teenagers to young adults. Best friends since they could remember.

Because Emerie grew up in the same small town as them, she knew everything. They all went to school together. She knew that Kallias had been in love with Viviane since freshman year of high school. She knew that Viviane felt the same way, but she would never admit it thanks to the hell she was put through during her childhood. Nesta didn’t know the specifics, and she never asked.

It also didn’t help that Viviane was in a relationship with someone else. They’d been together for almost two years. Emerie thought Viviane deserved better, that he wasn’t a very good person.

Anyway, Kallias visited Rita’s nearly every weekend after his shift at the fire station to grab a drink and more importantly, see Viviane.

Nesta thought it was ridiculous. She’d told Emerie as much when she’d brought Nesta up to date on their coworkers’ lives. Why wouldn’t they just admit they loved each other and get on with it already? It was pretty fucking simple; they were just making it complicated for themselves. Emerie wholeheartedly agreed and the pair then went on an hour long rant on the idiocy of romantic relationships.

And if she was being honest, Nesta didn’t care much about these people. Sure, they were respectable but they were a temporary fixture in her life. Once she secured a job in her career field, she was going to leave them all behind.

“We should get a drink sometime. Outside of work,” Emerie clarified with a look of disgust. “I’m sick of it here.”

Nesta knew that was a lie based on the relationship Emerie had with Rita and her wife. But she didn’t say that.

“Maybe,” Nesta responded distractedly, desperate to think of an excuse. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Emerie; no, Nesta liked her coworker. She just couldn’t muster the energy to go out with friends or socialize like that. “I’m pretty busy right now though.”

Emerie narrowed her eyes and scrutinized her.

“Stop analyzing me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Emerie sighed and receded. She hesitated before saying quietly, “Is… is this the part when I ask if you’re okay and we get all deep and explore a new level of our friendship?”

Nesta slowly met her friend’s gaze. They stared at one another for several moments.

Then, they burst out laughing.

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

The next morning, Nesta was brewing her third cup of coffee when Elain padded into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Elain yawned as a greeting. She wore bunny slippers and an oversized hoodie. Elain only had one evening class on Tuesdays, so today was her only day - save for the weekend - to sleep in.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“How long have you been up?”

Nesta glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. She’d woken up at six after a sleepless night of tossing and turning.

But she simply shrugged instead. “Not long.”

Nesta poured the coffee into her mug, sitting back down at the counter. She watched as Elain bustled around the kitchen, scrambling eggs and slicing fruit. The morning light spilled through the dusty kitchen sink window, bars of sunshine reflecting off the tiled floors. Iroh basked in the sunspots, his black fur glistening as his chartreuse eyes blinked closed.

Elain and Nesta hadn’t spent much time together in the past couple weeks. It was Nesta’s doing, of course. She was actively avoiding her sister and everyone else. After Elain had tried to talk to Nesta after the whole thing with Tomas, she stopped asking Nesta if she was okay. Nesta assumed that Elain realized she wasn’t going to get an answer, that there wasn't really a point in trying.

But Gods, Nesta fucking missed her. And even though she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her bedroom as she sat there in the kitchen, she didn’t move from the chair.

You need them as much as they need you, her father’s voice echoed in her head.

Guilt stabbed at her chest.

“How’re classes going?” Nesta asked quietly. Elain looked at her over her shoulder with a surprised yet pleasant smile.

“Great! I’m so grateful to be at such a great college, but…” Elain bit her lip, hesitating. “My bio lab is going to be the death of me."

“You know you’re allowed to complain, right?”

Elain just gave her a smile. “Yeah, I know. It's just, considering where I was a year ago, I couldn't be happier to finally be enrolled in such a prestigious program. Even if that means the classes are brutal."

I wish I was like you. I take everything for granted.

“And have you made any friends?”

Elain had started school at Pryth U months ago and yet Nesta had no idea if she even had friends yet.

Selfish bitch.

A fond smile broke out on Elain’s face. “Yes, I have this really great group of friends: Lucien, Ressina, and Varian. It's just the four of us, but we've gotten really close.”

Nesta asked Elain more questions before excusing herself back to her room, claiming she was going to try to write today, to which Elain squealed and wished her luck.

Nesta hadn't written since their dad died. Prior to his death, she would write nearly every day. She'd been working on a novel for years. The plot had came to her in middle school, and it just grew from there. She'd never told anyone about it. Everyone knows how fucking hard it is to get your writing published, much less get high ratings. Nesta wasn't even sure if she was going to finish it. This was the longest she'd gone without writing or editing it. And she had a feeling that she wouldn't ever go back to it.

Dread filled her stomach as she thought of that prospect. What the fuck was she doing with her life?

Nesta’s phone buzzed, and she fished it out of her back pocket.

 Incoming call from Feyre Archeron.

It kept buzzing, Nesta merely stared at her sister's name on her screen. She couldn't think of a single reason why Feyre would be calling. But she pressed "Accept" before it could go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Uh, what’s up?” Nesta asked. She collapsed onto her unmade bed. Iroh scampered past the door and jumped on the bed with her. He didn't waste a minute curling himself around her head.

"I was calling to see… maybe, I don’t know… uh, would you want to come to dinner tonight?”

I was not expecting that. And Nesta was about 95% sure this was Elain’s doing.

“Why?”

“I want you there," Feyre told her as if it were obvious.

“Why?” Nesta asked again. She hadn't seen Feyre since Thanksgiving despite her sister living just on the outskirts of the city.

That had been weeks ago.

“It's complicated," Feyre responded quietly. She seemed to pause before finding the words. "I've been so worried about Cassian, we all have. He'd never been deployed for that long - five months. It was scary. I guess I took that out on you. I don't know why..."

She drifted off. Nesta held her breath.

"I'm sure Elain told you, but he's home now. I've been more myself since he returned, and I want you to come to dinner. I… miss you.”

She rubbed her temple. “I don’t know, Feyre.”

I don't know if I can pretend to be okay for an entire night. I don't know if you even fucking want me there or if you just feel obligated. I don't know if I can be in the same room as your douchebag boyfriend. I don't know if I can be surrounded by your friends, most of whom seem to dislike me. I don't know if I can behave like a normal fucking person.

I don't know.

“Please?” The plea was soft, quiet. It was like she was almost desperate. But for what?

Nesta looked out the window where a blue jay - their dad's favorite bird - was perched on a bare tree branch. The leaves had long ago fallen, leaving the world naked and vulnerable. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

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

Feyre embraced her with an awkward hug when Nesta and Elain walked into the house. Nesta patted her on the back lightly, uncomfortable with the physical touch. Luckily, no one else seemed incline to embrace her. Rhys actually seemed to make sure he was as far away as possible.

Elain, on the other hand, gave everyone a hug. Mor gave a laugh as she squeezed Elain back, Aurra watching them with a smile. Interestingly enough, when Elain greeted Azriel with a hug, his tanned cheeks glowed red. It was almost imperceptible, but Nesta noticed.

Feyre took a step back to assess her. Nesta could see the judgement in her sister's eyes as she took in Nesta's noticeably thinner body. Luckily, however, she wasn't given the chance to comment on it when Elain piped up, "Where's Cassian? Nesta still hasn't met him yet."

"He's running a bit late," Rhys answered, glancing down at his phone. "Should be here in about ten minutes."

Everyone began to make their way into the dining room and Nesta followed. However, she was quickly tugged to the side when Amren swooped in out of nowhere and basically dragged Nesta into the privacy of the hallway. She stopped, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at Nesta.

“Where have you been?” Amren demanded.

"What do you mean?" Nesta asked, playing dumb.

She hadn't spoken to Amren in a long time, even though they had each others' numbers. Even though Amren had repeatedly texted her, asking to get coffee or go for a walk or something else of the sorts. All of which went unanswered.

Amren rolled her eyes, and Nesta was convinced they went to the back of her head for a good minute. "Don't play dumb with me, Nesta."

“I don’t know, working?"

"Is that a question?" Amren rose a deadly brow.

Nesta huffed and mirrored Amren's angry stance. "Why are you interrogating me?"

“Because you've been radio silent for weeks. I had to ask Elain if you were still fucking alive," Amren explained. Then, she leaned in close like she didn't want anyone to hear. "I was worried about you, you bitch."

Nesta let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, okay? I've been busy. I do want to hang out, it's just that..." she trailed off.

"What? It's just that what?"

Nesta stared at the floor, unable to form words.

"Nesta, are you okay?" Amren asked, her voice softer.

Just tell her. Fucking tell her.

I was almost raped.

Just the thought was enough to make Nesta want to puke. She couldn't, it was too much and she wouldn't even be able to fucking say it and it's her fault, all her fault.

She breathed in through her nose and looked back up at Amren. She shot her the most fake smile she'd ever given. "I'm good. Seriously, I just got busy. It won't happen again."

Nesta saw the skepticism in Amren's eyes. But she conceded with a small sigh. "Well, don't do it again, okay? I seriously thought you were fucking murdered or some shit."

Nesta just nodded. Amren looked at her once more before gesturing with her chin back to the dining room. Nesta followed her.

When they rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Because sitting next to Feyre was the man who had tried to break into her apartment.

“Nesta!" Feyre exclaimed, calling her over from where she sat. "This is Cassian. Cassian, this is my sister, Nesta.”

Nesta simply stared at him like a deer in headlights and he stared at her, his lips parted in surprise. He was wearing a grey sweater, his long hair hanging down, no longer in a bun like it was the last time. He tucked it behind one ear.

"Are you stalking me or something?" Nesta said incredulously.

"I could ask you the same," Cassian retorted cheekily.

Feyre looked between them, a confused expression written on her face. "Do you guys know each other or something?"

"Something like that," Nesta mumbled.

Everyone's eyes were on them as they waited for an answer.

"Well as everyone knows, I live in the same building as Nesta and Elain," Cassian explained, waving a hand to the two sisters. "The other night, I got stupid drunk with a friend. He drove me back to my place and me, drunk off my fucking ass, tried to get into their apartment thinking it was mine."

The entire room erupted into laughter, Rhys choking on his food and Azriel looking up as if reasoning with the Gods.

"So when Nesta opened the door," Cassian continued, "she nearly beat me to death with a baseball bat."

Another round of laughter.

"Overreact much?"

Everyone's eyes flew to where Nesta sat. They seemed shocked. Nesta was too.

She didn't know why she said it, why she let it bother her. He was just so fucking frustrating, even his mere presence.

Cassian stuck his tongue out at her.

Feyre interrupted, her jaw agape. "You guys are acting like children."

Nesta got quiet after that. The conversation continued, thankfully taking the attention off her. As everyone laughed and conversed, Cassian looked over at her. His smile disappeared when he met Nesta's gaze. She just stared back at him, lips in a thin line. He seemed to try to gauge her reaction carefully, but her face was blank.

And so the night went on. Nesta didn't say another word after what happened. She avoided eye contact with Cassian. Avoided conversation with everyone.

It was half past eight when they all began clearing their dishes. Mor, Aurra, Azriel, and Cassian were all gathered in the kitchen cleaning up. Feyre and Rhys had excused themselves. It was just Nesta and Elain who remained in the dining room.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Nesta leaned over to whisper to Elain.

Elain nodded. "We'll head out right after, yeah?" She must've noticed the exhaustion in Nesta's face.

Nesta agreed, excusing herself from the table.

She walked down the hallway, peeking through every door to find the bathroom. She was about to push through a door on the left that was slightly cracked open when she heard voices coming from within.

“I’m worried about him. He’s not the same.” It was Feyre.

“He never is when he comes home, Feyre," Rhys said dejectedly. "It’s happened before. Cass just needs time.”

Cass.

Nesta tiptoed closer to the door, just enough for her to listen.

“No, what he needs is to see someone!”

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t want to go.”

“Try harder, Rhys!” Feyre cried, her tone frustrated.

“We can’t just force him to go, okay?”

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Do you even notice how lost your own fucking brother is? Do you even care?!”

Silence.

“Rhysand, I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry. I know you care. More than anyone. I just… I don’t want to lose him.”

She heard them both breathing deeply.

“C’mere,” Rhys murmured. Nesta heard Feyre's footsteps as she presumably walked toward him.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Together.”

“Always, Feyre darling.”

They got quiet, probably embracing each other. Nesta crept away from their bedroom door and into the bathroom before they could find her.

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

Elain and Nesta had just unlocked their apartment door when Nesta groaned. “Oh, shit, I forgot my wallet in the car." She fished around in her bag to make sure it wasn't in there. "I’ll be right back.”

"I'll leave the door unlocked," Elain called behind her as Nesta made her way to the elevator.

She stepped between the doors, hitting the button for the parking garage. Gods, she just wanted to go to sleep. The night had been exhausting.

After a minute or so, she was approaching her car. She unlocked her door and grabbed her wallet that was in the middle console when a pair of headlights flashed past her, a car pulling into the spot next to her.

Before panic could set in, Nesta recognized who was driver the car through the window.

Cassian.

His car turned off and he emerged from the driver's door just a moment later. He looked over where Nesta was clutching her wallet to her chest staring at him. He gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning away and walking towards the elevator. Nesta had no choice to follow.

She walked just a few feet behind him as they made their way to the elevator.

"I'm sorry," Cassian told her, his voice sincere. He cast a concerned glance her way. "For embarrassing you at dinner. And if I scared you that night."

"You didn't embarrass me," Nesta snapped at him. "You were just being annoying as hell."

His entire body seemed to relax at her insult. Cassian tried to hide his smirk but failed. "I'm glad to see you're still your normal, hotheaded self. You got me worried at dinner with your stoic behavior."

Now she really glared at him. "Don't talk like you know me. You don't."

"Oh, sweetheart," he teased. "I think we're more similar than you think."

She scoffed. "I think that hubris of yours will be your downfall."

"You know, it's quite sexy when you use literary devices to insult me," he joked.

Nesta froze.

Was he coming onto her? Chills ran down her spine when she thought of the last time a man expressed interest in her.

It's not the same, she tried to convince yourself. He's not Tomas.

Cassian must've expected a heated response to his comment because he looked surprised when Nesta simply stared straight ahead. She seemed to be in a world of her own, oblivious to everything around her. Any trace of anger was gone, replaced by a cool indifference.

Cassian's face fell. "Nesta, I didn't mean to - "

He was cut off as the elevator door dinged opened and Nesta swiftly walked out.

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

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[elmidol]

The Shackles of Fate - One

Dark Faerie Tale AU

Read on AO3

Summary:  If one misses curfew it is not only their life that is on the line, but their very soul. You are unlucky enough to encounter the fallen faerie prince when you miss curfew. He decides to claim your soul for himself rather than turn it over to the Master he has been enslaved by. As you are drawn further into his world, you learn more of your own past and how it is connected to the stories of your childhood.

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader Ben/Reader

Warning: dark fic, no warning for first chapter

There had been no faeries where you had grown, although you oftentimes had listened to such tales with wonder. Rey, the one constant that had been in your life in terms of someone who cared about you, had been there to hear the stories. Most had spoken of the faeries with adoration. It had startled both you and Rey the first time that a person had responded harshly, the hissed out whisper to be silent so that one could not be allowed into this realm catching you off guard. Rey had recovered first, grabbed hold of your hand, and tugged you away from the adult. That had been the year in your childhood that you had learned most stories hid the truth. Those some regarded as faeries were, to others, no more than vengeful demons or imps. Only a handful of true faeries remained, each of them set to guard the portals that would allow the demons to enter the realm. Wartime took away happiness and laughter, which the creatures had once been sustained by.

 It had been war that had stolen away Rey’s parents and placed her into your life. The remnants of her noble bloodline had been eliminated in a single stroke. Only by denying where she came from had she been allowed to live. Neither you nor Rey spoke of this truth. Instead it became another layer of the stories you listened to on the streets.

 As you had grown into a young woman, you had released fantasies in favor of harsh reality. Rey had made this transition first; she had always been stronger in those regards. You spoke not of faeries or imps, and certainly not of demons when one asked for a story. Such tales did not spill from your lips even once you became a nursemaid. There were other, more whimsical tales for you to read the children at night before the lights were turned out for bed. The older children protested these, which resulted in them being placed in a separate room from the younger kids.

 Once the children were all nestled in their beds, you would return to your own room. It was a quiet corner of the house, and large enough to store only the most basic of belongings. With work scarce, you considered yourself lucky. Rey had to travel for her job to ensure enough money was made. The family that you worked for allowed her to room with you when she was in town, however this meant that you took a docked pay for that period. You never once complained about that stipulation despite the scowl Rey wore any time she or you happened to mention it.

During work you were known as Miss or Nursemaid. At night, when you were alone, and on the rare occasions you had a day off, your name was used. That was often when you felt most like an individual, human.

You stared at your reflection in the wall-length mirror that was hung on the wall across from the door. You reached up into your hair and unwound the bun that kept it together then raked your fingers through the locks. In comparison with what society generally demanded, the length was short for a female. You found that you did not care for anyone else’s opinion on these matters. The small clock sitting on your bedside dresser noisily counted the passing seconds. Your gaze flicked to its face prior to returning to your reflection. You swallowed thickly, your nostrils flaring as you inhaled in preparation of choking down all of your emotions.

As you had grown into a young woman, faerie tales had become a harsh reality. What once had been a bedtime story was now a school lesson. Though you were not charged with tending to the children’s studies, you nevertheless were familiar with the tales.

Careful now, at the stroke of nine;

He’ll steal your soul then take mine.

The demon king of which faeries spoke.

The dreaded demon known as Snoke.

But rest you, now, upon the bed,

And tonight you will not join the dead.

To ensure that you did not miss curfew, you brushed your teeth when the children did. Their parents would be tucked into their beds as well. Observing yourself in the mirror, you removed your clothes and dressed into a thin nightgown that would not cause you to sweat in the heat of the night. Your heart pounded in your chest and you stopped breathing. Your eyes darted to the clock once more. Though it sounded like it was counting the seconds, in truth the hand was stuck. It clicked then twitched backwards.

Your lips formed around the words oh no. You leapt onto the bed, the blue comforter bunching up as your knees pushed it. Your hands landed upon the wall with a loud smack and thud. Try as you might, you could only guess how much time had truly passed since you had left the children. You twisted to peer around the room and felt your stomach plummet at the shadowy creature in the far corner.

It was crouched and shrouded in black attire. Robes, from what you could tell. Only when you squinted—though, in truth, you would have preferred to close your eyes—you were able to make out the outline of wings. That was worse than the fanged creatures other spoke of glimpsing. Wings meant that this thing, this monster, had once been a faerie until Snoke had drowned its light in darkness. They were less merciful. From the relatives of those who had perished, the most violent deaths occurred when former faeries were drawn into this realm.

A sharp cry cut through the silence of the night. This was proof that you had not been the only one caught out of bed past the stroke of nine. You thought of the children that you cared for and Rey. You wished that she had been there; she would not have allowed you to remain out of bed. On the other hand, you were grateful. She would have challenged this creature for your soul, which it surely would attempt to claim. The cries from outside turned more shrill then transformed into a wet gurgle.

Your eyes darted away from the faerie, which had not yet stirred and continued to observe you, as you attempted to locate a weapon with which to defend yourself. Not that it would do much good. Faeries had access to magic. What would have healed now became a weapon to destroy.

You trembled then cursed your body for giving into fear. There came a noise from the corner. It sounded like a chuckle. But that couldn’t be right. If it was, you thought with a grimace, then this monster enjoyed your discomfort. You clenched your jaw, tilted back your head, and stared down your nose at the creature. “I’m not afraid of you,” you hissed through your teeth. You tried to think of what Rey would do. She would not go down without a fight.

Your eyes followed the faerie’s every move as it rose to its full height. The tales from your childhood, those nicer ones that you had so loved as a little girl, depicted faeries as small. Reality showed things to be quite the opposite—unless it was capable of altering its size. “You have that smell.” You did not have time to wrap your head around the deep sound of his voice. And it was male. You were more preoccupied with the words he had said.

What did they mean? And, more importantly, why had he not killed you?

“Who are you?” There was an edge to the faerie’s voice now. He took another step nearer to you. His hands, covered by leather gloves, curled into fists only for his fingers to extend the next second. The dark faerie lunged forward. You pinched your lips as you watched the death of your clock. Seized by the creature’s hand, it was enshrouded by a dark glow and fell to pieces. What startled you was the lack of sound. A vacuum of dark energy?

Opening his hand, the creature allowed the remnants to fall to the floor. You remained still throughout, and did not budge an inch when he returned his attentions onto you. The unnamed creature bent at the waist. Only now could you appreciate just how large he was in comparison. Only now did you realize he wore a helmet. With a hiss of air, the helmet was pulled back. You looked to the side with your eyes alone. The jawline that was now exposed looked human. The lips so full. The nose—

Your hand reacted before you consciously decided to smack him for smelling you. He reeled back and stroked the reddening flesh. The mask was replaced then he spoke again. “A delicacy.”

The dark faerie made a gesture in the air with his hand and you felt something invisible tighten around your ankles. It locked your limbs into place and sent your heart racing. Your wrists slammed together in front of you. They were held out as though of their own accord so that you looked to be pleading with the faerie for your life. Still not a scream emerged from your lips. There was a chance that this was what he waited for. He climbed onto the bed with you. His knees on either side of your hips and his hands encircling your throat. The pressure he exerted was minimal, yet you felt it on your windpipe all the same. It threatened to choke out a scream of terror that you could feel bubbling up.

“When are you going to kill me?” you asked, hating how the creature was toying with you. “Steal my soul for Snoke.”

He tilted his head to the side. The dark visor that you had previously mistaken as being his eyes remained pointed at your face. He relinquished his hold, both the physical and magical, and moved backwards off the bed. Not, however, before he tucked his mask into your neck and took another loud inhalation of your scent.

You pulled your hair over your shoulders, covering your neck. At that, the faerie seemed to grow; he stood straighter, drawing up to his full height. A twitch of wings rustled the cowl he wore. You started to stare at those wings. Another, albeit newer, tale sprang to mind.

Bound now to the demon king;

The faerie prince with black wing.

Fallen from the name of Ben,

Now Master of the Knights of Ren.

He serves to Snoke your stolen soul,

Until once more the realm is whole.

You told yourself that it was foolish nonsense—there was no way a prince would be in your room! There were far more important people, more delicious souls out there, weren’t there? Yet the more time dragged on without him making another move to hurt you, the more you had to wonder if that assumption was wrong. You replayed all the words he had spoken in your head. Your smell. Delicacy. This prince would rip your soul from your body and feed it to the demon. You wrapped your arms around your torso and shuddered at the thought.

“Don’t be afraid.” A funny thing for this creature to say. You narrowed your eyes and glared at him. “You grew without parents to comfort you. Abandoned as a child.”

How does he know that? It terrified you that he did. You scooted backwards towards the wall. The faerie followed you, his knees on the bed then his hands on either side of your hips. The helmet in your face. You stared at your reflection. You were putting on a brave face, and doing a damn good job of it in your opinion.

There was a shout from the room above that broke through the silence that had wrapped around you. A shrill cry of Nursemaid. A subsequent sniffle and quietude. One of the younger children was having a nightmare. You bit down on your bottom lip. Looked up at the ceiling, the urge to comfort the child there. Not that you would have left the bed even if this faerie was not there. It would not be safe again to touch one’s feet to the ground until ten thirty. Ninety minutes wherein the threat of death was ever present.

The white material of your gown clashed with the black of his robes. The faerie’s wings twitched again, opening partway only to refold before you were allowed to see their full beauty.

“I don’t want to kill you.” His words had your lips parting in a silent gasp. If this was an attempt to get you to beg, you would not give in.

The search for a weapon began anew. You had started to move towards the end of the bed when the dark faerie surged forward. His hands pinned you by the shoulders against the mattress. You kicked, thrashing underneath him and not caring if your nightgown tore. At the same time, you worked to keep as quiet as you could to prevent any of the children from hearing your struggles. The last thing you wanted was for their souls to be forfeit. Clenching your teeth, you started to twist around to better free your hand. This allowed you to slam its palm into the front of the mask.

“If you leave me no choice then I will.”

His words infuriated you. The flame of anger that was already licking its way through every fiber of your being gave off sparks. You glared at him with disgust. The dark creature reached his right arm across his chest, fingers plucking at his wing. There was a shimmer, which grew brighter when he flung the dust from his wings at your face. Your world went black as you lost consciousness.

[goldkirk]

⭐!! id love to hear more abt any of ur stories :D

come into my ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines. or send in a ⭐star⭐  to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

omg I am so SO bad at picking, hang on, I’m going to go read some of Blackbird and come back in a hot sec--

Oooh okay here, take this. Some of this is going to come up in the Steph-centric fic I’d like to write sometime--I don’t know that it’d be as long as Latchkey, and def nowhere near Blackbird, but I want to do some exploring of Steph’s life leading up to the events of Blackbird. She’s got a lot of Backstory and I’ve got a lot of Feelings About It and she’s an interesting contrast to both Tim AND Jason and I want to show more about a lot of things I HINTED at in Blackbird with her. Lots of throwaway comments, little details, etc. 

One of those things is the prescription Leslie writes for her when they’re chatting in the storeroom at the clinic in Crime Alley. A couple people have brought that up, and I figure it’s a detail that wouldn’t be bad to tackle here. 

In that chapter, there’s this exchange: 

���I hope I can be,” Steph says. “And, uh, on that note, sorry I’m late.”

“Everything okay at home?” Dr. Thompkins asks. She drops into the procedure room’s worn-out spinning chair as Steph takes up her usual perch on the counter.

“Dad wanted me to bake a cake,” Steph sighs. “I don’t know why he can’t just order buffalo wings for his buddies like a normal person.”

“Mm. And on that note, do you need a refill, Steph?”

Stephanie looks down for a second before meeting Dr. Thompkin’s eyes.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m almost out and I don’t want to risk anything. Thanks, Leslie.”

“It’s literally no trouble,” Dr. Thompkins says, with a wave of her hand. She scribbles on a notepad and folds the paper into a little football before tossing it at Steph, who laughs as she snatches it out of the air. “That should get you another month. Make sure you give it to Louis, during the night shifts. He’ll give you the discount as long as I’m around.”

“Thanks,” Steph says again.

Steph doesn’t have any secret underlying condition here--I’m not THAT good at planning, and I don’t plan on hurting all the kids in the story lol. It’s birth control. 

My reasoning here was that 1) Steph’s mom is Clocked Out as a parent, and definitely wouldn’t be available to handle Steph’s medical needs or even ask about them most of the time, 2) Steph’s dad is a terrible person and father and would literally never allow her to be on it bc of his views and also money, and wouldn’t listen to anything about financial help or Steph paying for it herself or w/ever, 3) Steph has probably been burned by a couple of boyfriends at this point and had to weasel her way out of very pressuring situations, which made her just swear off dating for the moment, but most importantly--

4) Steph’s dad keeps very unsavory company, and Steph has absolutely no adult looking out for her safety in this current situation at all. Her mom is either not around or usually high, and her dad is usually drunk and the one who’s causing these people (mostly men) to be around the house in the first place. And when her dad and a lot of the others are really drunk, or passed out, Steph doesn’t have anything she can do except hide and make herself scarce or try to sneak out of the house for the night after her dad has stopped using her as basically a cook and pretty face and BEFORE anyone gets any ideas. 

She doesn’t always succeed. SO, (tw here for childhood sexual assault, etc.) Steph has been pressured by boyfriends, cornered here and there over the past few years walking to and from school (but she’s also Very Good at being a rabid little fighter and screaming at the top of her lungs at the first sign of danger--that’s actually going to be used at some point and be a funny and painful scene that Bruce swoops in on sorta--so nothing has HAPPENED there). She’s been eyed up and down by grown ups semi-regularly every period that her dad’s been out of jail since she hit middle school and they moved into that little house, and she’s had several attempt things. One got pretty damn far, and Steph finally, FINALLY got away and straight up smashed the bathroom window to get out. 

Long story short, she was pretty messed up that night, and she definitely couldn’t go back, and she was pretty panicked, so she went to the only place her brain supplied from its depths, which was Dr. Thompkins’ clinic. Luckily Leslie keeps someone staffing it around the clock, and she had actually only left a few minutes earlier, so she came back in and walked Steph through that night and took her home to her own place until Steph was sure it was safe to go back home. Then Dr. Thompkins and Steph had a LOT of logistics conversations, reported things to police, and set up several contingency plans, because this is Gotham and the prisons are a revolving door. 

But anyway. Yeah. That’s the story behind the prescription, and why Steph isn’t a super big fan of talking about it. But it’s a just-in-case that both of them wish she didn’t need, and it’s definitely something, along with the self harm, etc., that Leslie and Bruce will be getting on the same page about and that BOTH will be working with Steph’s mom to keep a close eye on in the future. 

(tw for self harm) I’m considering writing a fic to deal with Steph’s self harm while she’s living with the Waynes, because there’s no way Dr. Thompkins wouldn’t give Bruce a heads up about it if Bruce was getting temporary custody. She’d have to. And Bruce would absolutely sit Steph down for a conversation about it, and Steph would be super likely to have urges while there for SEVERAL reasons, so. Hm. That’s something I might tackle too, but I really wanted to show in the scene with Leslie and Steph talking about it that there ARE adults in the world who understand self harm and won’t flip out over it, and will handle it in the healthiest, safest manner possible and not push too much or overreact or underreact. That scene was important to me, and I hope it helps at least someone, somewhere. It took me a long time to learn that, but I’m glad I did. That kind of thing matters.

[asphodelroot]

Hi Emmy. I’m your Secret Santa and I hope that this year’s Christmas are the best (or that this Saturday is if you don’t celebrate). I’m afraid that I can’t draw or make amazing edits so here’s the only thing I kinda sorta can do :D I hope you’ll enjoy this little drabble~! (and I’m sorry if the last part is a bit wonky, I was a bit tipsy when finishing this story). ENJOY

———————————————-

The first time she heard those words, it made her feel proud, excited even. Granted there wasn’t much understanding on her part, not that beyond the most basic, organic one, but what she could decipher from Severus’ sentence, she’s found to be simple.

  ‘You are very powerful for a Muggleborn.' 

  They’ve known each other for about a week at that point. And what a magical week that has been, no pun intended, filled with wonderfully intricate stories of spells and hexes, of shapeshifting abilities and wizarding schools that held secrets beyond imagination. Every morning, Lily woke up with a smile, rushing to get ready for another warm, spring day full of classes that had recently lost their appeal in lieu of the new life that she now knew was awaiting her. How could Maths or English or French even live up to the promise of wands and incantations? They couldn’t… So Lily rushed back to the playground near Spinner’s End every day after classes and met up with the most fascinating boy she could ever wish to meet in the dreary town of Cokeworth. 

Severus Snape was a mystery. He appeared out of nowhere one day, and after witnessing, what he had later called, an accidental burst of magic became a guide of a hidden world that she apparently was a part of. He had shown her moving pictures and newspapers that talked about things and people she’s never heard of, tried explaining to her what it meant to be a witch or a wizard and recalled all the stories of Hogwarts he could remember hearing before. But there was one thing that he couldn’t do. And ironically it was magic. 

He had tried explaining, to the best of his abilities and childish understanding, the reasons behind his inability to perform magic, said that it was almost impossible without a wand. When asked how he knew he was a wizard, he huffed angrily and puffed out his chest as if his honour had been wounded. 'It’s because my mother is a witch. She’s told me about it all. And I had my own outbursts when I was a child.’ To her own childish mind, it was all understandable. She didn’t know that Sqibbs existed, or that there was a stigma to those born outside of the Pureblood lines of the magical world. To her, she thought as she willed another flower to bloom, hoping that Sev would follow her example, being a Muggleborn meant exactly what the word suggested. She was a daughter of Muggles… And she was powerful for a Muggleborn. 

Their friendship continued to grow with time. Somewhere along the way, they had grown attached to the hip while Lily and Petunia’s sisterhood started to fall apart. It was a slow process, sometimes hardly discernible to the minds of kids this young, but nothing could ever be the same after Lily learned of her abilities. After a name could finally be attached to the things she could do with her willpower alone. And maybe at 8 or 9, it wasn’t that much of a deal, but it was going to grow still, and she simply couldn’t imagine the extent of pain that it was going to give her. For as long as Lily was still living in Cokeworth the two remained family, the statuses of Muggle or Muggleborn, not all that often present in their thoughts. However, then came the moment Lily’s been waiting for. She got her letter and a visitation from an intimidating Witch wearing a stereotypical pointy hat, who explained everything that Lily apparently had to know about Hogwarts and how to get to both Diagon Alley and the hidden train platform somewhere in the far off London. Within weeks from that, she was off to a new world located for the very first few years solely in between the gates of her new school with thrilling new friendships looming on the horizon.

What she didn’t know, though she should have suspected after several particularly negative comments from Severus, was that once she had officially started her magical education, her status was going to be much more important to other people. And as it was her wake up call came as soon as the Welcoming Feast ended and the newly appointed Gryffindors followed their prefect up several staircases to a tower that was about to become their home for the next seven years. 

As soon as the Portrait’s frame moved from its original place and the sea of students poured into the common area the chaos erupted. Older kids formed groups around the room, some claiming the most comfortable sitting spots by the fireplace, others still gossiped about their summers as if the train ride hadn’t been long enough to catch up. All in all, it was a beautiful gathering of people under eighteen with no adult supervision enjoying their last moments of summer holidays.

In the middle of the room stood a bunch of first years, some openly staring around at older students playing Gobstones in the corner, others muttering with each other and a few patiently waiting for more directions to come from the prefect who brought them there from the Great Hall. Lily was one of those people. After all, despite coming from an unmagical family, she has already learned so much about the school from Severus. 

A tall, lean girl who stood in front of them and seemed almost as intimidating at professor McGonagall turned to face them and theatrically spread her hands to indicate the room they were all in. ’ Welcome to Gryffindor’s Common Room. It’s a place where you will spend most of your free time for the next couple of days and it’s where we cultivate our House Pride. To your left, you can see a notice board on which any and all information regarding our House will be put. Keep an eye on it.’ After that, she indicated one of the staircases behind her. 'On this side, you will find boys’ dormitories and on the other - girls’. Your trunks are already up there and waiting.’ With that, she was technically finished with all the information that she absolutely had to pass onto the first years, but there were a couple of things she wanted to add from herself. 'You see, us Gryffindors take our House Pride very seriously. Every year we make a great effort to win the House Cup or at least come up second. So try to keep up with us. Preferably by not being late tomorrow for your first classes as many often are.’ She finished with visible distaste and it was clearly their cue to leave the common room in search for their appointed sleeping quarters, but one of the girls suddenly raised her hand. 

'Yes?’ The prefect girl asked with resignation. Usually, one question meant that more were about to come.

'How will we know when to wake up? I mean, are there alarm clocks or something?’

It wasn’t a stupid question per se, but technically it wasn’t a good one either, especially since the girl pretty much answered it herself. But before the prefect could say anything, some too tall, too knobbly at the joints sixth year joined in with a nasty sounding comment. 'Oho! We got ourselves another Muggleborn this year, haven’t we?’ He asked his companion loud enough for the whole room to hear and even though there was little foundation to think that he had meant something vile, Lily could swear that his intentions weren’t pure. She glanced in his direction in curiosity, but soon her attention was brought back to the prefect. 'Yes, there are alarm clocks and there are masses of students waking up at odd hours of the morning to get ready for classes. So don’t worry. Unless you actively try to lose our points by sleeping in you should be fine. Even if you are, in fact, a Muggleborn.’ With that, they were dismissed and even if no one said anything about Muggleborns being somewhat lesser, Lily went to sleep much less excited than before.

It didn’t take long for her to learn that there were, in fact, those few people who did think her kind of people to be unworthy of magic. All it took was a few weeks and one overheard conversation between purebloods to get the whole spectrum. Some people didn’t care, others cared a little bit and some were total arseholes. 

Her first boyfriend was supposedly one of those precious few who didn’t care at all. He was a Ravenclaw and her partner during Herbology in the fourth year. A perfect example of his House’s stereotypes. 

He was studious, even though not the smartest, and knowledgeable about so many subjects that talking with him could never be dull, he was a pureblood but came from a family of very little importance., but most importantly he was as interested in Lily as she was in him. 

They started going out at the beginning of the second semester in all the school meaning of this word - Hogsmeade trips, library study sessions and an occasional stroll around the Great Lake. And it was nice, perfect, as thrilling as any first love ought to be. Sure, there were also awkward moments, natural at this stage of life when one is still learning and searching for what is what. Both had been fortunate to find the other. 

However, things had to start tumbling downhill as all first loves are ought to do. In their case, it was mostly because soon after the summer Lily started to get lost in her new prefect duties. There was too much to learn, too much to perfect that the spare time she’s had wasn’t enough to keep them together. And maybe it was for the best? She’s started to have some doubts during the summer and the disastrous way in which she’s met his parents. Disastrous in her opinion, but disastrous nonetheless. 

Everything happened within a span of some three minutes and yet it was enough to leave Lily uncomfortable with enough food for thought to last her for two whole months. It was the way he introduced her to his parents, something that hasn’t been planned beforehand but happened out of the blue. They should have predicted such a situation, but both were too young and too into each other to think about such details and nothing foretold how his simple, 'mum, dad this is Lily, my Muggleborn girlfriend’ would affect her. But it did. It made her blush, a sudden wave of embarrassment flooding her insides. And it made her angry, but at herself mostly, as at that point, she was already well acquainted with the notion of blood purity and had trained herself to pretend that the whole ideology didn’t affect her. Instead, she smiled through clenched teeth and shook the offered hands hoping that her redness, easily visible due to her light complexion, was being taken for a sure sign of her teenage infatuation. 

Everything changed from that moment. With every received letter from him, she remembered the way he had phrased his introduction, the way his choice of words felt off (who could ever naturally say “she’d my Muggleborn girlfriend”?), the way he felt it necessary to add that bit about her. Was it such an important part of her character? Did it matter all that much to him that she wasn’t a pureblood or even a half-blood? Couldn’t he just say that she was his girlfriend, plain and simple? Did that mean he had another girlfriend, with a different blood status hidden somewhere? In the end, it was all too much for her to take in and the pair had drifted apart. She was left with all those questions, though. And she never got her answers. 

Once the war had started to pose a real threat, her previous worries started to feel insignificant. Suddenly it wasn’t anymore about the way someone might find her not good enough to date her or throw a slightly thoughtless comment her way, suddenly it was starting to become life-threatening and before she knew what was going on, it had become more than serious. 

On her way there were classes, exams, OWLs and NEWTS and then she was out of school, graduated, a real witch with a real wand and an apparition licence. The world was huge and scary and even though she should be caring only about getting a good job and safe place to build a home she has found herself fighting for her basic rights. Instead of going to interviews or maybe learning new things, partying with friends and going on dates with her boyfriend (or two), she was spending her evenings patrolling and going to secret meetings. Instead of taking potions to sooth her sore throat (after a whole night of club going and screaming happily with friends) she poured over books in search of long forgotten potions and spells that they could use to tip the scales in their favour.  And then, just as suddenly, she was pregnant and engaged and then married and a mother and before she knew what was happening she was no more. And it was no longer her duty to make sure their baby never said to their future friend - “you are great…

…for a Muggleborn”.

[aleteia-ff]

A Decade To Find You - 1

Also read on: AO3 | FF.net

I proudly present the first part of my Modern AU Hiccstrid New Year’s Eve Story! I hope you enjoy :) 

Summary: Astrid didn't think much of the guy she bumped into just after midnight on January 1, 2010. It was just a hasty apology, a quip and a lop-sided grin from his side. It wasn't supposed to be special.

Hiccup felt the same way. That was, until he locked eyes with her again one year later. And the year after that. And the next.

But somehow, their destinies only seemed to intertwine that one night a year... On New Year's Eve.

Chapter 1: New Year’s Eve 2009-2012

January 1st, 2010

Astrid didn't really party the way some of her peers did. She didn't sneak out or come up with poor excuses to get wasted with other teens after managing to get her hands on booze through older siblings. That wasn't like her. But that didn't mean she didn't seize opportunities, nor didn't know how to have a good time. So when her friends from kickboxing had asked her to join them in the inner city, she'd shot every piece of ammunition she had at her parents to convince them that at sixteen, she was responsible enough to stay out past midnight. She was basically an adult, after all. And after she'd promised that she wouldn't do anything stupid, let alone illegal, they'd let her go. 

Luckily, you didn't have to break the law to have a good time on New Year's Eve in Berk. The large annual winter market in the town's central square stayed around until after New Year's, serving all kinds of food and beverages at its stalls. She'd spent most of that night at the ice rink, but had gathered with her friends at the riverside just before midnight, joining in on the countdown and watching the fireworks when the clock hit midnight, announcing the arrival of the new decade.

Now, she was hopping from one feet onto the other, waiting at one of the stalls and trying to stay warm in the trademark Berkian cold. The line had been killing and she cursed herself for not going further into the city and trying her luck there. But her worries were forgotten when she accepted the two mugs of hot chocolate into her freezing hands. 

She turned around, looking through the crowd in an attempt to figure out where Heather was. Her friend had run into her brother and there was no telling what Dagur might be up to... But his red hair and tattooed face did stand out from the crowd. 

She squeezed herself through the masses, cradling the mugs to her chest, alternating between craning her neck and standing up on her toes. Finally, after starting to wonder whether she was even going the right way at all and looking behind her, she saw a familiar arm wave at her. She instantly turned around, heading the other way.

Her foot landed on something hard, making her stumble and bump into someone, all after only taking one step.

"Sorry!" a nasal voice yelped. 

She was too stunned to reply as hot chocolate spilt over her chest, dripping down and soaking her coat, the heat making her instinctively jump backwards. "Fuck!"

"Oh Gods, I'm so sorry!"  

She looked up - no, down - at the culprit. A skinny boy, about her age. His green - really green, Holy Thor - eyes were blown wide with shock and he was fidgeting with his hands, seemingly unsure of whether he should put them to use or whether that would bring about the impending apocalyptic events of 2012 two years too early. It was endearing, and while she normally would have had to suppress the urge to punch her assailant straight in the jaw, she found she simply couldn't. Because there was something in his look, so innocent, so sincere, that simply calmed her down. 

"It's okay," she told him, looking down at the brown stain on her coat. Luckily, it didn't feel like it had reached her sweater underneath. 

"No, it's totally my fault, I should have looked, I -" he mumbled, looking helpless as he rubbed the back of his head, messing up his auburn hair. "I was distracted, and I'm just so, so stupid, I don't know how -"

"It's okay, really," she repeated, slightly patting herself. "It's a way to stay warm, I suppose."

"It's not, I completely ruined your coat." He reached out towards her, but then retracted his hands, gesturing himself up and down. "Do you want mine, or?"

"No, it's fine, really," she insisted, following his gaze downward and finally realising what had made her trip. "I stepped on your foot, after all."

The guy looked down again, his two eyebrows shooting up. "You did?"

"I mean it was strangely hard, but..." she mumbled. 

"Oh..." he grinned awkwardly. "That must be me." He leaned forward and grabbed his left foot, lifting it up and pulling up his pant leg... To reveal a piece of metal. 

His lips curled into a lopsided smile. "Fake foot."

"Oh my Thor," she gasped. "How...?" She didn't know why she was asking - he was a complete stranger. But a part of her wanted to know. 

"Accident," he shrugged. "Happened this year, so I'm still getting used to it. Or I suppose it's last year now, since it's after midnight. Hurray!"

She wanted to laugh, to shake her head at him, felt the corners of her lips twitching upwards, but realised in time that it would be hugely inappropriate. 

"I'm so sorry," was all she could come up with instead.

"Eh," he casually said, his shoulders moving more than any normal person's ever would. "It happens. And I thought I was the one doing the apologising here."

"My jacket's not expensive, don't worry," she reassured him. She preferred practicality above anything else and this coat was exactly that. "I'm sure it'll come right out. And I'm not nearly insecure enough to let it ruin my night." She gave him a cocky smile. "I'll punch anyone who dares to try."

"So I simply got lucky?" the guy tried. 

"So far, yes," she teased.

The guy pretended to gulp and look panicked before his expression relaxed into a smile. "At least let me pay for the dry cleaner." He fumbled with his own jacket, seemingly looking for something. "If I can find my wallet, that is."

"It's fine, my mom probably knows how to wash it out herself," she tried again, but he kept patting himself down. "You didn't get robbed, right?"

"Oh, no, the odds of that are rather low. My dad's a cop," he explained, laughing awkwardly. "He makes sure I'm one hundred percent pickpocket-proof before even thinking of leaving the house. Which has this -" He gestured at himself. "As the very charming result."

"Then perhaps you should leave it that way," she suggested. 

"Yeah, that's probably..." He mulled for a moment, biting his lip and reaching into the back pocket of his jeans but coming up with nothing. "Yeah - I think you're right. Sorry, again."

"Let it go," she told him, finding herself smiling again. She gestured with the two mugs in her hand. "It's just hot chocolate."

"Is there even anything left?" 

She peered into the mugs and shrugged. "Enough for one, at least."

"Then let me pay for new ones."

She pulled up an eyebrow. "And watch you go through your whole wallet-searching routine again? Charming offer, but no, thank you." He looked slightly offended, to which she decided to press the other mug into his hands. "Here, take it."

He took it from her only because she forced him to, sputtering. "I can't -"

"I'll just give this one to my friend." She gestured at the brown stain on her clothes. "I think I've had enough for tonight."

"Again, I'm sorry -"

"Again, it's okay."

"Are you really sure?" the guy tried again, looking pensive.

"I am," she nodded. "Sounds like you had a shitty 2009, with your leg and all. A shitty decade, for all I know. I just want to make sure this one starts out better."

He looked like he wanted to speak up again, but she held up her hand. "I'm not letting you give it back!"

She backed away after properly looking over her shoulder this time. "Enjoy your night!"

He just stood there, flabbergasted. "You too..."

With that, she disappeared back into the crowd, finally making her way back to Heather, a smile on her face she hadn't even realised was there until her best friend asked what had made her so cheery. 

But she waved it off. 

It was something she didn't really think she could explain. 

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

December 31st, 2010

Hiccup was oddly reminded of a donkey on this year's New Year's Eve. Most importantly, the saying that even donkeys didn't hit their toe on the same stone twice in a row. Yet somehow, he had managed to let Snotlout convince him to go with him to the inner city of Berk again. 

He didn't really know what kind of animal that made him, but he figured it didn't speak in his favour. Perhaps something without a brain. A jellyfish, maybe, just waiting to be inevitably washed up on a beach, then stepped on by a tourist, which would prompt the tourist's friends to pee on their leg. After a heated debate on whether urine did or did not actually help against jellyfish stings, a question no one really knew the answer too. 

Or he could, for once, make life easy for the rest of the world and simply settle for being a sea cucumber. Those seemed rather cool. And he could, in Hiccup fashion, enlighten other sea creatures on how he was, in fact, not a green-tinted, edible vegetable, unlike his land-born brethren. 

But his father worked on New Year's Eve anyways and he didn't really have anything better to do. So instead of chilling on the ocean floor, he was semi-freezing and sensing his impending demise as he stepped onto the white, slippery field of doom that was known as Berk's Winter Wonderland ice skating rink. 

He didn't get what people thought was so fun about literally venturing onto thin ice. He never had. And that hadn't really changed now that he had only one properly functioning foot. 

It would be fine, Snotlout had said. He had had the prosthetic for over a year by now, and, as his cousin put it so delicately, 'he already tripped over his own feet way less often than when he still had two of them'. So certainly, he could do this. 

Hiccup had told Snot, Fishlegs and the twins to go ahead so he wouldn't embarrass himself too heavily. Fishlegs hovered nevertheless, but did bring up the courtesy to look away.

He carefully put his good foot on the ice, only slipping slightly, and held himself up on the wooden banister. Slowly, he let his second skate join the first, putting the iron down and trying to adjust to the weird sensation of his prosthetic sliding underneath him. But he didn't fall. That was something. 

"Are you okay, Hiccup?" he heard Fishlegs ask. 

He didn't dare to look up, keeping his eyes firmly fixated on his skates. "Okay would be a big word... But it could be worse."

"Just take it slow," Fishlegs told him, almost sounding more nervous than Hiccup himself felt.

Only for Fish's tender words to be immediately diminished by Snotlout skating by at high speed. "Come on, cuz, move!"

Hiccup shook his head and scowled, but forced himself to move anyways, pushing his right skate off the ice and letting the other glide along, while still holding on to the banister as if it was the only thing between him and utter humiliation. 

It probably was. He could already hear Non Je Ne Regrette Rien play in the back of his head, announcing the inevitable fall of this story's tragic but not quite Leonardo DiCaprio-like protagonist the way it had in Inception. 

He bet Leo knew how to ice-skate. Not that that would have helped him in Titanic, like a bigger floating door would have. But then again, Leo could do it all with two legs. And stuntmen.

Fuck, he'd love to have a stuntman right now.

And he wouldn't say no to having sex in a car with 1997 Kate Winslet either. 

He slowly shuffled forward, letting his left skate slide calmly while his right did all the work. Surprisingly, it didn't go as badly as he'd expected it to. He dared to go further, letting go of the banister, daring to put some pressure on his left leg and start the motion from there. 

The Gods struck him down for his hubris as soon as he tried, leaving him scrambling for his wooden saviour as he nearly fell face first onto the ice. 

He pulled himself back up, leaning on the banister and looking out, pretending not to hear Fishlegs call out to him in concern. It was already dark, Berk's square lit by Christmas lights along with all the stalls and shops that feasted on holiday tourists. It was busy, this day belonging to the Berkians themselves above all, but he didn't pick out any familiar faces in the crowd.

Until he saw her. 

He had mostly repressed the memory of the first person he'd met in the new decade, given that he'd immediately embarrassed himself by causing her to spill hot chocolate all over her coat. Just some Hiccup Haddock smoothness, right there. 

But there she was, in the crowd. Her blond hair braided over her shoulder, a smile on her face as she talked to her friends. She was wearing a different jacket this year, a dark blue one that somehow suited her even better. He hoped that hadn't been his fault, that he hadn't completely ruined the red coat she'd worn the year before. But he was too self-conscious to go up to her and ask. Especially because moving at all on the death traps bound to his fake and real foot could only lead to disaster. 

She probably didn't want to talk to him anyways. From the way she looked, the way she acted, the way she smiled he could make out that he was way below her on the notorious teen social ladder. She was undoubtedly popular. He was all too happy in his nerd corner. It'd never work. 

Not that he believed in the strict segregation the way High School Musical portrayed it, but some people simply didn't match. It was better to, as the Wildcats put it so pointedly, 'stick to the status quo'. 

And then her eyes met his. 

She looked surprised to see him - Berk was at least a middle-sized town, after all, what were the odds? They hadn't seen each other since his clumsiness had miraculously resulted into a free mug of hot chocolate. 

But once she seemed to have recovered from that shock - he hadn't, he was gaping, desperately willing his brain to update to Windows 7 instead of clinging to Vista and claiming that particular piece of garbage wasn't Microsoft's biggest mistake of the last decade - her lips relaxed into a soft smile that made his heart jump. 

He glanced down at his skates, hoping she'd understand why he looked even more helpless than the last and only time they'd met. He hauled himself up further, trying to stand up straight - his growth spurt was finally setting in - and retain some of his dignity. 

Her smile widened, like she'd understood, and she gave him two genuine thumbs up before turning back to her friends and disappearing into the crowd. 

She'd gone as soon as she'd came. But he found himself grinning nevertheless, feeling more encouraged than he had all evening. 

Perhaps ice skating wasn't that bad after all. 

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

January 1st, 2012

This was the year. Or so Astrid had been told. Supposedly "the most amazing New Year's yet!". 

She didn't think holding Heather's hair back as she threw up quite qualified as that, but at least her best friend had seemed to be having a good time. Right up until the moment she'd turned green and had rushed to the club's bathroom with Astrid running after her. 

Astrid hadn't seen the appeal of turning eighteen and being allowed to drink herself. She had enough going on, tournaments to attend in January, a brain to spare for the university she was trying to get into. But she was nothing if not supportive, and she loved her friends more than herself. At least, that was the mantra she silently repeated in her head as Heather hurled into the toilet yet again. 

She got her phone from her pocket, sliding the screen up to reveal the keyboard - it was simply quicker and way more convenient than typing on a touchscreen - and searched for Dagur's number. He would undoubtedly go berserk in his own way - he'd given them the 'big brother talk' before they'd headed into the city - but she'd rather deal with him than with Heather's parents. Especially Mr. Oswaldsson wouldn't be too... agreeable. 

"Hello!?" Dagur shouted from the other side of the line, hardly audible above the beat of Party Rock Anthem in the background. 

"Hey, Dagur, it's me!" she yelled back before realising there was no need to, cringing when her voice echoed through the stalls. Heather simply groaned.

"’Sup, Hofferson?"

"I need to get Heather home," she told him. "We got here by bike, but that could take ages, so I figured that, perhaps, you could take her on your scooter..."

"She's wasted, isn't she?" Dagur's obvious disappointment was ironically punctuated by LMFAO insisting that party rock was in the house tonight, and that everybody should just have a good time.

Heather shook her head at her, part of her black braid unceremoniously sticking to her face, but Astrid didn't think her capable of making any decisions right now. "Yep."

"On my way. Where are you?"

"Not So Silent Sven's Party Hut."

Dagur hung up immediately, leaving Astrid to haul Heather up onto her shoulder while her friend insisted she was fine and could walk by herself, only to immediately demonstrate the opposite. They struggled until they reached the door, somehow managing to get their coats before escaping onto the streets, the Berkian winter air pleasant after the suffocating heat of the club. 

They hung outside for a bit, waiting for Heather to sober up, but eventually stumbled further towards the main road, hoping to catch Dagur on his way. They had to dodge a lot of party goers who could hold their liquor better, along with teens who had fallen into the same pitfall Heather had. She felt a particular amount of sympathy for the dark-haired guy they passed, who was patting his skinny brunette friend on his back while he hurled the contents of his stomach into the snow, the sound alone enough to make Heather gulp again. 

When they passed them, the sick fellow looked up at her, their eyes meeting.

Astrid had only seen that combination of awkwardness and Oh my Thor what am I doing twice before. 

She waved at Fake Foot Guy, shooting him the kindest smile she could muster up without bursting into giggles. 

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

January 1st, 2013

2012 had been a good year for Hiccup. Somehow, he hadn't brought about the end of the world the Mayas had prophesied would come to pass. Even though he, the twins, Snotlout and Fishlegs had been convinced that if anyone would be able to cause an accident of global scale, it was Hiccup. Yet he had managed to enter university, where, as his father put it, his destructive tendencies were finally channelled into a proper education to become an engineer. 

Living away from home wasn't abysmal either. If he was being honest, the train connection from Berk to university wasn't so bad that he had necessarily had to move out, but he figured it'd be good for him. It had certainly taught him a lot of things. How to open a can of pineapple slices without a can opener. How to separate white and coloured laundry. How to avoid salmonella. How to handle suddenly being six feet tall. How to cover up shaving cuts. And how to say no to more alcohol than he could handle. 

It was the reason he wasn't in the same condition he was last year and that it felt good to be back in Berk to celebrate New Year's. Because he knew he wouldn't embarrass himself. Or at least, not by vomiting into the snow.

Of course Hot Chocolate Girl had walked by on his lowest point of the night. 

Part of him wondered if she was perhaps some kind of spirit, there to feed on his awkwardness and the chaos he left in his wake. Then again, he'd only seen her three times, and his disaster-track record was much better than that. Three was a rookie number. 

By the time it was 2 AM and Tuffnut dragged them into a club that he swore was even more awesome than the previous one, Hiccup had started to believe he might not see her on New Year's Eve for the first time this decade. He didn't know why he wanted to see her - he had no idea who she was, after all, didn't even have a clue about her name. But he remembered her smile, her bright blue eyes, the way her blond hair framed her face perfectly... 

The exact same features as those of the girl he suddenly spotted on the dance floor, grinding up against a tall, handsome dark-haired stranger he didn't recognise. She was wearing a dress that remained blue in the club's lighting and fit her figure beautifully. It was the first time he properly saw her without a coat on, and he was struck by just how gorgeous she was. He'd had an idea, but it clearly hadn't been completely accurate. 

She might be the most stunning woman he'd ever seen. Even in her current state, her hair messed up, her eyes glazed over, muddled by alcohol as they miraculously met his. He didn't know if she recognised him. She didn't seem to. But he couldn't look away. 

Not even when she turned around to the stranger behind her, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him down into a kiss, the two of them making out as if no one was watching them. And he probably shouldn't be. He wanted to simply think 'good for her', to be happy that she was having a good time. But instead, he found his heart stinging with something unfamiliar. A kind of hurt he couldn't quite place.

He didn't mind when Ruffnut hooked her arm into his and pulled him back outside, remarking that Tuffnut had horrible taste and that they were going somewhere else. And even though he didn't do anything particularly stupid the rest of the night, he couldn't help but feel like somewhere, deep down, he was a bit of a fool.

He just couldn't pinpoint why. 

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I hope the second one will come soon. I plan for there to be 3, all the way up until we reach New Year's Eve 2019...

[hollenka99]

Khenir and Minarv

Summary: When the gods choose to target you, life will never be the same.

Warnings: implied gore, blood, mentions of death

I'm sure you've heard the tale of Khenir and Minarv. I find it is a popular story that you enjoy passing on to the generations succeeding yours. You humans always did take a liking to tragedies with silver linings. If it is one of love and godly intervention, you consume it all the more enthusiastically. Let us clarify something first. There has always been one detail you seem to insist on getting wrong. Birds have existed as long as there have been nuts, berries and the like to sustain them. Khenir never created birds and other winged creatures. In fact, he often admired the birds that visited outside his home. Took a fancy to capturing their likeness of paper too. The only avian species which owe their existence to him are loons and horned owls. Being the god of birds does not necessarily imply you are the creator of all birds. With that irk of mine expressed, I believe I should begin. These were the days before the human population was to reach a million. We gods were acknowledged with a fierce intensity. You feared us. More than that, you feared what we could do to you or your loved ones when displeased. Don't worry. I should assure you it took effort to anger me back then. To this day, I continue to see no use in introducing you to my brother sooner than is required. It was also the time of great animosity between Keajic and Scyta. The skies and sea respectively. You got a lot more storms out at sea back then. Once, she sent a great tidal wave to devastate a town Keajic had deep admiration for. To spite her back, he had directed a gale to steer a fleet lead by one of her sons into rocks. That was the least of it. Suffice to say, anything could set them off. And the results would be disastrous for all those involved. Which is where Khenir and Minarv come in. As you may know, whenever one of you is born, it is my job to determine how long it is before you meet Tain. I have no real say in when you will die, you understand. All I do is find the likeliest timeline of your life and note it in my records. You don't call me the Chronicler for nothing, after all. But you see, if there is one thing I've always admired about humanity, it's the flexibility of your lives. All it takes is one occasion to cause your life's course to completely diverge. Khenir was going to be a farmer like his ancestors before him and potential descendants after him. He'd likely find a woman to marry and raise children with. A rather insignificant and mundane life spanning 72 years. As for Minarv, he'd be raised to be a fisherman by his father and the rest of the community. There was no conventional settling down in his most probable future. Waves stretching past the horizon would be a common backdrop of his adult life until he had the misfortune of being the victim of a poorly treated wound at the age of 38. Oh, stop pitying him. What is it with you humans and your belief the only type of life that will bring happiness and satisfaction is one ending in old age? He would have been perfectly happy doing what he loved for a living. Honestly, you come across as obsessed with watching loved ones slowly decay before you while they still breathe. You call that desirable? Either way, those were the most likely outcomes of their life. With how easily paths can branch off, nothing is guaranteed. The easiest way for your life's course to be altered is divine intervention. Should I detect a child has the chance to be someone whose life future generations will regale the story of, I pay them a visit. To tell you the truth, your reactions to my presence have always intrigued me. Some parents are ecstatic to know their child may have notoriety one day. It isn't uncommon for parents to weep or becoming protective as the gravity of their child's potential future dawns on them. Were I mortal, I would likely be amongst the horrified too. You, of course, ruined it slightly by transforming it into a tradition. You pick any elderly male neighbour and have him be part of the child's 1st birthday celebrations. No man can ever truly replicate my visitations. Your efforts are but a cheap imitation. What is all this about having them blessed over a sundial or clock? Believe me, if I wanted to bestow anything upon your child, I would do so in person. Nevertheless, I appeared in the countryside and spoke to Khenir's mother under the alias of a travelling merchant. Still an infant, Khenir was nonplussed by my being there. I doubt his mother realised the truth of my identity when I gently touched her son's head. The young Minarv I met, on the other hand, was a charming little boy when I made my way to the coast. With great excitement, he gestured to his father's ship which had been approaching the docks. Said father was none too pleased to have me be the disguised god blessing his firstborn. Apparently, he had hoped it would be Scyta, if any of us at all. Oh, if only he'd known. The years passed and the boys grew to be young men. They learned the respective trades of their families while also developing hobbies involving the flute and sketching. Their individual paths carried on leading them towards a life unaware of the other. The thing with Scyta is that she enjoys acquainting herself with mortal men. Fishermen and sailors in particular. If I had to name her favourite type of mortal, it was one who frequented her domain and respected her authority over it. You can probably see where this is going. Yes, she is the one who instigated this whole mess. Although, I doubt she was expecting the result it got. Even I can't accurately anticipate the whims of my kin all the time. Not for lack of effort, I assure you. Scyta subtly pursuing Minarv? That I could have foreseen without trying. Predicting her spouse's reaction took no effort either. Schea had always been jealous of their wife. It's understandable when your significant other has a habit of using the very thing you control to entice mortals. What better to prevent a relationship than ensure the target of the affections was unavailable. The main flaw in Schea's plan was that they naturally appear as the most attractive person in the eyes of whomever sees them. Therefore, the two men would be enamoured by the stranger attempting to unite them. The result is always achieved regardless. All Schea needs to do is ensure the pair meet eyes while they maintain physical contact with both members of the couple. A hand on each back, one look and that was that. By the docks, with a crisp ocean breeze blowing, Khenir and Minarv met. As the months progressed, they spent as much of Minarv's time on land together as they were able. The fisherman would play music while the farmer would sketch him. They were in love and deeply so. No amount of conversation with the mysterious woman supposedly living near the shore could reverse that. Naturally, Scyta refused to admit defeat and move on to her next target. More so than that, events were beginning to unfold. Minarv frequently prayed to her for the sake of safe trips. Being intrigued by birds and their ability to fly is what attracted Keajic's attention towards Khenir. Each had a mortal on their 'side'. And these mortals were lovers? No, that wouldn't do. Whether the two gods had been looking to trigger a fight between themselves or not, they'd still found a suitable reason to. Things were about to get problematic. Minarv became caught in the crossfire when his ship sunk, causing him to be the only survivor. The crops in Khenir's region failed after Sugan was to persuaded to become momentarily involved. Their livelihoods were being threatened purely because Minarv refused to concede. I recall Schea was pleased with themself, thrilled to see a match they'd created cause such conflict. Casquej had inevitably grown fond of them, given his specialty is the creative arts. I was witnessing paths be rapidly redirected as the two men's lives were thrown into turmoil. Even Tain became agitated by this mess. More humans had died than was necessary and the increasing work on his part to stay up to date with it all was enough to get him to join our cause. I know, I know, I never imagined involving myself in ridiculous spats either. Regardless, enough was enough. My brother and I were mostly ambivalent about their fate. Casquej, however, wished for there to be a happy ending to the whole ordeal. Whatever worked. We promised to co-operate in an effort to stop the madness before all our kin were dragged into it. The plan, as you may recall, was to offer them a secret paradise. A world detached from time as they had known it. Somewhere they could be safe from their torment. Khenir could admire the wildlife to his heart's content while there were enough bodies of water to satisfy Minarv. More importantly, there was no threat of death or misery. I appeared to them as a child. Claiming to be one of my own half-mortal offspring, I convinced the lovers to follow me to a mountain pass. Once we arrived, I showed them how to activate the entrance. A set of instructions later and I left them to it. I made it explicitly clear, they were not to spend longer than a month over there in one go. Those instructions were simple enough. If I were mortal, I would have disappeared for a month, returned to the regular world for two or three months then come back to the haven I knew had been made for me. Humans will be humans, I suppose. These types of stories usually have at least one moment that could have been easily avoided if the protagonist had thought things through in the moment. A month there was approximately a week outside of it. I made it so in an attempt to aid them. They followed my precautions in the beginning. A month became 6 weeks sometimes or they'd return slightly sooner than they should have. Gradually, they strayed further from my warnings. With all this deviation, it was inevitable really. Scyta and Keajic discovered why their pawns were absent. I admit it did not help that they revelled in their paradise for three months straight by regular standards. To make it worse, they had the intelligent idea to go their separate ways by the shore. Which was where the gods were waiting for them. We gods have a habit of being ridiculously petty. I have no need to tell you that which you are already aware. If a mortal stands in the way of what we hope to achieve, and we are bitter enough, we will discard of a life. What is one or two amongst thousands, millions or even billions? Both Keajic and Scyta were more than bitter enough. Even Tain showed up to witness it, albeit from a notable distance. There are very few mortals who have been personally reaped by him. Being in the company of four gods must be overwhelming enough for mortals. Even more so when Death and Time act as onlookers to your demise. Perhaps that is why they gripped each other's hands as if it would prevent their permanent separation. Being favoured by me will only buy you seconds on your deathbed. I'll make those seconds seem longer than they are, providing a chance to say your goodbyes if desired, but they are still only seconds. That amount of time sounds short to you? Imagine how trivial that duration is to me, a being who has lived for millennia and knows infinity. Keajic denied Minarv the very air he took for granted. In retaliation, Scyta commanded the ocean to make its home in Khenir's lungs. As they both asphyxiated, their fingers defiantly remained intertwined. Why it took me until this point to put my foot down, I am not sure. Possibly because I believed it was not my place to directly intervene. What was more important was that I was inserting myself in the midst of the conflict. Time stopped. I berated Keajic and Scyta for using the men for their games. Minarv had respected Scyta. The same could be said about Khenir and Keajic. Now however? It would be a miracle if either of them respected us at all. They were not made to be tormented relentlessly. Leave your opponent's favoured be and continue your squabbling somewhere more mortals wouldn't be endangered nor risk having the courses of their lives skewed. Could we agree to end this now? The rulers of sky and sea exchanged a glare. As much as they were enemies, they seemed to share the same unspoken idea in that moment. At the time, I was under the impression they were silently agreeing my pleas were rational. I had expected to continue time once more, them to walk away and the human lovers to carry on living until their appointments with Tain were scheduled. My mistake was trusting them to not slight me. I will spare you the goriest details. No doubt you've already come across versions of this story that don't shy away from it. As wings forced their way out from underneath Khenir's shoulder blades, his muscles formation shifted too in an attempt to accommodate them. Everything Minarv wouldn't need any longer became lost to him. His lungs ceased to be just in time for Scyta to drag him under the waves. You may have found the red traces mixing with the ocean in the aftermath of his legs fusing disturbing but I've seen worse. In most depictions of them, I'm sure you'll find Minarv with a black tail littered with white spots or Khenir with wings of yellow, red and a particularly light blue. That's all linked to the whole creation of loons and flagfin shiners ordeal. A bird which dives into the water to feed and a fish to keep it fed. I suppose you may find it sweet with your notions of romance. Know that they change forms as often as the rest of us gods so these visual depictions are not always accurate. All immortality has given them is more time to spend with each other. Neither is capable of human speech any longer but they seem to have developed their own method of communication. With all the chirping, whistling and whatever else they have at their disposal, I can vaguely understand them. Minarv is responsible for your stories of sirens as well. Despite having their anatomy transformed in an effort to permanently separate them, the pair still resisted their limitations. As such, they had to determine if the other happened to be nearby. Once a singer, always a singer. Humans would hear Minarv attempting to attract his beloved's attention and created tales of a creature that lured you into the water. You know, I never enquired what either of them thought about those myths. Perhaps I should, the next chance I get. Ah, speaking of which... Look at that. There is only one great horned owl whom I know would stray so far from its native homeland. Hello Khenir! Just returning from a visit, I presume? I dare say I should see him myself. Care to share with me how it went? After all, I have all the time in the world.

[gifted-burnout-archive]

Codename: Candy

Part Seventeen - Who She Was

Word Count - 1806

Author’s Note: A bit of backstory and planning ahead, the way it should be! I just love this entire story so much ugh just thank you so much for reading!

Amelia Rosalee Telford was born on a mild morning in early January 1989 at the Boulder City Hospital, to proud parents Etta Black and John Telford. She was three weeks premature, and weighed 5 pounds and 6 ounces. Despite her early birth, she was completely healthy, and taken home that afternoon.

She grew up in a nice neighbourhood, and her first memory was her parents' wedding when she was 3 years old, throwing flower petals and being fussed over in her handmade dress. She was a happy child, and part of a happy family. Picnics on sunny afternoons, a holiday to Disney World when she was 8, swimming lessons with dad at the local pool.

When she entered middle school, teachers soon realised the quiet children was excelling far past her classmates, and after discussions with her teacher and parents, Amelia skipped two grades. She was smaller than the other kids, and they picked on her for it, but it didn't bother her much. She liked her teacher, and had a friend from the grade below named Tilly. At 13, Amelia experienced two major life events:

1. Her freshman year of high school. 2. And a car accident that killed her mother and crippled her father.

In the realm of tragic origin stories, Amelia sat comfortably in the bracket of Peter Parker and Bruce Wayne. She became a part-time, then full-time carer of her father, before CPS got involved and moved her into with a foster family.

Meanwhile, her school life became increasingly more difficult in the area of social connections. No-one wanted to spend time with the kid with a dead mom, the foster kid. Amelia became isolated, and while she still excelled in school, she hated every second she spent in its walls.

Amelia graduated early from Redwood High just before her 17th birthday, with multiple offers to out-of-state universities, but she had little idea what she wanted to do with her life, and little money for studying. She spent the following months working part-time at a local pharmacy, visiting her father in his assisted care facility.

On the day of her fellow classmates' graduation that April, her foster mother received a copy of the yearbook, and gifted it to Amelia over breakfast. She flipped through the book idly, stopping on the Superlatives after seeing her picture. Above it, the words that would stick with her for the rest of her life:

Most Likely to Stay in Boulder.

And for a few days, she agreed. Her life was in Boulder, why would she leave? Then her dad passed away from an undiagnosed heart condition, and Amelia was deemed a legal adult.

No more foster home. No parents. No friends. A dead end job.

It was the June, after she had moved out of her foster home and into her dad's old car, that Amelia went to her local strip mall to window shop and was dragged into conversation with an Army recruiter. She wasn't sure why he decided to talk to her, she wasn't very tall, nor was she at the peak of physical fitness. Maybe she looked desperate.

What was meant to be a small chat and ultimate rejection turned into the recruiter having a cup of coffee with her, and the pair talking for three hours about the Army. The man was in his mid-thirties, he had served all over the world, had a family, new languages, and a job as a realtor he got on his commander's recommendation.

By the end of that summer, she had lost 30 pounds of fat and replaced it with muscle, and she shipped off to San Diego, California for Marine Corps Boot Camp. And, one day, in the middle of training, the realisation hit her: she made it out of Boulder. And what's more, she had no intention of going back.

—

"Good morning folks, we have some critical business to attend to today, so please sit." Mike called to the room of twenty or so CIA officials, Jack and Greer amongst them, as he walked in the meeting room, the Ambassador following him in. The room was fast to settle down, and Jack couldn't help scanning over the heads to see if Candy had made it, but as the room found seats, Jack spotted one spare, and had his answer.

"Today, we have the Ambassador sitting in, and our team from Langley, who will be filling us in on the current situation." Mike introduced them, and Jack stood up, walking to the front of the room, facing the officials. He cleared his throat, taking the screen remote and clicking onto the slide.

A phtograph, of the thirty two people who died in Washington the day before, bodies lined up in black bags, behind them the still smouldering remains of the Mall Hotel.

"As I am sure you've all been made aware, a terrorist attack happened in the Capitol yesterday, and recent intel has reached the unfaltering conclusion that this man," a click, and the scene of death was replaced by Thomas Roland's last confirmed sighting, "is responsible. However, Thomas Roland isn't just a terrorist. He's a business man, a scientist, and extremely rich individual who is currently hiding in Egypt with the help of Saudi contacts and ISIS, with the agreement to manufacture dirty bombs for the highest bidder." With that, Jack spent the next two hours running the team through the most sensitive details of the case. The interrogation in Afghanistan, the nuclear substances stolen from India, the decisions that led to where they stood, the manufacturing of dirty bombs, and most importantly, the bank statements.

The team sat in silence, taking notes and jotting down questions to ask at the end of the brief. As Jack moved on to the final section of the presentation, the clock on the wall displaying 12.58, Candy walked into the room, standing by the door. She removed her Walkman headphones, pressing a button on the box clipped to her waistband to listen to Jack's closing. He caught her coming in, and while he kept talking, he couldn't help noticing she had changed back into her army uniform, vest and gun still on. She had left the building.

"Our next move has to be warning Madrid of the possible threat coming their way. We suggest that the building targeted should be evacuated a half hour before the devices are, by our sources, meant to detonate. While risky, it keeps civilians safe without alerting Roland and his team we are on their tail... If you have any questions, now would be the time to ask." Jack nodded, going back to his seat. A few of the team raised concerns over public security, the lack of troops in the city for American protection, and Greer stepped in to assure them a trained team were being briefed and flying over within the next two days.

As the room began to relax, and pack up, the Ambassador spoke up. "This is all well and good, but it's not just Thomas Roland to worry about." He spoke you, and Jack looked over.

"He is the centre of the entire project, sir, without Roland the business fall apart." Jack answered, confused.

"What about the chief of staff? The one dealing with the funds? The minute Roland is detained, he's becoming their leader." The Ambassador argued, and Jack nodded.

"We are aware of the threat Roland's brother might pose, however we have plans in place through the Special Forces. The accounts are set to freeze by Roland's birthday, so assets won't be an issue." Jack said, standing up.

"And what are these plans?" The Ambassador persisted.

"That's classified." Candy spoke up, the room looking over to her. She smiled as sweetly as she could manage, but the Ambassador didn't look impressed.

"What do you mean classified?" He asked, and Mike stepped in.

"Folks, why don't we discuss this in my office. Everyone else, back to work... Thank you for being here today." Mike gave a look to Jack, and the trio followed Mike and the Ambassador out of the room and towards Mike's office. Once the door was shut, and Mike had sat himself down. "Ambassador Jenkins, I'd like to formally introduce you to Doctor Jack Ryan, Jim Greer and Candy." Mike gestured to each one turn.

"What's this bullshit about classified? I'm the fucking Ambassador." Jenkins asked, pissed off was an understatement. Jack wasn't sure how to explain it, but he didn't have to.

"Not to be a dick, Mr Ambassador, but you aren't here to know about Special Ops, you're here to keep peace and look pretty on camera for the Egyptian populous. The situation surrounding Michael Roland is ongoing, and the team tasked with taking him in are separate from the work Doctor Ryan and your Embassy are doing." Candy spoke with a quiet assertion laced in her voice, daring him to argue back. She was perhaps two decades his younger, not to mention two thirds of his size.

"Keep your Lieutenant in check, Doctor Ryan. I don't appreciate your guard dog telling me what I should and shouldn't know." The Ambassador sneered, and Jack tried to keep the smirk from appearing on his face as he delivered the satisfying statement.

"She outranks you Sir... I suggest you listen to what she says." The words caused a smile to sneak onto Mike's face as he spoke up.

"Ambassador, I've worked with Jim and Jack before. If this is the way they have decided to go, it's the best course of action.... Don't you have a meeting with the Minister of Finance in twenty minutes?" Mike questioned, and with a final glare to Candy, the Ambassador stormed out the room, slamming the door behind him. Almost simultaneously, each realised a baited breath. Mike spoke first. "I hate that guy... I've worked with my ex-wife and even she was better to be around..."

"Thank you, Mike... Last thing we need is Jenkins holding more cards than he should." Greer said, taking a seat across from their old friend.

"So, Madrid..." Mike said, and Jack sat down too, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes... Get the Embassy on the phone, direct line to chief of staff would be good." Jack breathed out, and glanced back at Candy, who was walking out the door. "Make sure you get back here before 9, Hawkins wants a video call." Jack reminded Candy, and she nodded, closing the door behind her as she left.

"What did she mean, classified?" Mike asked, and Jack sighed, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees.

"Honestly man, I don't think I have the authority to share... This whole thing with the brother is above my pay grade." Jack admitted, and Mike nodded, not asking more as he dialled up Madrid.

—

[moodyvalentinestories]

A Holly Jolly Christ-Mess. Part 23. | Rachel x Hunt

23: An Invitation

“Silver bells, silver bells, it's Christmas time in the city. Ring-a-ling, hear them ring, soon it will be Christmas day.” – Silver Bells

Summary: There are some complications when someone finds out Thomas is in town.

Pairing: Thomas Hunt x Rachel Fields

Words: ~ 1,600 words

Notes: ITime for some serious mental gymnastics. Not gonna lie, I kind of forgot that it’s already the 23rd and I only have these two last parts to fit the whole Christmas thing I had planned in and... uh... I had to make some changes that maybe don’t make a whole lot of sense, but I'm determined to do the final part as I intended so... uh... that.

❥ Moodyvalentine’s Masterlist ❥ Christmas Series Masterlist

“I’m going to kill him,” Thomas said determinedly as he threw his phone on the bed in frustration. It nearly hit Rachel, who had been asleep until a few minutes ago but was now sitting up, in the chest. She let out a surprised yelp when she ducked out of the way, making him wheel around and stare at her in shock. “You’re awake.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not by choice. You were yelling at someone. That sort of thing tends to wake people up, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He should have kept his cool. But how could he have when his perfect plans for the day had just been ruined?

He’d wanted to give her the Christmas Eve experience she deserved. He was going to take her out to a romantic dinner, and perhaps take her dancing after, but not for too long. By the time they’d return to the hotel, there would be a Christmas tree waiting for them in their room that they could decorate together. Once finished, they would be cuddling under the tree, drinking hot chocolate – the recipe she loved so much with lots of cinnamon and unholy amounts of marshmallows, and waiting for midnight to come around. And the moment the clock would strike twelve, he’d give her his first present. She’d love it, and she’d give him his which he was sure he would love as well, and then it would be time for him to give her the second. The one he’d wanted to give her since the moment he’d got it for her. The one he was far more nervous – and even more excited – about than he was willing to admit.

But now, those plans had been shot to hell. All because that bastard couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.

“What’s wrong, Thomas?” Rachel asked as she moved up behind him, placing her hands on his bare shoulders to knead them gently.

He let out another sigh, then slumped forward, burying his head in his hands. “Everything is ruined.”

“What do you mean?” She did her best to hide the panic in her voice but failed rather miserably. There was one thing, and one thing only, she could imagine that would have him react this way – someone had to have found out. “Who were you talking to just now?”

Her fingers continued moving over his shoulders, pressing deeper into his skin, and he felt himself relax a little under her touch. “Andrew knows I’m in town, and if he knows, everybody knows.”

“Who’s Andrew?” she asked. But there was an even more important question to be asked. “And how does he know?”

Thomas groaned inwardly. It was so easy to forget that she wasn’t – not yet, anyway – a part of this world he’d spent most of his adult life in. She did not yet know his acquaintances and rivals, his friends, and his enemies. He wasn’t sure, though, which category Andrew may have belonged it. “An old… colleague from my modelling days,” he said cautiously, then turned to her, seeing the worried look on his face. He immediately realised what his vague, ominous answers must have made her believe. “We haven’t been seen together. Ryan’s talked to him and let it slip that I’m here. And, believe me, he’ll pay for that.”

“Oh, thank God,” Rachel said, beyond relieved. Her brows furrowed. “So the problem is… that we can’t go outside because you’re worried about paparazzi knowing you’re here and looking for you? That’s… not ideal, but we’ll survive.”

Yes, that was part of the problem. Thomas nodded. “That is something I’m worried about.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “There’s more.”

“It’s nothing.” He got up from the bed abruptly, startling her, and began pacing around the room. “I’ll deal with it. You don’t need to worry.”

Rachel huffed as she got up from the bed, the duvet falling off her completely and revealing her fully naked body, and walked over to stand in front of him. “Talk to me. We both know keeping secrets never does either of us any favours.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he reiterated, shaking his head. “I’m not going.”

Her hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking his stubbled skin softly. “Going where, Thomas? Please.”

He sighed, leaning into her touch. He didn’t want her to worry. More importantly, he didn’t want her to say what he knew she would – that he should just go. That he didn’t have to stay with her, that she’d find a way to entertain herself while he was gone. But she was right, lying to her had never gone over well for him. And he didn’t want to lie to her. “His annual Christmas Eve ball.” He put his own hand over hers. “I already said no.”

“But you want to go,” she stated matter-of-factly. There wasn’t a hint of the disappointment he knew she felt to be heard in her voice.

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Then you feel like you have to.” She smiled, and though Thomas knew it wasn’t entirely genuine, it looked like it was. Damn her and her acting abilities. “It’s okay.”

He felt her try to pull her hand away, and he gripped it tighter, keeping it pressed to his cheek as he leaned down to kiss her. “I’m not going. End of discussion.”

It would come back to bite him in the ass, he knew it would. There would be speculation as to why he hadn’t attended despite being in the country – because Thomas always went, if only for an hour or less – but it didn’t matter. He was not leaving Rachel alone. Not today. Not ever, really.

“Okay,” she whispered against his lips before kissing him again. She slipped her hand out from underneath his and moved it down his neck, over his shoulder and chest, before snaking it around him and pulling him close. His own hands followed suit, caressing as much of her naked skin as he could reach. “Maybe we should—”

They were interrupted by a song that Thomas recognised as Rachel’s incredibly annoying ringtone. “Don’t answer it,” he breathed before taking her lips in another fiery kiss. Whoever it was would simply have to wait.

She chuckled against his lips, then put her hands on his shoulders to push him away a little. “Since it seems we’re going to have to stay in all day, anyway, I’m sure we’ll have more than enough time for this after I take this call.”

Thomas mumbled something about murdering the person who had dared to interrupt them, unaware that it was the exact same person whose life he’d threatened to take earlier already.

“Ryan’s calling me,” Rachel said, dumbfounded, as she looked at the caller ID on her display.

“Put it on speaker,” Thomas commanded.

She pressed answer, then did as he told her. “Hey… uh… what’s up?”

“On a scale of one to ten, how mad is Tommy right now?” Ryan’s voice came through the speakers.

“Try eleven,” Thomas answered, earning a glare from Rachel.

There was a moment of silence on the other end before Ryan spoke again. “I… should have expected that he’d be right there with you.”

“You should have,” Thomas said and, despite her protests, took the phone from Rachel. “And you should have also known better than to tell Andrew that I’m here!”

“I’m sorry. He invited me to his stupid ball, and then he somehow asked about you, and it just slipped out,” Ryan said exasperatedly. “But I’ll be there soon, and I—"

Rachel cut in again, her brows furrowed. “You’re coming to London?”

“I already am in London,” he said. “That’s why I’m calling. I want to… make things up to you.”

Thomas huffed. “And how would you do that?”

“By taking Rachel to the ball, obviously,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Thomas snapped then. How dare he! “You want to take my girlfriend out and call that making it up to me? As soon as I find out where you’re staying, I’ll—”

He was interrupted by Rachel’s hand touching his arm softly. “He may have a point. Give me the phone.”

“I will not—”

“Give me the phone, Thomas,” she repeated firmly. He sighed, then handed it to her.

He’d expected her to stay where she was, but she didn’t, turning off speakerphone as she walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Thomas went to follow her, but she’d actually locked the bloody door. Fuming, he returned to the bed and let himself sink into the sea of pillows and blankets as he waited for Rachel to return.

By the time she did, he’d calmed down – if only a little bit. “I hope you told him to never call you again.”

She let out a soft chuckle and shook her head. “No. Now, get up, you have a ball to get ready for.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” she said with a mischievous grin. “And so am I.”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Thomas, he told me how important this thing is. It may not be what either of us thought we’d be doing tonight, but... when has anything ever gone as planned with us?”

Thomas let out an exasperated sigh. “We can’t be seen together. You know we can’t.”

“That’s why I’m going with Ryan. Everyone will think I came with him.”

He gritted his teeth. It was reckless. Dangerous, even. But he thought back to the masquerade over a year ago, and he remembered how happy she had seemed – before he’d revealed he knew who she was, anyway – and he groaned in defeat. It appeared he was going to take her dancing after all. “Very well. But you better not leave me for Summers, Rachel.”

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